Finished the blind tooling on the third small journal. The design is a bit more brave than the previous two. Today was very cloudy and didn’t have time to finish everything I had in mind. Tomorrow all this tooling is going to be full of silver. Looking forward to it with feelings of excitement and a bit of fear.
•Imagine deaf wizards.
•Imagine deaf wizards struggling through their schooling because they can’t hear the teacher.
•Imagine deaf muggleborn wizards teaching everyone sign language so they can communicate easier.
•Imagine a deaf pureblood wizard finding a way to create a spell that will show what the professors are saying in sign language.
•Imagine a deaf wizard a few years later improving on that spell and including a wand movement where typed words would appear by the professor for the students who don’t quite know sign language.
•Imagine the professors learning these spells and teaching themselves sign language to better help the deaf students.
Imagine mute wizards.
•Imagine mute wizards struggling with the application of spells because they can’t say the words.
•Imagine a muggleborn mute wizard helping the pureblood deaf wizard create the sign language spell.
•Imagine a mute wizard creating an “after lessons activity” where they and other mute wizards can study nonverbal spells.
•Imagine said wizard coming back after graduation to teach the new class dedicated to nonverbal spells, and loving the job no matter if the students are mute or not.
•Imagine 5th year mute wizards passing their OWLs at the top of their class because they got extra points for using nonverbal spells (the ministry must not have known they were mute, but the student body doesn’t care because that was a wicked battle they watched between their peers)
Imagine blind wizards.
•Imagine blind wizards always late to class because they accidentally took the wrong staircase, the staircase moved without them knowing, or they accidentally ended up in the forbidden 3rd floor corridor.
•Imagine blind wizards being insanely good at sensing magic and feeling where their peers are at in the hallways (kind of like Toph from Avatar)
•Imagine blind wizards who have to have their friends read them the newspaper.
•Imagine a new and improved Daily Prophet realizing this and finding a way for wizards to tap the page with their wand to have the articles read to them.
•Imagine Hogwarts allowing muggleborn blind wizards bring their seeing eye dogs with them to school to get around the castle easier.
•Imagine Magical Menagerie hearing of this and teaching some of their pets how to be a seeing eye animal so other blind wizards can get around the castle easier. (I’ll even sell him to you for half the price!)
Imagine wizards in wheelchairs.
•Imagine wizards in wheelchairs petitioning the school board to get ramps or elevators in the building because “how are we supposed to learn when we can’t get to the classroom?”
•Imagine wizards in wheelchairs creating a version of wheelchair quidditch (like wheelchair tennis or basketball) which becomes a huge hit with the student body.
•Imagine drunk wizards in wheelchairs having wheelchair races down the hallways.
•Imagine Hogwarts changing its interior design to accommodate for wheelchairs.
•Imagine wizards in wheelchairs at the battle of hogwarts placing spells on their wheels to make them move by themselves as the wizard ruthlessly attacks death eaters.
Imagine wizards with AD(H)D.
•Imagine wizards with AD(H)D sitting in the back of the classroom so as to not interrupt as often.
•Imagine wizards with AD(H)D getting free time to run or fly around the quidditch pitch to burn off some of their steam.
•Imagine wizards with AD(H)D creating potions to help students focus during school that work a lot better than the muggle medication.
•Imagine muggleborn wizards telling pureblood wizards with AD(H)D that they aren’t worthless or stupid because they can’t concentrate as well as their peers.
Imagine wizards with diabetes.
•Imagine wizards with diabetes finding a way to check their blood sugar without having to prick their fingers.
•Imagine house elves finding out that some of their wizards need food with less sugar, so they start putting healthier foods out during meal time and never mentioning it to anyone.
•Imagine wizards with diabetes helping Madam Pomfrey in the hospital wing and being able to identify certain things about a patient without needing a spell (like if the patients blood sugar is too low or too high)
Summary: You were the typical girl with big dreams who moved to the city as soon as she had the chance, and somehow ended up in the wrong part of town - but you somehow manage to get swept up in an entirely different situation than you’d planned. (1/5) Scenario: mafia!AU/hacker!AU Word Count: 7,641
Saw a man refusing to let his pregnant wife off the porch because he “saw a rat the size of a dog and I will NOT let it bite you, please go back inside darling”. Made me wonder how protective the Maheswaran’s were of their baby.
Summary: When did Will decide to free Hannibal from prison? He wasn’t sure himself, until Francis Dolarhyde helped him make the decision.
Chiyoh adjusted the blinds in the safe house as the brightness still bothered Hannibal’s eyes. He grunted softly in protest as she loomed over Hannibal’s bed, and wiped at his forehead with a cool, wet towel.
Lying in the other bed in the room, Will Graham craned his neck to peer at Hannibal’s figure. Bandaged and bruised, how small Hannibal appeared. How fragile, as he hardly stirred, recovering from the wounds both Dolarhyde and Will had inflicted on him.
The sound of the rain outside beat against the windows that surrounded the tiny house. It both soothed and agitated Will. But he was accustomed to his constant contradictory state, as he had lived most of his life that way. Struggling, fighting against himself. Until now. Now he finally accepted who he was. He stared at Hannibal, as Chiyoh, in turn, studied him with caution.
“If you leave this bed – if you approach Hannibal – I will break your legs.”
Will remained silent and gave her a curt nod.
“I will not hesitate,” she said as she walked to the door and slowly closed it partially behind her.
Will listened to Hannibal’s shallow, slow breaths. They became a metronome that kept him in time with his memories. Memories that haunted him, memories he’d rather forget – save for a few…
The thought never occurred to him. Not really. Even as he sat in the quiet solace (as false as it was) of the cabin he shared with Molly, and re-read Hannibal’s letter for the fiftieth time did it ever enter his mind. He never considered helping Hannibal escape.
Will Graham watched the letter burn after he threw it into the fireplace, and with it any remaining deeply hidden thoughts or emotions he had felt about the man. At least that’s what he told himself.
And so, Will clutched his person suit tightly about himself, swallowed thickly, and continued along his days, his nights, in this old new life with Molly. He continued and didn’t think about Hannibal Lecter.
When Molly said he should go with Jack, he should help and make a difference, she had no idea how much would change. Even as Will assured her he would be different, she still had no clue. How could she?
How could she see that the man she married was a fiction– a version of Will Graham he’d made up to fit into Molly’s life, Molly’s expectations. Oh, how he so wanted to fit. The Will Graham he’d made up caught fish for his wife to fry and laughed as it stunk up the entire cabin; the Will Graham he invented wore hand-knitted sweaters with dropped stitches; the Will Graham he gave birth to taught Walter how to solve algebraic equations; he would sit with his wife’s feet in his lap as he worked on the New York Times crossword puzzle.
How he wanted to be that Will Graham, instead of this one, who at the moment struggled with the Tooth Fairy, in a cheap motel room, for breath and dominance; the Will Graham who wasn’t sure yet if he’d help Hannibal escape.
Just before his mind went blank, as Francis Dolarhyde smothered his face with a chloroformed washcloth, Will’s thoughts reached out like tendrils – like desperate hands searching for one final life preserver – and what he found was one quick memory. A snippet of a conversation between he and Hannibal. Grasping and remembering…
“Tell me, did your heart race when you murdered her?”
“No, it didn’t.”
“A low heart rate is a true indicator of one’s capacity for violence. Your design is evolving.”
And as his eyes began to close, in this losing battle, he noticed that his heartbeat remained steady and low as he fell deep into the unknown.
The road that led him to that moment seemed to have been coming almost his entire life. How different would he had been had his mother stuck around? If his father had been more reliable? If he hadn’t been cursed with his so-called gift. (Was it a gift really, if you could tell that your second grade teacher pitied and feared you? You stared just a little too much, a little too hard for her taste.)
Seeing Hannibal again after all those years was a bit of a shock – but not because he was afraid – well, in truth he was – but because he knew Hannibal understood him still. Even with the distance and the time.
“Are we no longer on a first name basis?”
No, I would like that very much. Once more. Just once, forever.
“I’m more comfortable the less personal we are.”
It was a lie, however. Will already began to feel whole again, real – and god knows he hated himself for it. Molly and Walter deserved better.
This dullness he felt, had felt for the last three years, was eating away at him like rust on fine steel, like maggots on old meat. The mere sound of Hannibal’s voice began to pull Will out of the dullness. Good god, the soul crushing dullness.
He woke with a startle as Francis doused him with water; a quick baptism.
“Breathe deeply. Do you think you can sit up? Try to sit up.”
Will obliged, grateful he could still move. He sat patiently and listened as Francis explained himself, his grand mission. Will nodded, heartbeat steady and low.
“You think you understand, don’t you?” Francis asked.
“I understand that blood and breath are only elements undergoing change to fuel your radiance. Hannibal said those words to me.”
(First name basis, once again.)
“I want to meet Lecter. How do I manage that?”
And it was then, right then when Will Graham decided. If anyone was going to meet Hannibal, it would be him. Only him. His plan to free Hannibal was born, easily and without doubt.
His final change, his true radiance – a leap from the lackluster, from the maddening politeness – would finally be welcome. Will would accept this as his fate.
He’d always known, anyhow.
The rain had slowed to a drizzle as it caressed the windows of the safe house, and Will could see that Hannibal had fallen into a deeper sleep. Will sighed contentedly knowing that fate had smiled upon him once again. How very fortunate they had been to have survived. Together. And whether it was at the gates of Hell or the halls of Valhalla, it would be Will and Hannibal together. Eternally.
Will Graham accepted that his design had evolved yet again, and his radiance?
A/N: Here is the first part of my new series!!!!! I hope you all enjoy it! I’ve had this idea in my head since before I even had a tumblr, I could just never think up enough details until a couple weeks ago. I was laying in bed and then BAM. It was in my head.
This story will start out as a Dean x Reader, with eventual Castiel x Reader (It will make more sense later, I promise.) Also, I can’t really write a story summary yet as I don’t want to give too much away? So just, just read it! <3
Pairing: None yet.
Warnings: Just some language.
Word Count: 1.1k
You peered through the blinds of your small house as you shook your head in frustration. For whatever reason, there was a car that had been parked across the street with two men sitting in it for the last two nights. They couldn’t be cops, because what kind of cops, undercover or not, drive ‘67 impalas? And they certainly didn’t let their hair grow out like that one did. You’d been on edge since the first time you saw the car, though you didn’t know if you were on edge for a good or bad reason, you just felt…off. You thought about going outside and talking to them, seeing what the hell their deal was; but unless they came and bothered you, that wasn’t happening.
You were typically a quiet person, very kept to yourself. You didn’t have any friends, if you had any family, you didn’t know about them, or they didn’t care about you. Your mother raised you to stand up for yourself, you had no problem telling someone to fuck off if they got too close. You weren’t always like this, growing up you had some friends. You went out and had fun, you were ‘normal’ as they say.
You lived in a small town, Makanda Illinois. It was a very quiet and peaceful place. This is where you’d been for the last eight years. Your mother had told you that when she died, you needed to go somewhere where chances of you being found were slim. You didn’t know who you were supposed to hide from, but you were guessing these men outside of your house might have been who she was talking about.