To the beloved queen of the Harry Potter Universe:
Let me begin by first thanking you for being an inspiration to your millions (if not billions) of readers. Your writing has touched souls across the world, perhaps even saved lives. You have captured the essence of what it means to be human: to have a little bit of light and dark in every one of us. And while we might begin a little biased towards one side or another, it is ultimately our choices and the power of love that define us. We choose who we become, and you have single-handedly whispered that powerful truth into the minds and hearts of countless strangers you will likely never meet. I am one of them, for your universe is truly magical.
But with such accomplishments in mind, I’d like to ask you one thing.
I don’t mean stop writing, forever, because that would cruelly deprive the world of the continuation of your magic that you still have so much to give. But I’d like you to take a step back, stop, and breathe.
As I am loathe to do on sleepless nights, I turned to the newest update on Pottermore, excited to immerse myself again in the Potter-universe, but with a distinctly American twist. Ilvermorny, an intriguing name, seemed a promising treasure trove of new secrets to discover.
The possibilities were endless - the spoilers about the house names seemed to point towards Native American folklore. Would we learn about the magical traditions of the Cherokee or the Apache? Perhaps they would open up a whole new world of creating magic – without the European influence of wands, perhaps their magic would be channeled through sacred stones that had been carefully carved and treated. How could they cast spells through their ritual song and dance? How might they view “No-Majs” differently from European cultural norms? What if instead of disdain, they held the utmost respect for non-magicals – for those people had to be the most imaginative to invent ways to go about their daily lives where magic could not ease their paths?
But while well-written and certainly heart-tugging, I was simply left with another sour-cream-white traumatic orphan sob story (not to trivialize whites, orphans, or tragedies that numerous people face) that was eerily reminiscent to Harry’s orphaned past and defeat of a dark wizard through the power of love.
And I get it, Jo. It’s a theme with you – that despite the thousands of obstacles people face, love and tenacity conquer all.
But why couldn’t we have had wandless healing, channeled through song, dance, and herbology? Why couldn’t we have learned how to identify the magic thrumming in the soil, stones, trees, and animals around us? Why couldn’t we have learned how the Native Americans sought balance in dark and light magic, and performed magic that no European had ever encountered before?
Why couldn’t we have had a narrative about the European colonization of the Americas, where Native Americans had to run to the most isolated parts of the continent, ward their homes with heavy enchantments, and struggle to brew new potions to battle the horrible, foreign, diseases that came with it? Why couldn’t we have seen a population learn from each school of magic, mixing in perfect harmony? Classes could include Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, and Herbology, but with Amulet Creation, Harmonic Healing, Ritual Spell-casting, and Elemental Charms?
Let’s have an openly LGBTQ+ character, not a closeted Dumbledore that is only confirmed after publication and book sales. Let’s investigate the Native American gender and sexuality identities - take a new perspective on what it means to be human. Let’s deal with income inequality in a whole new light - two friends from opposing worlds who constantly find themselves reevaluating what they know to be true. Add some more strong female characters - I want to feel the subtle condescension, passive aggressiveness, and glass ceilings as we watch them struggle through their careers. Let’s see the post traumatic stress of the entire generation that fought a war as children. Let’s have canon (confirmed before, not after the fact), strong, and compelling people of color in your writing, where the characters’ names aren’t two surnames (Cho Chang… really?) and as dimensional as the sad pancake on which someone sat.
When you write your next installments about the other schools in Brazil, in Africa, in Japan, I want you to do some serious research. I want you to try, at least try, to understand and explore the cultural beauty that you’ve allowed yourself the freedom to pioneer. I want to hear about family, not blood-prejudice in Japan, and how honor and a history of ancestors in warring states still hold onto that enmity today. I want you to detail the families that were ripped apart in Africa by the slave trade, and the inventive magical ways that different tribes avoided detection. I want to see the conflict between magic and the religion that Portuguese colonists began to impose on the indigenous people in Brazil, and how somehow they were able to reconcile that religious-magical barrier. I want you to treat each culture with respect instead of white-washing, and even if you don’t get it quite right and you come under fire, you will know in your heart that you tried to understand and that you will learn so much more from what people say is different to your outlook.
You deal with so much prejudice in your books, in gruesome detail outlining the harm it causes to all. Unintentionally or no, are you really doing much better when you maintain the same, incredibly British storyline and try to apply it to other places?
Perhaps this is harsh of me. Perhaps this perfect cultural melting pot is too idealistically American of me, as it will never be the same to tell a story that you have not experienced yourself. But instead of more of the same, why can’t you try?
Stretch yourself, Ms. Rowling. I want you to challenge the world you created, for there is so much possibility and so much room to grow. I want you to challenge your own rules, explore and pioneer and learn because that’s another fundamental truth that Hermione Granger not only knows, but epitomizes. You’ve become too comfortable in your own universe, writing installments that are really just repurposed storylines with characters of different names. Instead of wasting your time taking swipes at Donald Trump on Twitter, grow your universe. It’s time to upend it, throw it in the wash, and look at it again with a new perspective.
So please stop. Why don’t you stop writing for a little bit, and try listening? There are so many interesting and different stories for you to tell.
I don’t know why but i keep writing this and it keeps getting deleted before i can post so HERE WE GO AGAIN and this is one of my personal fav requests omg ((:
Harry didn’t wash the dishes.
It all started over a stupid pile of dirty silverware.
“That was lovely,” Harry had said, pecking your lips before walking off, checking his phone by the couch where it was charging.
You smile, but it quickly turns into a frown as you pick up Harry’s plate. You try to play it off lightly–because in reality it was ridiculous. Who makes a big deal out of an unwashed plate? But you state anyways, “You aren’t doing the dishes.”
He looks up from his text, smirking, “You’re closer to the kitchen.”
“But we had an agreement,” you try to play it cool. “I do the cooking and you wash the dishes.”
Harry smiles and walks over to you, leaning on the kitchen counter. “It’s just one meal, Y/N. And I’m really tired tonight.”
You didn’t think he could hear as you murmur under your breath, “You’re tired every night.”
He furrows his eyebrows and sucks in a breath. “What?”
You didn’t respond, instead turning to the dishes. But just the sight of them is enough to set you on edge. Biting your lip, you say, “Nothing, Haz.”
But your husband doesn’t let it drop. He stands beside you by the sink and when he speaks, his voice is deadly low. “What did you mean by I’m always tired?”
You hesitate, looking up to meet his gaze. His green eyes are whirlpools tonight. But then you catch a glimpse of the unwashed dishes at the corner of your vision. You sigh, “It’s just…I get that you have a unique career. You don’t know how much I know that you do. And you can’t do anything about it because millions of people, including me, are counting on you to wake up every morning and put on a good show, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
You see now that Harry is confused, but he seems to know where this is headed. His eyebrows are knitted together and there’s a frown stretched out on his face.
“I can’t do anything about it?” Harry repeats, dropping his phone on the counter with a loud bang. “What do you mean by that? I love my job and I choose to wake up every morning, put on a show, and do all I need to do to make my fans happy.”
He throws his hands up in frustration.
You take a deep breath in, trying to stop your hands from shaking. “What about me?” You look up, making a big deal to not pull your gaze from his. You will not look weak in front of him. “You’re so busy making your fans happy that you forget to make me happy.”
Harry tears his fingers through his hair and walks over to you. He points an accusing finger in your face. He raises his voice, “You know the fans come first.” He gestures around you both. At the kitchen. At the house. “This is all from the fans! They come first.”
“Spare me at least the decency to tell me I, at least, am second.” You are choking on the silence of your tears.
“Come on,” Harry almost sounds apologetic.
“You know how it is,” Harry steps closer, and it almost looks like he’s about to pull you into his arms. Almost. “The fans will always come first. Always.”
And that’s when you break.
“If the fans truly always come first, then you have lied to me all your life, Harry Edward Styles,” you spit out. His expression hardens. Your faces are inches apart now. “You made a promise to me when you married me. You made a promise to love me and I made a promise to love you. Through everything. Through anything. And from the moment we kissed, you were my first priority. My first priority, not even my family came before you.”
Harry’s voice is low, “The fans gave me everything. Everything came from them.”
“Well, why did you marry me then!” You scream. “IF THE FANS COME FIRST, WHY DID YOU MARRY ME?”
“BECAUSE I LOVE YOU MORE THAN ANYTHING IN THIS ENTIRE FUCKING WORLD!” Harry screams back, and then he collapses in a tangle of curls and tears. Tears are streaming down your cheeks too, and they paralyze you.
The house is quiet, except for the sounds of both of you crying.
“I love you more than anything,” Harry repeats, looking up at you with red eyes. The sight of him broken breaks you too. You collapse to your knees beside him. You are running your hands through his hair as his hands cup your face. “I love you more than anything. Please know that. I need you to know that.”
“I do,” you nod, as he brushes away a stray tear. “I do. I love you too. So much.”
He hesitates, then says, “The fans come first. For the band. For us four. The fans always come first.” Pauses, then continues, “But for me, you come first. One call from you crying and I will fly across the globe just to make you smile. Don’t you doubt that. Ever.”
You smile, and he grins, “See? This feeling in my stomach that I get when you are happy? I don’t get that with the fans. They’ve…They’ve given me a lot, but you have given me more.”
He pulls you to his chest and you rest your head on top of his chest. His heartbeat is like a lullaby. “You’ve given me love,” he whispers. “And that’s irreplaceable.”
I was on acid and I looked at the trees and I realized that they all came to points, and the little branches came to points, and the houses came to point. I thought, ‘Oh! Everything has a point, and if it doesn’t, then there’s a point to it’.
I NEED FLUFF PLEASE JUST LETS TALK OR SOMETHING I NEED FLUFF SO BAD
Fluff like, fluffy blanket cuddling?
Fluff like, Harry waking you up with feather kisses over your entire face?
Fluff like, Harry holding your hand during a scary movie?
Fluff like, taking a bath together and Harry insisting that he wash every inch of your body for you?
Or fluff like, Harry saying one thing he loves about you for every year you’ve been alive…only not being able to stop once he hits your age and just continues on until you’re blushing and giggling and begging him to stop talking so you can just KISS him already!
Harry washes his hands quickly before grabbing his phone. His screen lights up to 3 notifications.
DJTommo is now following you!
@DJTommo mentioned you in a tweet!
Direct Message from @DJTommo!
Harry yelps, throwing his phone to Niall who just barely catches it.
Niall looks down at the phone, seeing first the tweet, then the DM. He tosses the phone back to Harry, who nearly drops it. “What are ya doing, mate! Answer him!”
Harry thinks for a moment about what he wants to say. This is his chance to actually talk to Louis Tomlinson. Louis Tomlinson messaged him directly. He can say anything he wants. He begins typing, his fingers shaky.
Niall comes over to stand next to Harry and peers down, looking to see what he wrote. When he does, he lets out a groan.
…Or, the one where Harry owns a bakery, Louis is a radio DJ, and Niall and Liam roll their eyes at their incessant flirting.
lmao I think this gif perfectly exemplifies how one is delicate and gentle while the other is just.. not. 66. media. tumblr. com/1987b1c9def898e2d3337d9b292ece1c/tumblr_nx41mfMFr71tswsbuo2_250. gif
harry just goes for the typical “idc i’m just gonna wipe my sweaty face on my shirt” AND THEN LOUIS!!! HIS HANDS!!! HIS WRISTS!!! DELICATE AND DAINTY, GENTLY SWIPES THE TIPS OF HIS FINGERS ON HIS FACE!!! GOOD AND PURE!!