The thing is that Godfrey’s Magnus was the only reason I even bothered with that goddamn movie. The one only reason I watched it. I did like his Magnus…
But when people say that “Harry is trying too hard - Harry’s Magnus isn’t good enough - Godfrey’s Magnus is the best” I can’t help but think that what they are really saying is that Magnus should be reduced to 3 seconds minutes of screen time, and never be heard of or seen, unless the main white characters need his services to move the plot. Because that what Magnus was in that goddamn movie.
And that’s how some parts of the fandom prefer to see characters of color on their screens.
This reminds me of the time, few years ago, when I was in the TWD fandom, and was looking through one of the fandom forums. There was that one racist person who kept hating on Glenn in every post they made in the thread. And then in one of their posts that person said something along the lines that they used to like Glenn in season 1, “until the show ruined him”… With character development, I assume.
What is interesting, a lot of people in the [general] fandom, the ones that used to hate Glenn later in seasons, considered season!one Glenn to be the best version of the character.
It’s easy to love a flawless helpful sidekick, who cracks a joke or two, but never is the center of the plot. Just like the genral TWD fandom loves Jerry now, they claimed to love Glenn back then. Coincidentally, the fandom started to hate Glenn viciously during the s3b arc – when he had the most of the character growth and development…
Don’t get me wrong, I love season one Glenn too, but he was just a character with great potential back then, who only grew more complex and interesting through seasons.
Same with Godfrey’s Magnus – he had a great potential, that sadly was never realized. Harry actually has this opportunity to flesh out this character and he is making it happen.
Cursed Child was dumb and here are some reasons why
(warning: spoilers. this probably won’t make sense unless you’ve read the script. far be it from me to recommend this kneazle-vomit of a play, though, so if you haven’t read it, good)
the plot is messy, strange, and childish. there’s only one time-turner left!! how will the characters cope when said time-turner is lost? oh lol they’ll just use this other convenient time-turner. for convenient plot points, see also: harry can suddenly speak parseltongue again, because well he just kind of needs to be able to do that
Harry cursing “oh dumbledore” without a hint of irony. like really? really
the characterisation was a pile of dragon dung and we all freaking know it. let’s break it down into individual characters here because fuck if I can stop at one bullet point for this
Hermione: the brightest witch of her age, the constant crusader for the unloved and the unrepresented, whose successful career and capacity for kindness apparently rest in the hands of her romance with Ron Weasley. oh… but wait. it sounds a little familiar, this story. hear me out. let’s see now, a highly intelligent person who falls in love but doesn’t have that love reciprocated, and who then becomes a really fucking mean teacher at Hogwarts through bitterness. sound like anyone we know? fam, they tried to parallel Hermione and Snape. Hermione and Snape. this being the same Snape who sneered in Hermione’s face when she’d been visibly hexed, and made her cry; the same Snape who bullied Neville Longbottom for years, while Hermione muttered instructions under her breath to help him. if you want to tell me that Hermione would ever allow herself to become a Snape parallel then I will kindly invite you to shove a dirigible plum where there’s no lumos solem
Harry: when Harry was at his angriest in OOTP, and he’s yelling at Ron and Hermione, there’s one thing we notice. everything he yells is true. he means it. he’s bitter about it and he’s loud and furious, but he doesn’t have the kind of anger that just says anything to cause hurt, that speaks without thinking, not even at this crisis point in his life. are you really going to tell me that the boy who knows down to his bones what it’s like to feel rejected, and misunderstood, and alone, would ever say - even in anger - that he wishes Albus wasn’t his son? I am going to snap wands over this
Cedric. and this one burns. because Cedric was brave and he was true, and he had a sense of justice that led him to telling Harry about the way the golden egg worked, and led him to sharing the winning of the triwizard tournament with Harry. he died, he was murdered at the age of seventeen, embodying a sense of justice so strong, an innocence, a goodness. Cedric Diggory - the boy who believed in fairness with an integrity that is astounding - becoming party to the indiscriminate killing and casual torture of the Death Eaters just because he had his head engorged one time… is about as likely as Hagrid stomping on a dragon egg. it’s an insult to who he was and I am going to engorge the entire bodies of the writers of this fucking play so that hopefully they’ll just float away too, with all the grace and likeability of Aunt Marge
Voldemort: can we all agree now that Voldemort would not father a child. the idea of him experiencing lust seems out of character; the idea of him giving into a base urge seems more so. it’s too human, too vulgar, too physical; it would associate him with the common and the mainstream in a way that I contend he would find repulsive. Tom Riddle Sr. was trapped by Merope into sex and romance; to have sex would be to bring himself closer to his parents, down to the level of a Muggle and a witch who lacked power and craved love, two things Voldemort could never, ever stand. no. he wouldn’t have sex just because he wanted to; he’d be repelled by the idea. what other reason could there be for him to do the nasty with Bellatrix? to ensure the continuation of his line? that makes even less sense. achieving immortality for Voldemort was always a question of magic, a personal quest. he wouldn’t go for a messy, physical back-up plan. he always thought that he would win. if anything, he would see a child as a future threat, not a security. another being in the world with the promise of his power? he wouldn’t risk it.
what the fuck was that trolley witch scene though
“for voldemort and valour” are you serious. is there a Gryffindor spy in the Voldemort camp laughing their ass off because they actually managed to get that one through. and are they ten years old
overall, the message of the play infuriated me. Delphi was the child of Voldemort, so she was evil. Albus was the child of Harry, so he was good. Scorpius was the son of Draco, so he should have been evil, but Draco’s actually kind of good now and his mother was nice, so he can be good too. where is the complexity? was five hours of drama not enough to find some shades of morality? where is the hope, where is the resonance, in a story that says that good begets good and evil begets evil, and nothing can really change? the Harry Potter book series was about a boy who grew up with something inside him that was utterly evil, and who rejected it, fought against it, changed the path that fate seemed to wish him to walk. not slytherin, not slytherin. we had Regulus Black and Sirius Black, who rejected their pasts, whose heritage and whose House stood for nothing against their principles, their eventual and separate forms of bravery. we had Remus Lupin, who transformed into a monster but never became one, not even after years of rejection and pain. we had the word mudblood, and we watched Hermione fight it, we knew it was ridiculous to label someone based on their blood. and now… we have the Cursed Child. a playwhich is flat, and stupid, and tells us that your parentage inevitably dictates your character - and that how you’re treated is how you’ll treat others. dear writers, in the words of Albus Dumbledore, you fail to recognise that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be. you fucks.
Only seconds ago you were told Harry was dead. Your best friend had been murdered and you had failed to save your brother, Harry Potter. Regardless, you knew he might die, but it didn’t hit you. You didn’t know it would hurt so much.
You never knew how to cry in style. With pearl-like drops rolling from your luminous eyes. You wanted to look as if you were on a Romantic novel cover your mother read in Savannah before Harry was born. That trip to Savannah made you smile. Why did you have to go, mom… dad, I need you. You wished you had learned; you wouldn’t have to hide in the bathroom or a dark closet to cry. You cried ugly tears of sorrowful remembrance for those you lost; always. This time you wouldn’t cry. You cried long enough, you were tired of crying. You had dirt on your face, sadness in your eyes, and pain in your heart. You didn’t want to stay strong when everything around you was seemingly falling apart. It was too hard. However, you did it for Harry, those who died. Voldemort lifted his arms in the air.
“Join us or die!” Voldemort yelled. You felt defeated, the chosen one has died, and you were nothing like Harry.
Your face wasn’t the only one with pain. Minerva looked down at you with sorrow. You could only wish to be as strong as her. She was the only person you looked up to. She showed bravery and strength that you never could. Even through tough times, she was strong. Never broke.
Voldemort waited for people to come, but nobody went. You spotted Lucius. You knew you should’ve never gotten involved with Draco, but you did. He was a bad idea, with a good face. You never liked his parents either, he knew that. They used Draco. Lucius’ face was terrified, he kept his stare at something… someone. You followed his gaze to Draco. Draco.
His father looked at him “Draco,” It was a fast matter, amplified by the walls around you. His father called to him. He held his arms out. Struck with fear, you turned back and looked at your lover. You shook your head no. He didn’t see you. If it was anyone that would break you, it would be him. He couldn’t side with them. The person you love, who you shared everything with was considering this. It shook you with fear, you forgot about him during this war. Where he was, what happened, it was too much for a kid. Nonetheless, you were proud of yourself.
Hermione held your shoulder, she knew you would go after him. She knew you loved him, and she accepted that.
“Draco,” His mother said, her voice was sweet like candy “Come.” Yet she was so deceiving, they both were. That’s why Draco believed them, that’s why he grew up ignorant.
You broke each time you heard his name. His parents taught him wrong. You watched him struggle with his identity. He never dealt with pressure like they put on him. He was so ignorant and oblivious, yet he wasn’t. Pressure built behind his eyes, that’s when knowledge came and devastated.
You leaned into Hermione. Your head burrowed itself in the crook of her neck. “He can’t go, he can’t go, he can’t go,” you muttered to Hermione, she stroked your hair. “It’ll be okay, ” she said quietly. “It’ll be okay.” She too lost faith in Draco, she trusted him with your heart, even though he always did her wrong. He made you happy. He slowly walked forward. Hermione shuddered as he walked, a single tear escaped your eyes. You turned back to look at him and wiped your eyes. Hermione still had you wrapped in her arms.
As he walked slowly your breath hitched, a screamed clawed at the back of your throat; trapped. It tore through your lungs. It ripped through you, it scratched your mouth and bit at your throat. “DRACO!” Your chest burned, it was the kind of scream that made your blood run cold, it was pain. It sounded like fear. A scream of hysteria and disbelief, bordering on terror. You pushed against Hermione, trying to run as she held you back.
“Don’t,” Hermione said, you should’ve listened but she let go anyway. You stumbled towards Draco in a fast paced run. You heard Voldemort and his followers laugh at you.
“DRACO!” You yelled again. You never really feel anyone’s pain, but your scream was close. It put every thought on hold and made everyone feel your agony. There wasn’t a soul 100 miles away that wouldn’t hear it and stop. He turned around as you flew into his arms. He grabbed onto you, he was trying to find strength. He held you in his arms for a moment, you took his face in your hand and you wiped the single tear that fell from his eyes. “Draco?” He wouldn’t look you in the eyes, he never did when he did something wrong. He never wanted to disappoint you. But he always did in the end.“Draco?” you whispered once again. Every word hurt you both more. He looked at you. His eyes were gray pools of fear. He did this to you. He gave you happiness and life, but just as easily he could take it away.
“Y/N?” His voice cracked. You smiled softly. You leaned into him more. This could be your last moment. His mother cursed at you. She didn’t like you either.
“You know what you’ve done.” His eyes saddened as you uttered that to him. He now realized what he’s done during the years. “To me… Harry… all of us. And out of all that, I still love you.”
You saw something in Draco no one saw, he was hurt and abused. You moved his hair from his face and wiped the dirt from his chin. “You’re gentle and passionate.” His lips trembled as you talked. “Misunderstood.” He grabbed onto your arm, harder. He was too weak, just a little boy who couldn’t handle the world “You are nothing but what your parents made you be, but I know you’re better. I know because I’ve stuck with you all this time. Five years. This isn’t you.” Draco believed you, this wasn’t him.
Voldemort scoffed. He insulted you, telling lies, beckoning him over. “Oh Draco, she isn’t worth your time.” He insulted. You looked over at him. He’s more evil in person, the stories don’t do him justice. You wanted to yell at him, curse him into oblivion, but that would get you one step closer to death.Draco whimpered as you looked at him again. “your humanity is still here.” you placed your index finger on his chest “It’s here. You can make the right choice. After all, you’re the boy who made all the wrong choices.” You knew it was enough, you knew he wouldn’t go.
“I love you.” He whispered. “I love you so, so much.” He brushed your hair out of your face.
His lips found yours, they moved against yours fluently. It was different from any other kiss. It was needier, it was more emotional. You held onto to his collar as he kissed you harder. It wasn’t gentle. It was rough; passionate. You knew you had him. His hands held onto your waist pulling you more and more into him. Voldemort cackled.
“Love isn’t real, my friend.” You both ignored him.
His lips parted with yours. His touch lingered, “I love you,” He whispered again. You smiled against his lips.
“Make the right choice.” You let go of each other. You stood there while moments of silence went by. You stared into his eyes, he wasn’t cold or mean. He was scared, but he could never admit it.
He looked upon what he had. He looked at the women he loved, at the people he betrayed. He knew you were right. Yet, he turned around and right in front of you hugged Voldemort. One foot in front of each other, he willingly walked to his parents. Right in front of you, he chose them, death eaters. He made you feel worthless. You were embarrassed by what he did to you. And yet again he made the wrong choice he would regret.
And for once Hermione was wrong it was not going to be okay. Harry was dead and your lover betrayed you. You cried.
Hermione tugged you back, you couldn’t believe it. You cried. “You son-of-bitch,” you whispered to yourself. “I loved you.” He locked eyes with you and looked down. He made his choice. Harry would’ve known what to do, but he was dead. Nothing worked out for the Potters. Ever.
Neville stood up to Voldemort. He is a far cry away from who he was in year one. But you zoned out what he said and kept your eyes on Harry, your brother. You wanted to believe Draco would come running back with Harry beside him, but it was never going to happen. “He’s not dead,” you whispered to yourself. Tears slipped from your eyes. You wiped them quickly and carelessly.“You’re not dead Harry. C’mon get up!” you whispered louder.
That moment was a blur. You looked over at Draco who had his eyes on you. And back at Harry. He was gone, out of Hagrid’s arms and on the ground. You looked over at Hermione and laughed. Draco threw him his wand. A smile lit up your face and you laughed. Tears flowed freely. You pointed your wand at one section of the crowd. They began to apparate.
“Sectumsempra!” you yelled. Harry Potter is alive.
abelas says it the way he says all things: plainly. it
takes time for him to come to the point; abelas has spent countless of years
without the right to love. (perhaps that’s for the best, he thinks, he would have
failed any love just as he failed mythal, watching her temple be laid to waste
and being unable to protect the well.) in many ways he doesn’t know how to
vocally express just how strongly he feels. his deliverance of the words ar lath ma often makes them sound stiff,
but his eyes soften and the lines on his face ease, his movements are tender
and that, that speaks more than his
words could possibly convey. although—him murmuring the inquisitor’s name in
the quiet moments, calling them vhenan
and touching his forehead to theirs, that comes close.
harding goes through phases with it. so maybe the first
time she says it, she blushes so hard that her freckles disappear in the red.
maybe it comes off as a little stammer. so what. with the passing of time comes
a strengthened confidence and the ability to say it in a thousand different
ways: earnest statements when she and the inquisitor have only each other’s
company, secret grins when they pass each other, i love yous in inside jokes and i’ve
got your backs out in the field. the most frequent comes in the form of
letters written when they’re apart, neatly penned and signed: “always thinking
of you. love, lace.”
krem clears his throat twice the first time he says
it, tries to keep his voice even. flirting is the easy part, joking isn’t hard,
but saying i love you is no simple
feat, no matter how much he knows the words to be true. but he eases into it, saying
it becomes as natural as laughing—although unlike laughs, he prefers to keep
his statements of affection between him and his inquisitor only, away from
prying ears. he’s only broken this rule once, because krem is brave and doesn’t
back down from a challenge; when bull dares him to, krem outright declares that he loves the inquisitor to
all the chargers and anyone in present company, privacy be damned.
rylen has no qualms saying he loves the inquisitor, he’ll
announce it to the entire army if they’d like him to. the world is ending
before his eyes and while he and his beloved will do everything they can to
stop it, there is no time like the present to be forthcoming with his feelings.
so his words are direct and to the point, coated with a warmth and tenderness
that both his eyes and smile reinforce. “i love you,” he says as a reminder
when he can; “i love you,” he says when they make his job a little easier; “i
love you,” he says simply because it is so. and oh, how lucky i am to be loved, he thinks when he sees them go, pride
and affection swelling in his chest.
dennett only has two people in the world that he’ll say i love you to, and the inquisitor isn’t
one of them. for all that he’s concerned, this inquisitor has whisked him from
one place to another; he’s seen his life flash before his eyes at haven and
seen himself weeping relief at skyhold, seen himself reborn, and he’s not sure
if he can thank them for that. but he can say that there’s a growing warm spot
in his old heart for the inquisitor. he’s seen them grow and seen them off
every time they left, welcomed them back every time they’ve returned, and while
they’re no blood child of his, maybe they’re a heart child instead.
harris isn’t one for words, or feelings, really, but he’s fond of the inquisitor as much as anyone—perhaps
more than most, but he won’t admit it (not matter how much dagna heckles him).
so while he doesn’t say it, he lets the thought simmer in the back of his mind
when he forges the inquisitor’s weapons and crafts their armor. be safe is written into every hammer
stroke, every stitch, and that’s an i
love you enough from him.
leliana doesn’t have it in her to utter the words. acknowledging
a love for the inquisitor, of all people, is the same as recognizing that her
heart isn’t as brittle as she believes it to be, as steely as it should be. (josephine is the exception
to that rule, she tells herself. hollow words.) but there’s no denying that the
inquisitor makes her softer, makes her consider a brighter future, makes her
believe that, despite the truths of their circumstance, perhaps the maker is
still watching over her after all. so while the words will never slip off her
tongue or spill from her pen, in the quiet hours she will think them instead.
Something I find really cool about Albus and Scorpius in HPCC is that in many ways they parallel Ron and Harry in their circumstances – in that order. On the one hand, an insecure boy unsure of his place in a large, loving but scarily accomplished and notorious family; on the other, a lonely, isolated boy, struggling with the loss of parents and rumours that tie him unwillingly to Voldemort. Albus and Scorpius’s first meeting literally consists of Albus finding Scorpius alone on the train with a heap of sweets but no one to share them with. Scorpius is an only child, while Albus has not only several siblings, older and younger (one of which could easily be seen to possess something of Fred and George in his relationship with his younger brother), but also a heap of cousins and other relatives. There are considerably more Daddy Issues for both Albus and Scorpius, since James was, well, dead, and Arthur Weasley is mainly a pure cinnamon roll too busy illegally manipulating Ford Anglias and getting excited over escalators for angsty father-son arguments, apart from the Percy affair. On the other hand, both Harry and Scorpius have to deal with knowledge of their fathers having arrogant-prat tendencies and making some big mistakes, before cooling their heads off with the help of the lovely lights that seem to shine out of Lily Evans and Astoria Greengrass - until various deaths happen far too young and the two boys are left to deal with the sound of their mothers’ voices asking for help or mercy when they’re faced with dementors and WHO AM I KIDDING SCORPIUS HYPERION MALFOY’S BACKGROUND IS A TOTAL MIRROR OF HARRY JAMES POTTER’S AND YOU CAN FIGHT ME ON THIS.
I think there’s several reasons why I find this really awesome. For one thing, the fact that Albus’s family circumstance is in many ways the opposite of Harry’s makes the issues that arise between them much more believable – and after all, there are several times in the books where Harry and Ron fail to completely understand each other, because their backgrounds are so different, and this is shown to be OKAY. For another, Scorpius and Albus’s first meeting, from Albus’s point of view, becomes really fun for the audience: we see Albus entering with Rose, just as Ron entered (more or less) with the twins; we see Scorpius sitting alone, with only his (probable) wealth for company, just as Harry sat isolated; we see the awkward discussion of both the boys’ identities and families, just as Ron and Harry spoke about the problems they faced; we see Rose leave, just as Fred and George did; and finally, we see Albus and Scorpius quickly bonding over mutual awkwardness and lots and lots of sweets. It all feels wonderfully familiar, but not overpowering in this – and, essentially, it’s because it’s the same scene as Harry and Ron’s first meeting, but from the “opposite” perspective.
Despite all this, I think the biggest reason why I love the parallels is that I think they give even more depth to the various struggles that come with the four boys’ different origins. It shows how the same issues have always occurred and will always occur, but also that they aren’t simple, and they are all unique. Yes, in some ways, Albus mirrors Ron more than Harry – but in many, many more, he is by far more similar to his father than he will ever be to his uncle. What does this mean? It means that the issues Albus deals with become different to either Ron’s or Harry’s. Meanwhile, the rumours about Scorpius come from a completely different angle to Harry’s fateful past – yet they both end up in incredibly similar positions when they sit down for that first train ride, and all of this shows how harmful isolation can be, whatever the reasons for it. Most of all, it shows how the best friendships will twist and turn through the ages – with some parts familiar each time, and some parts new – but can all, really, be traced back to one thing: completing each other.
It would be amazing to experience as a fan! Of an actress or singer and
how he’d behave, when he meet her and how he handles his feels of his so
well public known crush on her.
i thought maybe you can do one where y/n is famous too and they sing
together at an award show and she gets all nervous and it’s all cute and
I’m not super confident with this one, to be honest. It took me forever to write and I feel like I rambled. But, here it is!
“Harold, you are blushing!”
Harry heard the audience laugh around him as he ducked his
head in embarrassment. Leave it to James to bring up a topic that caused
Harry’s ears to go red and his heart to pound. He had come on the show to talk
about his upcoming album and also do some more promo for the movie, but James
had decided that those topics were far too boring to take up a whole interview
Instead, James had gone right into the personal questions.
Not ones that he knew Harry would definitely not answer – James had known him long
enough to respect his desire for privacy on certain things – but stuck to
questions which he knew would make the poor boy want the floor to open and
swallow him up. One topic, in particular, had been an amusing rumour as of late
and James knew that – while it would embarrass him – Harry wouldn’t get angry
at him for asking.
“Seeing anyone lately, Harry? Any girls?”
Harry had rolled his eyes and smiled, knowingly. He wasn’t
dating anyone at the moment and James knew that, but it always made for an
“I hardly have the time for that.” He answered.
“Let’s ask a hypothetic question then.” James continued, a
grin forming on his face. “If you were to go on a date with someone, is there
anyone in particular that you would choose? I mean, it doesn’t have to be
specific but maybe a dancer or an actress or a certain singer who was on my
show a few weeks ago and talked about meeting you at a party last month and how
you were blushing and stumbling over your words because you have a massive
crush on her and she thought it was adorable? Anyone like that?”
The audience had roared with laughter after that, and Harry
felt his cheeks flushing at just the indirect mention of you.
“Harold, you are blushing!” James laughed, reaching over and
putting a hand on Harry’s shoulder.
He was, indeed, blushing and he was blushing hard. James
hadn’t even needed to say your name and Harry felt butterflies in his stomach.
Harry was a pretty typical guy who developed celebrity crushes on people from
time to time, but he rarely reacted the way he was right now.
The story was pretty basic: Harry had met you at a party a
month or so ago. You were an up and coming singer and Harry knew very well who
you were. He’d by lying if he said he didn’t have a bit of a crush on you, just
from seeing you in interviews and hearing you sing. But he had never met you up
until that night.
He wasn’t sure what exactly had come over him, but he found
himself a right mess around you when he was introduced. Normally he was good at
keeping his cool, even if he had a crush, but with you it was as if someone had
rewired his entire brain to not be able to form coherent sentences.