Having finished Hiveswap, there’s a lot of different things going through my head at once, thoughts, theories, characters, so I’ll try to not mix things together! That being said, as theories tend to be, Spoiler Warning under the cut! Also sadly I won’t be able to post images in it quite yet since they’re not too easily available around right now, will probably have to wait until some Youtube Video pops up with the gameplay/cutscenes. Without further ado!
I got asked to do a tom insecure imagine so I hope you like it ❤️
You sat with tom, your bestfriend of 3 year, in his apartment in Kingston London. It was your favourite place to be as it brought great memories and the couch you sat on was by far the comfiest one you’ve tried.
He was silent, too silent as he scrolled on his phone. You watched his face and for some reason it was turning sadder by the second while he continued to scroll through whatever app he was on, his other hand fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt. You nudged him a little and his eyes shot up to look at yours, he looked like he was about to cry but he quickly blinked fast, sniffed and smiled.
“Yeh?” He tried to sound cheery but you could tell something was wrong.
“What’s up buddy?” You asked pushing his hair back and giving him a faint smile. Your hand glided through his soft brown curls. He frowned knowing he couldn’t trick you, followed by a sigh. He handed you his phone and You began reading the comments on one of his insta posts, he had been getting hate lately and you both didn’t know why. Your eyes scanned the comments, each one worse than the rest.
“Lmao look at his ears fly away dumbo”
“So glad he got that mole removed ew”
“His mouth is weird, can’t get over those frogs memes 😂🐸”
“Is he not like really small? Why would they let him play Spider-Man? Ffs”
“Ew shave that moustache off now!!!”
(Actual comments I have seen on toms insta btw, disgusting people)
You heard a faint sniffle and saw tom tear up, your heart broke within this moment. Water stabbed at your eyes, it stung but you couldn’t let tom see it was something to be effected by. He pulled you in and held you tight.
“Why am I not good enough?” He mumbled into your ear. This is when you started to cry. Tom had just been through a rough break up and she didn’t give him a reason to why she left. You squeezed him tighter.
“No tom listen you are good enough! You are more than good, you are great and smart and loyal and an amazing dude. I swear that any girl would be lucky to have you cause of all those things and more! You are amazing tom and your ears are cute, your mole was adorable, you’re the perfect size for when I need hugs also I love your moustache and your mouth-” he cut off your ramblings with a kiss. You could taste the salty tears on his lips as you held onto him and deepened the kiss. You separated and he stared at you.
“You are perfect to me…” you finished. He smiled and hugged you so tightly.
“What did I do to deserve you darling?” He mumbled into your shoulder. You laughed
“you were yourself” you beamed at him before letting go and wiping away his tears with your thumbs.
being in hufflepuff, as well as being a lovely blessing that comes with a great common room and a stylish yellow scarf, is a curse
people don’t take percy seriously
it’s like the creators of hogwarts made three houses: one for the brave, one for the ambitious, one for the intelligent, and then all the miscellaneous wotsits got thrown into hufflepuff
(they’re not even all nice! percy notes with disdain)
despite all his best efforts to boost house points and extended efforts to be kind to other houses, still, nobody seems to notice him - or any of the other hufflepuffs, really
it’s not that it bothers him (though it kind of does, because it robs them of the house cup every year, and he’d love for them to win)
(and fred and george and ron always take the piss)
to spite them, percy just works extra hard (he knows in his heart of hearts that it isn’t spiting anybody to be a kinder individual, especially out of the sight of said people he thinks he’s spiting, but… it’s the thought that counts?), doing his best to help out with all the new first years
half of them can’t even tie a tie and he spends most mornings teaching impromptu lessons on the windsor knot and making sure everybody has their shirt tucked in and gently tucking down flyaway hairs (the bedhead in hufflepuff house seems to be generally incredible in its disregard of gravity)
he’s taken over snack duty from tonks, too, and quickly memorises everybody’s favourite snacks and sweet-talks the house-elves who are, of course, more than happy to feed hufflepuff house
and, while it is his job to help lead the junior puffs around and to help them find their way, he surprisingly ends up with them following him almost all the time and asking him for help with homework or, strangely enough, life advice
percy doesn’t know anything about life advice, but he does his best, because they’ve asked for help, and so he’ll give it to them
he feels a large sense of sadness when he has to stop teaching the windsor knot because they all know it
quickly replaced by the joy of teaching them how to wear their scarf in as many different ways as possible!
percy’s winter catchphrase becomes “wrap up warm” because oh no he is not letting them out of the common room wearing that few layers it is bloody winter in scotland and it’s freezing
he starts bringing hot chocolates in with the snack, levitating them along with them, and the first years just love it (especially when he gets them hot chocolate with marshmallows and cream)
(he loves it when they get cream)
(especially when someone ends up with a whipped cream moustache)
one of the first years falls in flying class, and he gathers the collective hufflepuff concern into co-ordinating efforts: he finds a group of arty puffs to make a card, he manages to find some chocolate frogs, he finds his stack of daily prophet papers and cuts out all the crosswords and sudokus he hasn’t done (entertainment is key in the hospital wing), etc.
he finds someone who starts making a quilt, and though he has a feeling the student will be fine again by the time the quilt’s done, the effort is appreciated
because, he realises, that’s what being a hufflepuff is about
not the fame, not the glory, not even the recognition: the act of being kind, the power of friendship, and the reward is the smile on said student’s face when percy and co. arrive
it’s the studying with friends in the library and sneaking them chocolate brownies without madam pince noticing
and that quilt being finished… three months later
and everybody getting involved in painting a sign supporting the quidditch team and screaming their lungs hoarse
(percy, of course, can’t speak the next day)
(he goddamn loves quidditch)
and waiting at the end of the year with baited breath for exam results and getting right in the middle of the traditional hufflepuff post-results group hug and loving being crushed because that’s what hogwarts is all about: not just the studying (which, of course, is his favourite thing), but the shared experience with other people
he could be an isaac newton and hole himself away, but he’s grown up a weasley and company is so important
and, of course, after the results come in and he’s congratulated or commiserated, he makes a sprint to find penelope
he’s, of course, forgotten that he was meant to be spiting anyone in the first place
because all that’s happened is that he’s reaffirmed his house values, and why being in hufflepuff is quite possibly the best surprising thing that’s ever happened to him
It’s a little before dawn, but
already there is the stirring of life in the kitchens of Kowalski bakery. The
spacious kitchen smells of flour and jams and butter, and Jacob Kowalski is
rolling out the dough whilst whistling a cheery tune, and a clear, sweet voice
joins in. The moustached man quirks a smile at his bubbly wife, who is twisting
and twirling dough into braids in the air, to be weaved into the crust of their
famed apple strudel. Queenie Goldstein-Kowalski smiles brightly at her husband
even as she sends the completed pastry to a rack filled with other baked goods
to be sold once the bakery opens its doors. Business has been brisk lately,
with more and more costumers flocking to the steadily growing bakery for a
glimpse of the enchanting pastries Jacob makes, and she’s able to convince
Jacob to buy a new suit in celebration.
They work quietly for several hours,
the silence occasionally broken by tender words of “how are you doing honey” or “let
me know if you’re getting tired, darlin’”. It’s a partnership in the best
of sense, with Jacob working his magic to the mundane tasks of baking, turning
plain dough into the enchanting silhouettes of magical creatures, while Queenie
casts lilting spells that coax and nudge the plainest of pastries into gorgeous
golden brown creations that taste of home. Queenie floats a freshly baked bear
claw that is coated in melted sugar before Jacob, and his smile is wide as he
takes a bite out of his wife’s creation, and she giggles girlishly at the
patches of sugar left on Jacob’s trim moustache. The blonde watches as the
portly man return to his work, brow furrowed in concentration as he pipes the
cream into rows of cream puffs, and she thinks that this, surrounded by flour
and laughter and stolen kisses in between, is her utopia. Jacob looks up to
catch her bright eyes, brimming with love and affection, and he swears that he
falls in love with his beautiful Queen all over again in that second. He blows
a kiss to her, and white flour floats in the wake of his kiss, and Queenie
thinks her No-Maj husband has his own magic.
Opening time is an hour away, and
Queenie is helping Jacob with the remainder of the creature-shaped pastries,
when she accidentally casts the wrong spell. Instead of turning the lovely
golden brown of baked goods, the little Demiguise pastry seemingly comes to
life, and turns its little head towards them. Queenie gasps while Jacob rubs
his eyes, and the Demiguise returns to being a normal, inanimate, unbaked
pastry. There’s a heartbeat of silence as the two stare at each other, and a
grin grows on Queenie’s face as she catches tendrils of Jacob’s thoughts. “I
know you’re thinking what I’m thinking, honey.” Jacob only nods wordlessly, and
there’s a cheery beam on his face that she loves as he rolls his sleeves up
higher. “Let’s get baking, darlin’.”
They don’t get the pastries animated
that day, and people stream in and out of the shop the entire day, keeping the
couple and their workers busy. Besides, Queenie doesn’t want Mr Graves to catch
wind of her doing magic in front of the No-Majs; the Director may have mellowed
somewhat since his rescue but rules are still rules. They close up the shop in
the evening and lock themselves in their kitchen, ready to begin experimenting
again. The hours roll by, and still they have little success. Queenie manages
to get the pastries to move just a little, but the charms don’t stick, and the
pastries go back to being just pastries. The night ends with a sigh, but a kiss
on her cheek and sweet words of encouragement steel her resolve to give it a go
They have a breakthrough the next
day, when Queenie is absent-mindedly twirling her wand and coming up with
different charms whilst speaking to Jacob. She turns her head when Jacob fails
to reply her, and she’s tickled to see his mouth open in a gape, pointing to
the-. Oh. Oh. The Demiguise she’s
experimenting on is walking. They
wait with bated breath, and while the Demiguise does nothing but walk a short
distance, turn and walk back, it doesn’t go back to being inanimate, and they’ve
done it. Jacob whoops with glee and swings Queenie about, eliciting peals of
laughter from her as she buries her head in the crook of his neck, inhaling his
scent of flour and butter and cocoa and Jacob.
He gently places her down, and pecks her nose, and she huffs because what kind of kiss is that honey? She kisses
him on his lips, firm and gentle all at once, and he can taste strawberries and
honey and ambrosia, and oh he can
drown in her for all eternity.
Queenie marches up to Mr Graves’
office once she’s able to replicate the animating charm, and very politely,
with a sweet smile on her pink lips, asks that she be given a permit to sell
her enchanted pastries to the wizarding community. She sees his mouth open and
catches the thought before it’s even voiced, and very resolutely says, “Yes Mr
Graves, I want my Jacob involved as well. And I won’t take no for an answer, or
you’ll not get those apple pies you love.” There’s an amused upturn to Percival’s
lips, because really, Queenie is the one who needs his help. But he does love the Kowalskis’ apple pie, and
he does have a soft spot for the
blonde Legilimens, who treated him with nothing but kindness and warmth after
his return to MACUSA. And so wordlessly, he signs off the form and, as a bit of
a joke, hands Tina the form to process. The look on the older Goldstein’s face
when she sees her baby sister wants to sell pastries that move is reason enough for Percival to get Queenie the license.
The permit is authorised and issued that very same
day, and Percival personally hands it over to the couple when he visits their
bakery later in the day. He’s somewhat bashful and red in the face when Queenie
throws her arms around him and plants a wet kiss on his cheek, and though he
recovers quickly with a gruff “you’re welcome”, there’s a soft twinkle in his eye
when he tells Jacob to look after Queenie, because she’s a gem. He’s gone in a
whirl of black, but the shop, and the Kowalskis’ hearts remain warm. “Hey
Queen, take a look at this.” Jacob taps his wife on the shoulder as he opens
the envelope that contains their permit, and Queenie’s blue eyes are wide as
she reads the Director’s neat handwriting about their new shop just opposite to
MACUSA, and that the rental and renovation works have been taken care of. There’s
an extra large apple pie on Percival’s desk the next day, and his office smells
like green apples for the rest of the day.
It’s hard work, maintaining two shops, but they make
it work. Jacob and Queenie still make most of the pastries, although their more
experienced employees at the first shop help lighten the load. They focus on
their new shop now, which is glamoured so No-Majs only see an abandoned lot.
The wizards and witches who frequent the bakery never cease to be enchanted by
the charmingly moving creatures, who wave and walk and leap and even fly.
Children often tug their parents by their hands to visit the bakery, and the
couple take great pleasure in humouring their customers. Word spreads like
wildfire, and each day, they close the bakery with racks and trays empty, save
for crumbs. MACUSA employees are the most frequent customers, and it’s not an
uncommon sight to see all these men and women in their trench coats and
fedoras, munching on sugared Nifflers or Mooncalf buns with raisins for eyes. Newt,
who is happily engaged to Tina, takes the opportunity to educate his fellow
wizards and witches on the creatures these pastries are modelled after, and the
children listen with rapt attention at the lanky man with wild gestures as he
tells them about the ferocious Nundu who purrs like a kitten, or the gentle
Mooncalves who stare at the moon with their eyes large as a brain*. Even
Percival makes an appearance several times, along with Madame Picquery, and
Queenie always saves the largest slice of apple pie for him, and a Demiguise
pastry for her. It’s always interesting to see all the Aurors and their bosses
casually feasting on buns and pastries whilst chatting and laughing. Whenever
anyone has had a hard day, they go to the bakery where it’s warm and soft and
there are kind words from the Kowalskis; it almost feels like home.
Over time, Queenie and Jacob begin to sell candies, as
well as enchanted ones. Queenie somehow manages to enchant the candies to emit
sound, and so there are bees that taste sour and buzz, and mice with whiskers
that quiver and squeak and chitter. But the most popular treat they come up
with, is a frog made of chocolate, that leaps away if you don’t grasp them
tight. It’s become the darling of every wizarding child, and the horror of all
parents because the chocolates do
melt, and so a frog will hop away and disappear, but there will be a puddle of
melted chocolate hiding in a corner somewhere. Long after the Kowalskis’ hair
turn white, and their children have children, and so on and so forth, Chocolate
Frogs, along with the Fizzing Whizbees and Ice Mice, remain a staple candy for
the wizarding community, and an enterprising descendent of Jacob and Queenie comes
up with the idea of trading cards that display famous witches and wizards,
which would be included in each purple box of Chocolate Frog. And so, the first
customer to buy the newly repackaged Chocolate Frog, opens the box to find a
rare, limited edition card of Jacob Kowalski and Queenie Goldstein-Kowalski, founders
of the Kowalski Bakery which is still open today in New York, on the street
opposite the Woolworth Building.
Imagine 11-year-old Harry Potter, living in a cupboard under the stairs. One particularly stormy evening, there is a soft knocking at the door–there you stand, sopping wet and clutching a broomstick with a letter in hand, standing beside a bearded giant of a man.
“… I’m looking for Harry James Potter?”
The Dursleys try to deny his existence, but you see him peeking out from around the corner–you step right inside, shaking out your hair and holding out a hand for him to shake as Hagrid tucks his umbrella into his coat, fiddling with something in a pouch.
“C'mon, luv–I’ve got news for you.”
You flick your wand and procure a steaming pot of tea from seemingly nowhere, and the Durseys nearly have a fit–but you hold up a finger to shush them, and begin to explain.
Hagrid gives him the Hogwarts speech, of course–he’s a wizard, and the Boy Who Lived–that you are here to pick him up, and after seeing the state that his little living-hutch (if you can call it living) is in, he’ll never have to come back here again.
When you find a burn on Harry’s hand from the stove that looked like someone had smacked his hand down on top of it, you are livid.
When you see that Lily Potter’s son is living under a staircase, wearing old shabby clothes and not even celebrating his birthday, you almost hex Petunia for daring to treat a child that way. Her SISTER’S child.
You shut her up with a pointed sneer and turn back to him–you explain that you were a close friend of Lily’s–maybe you didn’t get along with James as well as you would have liked, but you adored Lily Evans–and you were named his Godmother, while Sirius was named Godfather.
You tell him that he’ll be staying with you–that he could have a new extended family, if he so chooses–an uncle with a scruffy blonde beard and eyes that twinkle when he smiles through his moustache, and scars from years of looking after magical creatures. A kooky great-aunt who wistfully recalls her days as a diviner, and insists to read the tarot cards of anyone who comes into her home over a pot of tea and some stale butter cookies. A rambunctious set of savant kid-cousins with shocks of raven-black hair and blue eyes, who spin the keys of their grand piano into glittering, golden music and have become quite adept at hiding frogs in unfortunate places.
You tell him of a little house by the bay on the island of Deenish in Ireland, with it’s little pub, and the antique shop, and an old Fisherman named Spike who swore he snogged a mermaid in his youth–a little sleepy wizarding town where he can stay with you when he isn’t at Hogwarts. He stares at you with eyes the size of saucers when you explain that you took so long to get here because you were in Romania studying dragons.
He barely takes ten minutes to pack all of his things as you tell him to hold on tight, and pack the two of you on your sputtery old broomstick–he marvels at the tiny little crooked cottage, where he has his very own room–it’s settled over your sister’s bar, so it’s a bit cramped, but he gets to decorate his bedroom however he wants, and there’s a large window overlooking the sea on one side.
He gets to grow up going back and forth between Hogwarts and a real home, with friends and family visiting year round–Hermione and Ron are invited to visit in reciprocation of his visits at the Burrow–the Order of the Phoenix occasionally has members sleeping on your couch, and your sister gets along a little too well with Tonks sometimes–Molly Weasley is always welcome in your kitchen, and Arthur will spend hours at a time perusing the muggle artifacts in Missy’s Antiques.
But above all else, Harry Potter has a home, and a family who loves him
Inspired by the conversation that produced this quote, I present, for your enjoyment, unusual ships and characters in the Sherlock Fandom.
I think Destinationtoast coined the term ‘personific,’ as in a fic that personifies something inanimate, and I really like it. I haven’t read most of these (yet), so I could be wrongly interpreting tags, but I reasoned that one would most likely find personifics via unusual ships and characters.
I manually searched likely corners of AO3. Please let me know if there are others you know of that I can add! Please heed tags. Many are crack, some are not, all look intriguing.