one of those people is obviously my dad

Not all are evil. //Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff! Reader.

Title: Not all are evil.

Request: Draco dating Hufflepuff reader.

Paring: Draco x Hufflepuff! Reader

Warning(s):

“Draco, love, you can’t be up here.” I whispered as Draco snuck into my shared bedroom, “It’s late and you’re a Slytherin.” I giggled as he climbed into my bed, cuddling into my side, “I know, but I couldn’t sleep, nightmares again.” He muttered kissing my cheek. “Want to talk about them?” I asked, my voice lower than before scared someone would walk into the shared room. Everyone here was quite nice, but no one trusted Draco. Everybody thought I had no loyalty, which is complete and utter rubbish. The reason why Draco and I are together today is because I didn’t give up on him when many did. I rubbed my eyes with the back of my hand looking at him, “I’m tired, I’m going to sleep.” I said after my last question and the silence that followed that one, I didn’t want any more awkward silences.

When I had woken, up Draco was gone. Not a terrible surprise, he and I couldn’t get caught or else he’d lose house points, and probably get detention. “Was Draco in here last night?” a first year asked as we got ready. I looked at her as I tied the tie, “What do you mean?” I asked, trying to be as oblivious as possible, “Well, I heard his voice last night,” she shrugged getting her book bag. “Nightmares,” I looked at her as I put on the robe, “He had terrible nightmares last night.” I stated, making the facts clear. She nodded and walked out, I shortly followed her. I walked to the Great Hall, where I was going to meet Draco. I stood outside of it for a few minutes smiling at the people who walked in. Luna stopped to talk to me even, telling me about the things that are around us. When Draco came, she smiled at him and me, before skipping off. “You look beautiful,” he beamed showing me his smile; I blushed and thanked him, telling him how lovely he looked. He walked me to my table before scurrying off to his, which was on the other side of the room, bummer.

I had a couple classes with Draco, which was always a plus. He always sat by me and helped me with my potions work, since potions wasn’t my strong suit. I walked into class with my two best friends laughing from some lame joke one of them had said. I giggled as I walked to Draco, kissing his forehead. “Hey love,” he smiled, I smiled back sitting down in the seat beside him. “So, those nightmares,” I began as I grabbed my diary thing I kept to write Draco’s dreams in, and my notes for potions. I knew people were starring at us, obviously not use to the two most different houses, to be talking, let alone together.

“It started out with us just hanging out, then went on and on. In one part my mum and dad had left me, decided I wasn’t worth their time or effort, than you left me. Everything slowly started to just fall apart, disappear in front of me,” he explained as I wrote down the most important parts. “So, everyone just left you?” I questioned as I put down my quill, he nodded as Professor Snape walked into class, “We’re not going to leave you, love. It was only a dream.” I stated smiling at him, I kissed his cheek.

“Turn to page 394,” Professor Snape said, I turned around to face my book and started listening to Snape, glancing at Draco once in awhile..

A/N: I stayed up until 7am watching and reading harry potter stuff. I cried quite a lot, and I sobbed over a picture. Kind of insane id say. I have one more request to do and I need to try and finish like 5 imagines, but I woke up like an hour ago, oops. AND THANK YOU GUYS A TON FOR 200 FOLLOWS IT MEANS SO MUCH TO ME!

so I just had a 30 minute conversation with my father about johnlock and it was hilarious.

me: *mentions sherlock holmes*
dad: “isn’t he gay”
me: “I think so”
dad: “who’s the one that he’s gay with”
me: “it’s john, the internet calls them johnlock”
*argue for a bit about why it’s called that, I explain ships to my father, he actually understands it*
dad: “so there were probably people in victorian England shipping it and having johnlock parties and sending fanfiction through snail mail”
me: “obviously”
dad: “so after all those years people are still questioning the characters sexualities”
*nods*
dad: “so why don’t they just…” *claps hands together*
me: “the writers work in mysterious ways”

As an Arab after 9/11

9/11 changed my life.
I didn’t know anyone in the towers. No one in my immediate family went off to war. However, my father and I were put unwillingly in the middle of a cultural war.

I was 5, just under a month away from turning 6 on that infamous September day. I was homeschooled and driving off somewhere with my mom in our forest green 1994 Dodge Grand Caravan. My mom had the radio tuned to NPR. If we weren’t listening to my Disney soundtracks or her oldies station, we decided to split the difference and listen to NPR. I didn’t understand what they meant when they said the plane hit the tower. My mother, forever wanting to shelter me, turned the radio off and popped in one of my favorite cassette tapes.

That’s the story I told in school. That and of how all of the adults at my sister’s wedding kept talking about tragedy. However, that’s not the full story. The full story I didn’t start telling until just a couple of years ago. And even then I only gave tidbits of the whole truth. Part of that whole truth is I am still learning just how much 9/11 impacted my life as someone raised Muslim in America.

My father is many things. There are many negative adjectives I could use to describe him and some positive ones as well, but a negative my father is not is a terrorist. My father never made bombs. My father never planned an attack on American soil. My father would never dream of doing such a thing. While there are certain parts of American culture he doesn’t like or approve of, he holds nothing but reverence for the country as a whole. I was in the car with him when he was stopped. He drove a red pick up truck like your cliche conservative white dad would, but instead of being Christian he was Muslim, and the highway patrol officer was suspicious of the boxes he had in the back. My dad sold perfume on the side. That was what was in those boxes. There were no explosive devices or bomb materials just bottles of perfume and cologne. My dad was searched without a warrant. They obviously found nothing. I watched my dad, a man who at this point in my life was an untouchable giant, be humiliated right before my 7 year old eyes. This happened in New England (which state I can’t recall exactly) one of the most progressive parts of the country.

If that’s what happens in New England, do you want to know what happens in the Midwest? In every town you’ve ever lived in, people call you a terrorist. That still happens to this day. Most people mean it as a joke, but after incidents like that with my father, I don’t find it funny. I’ve tried to reclaim the terrorist joke and use it on myself before I let anyone else make it about me, but most of the time that backfires and people take that as permission to call me a terrorist. I don’t look outwardly Arab. Thanks to my white passing appearance and lack of hijab, I’ve avoided racial profiling based off looks (when I’m not with my dad or stepmom that is), but the moment people know my name the most ignorant questions come up.

I have been asked in earnest if my dad makes bombs.
I have been asked if I know members of the Taliban.

There have been plenty of times when I’ve applied to jobs that I know I’m qualified for and wondered if the reason no one has called me back is because they see the name “Najla Elassi” on the form and immediately go to the post-9/11 stereotype in their head.

When you are Middle Eastern, you are technically classified as white. However, ask pretty much any person of Middle Eastern decent if we are treated like white people in America, and the answer is no. I’m white passing and not even Muslim and I have been discriminated against because of my Middle Eastern heritage countless times and it still happens to this day.

I’ve had friends with parents who wouldn’t let me play with their kids because they feared I would indoctrinate them into Islam which would lead to them joining Al-Queda. I was an outcast in homeschooling groups largely because I wasn’t Christian. Ever since 9/11, my heritage has hung over my socialization.

9/11 tragically took too many lives. Those on the planes, in the towers, the first responders, the American soldiers, and the Arab civilians who never signed up for this war.

I didn’t sign up for my war at home either. I spent years running from this part of myself. Trying to suppress it and downplay it. I blame post-9/11 America for that.

This scene right here - this shot - is the selling point for why I am okay with Bethyl even when supporting others (Caryl and Rickyl). 

It seems a simple shot, right? It is… But it’s the subtle stuff that sells Daryl having some kind of comfortable feeling for Beth. Whether it was friendship or love or whatever you wanna call it, this scene told me everything I needed to know that no matter what it is Daryl is feeling, it’s legitimate.

What is it I’m talking about? Daryl’s sitting arrangement…. Yeah. Seriously, that’s what it is. Daryl’s sitting arrangement is what sold the whole thing for me and whether it was a choice from Norman or writers or both, it’s the choice that sold it for me.

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