the secret staircase

What’s REALLY inside the Hufflepuff Common Room

A/N: A lovely anon has requested me to continue doing another of these common room posts. I’ve considered making this into a four part series, and since I’ve been feeling the Hufflepuff vibe recently, this is part 2 of what’s really inside the xx common room series ~

Originally posted by tonlcs


  • I’d say that this is the house that has a the most versatile things going on in their common rooms
  • home vibes oh my gosh
  • the earthy, green tones are so comfortable to be around
  • not to mention that because of the plants that are situated inside the common room, it’s also the most environmental friendly, contrast to the other common rooms
  • Just like the other houses’ common rooms have multiple floors, there’s a secret staircase in the Hufflepuff common room that leads to the indoor garden downstairs: the students, under the guidance of Professor Sprout, can experiment with all kinds of plants, including fruits, and spices
  • secret garden vibes in real life 
  • now let’s talk about location. like I’ve said before, because of it’s close proximity to the kitchens, the students have a GREAT advantage in sneaking in foods

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Good Girl Ch 16: Seeing Her

3rd Person POV

His knuckles are white from gripping the steering wheel so tight. His mind is going a hundred miles an hour every single thing running threw is mind is about her, their baby, his baby. Something is wrong, it’s bad enough for Suho to call him at work so it must be really bad. The car isn’t going fast enough for any of the three men in the car, but getting pulled over at the moment isn’t something they want to deal with, their patience is wearing thin. When they finally pull up to their home, the driver and the oldest of the group is already out of the car and busting into the front door.

Xiumin finds them in the living room, the younger two aren’t far behind, stopping right on his heels in the doorway to the living room. All of them are there, scattered on the floor, or standing by the window, Sehun is on the couch with their baby on his lap. Her face is buried in his neck, his arms are around her, rubbing small circles on her back. With a blanket over her, it would appear that she is sleeping but they can see her shaking and watch as Sehun tries to calm her.

“What happened?” Luhan asks Suho.

Suho looks to Chanyeol to explain, “We walked into the classroom that Joon told us to meet in and we see him on the floor with Jooyoung crouching over him.”

Tao continues, “When we tried to go towards her, she freaked out and backed into a corner. She yelled at us to stop. She was afraid of us.”

“What happened to Joon?” Kris asks threw clenched teeth, as he, like the others, tries his best to control his anger.

“He got a good beating, but he’s down in the dungeon for now, we wanted to make sure she’s okay before we deal with that.” Suho answers.

“Did you guys stop him before he had the chance to do anything?” Lay, who hadn’t been there for more then five minutes looks to the younger boys.

The six who had been there share a look. What had happened in the room had already been discussed, earning Joon a few broken fingers when Kai accidently slammed his hand in the car door. They know Jooyoung is listening and is already uncomfortable telling them and having them tell each other over again.

“She stopped him,” Sehun says a bit proudly.

Kai chuckles, “Broke his nose.”

“That’s our girl,” Kris smiles softly as he sits down on the couch next to her and Sehun.

“We just came in to finish the job,” Tao adds in.

“I’ll deal with him in a little bit,” Xiumin finally speaks for the first time since hearing the news.

“I’m surprised you’re so calm about this,” Kai says without a thought, earning a swat from his hyungs close by.

“I’m not fucking calm,” Xiumin’s tone turns icy as he gives them all a horrifying smile. “It is taking all of my self control not to go down there and kill him. I just want to see her, to make sure she is okay. Can I see her? Is she still afraid?” They are all surprised when his tone shifts so suddenly to something so warm and worried.

“Can you let them see you baby?” Sehun whispers to her. She had only stopped crying a few minutes ago so she can imagine how horrible she looks. Only Sehun and Suho have been able to see her bruised face and bloodshot eyes.

“Only if they don’t get mad or yell,” Her small voice mumbles, just loud enough for them to hear. Never in their years of living had they been so happy to hear someone’s voice.

“We will be good daddies,” Sehun reassures her with a kiss on the top of the head. With a deep breath she sits up straight on Sehun’s lap and hesitantly turns around to look at everyone. Kris and Sehun are the first to see her, like she had worried her eyes are puffy and red. The bruise on her cheek reaches up under her eye, a deep purple covers most of her cheek, it looked painful even to the boys.

At first Kris is happy that their baby will let them see her but the minute he sees his poor baby’s swelled face he wishes he were down in the dungeon tearing that bastards fingers off one by one, and from the way Sehun is clenching his jaw, he knows the younger boy feels the same. The other ten waiting all gasp at the sight, Xiumin is in front of her faster then she could have thought possible with Chen, Lay, and Kyungsoo hovering behind him, smart enough not to get in the older man’s way. Xiumin places both hands gently on her cheeks, his thumbs brush over them, trying to make the pain and tearstains go away.

He leans down as places a dozen kisses on her bad cheek, “I’m so sorry baby, I should have protected you.”

“It’s not your fault,” She tries to give him a smile but it falters when a shot of pain spreads threw her face.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Lay asks, scanning her and finding a few busies on her legs.

“I’m fine, I’m just really tired,” She yawns cutely.

“You should go take a nap,” Suho suggest.

“Can daddy Sehun stay with me?”

Sehun smiles at her, “Of course baby, I’ll stay with you as long as you want.”

All the boys felt a pang of envy for the younger, she picked him, she clung to him even after the others had tried to take her away she stuck to him. Sehun takes her out of the room, taking all the light with him, leaving the eleven men in the darkness that they know. Without a word they all file threw the house to the secret staircase behind a bookshelf in the hall to the dungeon. The dimly lit halls lead them to another hall, but this one has cells with begging or crying men inside. They reach their pale arms threw the bars, their annoying cries echo off the wall, begging for their freedom or their families safety, the boys are too focused to really care. At the end of them hall they reach the door separating them from the man who hurt their baby.

Xiumin is the first in, the massive concrete room has only a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling right above the slouching boy. Tied tightly in a chair the boy is trembling as he tires to pull his hands free of the bindings. He knows too well what is going to happen to him. Joon is the son of a close family friend, whose father works under the boys. He had heard his father telling horror stories about that happens in the Kim’s legendary dungeon. But the poor bastard doesn’t under stand what had earned him a chair in this hell whole.

The girl. That little fucking bitch is what got him here. He wants to ask which one of them she had gotten her claws into but from the way all of them are glaring at him, he figures it must be all. It would be a lie if he didn’t say he is amazed that the slut is able to get all twelve to kill a close friend just for fucking with her. He finds himself chucking, “Wow Hyung, that bitch has got you whipped.”

Bad decision, Xiumin punches him, more blood pours from his nose and his mouth. His already broken nose only gets more fucked up.

“Don’t you ever fucking dare say something like that about our Joo,” Suho growls.

“Is her pussy that fucking amazing that you guys would want to piss of my father just because I fucked the bitch up?” Joon chuckles hoping his friends will laugh along with him and let him go, but no such luck. In fact Kris heads toward a table filled with tools and other torture devices.

Kris chuckles humorlessly, “Your father won’t do shit even when we send your head to his door. Because with your head will be a note telling him about what you did. You broke a rule Joon.”

“What did I do?” Joon yells, “I barely touched that bitch!”

“That bitch? That bitch is our baby!” Chen growls, surprising Joon, Chen is never the type to raise his voice or even say anything rude.

When his closest friend Chanyeol comes forward he almost lets out a sigh of relief, that is until he sees the pliers in his hand. His face drains, “Yeol, what are you doing? Why are you doing this? I thought we were friends?”

Chanyeol laughs, he places a large hand on the boys shoulder, “Friends? I told you a hundred times not to touch, to not even fucking look at her! But you fucking touched her. You hit her, you made our baby cry. You made her afraid of us, because of you she saw our dark sides, something our innocent little baby should never see. You told her bad things about us. You took her beautiful smile off her face. Because of that, we each get a minute to do whatever we want to you,” Chanyeol smiles. “As you know, I think your smile is important, so someone as disgusting as you doesn’t deserve such a nice smile. I’m going to make this right.”

…………………………..

Upstairs

Sehun’s POV

My baby looks so broken, she won’t even look me in the eye as I stare down at her, her gorgeous eyes are focused on our feet. The bath is filling behind me, it’s only half full now, after five minutes of her asking to bathe herself. I understand that she wants to be alone, that she might not want anyone touching her after something like that but I don’t want to leave her alone with her thoughts. She could talk herself into the wrong thing, she could think of all the reasons she should run away from us, I’ll be having none of that. I still feel the deep satisfaction of her picking me over all of the others to comfort her still buzzes threw me. I find myself smirking at the memory of their glares. She’s all mine for the moment.

“Baby,” I order softly as I grip the hem of her sweater. Reluctantly she raises her hands above her head to allow me to remove it, next is her button up that comes off without much of a fight. She surprises me by pushing my hands away from her tank top, she holds the hem down tightly, more tears begin welling in those beautiful hazel, cat like eyes of hers’.

“Please daddy, you’re going to get mad if you see it,” She mumbles out. “I don’t want you to get mad.”

“Why would I get mad baby?” I try my best to keep my voice soft but we both know there is poison behind it. My mind is racing a million miles an hour at the thought of what she could be afraid of me seeing. What else could that bastard could have done to you?

“I told you earlier, he kicked me, hard. I think there is going to be a bruise but I don’t want you to get mad.”

“I can’t promise that baby, I’m honestly fuming at the thought that he actually kicked you. But I promise I’ll behave,” I give her a soft smile which is enough encouragement for her to show me. But my smile drops the moment I see the purple blotch on her side, it feels as if my heart has been ripped right out of my chest.

My baby, my little ball of sunshine and rainbows and all that is good in the world, was beaten. That asshole marked our little kitten, a nickname I’ve grown fond of when I think about her. I drop to my knees in front of her and pull her close, peppering kisses all over her stomach, surprisingly earning me a precious giggle from her. Never in my like have I seen such a beautiful sight of that little grin on her face, even with the bruise she is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I can’t believe I’ve only been able to look at her for a week, that I’ve gone my whole life without it is amazing.

“Daddy, stop it,” She giggles as I continue.

“I just want to kiss the pain away,” My hold on her tightens, “tell me where it hurts, daddy will kiss it better.”

“It hurts everywhere,” She answers honestly.

“Daddy will make all of it better.”

I remove her skirt and panties, until her cute frame is in front of me shivering like a leaf in absolutely nothing. Never in my life have I been so amazed by the female form. Her petite frame lacks nothing when it comes to curves, with a perfect chest that he knows for a fact feel as good as they look and hips that would make any woman jealous. I help her into the water and sit on the edge, my hand swirls around in the water.

“Are they going to kill him?” She asks out of nowhere. I pause for a moment, hesitant on whether the truth is best or not. But when I look at her and see her staring strait back at me, I figure honesty is the best policy.

“Yes.”

She nods, “Are you upset that you aren’t down there?”

Another question I wasn’t expecting, “No, I’m happy where I am, here with you.”

“Really?” There is a cuteness to her that usually isn’t there.

I nod, “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else in the world right now.” She smiles down at the water. “Are happy here, right now? Or even in this house, are you happy baby?”

She’s hesitant, “I’m not sure. I don’t want to be anywhere else right now.”

“Really?”

“When I was with that guy, even thinking about all the bad things I know you could have done I still wanted you guys to be the ones to save me.” She pauses, “Have you ever killed a person?”

Without any hesitation I answer, “Yes.”

“Do you regret it?”

I shake my head, “I don’t regret a single one.”

She nods.

“Does that change your idea of me?”

Her head shakes no.

“Do you still love me?” The words surprise me but her automatic nod surprises me even more. “You love me?”

“I love all of my daddies, even if I don’t like what you do, or what you have done.”

It’s as if my heart stops, I don’t want to ever leave this moment, I want to hear her say that over and over again until time runs out. She loves us. She loves me.

“I love you baby.”

Hawkmoth, I have some questions!

  • How do you get inside your secret butterfly room? Your elevator thingy goes downstars but the room seems to be high up in your house. Is it like down, left, right, up, left, up, up…?
  • Do you have to duck when riding it? Or make yourself as small as possible? You’re a tall man and your house sure has cables and pipes… so do you have to duck each pipe or do bump your head and take it like a man? And did this happen when you first used it?
  • Does your elevator-thingy play music? What kind of music? Do you just have to stand there in silence while elevator music is playing?
  • Didn’t the guy who built this get suspicious? Or does he know?
  • Did you never think of just putting a goddamn door/secret staircase behind a painting like a normal person would do or are you just THAT extra?
  • Did you think about that before you have built that house?
  • Did you already know you were going to be Hawkmoth aka a terrible, terrible Dad when you moved in? Or was it just something you and your wife thought of as a fun way to a secret storage room?

anonymous asked:

Elsewhere kinda reminds me of my neighbourhood. My elementary school was tiny, grade k-9 with only 200 students. In the basement, where being able (or, more likely, made) to go down to fetch... something, was a once-a-year occasion. In that basement, there was a tunnel, stretching 20 meters out into blackness before turning into light. No one dared crawl to far in. There were secret staircases hidden under bushes that I have been hard-pressed to find, despite walking there since childhood. (1/2)

(2/2) I remember walking, once, when I was young, through alleyways and parks, under trees and along streams. There was a driveway who’s gravel was white, crystal-covered stones. My mum would always let me and my brother take a stone, but never more than one. We would hurry home and wash them, scrubbing them with water - never soap - until they shined. I grew older, I changed schools, and though we still have the stones somewhere, I never could find the source.            

247. We are not allowed to fill up the hallways and classrooms with fog to try and create a more “spooky atmosphere fit for a school of witches”.

I’m just saying - for being a magical school, the actual school itself is kinda boring. - SB

This school is confusing enough as it is without adding the element of fog to our days. - PP

This school is amazing. The magical staircases… (RL)

That move at the most inconvenient of times. (SB)

The secret passageways… (RL)

We pretty much discovered all of those by Christmas of our second year. (SB)

He has a point. - JP

The feasts! - RL

Yeah, you got me there. The food here is amazing. - SB

Hear hear. - PP

You got that right. - JP

All I Ever Wanted

Tittle: All I Ever Wanted

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Requested: No

Warning: None

Rating: G

Author: Robbiekaysfavouritelostgirl

Originally posted by clbuspotter

   Y/n sat in the back of potions class, carefully adding new ingredients to her caldron, watching as the liquid inside turned to a steady green. Beside her, Fred Weasley let out a grunt, clearly unimpressed by the way his own potion was turning out. Out of the corner of her eye she watched Fred as he tried to finish his potion.

   “You need to grind that into a fine powder.” She whispered from the corner of her mouth, watching as Fred instantly began to follow her mumbled instructions. On his other side his twin brother began to mirror his actions.

   “I thought I told you to allow the Weasley twins to fend for themselves Miss Y/l/n.” Snape’s cold voice came from behind her. Before she could answer he waved his wand over her potion and caused it to vanish without a trace. Y/n sat there fuming, listening to the Slytherin’s giggle as Snape continued to scold her. “I believe ten points from Gryffindor, from each of you, will really put this lesson into perspective.” He sneered, smiling as the Slytherin’s laughed loudly.

   “I suppose there is no reason for me to be in class then.” I hummed, pushing my chair back, gathering my things and walking out of class. Snape sighed, declaring that my lack of respect lost me another ten points, but I could hardly care. I knew, of course, that he was hard but to me this seems to be pushing it. He had never once told me I was not aloud to help Fred and George, though I suspect it should have been a given. With the amount of pranks the pair had preformed at his expense had cause him to hate the twins and anything, or anyone, that tried to help them.

   “Y/n wait up.” Fred called out from behind me, his voice startling me out of my thoughts. I pinched my brows together in confusion and disapproval, the disapproval nothing but guess work, as I spun around to face the red haired young man that captured my heart.

   “We still have an hour left of potions, what are you doing…” But the rest of my sentence was cut off as Fred placed his lips gently against my own.

  “I wasn’t about to stay there without you, you are the only reason I go to that class.” He chuckled as he pulled away, his hand reaching out to wrap around my own. “Now why don’t we sneak out of here and go to Honeydukes?”

  “That sounds wonderful.” I giggled, leaning into his side as he began to lead me towards the secret staircase that would take us to the sweet shop, the whole time listening as he explained so prank he and George had planned. As we walked, I couldn’t help but smile widely up at him, knowing that despite all the trouble I get into because of him, he was all I have ever wanted.

2

The Winchester Mystery House, located in San Jose, California, is said to be one of the most mysterious, and haunted, houses in the whole world. This beautiful seven story mansion was the home of Sarah Winchester, the widow of the man who invented the Winchester rifle. She built this bizarre house when her husband passed away to house not only herself but also the spirits of the many men and women that were killed by her husband’s invention. The house consists of secret passageways, staircases that lead to nowhere, and windows overlooking other rooms. It’s speculated that these oddities were created to accommodate the ghostly characters that apparently still haunt the mansion.

The Marauders and Hogsmeade

Hogsmeade is everything that Hogwarts isn’t. There are no teachers to order students around, no schedules, no rules, no walls. The air is cold and swirled with laughter and conversation. The students smile for the first time in weeks, because it is here where they’re finally free.

For the Marauders, Hogsmeade is everything and more. 

Hogwarts is great, with its moving staircases and secret passageways, but it’s Hogsmeade where some of those passages find their purpose. It’s Hogsmeade where adventure is found in twisting alleyways and small tea shops tucked in between the inns and shops.

Hogsmeade is where Sirius ducks into Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop and emerges, three minutes later with a torn shirt and ink smeared across his nose. It’s where Lily and Remus are left to explain the pile of broken quills and the pool of ink to the fuming owner as Sirius and James duck into an alley to hide and Peter stands dumbfounded at the door.

Hogsmeade is where James tries to convince Remus to play Quidditch. It’s where he points to the test brooms outside of one of the stores and gently convinces his friend to give them a try. It’s where Remus falls and breaks his nose, refusing, accordingly, to come to any of James’ games for the rest of the year.

It’s Hogsmeade where Lily learns just how ridiculous James Potter can be. Where she watches him, amused, at Madame Puddifoot’s as he tries to convince her that each type of tea symbolizes a different type of love. It’s where she watches as he takes a small sip from his teacup, scowls as it fogs up his glasses, and makes a face in disgust as the taste of his drink registers. It’s there that both of them decide to never go out for tea again.

It’s Hogsmeade where Peter discovers his allergy to owls; sneezing so hard that he scares half of the post office’s flock so badly that they refuse to fly for days.

It’s Hogsmeade where the Marauders squish themselves into one booth at the Three Broomsticks, determined not to leave anyone behind. (”We’re so close now,” Sirius exclaims with a wince as Peter elbows him in the stomach, “That I have an excuse to upend my drink into your lap if any of you annoy me.”)

It’s Hogsmeade where Sirius slinks out of the Three Broomsticks, hair dripping over his eyes and a crowing Lily skipping behind him.

It’s Hogsmeade where Remus is actually free. Free, with no walls, or precaution, or fear. It’s where he leads James into Zonkos with a smirk on his face, refusing to tell Sirius what they buy. It’s where he spends the last of his pocket money on the finest Honeydukes chocolate and a new book on Transfiguration theory. It’s where he listens as other students tell ghost stories about the Shrieking Shack, rolling his eyes as a fourth year jumps out behind her friend and makes her scream. Remus Lupin, the other students decide as he walks past the shack without batting an eye, isn’t afraid of anything.

It’s Hogsmeade where the Marauders laugh until the sun dips below the horizon. It’s where Lily shoves a handful of snow down James’ shirt and where Peter is banned from the potion shop on account of screaming too many times. It’s where Sirius sings off key on the street corner until his friends shout at him to stop. It’s where Remus tilts his head to the sky and smiles.

It’s where they’re free. It’s where they’re happy.

(For anon)

Things I already miss:

Laying on the bed laughing with you.
Racing to the apartment.
Walking to the park in the rain and giving you my jacket.
Beatle bug punches.
Driving and listening to music being content with you by my side.
Cuddling and feeling safe in your arms.
Your morning kisses.
Making your lunch.
Doing your hair.
Sitting at the park and watching the sunset.
Playing at Healy heights park.
Spontaneously reading on a random bench on a random street in a random part of town.
House shopping for our future homes.
Forgetting the keys in the car after we raced back to the apartment and you running away from me.
How often you accidentally broke jars in the lobby.
Holding your hand.
Your laugh, such a loud noise from such a small person.
Your eyes.
Hiking with you.
Running with you.
Blackberry picking and lavender fields.
Road trips.
Lifting off on plane rides, holding your hand in anticipation.
Relaxing and watching tv.
Grilling burgers, because I’m the husband in our relationship.
Holding or breathe under tunnels and wishing that I would never have to leave.
Driving back from our favorite hike, with the windows down and the wind on my finger tips.
Sitting under a tree and reading with your hand in mine.
Laughing so hard that I trip and fall and laugh even harder as you join me on the floor.
Eating watermelon together after a long bike ride.
Feeling free while running through a secret staircase we found on accident.
Stealing hydrangeas for you.
Hugging you.
Being with you.
You.

I miss you most of all.

—  N.C. // I miss you and I left this morning.
Some of my favorite fictional stories aesthetics

The Secret History: classical sculpture, messy paints, museums, umbrellas blown upside-down from walking in the wind, long midnight drives, stoplights in the middle of nowhere, handwritten letters, books in translation, running away and away and away again until you find the place you know is yours, wide windows, reciting poetry from memory, coats with pockets and cigarette afternoons, convertibles in the rain, the top floors of university libraries, needing to know

Doctor Who (RTD Era): space, the colors pink and gold and blue and brown, stargazing and memorizing the names of the stars, historical fiction novels, that feeling you get when you come back home after a long adventure, maps and atlases, dancing at two a.m., missing your best friend, remembering just how big the universe is, long road trips, exotic foods, are we there yet’s, blankets in the backs of pick-up trucks, sappy chick flicks and hand holding, shoes with their soles worn down, cups of tea gone cold, promising forever and meaning it

Harry Potter: winter scarves, believing in magic, clandestine meetings, not being old enough to do all the things you want, castles with secrets, wide staircases, the forest at night, making blanket forts with your best friends, dreaming about flying, skipping class to go ice skating on the lake, the frost on window-panes, seeing things out of the corner of your eye, pinky-swears, mugs of hot chocolate that keep your hands warm, leather-bound books on mythology, candles

The Song of Achilles: fig trees and laurel crowns, the colors white and gold and red, foot races, freckles, the vastness of the ocean, ships with billowing cream-colored sales, camping at the beach and waking up just in time for the sunrise, thousands of tiny flowers, being scared of the future but not scared enough to let go of the things you love, bonfires, acoustic guitars, cuddles and eskimo kisses, going through old journals, the end of summer when you don’t want to say goodbye, saying goodbye

The Lord of the Rings: potted plants, coffee in the mornings, the view from the tops of mountains, great rivers that seem to run forever, open spaces, walking boots, new cities and old maps, the sunlight glittering in the trees at dawn, exploration, rediscovering long-lost friends, those moments when the earth feels so solid beneath your feet, cranberry scones, UPS packages delivered to the wrong door, the English countryside, the glint of gold in the sun, old songs played on a Celtic whistle, not being able to go back to exactly the way things were, not being alone

Hamlet: mirrors cracked down the middle, premonitions, your shadow under the streetlights, empty cavernous halls, flowers on the surface of lakes, books with the words all jumbled together, wanting to escape, sitting in the back row at the theater, those times when you feel like you’re being followed, bare feet on cold tiles, crying quietly by yourself, soft tree branches shaking, the absolute silence of midnight, cemeteries, suit cases, love letters, hiding in your room when strangers visit, praying to whoever will listen

The Picture of Dorian Grey: carnations, the colors ivory and gold, fancy clothes, portraits with crumbling paint, heavy velvet curtains closing after an orchestral performance, people chattering over a meal, being scared to die, seeing your upside-down reflection on the back of a spoon, pearl necklaces, moodiness, the opera, that pang of something you first felt when you turned twenty, finishing a book and not being able to read another one just yet, stage lights, the concept of eternity, missing the last train home

Marissa Fittes: Finds a giant underground cavern in the middle of London, builds her own mausoleum on top of it.  Hires real life stonemasons to construct a staircase straight through said secret underground cavern.  No handrails because handrails are for weaklings.  (No concern at all for what a hassle hauling her coffin down the treacherous steps would be for those poor coffinbearers. Geez) Plans for her coffin to be laid to rest at the bottom of said cavern, in a fancy room. (More stonemasons!)  Fakes death. Kills guy who was treating her, installs bones inside wax model of her own freaking self.  Seriously?? Organizes a burial fit for royalty.  Possesses own granddaughter. Installs actual dead body in closet of personal apartments.  Probably kills those poor hardworking stonemasons who know she’s got a secret underground staircase-intensive cavern tomb instead of a normal hole-in-ground. Probably also visits her own grave, leaves lavender on it or something, maybe even sheds a tear. You gotta hand it to her. Marissa Fittes is next level.

My Gift To You

Anon:  i was wondering if you could write an older damian (maybe in his early twenties) celebrating his s/o’s birthday?… 
Genre: Fluff.
Words: 1,006

           “Damian, please answer your phone,” you mutter into the receiver but it was his answering machine that replied.

           It’s your birthday today and you’ve been getting calls and texts from your friends and family, but none from Damian. You kept your schedule free, hoping he got your message about dinner at your place. He’s been away since last week and you miss him.

           You’re heading home from the store with a brown paper bag of ingredients. You’ve been calling him all day but he’s not picking up. You try to call him again just before you turn the last corner back to your place. You stop walking because he finally picks up.

Keep reading

anyways books belong to their readers and you can’t tell me that hogwarts castle doesn’t flexibly adapt to students’ needs

 you can’t tell me that autistic wizard kids aren’t generating magic stims of light and sound and touch, fidgets that move and reshape themselves and repattern. you can’t tell me that students aren’t charming parchment to transcribe speech, take notes, become whatever alternative format is needed. imagine a spell that, with just a tap, changes an ink writing into Braille– and if the library books can scream they can change their formats for you. i want library books that will speak their information to you, and it’s so much better than a text-to-speech program or a muggle audio format of a textbook bc you don’t have to fuck with the table of contents or struggle to scroll through it you can just ask it 

give me students who use dictating quills to take notes and write papers, students who lug their goddamn muggle tech into the school because the wizarding world’s still using quill and ink, and so dumbledore has to change the school policies regarding muggle tech

i want disabled wizards trading useful spells, disabled students trading information on secret rooms, on the best moving staircases, on secret passageways. i want disabled wizards whose wands are their canes, hagrid’s umbrella style, and bewitched braces that adapt and loosen and tighten and restructure themselves during the day. Deaf wizards who sign their spells, who always win duels because they’re the greatest at nonverbal spells. autistic wizards who are incredible at fighting off legilimency because their minds work differently, students with depression who have all the skills to combat dementors

i want the castle itself to start adapting to the needs of disabled students. the walls themselves start to give directions to students who have difficulty navigating the complicated moving layout, the walls themselves give labels, the stone walls raise themselves into Braille or whatever alternate format. no elevators in this castle? go to the landing of the stairs and they’ll move for you to where you want to go. 

students of all houses uniting because two of the dormitories are in the basement, in the dungeons, and two are in high towers, and this is not gonna work, dumbledore, you gotta get your shit together

i want there to be an office of disability services so students don’t have to organize all this shit by themselves. i want students with testing accommodations who don’t have to take exams in the goddamn great hall, magic interpreters, individualized class schedules, a counseling center- especially given that these are kids who were raised in the aftermath of a world in trauma. i love the idea of disabled students finding ways to survive with room-of-requirement stuff but let’s also get some institutional support in here too

 are there students who have individual rooming instead of the at least four to a space situation we see with harry? are disabled students isolated from the traditional dorms because there’s stairs to each place or do they deal with that? are there students with service dogs? are there students with service owls or rats or toads because those are the only animals technically allowed does hermione have a cat because crookshanks is a service animal

it’s just. it’s lazy storytelling to tell me you can magic away disability. tell me how you can incorporate magic into accessibility efforts, tell me how magical and non-magical resources can be connected and improved by each other. tell me about disabled kids who take muggle studies, who apply magic to accessibility in the muggle world, who apply muggle technology to the wizarding world and adapt it and enchant it. tell me about disabled kids in transfiguration who aren’t transfiguring themselves into nondisabled folks but are transfiguring things around them to be resources. that vanishing cabinet sounds great for sensory overload and oversocialization, tell me about that. tell me about disabled kids in herbology using old wizarding herbs and medicines, about disabled kids studying wizarding law and developing wizard equivalents of the ADA 

Winchester Mystery House

After the untimely death of her daughter in 1866, Sarah Winchester, wife to the man who created the Winchester Rifle, sought out a psychic medium. The psychic told her that she was cursed by those killed by her husband’s rifles, and that they had taken her daughter as revenge.

In fear, she ordered this massive house to be constructed to confuse the spirits. Apart from it’s mesmerising appearance, the house consists of dozens of intricate corridors, secret rooms, staircases that lead to nowhere, and doors that step out onto thin air, making it a truly unique Californian landmark.