fanfic

WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD

~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

drethelin:

By Eliezer Yudkowsky

MORPHEUS: For the longest time, I wouldn’t believe it. But then I saw the fields with my own eyes, watched them liquefy the dead so they could be fed intravenously to the living –

NEO (politely): Excuse me, please.

MORPHEUS: Yes, Neo?

NEO: I’ve kept quiet for as long as I could, but I feel a certain need to speak up at this point. The human body is the most inefficient source of energy you could possibly imagine. The efficiency of a power plant at converting thermal energy into electricity decreases as you run the turbines at lower temperatures. If you had any sort of food humans could eat, it would be more efficient to burn it in a furnace than feed it to humans. And now you’re telling me that their food is the bodies of the dead, fed to the living? Haven’t you ever heard of the laws of thermodynamics?

MORPHEUS: Where did you hear about the laws of thermodynamics, Neo?

NEO: Anyone who’s made it past one science class in high school ought to know about the laws of thermodynamics!

MORPHEUS: Where did you go to high school, Neo?

(Pause.)

NEO: …in the Matrix.

MORPHEUS: The machines tell elegant lies.

(Pause.)

NEO (in a small voice): Could I please have a real physics textbook?

MORPHEUS: There is no such thing, Neo. The universe doesn’t run on math.

Tags:

#I’ve read this before but it’s still great #The Matrix #fanfic #unreality cw #death tw

~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

prokopetz:

prokopetz:

Rejected SCP Object proposal #137: a housecat that has an unerring ability to locate and navigate to the nearest SCP Foundation containment facility. Once it arrives, it makes every reasonable effort to get inside. It has no other observably anomalous properties or behaviours – it just really, really wants to be inside the containment facility.

@lizziegoneastray replied:

was this inspired by the library cat?

It is in large part inspired by the situation with Max the cat and the DeWitt Wallace Library, yes, but it’s also a sort of thought experiment: what is the most disarmingly innocuous anomaly we can come up with that would nonetheless give the Foundation the screaming willies?

This one has a couple of features that help it along there:

  • The cat’s existence is inherently an informational security breach, since – if left to its own devices – it can always find the nearest SCP Foundation containment facility without outside assistance. Imagine if some hostile third party got their hands on it!

  • The fact that its anomalous properties specifically target Foundation facilities suggests either that it was created purposefully, or else that it’s a byproduct of some other anomaly already in containment, and they have no idea which of those it is and no ready means of learning more.

In the containment log in my head, the cat’s existence was known for several years prior to its containment, but it was believed at the time to be an ordinary cat with a weird fixation on that particular building. After the site was closed down due to administrative reshuffling, the cat showed up at the next-nearest site a few weeks later and was recognised by transferred staff, at which point they realised something might be amiss – and upon testing and confirmation, were confronted with the fact that they’d had an uncontained and likely deliberately crafted anomaly nosing around one of their sites for several years.

Tags:

#SCP #fanfic #cat #story ideas I will never write

~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

writing-prompt-s:

Harry, Hermione, and Ron are killed early in their search for Horcruxes. Voldemort orders a full invasion of Hogwarts to find the remaining ones. In a panic, Hogwarts is evacuated. One student slept through the evacuation order: 4th year American transfer student Kevin McCallister.

 

library-mermaid:

I would like to go on the record as saying….i hate this…….

 

elementarymydearfandom:

He’d win

 

library-mermaid:

That is part of why….I hate it……bc I genuinely to the core of my being believe that Macaulay Culkin could probably have finished Voldemort faster than the golden trio & Dumbledore combined…………this kid could play a fake recording of Dumbledore saying “Merry Christmas ya filthy animal” with the sound of spells being fired off from the Room of Requirement and Tom Riddle would be tf out of there so fast & slip on a Portable Swamp and fall down a changing staircase…………..

 

kyraneko:

OK but what if the final battle was like this instead.

Like.

The Hogwarts students have spent the entire year peripheral to a war zone, with some of the enemy already present and actively tormenting and then hunting them. They have some idea that Hogwarts might be invaded by Voldemort at some point in time.

As part of their ongoing campaign of defiance of all things pureblood-supremacist and to keep up morale, they have a series of movie nights wherein they get everybody together and watch Muggle films on a TV that they’ve gotten Flitwick to charm into working at Hogwarts.

One of these films was Home Alone.

It was such a hit that they watched the other movies in the series.

And somebody, some little first year who’d been Crucio’d six times that month, raises her hand and suggests, “what if when HE came, we were prepared like Kevin was?”

And they spend the next four months booby-trapping every single inch of the castle.

People use the DA galleons to communicate, and the graduates provide supplies and research and high-level spellwork. Fred and George turn their joke shop’s entire production output to the purpose. Muggleborns, despite being on the run from the now-corrupt Ministry, buy technology like video cameras, remote controls, computers, and Muggle explosives, and research every method of sabotage, petty revenge, and dirty trickery they can think of.

When the evacuation order comes, the younger students retreat to the Hog’s Head with their arms full of screens and remotes and VR headsets, each with their assignment of an area to watch and a set of traps to deploy.

The older students prepare for battle.

 

kyraneko:

The first casualty, as it were, is Severus Snape, who takes a swung paint can to the side of the head and spends the first half hour of the war locked in a disused classroom, before he can do more than demand Harry Potter’s whereabouts from Minerva McGonagall.

When Voldemort arrives with his Death Eaters, giants, werewolves, and assorted other lackeys in tow, and demands Harry Potter, the answer–from Neville Longbottom–is “If you want him, come and get him, you snake-fucking arsehole.”

Minerva has to turn a laugh into a hacking cough, and surrepticiously awards ten points to Gryffindor when nobody’s paying attention.

When Voldemort strides up to the doorway, the lawn collapses and he finds himself chest-deep in a Portable Swamp.

Ginny Weasley, responsible for the first line of defense at her own request, is downright gleeful as she activates the hundreds of freezing charms the students had added to it, and he and several Death Eaters find themselves temporarily stuck in the ice.

Everything is brought to bear. Electricity, zapping some Death Eaters. Tar and feathers, turning some werewolves into a sticky mess. Maple-syrup balloons, hidden in nets suspended from the ceilings. Legos and D4 dice, scattered across the ground after a set of permanent sticking charms that attach the attackers’ boot soles to the floor.

Some traps are magical in nature. The suits of armor, charmed to attack, and both sides of the giant magical chess set that used to guard the Sorcerer’s Stone. Others are purely mundane: tripwires that drop trapdoors full of stones, rotten pumpkins, and metal shavings on the heads of unsuspecting giants. Still more are a spectacular mix: hand grenades that bounce down stairways before exploding at the touch of a button from some second-year in the Hog’s Head.

Hogwarts’ defenders throw spells, gunfire, and molotov cocktails at the enemy, and whenever a Death Eater aims a spell at someone, a trap is sprung upon them by a watchful younger student.

When Voldemort retreats, his robes tattered and dripping with substances he can’t name and his follower count cut in half, there are no deaths among the other side.

He delivers his ultimatum anyway.

Snape, at this point, has awoken and escaped by the simple means of opening a window and flying next door; he tracks down Harry by listening to students talk, and heads to the room of requirement, dodging two or three traps (impressed despite himself) until one of the watchers contacts Harry via radio and Harry says to let the bastard at him.

What the two talk about, only they know. Hermione and Ron grab the diadem while watching them dubiously, and Snape offers to call up Fiendfire to destroy it. This perhaps proves something to Harry, who accompanies Snape to the Headmaster’s office despite Hermione’s and Ron’s, and then Minerva’s, protests.

When they are done, Harry Potter walks out the front door of Hogwarts and duels Voldemort, who starts on the count of two and kills him.

Shock, then hundreds of protests of cheating, and when Voldemort starts to gloat the chants of “CHEATER! CHEATER!” drown him out. He tries to say that it’s irrevelant; Harry Potter is dead, but is heckled in the form of thrown objects. From the shadows, Snape flings the shattered, scorched remnants of the diadem, the cup, and Nagini’s severed head. Voldemort catches the first, and shock paralyzes him long enough to get beaned in the head with the second; his shriek of rage is cut short when the third bounces right off his face.

(The Sorting Hat, begging anyone who will listen to put it on, was listened to by Snape. Being hit on the head a second time did his oncoming headache no favors, but the Sword of Gryffindor appears for bravery, and on his way down, meeting Nagini trapped in something resembling a magical tar pit, he does with the sword what the sword is for.)

There is laughter, and then that laughter becomes a roaring, thundering cheer when Harry Potter stands back up and taps Voldemort on the shoulder. Voldemort turns, and is knocked flat to the ground by a devastating punch that held every bit of misery Harry’s been through in his whole life thanks to Voldemort’s work.

Then when he gets up, Harry makes his request that Voldemort try for some regret. The Elder Wand does its thing. Voldemort falls, never to rise again.

Death Eaters escape, only to find out that some of those traps were full of pigment visible under ultraviolet light, and it is very easy for Aurors to figure out who was present at the attack.

The cleanup is a trial and a half, but the story is told for centuries.

Tags:

#Harry Potter #Home Alone #fanfic #I didn’t actually laugh aloud but it still amused me enough to reblog #death tw

~ Brin ~ 1 Comment

{{previous post in sequence}}

writing-prompt-s:

You’re a regular office worker born with the ability to “see” how dangerous a person is with a number scale of 1-10 above their heads. A toddler would be a 1, while a skilled soldier with a firearm may score a 7. Today, you notice the reserved new guy at the office measures a 10.

 

wakeupontheprongssideofthebed:

You decide it’s best to find out what you can about this person. Cautiously, you approach his desk. He’s a handsome man, tall, but with a disarming smile. How could such a friendly guy with such cute, dorky glasses be dangerous?

You extend your hand. “I noticed you’re new here. What’s your name?”

He shakes your hand warmly. His gaze is piercing, as if he’s looking right through you. “The name’s Clark,” he says. “So, how long have you worked for the Daily Planet?”

 

misscrazyfangirl321:

This one wins.

 

janothar:

It’s been a few weeks, and one of Clark’s friends shows up.  She’s pretty and all, enough muscle that she must work out.  First thought would be that she should be maybe a 6.

Clark’s introducing her around.  “This is my good friend, Diana, she’s in from out of town.”

You blink, and take a step back in fear.  You’ve never seen an 11 before.

 

aniseandspearmint:

The day Bruce Wayne shows up for his long promised interview with Lois Lane, you can’t help it, the mug your holding drops from your fingers and sends a shock of hot coffee and ceramic shards across the floor.

Clark stops a few feet away and squints at you worriedly from behind those ridiculous glasses you’re 99% sure he doesn’t actually need, and asks tentatively, “Everything all right?”

You ignore him in favor of staring at the inky dark numerals hovering over the beaming fool gesticulating some fantastic yacht story for a gaggle of secretaries and minor columnists.

That’s it. Your gift has officially gone haywire. There is no other explanation. Because there is absolutely no way that Brucie Wayne is a 10.

 

petitstar:

At this point, you’ve seen it all. Miled manner reporters and billionaires at a 10 and a model-like woman at 11. You were really starting to doubt your power. The day you really stopped believeing in it was when Bruce Wayne came for another visit, and this time with a kid. The kid couldn’t be more than 10 years old, a bit on the short side.

He was an 8.

 

actuallyalivingsaint:

The day you started believing in it again was when you saw on tv the formation of something called the justice league.

There were those same numbers over superman, batman, wonder woman and robin. That’s when you put two and two together. You wonder how nobody at the daily planet noticed that Clarke was Superman with glasses. You wonder why you didn’t notice. You wonder why nobody put two and two together that Diana Prince and Wonder Woman looked exactly the same. You look in the mirror as the realization hit you and you see your own number change from a 3 to a 9.

 

rainnecassidy:

IT GOT BETTER

 

dottydayedream:

Despite this, you go about your life. You don’t talk to Clark – Superman? – and kept out of his way. His girlfriend Lois Lane – she was a five when you first met, but now she’s a nine just like you – tries to get you to interview Bruce Wayne, but you refuse. You meet other people in Clark’s group of friends with high numbers. The daughter of the police commissioner from Gotham. The forensic scientist from Central City. More and more people to avoid and worry about.

Meanwhile, your paranoia gets to you. You start working out. Training in self defense. Studying the Justice League, trying to find its members. Finding out all their identities so you can be ready.

One day you wake up with a ten above your head.

That day you get a call. You recognize the area code. Gotham. Your heart is in your throat. You should throw the phone away, run. They’ve found you. You’re doomed. You might be a ten, but you can’t beat them all.

You pick up the phone anyways.

“Hello?”

“Hey, this is Clark Kent. I was wondering if we could talk.”

Your mouth goes dry. “About what?”

Clark’s voice goes quiet. “Well. About the Justice League.”

 

dottydayedream:

You stiffen in your seat. Your adrenaline kicks in, and your eyes dart around the room. You can hang up, pack, grab a plane ticket to wherever and disappear. Your passport hasn’t expired, and you’ve been talking to Perry White about a vacation anyways. You could say it’s a family emergency and never come back.

But they’d find you. You know they’d find you. They’re goddamned superheroes. They can carry buildings. They could probably manage finding you.

“Hello?” Clark’s voice returns, tinged with concern, and suddenly you stop. Calm down. They’re the good guys. At least they’re supposed to be.

“Yeah, sorry, just a little shocked you–”

“Caught up to you?” Clark asked. He laughed a little, but it wasn’t teasing. His voice had his regular ease, the same casual tone he would employ to talk about the weather in the break room. “Yeah. Lois noticed your odd behavior, actually. We didn’t realize it was linked to the League until you refused to interview Bruce, and then we knew something was up.”

“Speaking of Bruce Wayne, are you using his phone? Your area code is Gotham, not Metropolis.”

Clark laughed. “Damn. Lois wasn’t kidding when she said you were the best investigator working for the Daily Planet.”

“I just notice things is all.” You laughed nervously. You still can’t shake your general unease. This guy could kill you without any effort. You’re no match for him, or for any of his friends for that matter. Hell, Batman didn’t even have powers and he’d still fuck you up.

“Yeah, and that’s a skill we could use around here. Would you like to talk about joining? Bruce can send you a car, bring you here–”

“No,” you say, sharper than you intended. “Sorry. I’d rather meet in public, if that’s okay with you.”

“Of course. Lunch or coffee? It’s still early, but it’s a bit easier to cram all of us in a restaurant than a coffee shop.”

“Lunch, I guess. And no superhero stuff.”

Clark pauses, then sighs sadly. You’ve heard this sadness before in rare amounts. When bad things happened and fear and greed overtook people, he’d always frown and sigh, like someone watching their best friend self destruct, unable to help or save them. “You’re afraid of us. Aren’t you?” His voice is concerned and hushed.

A pang of guilt starts to replace the fear. “You can throw around buildings like a sack of potatoes, Clark. Your friend is powerful on an impossible level, Bruce’s kid is a fucking eight–”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Clark said, the sadness disappearing. “You have a number system for us?”

“Look, it’s a whole thing. I’ll talk about it over lunch.” You grab your laptop bag. “Where are we meeting?”

Clark said something to someone else. “Got any restaurant ideas? They want lunch.”

Bruce Wayne – you’ve heard enough interviews to recognize his voice – said, “Saffron’s pretty good.”

“Jesus,” someone else said. You’ve heard the voice, but you couldn’t place it. “I keep on forgetting you’re rich.”

“You don’t think it’s a little much, Bruce? The pay at Daily Planet is good but not that good,” said Clark.

“I’ll cover their tab.”

“Okay…” Clark returned to the call. “Saffron, in…thirty minutes? You’re downtown, right?”

“You can get a table to Saffron in thirty minutes?” said the strange voice. “Boy, am I glad I made friends with you guys.”

“Yeah, that works.” You’re a bit hesitant, but you swallow your nerves. At least for now. Your thoughts about threat levels made you forget that Clark is a decent guy. All you could do is hope that he thinks you’re decent, too. “See you then.”

“See you then. Be safe. Bye.” Clark hangs up, and you’re left in your room. The worry is starting to turn into something different. Excitement.

You shove the phone into your pocket, grab your keys, and head out the door. You’re so full of restless energy you walk the whole way there. Once you arrive, you catch your reflection in the mirror and notice that you’re starting to suit that ten above your head.

 

capregalia:

KEEP GOING!!!!!!!

 

dottydayedream:

The hostess takes you to a hidden corner of the restaurant. It’s mostly empty, as though it’s only just opened. Sitting at a long table, chatting politely, was the Justice League.

They aren’t wearing masks or uniforms, no bright colors and costumes. Clark Kent is in his usual office wear, Bruce Wayne is wearing a tailored suit, Diana Prince dons a nice blue dress, and Oliver Queen wears a nice button down. You don’t recognize two of them – a twenty something in jeans and a hoodie, a man in a green shirt, and a burly guy in a baggy t-shirt and old jeans who looks like he had just washed up from the sea. All of them, aside from Diana, are tens, of course.

Clark Kent stands, shakes your hand when you come in. “Glad to see you made it.” He introduces you to the others, and they all shake your hand quite happily and greet you like a friend. You learn that the guy in the hoodie is Barry Allen, the dude in green is Hal Jordan, and the beach dude is Arthur Curry. Waitresses, all ones, twos, and threes, come in with drinks, and one plops a mug of coffee in front of you, along with a small menu. Clark Kent gives you a knowing gaze.

Once the waitresses clear out, Bruce sits up straight. “Clark, would you rather I do the honors?” His silver watch glitters in the light from the windows.

“No, no, Bruce,” Clark says, setting down his glass of water. “I think it’s best if I ask them myself.”

Within a moment, you piece it together. “You want me to join the Justice League?”

Clark Kent cracks a smile. “How’d you guess?”

“You call me out of the blue, mention the Justice League, invite me to Bruce Wayne’s place, and then here, where you introduce me to a group of people who all look strikingly similar to the members of the Justice League.” You take a sip of coffee. “Subtlety is hardly your strong suit.”

Barry Allen laughed. “They got you there on that one.”

“Well, you’re right. At first Bruce wanted to handle the situation himself,” – you’d rather not think about what handle was a euphemism for – “but I insisted we do some more digging. We did, and what we found was…surprising. To say the least.”

You look at him oddly. You aren’t normal – no one else saw numbers floating above people’s heads – but you weren’t surprising. Your parents were the only ones who knew about your ability, and they’re long gone. You’ve got no checkered past, no odd history–

“You have powers.” Clark’s voice was clearly impressed.

“How did you find out about that?” The fear comes back, forming a knot in your stomach. “I’ve never told anyone else about it.”

“It’s not hard to notice,” Barry Allen says in between sips of soda. “Most of the information we got we got from Lois after she’s hung out with you.”

“I’ve never her told her anything about the numbers, though.”

Oliver Queen sits up, flashing you a confused look. “Numbers?”

Okay, something’s not right here. “The number I see over everyone’s heads,” you say, keeping your voice low. “It ties into how dangerous everyone is. Usually it’s just a one or two, maybe a three or four or five if they’ve got some kind of training or if they work out or whatever. Almost everyone at this table has a ten.”

“Almost?” Diana furrows her brow.

“You have an eleven,” you add.

Diana nods, smiling with a bit of pride and making an “I told you so” face to Bruce Wayne, who rolls his eyes. Oliver Queen clears his throat as Bruce and Hal pass him a couple bills.

“Ignore them,” Barry says, rolling his eyes at the three of them. “What you said was interesting – I might have to ask you a few questions on that later – but it wasn’t what I found. Remember the sensory and memory study you did when you were ten?”

You do remember it. Your parents were contacted by a scientist friend of theirs who needed kids to run a study on memory and stimuli. You remember it clearly. The large sterile room, the tests, the person conducting them, a handsome woman with a four above her head, the questions, the smell of latex gloves and fresh bleach. But you don’t remember the results. You were never told the results, other than that they were good, though with a test like that it was hard to say.

“Well, I found the tests. And they were superhuman.”

 

mentallydobious:

Oh shit this is the best one!

@sophus-b, thought you might like this longer version.

Tags:

#recs #Superman #fanfic #long post

~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

qaraxuanzenith:

The other day, I wondered how the world of Harry Potter would be different if all students were sorted every year, rather than only in their first. So I wrote this.

Little is changed from Harry Potter’s first year at Hogwarts. Still he sits under that hat, thinking, not Slytherin; still the Hat considers his potential before sending him to Gryffindor. Still he is joined in Gryffindor by Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, still the Slytherin he so feared to be in will hold Draco Malfoy. Little is different about the placement of the older students, for all the Sorting Ceremony is made longer, and the Hat’s song a little changed, with their participation. Fred and George Weasley, like their younger brother, are still in Gryffindor. Ambitious Percy Weasley may be in Slytherin by now, maybe not yet, but he is a Prefect regardless. Oliver Wood or someone like him will still be Harry’s first Quidditch Captain.

In Harry’s second year, he and Ron are in more trouble than ever for missing the Sorting Ceremony. Now the Hat must be got out again to Sort these two boys who have caused such a stir, to confirm what surprises no one: both will remain in Gryffindor this year. (This time, Harry is once again thinking his wishes to the Hat, but instead of not Slytherin, he is pleading, Gryffindor, Gryffindor – picturing the warm Gryffindor common room that is the first home he has ever known, the first place that has welcomed him rather than shut him away. The hat, once again, obeys his wishes.) Both boys are relieved to find their House much the same as they left it; Hermione Granger is in their midst again, joined by Ron’s shy little sister Ginny.

Neville Longbottom, who had been plagued throughout his first year in Gryffindor by doubt as to his right to be there, is with them again, too. They missed his silent drama at the Ceremony, too, as the boy sat under the Hat that could see into his mind and reflected on the end of term. He had remembered standing up to the three classmates he thought he could call his friends, only to be left behind – hexed, as he so often was, ridiculed. More proof that he did not belong in the brave House. But he remembered, too, Dumbledore’s voice at the end-of-year feast – praising him for doing what was hard. He remembered being awarded House points for this simple act, and with the meagre sum, winning Gryffindor the House Cup. That heady feeling of being, for just one moment, a celebrated hero – that was like nothing else. That was worth a year and more of self-doubt. So Neville now unpacked his bags in the Gryffindor dormitories again, and, like Harry, he felt for the first time that he was home.

Harry has grown complacent, all his friends staying with him from his first year to his second. He hears the warnings of the older students on his Quidditch team (some of whom go from one House’s team to the next from year to year), the reminders that he will need to make new friends soon, but he does not really believe them. He cannot imagine his world changing even more than it has.

This is why he feels as though his stomach has dropped out of his body, as though he has fallen into some bottomless pit, when things change in his third year. He is still in Gryffindor, yes, and still with Ron, thank goodness for that, but Hermione Granger is no longer of their House. Hermione, who spent the last term of her second year as a statue, whose research was the only part of her that got to be a part of the battle in the Chamber of Secrets, who scrambled and sweated when she was unpetrified to pass all her courses in the remaining days of term – despite the promises of the administration that classes missed by the basilisk’s victims would not be held against their grades. Hermione, who had been called an “insufferable know-it-all” so many times that it had almost stopped hurting, who had felt so frustrated with the cavalier attitude her fellow Gryffindors took to classwork. She was now a Ravenclaw, the blue insignia on her robes matching that of Ginny Weasley, who seemed to have shrunk in on herself after the events of last term. (Ginny, like Harry in his first year, sat under the Hat in her second year thinking not Slytherin, not Slytherin, but then she had paused, and thought, not Gryffindor, too, because Riddle had possessed her despite her red-and-gold robes, and because she did not feel brave.)

Ginny, Hermione, and Luna Lovegood (here is one girl the Hat cannot imagine placing anywhere but Ravenclaw, though it will surprise itself in years to come) soon find each other in the Ravenclaw common room, and form an odd, but tight, bond over the first few weeks of term. Hermione finds that it is nice to have close friends who are girls; she never had this in her two years in Gryffindor. She still finds time to talk to Harry, to help him with an essay in the library or to keep him company on restless Hogsmeade weekends or to walk with him to Hagrid’s hut. They are still friends, and good ones; no disparity of House can change the bond forged in fighting a mountain troll together, and all they have been through together since.

She explains this, at last, to Ron Weasley in the days before Christmas vacation, when the dark looks he has been sending her all term finally come to a head in a shouting match outside the Divination tower. Ron, too quick to view matters in black and white, had seen her Ravenclaw badge as a betrayal, a defection. Had imagined that this was her choice, rather than the honest assessment of the Hat. Had felt left behind, discarded, second-rate, dismissed like his brothers’ hand-me-down robes that he wore. With Harry to remind him not to be an ass, to remind Hermione that Ron was always like this, they made up soon enough. Hermione laughed and called Ron an idiot, but fondly; and he laughed back, and told her that the blue and silver only made her look more the nerd. The trio were reunited, even if they were in different houses.

And, after that fight at least, perhaps the difference of house was a blessing in disguise. Crookshanks could not worry at Ron’s rat when they lived in different common rooms. There was no fight between Ron and Hermione about their pets; when Scabbers went missing, there was no talk of foul play, only an agreement between the three friends that they would try to find him. The three were still present in the Shrieking Shack, two Gryffindor children and one Ravenclaw, to bear witness to the true identity of Scabbers, to bear witness to the reunion of the three living Marauders. They still saved Buckbeak; they still lost Pettigrew.

Keep reading

Tags:

#Harry Potter #fanfic

~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

prongsmydeer:

The most hilarious thing about the fact Buckbeak had a trial and lost is that later on JKR resolves the issue by having Hagrid take him in again and renaming him Witherwings. That’s literally all it took. What if in POA, Hagrid simply said, “Sorry, Buckbeak flew away.” 

“There’s a hippogriff right there, Hagrid.”

“A different hipprogriff.”

“I’m… pretty sure that’s the same hipprogriff.”

“Prove it.” 

 

twelvemonkeyswere:

no dna tests we die like scientifically underdeveloped societies

 

thesanityclause:

Prisoner of Azkaban continues to be the most frustrating book

 

septimusprime:

Someone should have just adopted Sirius and started calling him Gerald.

 

dreadpiratemary:

Remus: Erm… this is our new order member, my… cousin Gerald. Gerald White.

 

zero0000:

“Mr. Lupin that is Sirius Black with glasses!”
“Oh come now Minister, Sirius Black doesn’t wear glasses. That wouldn’t make sense.”
“Well have Mr. White take off his glasses then!”
“He can’t he needs them to see.”

 

animatedamerican:

it got better

 

thefingerfuckingfemalefury:

It’s honestly a miracle to me that wizarding society doesn’t collapse every other week because like

You’ve got this world full of people who can destroy whole buildings or turn people into beetles or make vehicles fly just by waving a stick at them

And there is literally no common sense 

Anywhere to be found

Voldemort would never have had anyone find out he was back if he just went around calling himself Steve 

 

kat8noghosts:

Okay, see, I thought I saved this post to comment on it but I’d like to bring up

The Minister would NEVER EVER disbelieve in Gerald White. He’d buy it hook line and sinker. The wizarding world would buy it hook line and sinker. The GOBLINS wouldn’t but wizards have been shown to be pretty blindingly clueless. Still, Gringotts would grudgingly give Sirius access to the Black fortune.

But, but, but, you know the one person

the one person

who Gerald White would drive AB-SO-LUTELY FUCKING BATSHIT?

Severus Snape.

Snape would do everything, EVERYTHING, to get people to believe that it’s Sirius. But the Order would ignore it (they accepted Sirius as Sirius before anyway) and Remus would just be so… so affronted.

‘Severus, he is my cousin.’

And Sirius would love it. He’d love the fact that Snape just hated it. He’d be the BEST DAMN GERALD WHITE EVER b/c Snape is doing everything from dropping veritaserum into his firewhisky to capturing a dementor in a box and releasing it on Sirius when he least expects it

That one causes problems for a bare minute because SHIT A DEMENTOR ATTEMPTED TO GIVE GERALD THE KISS MAYBE SNAPE IS RIGHT except Harry comes forward and is like ‘excuse me, I’ve never committed a crime and dementors are ALWAYS attacking me, I think they’re attracted to glasses’

and the magical community is like ‘shit, yeah, you’re right’

and just

Spare. Snape goes spare.

 

laurathia:

Picturing Snape as Mr. Crocker from the Fairly Oddparents now.

 

mariana-oconnor:

Gerald White eventually becomes a fully registered animagus. When he turns into his animagus form right in front of Snape, Snape’s bursting at the seams, just pointing at him and spluttering:

‘HE’S A BIG BLACK DOG! A DOG – THAT IS BLACK. SIRIUS BLACK. BLACK DOG DOG BLACK.’

And Remus calmly says: “That’s absurd, Severus. Sirius Black was never an animagus and besides which, people’s names don’t have any influence over their animagus forms or anything like that. That’s ridiculous.”

And Snape yells: “Shut it WEREWOLF MCWEREWOLF!”

Everyone looks at Remus, who blinks and sighs as Gerald White turns back into his human form.

“Pure coincidence,” Gerald says. “My aunt was into Roman mythology. Has to happen sometimes.” Then he pauses to give Snape an overly concerned look. “Are you alright, Severus? You’re looking a little red.”

 

thehufflenerd:

^this is my new life

 

tooweirdtolivetoogaytodie:

im crying thanks for this

 

my-insanity-is-an-artform:

Another point in the direction of Gerald White Not Being Sirius Black is that everyone knows Sirius Black hated Severus Snape.

Gerald White bakes the ungrateful dungeon bat cookies and is always polite to him. It so nice that Gerald really wants to be friends.

Tags:

#Harry Potter #fanfic #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #(I might have reblogged an earlier version of this already but this one is even better) #long post

~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

blue-corvid:

dressesandalchemy:

hippity-hoppity-brigade:

ginathethundergoddess:

darlinghogwarts:

My favorite thing ever is how Ron just sent Charlie a random letter like “hey yo there’s an illegal dragon at hogwarts, could you come and smuggle it out of here, please?” and Charlie was just like “yeah sure, I’ll trespass into the castle and steal a dangerous magical creature, of course, lemme just hit up my friends”

It’s better if you imagine Charlie and co as a group of Grad Students trying to avoid their other responsibilities.

Charlie is drunkenly revising the third draft of his thesis on proper care and feeding of greenhorns when his family owl slams into the window. 

Three of his friends jump and look around. Glinda doesn’t raise her head from her folded arms; only groans, “Is that Baines coming to do me in?” 

Charlie totters to the window and fetches Errol from the window pane. “No such luck,” he says. “You’re still going to have to take the exam.” After some consideration, Charlie lays him on a clear patch of floor to recover. “Do owls take firewhiskey?” he asks the room at large. 

“It’s not fair,” Glinda wails into the tabletop. “I swear he didn’t say anything about Bridgewort’s handling practices when we did the review in class.” 

“Oh, Merlin,” says Ali, freezing over their notes like a Medusa wyvern had bitten them. “Oh, Merlin’s sweet saggy socks. Is he covering Bridgewort?” 

“That’s what he said when I went to his office hours.” Glinda sits up. “You know his lapdragon singed my new sweater?!” 

Charlie decides not to give Errol a nip of whiskey. Flying under the influence is really not done. He unties the letter from Errol’s leg. Ron’s childish spiky handwriting spells out Charlie’s name on the front. Inside is a hastily scrawled message. 

“Yes, we know it ruined your sweater,” snaps Ysabelle. “You told us twenty times. Why didn’t you tell us Baines told you we’re going to be tested on Bridgewort?” 

“I meant to,” says Glinda. “Sorry.” She flicks her pile of notes. “I was lost in the miasma of gloom and desperation.” 

Ali puts their head back and groans. “I’m gonna die. I’m gonna say ‘fuck it’ and just fucking walk into a dragon’s mouth so I don’t have to do this.” 

“Hey,” says Charlie. They don’t hear him. 

“How much is this worth again?” Glinda asks her bottle of butterbeer. 

“Twenty-five percent,” Ali and Ysabelle chorus. Ysabelle adds, “and the thesis is fifty percent of our total grade.” 

“Hey!” Charlie repeats. They look at him. He waves Ron’s letter. “My littlest brother at Hogwarts has an illegal dragon he needs to get off campus. Anybody up for a midnight flight?” 

Ali slams their hands down on the table and stands up. “Fuck yes,” they say decisively. “Maybe I’ll fly into the Whomping Willow and die a quick death.” 

Welcome to grad school

Charlie’s friends: I want to die

Charlie:

Tags:

#Harry Potter #fanfic #anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #death mention #suicide mention #dragon

~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

yudkowsky:

V: Hey Siddy guess what happened with that Luke guy
S: I hope you’re contacting me to report he’s been turned, or failing that, taken prisoner, or failing that, killed
S: and if you call me Siddy one more time I am officially changing your name to Darth Vaddy on all the official documents
V: nah the Luke guy fell down a shaft and my Force senses tell me he’s still alive
S: how did you manage to accomplish this particular military outcome using the tens of thousands of troops under your command
V: not important
V: the important part is
S: oh no
V: just before he fell down the shaft
S: please tell me you didn’t
V: I was like “Obi-Wan never told you the truth”
S: Vader what is WRONG is with you
V: “I am your father!”
S: do you HAVE to try to convince every Jedi that you’re their father

Keep reading

Tags:

#Star Wars #(those of you who read the comments on my previous post will recognise this as the post Tumblr wouldn’t let me read) #(but I read it anyway and it’s great so I’m sharing it with all of you) #fanfic

My Library Collections Professor Has Made A Terrible Mistake

~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

teaandspite:

teaandspite:

teaandspite:

She doesn’t know it yet, but she will soon. You see, the midterm paper on calls for students to write a collection evaluation for a library of our choosing. Now, I know that when she said that library does not need to be real, she meant that we didn’t need to pick a specific one. But what I heard was… 

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For those of you requesting the full paper, I’ll see what I can do once I get the grade back!

 

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I’M SO GLAD YOU ASKED

For the sake of this evaluation, only the official, present collection of the Unseen University will be examined. Collections belonging to other libraries that are accessible via L-Space will be considered as part of the Interlibrary Loan System, as will materials available by time-travel and other such means.

Relatedly:

Whether or not acquiring books that have not yet been written is a violation of copyright law has yet to be legally clarified, but faculty and students should not expect to be permitted to cite them in their own work (see also Library Rule 3: Do Not Interfere With The Nature Of Causality). 

Alright, here is the full paper, stripped of all incriminating details. 

Tags:

#Discworld #fanfic #libraries

~ Brin ~ Leave a comment

galwednesday:

silentwalrus1:

onion-souls:

tilthat:

TIL there are only around 120 anonymous Michelin restaurant inspectors in the world. They spend 3 out of every 4 weeks on the road, and must vacate a region for 10 years if they think a restaurant suspects their identity.

via reddit.com

Imagine thinking your spouse is a sexy secret agent for decades only to find out he’s a restaurant critic for fat tire boy magazine

#Shrunkyclunks AU where Steve’s a SHIELD agent and Bucky’s a Michelin inspector and they both think they have the same jobs #Bucky: I’m sorry babe they’re onto me we gotta move #Steve: okay honey I got your back *busts open the floor to grab go-bag full of cash and passports and guns* #Bucky: quick question #Bucky: what the fUCK

WELP, I incepted myself with my own tags, here’s a ficlet.

“Quick question,” Bucky said.

Steve looked up, but didn’t stop moving passports and stacks of cash into a nondescript blue duffel, his mind busily ticking through logistics. He’d grab the glock taped behind the hidden drawer in the desk on their way out, and they could buy new clothes once they got across the border into neutral territory, so they didn’t need much else, apart from whatever Bucky wanted to bring. One duffle should be enough. “Yeah, honey?”

“What the fuck.”

(continues beyond the cut)

Keep reading

Tags:

#anything that makes me laugh this much deserves a reblog #Marvel #fanfic #embarrassment squick #(I still recommend it though)