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bullshit writing and some fanart yup

This week on ‘whoops I accidentally turned this writing class exercise into a teen wolf fanfic’

You decided one day never to respond to your name. “Genim!” your mother would yell in panic. “Come down!” It was out of a four-year old sense of rebellion that you climbed higher, the stone wall protecting their village becoming a playground. That had been the first time you’d climbed it and was not the last, each time feeling a rush of something, something that filled up the hole within you. Most days would find you up there, smashed berries smudging fingers as you drew images, childish scribbles telling only a story you could read. Your pockets were forever be stained a myriad of colors, the berries your collected and carried with you filling them to the brim. 

The first time you’d grabbed berries that were for eating you’d been scolded. Your  mother had gone into a rage, waving hands and spit flying. Her words had gone ignored, your eyes trained on the wooden spoon she’d flicked about in your direction. You now keep it slipped up a sleeve, the smooth wood reminding you of times that you can’t quite remember beyond a sense of bittersweet nostalgia.

In time the name Stiles came to be ignored as well, as did Aeton, Kaden, Iason and the brief time that you called himself Caecilia. You shed and adopted names like the sun rose, each coming close, but never enough, never was it you. In time your mother gave up on you, simply shouting out “You!” or “Child!”

The grump of a man Alastor next door only calls you Imp. 

You are different from the other children, skin pale and smooth where the other boys tanned and scarred. Freckles and a scattering of moles consume your face, eyes like honey shine with more mischief than any one person should possess. You grew like a weed, limbs shifting from awkward and gangling to smooth and tricking. When your mother was not cross she fondly refer to you as her ‘Cattail’, the plants that sprung in the backyard mocking your skinniness and mess of brown hair. 

The villagers don’t like you much, how you like to swipe blood from the butchers and run through the square covered in it, screaming that the wolves had come. Your fingers are permanently a shade of purple from getting them whacked with a rod, Father long since dead but Alastor more than happy to pick up the slack. You don’t care much for Alastor.

You are a live wire, a spark of energy that never stops moving. Always a foot tapping or fingers snapping, eyes flitting to chase a bird or the smoke from a pipe. The boys and girls were fascinated by you until they gathered the courage to speak to you. Rude words and a sharp tongue pushed away any attempt at friendship; you knew they were in love with the image of you, not yourself. They were in love with the boy who would disobey teachers for what they thought was no reason. They could not see the world like you do, with the colors so vibrant and the world reverberating with life, with an energy that filled you up as well. 

The only time you ever calm, ever sit still is when you rest atop the tall stone walls, limbs stretching out in feline-like grace. You stare out into the woods, watching the trees ripple with life and whisper to one another. At times you scale down the wall’s other side, though never reached the bottom out of fear. You knew that enemies lurked within those woods, and that you would never reach your destination if you dare enter. 

Oh how you missed your grandmother. 

Your grandmother had been the first ‘Little Red’. She was the first one to see how clever the wolves had gotten, the first to kill one as a child. She had been the one to build up the walls, to move into the forest to hunt them. As time grew older the task was passed onto your aunt, then upon her death in childbirth, you. You were the first boy to inherit the cloak, and the rest of the neighborhood disagreed. “Him? Of all people? He will never help us!” they had yelled, poking and jabbing with their needle fingers, eyes narrowed to slits. “Just give it up; give the cloak to someone who deserves it!”

It was that same rebellion, that same one that had you climbing the high walls as a child that made you throw on the cloak. Shadows climbed out of the hood to cling to your face as you glared at the villagers, mimicking their narrowed eyes and needle hands. You are only fourteen, barely a man, though older than your grandmother had been when she had first ventured into the forest. It was from that glare that the other villagers fell silent, no one questioning you. They recognized something had settled within you, a wild part of the wolves you now hunt settling within you.

They now call you Little Red. 

And for once, you respond. 

1 note teen wolf stiles stilinski little red the boy who runs with wolves derek hale

People fitting stereotype absolutions with each Hogwarts house

Seriously though it’s upsetting. Like when I read the first couple of books I was thinking Slytherin was synonymous to evil and Gryffindor was the bees knees. Then I got older and I kept reading and watching and thinking, I realized that no, in fact, that’s not the case. There are smarmy assholes in Gryffindor, and yes the Slytherins can be manipulative but that doesn’t mean they all are all the time. Hufflepuffs aren’t just for the bottom of the barrel, they’re for the loyal ones, the ones that’ll stick by you no matter what house you’re in. Ravenclaw aren’t just a bunch of kids with their noses pressed in books thinking that they’re superior to everyone, they can be kind and sweet and clever. Yes there are people that fit the stereotypes, but there are also people who don’t. Go back through the movies, I dare you, look at all the fill characters. The mixed house friend ships. The sorting hat tries to tell people this, every year, that you should accept your differences but then connect with the others, because this is Hogwarts, not Slytherin, not Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff or Gryffindor. It’s a whole community.

1 note gryffindor syltherin ravenclaw hufflepuff Harry Potter idefk where i was going with this i felt a need to vent error

Headcanon focus: The epic bromance between Remus Lupin and Lily Evans

Lily and Remus would have unconsciously sought each other out in the beginning, having both sentenced themselves to the outer edges of popularity within the Griffindors.

Lily always made excuses for Severus, and few people in her house understood the concept of a Slytherin best friend. A few rumors cropped up by other students, mainly along the lines that she didn’t really belong in their house, and that she didn’t get accepted to Slytherin only because of her blood status. (Absolute rubbish if you actually got to know her, but few did at first). She could easily be found in the library or tucked away in a corner with a book, both to keep on top of her studies but to understand the world she’d been blind to for eleven years. She did have some friends, naturally, but they weren’t thick as thieves and at times she would find herself excusing herself from conversations, feeling out of place. 

Remus tried not to get close to anyone from the beginning for obvious reasons. The risk of someone finding out about his lycanthropy was too great, and instead he found outlets through books. (Along with the occasional anonymous prank that Sirius and James would get blamed for in the long run.) Anyone who tried to get close was met with a buffer of politeness and wit, and after a while people usually thought of him more of an acquaintance and dorm mate than anything else. 

They first really interacted when they were in the library, Remus’ guard slipping in favor of the two of them getting excited over books. Not wizarding books, mind you, but muggle publications. Remus’ mother was a muggle and he had grown up with stories of Sleeping Beauty right alongside the Fountain of Fair Fortune tales from his father. They quickly became friends, despite Remus’ reluctance, sneaking off at points and bonding to do muggle things, drink muggle drinks and read muggle books. Their friendship only increased the more Lily and Severus’ faltered, the latter drifting from the boy she’d known as a kid to become more like the Slytherins he hung out with.  

Lily would be the first to figure out his ‘furry little problem’. Astronomy class had her noticing that Remus’ visits to his ‘sick’ mum would always drop on the full moon, and being such a clever witch she figured it out. She had shown up the morning after a full moon in the infirmary and proceeded to whack him upside the head for not telling her. Remus found out that day of how bad her temper truly was. 

Remus only came under the Marauders’ attention when James began to take a fancy to Lily, Sirius coming up with the tactic of going through Lily’s closest friend. Given that it was, well, Sirius, that meant following Remus around and pestering him for ways to at least get Lily to not hex James every time he asked her out. (In all actuality he didn’t care much about his best friend getting a girl, but was tired of hearing Prongs pine away). Quite by accident he caught Remus doing one of his secret pranks, Padfoot secretly impressed by the idea and high level of charmwork. He accused Lupin of doing the few pranks that he and James had been blamed for in the past yet had had no part in. It wasn’t long after that Remus found himself sucked under James and Sirius’ wings, the latter two coming up with plots and Remus figuring out how to bring them into existence (or lower the lethality level).

Remus fancast: Andrew Garfield 
Lily fancast: Ciara Baxendale

25 notes remus lupin lily evans marauders moony harry potter woah i ranted error headcanon


So people asked a while ago about commissions and I kind of just brushed it off since I was busy with shit

But being a college kid I need money. 

Mr. Incredible up there is more for reference so you can get the gist of what each size range means. Fire me an ask if you’re interested and we can get all the fussy bits figured out!

And all prices are in USD and payable via paypal

Publishing on my fanart account as well! If any of you guys are interested fire me an ask for either typoanderrors or masserror, or pop an email to me at cmdn13@gmail.com

11 notes errorart error
Reblogged from masserror