What Most People Think Hufflepuffs Are Like

the weasley twins

reblog if you agree

I’ve been writing on tumblr for maybe close to a month or just a bit over? I’m not sure how long, but can I just say that I haven’t had much trouble on here. I’ve had great feedback and responses to my work and I really appreciate it. So what I’m about to say isn’t about me at all, just about fic writers in general, as clearly some people need to read this.

The thing about fic writers is, we do this completely willingly. We don’t get paid to sit for maybe hours at a time composing a fic that might only get 100 notes, most of which being likes which doesn’t give it much reach. We don’t stress over if a piece is good or not before posting to get a good grade that might help us in the future. At first, we do it for ourselves, then later on we start doing it for other people once we get reach and attention. It is fun, fic writing is so fun because you get to create ideas of your own with characters you and many other people may love.

But fic writing doesn’t become fun when it’s forced. Writers shouldn’t have to decide on whether to complete an important assignment or complete a fic to satisfy many angry followers mad that there hasn’t been a fic update recently. Writers shouldn’t have to deal with angry complaints about being denied a fic requests because they aren’t comfortable with writing a certain idea or because they just don’t want to. Writers shouldn’t be criticised on their writing when so much effort went into it, and they did it for themselves. Writers shouldn’t feel obliged to write a request because they’ll get backlash if they don’t. We write for free, and we write for us, so why do so many people believe it is acceptable to demand new fics from writers or be rude to them?

Writers are people. Just like you. We have our own lives outside of writing, we have our own feelings outside of it too. And you never know what somebody is going through. So your snide comment about how a writer didn’t take your request might be the straw that broke the camel’s back.

That’s why feedback on posts means so much to us. We spend so much of our free time writing these complex fics on our own accord, so the least someone could do is give it some feedback. Tell the writer what you enjoyed about it, reblog it so other people reach the fic instead of just liking it and not doing anything to help the writer from that point onwards.

What I’m trying to say is, if you haven’t grasped the idea yet, please be nice to fic writers. Instead of demanding a new fic, ask a writer if they’re okay. Instead of being rude, try being nice, and if you don’t have anything nice to say then don’t say anything at all. We are still people, just like you.

If you’ve gotten this far, thank you and I hope you have a good day. 💜

Why does he look so serious…

I think real maturity starts when u decide other people’s actions, words, and opinions no longer have an effect on your individual journey. This life you build is about you, for you, from you.

hufflepuff: hey, what are you doing?

ravenclaw: my best

hogwarts legacy // incorrect quotes ft. my mc 🐍

The Firebending Masters

Avatar: The Last Airbender

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞 —send me a shy!reader request for any character (with a plot) and I'll write a >1k drabble

sirius/james introducing shy!reader to remus. and shes just like quiet and in awe, but remus loves it.

luveline's 40k party ☆ tysm for requesting! remus x shy fem!reader

James is used to your personality after months of being your lecture neighbour, unperturbed by your quiet. "It's going to be fun," he promises, handing you a cold glass of cranberry vodka. "They're nice, okay? I won't let anyone irritate you." 

He's hosting a party and had the generosity to invite you round early. He's easing you in, so to speak. It took him two weeks of steady Hellos for you to work up the courage to say Hi back, another two weeks for small talk, a month before you felt comfortable speaking to him first. If you're that shy, a party is basically torture.

"It's not about irritating me," you say. 

"I know, I'm messing." James lists his head to the left. A second later, there's a knock at the door. "Aha. Wait here, shortcake, there's someone I want you to meet." 

"James," you say after him, wet from your glass leaking down to your sleeve, "what?" 

"I asked him to come early and say hello! He's quiet and handsome and you'll love him, just don't stare at his nose." 

What's wrong with his nose? you think, alarmed. 

James opens the door. Two new voices emerge, one scratchy and a little high, the other smoother. "I need to pee so bad," the scratchy one declares, followed by bounding footsteps up the stairs. 

"You alright?" the smoother asks.

You think there's patting, a hug, "I'm brilliant! You smell really nice, Remus, like a garden." 

"Lovely."

"In a good way! Come and meet my Y/N, you remember I told you about her nice gel pens?" 

James leads the smooth-voiced Remus into the living room. You hurriedly put down your drink and stand, wiping your wet hands in your shirt. You cringe at the darkening fabric but hide your grimace as they stop in front of you. 

"Remus, Y/N. Y/N, Remus," James introduces you both. 

Remus has a scar across his nose that seems cruelly cut. There's another beside it that starts in his upper lip, both of which end in his eyebrow. You know how self-conscious it feels to be looked at, so you manage to smile and offer your hand without too much of it. He's handsome with his scars, a nice nose with a ridge and brown eyes the colour of caramelised sugar.

"Hello," Remus says, shaking your hand. His is big enough to make yours feel small. 

"I invited her early because she's more fun than the rest of our lot," James says, throwing himself down on the sofa and kicking his legs out on the coffee table. 

Remus taps your elbow very gently as if to usher you to sit and sits down beside you, enough space to be casual but too little to stop the rampant nerves that blossom in your stomach. 

Remus asks about your life. What you're studying, where you're from, if James is being nice to you. While James is touchy in the rough older brother way, scrunching your shoulder and shaking you when you're not expecting it. Remus is touchy in a different way, you find, almost as if he doesn't know he's doing it. His shoe bumps your shoe, his hand falls down between his outer thigh and your own, his knuckles touching your jeans very lightly. He spins in his seat to talk to you. 

You don't notice other people arriving, nor the scratchy-voiced friends return. All you can do is look up at Remus with wide eyes. Your nerves meld to something warmer. 

"And what do you do?" you ask him. 

He smiles like you've wandered into a secret. "I'm trying to write a book." 

"He's being a bit much," Sirius says to James, the two now loitering in the doorway with matching beers. You and Remus chatter on, unaware of their running commentary.

"It's a very strong reaction. I knew she'd like him, but I didn't think she'd like him like that." James takes a sip of his drink. Remus asks you a quiet question. You duck your head, playing with your sleeves, and Remus, the bastard, ducks his head to follow your gaze, smiling at you all the while. 

James almost chokes, pointing his bottle toward you both as though Sirius isn't already looking. "He's eating it up. I forgot how flirty he is."

"She'll be nice to him, won't she?" Sirius asks, like it's a done deal. To be fair, Remus seems enthralled with you. 

"Definitely. She's very nice. Oh, look, that's sick, she's gonna pass out." James winces as Remus takes your arm into his hand. 

Remus wouldn't do anything cruel, but James wasn't joking when he told Remus that you were exceedingly, achingly shy. He's about to step in and rescue you, but you turn into Remus' touch and pull your leg up on the sofa to make yourself comfortable. Your voice is animated, if quieter than the average person's.

"Woah," James says, beaming.  

Remus flirts almost as a defence, like he wants to get the rejection over and done with so he can move on. You've yet to reject; you're looking up at him in moderate awe, your lips quirked into an easy smile. 

"Boo!" James calls, flicking his bottle cap at Remus, who brushes it away. "Took me three weeks to get a smile out of her," he mutters. "What a dick." 

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