Thank you to Bflury on TS3 Forums for organizing this list! I fixed a lot of spelling/grammar/writing issues for you guys…enjoy!
Everything below has been 100% confirmed, excluding the final category.
This is a list of features that were COMPLETELY CUT or REDUCED from…
Since klingon sex is basically violent wrestling, I wonder if the klingons don’t have BDSM but like the opposite. Klingons gathering in secrecy in dark cellars to engage in sweet, gentle loving, to the scorn of fellow klingons.
"How can you do that?" the other klingons ask. "You don’t even draw blood? Not a single furniture breaking? It doesn’t seem… natural".
"What is this… cuddle, you speak of?"
Imagine Hogwarts after the Battle, after the War, sure –
But imagine Hogwarts’ students, after their year with the Carrows and Snape.
Imagine a tiny little first-year whose porcupine pincushions still have quills, but to whom Fiendfyre comes easily. The second-year who tried to go back, to fight; whose bravado got Professor Sinistra killed, as she pushed him out of the way of a Killing Curse. The third-year who perfectly brewed poisons, hands shaking, wishing for the courage to spike the Carrows’ cups. The fourth-year who throws away all of their teacups, their palmistry guidebooks, because what use is Divination if it didn’t see this coming? The fifth-year who can barely remember what O.W.L.S. are, let alone that she was supposed to take them. The sixth-year who can’t manage Lumos to save their life, but whose proficiency with the Cruciatus Curse rivals Bellatrix’s.
Imagine the seventh-year who laughs until he cries, thinking about the first-years who will fall asleep in History of Magic while their story is told.
Imagine the Muggleborn first-years left alive, if there are any: imagine what they think of the magical world, when their introduction to it was Death Eaters and being tortured – by their classmates –for having been born.
Imagine the students who went home to their parents (or guardians, or wards, or orphanages) and showed them what they’d learned: Dark curses, hexes, Unforgiveables; that Muggles are filth, animals, lesser. Who, yes, still can’t transfigure a match into a needle – but Mum, there’s a hex that can make you feel as though you’re being stabbed with thousands. (Don’t ask them how they know.)
Imagine the students who will never be able to see Hogwarts as home.
Imagine the students Hogwarts has left, when it starts up again – the lack of Muggleborns, blood-traitors, half-bloods, dead and gone – the lack of purebloods; the Ministry would have chucked everyone of age (and possibly just below) in Azkaban for Unforgiveables, wouldn’t they?
Imagine how few students there are left to teach; imagine how few teachers are left to teach them.
Imagine the students who can’t walk past a particular classroom, who can’t walk through a hallway, who can’t walk into the Great Hall without having a panic attack or breaking down. Imagine the school-wide discovery that the carriages aren’t horseless after all; that everyone, from the firsties to the teachers, can see Thestrals.
Imagine the memorials, the heaps of flowers and mementoes – in every other corner, hallway, classroom; every other step you take on the grounds.
Imagine the ghosts.
Imagine the students destroying Snape’s portrait, using the curses, hexes, even Fiendfyre they’ve been taught how to wield – it has to be restored nearly every week; Snape stays with Phineas Nigellus semi-permanently. (None of the other portraits will welcome him. His reasons do not excuse his conduct.)
Imagine the students unable to trust each other – everyone informed on everyone, your best friend might turn you in.
Imagine the guilt that everyone carries (it should have been me, it’s my fault they’re dead, I told on them, it’s all my fault), the students incapable of meeting each other’s eyes because it’s my fault your best friend, your sibling, your Housemate, your significant other is dead.
Imagine the memorials piled high with the wands of the dead. Imagine the memorials piled high with the self-snapped wands of the living.
Imagine the students who are never able to produce a Patronus.
Imagine Boggarts being removed from the curriculum because Riddikulus is near impossible to grasp, even for the sixth- and seventh-years. Because their friends and families dead will never, ever be funny.
Imagine the students for whom magic feels tainted.
Imagine the students who leave the wixen world – hell, the students who leave Britain entirely, because there’s nothing left for them there.
Imagine the students who never use magic again.
(From the mind of the wonderful lavenderpatil, a keen look at how students might be after war.)
every time I close my eyes I see untold stories of heros and monsters and battles of magic and wit for a greater good or an unfathomable evil. But it all fades off once I open my eyes and I desperately try to translate it into something, anything, but all I can make feels like garbage.
Warriors, Gods, angels, demons- magic and swords, fighting dragons and saving the world.. ancient arcane tomes, and spells to cast.. monsters, lycanthropy, blunderbusses, dwarven caverns filled with elegant gems of untold mysticism, mined with steampunk contraptions.. Alchemy made with unusual, magical ingredients fished from the most ancient and dangerous of tombs.. taverns, with frothy ale and tall tales of massive giants made of the earth itself.
this shit means a lot to me. World of Warcraft, Deltora Quest.. even Neopets and Legend of Zelda. It strikes a chord in me that little else really can. It inspires me a lot, and when I can’t convey that, I get frustrated and depressed.
Did I mention that this fad of a “normal” human in a fantasy world pisses me off? Seriously, you could have a magic flinging elf or an orc with a massive hammer and you get Jack Smith of Normalshire as your main character.