#Witch’s Castle looks particularly interesting to me I’m curious where it’s gonna go

[quibbs126]

Alright so I think I’ve figured it out, so every Cookie Run game essentially follows its own canon, even if there are overlapping elements from other games. It’s sort of like Final Fantasy, only the characters are also usually the same

I guess it makes sense, considering that from what I’ve seen, most of the games (especially the recent ones/ones that are going to be released) are completely different in terms of game style; trying to connect them all to one timeline would just be a an absolute nightmare

Am I correct in this assumption?

[anthropologicalhands]

r/n 21. on a place of insecurity

note: it’s a hogwarts au! link to Ao3

~

Before she knew she was a witch, Rebecca’s seventeenthbirthday hadn’t held any special appeal for her, not the way the birthdaysdirectly preceding and following did. But the day her Hogwarts letter wriggled outof her mailbox and swept her out of her mother’s house changed all of that. True,it wasn’t a complete rescue; no castle, no matter how far away, could save herentirely from her mother and her neverending push for excellence which, unmooredby the new standards that a whole wizarding world revealed, doubled down inother ways.

However, by wizarding law, at seventeen a witch is an adult.When Rebecca turns seventeen, provided that she does not involve Muggleswithout ties to the wizarding world, she will be able to prove to Naomi Bunch,once and for all, what magic can really do.

There is always more magic to learn, even filled as the pastsix years have been with falling in love with Josh Chan, developing unusual butstrong inter-House friendships with Valencia Perez and Heather Davis, andfinding refuge in the Divination tower to have tea with Professor Proctor, evenif Rebecca had to drop the subject after her A-for-Acceptable-except-notOWL, forced to concede that she was too willing to read signs into anythingthat might suit her wishes.

That self-awareness, however, doesn’t stop Rebecca fromwishing for a sign right now.

There are barely fifteen minutes left before the end of herstudy session with Nathaniel Plimpton and she still hasn’t made her propositionyet, and it isn’t entirely clear if her own nervous anticipation or some otherforce is stretching the seconds out, so that the time to drag on especiallylong. Maybe it’s the short winter days, which makes the shadows in the libraryare especially long and dark, even though dinner isn’t for another two hours,or the flickering candlelight that makes her eyes sting and is definitely notthe best source of illumination. Idly, she wishes had her favorite reading light,the one shaped like a cartoon anglerfish, but no; it’s against the rules tohave any Muggle technology in the castle, even components as simple as alightbulb and batteries. She might still try it before she finishes; evensomething that small is a novelty to the classmates of hers who have only knownmagic all of their life, who haven’t had to fight to hold onto it, to make sureit isn’t just a fever dream.

She wants to see how Nathaniel would react, in particular—notto a reading light, but to a whole list of Muggle contraptions; he usuallymakes wonderful faces when confronted by technology he doesn’t know. From whatshe has seen of his Muggle Studies syllabus, they tend to skip out on some ofthe more interesting innovations.

Nathaniel likes to claim that Muggle Studies are a logicalchoice as a course of study going into Wizarding law, even though he knewabsolutely nothing about the Muggle world before they started talking inearnest, and he refuses to take her insights until after the professor hasgraded and returned his work – the result of a couple of small, harmlessmisconceptions she planted in his head early on in their acquaintance. Still,she’s looking forward to reading his essay on electricity after he gets it back—hetends to make interesting assumptions about the devices used in Mugglekitchens.

Rebecca sighs, not quietly, and peers over A Guide toAdvanced Transfiguration to see if Nathaniel might have the same jitteryfeeling as the end of their session approaches and might speak first so thatshe doesn’t have to start. But he seems perfectly content as he writes out hisessay in that neat, narrow script of his, nearly at the end of his roll ofparchment. She fidgets and groans to herself, realizing that she can’t wait forhim to look up first if she wants to talk to him about this and not miss herchance. Because she really, really wants to see how he’ll react to thisidea of hers.

“Hey,” she says, breaking the silence, testing the waters.

His eyes immediately flick up to meet hers.

“Hey,” Nathaniel returns, the word clipped and neutral. Buthe sets down his quill, like he knows that she wants to talk, and a full-bodyflush goes through her at his acquiescence, though she clears her throat andtries to seem perfectly unaffected as she leans towards him, so that there isno chance of their conversation will be overheard. He shifts towards her aswell, mirroring her folded hands and inclined head.

“Have you ever thought about what form your Animagus wouldtake?”

Nathaniel raises his eyebrows at her, unimpressed.

“Not particularly,” he says, sitting back in his chair. “Whatuse would I ever have for that? They’re just going to ask about the generalprocess, or the spell, not about your opinion.”

Rebecca pouts at him. “Come on, dude. Leave the cut-and-dryroutine and play along.”

Nathaniel rolls his eyes at her, the way he does when he isgoing to oblige her but wants her to know that he knows exactly what he is doing. She sits back, completely unashamed –whatever makes him feel good enough that he gives an answer.

“A cheetah,” he admits, with great reluctance.

Rebecca blinks, surprised; it’s a slightly more fancifulanswer that she would have expected.

“Really? A cheetah? The super sickly mammal known to haveanxiety? That one?”

“It’s the fastest mammal in the world,” he defends.

Rebecca hums, not entirely sold. “I guess. I’d have thoughtthat you were gonna pick a big cat, it would be a lion. Though, it makes sensethat you didn’t, ‘cause then you would lose face with all of your Slytherinbuddies, huh?”

Nathaniel just gives her a Look; she smiles innocently.

“What about you?” he asks, not because he cares, but becauseit is the point of the conversation, and he knows it. Rebecca is happy to takeit anyways.

“I haven’t decided yet, but I’m about to find out very soon.”

Nathaniel cocks his head to the side, the way he does inclass when the professors make a point that doesn’t track for him. “What do youmean by that?”

She nods, trying to seem careless and not like her heart ispounding in her throat. “What it sounds like. I’ll know before my next birthday.”

“Are you saying that you’ve…”

She smirks. “Not yet. But I will.”

She likes getting Nathaniel caught off guard, the way hisexpressions contort and how he tries to recompose himself afterwards. She usedto fluster him so easily, after their initial animosity had turned towards a friendlieracademic rivalry; he’s gotten used to her, but she can still do it, and she isconfident that announcing her intentions to become a teenage Animagus is morethan certain to provoke a reaction.

“Wow, that’s…”

“Amazing? Intense?” she supplies helpfully.

“A lot. That’s a lot of work for something that might beultimately pointless.”

The anticipation that had her floating so high abruptly turnsto lead, threatening to drag her down. But where there might have been mortificationwith anyone else, indignance flares up instead.

“What do you mean by pointless?” she demands,suddenly defensive to cover up her disappointment. She had been wanting areaction like the first time she successfully Vanished her raven and he hadlooked at her with such frank admiration. “There have only been sevenregistered Animagus this century. I would be among the best. What’s pointlessabout that?”

She can tell that she’s getting riled up, and she stops andcloses her eyes, taking two deep, slow breaths—after the Josh drama last year,she’s been working on monitoring herself, how she strikes out when she’s hurt.When she feels sufficiently calm and opens her eyes, Nathaniel is still sittingacross the table, concerned, trepidatious, but waiting for her.

Some of her irritation dissipates at the sight; she coughsand rolls out her shoulders self-consciously. “Sorry. That was a bit much.”

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“What did you mean, then?” She tries to sound curious anddisaffected, but does not succeed, if Nathaniel’s wince is any indication.

“I misspoke. It would be impressive,” says Nathanielslowly, cautiously. “But is it really practical?”

“Explain.” She means to sound commanding, not petulant, butit comes out in enough of a snarl that Nathaniel holds up his hands, palmsforward, to show he means no harm, that he has no means of defense if shedecides to hex him.

(Which is silly, she would never hex him. Tackle him downthe stairs towards the Great Hall, maybe. Or send him a Howler. But nothexing.)

“Rebecca,” he says, and a tiny part of her softens at howcarefully he says her name. “You’re definitely smart enough to get it right. That’snot a question.”

She can feel herself softening further, an additionalflicker of warmth in her chest at the compliment, but has no time to enjoy itbefore he continues, “But the process requires really precise conditions that onlyoccur by chance—you can’t exactly conjure your own lightning storm.”

“Watch me,” Rebecca mutters, but without heat. She slouchesback down in her seat, crossing her arms and not breaking eye contact. “Whatelse do you have?”

“Right.” Nathaniel still looks a little ill-at-ease, but thatnever stopped him from delivering a lecture before and it isn’t stopping himnow. “If you turn into something…unusual, you’re more likely to get caught,especially if you don’t want to get registered—”

“You think I would be something unusual?”

“Not the point. Besides, we need to focus on our NEWTS. Doyou really want to undergo a painful, highly dangerous transformation duringexams? What if you get stuck without thumbs?”

Rebecca lets out an involuntary snort of laughter. IgnoringNathaniel’s grin, she says, “That’s your worst-case scenario, that I can’ttake my exams? Please. Becoming a fully-fledged Animagus would totally countas a practical demonstration of my magical capabilities.”

“Again, not the point,” says Nathaniel tartly.

“Well, my point is that I wouldn’t do this if I wasn’tcompletely sure I could succeed. I thought you would be into that, because it’sall daring and individualistic and a challenge. Always reaching, right? Isn’tthat what you like to say?”

Nathaniel narrows his eyes at her use of his words againsthim, leaning back and crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s a risk, and not acalculated risk. What did your girl mob say about it?”

“Conceptually, they found it very interesting,” says Rebecca,a little too casually, and knowing it, hating how Nathaniel knows her wellenough that his eyebrows climb high up his forehead again at her reply.

“Conceptually?” he prompts.

“It was the best way to frame it,” she says quickly, rushingto get ahead of his objections. “Look, if they knew I was serious, Valenciawould just start freaking out about all of the laws and regulations I would bebreaking, and Heather might not say anything but she would give me that lookthat she gets sometimes and, really, I’ve thought this through, I don’t needany of that. So, no, I haven’t told anyone else. Just you.”

She only feels a little guilty when Nathaniel straightens upin his seat.

“Why me, then?” he asks, too carelessly for it to be natural.

“Well, like you said, it’s a very precise process, so I needsomeone who likes that sort of thing – exact quantities and followinginstructions to the letter—just to make sure that I don’t end up without mythumbs. And, logically, that means you.”

She internally cringes at how thickly she’s laying it on, almostlike desperation, but she comforts herself that it is, at least, true. Shetrusts Nathaniel to help her carry this out, if he so chooses—she wouldn’t haveasked him otherwise.

Nathaniel just looks at her for a long moment, a familiarmixture of exasperation and fascination across his features, like he can’tbelieve what he’s hearing. It used to make her feel self-conscious, but thesedays she knows how he thinks – the fascination usually wins out. For all of hisown obsessive tendencies and demands for perfection, she has never felt like hewanted her to fail, and she thinks (hopes) that this time will be no different.

“Very well,” he says at last, holding out his hand. “You’reon.”

Her heart lifts; she knew he wouldn’t let her down.

“I don’t need your challenge,” she says. “But thank you.”

They shake, and the prickle of electricity that shoots upthrough her arm and settles deep in her stomach has nothing to do with theanticipation of the challenge. It doesn’t quite make up for the reaction shedidn’t get, that she was hoping for, but it comes more than close enough.

Her homework planner chirps a five-minute reminder.

“Time’s up. When do you have Quidditch practice again?” she says,tilting her head so that she’s looking up at him from under her eyelashes.

“Not until six,” Nathaniel says, his voice thick, sending apleasant shiver up her spine that has nothing to do with the draft.

“All right.” She claps the book in front of her shut, tryingnot to seem too eager. “Walk me to the dormitory?”

~

“Have you noticed that this closet isn’t here most of thetime?”

“That’s what you want to talk about right now? Really?”Rebecca asks, as she shoves Nathaniel inside, quickly following and turning thelatch behind them.

Rebecca does, in fact, know that the closet isn’t usually inthis corridor; she’s done her research on the subject. And as a Room ofRequirement, since all they require is a tiny space with the door that locks,the door will stay locked, Alohomora or not. She sloughs off her bookbag and Nathaniel’s hands are already settling at her waist, fingers splayedwide before curling in, hooked in the waistline of her skirt. She laughs when hespins her around and presses her back against the sturdy door.

“You’re in a hurry,” she teases, not waiting for his answerbefore reaching up and tugging him down by the back of his neck to kiss him.His fingers flex in, one hand sliding low around her back and the other comingup and curling into her hair, shifting to get a better angle, while her handstighten in the crest of his hair and curve around the back of his neck, workingtheir way under his collar.

It’s a familiar motion by now, but it still feels new, asnew as every other spell she learns. She knows it’s the same for him, but inthe other direction: Nathaniel grew up in the Wizarding World, a long line oftraditions behind him and stretching before him, very few of the spells theylearn are unfamiliar to him, but he always touches her like he can’t quitebelieve she exists.

It’s not something she can admit to him, though, not withoutgoing against her own pride. She does like him, terrible awful Slytherin thathe is, and she’s made her peace with that, but anything more would get messy.Besides, he’s made his stance on relationships very clear over the last fewyears: no interest whatsoever. And after the spectacular disasters that wereher relationships with Josh and Greg, respectively, that is fine with Rebecca.Studying with Nathaniel is intellectually stimulating and kissing him in closetsstimulates her in other ways, and that’s all she needs right now, really.

Although, as willing as Nathaniel is to follow her lead mostof the time, he can be annoyingly contrary at times. Like right now, when sheonly wants him as close as possible, her arms tangling around him like she’smistletoe and he’s the tree, he abruptly pulls back. She lets out a whine and triesto tug him back down to her, but for once he resists.

“Why do you want to become an Animagus?”

Of course he asks that now, right when she’s no longer inthe mood to answer it.

“You couldn’t have asked me that in the library?” shemutters, arching her back so that she presses closer into him. A verysatisfying groan claws its way out of his throat, and he mock-glowers down hisnose at her. She smirks, unrepentant.

“And risk Mrs Hernandez overhearing?” he asks. “You don’tthink that wouldn’t get back to the Ministry?”

It’s not a weightless concern; Rebecca suspects Secret Earsare stashed around the stacks so that the librarian can better terrifymisbehaving students by enchanting books to beat them over the head for anypotential violation of library policy. But Rebecca isn’t interested in thatright now, going back up on her toes to nip at Nathaniel’s throat where it isexposed over his collar, the hand around the back of his neck sliding around tothe knot of his tie, starting to work it loose. He groans again, but still leansaway, thwarting her yet again, and this time his hands cup the back of her head,which makes eye contact impossible to avoid.

“Seriously, why?” he asks,his voice low in a way that on any other day would have her shiveringpleasantly, but the question is earnest, and enough to give Rebecca pause.

Nathaniel is a wizard born and bred, and for everything elsethey have in common; he has never known a world without magic, and he cannotpossibly understand her hunger for it.

She looks down and stares hard at his sweater, running herhand thoughtfully across the material, smiling when he twitches inadvertently.She has ways of distracting him, the way she distracts others, the way shedistracted Josh Chan while she was trying to figure out how to be his dreamgirl, the way she distracted her mother from prying too closely into her lifeat Hogwarts by hinting at means to restore youth, even if those attempts neverworked for very long. Even though she was so eager to tell him before, now itseems silly – pointless, even. Nathaniel grew up in the wizarding world, afterall; he would never understand her hunger for it. It was better that he hadn’tasked her before; she doesn’t know why she wanted him to in the first place.

But then the truth unsticks from the back of her throat,some internal force overwhelmed by the feeling of his hands around the back ofher skull and the open questions compelling forward an answer that is true.

“Remember those books I showed you?” she finds herselfsaying. “The ones I used to read as a kid?”

“The ones with that totally incoherent magic system?” heasks, forehead wrinkling, and she stamps down the urge to reach up and smooth themaway with her thumbs and swats him gently on the chest instead.

“Says the guy who read the whole series in a week,” sheteases, aiming for levity. “Well, it’s a series about transformation, right?And, in the Muggle world, the most unambiguously magical thing that you can dois change yourself and do it at your choosing. Right?”

“If you say so,” says Nathaniel doubtfully.

“And people say that the animal you turn into—that sayssomething about who you really are, right? That would be cool. Plus, again, it’sa challenging piece of magic and it would prove that I’m a witch of substanceto everyone – Morgan Le Fay was an Animagus, right? It’s big and dramatic andit’ll prove to her that—”

“That what?” Nathaniel prompts, his voice soft.

“That I’m powerful. That I’m a true witch.”

“Who says you aren’t?”

When she hesitates before answering a second too long,understanding flashes across his face.

“Oh. That.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re still worried about not belonging here?” he asks,frustration that has nothing to do with her hands or her teeth slippingthrough.

Rebecca shrugs uncomfortably, hands fisting in the materialof his sweater, as much of a comfort as to remind herself not to panic, not tolook off into the future. It’s another thing he just has never understood, shereminds herself, to hold herself back. Nathaniel has never known a worldwithout magic. He doesn’t know what it’s like to not see it.

To transform at will is proof that you have control overyourself and no one else can take it away from you. When Rebecca first learnedabout Metamorphmagi, she spent days aflame with jealousy, at the idea thatthere were witches who existed with such a perfect ability to transform into whoeverthey wanted to be. But of course, it couldn’t be learned, it had to be borninto. Even magic could be unfair. But still, there are so many spells thatwould reveal more things to her about herself, if she could just read theirmeanings right. Maybe if she had been born into magic she would understand, butshe wasn’t, so she had to study herself into it instead, take the risks that mostpeople don’t have to.

“There’s a world without magic in it,” she finds herselfsaying. “When I’m not here, I’m stuck there, stuck in Scarsdale, and it feelslike none of this was ever real, because it’s impossible to feel magical whenNaomi Bunch is yelling at you about finding a husband and trying to sneaklaxatives into your food. She’s still freaking out about how she’s going toexplain Hogwarts on my college applications, because, you know, she can’t haveher already-delinquent daughter miss Harvard.”

“But you won’t need that,” he points out, in what probablyseems to be reasonable counterpoint, his thumbs ghosting over her temple.

She gives him a weak smile. “Try telling her that.”

“You’re a witch,” he says firmly. “She can’t change that.”

Intellectually, Rebecca knows that. She has potion recipesmemorized by heart, can understand Transfiguration formulas perfectly with anight of concentrated study. Hell, she can physically manifest her physicalbody in another location near-instantaneously, as proven by her flawless Apparitiontest.

But it always feels like she’s missing something more. Thatshe can’t just be a witch, not if she wants to stay. It’s how she felt chasingJosh Chan, that here was someone who melded both worlds so perfectly, embodiedthem both so effortlessly. Josh never worried that one day he might leave thewizarding world and, upon his return, find that it closed itself to him, and shehad wanted that so badly for herself that it nearly led to both their destruction.

“Unless I am thebest, I have no reason to be here,” she whispers.

She feels, rather than sees his exhale.

“For a smart person, you say really weird things sometimes,”he says. She laughs shakily.

“You think so?” she whispers, desperate to hear hisreasoning. She stares hard at the prefect badge pinned just above his breast,the enamel still new and unmarked and the only real difference from hers isthat it is green, not red. It’s strange; for all of the fights they have hadover the years, for all that she knows that he finds the Muggle world completelyincomprehensible, she has always felt he understands, fundamentally, what she islooking for at Hogwarts. That he is looking for the same thing, using the samemethods, even if he won’t admit it.

Nathaniel looks at her, blue eyes blown dark, lips red andkiss-bitten and slightly parted. He blinks and shakes his head, refocusing.

“I don’t know what it means for you, but…I can’t imagineHogwarts without you,” he says at last, and the sincerity of it sends tendrilsof what can only be elation, white-gold and jittery, coursing through herveins, unfurling at her fingertips and down to her toes.

“It’s good to hear you say it,” she says.

But she’s already promised herself—don’t mix up boys andmagic again, don’t confuse cause and effect, so when she brings her hands up tocup his jaw in turn it’s an unspoken gratitude, but the next words out of hermouth pivot them smoothly away from such sentiments.

“But, remember, this is the last time we can do this.”

“What?”

Rebecca grins at his bafflement, suddenly amused, and smoothsher hands down the front of his robes, more conciliatory than arousing. “Comeon, you’ve read the same books I have – part of the process means that I haveto carry a mandrake leaf under my tongue for a month. Can’t take it out. So,uh, all of this kissing and certain…other activities will have to be on hold.”

The intensity, the uncomfortable intimacy of the momentabruptly shifts into something more familiar as Nathaniel heaves a long sigh,put-out, but not particularly troubled.

“I mean, we could work around that,” he says.

“We could,” she hums in agreement. “But I just thought youshould know what you’re getting into.”

“Of course,” he agrees. “It just means that we better notwaste our time today.”

“Please,” she says, going on her toes again to kiss himproperly, relief at having an ally overpowering the trepidation that whateverdelicate balance exists between them is not sustainable, too easy to transforminto something else without a chance of going back.