#and whatever I’m being subjected to the lord is allowing it and teaching me to rely on him but again PLEASE

[francesderwent]

in the last three weeks:

body image issues intensify

friend died (fiancé was out of town)

(when I contacted my hairstylist to try to momentarily distract myself from friend dying, she apologized for being late getting back to me because her dad just died)

some local friends moving away

bad news about other friend

bad news about other friend’s husband

get my period, almost faint at church, bicker with fiancé

eye swells up for no fucking reason during my mom’s biggest project of the whole year in which there are over a hundred staff and only four of them don’t have a designated replacement one of those being me

so I would like to politely request that our Father who art in heaven LEAD ME NOT INTO TEMPTATION AND DELIVER ME FROM EVIL please

[highlordofkrypton]

Wildflowers, a Tamlin x Rhysand prequel fic

Note: Is this the title drop chapter???

Chapter 8

During the days in Adriata, the war doesn’t exist. No one is dying; everyone is free. It’s a selfish feeling, one that Rhysand reprimands himself over and over again, but it’s true . His father wants nothing to do with him, especially not in peace talks, so he spends his days waiting for Tamlin to (inevitably) make his early exit from the war room. 

“Bored, already? It’s barely noon.”

“They’re breaking for lunch.” 

Whenever he leaves the High Lords, Tamlin seems heavier. Sombre. As if he’s carrying an unseen weight on his shoulders. Rhysand had thought it was the pressure of becoming the Heir, but as far as his conversations have revealed, Tamlin maintains no interest in power. 

Ah, so just the pressures of being a warhead, Rhysand had mused to himself upon that realization. 

“Are you bored? It’s barely noon,” Tamlin adds, a small smile dancing on his lips. 

“Thought you might need some rescuing.”

They’ve spent too much time together. In just a handful of interactions—two days, to be exact—Rhysand can see the way Tamlin lights up with curiosity about the new adventures they’ll get up to together. Yesterday, they’d walked around the market midday, and Tamlin taught him the meaning of the flowers for sale. He’d bought some seeds that the Spring Prince promised would thrive in the Night Court’s climate and sent them back to his mother and his sister.

“My father is going to establish his terms today; I need to be back for… posturing. So, no rescuing possible. Not today, unfortunately.”

“Ah, so the big bad wolf must be in attendance.”

“Mhm,” Tamlin nods. He would rather be anywhere else, honestly. His father would be terribly disappointed to know he hasn’t been listening for the past few days. Before going to the market, Rhysand had stood beneath the window, distracting him like an immature child. Tamlin, being the mature one of the two, did not laugh. He coughed into his hand. Several times, like a grown Faerie.

“Maybe you can rescue me .”

Tamlin’s blonde brow arches in curiosity. There isn’t anything he’s aware of that Rhysand couldn’t get himself out of; he’s seen him talk. That tongue is made of silver. “Go on?”

“Tarquin caught me. I can only avoid him for so long, and since you’re the one who’s been taking up most of my time—”

“You’re the one who won’t leave me alone.”

Rhysand smiles, sucking air through his teeth feigning annoyance. “Since you’re the only one I have patience for these days, perhaps you could attend his party with me tonight. Technically, it’s still the same party that Lucien invited us to. These things tend to go on for days,” he waves his hand lazily.

“Oh… I… I don’t go to parties.”

“It’s never too late to start.”

“My brothers will be there.”

“We can meet there.”

“I don’t drink.”

“You had mead.”

Pale brows furrows. Tamlin has never learned to say ‘no’, so he dances around the subject, hoping Rhysand will get the message. It clearly isn’t working. So, he tries again. “I’m not allowed.”

“You’re not a child, Little Lord. You can do whatever you please. If you want to go to the party, go. If you don’t, then say so.”

“I don’t want to go,” Tamlin says almost immediately, frowning at the pet name.

“May I ask why?”

It feels like a trap, but all Tamlin can do is sigh and acquiesce. “You may.”

“Are you really going to make me ask?”

“Oh,” he says softly. Tamlin was just being polite. “I don’t feel comfortable. Ever since the war started, I was to stay home and train. If I was strong enough, I could accompany my mother if she chose to leave our Court. She never risked it.” It was the smart choice. “I wouldn’t know what to do.”

“I could teach you. It’s about enjoying yourself.”

All the support in the world won’t change Tamlin’s mind. He simply isn’t ready to go that far. Instead, he makes a face which tells Rhysand all he needs to know. He doesn’t push; he just puts his arm around his friend’s shoulder and makes a counter-offer. “Let’s go forage for some lunch for you, then?” And hey, it gets Tamlin to laugh. Bully for Rhysand.

An hour later, Tamlin is deposited at the meeting room doors safe and full of veggies, as he should be.

***

Tarquin’s home is a mansion on a different cliff face. The walls are non-existent, and the marble roof is held up by ornate Corinthian columns, like an open-faced temple to hedonism and pleasure. One thing Rhysand cannot fault the Summer Court for—they are a people of culture and arts. As hard as they work, they play even harder. He admires the architecture, respecting its human origins augmented by Faerie opulence.

Rhysand arrives fashionably late, a habit he indulges when seeking to leave an impression. He cares little for the people here, even if half of them cause him no issue. They are not friends nor foes, not even Lucien who is a social butterfly. (A nagging thought in the back of his mind suggests: he would make a good spy , but Rhysand trusts few outside of his circle… unless they’ve done something to earn his trust.) After all, he has an image to uphold: the Night Court, a place as vicious, if not more so, than the Autumn and Spring Courts combined.

“Rhys! You made it. You’re late, but you’re here,” Tarquin, the younger cousin of the High Lord, skips over. At seventeen, just two years younger than Tamlin, he has yet to have his growth spurt. His flowing white hair is stark against his ebony skin, but his features complement his pale blue eyes. He thrusts a goblet of wine into Rhysand’s hands and encourages him to down it with him, which he obliges. Age is but a number when it comes to Tarquin and his parties, as long as everyone’s having fun.

“If the party never stops, is there such a thing as being late? I’m from the Night Court, and I don’t go out in the sun. It gives me such an unfortunate sense of time.” 

Tarquin laughs, a light chiming sound. He bids the son of the Night Court farewell and twirls enough to get his aquamarine robes to glitter from the motion. A little bit of errant magic after too much wine never hurt anyone.

Guests are scattered all over the place, from the crystalline pool that overlooks the cliff’s edge to the flaming hearth surrounded by luxurious violet velvet chairs or the three-tiered fountain with live fish and fresh fruit floating in it. Rhysand plucks a floating fig out of the fountain and takes a bite out of it. The sweetness of its flesh is elevated by the drops of seawater still on its skin.

Tamlin would like this , he thinks.

This would taste even better with wine, he amends. He can’t explain why his thoughts immediately went to the other lord. He’s not around; he won’t be. Out of sight, out of mind, Rhysand.

“Look who decided to show up,” Morrigan slides up next to Rhysand, brushing shoulders with her. Perfect as ever, not even a single blonde hair out of place. 

“I thought you said I wasn’t missing much.”

“About that,” she hesitates. There’s a crash of something expensive breaking, laughter and a snarl. Rhysand’s attention wavers, and she turns him to face her. “Rhysand, you need to control yourself. Remember where you are and who you are surrounded by.”

“What are you talking about?” More sounds of chaos, yet every time he tries to follow it, Morrigan demands that he focus on her. “If there’s something interesting going on, why wouldn’t I ogle?” Rhysand grew up surrounded by these High Fae, most of whom are older than him, but he likes to think he knows them well enough that they cannot surprise him anymore.

Morrigan sighs and lets him go. She doesn’t even bother to follow. There are some headaches that can be prevented. Not this one, but she would like to finish her wine and enjoy the buzz before it’s effectively shat on.

Time seems to slow from the moment Rhysand steps into the lounge room. A sitting area has been carved into the marble floor, filled with more of the plush velvet cushions Tarquin seems to enjoy. Sitting in it is half the Autumn Court—Beron has way too many sons—and only two sons of the Spring Court. Rhysand’s eyes narrow at them.

“Up, boy! Come on, up, up!” One of the red-headed Fae pats his lap, trying to coax Tamlin like a dog. “Roll over, Lordling. Stick your tongue out. That’s what the humans teach their filthy mutts, don’t they? You think you can get a human to fuck you in your beast form? Bet you could.”

“Why don’t we try it? Look at him; he probably would enjoy it, too.” Another of Beron’s sons adds. They all share the same shit temper and auburn hair. As for telling them apart, Rhysand never cared to put in the effort.

“A leash would be more suitable,” says another. “Fits his role in this battle better than any armour.”

Tamlin growls, but there’s an uncharacteristic slur to it. Rhysand can’t get a good look at him but catches the loll of his head against his seat. His blood turns to ice. He doesn’t think. Anything Morrigan said to him might as well be non-existent. He has the mind to maintain his cold and calculating demeanour, which his father raised him to have as a guise (that he should one day adopt as his true self). 

“Pathetic,” he sneers at them, schooling his expression to be mocking.

Several heads whip in his direction, none of them welcoming. 

“Halfbreed, don’t you have somewhere to be? Somewhere where you’re wanted? Oh wait, you don’t,” says Tamlin’s oldest brother and the future Heir to the Spring Court, Enfys. “Why else would he sack you with a shitty little frontline legion? He doesn’t care if you live or die?”

“You can’t even get a seat in the war room. Did you think we’d pity you?”

“At least I can hold my own in battle. I don’t have to resort to poison,” Rhysand folds his arms and looks pointedly at Tamlin. “You know that’s a coward’s tool.”

“You sure of that? I’ll duel you here and now,” offers another Autumn son. They’re rather chatty tonight.

Tamlin tries to get up and fails miserably. He’s drunk off his ass. How much did they give him? By his size, they would have had to feed him barrels of wine. Most of them laugh. Rhysand doesn’t. He simply cocks a brow.

Rhysand could kill them all. (Slowly. Artfully.) He doesn’t, though. He just plucks a goblet of wine and hops down to sit with them. The room grows darker, ever so slightly, the night containing all his rage. “That’s faebane, right? I’ve never seen it work up close.” He has. On the battlefield, but only in the shape of physical weaponry. Maybe if they’re stupid enough, they’ll tell him all the important details without him even asking.

“The Little Prince won’t die. It’s a low dosage; it’ll wear off in a couple of hours.” The wine births loose tongues, especially from the Autumn Court. 

Rhysand brings the goblet to his lips and only lets the wine touch it. His throat bobs with the feigned motion of drinking. Violet eyes hone in on Tamlin, but flit immediately to Enfys whenever anyone looks at him. “You could at least try to hide your fear of your baby brother .” His sharpened words cut are aimed straight for his core.

Enfys snorts. “He hasn’t been a baby in a long time. He needs to learn to hold his alcohol and his own.” The dark blonde High Fae shares similar features to Tamlin, but sharper and lined with bitterness. 

Eris, High Lord Berdon’s oldest son, is more than happy to chime in. “You expect us to believe this is what we have to work with in our alliance? C’mon, Tammy, time for you to find a maiden to take as spoils of war.”

“We’re in a ceasefire,” Rhys snaps, taking another casual false sip. “There is no war, and there are no spoils.”

“You really think that? While the Prythian High Lords waste their time holding hands, the war continues, and you lose a little more.” Eris counters. 

“We’re just teaching Tammy how to celebrate,” an unimportant Autumn son adds. “Shouldn’t he already know how to fuck? Leading the Calanmai is Prythian’s greatest honour. You won’t get very far like that, Little Cub.”

“Calanmai,” mumbles the youngest Spring son.

The Calanmai is an important tradition in the Prythian, and it is the Spring Court’s responsibility to uphold it. It signals the start of spring for the Continent, and the celebration itself is a ritual meant to gather magic and release it once more back into the land. All the High Lords participate, but it is the Spring Court that leads. Of course, Tamlin would want that honour. Not for the sex, which is essentially what the great ritual is, but to make his father proud and to give back all that he has taken from nature in the name of his war.

Of course, Rhysand sighs to himself.

Morrigan stumbles into the room, barely staying atop her crimson heels. “I’ll take him,” she grins, falling to her knees and cupping Tamlin’s cheeks. She tilts his head backwards and whispers something in his ear. The growl that rumbles in his throat is loud enough to vibrate in the chests of those around. Everyone watches them, even Rhysand’s eyes narrow, as she takes his hand and pulls him up.

“What does the Morrigan want with my brother? You don’t expect us to let him leave with you?” Enfys asks, guarded. 

“I want to know if he can fuck like a bull. Cauldron knows none of you can get a female off. Is that not what you wanted for him?” She sticks a manicured finger up in their direction. Not the thumb, the ring or the pinky. The one meant to offend the delicate senses of proper lordlings. “You can try to stop me.” She glances at the dark cushions. “The blood won’t even show,” she sneers at them.

Her departure pulls the tension between the young lords even more taut. Rhysand has been left alone with a room of wolves, but no matter. Wolves always yield to the night.

***

“Mor! What the hell were you thinking,” Rhysand growls, barrelling down their guest quarters in Nostrus’ home. The fae lights have been dimmed, adding an intimacy to the atmosphere. Over the sound of his raging heart, he can still pick up the soothing hush of waves.

“Thank you, Mor. You’re Mother sent, Mor. I owe you everything , Mor.” The High Faerie leans against her door, arms crossed and looking perfectly unimpressed. (Also, without a hint of inebriation.) 

“I had it under control! You think I needed you to put yourself in that position for me?”

Morrigan rolls her hazel eyes. “You lost control the second you realized it was Tamlin. You can lie to Sieffre and the idiots of the Autumn and Spring Courts, but I’ve known you your whole life. Cut the shit. You should have put me in that position if it was going to achieve your goals.” She sighs. While she doesn’t agree with his father’s calculating methods, she firmly believes that Rhysand can stand to learn from the High Lord of the Night Court. The dynamics in place between Courts have existed for millenia, as well as each of their reputations. He could at least learn to fake it. 

Rhysand sucks in a breath through his teeth, a sharp, irritated sound. She’s right. He knows she is. 

“And stop treating him like he’s a child. He’s not you and he’s not your responsibility. With the way these talks are going, we’ll be back on opposite sides soon enough.” And I don’t want to see you get hurt, remains unspoken. Morrigan turns her head and cups her ear, waiting expectantly for what she wants to hear.

“You deserve better. I’m sorry and thank you .”

“Cauldron knows I do.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“Oh, I know you will.” 

The door rattles behind Morrigan, and it's coupled with the crash of furniture. She smiles and kisses Rhysand’s cheek. “The faebane and the wine are wearing off. He’s a bit angry. Rightfully so. Good luck! Love you!” She escapes before Rhysand can try to coax her for more help. She’s done enough.

No one knows how much work it takes for Rhysand to wear his mask. He’s a bundle of nerves, full of an anxiety he was never allowed to feel. Rhysand takes time to breathe. Never mind the sounds of Tamlin’s rage, he will deal with it in due time. He just needs to compartmentalize until he’s sure Tamlin is okay. When he’s ready, he enters and is greeted by a dresser narrowly missing his head.

“Hello to you, too, Little Prince.” The smile he wears is easy. Comfortable. Like nothing happened, like he would let Tamlin walk out the door without a single word exchanged. (He would, but not without being sure he’s alright.) That same smile is wiped off his face in an instant. Along with it, his breath is stolen from him, and all thoughts are replaced with splintering pain shooting up his spine as he’s slammed against the wall.

“You’re mocking me.” Tamlin’s words are low and vicious. His strong fingers clench around Rhysand’s pale throat. Nostrils flare as if scenting the danger he presents. 

Rhysand stares into those green eyes, and what he finds there, beneath the storming rage, is… pain. Tamlin was betrayed by a brother he loved and made a fool by his peers. Rhysand places his hand gently atop Tamlin's, exerting no force and only trying to free himself enough to talk. “I would never,” he wheezes.

It takes a monumental effort to fight the instinct to fight back; Rhysand is a warrior, first and foremost. His mind flits towards the different methods of escape with varying ranges of violence. While he understands, his body is taut with loathing for being forced into this position.

“Then why do you call me that?”

“Call you what?” Rhysand keeps trying to wriggle free of the hold on his neck. Every instinct in him demands that he fight back, but there’s a bigger play at hand. He wants to show Tamlin that he can be trusted—that he’s not here to fight. When he stops fussing, it finally clicks. Lordling. Little Prince. Little Cub. Those were the type of names that the others called him. They were diminutive, making him seem smaller than the great High Faerie he has grown to be in the last decade. 

“I-I didn’t know.” Rhysand finally says. “That they called you that, or how they treat you.” He drops his hands to his side in surrender. Tamlin releases him just as soon, willing to hear him out. “I won’t call you that anymore.” He rubs his throat, knowing there will be a bruise there in the morning. “Anything you do want me to call you?”

He’s suddenly aware of the space between them. (He’s always aware of Tamlin, especially when he pulls away and shuts the world out.) Violet gaze follows the large frame of the Spring faerie.

“I have a name.”

“Well, I want to be special.”

Rhysand manages, by the Mother’s grace, to somehow make Tamlin laugh. The sound is tense and bitter, an antithesis of the wild freedom he’d grown accustomed to in the past week. 

“I don’t,” comes Tamlin’s whisper. 

This time, when Tamlin pulls away, Rhysand closes the distance. It’s a silent promise he made himself when he decided he wanted to know him; he wants to make sure that Tamlin knows he isn’t alone. If he is, then it’s by his own choice, not Rhysand’s. He rests his slender hands on those broad shoulders that have carried far too much at such a young age. “I wish you could see yourself the way I see you.”

A snort. “And how do you see me?”

“You’re a wildflower in a marble jungle. When the rest of us are stuck up and whining about our luxurious yet fulfilling lives, you do what you want. Specifically, licking walls and asking the good questions.”

The laugh that follows is bitter, now. “Never in my life have I been free.”

“Yet, you still hope for it.”

To that, Tamlin has nothing to say. He lifts his head, shifting his gaze away from a distant point out the window to look at Rhysand—to really look at him. (And Rhysand is happy to find that the pain has dulled in those emerald eyes, replaced with something much brighter.) “That’s what you can call me, if you want.”

“What’s that?”

“Wildflower.”

Rhysand grins. He feels happy down to his very toes, like the first warm sun after winter. (Like basking in spring .) Yet, no tender moment goes unpunished in Prythian. Tamlin turns to the side and violently vomits the content of his belly, most of it wine, faebane and dinner. Rhysand pulls his friend’s blonde hair into his hands and rubs his back soothingly. There, there.

(In the back of his mind, Rhysand makes a note of all the ways he will punish the Autumn sons and Enfys for their cruelty. All in due time.)

“One last thing, wildflower. Put your hands on me again and we’re going to have a problem,” Rhysand grins and he means every word. His friendship is not without accountability.

Before the sun creeps into the sky, Rhysand heads to the market to fetch fresh bread for Tamlin. By the time he returns, his friend is gone. 

The negotiations have fallen apart.

[lizardrosen]

To Expostulate What Majesty Should Be

@paysomeonetopaysomeone, @moonlarked, @gabriel-shutterson, @cleverclove, have some pre-slash claudius/polonius!

The younger prince faces much less daily pressure than the elder but you never know when an unexpected death may launch you to the top of the existing power structures, so he can never quite relax either. Claudius goes to law school, where he devours every book he can get his hands on. Like other statists he teaches himself to write fair — not only excellent handwriting but all the ‘verily’s and ‘thereunto’s and symbolic greenery and livestock.

He makes an effort to read up on national policies and how they have evolved over the decades so if perchance a reporter asks about it he won’t be caught wrongfooted and just panic and make something up. It brings him into contact with Polonius almost as often as his brother, just to understand the reasoning behind some article or decree or other.

He quickly understands where the councillor gets his reputation as tedious because he uses a lot of words to express some very simple ideas. But Claudius can’t be that irritated when he does take the time to keep explaining until he’s sure he’s got it, and doesn’t mock or scold him for not already knowing.

Whatever his personality, no one could deny that Polonius is excellent at his job. Claudius appreciates his insights and his intuitive understanding of how people all across the social spectrum work. It means that when he occasionally gets frustrated with his inability to corral his words Polonius can usually translate his meaning in a way that allows him to maintain his regal composure.

Their father certainly recognized his potential even when he was just starting out and made Hamlet promise to retain his services when it came time for him to assume the rule of the land. They make a good team: Hamlet’s military expertise, Claudius’s diplomatic flair, and Polonius’s sensitivity to the ebb and flow of public opinion.

It’s hard, though, being parentless. He must have known for a long time that when a position is hereditary the only way to get it is for the previous person to die, but it comes as a surprise to have it actually happen to him. Even weeks and months later he still weeps for what is gone and for the things he never even thought to say, but only sometimes. For the most part life just carries on.

“I’m tired,” he announces as he enters the lounge, and Polonius just points to a freshly-brewed pot of coffee on the counter. He adds a creamer to his mug and after a moment’s thought stirs in another. “God, you’re an absolute saint.”

It’s always worth it to show one’s appreciation, especially for someone so essential, and Polonius has a smile that spreads across his whole face when he’s really pleased. “Thanks, dear my lord!”

“But I’ll tell you what,” he groans as he collapses against the back of the couch. “If I never have to attend another budget proposal meeting it’ll be too soon.”

“Bad news, sir, we do this quarterly,” says Polonius and Claudius cracks up. It’s not like he doesn’t already know this, but there’s something about the deadpan delivery that makes it all seem much more manageable.

“I can’t imagine what all this would be like if I also had to worry about student loans like so many of my peers,” he admits. “Or medical bills, my god! Me, I could stop working tomorrow and I’d still have everything provided for me, but most people don’t get that security. It makes me feel like a fraud.”

“For what it’s worth, Claudius, I think you’re doing an admirable job. Most royals in history — that is, in European history, and the history of the nations that have been colonized, for that’s what I’ve studied and I wouldn’t want to speak definitively on those subjects with which I have only passing familiarity—”

Claudius clears his throat to get him back on track, but he’s fond of this rambling.

“Ah, yes, most of those royals I’ve mentioned have not put nearly as much thought into this as you have. Citizens have typically been considered in terms of soldiers and profit, while you consider the heart of the matter. You’ll be just fine.”

“Oh.” He’s genuinely touched by the confidence, and perhaps he blushes just a little. “Thank you. How’s Caroline been, by the way? Her due date must be coming up soon.”

Polonius nods happily. “End of May. Laertes is very excited to become a big brother, of course.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’ll be great at it!” He’s never seen a kid so full of heart, and if they’re all very lucky he might even keep that enthusiasm into adulthood. Anyway, it’s good at least someone is good with small children because Claudius certainly isn’t, and he’s got a nephew coming by November. Even young Laertes is only barely getting to the age where Claudius doesn’t feel like he’s fumbling every interaction, and soon he’ll have to learn to be an uncle. He hopes he’s a good one.

[beels-burger-babe]

Of Jealousy and Friendship - Pt. 1

Topic number 2 won in the vote to be written next! So without further-a-do, let’s get going!...This ended up being a two part thing. Oh Well. Here’s part one. - B GN! MC Summary: MC makes a lower demon friend who may secretly be hoping for something more than friendship. The Demon Bros are not about to let this happen. Part Two: Here, Epilogue: Here It all started in magical potions. When you first arrived, the course wasn’t so bad since you took it with Beelzebub. The two of you always partnered up; the hour would consist of you jokingly scolding Beel for trying to eat ingredients and making light hearted jokes with one another whenever the teacher turned their back.  But once the second semester started, Beel was moved out of the course as it had gotten too expensive to keep him in a class where most of the subject matter was edible.  Which left you alone and bored in the classroom as the teacher went on and on about Mandrake roots and what they can be used for. You let out a heavy sigh and plopped your forehead onto the desk.  A soft snort came from beside you. You glanced over to see a demon with his feet propped up on his desk staring right back at you out of the corner of his dark green eyes. He smiled at you with a tilt of his head.  “The lectures are a total snooze fest right? I joined this class cause I thought we’d be making potions and causing stuff to explode. Not sitting here twisting our thumbs all day.” 

You bit back a laugh as you worried glanced over at the professor, who was none-the-wiser to the little conversation the two of you were sharing. You looked back over to the demon. His dark skin caused those hauntingly green eyes of his pop out at all who met his gaze, with carefully trimmed and styled black curls sitting stylishly on the top of his head.  There was a playful and mischievous energy to him that reminded you of Belphie, Asmo and Mammon.  “Unfortunately suffering through this section of class is mandatory to be allowed to mess around with the fun stuff.”  The demon groaned and threw his head back. “Urgh, that’s so unfair. What’s the worst that can happen? The potion explodes and kills us? Newsflash teach, we’re already dead.”  You couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out at that one.  “Well actually the worse that could happen, for you at least as I am a very mortal human, is that you’d suffer the consequences from one of the potions. Anything from shrinking to de-aging to charms, all kinds of things. I’ve seen the effects of a potion gone wrong a number of times during my time down here. Trust me; you don’t want to be on the receiving end.”  He looked over at you with an analytical eye as the corners of his lips tilted upwards. “So you’re the human that everyone’s talking about.” He trailed off, and glanced over at the teacher to make sure they weren’t looking before stretching out his hand towards you. “I’m Cane. You know despite being the talk of RAD, I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone mention your name?”  You took his hand into your own and lightly shook it. “I’m MC.” 

Cane leaned back into his chair, “It’s a pleasure to finally put a name and face to that glowing reputation of yours, MC. I see your pretty good at this potions thing, and I hear that you’re a lot of fun. How about you meet me downtown for supper later and we can study and get to know each other a little better?”  Your initial instinct was to agree, but then you paused as you thought of the brothers. “I don’t know. I don’t think that Lucifer or the others would like it much if I went out on my own.”  The demon huffed and light heartedly rolled his eyes. “You won’t be alone, you’ll be with me. I may not be as powerful as them, but I’m still a pretty good fighter.” He teasingly placed a gentle punch onto your shoulder, “Besides, it’s not like they’re boss of you. Are you really going to let a bunch of snobby Lords keep you from making the best of your time in the Devildom?”  That last remark hit a nerve. If there was one thing that had spread quite quickly about you around RAD, it was that you were known for being a little reckless, prideful, and never being able to back down from a challenge, and boy did that statement have you itching to prove him wrong.  You smiled, a sharp dangerous smile, at Cane. “I’ll go. And we’re going to do so much more than just go to a lame restaurant and study. You want to have fun and take risks? We’ll have fun and take risks. Whatever you want to do...to a degree,” you added in quickly remembering that you were talking to a demon and if you didn’t implement any boundaries there was no telling what you’d get yourself into, “I’m in.”  Cane’s eyes sparkled as his smile widened. “Damn. I guess it’s true that you’re a bit of dare devil. Alright, you’re on. Meet me at Hell’s Kitchen a 4pm. We’ll study and hit the books as promised, but afterwards...Get ready for the night of your life.”  ***

The brothers were concerned. You had rushed into the House of Lamentation after school and sprinted to your room, changed out of your uniform and promptly shouted that you were “going out” before taking off before any of them could complain.  Mammon had tried to argue that someone should follow you, and while that wasn’t a terrible idea, Lucifer wanted to give you the question of the doubt. Worst case scenario, you come back home a little scratched up and learn your lesson about taking off into the dangers of the Devildom.  At least that’s what he had thought when you had initially left.  It was now bordering midnight, and you had yet to return home.  So yeah, the brothers were very concerned.  Mammon was pacing and ranting about how this all could’ve been avoided if they had only listened to him for once.  Leviathan was trying to distract himself with his game, but everyone could see the worried glances he kept throwing to the entrance and clock as the minutes ticked by.  Satan sat near where Mammon and would occasionally scold or correct him, and sometimes even throw in his own ideas on what could be done while he thumbed through a book on location spells.  Asmodeus was strangely quiet, sitting near the fire by himself with arms wrapped around his torso as he stared into the flames. He would occasionally move a hand to wipe at his face before it went right back to hugging himself.  Beelzebub had lost his appetite. He sat next to Belphie, taking comfort in his twin’s presence, while Belphegor pretended to be unbothered and asleep, even though his mind was racing with the many stupid situations you could’ve gotten yourself into.  And Lucifer...He just sat in a door near the entryway, his eyes fixed on the entrance as he silently waited.  Finally, just as the clock stroke midnight, they could hear your recognizable laugh from behind the door.  “Oh my god! That was incredible! I don’t think I’ve ever had so much fun in life!” Leviathan stiffened at the statement, his hands gripping tighter onto his game.  “What did I tell you? I promised you the night of your life, and I sure as Diavolo always make sure to deliver,” everyone froze at the sound of the teasing male voice. “Though I didn’t expect the Seven Lords’ precious human to be a complete bad ass. You were amazing out there.”  Leviathan mumbled something before getting up and leaving the room. Mammon growled lowly and looked at the others, “Anyone know who the hell that is?”  Asmo finally stood, wiping at his face as he did, and began to stride towards the door, “Why don’t we find out?”  Without waiting for a response, Asmodeus swung the door open and pulled on a bright smile as he reached out and wrapped an arm around you. “MC, darling, you didn’t tell me you were bringing over guests! Don’t tell me you’re trying to have fun without me?”  You blinked up at the Asmo before smiling softly at his tactics. “Oh, hey Asmo! I didn’t expect you to be up. Cane here was just dropping me off.”  The demon in question didn’t even so much as stiffen as Asmodeus’s dangerous stare shifted over to him. Instead Cane stood there, relaxed, with a shit-eating grin on his face. Asmodeus raised an eyebrow at him and allowed a bit of his demonic aura to exude around him. “Oh really? At this time of night? Makes a demon wonder what kind of mischief the two of you had gotten up to,” while maintaining eye contact with Cane, Asmo rested his chin against your shoulder. “You know dear, if you wanted “fun” that badly all you had to do was ask. I assure you I could’ve shown you a much better time.” He purred and softly kissed your shoulder.  You shivered, missing the way Asmo stiffened as he noticed something, and swatted at the Avatar of Lust as you moved away from him. “Down Asmo. It’s nothing like that. Cane’s in my magical potions class. We went out to study together and decided to hit a couple clubs while we were out. No biggy.”  “If it’s ‘no biggy’ then why were you out all night without giving us any kind of warning of where you were going or how long you’d be out?” Everyone whirled around as Lucifer stood in the doorway with a frown etched on his face and his arms crossed. He took a step closer to you before freezing mid-step, his nose twitching. His eyes flared red as they fell onto Cane. The lower demon tensed and curled his hands into fists, but seemed to be refusing to back down. Lucifer snarled, “What exactly was it that you said the two of you were up to tonight?”  You frowned and stepped between Lucifer and your new friend. “Hey! Stop it! He didn’t do anything, if that’s what you’re implying. And I wasn’t aware that I needed permission for every single thing that I do!” You snapped poking his chest as you moved into his space. “So excuse me for wanting to go out and enjoy myself for once!”  Whatever fear Cane had been showing, quickly slipped away at seeing you stand your ground against the mighty first born. “Yeah. What they said.”  Lucifer growled and caught your hand into his own, pulling you close and leaning in, “You’d be wise to remember that you are in the Devildom and surrounded by beings that have no where near as good intentions as you’d assume. Being so reckless and naïve down here could get you killed again, I thought you had learned that.” His tone was cold and unapologetic as he practically spat the words in your face.  You glared at Lucifer as you yanked your hand out of his grasp. There was so many things you wanted to say to him, but none of them would be right to say in front of an audience. You huffed and turned to face Cane. “I am so sorry about those two. Thanks again for tonight and bringing me home. I’ll see you tomorrow in class, okay?”  Cane gave you a side smile as he scratched the back of his neck. “It’s nothing. I had a great time hanging out with you. Hopefully we can do again...under better circumstances. Goodnight MC.” He took a step towards you and pulled you into a hug.  You smiled, wondering how Lucifer and Asmo could be stirring up such a fuss about a guy who had been nothing but kind to you, and gently hugged him back.  What you couldn’t see, was Cane making direct eye contact with the two other demons, as one of his wrists gently brushed up and down you back and he very lightly nuzzled, so lightly that you could just barely feel it, his face against your neck.  “Hey, what’s takin’ everyone so- WHAT THE ABSOLUTE FUCK?!” Mammon stormed forward and yanked you out of the demon’s embrace, already changing into his demon form. “Who the hell do you think you are scenting our human, huh?!” He lifted Cane off the ground by the collar of his shirt, causing the lower demon growl as he scratched at Mammon’s hands.  You yanked on Mammon’s jacket and arms and tried to get him to back off. “Woah! Mammon, relax! It was just a hug!”  “No it wasn’t,” Satan grumbled as he and the rest of the brothers (excluding Leviathan who was now sulking in his room) stood in the door way. “The fact that you don’t know that makes this even worst. But this isn’t a conversation we should be having out here.” Beel stared down at the demon with a fierce glare. “You should leave while you’re still able. And if you know what’s best for you, you’ll stay away from MC.”  “Wha- Beel! Cut that out!”  Cane took a step backwards, fear beginning to spill into his expression as he finally realizes just how out-powered and out-numbered he is. Still, he was stubborn pain in the ass; it was part of the reason he had been so drawn to you in the first place as he related to your reckless habits. He held Beelzebub’s glare and returned it with one of his own. “I think that MC can choose for themself who they do and do not hang out with, thanks. They already said they wanted to see me tomorrow so they will. We’re friends after all. And classmates,” his grin sharpened as he continued. “I do have to thank you, Lord Beelzebub, for that opening in magical potions by the way. Never would’ve got in if you hadn’t been kicked out.”  Before he could say anymore, he was met with a punch in the face. Belphegore lazily shook out his hand and his looked at Cane with an unbothered expression. “I believe we told you to leave. Now get. The. Fuck. Out.”  Cane scoffed and turned to you once more. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Dare Devil.”  You would’ve snorted at the nickname, but you were to distracted from the brother’s behavior. “Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow. Get home safe, Cane.” With another nod, the demon left; leaving you alone with six of the seven brothers bubbling with jealousy, anger, and concern.

[barricadebops]

Miserables Month Day 5: "Lesson"

Written for the Miserables Month @themiserablesmonth

Honestly, Bahorel felt slightly offended.

"And you believe I can help?" he asked incredulously.

"Why not?" Enjolras almost seemed to challenge. "Out of all these years you have enrolled in law classes you must have sat in at least a few--enough to help me now."

Young Enjolras had not yet made many friends at the university in any of his classes. In fact, the two friends he had so far made were Bossuet, his senior by three years, and Bahorel, his senior by seven years. He had found the matter just the slightest bit peculiar; Enjolras had an aura that drew people to him, it was a wonder there hadn't formed a line outside the university of students just trying to know his name. Then again, it had only been close to a year since he had arrived from the South to the city--Bahorel supposed making truly close friends did take some time. His meeting and befriending him and Bossuet was indeed a happy patch in what Bahorel imagined had so far been a bit of a lonely life for someone quite so young.

As it was, Enjolras was currently seated in Bahorel's rather large apartment, at the opposite end of the table, having reached out to the senior student for help in a situation assigned from law clsss.

"Enjolras," he walked over from his end of the table to where Enjolras was seated on a chair at the opposite side, stooping his hand and ruffling his friend's blond curls affectionately, "you know I make sure to take the utmost caution to ensure the knowledge of law does not reach me. I even double check that my coat is buttoned up when I pass by the law school; one can never be too serious when it comes to such a dangerous illness."

Enjolras rolled his eyes and attempted to tame his hair. "Do not fret, you will not be alone in your teaching endeavours." He flashed a brief smile. "I invited Bossuet too, for help."

Bahorel stared for a second before his mind caught up the words Enjolras had just delivered when he let out a gasp and put a hand to his heart.

"Deception! Trickery! In my own home!" It wasn't as if Bahorel hated Bossuet. No, just the opposite; he thought Bossuet was a splendid fellow—he always seemed to be laughing. But it was true that Bossuet did take his law studies more seriously than he did. With his arrival, it was no doubt that his poor apartment would be filled to the ceiling with legal jargon.

Enjolras simply grinned, his smile growing as there came a knock at the door, signalling Bossuet's arrival.

He threw a pseudo glare at Enjolras before marching over and throwing the door open, the bald man of only twenty years of age standing outside, smiling. On his hand there was a wrap of bandages.

"Hello, my friend!" Bossuet called out brightly. Bahorel stepped aside to let him in, Bossuet strolling over to where Enjolras was seated. "For a moment I was afraid you would turn me away when you learned of my purpose here—surely Enjolras has told you."

He closed the door and pulled out a seat at the table, though he did not sit. Faking a ridiculously overdone sigh, he said, "You know I would not turn you away, Laigle—" here he could see Enjolras' eyebrows furrow, it seemed as if their dear Laigle had neglected to inform him of the various manifestations of his name—"yet I had hoped you would have had a bit more sympathy for a man not to make him ill in his own home."

Bossuet waved his hand dismissively. "Come now, perhaps this illness will finally inspire something in that head of yours to attend classes and finally pass."

"Or perhaps all this talk of law will finally allow you to come to an understanding on the deadly nature of this illness; it's not too late, my friend, you can still drop your classes."

Enjolras snorted. "With the last sou he's down to in his pocket?"

"Better anything than a lawyer."

Bossuet shook his head in amusement. "Will it suffice for you if I give you my word that you shall be the first I tell if ever I bail out of law school?"

"You are already an idler, it should not take too long. I shall expect it when you finally find yourself seated in Blondeau's class. I suspect Delvincourt has been much too easy on you."

"Whether or not Delvincourt is an easy professor or Blondeau seems to be difficult," Enjolras interrupted, "it does not solve the matter at hand."

Bossuet grinned. "Yes of course. To reach the matter of why we have convened here like a holy meeting. We are to deliver to Enjolras a lesson in law!" He draped an arm around Bahorel, though he had to lean slighty upwards to do so. "How wise of you to come to your senior students."

Bahorel sniffed. "How wise of you to poison my air with legal jargon."

Bossuet patted his shoulder, but said no more.

Enjolras pursed his lips and brought out a notebook. "I was hoping you were willing to go to the trouble of reviewing this matter in property law with me."

Bossuet's eyes popped open in delight, though it must be said he did not find the actual review of property law to be so interesting as it was to teach his younger friend in a manner Bossuet would think was fun. Bahorel groaned inwardly. His horror, however, slowly gave away to glee as an idea hatched in his mind.

He could make this lesson fun yet.

_________________________________________

"...And as for me, although I'm no legal authority, at most an amateur jurist, I would say this: that in accordance with Normandy custom, every year at Michaelmas except where other rights prevail a compensatory payment must be made in favour of the lord of the manor by each and every householder be he landowner in his own right or by right of inheritance and that this applies to all long leases, short leases, free holds and contracts bona fide, mala fide, de jure and de facto."

"You've turned me green, dear Lesgles, with the way you've poisoned the air. I expect compensation for this."

Bahorel looked over at Enjolras, who sported a generally understanding look, but which was coloured slightly by a mix of annoyance and amusement. He had come to understand the assistance Bossuet had given him, but serious as he tried to maintain he was, he couldn't help but let a laugh shake his being as Bahorel interrupted the lesson with what he thought were his much more entertaining additions.

"Yes, thank you, my friend," he addressed his gratefulness to Bossuet earnestly. "I believe perhaps now I won't feel so lost in class now."

Bahorel looked mock offended. "And what about me? Did I not play my part? Are we not all to receive a share of the reward in the republic?"

Enjolras rolled his eyes and faked annoyance, though the smile he could not hold off on his face spoke volumes to his true feelings concerning the matter. "And what was your contribution to this grand lesson?"

He grinned "The efforts to deter the both of you from committing a capital sin."

"Of becoming lawyers?"

"The very likes of it."

"And this was only possible by making an already confusing lesson even more so?"

"Whatever works in both mine and yours' favour."

"Calm yourself Bahorel," Bossuet waved his hand dismissively, though all were laughing at this point. "Perhaps one day you will find yourself a former law student who has shunned the subject and you will finally find yourself an acquaintance then."

[audreyimagines]

hello hello! this one came to me in the middle of the night and i simply HAD to request it-

so hear me out, teacher Reader. this happens before all the major everything when the members of the server were all little kids (except for like Philza since he’s Wilbur, Tubbo and Tommy’s dad (it’s not canon that Technoblade is Philza’s son so if you want to make him Philza’s son for this headcannon you can :D) and Reader was a traveling teacher who would stay in their client’s house for awhile and take care of/teach the children different subjects before going to the next client and then eventually returning (in a sort of cycle).

like Reader could’ve been the one to teach Technoblade about anarchy, Wilbur the guitar, Tommy sewing (i think i saw a headcannon somewhere that Tommy can sew/sew good enough to mend clothing and i adored it), and Tubbo the basics of potion brewing and gardening/taking care of animals (especially bees).

and maybe Dream invites Reader to the SMP (as after Reader’s teacher days they’ve started doing research into magic other than potion brewing and refined the art of enchantments) and just some fluffy reunions with Tommy, Wilbur, Technoblade and Tubbo after they see Reader on the SMP (and if it’s not too many characters maybe even Philza catching up with Reader in person (they’d probably exchange letters)

this is my first request with specific characters and i think that’s funny-

anyways take your time, have fun and have a lovely day ✨

teachers & tattletales

pairing - SBI FAMILY <333 x gn! reader

notes - this is so cute thank u for requesting!! SO LONG i apologize

word count - 986

——————————————————————————

it felt like so long ago.

you’d started your position as teacher for philza’s children long ago, before any of these wars and traumatic events.

four little brats running around...what a handful.

techno was the oldest, and thankfully he acted like it. you’d have many a night teaching him how to hold his little rubber sword and hit things. it was so only fair after all, the boy whizzed ahead in all of his studies. any book you gave him was read and analyzed in a day. when he got older, sometimes he’d sit on the roof with you, and ask questions about life and get advice. you’d scowled at the idea of heights, but the pink haired boy convinced you, and he easily became like a little brother. eventually, he even helped to take care of the others with you, though you still put him in his place.

wilbur was next, and oh lord was he a lot. the kid was smart, sure, but more street smart. you’d leave the room for them to take a written test and peek back in to see wilbur trading with the others for answers. that resulted in a whole conversation with phil, allowance was lowered and wilbur was furious. you could remember his little scowl so clearly. thank god the boy could be distracted by music. the second you figured it out, you were giving him little guitars and things to drum on. he was cunning too, always talking back and weaseling out of things. most of your attention went towards him.

tommy was loud. very very loud. he’d been the one phil warned you about, but he felt like the easier to you. the boy could stick to a task if you made clear it was important, and all work was done on time. he also loved to sew, and one time you helped tommy make a pillow for phil. all three of you cried. the only time he was unmanageable was when he was with tubbo, but that was expected.

speaking of tubbo, he was actually high maintenance. very polite, very sweet, but god what a head in the clouds. he never got stuff done on time, and you ere constant on his ass. he just didn’t seem to have enough motivation, unless it was gardening. the kid grew like seventeen kinds of veggies, and sometimes you’d eat them for lunch. when you weren’t scolding him and tommy, or having to do makeup work with him, he could be the easiest. those two situations were very common, however.

when you received a letter from dream, after taking years to yourself to practice witchcraft on your own, you were ecstatic.

it read,

dear y/n,

i understand you don’t really know who i am anymore. but i’m in prison, and trying to right some wrongs. if you could come to these coordinates, i think you’d be happy to see the boys you used to teach.

sincerely, dream

of course you set off instantly, reaching phil’s house in a few days. it was just as cold as you remembered, and you pulled your cloak closer to you as you opened the door.

“hello?” phil’s face melted from confusion to recognition and then joy as you hugged him. he pulled you in instantly, sitting down to make you tea and talk all about the years you’d missed.

“do you think i could see the boys?” you asked around the rim of your cup. phil shot up.

“oh my god i’m hogging you, of course!”

first stop was techno’s. the man just stared at you for a minute, taking you in. when he eventually hugged you, it was gentle, like he was afraid he’d break you. you swore you heard him sniffle, but techno denied it for years.

wilbur was next, and he was the same cocky bastard he’d been as a little kid, but taller. he was negotiating something with quackity when he saw you in the distance. wilbur mumbled something quickly to big q and then was bounding to you in an instant.

“long time no see.” he extended a hand.

“wilbur,” you mumbled happily, and the boy scooped you up in a hug. you could almost swear he said “so much longer than thirteen years,” but decided not to press it. instead you focused on the beanie boy in your arms.

phil warned you tommy might be a bit off, though he didn’t explain why. you didn’t ask, it was their own lives. tommy would tell you if he wished. when you reached his house and knocked, the boy who answered looked battered. it broke your heart.

“tommy!” you said. he shrunk back.

“don’t,” his voice was shaky, “don’t mock them.”

“what? tommy it’s- it’s me?”

you held your arms out and gently hugged him. it took a few minutes, but before long tommy was sunk into your embrace, sobbing.

tubbo was a bit less emotional, with you arriving at the giant mansion and just staring. holy.

an enderboy??? half ender??? whatever. someone answered the door, and blinked politely at you.

“can i help you?”

“oh, i’m sorry. i thought this was tubbo’s house.”

the mans face lit up.

“tubbo! someone’s here for you!”

before long the brunette rounded the corner, leading a small pink haired child by the hand. the kid fell, and tubbo scooped him into his arms. his gaze flipped you to you, and his mouth dropped wide open.

“TEACHER!” he was running at you now, quickly handing off the child to the enderman before tackling you with a laugh. once you got up, tubbo took you on a tour around the beautiful gardens he had. it made your heart swell.

after being invited to stay over by his now-introduced husband and child, you made plans with the rest of the family to see them tomorrow, and drifted to sleep, perfectly content.

[missdawnandherdusk]

Through My Eyes

Draco X Hufflepuff!Scamander!Reader

Request: @cat-moon: draco malfoy x scamander reader 

A/n: Okay y’all time to get serious for a moment. Newt Scamander is on the ASD spectrum, and it is hereditary, and therefore so is his granddaughter. But it is not just because it is hereditary that I am creating her this way, but also because life on the ASD spectrum is quite remarkable and it really is a different world experienced, being there myself. Autistic women show the signs in much different ways than males do because of a thing called masking and social behavior that is expected of women in society. I wrote a paper on it after getting my own diagnosis so, I know a bit from research and experience. Our reader is still as lovely as ever and nothing written is done from malicious intent nor ignorance. I am alright with writing her this way because I have the authority to, otherwise I wouldn’t dare to. I love you all so much and i’d love to know your thoughts!

“You’re not supposed to be here,” My voice was soft.

“I can be wherever I bloody well please,” Draco muttered slinging his bag down onto the chair.

“No,” I pressed. “You’re supposed to be in study hall. Only Ms. Pince and I are in here during this hour. You’re not supposed to be here,”

“Don’t get so bent out,” He scoffed. “I thought you Hufflepuffs were supposed to be friendly.”

“You don’t know anything about the world around you,” I murmured, closing my book, and tucking it into my bag. I held my tongue before snapping at him to not return tomorrow.

I stormed out of the library, thrumming my fingers on the strap of my bag, humming a comforting melody. It calmed my senses so that I could plan my next move. One option was going to my dorm, but I’d get there only having to turn back to go to class again. I could go to class early and continue to work, but I didn’t want to be asked questions about why I was early. There was only twenty minutes until my next class. Then it occurred to me, I wouldn’t be in a classroom for my next class, instead outside with Hagrid. A smile touched my lips as I stopped in the hall and changed my direction heading to the outdoors and toward Hagrid’s Hut.

Letting my fingers run through the soft grass that rose to about my waist, I strolled through the grounds, going the long way to Hagrid’s, humming all the while.

“Well, you’re ‘ere early,” Hagrid grinned. I nodded in response, my eyes flitting to the page that he had opened in our old textbook as he continued to speak. “Well, just so ‘appens that we takin’ a page from your granfather’s book ‘ere.”

“Hippogriff,” I read from the page. “Do you really have one here!?”

“She’s ou’ back, ‘ome on. Meet Buckbeak,” Hagrid led me outside the hut and sure enough there was the fantastic beast, preening her feathers. “Now you just gotta... well yeah,”

He stopped trying to instruct me as I bowed to the creature, waiting for her to bow in return. When she did, with slow and precise movements, I made me way toward her, stretching out my hand, not breaking eye contact. The hippogriff followed the fluttering of my fingers as I drew near until she was entranced enough that she allowed me to stroke her muzzle.

“She ‘eally likes you,” Hagrid exclaimed. “You sure are your granfather’s kid,” I paid him no mind as I caressed the beast’s head as she nuzzled into my hand.

I backed away, Buckbeak chittering annoyed as I parted from her. I signaled for her to be quiet and she lowered her head and complied. The class slowly arrived, and Luna took her place by my side, saying a soft hello but not much else. I liked Luna. She was like me. A bit different but she knew about the world around us. It was a comfort to not be alone.

It was the next few days that I was called into Professor Sprouts office. When she saw the panic on my face, she smiled and assured me that I was not in trouble and apologized for ruining my schedule. I took a seat at a chair in front of her desk.

I jumped when the door opened behind us.

“What’s she doing here?” I heard his voice.

“Professor!” I interjected.

“Enough,” Snape and Sprout said on cue. Sprout continued. “Miss Y/n, you are the best student that we have in Care for Mythical Creatures,”

“And My. Malfoy, you seem to be failing the subject,” Snape finished.

“The bloody chicken attacked me!” Draco argued back, standing abruptly.

“Hippogriff,” I corrected. “And her name is Buckbeak,”

“I really don’t give—”

“Mr. Malfoy!” Sprout scolded. “You should care because without the aid of Miss Y/n, you are going to fail the class, so I suggest you be nicer to her,”

“You want me to...” I glanced at her before looking down at my lap and tapping my fingers in an absentminded repetitive pattern.

“If you two are quite finished,” Snape sighed. “Miss Y/n, you have full authority on teaching Mr. Malfoy, and you are to assess his knowledge,”

“You mean she—no!” Draco shouted again.

“It is final. From Dumbledore himself,” Sprout glared Draco down, with such an affect that Draco took a seat, silently sulking.

We were dismissed and I paused in the doorway. Draco noticed and looked to me, expectant. 

“Meet me at sunset outside Hagrid’s hut,” My eyes fixed on the Slytherin logo of his robe. “

Whatever,” He scoffed, taking off.

Oh, good lord, what was I just thrown into?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This is ridiculous, I hope you know that” Draco hissed into my ear as I led him down to the outskirts of the forest, there Buckbeak waited for us.

I paid him no mind as I went to Buckbeak, bowing before her. She bowed and chittered happily to see me again, only pausing to puff her feathers at Draco in defense.

“He’s a friend,” I cooed softly, running my fingers over her silky feathers, close to burying my face in her heavenly soft feathers. “You know that don’t you?”

She chirped at me sulking. I beckoned Draco forward with my free hand.

“Bow,” I instructed. They both obliged. “See, was that so bad?” I smiled, keeping my eyes on Buckbeak but outstretching my hand to Draco.

When I felt the warmth of his hand in mine, I slowly pulled him forward, using my fingers to flutter his, to keep Buckbeak interested. My fingers brushed against her smooth beak and I pressed Draco’s hand against her beak, placing my hand over his. I could hear his anxious breathing as he drew near.

“She’s not going to hurt you,” I looked to him and smiled. “Again, anyway,” 

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” His voice shook with fear.

“Yes?” I let out a soft laugh. “She’s not dangerous, if you know how to approach her,”

He was a lot closer in proximity than I had originally thought. Buckbeak sensed my agitation and shook out her feathers. I cage her a kind look and she backed down. My hand slid down her neck, smoothing her ruffled feathers.

“You or Buckbeak?” I heard him mutter.

“Would you like to go for a ride Mr. Malfoy?” I looked over to him his silver eyes shining in the twilight.

“Are... are you sure that’s safe?” He gaped at me. Buckbeak shifted from foot to foot.

“Draco, she’s going to sense that you’re unsteady, if you want her to be calm you need to remain calm and trust her,” I instructed. “She’s not a dumb creature, she’s keenly smart with a range of sensitive emotions,”

“She’s a...” Draco started to insult but stopped with a chirp from Buckbeak. “Okay, sure. Intelligent creature,”

Buckbeak chittered a laugh, causing Draco to jump about a foot back, toward me.

“She’s just laughing at you Draco,” I soothed, finding his hand, and placing it back in Buckbeak’s shoulder, again pressing my hand over his.

“She’s laughing?” He dismayed. “That’s brilliant. I’m being laughed at by a beast,”

“Would you rather be laughed at by a girl?” I challenged, smiling. “Now come on, try to see the world you live in and let’s have a ride, then you can officially pass Care of Mythical Creatures,”

“And you’re sure there’s not some Niffler that I can—”

“Come on Draco,” Buckbeak bowed allowing me to climb up, holding my hand out to him. “Don’t you want to see what Potter saw?”

Something sparked in his eyes and he took my hand with fierce determination, settling behind me on Buckbeak’s back, his arms around my waist. Buckbeak chirped once more then stretched out her wings and took off.

Draco clung to me as we began to soar higher in the sky, and all I could do was laugh, feeling the rush of wind against my face and the feeling of freedom in my heart. There was nothing that could stop me when I was up here, in the clouds, just as the sun sank behind the hills with its final goodbye.

“This... this is incredible,” Draco breathed out, relaxing enough to declaw from me.

“There’s a lot of incredible things out there if you’re willing to let someone show you,” I noted, leaning back into him.

“About a world I don’t see?” He mused.

“Exactly,” Smiling I looked to the rising moon. “Your nose is so stuck in social behavior and hierarchies that you miss everything going on around you,”

“I can’t see them when I’m up here,” His candor was soft and intentional. “She truly is an amazing creature,”

“You should see a thunderbird,” I whispered, petting Buckbeak’s feathers gently. “My grandad took me to America once to see one. He was beautiful and the size of the astronomy tower. Flying over the desert... stretches of wilderness, and the never-ending horizon... the sunset colors...”

We were silent for a while as Buckbeak drifted back toward solid ground on the outskirts of the black lake. Draco hopped off and offered me his hand, aiding me in dismounting.

“You’ve been to America?” He asked thoughtfully as we walked along the castle grounds.

“I’ve been all over,” I smiled at the cobblestone under our feet. “I’m particularly fond of Greece, they have the best stories and creatures. Though they do have Sirens, so best be careful by the shores of Sicily.”

“You really like Mythical Creatures, don’t you?” The softness of his tone startled me.

“Yes,” my answer was gentle. “My grandfather knows so much... he’s been all over traveling, caring for them... learning. I just want to make him proud,”

“You got me on a Hippogriff. He should be plenty proud of you,” Draco nudged my shoulder as we walked.

“Thank you,” My cheeks flushed. “Also, consider yourself passing Care for Mythical Creatures,”

“Really? That’s it?” His shock caused my brow to furrow.

“Was that not enough? You only seemed opposed to Buckbeak and after tonight I don’t see an issue. Was I wrong somewhere else?”

“Uh, no. I just... tonight was nice. Seeing the world through your eyes... and I thought maybe...” Draco stumbled over his words.

“Maybe?” I prompted, butterflies fluttering in my chest, hopeful.

“I... never mind,” he sighed.

We stood at the top of the stairs, ready to part separate ways.

“Draco,” I called, and he turned to me a spark of something in his eyes. “...good night,”

He nodded and headed down the stairs as I ascended them wondering what went wrong between us.

The next few days weren’t out of the ordinary. I informed Sprout that Draco was just fine with caring for mythical creatures and all went back to normal. The old normal. But somehow that one night had caused a paradigm shift in me. I wanted the new normal. That had Draco in it.

Choosing the next best thing, I snuck out and made my way down to Hagrid’s to see Buckbeak when I heard a soft voice already coming from the back of the hut.

“I’m being stupid,” He muttered to Buckbeak. “This is stupid. I’m stupid,”

“Well, you are talking to a hippogriff,” I chimed in and Draco jumped about a foot back. Buckbeak bayed in agitation but after bowing to her she settled.

“What in the blazes are you doing here?” Draco hissed.

“Isn’t that my question for you?” I asked, stroking Buckbeak’s chin. “You’re normally a rule follower Mr. Malfoy,”

“Yeah well,” He toed the dirt and buried his fingers back in Buckbeak’s silvery feathers along we shoulder. “I missed her,”

Buckbeak nuzzles her head into my shoulder causing me to laugh.

“She missed you too,” I met his eyes, and though it only added onto the handful that I ever had, the silver in his blue eyes paralleled with the moonlight refracting off of Buckbeak’s feathers. My eyes quickly dropped as I worried my lip.

“Look, Y/n, you’re... and last night was...” Draco fumbled for his words.

“It’s okay,” My eyes didn’t waver from Buckbeak. “I know what you’re gonna say,” A small smile played at my lips.

“I don’t think you do,” Draco interrupted.

“I do know,” I refuted. “And I know I’m different. I know what others say about me. Even a few rumors from you. And it’s okay. It was one night.” Buckbeak thrummed a soft comfort as I stroked her muzzle. “I know I’m odd and I know I don’t belong,”

“Like I belong any more than you do,” Draco sighed. “The world you say you don’t belong in... the one that I’m trapped in. I don’t want to belong there. With their rules and expectations... I... I like it out here. I like it with you.”

I paused in my stroking of Buckbeak’s muzzle and peered at him.

“You see them? The rules? And you follow them?” I was deeply confused.

“Those rules keep me treading water. I would drown without them,” He sounded defeated

“It’s so... trivial.” I mused.

“And stupid,” a smile played at his lips before it fell.

“Maybe I misjudged you, Draco,” His eyes flashed to mine and I offered a smile. “Apparently, I know your mask very well... but if you want... I’d love to know who’s behind it,”

A smile dawned on his face. Like I had just given him the best news. The light in his eyes was undeniable happiness.

“You’re incredible,” He chuckled out, resting his hand over mine on Buckbeak.

And as it so happened, Buckbeak jostled, using her wing to shove Draco in my direction with such force that we both toppled to the ground. Neither of us were annoyed. Rather we laughed as I found myself pinned beneath Draco, staring at his grey eyes. My gaze quickly adverted.

“Hey,” He called softly, propping up on his elbows, still pinning me to the ground. “Look at me,”

“Draco,” I complained.

“Just look at me,” I heard the smile in his voice. I complied, meeting joy and comfort in those gossamer eyes. “Would you be mine?”

“Yes,”

.

masterlist

.

more like this:

hufflepuff series

the serpent beneath

.

@coffee-addicti @msmcsmutt @ravn-87 @artemismohr18@whygz@crazywritingbug @bitemebro522 @zombiesnips-blog@savingdraco  @akari180 @slytherin-emerald @queenfeatherwings @fanficflaneuse @go-whovian-universe @spicyshenanigans @darling-im-not-okay-i-promise @katsukink @takemetothekingdom @strangerr-things @tmnt-queen@hxneybgb @belcvayelena @moviesbooksandfandoms   @cocochanelthepupper @ninacotte @braelynn-johnston     @jiggllyy @darcypotter-blog  @thiccheerioss@lottie289 @beautiful-pegasus@tceedlmao @anonymous034 @bi-andready-tocry @dragonsandbread @the-queen-of-hell-things @alienmotel  @oh-itsnothing @sunflowerxsadnessw @fattycooter @fanficsigottaread @gweaslvy @strawberriesonsummer @gaysludge @ray-of-sunrise @artist-bby @shadowsingeraxolotl @quillsareforwriting @wollymalfoy @lilpieceoftoast @paper-cats @floweryjh @hufflautia @livize75 @annie-mcl @riathearora @live-like-luna @justathoughtfulangel @coconutdawn @skteaiy @naughtygranger @dragonsandbread @abundantxadorations @moony-artnstuff @and-then-a-girl-with-luv @1-800-luvsick @pandas-rice-field @in-slytherin-we-trust @emmaa-t @introvertedrae @infinity1o1 @echpr@dekulover @marshmallowtraver @cereuselle @lonely-skywalker @sleepysnapesnake @hoeforthefictional @coldlilheart @helen-paris @rosie-starlit-sky @vulture-withafile @hogstupefy @eveft @iraniq @groovyfluxie @cool-weirdo-wannabee-author @rosegold-thorns @criminaly-supernatural @ghostofdolans @mxl-foyrecs @ginger-haired-queen @bex4whovian @kellyrose193 @unlikelygalaxygiver @marvel-trash-was-taken @one-edgy-bitch@supersouthy @garbagejay@rejectedlonelyasianchild  @lucymxwell @coldlilheart @elia-the-bibliophile @biggalaxydreamland @fuckbuckyyy @hopem1218 @youareinllve @tyrusparker @3rdofkingdomtrees @i-mmunity @zero-nightshade @graym01 @fandomtrash88 @snakey-drakey @ceeellewrites @thatguppienamedbae @pinkleopardss @angel-blogging @xhoney-bee-x @jovialthings @samanthahaigwood @minigigglybabi @clumsy-writing-rdb @lahoete @yourenotafailureoverall @m-winchester-67 @shiningstar-byulxx@clumsy-writing-rdb @dracosathenaeum @dracofeltonmalfoy   @harryslouis @iilovemusic12us @itsbebeyyy @dumspirospero-1 @kaye-lantern @anerroroccurrrrred @franbow29 @big-galaxy-chaos @itsbebeyyy @gryffindors-weasley @ornella0910 @ultrabuzzlightyear @phantomface1983 @emmalee12 @kuyrukludenizkizi @aubreylovesthegames @deafeninglandpersonempath @ackermanbitch @oingo233 @drismultiverse-blog @majicbamana @harrypotter289 @marinettepotterandplagg @cupidpoison @brownwheatrice @introvertedrae @gryffindors-weasley @frecklesandfirecrackers @bitchinbadgers @mkstover @dracomalfoyreader @mortallythoughtfulgurl @sakumorubywy @smileycount @ceeellewrites @is-it-really-a-secret @blogforharrypotter @spencerreidisbootiful @lam-ila @justawilddreamerchild @heavenlyrainyparis @trappedgoose-in-a-writblr-room @dracomalfoyreader @spellbinding10 @justawilddreamerchild @queen-of-the-coven @potterpasties @trudabest @theonlystoriesiliketoread @daltonacademia @jemmakates @dannighost @imagines-andshizz @unstableye @hahee154hq @malfoystylinson @idkmanicantenglish @subpar-life @myshadowsingeraz @isabellamur @dracoswhore007 @subpar-life @sxphiemxlfoy @mxxnlights @malfoyyyyed​ @crabbygorl15​

[sokkabaddiebender2021]

An ATLA Rant: Imperialism & Nuance

Just to start off, this is coming from a girl who’s grandmother was Filipino. No, I have not personally experienced imperialism in my lifetime, but it is a subject that I think is very serious and important to me because of my heritage.

That said, I have absolutely zero idea how you could watch avatar: the part airbender and come out of it saying that it is pro imperialist. Absolutely zero.

I agree because this is a pan Asian inspired show that was written was created by two white men (with the help and advisement of several poc as well but that is a topic for another time), people, especially people of color, have every right to be critical of it. But this argument that the show is somehow pro imperialist just doesn’t make sense to me.

The fire nation is in the wrong. The show makes that VERY clear. Their actions towards other nations is called out by several characters (Zuko, Roku, etc). Their destruction of other cultures (southern water tribe, air nomads, attempted earth kingdom) are seen as diporable and downright inhuman. Not only that, but we see the devastation this cultural genocide brings upon main characters like Katara and especially Aang and how they must heal from it.

Moving on, the show absolutely was not teaching people to stand docile and peaceful against their oppressors. Katara and Aang literally destroy a whole fire nation factory!! When the fire nation was attacking the northern air temple, they were kicking their asses off the cliff!! They planned a whole invasion to attack the fire nation capital to end the war!! (Let’s not forget Katara incititing a riot against the fire nation in the imprisonment episode with the earth benders). I could on and on about all the times the gaang meets the fire nation with violence and encourages others to fight back against them, but that would be going wayyy too in depth.

I think where people get far too simplistic here is that they think that atla is telling people to not use violence against their oppressors because the show is critical of people like Jet and Hama. First of all, the characters are given a lot of nuance in the show. Both are introduced with tragic backstories of the horrors that the fire nation inflicted upon them (I still get chills with the scene when Hama explains her story).

Despite this, both characters have every chance to use their abilities to fight back against the fire nation in a way that helps. You know, like fighting against the army and not innocent people who have no idea that the fire nation is actually in the wrong. The narrative is not that violence is bad! Peace is the only way! I think it’s that you can’t let your veagance lead you away from fighting the right people. That’s the issue: neither Jet and Hama were fighting the right people.

And we first see both characters fighting soldiers in their first scenes. Hama in the flashback when she’s defending her home (and rightfully uses violence to do so) and Jet when he helps the gaang take down some fire nation soldiers in the forest. This is just violence directed at the right people. But instead, both attempt to murder and in Hama’s case, torture people who take no part in the atrocities the fire nation has committed. Are they ignorant? Well of course they are because as we very obviously see, they’ve been fed propaganda their entire life while also living under an authoritarian regime, something that’ll give you no will to think other than the things that are spoon fed to you.

So let me ask you this, was it right for Jet to try and murder an entire village of innocent people, literal children included? Was it right for Hama to imprison and torture lord knows how many innocent citizens just because they belong to an nation that they have no actual knowledge of its evil? I’m hoping your answer is no, and the show would also say no as well.

When both Katara and Aaag choose not to kill, the narrative is not saying that they shouldn’t kill these men. The narrative allows both characters to make their own choice in what ways they wish to do, and it has nothing to do with what is actually right or wrong, because ultimately it is up to what each character wishes to do. Katara sees Yon Ra as the pathetic old man that he is, so she sees no purpose or healing for herself in taking his life. This is a personal choice made for herself, and that is all that matters.

The same goes for Aang. This poor boy is desperate to uphold the beliefs of his people, so he finds another way. A way that still upholds his beliefs while still ending the tyranny of Firelord Ozai. It is ridiculous to say that this is a passive take to imperialism, because yes he doesn’t literally murder someone but he still takes the dude out. And honestly, Ozai’s fate is worse then death (especially considering who Ozai is). Once again, the narrative is not saying be passive to your oppressors and don’t use violence. Its saying that because Aang is living in a world where his beliefs have been forcefully removed and disrespected, he has every right to continue to defend them in the ways he sees fit.

While some may see the narrative as more sympathetic to Iroh and Zuko, I think it’s just because they ARE some of the main characters of the show, as compared to those like Jet and Hama. We see much more of their story just as we see much more of the gaang’s story. Not only that, but their narrative purpose is far different from these two other characters. Iroh and Zuko are meant to show that despite them being from the fire nation, they are not inherently evil people. Jet and Hama are meant to show that even while they are against the antagonistic force of the show, they still can commit evil. Not only are Iroh and Zuko’s actions never justified, but they both must go on a journey to unlearn the hateful propaganda instilled into them, and remedy their ignorance. The narrative never says that neither Jet and Hama cannot also redeem themselves, but Hama feels no remorse for her actions, and Jet does attempt to redeem himself, but ultimately falls back into old habits (I believe he could’ve redeemed himself, but I’ll agree the writers were a bit sloppy in his end, like I’m not sure why they had to kill him other than to make him a tragic character but whatever).

To finally wrap up this essay, ATLA is not a black and white show. The show is not pro imperialist for condemning the violent actions of two characters who happen to be victims of imperialism. The show is not pro imperialist for allowing two children to decide for themselves whether or not they want to end the lives of someone. The show is not pro imperialist for not making the antagonist of the show a one note and one dimensional bad guy.

I’ll end this with the speech that Zuko makes to Ozai when he prepares to leave on Day of Black Sun:

No, I've learned everything! And I've had to learn it on my own! Growing up, we were taught that the Fire Nation was the greatest civilization in history. And somehow, the War was our way of sharing our greatness with the rest of the world. What an amazing lie that was. The people of the world are terrified by the Fire Nation. They don't see our greatness. They hate us! And we deserve it! We've created an era of fear in the world. And if we don't want the world to destroy itself, we need to replace it with an era of peace and kindness.

[bonjour-rainycity]

Double Heart | Chapter Seventeen ~ Split

|previous part|

Pairing: Haldir x OFC

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 1482

Warnings: None

A/n Hello hello! I know it’s not one of my normal update days, but this one is short, so enjoy this angsty bonus chapter!

Cosima

Weeks pass in routine. In the mornings I research with Alex or study Sindarin alone, sometimes venturing into the garden or library to occupy my time. The lunch hours are typically spent in the company of friends, and Lavandil and I have been passing many of our afternoons together in her shop. As the summer continues, business only grows, and I can see why she asked for the help. Her art is quite popular! She tried to teach me how to weave and, unsurprisingly, I’m terrible. So I mainly help clean and work with the customers.

Three nights a week, Alex, Baranor and I meet in the library and continue our lessons. On that, I actually am making progress. It’s allowed me to converse with Lavandil’s customers in their own language. It’s also helped me feel much more self-sufficient here. No longer must I have to rely on Lavandil or Rumil to translate when we go out. Ellyn I speak with still have to slow their words and repeat things several times, and sometimes I must ask for clarification, but the progress really is liberating.

Two days a week, right after breakfast, Alex and I meet Elrond in his study.

Lord Elrond insists on using the power in his fæ to attempt to aid us in recovering our memories. I hate to admit it, but his efforts are wasted and, on my part, not really wanted. Besides the memory of Mara and Nonna, I don’t remember anything, and at this point, I’m not sure I want to. I’m already too attached to the people here, and I’ve seen where that’s gotten me. I don’t want to remember people from home — love them, miss them, and then realize I can never return to them.

I don’t make much progress, anyway. Most days, Alex and I have nothing but headaches and exhaustion to show for our work. Every now and then, one of us will remember something small — a passing event or an aquauntaince from childhood — but nothing of real interest. Elrond agrees that the headaches and exhaustion are signs that we are not yet healed from whatever ordeal resulted in us arriving in Arda. He’s been keeping an eye on our fæs — apparently they are somehow injured — and says that the original wounds are all but healed.

Alex’s progress is less encouraging. His old wounds are healing, but nearly every time Elrond or Baranor checks, there’s a new injury. They don’t know what’s causing it, but privately, I have a theory. While Alex says he’s accepted this world, knowing him, there’s a part that’s still hanging on to our homeworld. Maybe that’s causing too much stress to allow him to heal. Because I’m healing, and I’ve fully accepted this world for what it is — impossible, different, but real.

And then at night time, training continues with Haldir.

I am careful to keep distance between us except when absolutely necessary. By the way he does the same, he’s recognized the urgent precariousness of our situation. As much as I want to confess the feelings I keep so tightly bottled up inside, to fall into his arms and ask him to love me forever, I cannot.

Because my forever is abysmally different than his.

So I keep my distance.

My effort to avoid excessive contact or time with him is helped by the fact that, not long after our first training session, he became incredibly busy. Though relations between him and Glorfindel are still tense, the two work tirelessly to train the newer guard. Often, by the time I make my way down to breakfast, Haldir is long gone, off to lead drills.

The distance between us hasn’t helped my internal predicament.

Too often, I catch myself following the line of his jaw, remembering the feeling of his arms wrapped around me, wanting to return to that excitement of just the two of us under the stars.

I don’t act on these thoughts, nor communicate them to anyone, though Lavandil certainly tries to break that resolve. She’s adamant that, even with my lifespan to consider, it is better to spend the time we have together in happiness rather than holding ourselves back from something that could be great.

I forcefully disagree.

I’d rather cause myself a little pain now than put Haldir in a position where he could be broken later.

Surprisingly, Rumil, once my tormentor, has become my closest ally. Any time someone attempts to bring up the subject of me and Haldir, Rumil promptly shuts it down, usually changing the subject to something outlandish enough to properly distract everyone. He kindly occupies my newfound free time and we go riding together at least once a week. Since Rumil has Roch, Haldir allows me to take Faervel out, and, where the horse used to be indifferent towards me at best, he now whinnies in greeting the second I set foot in the stables.

My life in Imladris is nice. It’s peaceful. It’s filled with wonderful friends and so much to discover. And I’m happy, there’s no doubt about that…even if something is missing. I caught my feelings early and took preventative action by distancing myself from Haldir, which is good…but it’s…unfulfilling, in a way, to stay far from him. I miss eating meals together and talking about our days before training sessions. I miss constantly having him around. I miss him teasing me and moments where it’s just us.

I miss him.

But I won’t lose my resolve.

If my sadness can save Haldir pain, then I will bear it.

{***}

Haldir

Summer in Imladris passes quickly. My days revolve around training the newer guard, and they show promising progress. Lothlórien’s borders are much more extensive than that of Imladris’, and I am confident adopting some of the techniques I use with my wardens at home to fit Elrond’s guard will help them be more prepared when the orcs attack again. My brothers have been indispensable, kindly offering their help and allowing me to use them as examples for the other soldiers. Orophin, of course, plans his schedule around Lavandil’s, but I have him with us about three days a week. Rumil joins nearly every day, only disappearing on Saturday mornings to take the horses out with Cosima.

Cosima.

My mind has been consumed by her for weeks.

If I am being honest, it’s been consumed with her long before then, probably up to the moment she arrived in this world. I now understand that my desire to keep her near me after the attack, and every moment after, was not only a preventative measure to make her feel better — it was my need to keep her close. To keep her safe. To have that reassurance that she is alright, and, if we were to be attacked again, I could defend her myself.

I really do owe Rumil an apology.

Turns out my brother knows me better than I know myself.

But despite the startling realization that I want to be with a human woman—not just any human woman, Cosima—the days continue.

Not of small concern is Cosima’s health which, mercifully, is improving. Her sessions with Elrond to attempt to regain her memories must be helping — though her memories have not returned, the scars on her fæ are nearly completely healed.

Aside from my monitoring of her health through Elrond and Baranor, my busy schedule prevents me from seeking her out. We continue to train together three times a week — she is making vast improvements — but our interactions are hesitant, a little awkward. I worry I overstepped my bounds that first night, or perhaps, even before that — maybe the night under the stars — for she certainly keeps her distance now. No longer do we eat together or talk in our free time. It’s a strange feeling, but it causes me stress not to see her during the day. Even a quick interaction would be enough, just to catch a glimpse of her smile or hear the approval of her laugh, but those are few and far between.

But, as much as it pains me, it is for the best.

I hate to think of it this way, but Cosima’s life is short and her future uncertain. Were she an elleth, there would be no issue — I could tell her of my feelings and she could return them and we could spend the rest of our never-ending lives together.

But Cosima is human. Even if she does choose to stay in Arda forever, her forever and mine are vastly different. If I give in, do as I so desperately want to and build a life with her…

She does not know it, but she has the power to break me.

And, while I still hold a sliver of the ability to keep that from happening, I must seize on it.

A/n Thanks for reading, and happy weekend! Likes, comments, and reblogs make my day! See you Monday with a new chapter :)

|next chapter|

|masterlist|

|recently posted|

Tolkien tag list: @anangelwhodidntfall @eru-vande

Haldir tag list: @tolkien-apologist

Double Heart tag list: @lainphotography @themerriweathermage @thophil2941btw @kenobiguacamole @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse @from-patroclus-with-love @boywivlove @ordinarymom1 @my-darling-haldir @sweet-bea-blossom @moony-artnstuff @sleepyamygdala 

[kob131]

Morgan Le Fay (Alter Ego) My Room Lines

Morgause

“Master~ Can we stay here please? A moment’s rest may bring you far after all!”

“Ah, you really like to work don’t you? No no, I’m not accusing you of anything. I know your drive after all...”

“No matter what, it doesn’t seem I’ll get use to fighting. I wonder if either of those two would-ah. nevermind!”

Bond 1 “...Oh, sorry Master! I was spacing out there for a moment. I’m...not really use to being...heh, nevermind me!”

Bond 2 “Your magecraft seems a little shaky lately. Are you sure you’re feeling well? You eating well? Maybe a nice plate of meat and potatoes will make you feel better? ...Wh-what do you mean that’s too heavy?!”

Bond 3 “How strange.  I’m still here. Usually I can’t remember where I’ve been or how I got where I am because...because...

...Well anyway, I can’t say it’s bad after all. I’d certainly be worried if one moment I was here with you and the next you left my sight. That-that can get rather scary...”

Bond 4 “... ... ... I can still feel them inside me, you know? ‘The Lady of The Lake’ and ‘The Fairy Witch’. My...other selves.

... Why? Why? WHY? Why do they have to exist? Why are they inside me? It’s not fair! I lost so much to them! So much of my life- Take, STOLEN from me by them! And even worst, they took my home away! I’m Morgause Pendragon, the daughter of Uther Pendragon! I am human! Not a fae! Not a witch! I. Am. HUMAN, ME! 

So why can’t they just leave me alone?!”

Bond 5 “... I won’t be here for long. Even if this body were to see the end of your journey, I-I might not be the one in it. I was the first to fade away after all. It’s simply my fate...to be used and discarded by everything I love. 

...Even so, I won’t run. As weak as I maybe in comparison to them...I won’t surrender a second of my time with you. With anyone. I’m here now. I am me.”

To Gawain “My son...my darling son. P-please don’t turn away! Please. I-I lost so much time with you. I can’t-I have to. Please, come embrace your mother. Before I’m gone.”

To Gareth “Gareth...my little pup. Look at you, you’ve grown up so much. I bet you had the lords at your beck and call. ... I wish I could have been there for you.”

To Agravain “Oh Agravain. It hurts to see you look at me so. And yet, it’s all my fault. If only I were stronger, if only I could overcome them. My little knight...I’m sorry.”

To Arturia “Arthur-no, Arturia isn’t it? To think I felt so bitter about what our father wanted...when there was so much to lose to that envy. I...I shall take my leave.”

To Mordred “Master, that knight over there?? That...wouldn’t happen to be Sir Mordred correct? ... Yes I assumed so, given her glares at me. Le Fay’s child with my own brother...There’s nothing I can do to help her, is there?”

To Morgan (Lostbelt) “You there, the witch. You have quite the nerve to show your face here. You, who abandoned her humanity for the sake of a kingdom. Your kingdom was a shame and deserved it’s fate. Glare at me all you wish, without the three of us you would be nothing.”

Likes “What do I like? Well, I always liked cooking. It was always such a treat to see my children’s faces light up when I cooked with all my heart!”

Dislikes “...Lake fae and evil witches.”

Holy Grail “Even if it is a heresy, I would like to wish upon it. Then maybe, I can finally be free.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vivian

“Master, come. We have much to do still. ...I know you must be tired, I understand your weariness. But still, we must persist.”

“There’s no need to worry about me. An adventure like this-it is a simple matter. Compared to guiding those troublesome fae...”

“Quiet, quiet, quiet. ...Sorry Master, I was...having some difficulties with...the others. Le Fay especially...”

Bond 1 “So, you have stayed by my side? How strange, most humans simply leave the lakeside after so long.”

Bond 2 “Your heart is weary. There is no point in lying. I know that feeling well myself. Perhaps I have been pushing you too hard. Come, rest. All need reprieve after all.”

Bond 3 “It seems my time has not come yet. Good. I cannot-I will not fade like before. I refuse to let things end like before.”

Bond 4 “It is so tiring. To have their thoughts, their minds inside me. Always, always a reminder. That I am more than the fae ‘Vivian’. The human princess and the raging witch-

...No. No. NO! I am here now! I will be the one to fight! I will be the one to guard the Human Order! I will be the one protect the Age of Man that Father wished for! Not the human Morgause! Not the witch Le Fay! 

I am Me, Vivian, The Lady of the Lake!”

Bond 5 “Even though I am the fae Vivian, an existence incompatible with mankind. It was always the humans I loved most of all. The fae, so fickle and cruel. I guided and guarded them out of duty alone.

Why you may ask? Because it was mankind that my father Uther loved. He protected them to his last breath. And so shall I. Even if I may never see the Age of Man, I will protect and guide it. Especially you, my Master. I shall ensure your safety to death and beyond.”

To Lancelot (Berserker) “Master! Th-that figure cloaked in black! I-it can’t be! My son! This is what became of you? ... Who did this?”

To Lancelot (Saber) “I knew it. Of course my son would be here. There was no chance he wouldn’t answer the call to protect mankind. He grew into a splendid knight after all.”

To Mash “This feeling... You there, young lady with the shield. Come forward, let me take a good look. ...It really is, isn’t it? Don’t be scared young lady. I shall never hurt you. Now, come with me. I have much to discuss with you.”

To Fae Servants “*Sigh* It seems there are some troublemakers in this place isn’t there? Worry not Master, I know how to keep them on a tight leash.”

To Morgan (Lostbelt) “Ruler of the fae, huh? How pathetic. To have resorted to such evil. I do not care what your excuses are. I lead and guarded the fae myself. I sacrificed my place in the world. I expect no less of you.”

To Arturia (Archer) “How cute, thinking that little spruit is alike to my magic. Here, let me show you what a true Excalibur Vivian can accomplish.”

Likes “Besides mankind? ...I do enjoy watching the forest creatures prance about. The little bugs especially.”

Dislike “Lazy princesses and malevolent witches. That is all I’ll say.”

Holy Grail “It is a false wish granting device isn’t it? Still, if supplied with enough mana, it might just be enough to grant my wish To gain my freedom.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Morgan Le Fay

“Careful now, Master. One wrong step and things will certainly go wrong. I know how much fun it is to lose yourself in the throes of battle. Hehehe...But your goal must come first.”

“That fire...that determination. Very well, I’ll join you in the fray. After all, I haven’t nearly indulged enough myself.”

“Your magecraft is rather lackluster isn’t it? Hm, whatever you call your ‘talents’, that doesn’t matter. Practice, practice, practice. Experience breeds excellence. I didn’t match Merlin with pure talent after all.”

Bond 1 “I must say, staying this way at will without being subject to the fickle whims fate...it’s rather nice. Thanks Master.”

Bond 2 “Fate is cruel. I know your pain better than most. Forced into the impossible by the will of others. But don’t let your heart waver. Through will and guile, you will gain your freedom.”

Bond 3 “Don’t hesitate to give me tasks. I find myself with more time than i know what to do with. Preferably with you around...”

Bond 4 “I’m sure you’ve heard about this before but...My other selves are still here. Deep inside, I can still here them. Their woes, their uncertainty, their hatred. All mine...

...Bwahaha! What a joke! As if I would let them trend upon me. It was my loathing that struck fear into Camelot. It was my malice that twisted the Green Knight. It was my love for Britian that allowed me to stomach sharing a bed with that liar. I am no feeble princess or passive fae. I am me, Morgan, the witch that loved Britian!”

Bond 5 “So here we stand still. I’m sure you caught on but I hate the Age of Man. Tearing away all the work I put out, fading everything I’ve done into legend. Acting as though I was never here. For it’s sins, I will always spur it.

So why am I here? Because I would rather have an Age of Man with Britian than not. Be it the destruction of history or man, I will not stand for it. I will rage and hate and burn until all is done. So long as we stand on the same ground, I will be here. I can’t trust the other two to get the job done after all.”

To Mordred “Hm, that defect of a homonculus is here? Master, you are best off sending it away. It’s incapable of following orders or performing tasks sufficiently. I would love to fix it but that’s beyond my reach.”

To Arturia (Alter) “Tch, that liar dares to attach my name to something so weak. She preaches that the strong rule over the weak, shall I teach her who is truly strong then? Gwahaha!”

To Merlin “Ah, Teacher is here too. How unusual, that fickle asshole couldn’t be asked to cut a blade of grass, let alone save humanity. He’s not even really here is he?”

To Fairy Knight Tristan “Master, this annoying brat won’t leave me alone. Acting all familiar and friendly with me... Maybe I’ll teach her what it means to truly be sadistic. Perhaps by rending her limbs asunder...”

To Arturia “So the King of Liars has come as well. Maybe a trip into Hell will teach her the place where she belongs...but that will have to wait, won’t it? She still has her uses after all...”

To Oberon-Vortigern “That mana. Another embodiment of Britian is here?! It feels like that failure Vortigern...yet...it’s so different. I must dissect him, to know!”

To Morgan (Lostbelt) “Ah yes, that other me. Heh, what a fool she turned out to be, no? She rages against man, fae and knights, wasting all her efforts in the process. Focus, my dear. Focus is the key to victory. I did not waste my time with man or fae, I put my all into the slaying of Arturia. And which of us succeeded, hm?”

Likes “A rough night with a man below me, of course.”

Dislikes “My other selves. Unlike them, I will not hide the truth.”

Holy Grail “Hm, I have no need for such a thing. Unlike them, I will not cling to a false hope. It will be my hand that cuts them out like the parasites they are.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Bond 10 CE: I Am...?

One minute *I’m* home with my children One minute ^I’m^ guarding those troublesome fae One minute -I’m- cackling as I tear into his flesh

The next I’m not.

It is my duty to *lead*/^guard^/-destroy- my kin No, That is *my*/^my^/-my- duty. No, it’s *mine*/^mine^/-mine-!

...Is it?

No, I am a *princess*/^guardian^/-witch-! That is not what *I*/^I^/-I- am! Stop it! This is who *I*/^I^/-I- am!

I am *me*/^me^/-me-! I am *Me*/^Me^/-Me-! I AM *ME*/^ME^/-ME-!

I am... I...am... I...

....Who am I?

[mycrofts-gunbrella]

Severus Snape x Reader- Parchment and Cologne (Part One)

"Is it wrong? Like seriously am I completely bonkers?" You laughed to your best friend.

"Having a crush on our head of house/ potions master/ evil bat dungeon swooshy cape man? I mean it's not particularly great, Y/N, is it?" She laughed back. "Besides, why Ol' Snapey Boy when you could have Professor Lockhart? Now that, my friend, is man you could do you wonders.. if you catch my drift.." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and you couldn't help but smack her with your pillow.

"Honestly, (F/N), I often ask myself how I possibly bring myself to be able to tolerate you.. I open my heart for 5 minutes and get attacked." You smirked.

"It's because you love me really.. plus, I should be asking myself the same question. My 18 year old best friend is going all heart eyes over human Scar." You looked at her quizzically before she answered your oncoming question. ".. muggle movie reference. I'm honestly going to force you to watch Disney movies one day." She swore. You rolled your eyes at her for changing the subject and slumped back in your bed.

"Honestly what am I going to do? It's beyond 13 year old me's little crush now.. ever since he started properly teaching us last year and with all the revision sessions he offered me I actually really like him.." You sighed and borderline smacked your head against the headboard.

"Why him anyway? You seem to have chosen the only man who is in love with a cloak. Seriously, he takes that thing everywhere. I'm 99% sure it's stitched into the man's neck at this point." She giggled the last part to herself but you heard it all the same.

"If you actually bothered turning up to our revision session and didn't make me be the only person that shows you'd see that he's actually really caring.. he's even cracked a few jokes every now and then" you smiled to yourself. ".. plus he's hot." You both began to burst out laughing again before you decided it was time to turn in.

"Try not to dream of your lover boy, Y/N... you have a study session with him first thing tomorrow. Don't want to be all flustered." She winked before blowing the lamp out. Honestly she wound you up as much as she could but, she was right, you do love her really.

The hours of sleep seemed to pass by within minutes as you soon found yourself wandering the great corridors of Hogwarts to the potions classroom, knocking three times on the door before entering as you always do. With simple 'good mornings' shared and a book left in your normal seat you got straight to studying. Popping in the same strawberry gum you never seemed to run out of, you chewed quietly as you got to work. Typically, Snape would stay beside you and help you answer any questions you may have whilst also asking many more of his own. In the few months of studying with Snape it was evident that the two of you created some kind of bond, whether it be him simply asking you how your day has been or letting you in to some memories of his, Snape was definitely becoming more open and comfortable around you. And you loved it.

Today however was different.

"I do apologise but I'm going to have to work on a half prepared potion that's been left at the back of my classroom. Although I say 'half prepared' in the sense that half of it is now on the floor. How Mr Finnigan has even survived this long in the wizarding world is truly beyond me." He spoke, walking to the discarded cauldron and working on the mixture of ingredients.

"And you're making it for him? Now do correct me if I'm wrong Professor but that's a seemingly nice action. Are you feeling alright?" You joked, glancing behind you and warming inside when you saw the small smile appear on his face.

"Don't lose your head, Miss L/N. I simply do not wish for this entire thing to go to waste... besides, I need Mr Finnigan to have a perfect example for him to refer to when he comes back this afternoon to write a 4 paged essay on it." The smile raised to the side of his mouth and, should it have been anyone else, you'd have dared say a slight wink followed. You felt your cheeks turn pink and turned back to your book.

"What's with the formalities all of a sudden? 'Miss L/N'? You're making me feel like a child again, Professor." You attempted to distract yourself from looking at the man behind you.

"Well then I must insist you call me Severus in such meetings as this. Of course you must understand you're only permitted to say this when we're alone, Y/N." God you loved it when he said your name but he's really allowing you to go by his own first name? Your cheeks burned more and you felt your cool hands rush to your face to calm them.

"Seems fair, Severus." You felt his name roll off your tongue and it felt right. You turned behind you and saw a shade of red begin to dust the older man's cheeks as he gave you a curt nod. Silence pursued. Minutes passed and you felt yourself begin to shiver. Of course the one day you decide to leave your robe in your room is the one day it's minus seven thousand in the dungeons. You attempted to ignore the goosebumps appearing on your arms as you read through another passage of Snape's hand written notes for you. Your concentration lacked as you began to rub your hands over your arms and you became uncomfortable. "Hey Profe-uh Severus? I'm just going to go-" you didn't get to finish your sentence before a sudden warmth enveloped you. Confusion took over before you suddenly felt like your face was on fire. Severus Snape. Had. Given. You. His. Cloak.

"You were foolish to believe it wouldn't be cold down here, Y/N. I took you as one of my smartest students and yet you clearly lack common sense." He mused, a playful undertone in his voice that let you know he wasn't being serious. You stammered out a small 'thank you' before continuing back to your work. Why had he given you his cloak? The Slytherin common room was only around the corner; you could be back in less than 5 minutes. You decided to stop questioning it and pressed on. Time seemed to drag in the newly found silence until you began to have a very very strong smell of tea. The same tea Sev usually has on his desk before every lesson, but you hadn't seen it today. Next followed the distinct smell of old parchment and? Snape's cologne? You turned your head to find nothing but Severus stirring the last ingredient into his cauldron. Weird.

"Uh, Severus? Can you smell that? It's like the library in here." You laughed a little. "And, not to sound weird or anything because I obviously don't just walk around and smell you.. uh.. because obviously that's not normal.." you began to mutter incoherently before realising you were actually mid-sentence. "... but have you like sprayed your cologne? Or whatever you use? Because it's really strong... not that it's not a nice smell because it is a nice smell but-" you were cut off by raised eyebrows staring in your direction. Before you could even mention the fact it smelt like you were sitting inside a teapot Severus cut you off.

"What did you say?" He asked, looking at you as if you were a mad man.

"That I smell old paper? And your cologne? What's so crazy about that?" You questioned.

"Nothing. Nothing would be crazy about that. Except I've run out of my cologne and all the books are in the cupboard... and I'm brewing amortentia.." It was almost as though the world had stopped spinning. He was brewing amortentia? You knew exactly what that meant.. you'd been caught out. You opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out. Your face burnt and your mouth became dry as you tried to form even a single sentence. Snape cut you off once more by taking a deep inhale of the cauldron in front of him. ".. I smell.. raspberry shampoo.. peppermint tea and... that strawberry bubblegum those Weasley Twins sell in that little shop of theirs.." You froze again. "So.. you." You felt like you were about to collapse. "I smell.. you." Good lord Y/N, Severus bloody Snape has just told you he smells you in the amortentia.. MOVE.

[werezmastarbucks]

columbus

honeymoon masterlist

word count: 2608

music: little death by +44, violence violence violence by tuff turf, inspiration by red 7

Every day he asked, what do you wanna do today?

After you finally allowed to leave the little, boring, flat island, Kai was so greatful he was down almost to anything. It was also the time when your chaotic, time wasting, unpredictable movements across the surface of the earth started dying down and turning into something more systematic. Although all the places you visited up to that moment were somehow connected with searching for a way out, once you started giving up you suddenly had a plan.

Not for breaking out fo the prison though.

The day (you still felt weird thinking it: the day. Every day was the same day. It was all today. It was all Kai’s birthday) you realized there was nothing much more you could do actively you had one of those moments when your brain suddenly feels like it has had enough. Like in the old times, when you were a teenager and had regular panic attacks after the Katherine accident. Not that you needed a specific reason to justify breaking here and there, with the style of life you were leading.

It happened when you were high, in a literal meaning. On the top of the bridge, where you two climbed up to watch the sun go down. Dublin was a city with lots of low roofs, incredibly cute; neat streets drowning in flowers, and all. Standing there, as you realized the panic is climbing at your throat, there was one question in your head: so, we’re staying here?

Although it’s nice, and everything is so easy, and traveling is quick, we’re staying here?

Although he is good, and he likes me, and I start trusting him, and he clearly tries to be nice, we’re staying here?

Although deep down inside I am starting to think this was exactly what I needed, in a twisted way, to get my head straight, to have an opportunity to dig something up in Kai, we’re staying here for good? Because you didn’t know if you could handle this. You had no idea how he handled this. It wasn’t about the general horror of being completely alone without seeing birds. It was looking at the empty sky and feeling the incredible weight of it, all on top of the head. It was the sound of the wind flying across the land uninterrupted, the quiet of the night undisturbed. It was more than you could describe. It was almost like drowning in space.

Kai had to get you down using magic, and you didn’t have enough breath to tell him not to waste it. Saving magic was a kind of a ritual as well, something that kept you on your feet because it gave you hope for once we get out.

You screamed into the face of green late spring lawn under the violet sky. Kai stood by, watching you without pity in his eyes for he never seemed to exhibit much compassion for you; he showed his presence in a different way. It actually helped; you never felt better if someone held you as you broke down. He then tried to console you, standing shoulder by shoulder, and pointing at the sky,

“Consider this. Nothing like that back in Maldives, right?”

The colors changed and drifted across the sky because here, in Ohio, there were clouds.

You sniffed busily.

“You like being home, don’t you?”

Kai nodded.

“Yeah. I feel connected. You know?”

“Did you feel as connected in the future?”

He shrugged.

“There’s been too much commotion. And before that, none at all. I exist in the past. I exist in the future. I stopped feeling time, you know? I’m a time lord”, he concluded, satisfied, and his eye glinted at you. You chuckled, and the chuckle turned into a deep sigh full of sweet evening air.

“We’re not going back, are we?” you asked weakly. Kai looked at you almost flabbergasted.

“We are. One day. Maybe even today”.

You smiled, tiredly.

“You’re giving up now? Hey, you think I wanna be here? I’ll think of something, don’t be upset”.

That was about the most warm words he uttered to you in the whole time. You felt there’d be more to come.

Truth was, you really started believing he was now better off than before.

“So, what do you want to do tomorrow?”

Once you got relieved from the permanent worry about the time wasting, about finding the loopholes you haven’t thought of, you finally could just... enjoy.

You looked at him and wondered if he knew everything there was to know. Whether he looked like a guy who could skateboard. He certainly did to you, but hey, the beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

“Can you teach me how to skateboard?”

His brows went up.

“I’m sorry. You can’t skateboard?”

“Nope”.

“You made me listen to your five hundred sixty one song playlist named ‘skate pop punk’“, he reminded you.

“Yeah, I compiled it out of sad nostalgia for the times I missed on, while I, you know, was preoccupied with vampires swarming my town”.

“I can’t believe I have an eye for you, and you can’t skate. You know you’re in ‘94, right?”

“That’s exactly why I’m asking”.

“Jesus”.

“Come on now”, you chanted, your voice a little hoarse, “you spent eighteen years here with all the time on your hands and haven’t learnt to swim”.

“That’s because water is scary”.

“So is the asphalt hitting you in the face”.

Kai clicked his tongue.

“Okay, I’m on it. But for that, we have to go to Columbus”.

“Of course we do”, you nodded, having no idea why Columbus. You loved the city, though, so you had no objections.

You asked yourself, if he has been pretending with the Mystic Falls people, too. He kept on going about how you, in his mind, for sure, hid your feelings for him, wanting to expose you for your hypocrisy. But this place had its effect on him, too. He clang on you. He was different. He was more than tolerable. He made you laugh and he cared about what you thought about his cooking. You wondered if he realized he’d been pretending, too.

Kai never missed a chance to place his hands on your waist. Pushing you in the back, he was enjoyin the role of the teacher, but he was trying to grow into it even more. It seemed he was missing role playing, the social kind to which all the adults are subjected, like mad.

Two minutes after you asked him, as you hopped into the car (family Toyota of mediocre grey color), excited, he started talking about every little detail there was to skating. Turned out, he knew absolutely everything about it. Every last trick had been rehearsed by him a thousand times, and though he wasn’t a natural born athlete, he demonstrated pretty damn good knowledge of all the physical aspects. He talked, and talked, and talked, about which board to choose, and the kind of sneakers you’re going to need, and what street will be the best, and the time for practice, and the way he’ll teach you, and no matter how many times you turned up the music, he wouldn’t take a hint.

Not that you ever grew annoyed with him more than, like, 6 out of 10. It seemed you clicked just fine.

“Put your foot here”, he muttered, pushing your heel a little onto the board. You nearly fell over, leaning back on him and feeling his firm hold having your back.

“That’s the trickiest part. How am I supposed to...” falling backwards and colliding with him, you let the board shoot away from under you, and you two watched it roll a little forwards, “keep it under me if it has wheels?”

“Please, stop talking”, Parker moaned.

“Whatever happened to me ending on your dick sooner or later”, you grumbled, going to pick it up. Kai chuckled,

“It’s still on. Who knew fooling around with you would be just as fun”.

How does one love?

You observed him, stunned a little, and his impatiently outstretched hand. He rarely let you fall, but you managed anyway. Your left elbow was burning, and your knee was bleeding a little, blood forming a beautiful snowflake-like (his words) stain in the big hole cut through your jeans. People are only supposed to skate in torn pants, or in shorts, Kai hammered in a very important, responsible voice. You didn’t ask any questions. It was lore, and that was it. Skateboarding lore, like bird swimming.

“Not to lose it, you have to lean forwards, and shift your weight forward, too, a little”, he suggested.

“Here’s the question”, you held your elbow and tried to get a proper look at it, “if we heal, and nothing changes, if our organisms are stuck in this twenty-four hours circle, does the muscular memory still apply?”

“Oh, it does”.

“So, it’s me being terrible at skating”.

“Yeah. If you think of it, the people”, he spat that word like it was poison, “standing behind the whole prison world speck of spells haven’t thought it out too well. Like, your body doesn’t change. It makes very little sense to me”.

“Well, they wanted you to be here forever, without letting you die”.

“You come back at different time after you die”, he said, as if he hasn’t heard you, “every time. It seems like it depends on the way you die. I can’t grow a beard, but you can still learn how to do a cart wheel, because your body doesn’t lose the habit of automatical movements. Same with the brain”.

“Yeah, sounds like hell for a perfectionist”, you concluded, fidgeting with the board. There was connection between Malachai Parker loving it the most in America, of all places, and the fact he looked like he was born on this street. There were friendly looking family houses left and right, standing above smooth ground.

You liked it the most when he pushed you in the back, running beside you, and you tried to balance as you shot along the street. The wind in your hair, and the harsh sound of the polyurethane wheels on the road, and you screaming as the turn manifested itself. Kai didn’t notice the remains of a hole in the asphalt that’s been filled with cement. The little bump stood out like a tiny turtle, and, as one of the wheels stumbled upon it, the board jumped away from you. You felt the muscles of his arms tense as Kai tried to lift you up above the earth, but he was running too, and the acceleration did not let either of you stop in time.

You both leaped through the air about a meter, before crashing onto the sand ground. Kai nearly hit his head on the pole of the road sign indicating kids running somewhere around.

Groaning and ouching, you crawled out from underneath him and lay on your back. You panted and laughed, hissing with pain. It felt like you rubbed your tigh really hard against the curb, and it felt red.

“Once again”, you said.

“You’re pretty much hopeless”, Kai replied, without malice.

“More encouragement, please”.

“You’re pretty! Hopeless. By the way, I just got it. You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about why I jumped after you there in Koureménos. And realized you jumped with me the same way, right? You knew you were going down, and jumped anyway”.

You recalled Damon’s eyes for a second. Something you tried not to think about too much.

Truth was, you really thought he would stop. You didn’t expect Damon to send you away, too. You thought you’d be a wall between him and Kai.

The board shuffled on the ground and stopped there somewhere. All fell quiet.

“We both did a stupid thing, and it felt right”, he mused slowly, as if he was surprised his own mouth was saying it. You pulled yourself half way up, balanced yourself on one elbow (the unharmed one) and leaned over his face, kissing him.

You stayed in Columbus for a while, until you could finally master the skateboard. The board you chose, by the way, was very cool. It had a green a purple zombie face gritting its rotting teeth, and its faded pale yellowish eyes on a roll out. You kept it close to the door of the bedroom, zombie face to bed so that you could look at it. You really liked the design.

The bed heaved under Kai’s weight as he rolled on his back. You were listening to music, waiting for midnight. You never went to sleep before twelve o’clock, when the new today began, because it distorted sleep anyway. As your bodies returned back to default, it always woke you up.

“It makes no sense”, he complained. “It sounds just like the old ones”.

“That’s the point of the whole genre of the retrowave”, you sighed. In the twilight, with no street lights on (you personally broke half of them, practicing your aim with the stones), the zombie head seemed more vicious than it really was.

“Why not just listen to synth wave then?”

“Because the quality is different, and the melodies are still different. It’s fake retro. It reminds me of my youth”.

“You know what reminds me of my youth?” he said crossly, “listening to actually old music. I don’t understand this”.

You found his hair, getting your fingers in it and squeezing lightly. It calmed him down at once, all the time.

“You exist outside the time, you have no youth”, you reminded him.

“Right”, Kai was almost dozing off. “What do you want to do tomorrow?”

“You know what I was thinking?”

It was hard to keep your eyes open against the darkness of the room in this cute family house, on the Washington Street in Columbus, when Kai breathed right into your ear, nesting his face against the side of yours to distract you from his hand sliding down your belly.

He hummed. You had to catch his wrist to stop him from getting into your pants. Not to this song.

“We need to survive a zombie apocalypse. Shaun here gave me an idea”.

The skateboard zombie’s name was Shaun.

“Oh, that would be so cool!” Kai woke up at once. Your pants and what’s inside of them was forgotten. His eyes glowed in the dark like he was about to lash out on you with rage no less than a brain eater himself.

“We could get a really heavy car, and put up mannequins everywhere in the city, and shoot them”, you said. “We will get post-apocalyptic clothes and make a den somewhere in a high-high building that looks like a tower, and live without electricity. I’ll read you Stephen King at nights. You can reinvent radio”.

“Maybe I’ll bite your arm off”, he whispered, already jumping away into the fantasy, “and you’ll have to mercy shoot me until I turn into a complete animal”.

He crashed back onto bed and stared into the ceiling.

“If you bite my arm off, don’t you think you’re already too far gone? May as well eat me whole then. I don’t wanna go around without an arm”.

“Fair enough”.

You both sighed, thinking.

“But what place looks like it’s been ravaged by zombies?”

“Something like Escape from L.A., but not LA”, he muttered.

“Some city that has a lot of industrial districts and factories...”

Another pause, and then you looked at each other and shrieked at the same time,

“Boston!”

[protectwoc]

why all reylos are racist

y’all can go ahead and cancel me now because some of you are not going to like what i have to say and i am completely okay with that.

this recent gq interview with john boyega has incensed me. hearing all the things he went through, from disney and from “fans” and with no support from anyone… i’m livid. sometimes when i think about it for too long i start shaking, i’m so furious. and the response from the reylo fandom has infuriated me to a degree i honestly didn’t know was possible.

some of you may have seen my recent tumblr rampage. it’s reylo bullying hours here on my blog, and i’m not sorry either. one person threatened to post screenshots of my comments, which like… okay? i know what the fuck i said, it wasn’t that long ago. in fact i was going to include the screenshots in this post right here, but they blocked me before i had the chance. sorry. i’m sure somebody has them. anyway…

over the past two days in the star wars fandom we have seen something unprecedented: an outpouring of support for john boyega. both reylos and anti-reylos have joined forces to voice support for john in the wake of the gq interview (and the blm protests, let’s be real, some of y’all would not have given half a fuck if it wasn’t suddenly cool to be antiracist). and this showing of unity is one of the most rage-inducing things i’ve ever seen in a fandom (which is saying something; i have seen some shit).

reylo fandom, full offense intended, but where the fuck do you get off? you’re supporting john now? where was this support when tfa came out and you couldn’t stand the thought of him next to your white-girl-self-insert? where was it when tlj came out and your boy ryan completely sidelined him? where was it earlier this fucking year when y’all twisted a harmless joke (like yall haven’t spent years writing reylo-throne-room-sex-meta BULLSHIT) and ignored the vile racist shit coming from your own fav’s mouth? but you’re supporting him now? now that being antiracist is trendy? fuck outta here with that bullshit.

your fandom is the reason for the vast majority of the absolutely subhuman treatment john has endured over the last few years. your fandom influenced ryan (yes i know what his name is) to write tlj the way he did, you have behaved indefensibly here on tumblr.hell writing and drawing and fantasizing about all sorts of racist bullshit, and y’all have STAYED in his twitter mentions spewing hatred seven ways to sunday. but NOW, without a shred of self-reflection, you’re supporting him? now his experiences are valid?

the way that your fandom refuses to take accountability for its actions makes me see red. y’all stay on some “not all reylos” nonsense and i am SICK OF IT. i’m only gonna say this once, and i want you to hear me: you cannot be a reylo and be “antiracist”. you cannot participate in a fandom that has behaved the way yours has and say “blm, uwu acab.” you can’t. like do you think black people are dumb? that we can’t see right through you? we can.

“but rae,” i hear you whining. “you’re gonna say just because i like two characters together i’m a racist?” and of course not. that would be ludicrous. i think just because you knowingly engage and participate in a fandom that has racism encoded in its dna, you’re a racist. i think because y’all are in bed with racist harassers, racist trolls, and racist content creators, you’re a racist. that’s what the fuck i think. y’all lost the right to “it’s just a ship” me the instant you dragged john boyega into this.

here’s an example: i watched tfa about three days after it came out. i watched the first half, saw the obvious relationship set up between finn and rey, and thought, “aw, cute.” then i watched kylo and rey fight, watch him offer to teach her, and thought, “... interesting.”

when i got home i checked tumblr for finnrey content, saw the outpouring of love from black fans, all the cute fanart and fics blooming, and smiled. then, slowly, guiltily, i searched “reylo.”

BOOM. racism. the things i saw in the tag that night are tattooed on my brain. reylos rejoicing about the obvious rey/kyle pairing because “sw would never put her with that monkey finn”. calling him an “oaf”, “useless”, “bumbling”, “stupid”. reylos joking about how “when they talked about the Dark side, [they] didn’t think they meant that kind of dark.” “woke” reylos pretending to ship stormpilot in an obvious ploy to get finn away from kylo. and in between all of that, cute ship art. fun fics. talented gif makers. and nobody saying shit about the reprehensible behavior going on in their tag.

reylo is built on a foundation of racism. from that first week, racism has been woven into the fabric of your fandom, and it’s been going unchecked. and i don’t mean calling out other reylos. that’s not enough. i mean taking actual steps. y’all have been sitting in a cesspool of racism for five years, and its time for you to get the fuck out or shut the fuck up about being an “ally”. y’all need to leave this fandom.

don’t agree? here’s another story. in 2017, when i still watched supergirl (before i grew taste) i shipped karamel. for those of you who don’t know, karamel is the ship of kara zor-el (supergirl) and mon-el, her second love interest. when supergirl was moved to the cw for its second season, the decision was made to abruptly end her romance with jimmy olsen, played by mecahd brooks (a black man) and replace him with mon-el, played by chris wood, a white man, who was revealed to be, among other things, an alien slaveowner, as well as a playboy and all-around terrible person. and i shipped them. look, i’m not defending myself, but i never really bought the chemistry between jimmy and kara. even though mon-el’s introduction and the way that they carelessly disregarded kara’s feelings for jimmy made me uncomfortable, i thought the way melissa played her attraction to chris wood was more believable (and again, i’m not defending myself, but they are now married so it’s not like i was wrong). so i shipped them. simple as that, right?

well, no. not really. because the inherent racism in the way the writers wrote out her admittedly sweet romance with a black man in favor of a white slaveowner jerk kept bothering me. and finally i decided that it made me too uncomfortable to participate in. i never really reblogged any karamel fandom stuff, but i completely divorced myself from the fandom. i stopped reading karamel fic, and i switched to reblogging exclusively jimmy/kara content until the fandom died out/i stopped watching. i made a choice that real life racism is more important to me than a fucking fandom or a ship, and then i acted accordingly. simple as that.

and i’m not saying you have to stop liking the reylo dynamic. i still like the chemistry between kara and mon-el. i’ve shipped problematic ships before (bamon comes to mind) and i don’t think there’s anything wrong with that (to a point). but there’s a difference between liking a ship dynamic and engaging and contributing to a fan culture of racism. you have to stop participating in the fandom. y’all are in bed with people indistinguishable from confederate-flag-waving-all-lives-matter-touting racists and you don’t feel the need to get out of that environment? there comes a certain point where you have to decide if fandom bullshit is more important to you than fighting racism, and unfortunately, reylos have chosen wrong. that, ladies and gentlemen, is why all reylos are racist, regardless of what they say. roll credits.

except i have more to say, so i’m gonna say it. first of all, i’m not trying to hold myself up as some kind of paragon of virtue. i’m not holier-than-thou because all my ships are “woke” or whatever. chemistry is subjective, and we’re all going to be attracted to different ship dynamics, and there’s nothing wrong with that in theory. what matters is the execution. i finally had to say one day, “you know, this ship and the racist baggage it carries is actually less important to me than battling systemic racism on every level, including the fandom level”. y’all thought being antiracist was gonna be easy? that you wouldn’t have to make some actual changes, to make some actual sacrifices? sorry not sorry to disappoint. and if i, a normal-ass person with flaws and problematic thinking that i’m still dealing with and the whole ine yards, can make that decision, then other people should be required to as well.

(what really irks me is that the karamel fandom wasn’t even really that bad! i definitely could have gotten away with being a karamel stan in 2017. thankfully the supercat and supercorp shippers were doing the lord’s work and bullying them into submission (don’t think i’m letting y’all off the hook either, y’all have got some racism to deal with as well but that’s an essay for another day) but like most of the racism happened at the writing level; the fandom itself wasn’t engaging in racist clownery on the regular. but like the reylos are. y’all see racist bullshit coming from your neighbor, fav fic writer, artist, gif maker, whatever, and don’t say shit? don’t feel the need to distance yourself from them? gtfoh.)

i made this argument earlier when i was on my rampage (which i’m still on btw so don’t clown in my inbox, you will get your shit rocked) but i’m going to make it again because i feel like its important to note. when i pointed out that existing in the reylo fandom while you are aware of its racism makes you complicit in that racism, a white reylo told me earlier that (paraphrasing, my memory’s not as good as it used to be and i did mention that they’d blocked me) “you don’t solve a problem like systemic racism by ignoring it. leaving the fandom would be allowing it to happen.” when i pointed out that that’s police officer rhetoric almost verbatim, she (a white reylo) admonished me (a black woman) not to compare police brutality to a “ship war.” lmao.

look, clearly y’all need a refresher on what “systemic” means. it means, quite simply, that there are systems, large and small, allow for racism to exist, and it also means that allowing for racism to exist on the small scale means expecting it on a large one. like you think police officers spring fully formed from the head with racist ideals already ingrained? no! they learn it and learn to justify it with “well just because my friend made a racist joke doesn’t make me a racist” and “just because i laughed at my friend’s using a racist term in my video game doesn’t make me a racist” and “just because my friend is a racist doesn’t mean i’m a racist” and then we have people watching their coworkers kneel on a man’s back for 8 minutes with no remorse. i’m not gonna solve police brutality by fighting reylos on tumblr, but fandom racism is real racism with consequences on our world, and i don’t tolerate ANY type of racism. and the fact that you are so willing to not just tolerate it but justify it should say something to you.

and not all reylos are like this. similar to cops, good reylos don’t last. i have seen people grow so disgusted by the racism in the reylo fandom that they publicly turned their backs on it, and those reylos i respect. you’ve heard of “the only good cop is an ex-cop” well get ready for “the only good reylo is an ex-reylo”.

(and also like far be it from me to justify a cop but one could at least say they have their livelihoods to think about (not like they couldn’t just pick a nonmurderous profession but i digress) but you reylos can’t even choose between taking a stance against the hateful and unjustified bullying of a man who had the audacity to… get a job (?)... over a ship? come on now.)

the point of all this is, for all their posturing about “being antiracist” and “fuck 12” and “support john boyega”, reylos have decided that a relationship between two fictional people is more important than all the black and brown people who are hurt by that decision and the consequences of that decision. and before y’all pull some “b-but there are POC reylos!” (stop fucking using poc as an adjective, its a noun, it stands for person of color, please use it as such) internalized racism is a thing. busting out your token “reylo of color” (see how easy that was?) is not going to change my mind. all reylos are complicit in the racism of their peers, and being complicit makes you culpable. full stop.

and that is why the public support of john boyega from the reylo fandom has me seeing red. renounce your fandom or keep that man’s name out of your mouth. anyway, this was long and ranty and entirely stream-of-consciousness and i’m refusing to edit it so it’s probably completely incomprehensible to anyone besides me but if you made it this far thanks for reading ig. all reylos are racist, blm, fuck 12, acab, stan john boyega, don’t clown in my inbox unless you’re coming to bully me for being a karamel shipper, which i deserve (or do, i couldn’t give less of a fuck). good night.

[janeyseymour]

Made With Extra Love

Hello! A while ago, I made this silly headcanon, and this idea has been nagging at me for quite some time, so here we are! 

Can also be found here!

Since being reincarnated, the queens had fallen into many habits, some good, some not so good. Catherine of Aragon had made it a point to read the newspaper every morning. Anne Boleyn had discovered shoes with wheels connected to the bottom. She could be often found cleaning up a mess after she accidentally rolled into something- mostly Jane’s various flower vases scattered through the house. Jane Seymour had quite a knack for baking, always calling all the queens into the kitchen to try some of her newest desserts. Anna of Cleves went on shopping sprees quite frequently, sometimes dragging along Anne and Katherine. Katherine Howard tended to stick with Jane, always the first in line for a delicious new treat. If she wasn’t with the blonde, she was causing trouble with the second and fourth queen. Catherine Parr often stayed in to work on a new piece of writing, even when her writer’s block hit.

While the queens all developed habits of their own, that’s not to say they didn’t all spend time with each other. Catherine, Jane, and Cathy had all made a habit of going to church on Sunday mornings together. Anne and Kat had a knack for pranking the others, sometimes roping Anna into the chaos. The mothers of the group often stayed up at night to discuss their little ones.

When it came to being in the kitchen though, each queen had their own habits. Here’s how it goes:

Jane Seymour cooked practically gourmet meals from scratch every time she entered the rather large kitchen. The third queen, before becoming queen, had been taught how to be a doting wife. While the blonde wasn’t the sharpest when it came to scholarly subjects, she was certainly the best cook and baker of them all. She had figured out how to properly use all of the appliances in their kitchen rather quickly, and it wasn’t uncommon for any of the queens to walk into the house to an aroma that left their mouths watering and their stomachs growling.

“Janey, what are you making?” Anne wheeled into the kitchen.

“Out. You are not going to eat all of the food before it’s ready,” the blonde tutted.

Anne wheeled herself to just outside the kitchen archway before yelling, “I’m out! Now what are you making!”

“We’re having a casserole, and I’ve already made a pie for dessert.”

The third queen had set out dinner and called the others to take a seat. The five other queens bolted into their seats, quickly said grace, and dove into their meals. Various moans could be heard through the room.

“How do you do it?” Kat asked through a mouthful of food.

“No talking with your mouth full,” Catherine chided gently.

“It’s made with extra love,” the blonde replied casually.

“You should open your own restaurant Seymour,” Anna chimed in. “Lord knows I would be there every day.” Jane looked a bit shocked at such high praise. Her food surely wasn’t that good, was it?

“Well, right now we’ve kind of got our hands full with the show, but maybe someday.”

Ten years after their show had closed, Jane Seymour opened a quaint little diner a few blocks from where their theatre was. Her five queens were the first five in line at the opening. Catherine Parr, now a known columnist, wrote a five star review.

-

Catherine of Aragon could cook. She just wasn’t one to create her own recipes. Instead, she took others’ and added her own flair to them, oftentimes making foods just a tad too spicy for her fellow queens, aside from Anna who devoured every bite.

“Lina, you know I can teach you how to cook? There are only a few rules, and the rest comes from the heart,” Jane would say.

“I know you could Jane, but that’s kind of your thing. Besides, it’s fun to take your food and add some flair to it.”

“Is my cooking not good?”

Aragon flushed. “No no, that’s not what I mean love. It’s just that, I like to add a bit of heat to my food, and you aren’t much one for spice.”

“Oh! I’ll keep that in mind the next time I make something new.”

The next night, Jane was in the kitchen preparing a chicken for dinner when a stroke of genius came to her. She brought all of the spices she had collected in the time they had been back and set them on the counter.

“Lina? Could you come here for a second?” The first queen looked rather surprised when she saw all of the spices set out.

“What on Earth?”

“Well, I was going to make dinner by myself when I thought, why not have the next best cook help me out? Add some of your flair to it!” The blonde seemed excited, so the first queen set about adding different spices to the dish.

As the family sat down for dinner that night, Jane made sure to tell all of the queens that Catherine of Aragon had added her special Hispanic flair to the food. While the dish had a bit of a bite, it wasn’t anything the others couldn’t handle. And besides, Catherine added some extra spice to hers and Anna’s plates.

After that night, it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence to see the first and third queen collaborating on new dishes.

-

Katherine Howard was capable of cooking; she just never quite felt like it and often opted for boxed meals instead. The queens hardly ate out of boxes, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t stocked up.

On this particular night, Jane had been out of town for interviews about the show, and the rest of the queens had nominated Katherine to provide dinner. She had made several packages of ramen noodles and a box of macaroni and cheese. The pink haired queen was rather excited as she called down the others, feeling as though she had a purpose in the house.

“Tonight, we feast like queens!” She grinned, handing each of the four other queens a bowl of ramen and a bowl filled with orange mac n cheese.

“This looks wonderful love,” Catherine lied through her teeth. She didn’t exactly have a taste for the boxed meals Kat loved.

“Thank you!” Kat’s eyes sparkled with excitement as she took a bite of her noodles.

“Why don’t you ever cook anything?” Anna of Cleves asked through a mouthful of cheesy noodles.

“You’re one to talk,” Cathy remarked with a smirk.

“I do cook, just from a box! But if you insist on asking,” Kat sighed dramatically. “I’m preparing for college!”

“You’re planning on going to college?” Anne asked with wide eyes. “Does Jane know about this?”

“Yes she does, but that’s besides the point. When I walk by the university down the street, I see loads of kids eating this kind of food, so I’m preparing by learning how to make the foods I’m going to be eating when I’m there too!”

“You do know Jane isn’t going to let you go to college without popping in at least once a week with a home cooked meal, right?” Cathy had to point it out. There was no way Jane would let her adopted daughter survive off of crappy boxed meals when she could provide a home cooked meal “made with extra love”, as Jane so often liked to put it.

“Can't hurt to be prepared,” Kat shrugged and continued eating her noodles.

-

Catherine Parr was happy to eat whatever the other queens laid out in front of her, but she was just as happy to create meals herself.

“It’s going to spark my creativity Jane,” she would explain to the blonde. Oftentimes, it did spark a bit of creativity in the writer too.

“Cathy, would you mind preparing dinner tonight? Jane’s been exhausted lately, and I’d rather not wake her to make dinner,” Catherine whispered.

“Can’t you? I really have to finish this piece by Friday.” The gesture towards the sleeping queen that Aragon made was enough of an explanation.

“I guess,” she sighed. “Maybe it’ll help me come up with some more to write anyhow.”

“That’s the spirit.” Catherine watched her goddaughter make her way to the kitchen.

“Dinner’s ready!” The sixth queen called sometime later. The smell that wafted through the house was different, although not unwelcome.

Catherine woke a slumbering Jane who replied with, “Oh lord, are we in for some strange concoction tonight.” The others stifled laughter, Cathy feigning hurt.

“So tonight I made chicken and added some ranch seasoning with breading. Here’s to hoping you all don’t find it terrible.” The first five queens looked at the chicken rather scared. Was ranch seasoning meant to go on chicken? Only a bite would tell. Jane would be the first to adventure into the new food.

“This is,” she continued to chew her food. “different. A good different! Well done Cath.” The compliment from the head cook in the house allowed for the others to set their fears aside. This wasn’t going to be like the last time the writer had offered them pickles with peanut butter slathered on them. Surprise washed over their faces as they dined on this interesting food combination Catherine Parr had invented. It would certainly become a dish Cathy would use again in the future seeing as the others were able to stomach it. It was almost as if they enjoyed it.

That night, Cathy was able to finish her article.

“I told you cooking strange food combos cures writer’s block!” the writer would tell Jane in the morning.

-

Anne Boleyn wasn’t allowed in the kitchen after a certain mishap. The queens had been expected to go on a group outing together, but that was quickly dashed when Anne woke up that morning with a migraine.

“I’ll be fine,” she grumbled at the five concerned queens in her room, more than ready to stay by her side for the day. “Go have your fun.” The others hesitantly left the green room and made their way out of the house.

Some time had passed when Anne’s stomach began to rumble. Knowing she was far from the best cook in the house, she settled for some microwavable macaroni and cheese. Even I can’t mess this up, she thought to herself.

Oh how wrong she had been.

The second queen had forgotten to add water to the cup before shoving it into the microwave and turning the appliance on. The next thing she knew, the cup had caught on fire, and she was coughing at the absurd amount of smoke clouding the room. The cup on fire wasn’t going to put itself out anytime soon, and Anne couldn’t find the cursed fire extinguisher in her panicked state. She grabbed the phone and called the emergency line and Jane.

Within minutes, the police and fire department had come to save the woman in clear distress. Since the firemen had come, she had made her way outside and was now relaying what had happened to the men in blue. As the men were walking away from the scene and getting into their cars, the family car pulled up.

“Anne Boleyn! What the hell?” Jane got out of the car before Catherine could even throw the vehicle into park.

“I’m pretty sure the first question you should ask her is if she’s okay,” Cathy muttered from the backseat.

“I wasn’t trying to burn the house down! I was just trying to make macaroni!” The second queen was gesturing wildly at the now black container on their sidewalk.

“This is absurd! How could you mess that up?” The blonde was not thrilled, clearly.

“That’s what I thought!” Anne shouted back. “My dumb ass forgot to put water in the cup! I didn’t know it would catch on fire!”

Anne Boleyn wasn’t allowed in the kitchen anymore without supervision. Jane had made that quite clear.

-

Anna of Cleves could hardly be bothered with cooking her own food. In her past life, there was always someone to make her food, and in this life too, the other queens were more than happy to place food in front of the fourth queen.

Once, Jane had asked the red queen to provide dinner for the group that night with the explanation that she had to work on something for the show. Anna had agreed, and the silver queen seemed content. The fourth queen didn’t know that she was expected to cook.

“Dinner!” she called out.

“Pizza?” Jane was rather confused. She thought she had asked her successor to cook.

“Yeah? You asked me to get dinner.”

Another time years later, both the first and third queen had caught the flu. Katherine was away at college, so she wasn’t able to cook. Cathy was holed up in her room working on yet another article, and the fourth queen knew she wouldn't be able to convince her to cook. Anne still wasn’t allowed in the kitchen after all this time. It looked as though Anna would have to provide dinner again.

When she showed up with McDonald’s, only Anne would be excited.

Once, while Jane was cooking, Anna decided to keep the blonde company.

“Hey Anna?” Jane looked up from the pot that she was stirring.

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you ever cook?” Anna shrugged at the question.

After supper that night,  “Why cook when you can pay others to do it for you?” Anna replied smugly, slipping Jane a crisp ten dollar bill for making dinner that night.

-

The queens certainly had quite a strange dynamic when it came to providing meals for themselves. Catalina was more than happy to assist in the kitchen. Kat was satisfied with “feasting” on various boxed meals. Cathy used the kitchen as a way to cure her writer’s block. Anne understood why she had been banned from the kitchen, happy to munch away on already made things. Anna of Cleves was more than happy to pay for the other queens to dine. Jane Seymour was more than happy to provide her family with home cooked meals, “made with extra love”. The money Anna threw her way, although completely unnecessary, was appreciated.

[corkcitylibraries]

Cork in Verse | Ana Spehar interviews Paul Casey

Cork in Verse is a series of interviews by Ana Spehar with Cork Poets. This week Ana interviews Paul Casey.

Image by John Minihan

How often do you write?

I wish I could say every day. In an ideal world I'd write for 4-5 hours per day (including thinking and feeling about writing, the kind of internal writing that happens before the words reach the page), but in reality, my work year is quite demanding and lacks consistency, so any concept of ongoing, regular writing is quite out of reach for me. I write in blasts for most of the year, there's usually something small every day, filling notebooks and android email drafts with ideas, lines and verses. The summer is when I collate all these, when for up to 6-8 weeks I can actually enjoy those 4-5 cherished hours writing whatever new material emerges, as well as editing and polishing unfinished work, researching where I need to (including travel) and hopefully sending new poems off to find new homes.

 Would you look on writing as a kind of spiritual practice?

I would, yes. There's a stillness that comes with it that I love. That's when I'm most alive within myself, when I find parity with the world. It's philosophical too, full of questioning and discovering things about yourself and the world for the first time. There'll always be an infinite list of things to write about - as long as you're open to your own feelings about what you experience in life.

 In your opinion what are the most important elements of a good poem?

Honesty is way up there. Honesty takes real courage - which always has a strong draw and ring about it. A good poem is also allowed to mature, a process I find endlessly frustrating, but on the flip side the poem develops depth and is inevitably more satisfying and multi-layered if you offer it space and allow it to grow. A good poem (for me) offers something new, whether that's perspective, story or emotional recognition. A good poem (again, for me) should sing its own distinct music, should never be overwritten and as Robert Frost says, should "begin in delight and end in wisdom" - that wisdom being made entirely of the poet's own personal discovery.

 Does the creative process of writing affect your mood and how? 

The creation of any art or craft will affect mood. Poetry is both art and craft and its subject matter is endless, as are the moods its subjects evoke. If I write about death I become sad, but I also find solace through what the words themselves bring. If I write about love I feel elated and often confused, or if about injustice, frustrated and helpless. So subject primarily affects mood, as does personal experience of that subject course - however - my mood is mostly affected by how little I get to write during the year - and that usually culminates in a whole lot of exasperation, which in turn is remedied each summer, all going well.

  You are a founder of Ó Bhéal. How did you get the idea to start it and do you find it challenging?

Ó Bhéal was born from a desire to create more choices for poets (at all levels of experience), as well as to make the idea of poetry itself less intimidating, for it to be perceived as a potential benefit for anyone. It is a magical art form which is continually transformative and surprising if engaged with open-heartedly.

With regards to the logistical challenge of starting and maintaining Ó Bhéal, it was always a steep one, although the event regularity eventually remedied most of the difficulties long the way (funding, promotion, etc). In 2013, our seventh year of running 50 events per annum, things had become a little too three-dimensional for me - so in that year I decided to inaugurate our two international competitions (Five Words and Poetry-Film) as well as our end of year Winter Warmer Festival and also took over the reins of The Unfinished Book of Poetry project.  So we were suddenly up to seven-dimensions and I was back in the deep-end for a good while before it all eventually dovetailed into place. In 2013 we also won the Lord Mayor's Arts and Culture Award, a very welcome boost to morale. I must say that if not for the help of our dedicated and talented board of volunteers and emcees (more about them at www.obheal.ie/about) - Ó Bhéal would not amount to half of what it is today. I'm very grateful to them.

 Paul Casey’s second collection Virtual Tides was published by Salmon Poetry in 2016. It followed home more or less (Salmon, 2012) and It’s Not All Bad (Heaventree, 2009). He teaches creative writing, edits the Unfinished Book of Poetry and promotes poetry in his role as director of Ó Bhéal in Cork.

  Something to Give                                         

 I’m an unseen red dari seed

an untouched sunflower seed

around a vibrant heart pumping

vulnerable beats into corrupt atmosphere

 The gold I spin to cast away

the art I build from air

and a full belly, is hardly privileged -

is it a privilege to eat?

 An unheard horse chestnut seed

I hand out leaves in the street, the last

of the year before life finds its beginning

I gift unearthed weeds to well-suited unhappiness

 sprinkle wildflower seeds for my mother

into grooves between the edges

where narrow beds keep grass from concrete

where the lawnmower man can’t go

 Even spread along the haphazard craters

remnants of thistle and groundsel

chickweed, ragwort and dock

I cover them over

 ‘We can’t let the place go to the dogs’

the landlady barked, she says, as her left knee,

the one on the polio side, retreats forty-five degrees

left knuckles whitening over the shillelagh

 We’ll sort that out mom, have you fed the birds today?

We don’t want them stealing all tomorrow’s colours

by Paul Casey

* First published in Reading the Future (Arlen House / Hodges Figgis)

  Passerine   

Of all the tongues I’d rather speak bird

have impulse thought and wish tuned into song

for this I’d give up every poem and word

 The flummoxed squirrels think me all absurd

absorbing chorus verse refrain and idiom

but if I had my way I’d just speak bird

 Throughout evolution this must have occurred

to countless sods unable to belong

who vowed surrender every poem and word

 All felines I encounter over-purr

they trill insist yes something here is wrong

claws waver, cannot enter this lost bird

 I should have sung the circuit I have heard

the notes deep camouflaged inside so long

when in a flash I’d give up every word

 As plumage bursts through skin and senses blur

my intuition feels perfectly strong

Of all the tongues I’d far prefer speak bird

for this I’d give up every poem and word

by Paul Casey

* First published in Days of Clear Light (Salmon Poetry)

[crackimagines]

Substitute Teacher (FE: Three Houses Short Fic)

Overlord!AU

Overlord 3H AU Masterlist

----

The Blue Lions Class sat down in their seats waiting for the lecture to begin.

After a few minutes, Byleth still had not walked through the door. A few more minutes passed and there was still nothing.

(Dimitri) “I wonder where the professor is right now.”

(Annette) “Are classes cancelled or something?”

Ainz wanted to raise an eyebrow, but due to his skeletal face having no facial expressions, he turned around instead.

(Ainz) Cocytus isn’t here either...

(Sylvain) “Well, if classes are cancelled I’m gonna head to town!”

(Demiurge) “Oh? Are you intending to break the classroom rules?”

(Ingrid) “Ugh, just sit down Sylvain. I don’t want to have to drag you back here-”

SLAM!

[Wenn es meines Gottes Wille! - Overlord]

(Flamboyant Voice) “SIT DOWN YOUNG MAN, FOR YOU ARE GOING TO PARTAKE IN THE INSTITUTION OF LEARNING WHETHER YOU LIKE IT OR NOT!”

The Blue Lions class were taken aback by the voice while the Denizens of Nazarick turned around with pure dread conveyed on their faces.

(Shalltear) “Oh no-”

(Shalltear) “Is that?-”

The figure marched towards the front of the class, adjusting its hat.

(Ainz) “Oh my god, PLEASE NO-”

“I apologize for the delay in your lectures! Professors Byleth and Cocytus have gone out for an assignment, AND I-

-HAVE BEEN ASSIGNED-

-AS YOUR SUBSTITUTE!”

(Ashe) “A-Are the poses necessary mister...?”

(Flamboyant Man) “I, AM PANDORA’S ACTOR! AND MMMMMYES! IT IS COMPLETELY NECESSARY, AS DEEMED BY MY CREATOR-”

(Ainz) Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t-

(Pandora’s Actor) “AINZ OOAL GOWN! I AM A PROUD SUBJECT OF NAZARICK, AND WHAT YOU SEE IS HIS WILL! HIS WILL DEMANDS I TEACH YOU ALL TODAY! AM I NOT CORRECT, LORD AINZ?!”

The Blue Lions slowly turned to Ainz who was covering his embarrassment with his hands.

They could see the skull’s mouth wide open.

(Sebas) “Lord Ainz?”

(Ainz) “...Who authorized this? Because I certainly did not.”

(Pandora’s Actor) “It was a decision made by Byleth! He said that if I was a subject of yours, then it would be alright as long as I treat the youth of today well!”

(Ainz) You mean because he didn’t have time to get to know what you’re really like...

(Pandora’s Actor) “NOW! TOSS ASIDE YOUR BOOKS! WE WILL BE LEARNING THE LESSONS LIVE!”

(Mercedes) “Um...Mister Actor, I don’t think history of the Church is something that can be done via actions-”

(Pandora’s Actor) “YOU ARE MISTAKEN BIG-CHESTED ONE! I CAN PERFORM WHATEVER ACTIONS THAT HAVE PARTAKEN IN THE BOOK! ALLOW ME TO DEMONSTRATE-”

(Mercedes) “...Big chested?”

- A green glow overtook Ainz and he stood up from his desk.

(Ainz) “HEY! COME WITH ME!”

Ainz grabbed Pandora’s Actor and walked him outside of the classroom.

(Ainz) “Do you not remember what I told you about acting like that in front of people?!”

(Pandora’s Actor) “That order was just to stop saluting.

(Ainz) “AGH! L-LOOK! Just...Look, you’re supposed to be cool remember?! The military garb and the tone of voice you have is fine, but prancing about and posing is NOT cool!”

(Pandora’s Actor) “But...you pose as well.”

(Ainz) “...Er...”

(Pandora’s Actor) “Besides, wouldn’t it be better to intimidate the students here by asserting our overwhelming dominance over them, Lord Ainz?”

(Ainz) “I mean...yes, but-”

Pandora’s actor shook his head and nodded.

(Pandora’s Actor) “Fear not, my father! Wenn es der Wille meines Gottes ist!”

WHAM!

“DID I SAY YOU COULD RESUME SPEAKING IN GERMAN IN FRONT OF ME OR THE OTHERS?!”

(Pandora’s Actor) “N-NO LORD AINZ!”

The entire class could hear the conversation clear as day.

(Ainz) “Just teach class like a normal human being!”

(Pandora’s Actor) “Lord Ainz, I’m not a-”

(Ainz) “YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN!”

(Dedue) “What a peculiar individual.”

(Felix) “Weirdo is more like it.”