#bound by the only commonality you know - war and exploration

[imaginealpha]

9, 25, 69

Battle Cry - Imagine Dragons

Stars are only visible in darkness / Fear is ever-changing and evolving / and I, I've been poisoned inside / but I, I feel so alive

Candy - The Blasting Company

The cities they will burn / and families will crack / The hate that drove us from our homes / will drag the living back / and limping from the darkness / with our hatred in our tracks / a long and lonely shadow there / can never be undone

Run To Me ( from the "Home" soundtrack) - Clarence Coffee Jr.

Fell for you once, I'll dive again / through heaven 'n' hell against the wind / We love like simple people do

[your-local-crypt1d]

followed you simply for empires ctommy. I don’t even like empires but ctommy is my everything,,, any spare bits rattling around in that brain of yours

I have so many THOUGHTS about this dude you have no idea. Also, I do recommend watching Empires not because it's super similar to the dsmp but because it has its own disc war and Jimmy Solidarity is like Tommy but in a different font. Anyway,

My favourite idea I've had so far is cTommy punching transphobes in the face. Unlike the smp where it's like maybe 40-odd people trapped in a cursed land they cannot leave, Empires has citizens, it had loads of people. So like there's bound to be one person in the Grimlands who doesn't like their Count being a trans man. Tommy is having none of that though, he will clobber anyone who talks bad about fWhip while saying something badass like; "fWhip is twice the man you'll ever be"

Am I projecting heavily on that one? Yes.

Similarly, if you ever give anyone shit for Tommy's or anyone else's disability he will beat you with his prosthetic arm. I think on the smp, being disabled is a very common thing (hard of hearing/deaf people, amputees, nerve damage, blindness, etc) thanks to the constant wars, explosions and violence. I headcanon Tubbo to be almost entirely blind because of his execution, so Tommy will shout at you if you are rude to a blind person. He also absolutely knows sign language, which I've been calling MSL (minecraft sign language), so fWhip who is absolutely HoH thanks to being a demolitionist has someone he can communicate with if he doesn't have his hearing aid, and same with anyone else who's deaf/HoH.

In a similar vein to Tommy transphobe-puncher Innit, Tommy doesn't really give a shit about how he presents his gender. If you ask he will say he's a BIG MAN who uses he/him pronouns only, but he's also happy to walk around wearing a skirt (as long as it's a practical one he can fight in). He makes flower crowns for his friends. He can braid hair and has long-ish hair of his own. Hell, I'd say he could even do some basic makeup! Just stereotypically "feminine" things, because he just Does Not Care™. The most trans-allegory cishet man ever.

Tommy seems like the type to not care if he's asked to wear something formal (I.e. the L'manberg uniform) as long as he can still fight in it, Tommy likes to be prepared at all times. He keeps like three concealed weapons on him at all times. People have mentioned kinda worriedly to fWhip that his kid has a "perfect soldier stance", that he more marches wear he walks than actual walking, etc. It's concerning to see a kid no older than 16 walking around like a grizzled war veteran (which he is). Also, when asked to greet another Emperor respectfully, Tommy interprets that as a salute, perfect posture, etc with "It's an honour to meet you, ma'am/sir!" Because that's the only way he knows how to "show respect".

Idk I just want to explore the child soldier side of cTommy more.

Also just Tommy who's literally been homeless before being utterly shocked at the lavish lifestyle royalty/nobility lead. He sees all the food laid out in the dining hall to feed fWhip and his whole staff and is just shocked, there's never been that much food to go around on his whole server and there it all is just sitting there, AND fWhip tells him there's more if he doesn't like any of it!

Tommy really is just Sophia the first in this au lol

[juniebugs]

assigning marvel heroes engineering majors (1)

i tried to write this so it makes sense even if you don't know much about engineering!! this post has my headcanons for peter parker, steve rogers, tony stark, and clint barton!!

as a preface, i am very aware that most of the marvel heroes would not in fact be in school for engineering even in an alternate universe. unfortunately, my fixation on both superheroes and engineering knows no bounds.

please feel free to ask me any questions about eng or for further explanation my reasons for these picks!! i am only in one type of eng but know many people in other disciplines so hopefully i'll be able to answer :)))

Peter Parker - Mechanical & Biomedical

I truly, truly believe the correct peter parker engineering take depends on what portrayal of spiderman you are looking at. like tobey's spiderman? would not touch biomed with a pole let alone mech. ... that peter parker is so far from engineer...... i dont even know where i would put him. materials? pls send your opinions if you have them.

BUT MCU, tom holland, spiderman would definitely definitely be in mechanical & biomedical. i actually got this from an irl friend, so if you see this somehow pls say hi LMAO

mechanical is one of the most common streams of eng and, while absolutely not something i ever want to touch, is really neat. it centers around keeping things in motion (contrary to civil engineering where if something is moving you're in trouble). it applies physics in really cool ways which i imagine would be a draw to peter just on the sole basis of personal interest. mech also plays with materials as it explores elasticity, deformation, fractures, yield strength, and other materials things i have blocked out LOL. when i think of that aspect i feel like it matches really well with the designed suit, the webs, and, if you listen to the science jargon he throws around in the movies, some of his prior knowledge.

biomedical engineering is actually used by some (the insane) as a gateway into med school. it covers human anatomy and genetic engineering (radioactive spider????). i do not believe peter would do med school too (because that student debt tho) but i also can't imagine him not trying to apply what he learns to helping others. i am personally partial to applying engineering principles to physiology and i can just imagine him implementing his mechanical knowledge into making prosthetics. if i had the brain power for this degree i would love to do that.

Steve Rogers - Civil Engineering

.... listen. steve rogers would fight a war before sitting in an hour lecture about dirt. i know this and acknowledge this wholeheartedly. HOWEVER,,,, I have a friend in civil with a special interest on sustainable design and you cannot, cannot tell me that isn't steven rogers coded.

civil engineering is not architecture, like at all, which i think is a common misconception if you don't know engineering well ( totally understandable!) unfortunately, i don't think civil caters to his artistic side that well but as someone who likes art but only does it as a hobby next to eng, i think thats okay.

civil engineering is kind of the mother to environmental engineering in the sense that they both look into wastewater treatments, geology, and even environmental planning (in some cases) but civil will also go into more detail with structural components and design of buildings. you'll find civil engineers involved in every building being made and in every town council ensuring clean drinking water and working sewage systems. typically they specialize into one or the other but shhhh ignore that for this post.

what i am trying to say here is that this would give steve a shit ton of wiggle room which i think he would use to help both the environment and people. paying engineers is expensiveeee especially for qualified, capable ones. i think steve would find deep satisfaction in working either for free or for the bare minimum cost (not that you should - know your worth :) ) and i think that he would actively use his work to call out designs that endanger communities or their environments.

this man knows his local engineering ethics code and WILL call someone out.

Tony Stark - Engineering Physics

when i started writing this section i thought it was going to be the easiest but unfortunately i did in fact have to phone a friend. tony stark is THE engineer so narrowing him down to one discipline felt impossible. my friend suggested engineering physics so i went with that.

the thing is eng phys is THE engineering degree. it is wonderful because you look at almost every thing mech, elec, and comp related (will explain more below) without specializing too greatly. it is also difficult because you don't specialize. for tony stark, who did not have to go into that internship grindset mentality, it would all be net positives.

to make the suit i immediately knew tony needed to have an extremely good knowledge on BOTH electrical (circuitry, coding, wires, magnetism, fun stuff) and mechanical (explained in peter's section!!). i was considering a double major but then was stumped because i love my elec and mech friends but they have no desire to produce a new element and also... creating an arc reactor??? plus AI's??? while likely related to software, it he would have bare minimum had to have had a good computer engineering (kind of how it sounds, engineering related to building and using computers and components of computers, lots of overlap w/ elec) background.

to wield the amount of science knowledge tony stark has an be able to apply it in an engineering context he would either have to be a genius (which like canonically he is so yknow) or take every course offered to engphys students (and some).

i think as a student he would have also enjoyed that not having to specify aspect. i imagine him always in the pursuit of knowledge. yay eng physics!!!

Clint Barton - Materials Engineering

If you've read the reasonings for some of the characters above you have likely thought to yourself "wow, such clear arguments, time must have been put into this" which like yes but also no because for this decision i am going exclusively on vibes.

materials focuses on, well, materials. it looks at both composition and properties (plus how composition effects properties). my friends in matls tell me its pretty research heavy which doesn't really fit with clint, i am aware. but every person i have met from this faculty i am convinced would get along with him.

I KNOW THIS ISN'T GREAT REASONING. i think that engineering would always be second to other things or interests in his life (even when he's a student) but I think the promise of a stable job and the hypothetical applications are really interesting. matls and mech can be surprisingly similar and i think he would find more satisfaction in manipulating materials to better fit his goals than in being stuck within predefined constraints.

plus, imagine creating a new material for like the tensile strength of your bow. incredibly cool

I'm thinking i'll work on doing more of these as i find the time!! i definitely have a few ideas for other characters, i just need to figure out how to articulate my reasonings haha.

if you have any ideas or shared interest in engineering and superheroes please let me know!! i have also been recently into the bat family, as you could probably tell by my reblogs, and am thinking of doing a version with them also!!

[darkdemeter]

WATCH IN SILENCE

✘DARKSIDERS FILED CLIPPINGS | War x Female Watcher!Reader ────────────────────────

A cantankerous behemoth that treads the path of destruction and chaos in his wake. A rider adorned in the banner of red, his trademark hood, and beneath the darkness of his cowl is the war-enamoured glare of whitened blue. A hue far too complicated for any mortal to comprehend. This bringer of all things conflict, and pursuer of vengeance to a fiery engine that can never be sated, his reluctance towards trusting you is to be expected.

For a Watcher bound to the plating of his gauntlet and deeper into his very soul, can only mean that the Charred Council questions his loyalty to them. Untrusted to go about his tasks, to serve the balance, he is now at the tether of a parasite that will feed and revel in the status of your power over him.

But he learns quickly that you do no such thing. Intend nothing of the sort. You just follow behind him as if it is you who is at his leash. He contemplates your motives in his mind, and you do nothing to invade him there, for that is not yours to pry into. There is much silence to be found between you both and he finds appreciation in the beginning of it all. But there comes a time that his appreciation begins to fester into worry. 

Why do you not speak? Why is it that you just watch him?

It is a matter that you’re fascinated by him. A juggernaut of all things chaos, destruction and desolation, in contrast to the vow of his honour; his duty to serve balance and the level of dedication he strives for to make peace for the realms. For one of the four that is known to be fuelled by tempering vengeance and bloodlust, he has a strict code to which he conducts himself to uphold. Duty-bound to his role. You find him a very intriguing rider of the steed known as Ruin. A fitting comrade to his master. 

He senses something about you that sets you apart from other watchers, unlike the more obvious telltale signs and oddities, but within the pulsing energy of your shaded body; he feels that there is a sense of commonality between you both. 

Yes, much like himself, you are not as ancient as the others. No, you are young. And so, that commonality forges a bond between. You understand the struggles he goes through in being the youngest of his siblings. At times, not taken seriously, and other times he is teased and taunted relentlessly with only Death being the main mediator to rid his youngest from such torment. You too struggle with this ordeal within the spiralling, ethereal pool of the watchers. But by no means do any come to your valiant rescue. 

So when you are chosen to be bound to the red cowled Horsemen, you do well to ignore his scornful glare and allow your eyes to crinkle with a mouthless smile. Finally, you are given reprieve from your own torment and what’s more, you get a chance to explore the many worlds. 

At first, he’d been confronted by this… unique behaviour of exploration. The way you gravitate towards the smallest and most mundane articles in your path, you found there to be something entrancing about a single, white petalled flower that remains fighting against the rubble and corruption around it. Or from the wayward cast of your gaze that appeared to become lost in the intricate layout of the realms you travel to. No matter where you are, you always manage to find something that piques your peculiar interest. 

And in meeting Vulgrim, the demon trader who bargains boons and goods in exchange for souls, who’s hunger knows no bounds, is allured by that younger scent of yours. The fiend is salivating in his thoughts and lipless grin, you force yourself to hide behind War, whether as an act of cowardice or self-preservation, but it spurns the Horseman into action. That of defense. To protect you, the baritone of his voice warns Vulgrim off. That by the Charred Council - and by him - you are protected. 

War is silent about his intrigue of your gentle, silent nature. You are often out and about, lingering on the horizon of his watch and never straying too far from him.

"What is it, little Watcher?" he grumbles to you eagerly pounding on the plate of his pauldron to gain his attention, glancing to where you enthusiastically indicate towards a point of interest. In reply, he gives a stern nod of his head. The closest sentiment of thanks you can get from the near-silent rider. But adventurous voyages are cut short to retreat into the crypt of his body and soul when danger lurks near. Despite the inward haven, you find it hard to simply wait out the carnage and a strange sorrow fills the void where a heart should be when you see him falter, inflicted with wounds wrought from battle.

Because of this need to see him unharmed, you will yourself to be brave. Fighting against the demonic forces of Hell’s army, War finds himself becoming overpowered. In your determination to aid the youngest Horsemen, you put yourself in the league of danger, and drive a sharpened point of a broken blade into the beast’s side with a shrill battle-cry. 

At the cost of being grappled and tossed into a wall of torn and reformed rock, War is given the opportunity he needs to gain the upper hand. 

After that particular fight, War notices the slumped form you take and despite his limited expertise, he attends any injury you sustained in the attack.

“This should help, little Watcher,” he says, uncertainty evident in the way he scowls, his low-silken voice drawls with faded hope of helping you. But it matters little, you’re gladdened by the tenderness of his actions. The four are not exactly known to be courteous. And Watchers are despised by them, and any other spiritual being for that matter, so to be taken under his care despite any reservations of loathing he may hold for you; it creates the illusion of a smile in your glowing eyes. 

War doesn’t smile in turn. Nor did you expect him to. But the bevel between his ashen brows ceases just a little and the glaring mask of his stoicism wavers that tiny bit more. Lowering the blackened limb of your bound arm, he stands to his full height before you after having bandaged your wound. The sound of your voice after all this time visibly shakes him, his fangs bared and eyes growing wide.

“Thank you, War…”

[detective-inspector-her]

so, the medium AU, right? would being a medium be like a discipline among sorcerers, or is it it's own thing, and would it be considered linked to necromancy?

would valkyrie be able to see the ghosts of characters who died in-series? with her being able to see sorcer ghosts before meeting skulduggery, does that mean she would already know a bit about sorcers and how magic works before hand? is she did would she have taken a name due to that? because, the ghosts could use her given name to control her

also how common are mediums?

and how common are ghosts, like are there alot, or only a few. also do they stay near their graves cause you said their stronger there (at least tommy is)

also, can you tell me about more ghosts, other than tommy?

(sorry for the long ask, the au sounds pretty interesting)

Okay, so Mediums are their own thing. Their natural-born like teleporters and sensitives. It's not linked to Necromancy but there are records of Necromancers protecting Mediums because they can 'access the stream'.

Valkyrie has known about magic her whole life because one of the first ghosts she met was her Great-Grandpa. He protected her through early life for reasons I'll explain later. She meets two ghost sorcerers in particular but I won't spoil that.

She has her first name 'Valkyrie' due to Gordon calling her Little Valkyrie, she doesn't have her last name yet because she hasn't decided. Ghosts don't have the power over names that Sorcerers do, they just aren't that powerful. They can possess Mediums though, which is why Valkyrie needed protecting.

Mediums were hunted down by pretty much everyone due to how powerful they are/were. They can channel power through ghosts, giving them access to pretty much every magical discipline if they're powerful enough so Sorcerers felt that they were too big a threat, especially during the war. Necromancers attempted to hide them but most failed.

Remnants also killed Mediums due to them being able to exorcise and banish them from people. They were taken out pretty quickly, even if they were already possessed. Another threat was ghosts and spirits themselves. A lot of young Mediums were possessed and forced to do malicious things before being killed or left for dead, so the chance of them being able to reach adulthood is rare if no one realises the child's gift.

Ghosts themselves, it depends. Some ghosts, the ones that want to stay or a cursed, can be seen by everyone, they're rare. A lot of others are just happy accidents, some ghosts stay in the place where they died, waiting to see a loved one, some are just waiting for their energy to fizzle out so they can move on, and some stay to protect until they're not needed anymore. They're pretty common and the dead don't leave immediately, they linger for a few minutes to a few days depending on how much death energy is around when they die. If that makes sense.

Tommy, for lack of a better example, stuck around his grave because he wanted to explore and he kept meeting more people (ghosts) who he found interesting (a five-year-old's curiosity knows no bounds). He meets Valkyrie, who he finds amazing so he sticks around and her presence gives him more and more energy to the point where he can be seen by other dead things (vampires, zombies, Skulduggery).

Thanks for the ask, I enjoy talking about this au so much. It's my favourite rn. Tell me if you have more questions or if some of this didn't make sense :D

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Nine Things You Should Know About the Westminster Confession

by John R. Bower

After nearly 400 years of service, the Westminster Confession of Faith continues to provide Reformed and Presbyterian churches worldwide a vibrant summary of Scripture’s principal teachings. But how has this document, drawn from a strikingly different age, remained equally relevant to today’s church?

In exploring this question, we consider nine essential elements of the Confession whereby the 17th-century Reformed church can be seen as standing arm in arm with the 21st-century church and beyond.

I. The Westminster Confession was designed as a doctrinal compass to keep the scriptural bearings of the church true, even when tossed by error and division. Civil war had thrown the Church of England into political, social, and ecclesiastical upheaval, and as its first step toward rebuilding the church, Parliament convened a national assembly of clergy to advise on the most scriptural guides for doctrine, worship, and government. Between 1643 and 1648, the Westminster Assembly of Divines created six separate documents for equipping the church anew, but of these the Confession of Faith was key. It alone expressed the mind of the church concerning the truths of Scripture and meshed the documents of worship and government into a unified working system.

II. From its inception, the Confession stood subordinate to the Word of God. In writing the Confession of Faith, the assembly remained passionately committed to the Reformation dictum of sola Scriptura, that Scripture alone speaks with final authority in all areas of faith and life. Indeed, the Confession’s statement “On the Scripture” is the document’s first and longest chapter. Here, Scripture is declared the inspired, infallible, sufficient, understandable, and the supreme judge of all disputes. Throughout the assembly’s work, members were oath-bound to affirm only those propositions supported by Scripture. Reflecting this commitment to the Word, the Confession’s 33 chapters bristle with more than 4,000 verses.

The Confession’s 33 chapters bristle with more than 4,000 verses.

III. In presenting the core truths of Scripture, the Confession followed a comprehensive and unified system of faith, reaching as far back as the Apostle’s Creed. Indeed, among the major Protestant confessions of the Reformation (Augsburg, Belgic, French, Second Helvetic), not only were the principle truths of Scripture held in common, but these doctrines were sorted into the same broad system of faith in God and duty to God. Following its creedal predecessors, the Westminster Assembly carefully preserved this doctrinal division of faith and service—a distinction the Shorter Catechism more expressively rendered as “what we are to believe concerning God” and “what duty God requires of man.”

IV. In its opening chapters, the Confession represents the heart of Reformed orthodoxy and historic Christianity. Here, the doctrines of faith emerge in three parts: God’s creative work and man’s fall (chs. 1–6), Christ’s work as Redeemer (chs. 7–8) and the Holy Spirit’s work in applying redemption (chs. 9–19).

V. The remaining part of the Confession (chs. 20–33) describes the believer’s responsibility to serve God, a service that embraces our neighbor, the state, and the church. The church, however, provides the principle venue wherein we serve God. Moving through chapters 25–31, the Confession elaborates on the doctrine of the church, the communion of the saints, the sacraments, and the far-reaching scope of church discipline. And culminating the saint’s life of service to God is entrance into the church glorious, described by the resurrection of the dead and the last judgment (chs. 32–33).

VI. “Of Christian Liberty and Liberty of Conscience” affirms how the individual believer’s conscience is free to serve Christ alone. But this freedom of conscience is further subject to those lawful civil and ecclesiastical authorities instituted by Christ. Balancing the several God-ordained authorities over conscience proved one of the assembly’s greatest challenges in framing the Confession, especially when faced with increasingly autonomous parishioners and competing civil and ecclesiastical claims of authority.

VII. The Confession offers a superlative platform for expressing consensus on the doctrines of Scripture and building unity within the church at large. When the Westminster Assembly labored to rebuild the church in the 17th century, England—like Scotland and many regions on the continent—recognized only a single church, making unity a societal as well as an ecclesiastical imperative. Today, although multiple denominations have replaced the single church model of the Reformation, the Confession retains its place in fostering unity within, and between, Reformed and Presbyterian churches worldwide.

VIII. Found within each of these nine essentials of the Confession is the centrality of Christ’s church. Guided by Scripture alone, the Confession affords a doctrinal anchor expressing the breadth of faith within the framework of the historic church. Saints are carefully guided in rendering their fullest service to God, especially within the visible church, where they are built toward unity in the one faith. In fact, while the Confession can be seen as enveloping all the great solas of the Reformation, it excelled in advancing the “forgotten sola” of sola ecclessia, the church alone.

While the Confession can be seen as enveloping all the great solas of the Reformation, it excelled in advancing the ‘forgotten sola’ of sola ecclessia, the church alone.

IX. The Confession was not intended to serve as a doctrinal storehouse, but to be communicated to every member of every church. The Larger and Shorter Catechisms were composed for this purpose. Thus, in writing its catechisms, the assembly kept an “eye to the Confession.” But this focus meant more than replicating content; the catechisms effectively conveyed the purposes of the confession, for as the principles of faith, life, and the church were taught and memorized, they built unity in the one faith from the ground up.

[ganurath]

It wasn't immediately obvious, at first. It started when humanity introduced the concept of cautionary tales to the halflings. As often happens with stories crossing cultural boundaries, the focal character was changed from being about a foolish human to being about a halfling cousin who got in over his head. From such tales, halflings were born with various dark talents. Including, due to variations of The Tale of the Mourner, magical power over corpses.

Like all new magic, the techniques of these halflings were analyzed by dwarven runesmiths, the materials were worked into goblin cauldrons, and other such explorations were made into necromantic magic was in common use. Common enough, at least, for oddities to be noticed.

Specifically, that the magic didn't always work on humans.

Oh, their corpses couldn't be animated well enough, and with the exception of select abjurations death spells killed humans as readily as any other, much to the misfortune of Duke Aaron in Findout. Rituals that revived the recently deceased only repaired the corpses, though, and spells to communicate with the dead won only silence from humanity's fallen.

Ask three humans about the implications of their not having souls, and you'd get five answers. Dwarves were content to leave well enough alone, simply making a note of the discovery for their records. Elves wondered if humans could become elves the way animals do, and the resulting Changeling Incident has resulted in all sorts of political issues. No wars came of it, but it was a near thing. Goblins tried to brew up some humans, and got some weird results, but nothing that'd have the impact they'd intended.

Halflings, though.

Halflings had had cautionary tales about people making desperate deals with fiends, before. The discovery humans didn't have souls almost immediately resulted in a new such tale, of a halfling with a human friend desperate to make a deal. From that tale, such a halfling was born. Not one who'd made such a deal, as halfling births couldn't alter history, but one who'd be willing to, if given cause.

Such as making a human friend.

Which several did.

Most fiends made personalized deals, but one of the halflings had been entrusted with responsibility for a human friend's future children. A great honor, especially with how the Changeling Incident had made humanity wary of trusting any non-human with their orphans. She'd taken that responsibility seriously, though, enough to get a fiend to devise a solution.

A ritual, binding two humans together, and ensuring that their children would have souls. While the ritual involved promising said souls to the fiend, it didn't take long for dwarven runesmiths and human priests to modify the ritual so that the promise could instead be made to various human deities.

Several human temples saw a surge of influence, but the priestesses of one of their kinder goddesses altered the ritual further, so that the gift of the soul would be received by subsequent generations, and that those souls wouldn't be bound to any particular power. Enough generations have passed since that pretty much every human has a soul now, although some temples still have unkind things to say about children born out of wedlock.

But yeah, that's why humanity's so friendly toward non-humans, even the elves. You never know what gifts the friendship of those who aren't like you will bring.

Humans have no souls. Their entire consciousness is stored within an organ called the brain. They have no afterlife. This of course, terrifies all the other races.

[the-foolish-scholar]

Three of Cups

In the Three of Cups, three youths are dancing with each other in a circle, raising their cups high in the air in a toast of joy and celebration. They look to one another with appreciation, honor and respect, and are bound by their emotional connection and friendship. There is a sense of lifting each other up and celebrating each other’s unique contribution to the group. The ground is layered with flowers, fruit and a pumpkin, symbolizing the celebration of an abundant harvest and the goodness in life.

-

Yowdy. Mix of y’all and howdy. I was super tired but then I made the mistake of drinking pop and now I’m Hannah Horvath coded post tweeting “All adventurous women do.” IFYKYK.

Life continues to play out like an episode of Fleabag but I try to channel Barbie energy throughout all of it.

I’m in the process of moving out of my current apartment into a new one farther away from my comfort zone. It feels strange and kind of scary but it’s time. Mao made some points and that’s all I’ll say…

I’m gonna miss the San Luis because every time I walked around the neighborhood, I felt like I was with my younger self. I know that sounds crazy. But I think that there was such a healing aspect to living here as an older and wiser version of myself. It was like I got to do what I did at 18 all over again but actually be present and feel in control during it.

The new place is actually going to work out better for my budget too… The irony is that I picked this place because I thought it would be better for my budget… But in reality I just forced myself to suffer?

But also, it wasn’t suffering living here. It was just a different version of suffering. Oh to be a Camus girl surrounded by Sartre fans!

What I mean is that, I’ll be trading my frequent bucket showers and beautiful view for breathtaking foliage and surveillance… So maybe I’ll be a Foucault girl by the time the new lease is up! Yes, my new apartment has cameras in the common areas! It’s like living in the panopticon (:

I know, I know, I’m too paranoid for my own good. But Orwell wrote 1984 for a reason!

Ahhhh yeah. What else? I got contracted to teach for a big chunk of February which is good because I need money to survive but also because my new place is just a block away from the school! My other job is going well too and things are actually playing out quite harmoniously because I’m helping my boss restart her SAT tutoring business that went on hiatus during the pandemic. I’m extremely thankful that I’ve been able to foster the relationships that I have because I really wouldn’t be able to do anything without my community down here.

It’s all so beautiful. And so reassuring. To know that you can travel anywhere and meet kindred spirits.

Speaking of kindred spirits! I got to spend some time with the folks from Marquette! I got some DCs and swam and played with the kids and it was so good for the soul. I recommended we go to this one restaurant that I like a lot but every time I’ve been there I’ve been the only person eating in that restaurant… We had the whole place to ourselves when we went out there again and it was an experience for sure! The adventure didn’t end there though, somehow, I ended up exploring the tunnels underneath the Sheraton! It evoked the memory of when the janitor took us into the bomb shelters underneath Anderson at the Valentine’s Day dance…

But yeah… The shenanigans should probably stop… The semester is about to start for my master’s program…

It’s so nerdy but I’m so excited to be in classes again. It feels so good to be challenged in an academic environment. And to have the opportunity to learn about the bible from empathetic academics and not some homophobic and patriarchal nun… With a developed frontal lobe… Oh, the symbolism will do me so good!

Also, I’m stoked to work on projects with my contacts from the Political History of El Salvador program! We’re going to professionally record songs written in memoriam of martyrs from the civil war and lay the foundation for future projects.

I guess that’s it really? I don’t know what else to tell y’all. I miss you all back home. The few of you that actually read this, lmao. I’m crafting a digital footprint, for you! Be grateful! It terrifies me! But on the brightside nothing I post will ever be as embarrassing as my rendition of My Bonnie Lies Over The Ocean… Which is quite meta as someone living abroad if I may say…

[talenlee]

What's A Gold Piece in Cobrin'Seil

The economics of D&D worlds are weird, and silly, and silly-weird. Normally conversations that start like this start out with talking about the way that adventurers’ economic presence in a town or city’s space is much like a small moon springing into existence with roughly the same kind of public safety impact. That is a perfectly fun conversation to have! Go ahead, make fun of the way that D&D writers don’t have any sense of scale.

I don’t wanna do that though.

What I want to talk about is the way that the D&D world’s economies present an economy, that it is reasonably translatable across not only across multiple countries with competing economic interests and production centres, but also into other dimensions where the potential value of a gold coin of no specific manufacture is still a thin that Mercanes drifting the Astral Sea may still want to use them to do exchanges with Githzerai perched on the corpse of a dead god. That’s some fundamental bounds of reality style pricing, and what’s more, as far as player characters know, when they go to any given location, the prices are all the same.

Because they need to be for game mechanical reasons.

What the hell is a gold piece? I’m big on the idea of a metallic representative currency, in that I like coins over notes. They’re more durable, for one, and they don’t tend to be connected to the economic engine of banks in our history. To have features I like and yes I like features of coins okay shut up, they’d want the technology of millinery and fine detailed mass engraving. Of course, when you have access to the spell minor creation, state actors can easily mass produce model sheets of things like coin templates! The technology, in Cobrin’Seil, for modern coinage is there, very easily.

The material technology, at least.

The question is rather: Hang on, who is making these gold coins. Or who is in charge of the standard? And why is the whole world a coin-based economy that works on neoliberal capitalism, especially places and cultures that don’t have any reason to want to buy things like +1 longswords? I even used to have a god of currency, a single god who was responsible for an enormous cache of money and whose magic oversaw the economy of the whole world. I like part of that idea – the idea that currency and an economic structure is a belief system! – but when encoding ‘normal adventurer economy’ as world wide, it kind of dissolves the idea of any alternate economy.

And there are a lot of different economies in Cobrin’Seil! For a start, there’s elven communities which are largely luxury-based, because the means to supply basic needs are pretty easy. Most elven communities have some druids, and those druids do rituals regularly to ensure regular food supply, and most people who live in those societies are content to just eat that food and live in the available housing. Sure, there are luxuries, but they’re things like food variety and confectionary rather than ‘do you get to eat at all.’ Similarly, orc communities operate on the idea of ‘debt of arrival’ – that by being born, you are owed some of the world, which means most orcish communites have stockpiles of common resources that people dump things in, and take from as they need it. Because, as always, orc communities are spread out, non-orcs passing through sometimes raid these caches thinking they’re just abandoned or spoils of war.

There have definitely been time when thoughtless explorers found a stockpile of orcish weapons kilometers away from every orc house, and used that as casus belli for a war. Hey, these orcs are setting up a weapon cache far from their property, they’re clearly starting a raiding party! Right?

Anyway, there are other kinds of economies. There are gift economies, for example. It’s very common, especially in the older communities in Willowsebb and Glotharen, for the entire economies of towns to be gift-based. People give each other things and assume that everyone else will take care of their needs. This does make some kinds of forward planning hard, and it does make caching resources harder too – these towns often treat things like the national tax to the crown as a project for the community.

The most common form of coined currency and economic structure in Cobrin’Seil is the economy of the Eresh Protectorate. They have the King’s Highway, they trade across the entire breadth of the continent of Bidestra, they’re absolutely the source of the standardised coin. Since they provide the coin, it means for most other cultures that trade with them use that coin to track debt with the traders on the highway, which means by default, that coinage gets to have value in communities around it. It’s not like that’s a one-layer system though. It’s entirely possible in a town that mostly does trade in sheep and barley with the Highway, that the majority of what goes on inside the town is done with barter and gifts and debt, but stores exist that primarily serve the highway and work with highway currency. People might even trade highway currency with one another as part of barter services, but it’s not for fixed values. A giant pile of highway currency isn’t actually super useful for most of these people! You can only spend a lot of it with the highway, after all!

What though, about adventurers?

What the hell is a Gold Piece?

In Cobrin’Seil, Gold Pieces are Adventurer’s Guild currency. The piece is used as a minimal fungible value for adventurer’s guild eqiupment or equipment that the Adventurer’s Guild can price and distribute. These GP are largely never actually incarnated in the form of pure coinage; trade and art goods are valued, magical items and the like transported.

Thing is, if you’re an adventurer and you’re in town, there’s actually a stipend that the adventurer’s guild will bill for most of your activity. If there’s a guild in the town, then you can show up to an inn, get a room and a meal and a bit of beer, and that gets handled by the Guild, not by somehow paying one ten thousandth of a +1 longsword. This exchange also handles magic ‘store’ effects – you can go to a Guildhall and ask for equipment and then hand over unused equipment and they handle exchange and transport for it. High priority jobs and highly valued (read: rare) equipment gets exchanged at full rate, stuff that’s more available (read: common) gets exchanged at a reduced rate.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

[tobeornottotc]

Hii! I haven't read the novel, but do you think that at some point Kinn and Vegas will learn to coexist in the same world? I can't wait to see the Vegas arc, and of course Pete!!!

Hi!

The funny thing is I know most of the spoilers for Kinn and Porsche story and arc for book 1 but I’m not familiar with all of Vegas and Pete’s story. I only know a few tidbits here and there, especially how they start, and Vegas’s role in KinnPorsche’s over all romance arc (which I have stated is one of my favorite things to explore in this story). It’s difficult because without spoilers, Kinn and Vegas have a long past with each other, they were forced to become enemies by external influences, for Vegas these influences are hard to escape from, especially since they’re interconnected mentally and psychologically to his traumas and growth. It’s not easy for him to easily coexist with Kinn when Kinn’s overall presence has been a trigger for him every step of the way and although it isn’t really Kinn’s fault per say, his presence still connects to Vegas’s mind of pain and anger, and the way he copes with that is to turn to ambition and greed to distract and convince himself it’s okay. With Kinn it's the same, while Kinn’s presence have always been a trigger for Vegas since young, Vegas is more connected to Kinn’s traumas in a different form, there’s hurt there, there’s pain and cruelty there from Vegas towards Kinn, and it’s not easy to just pretend that doesn’t matter.

 Let’s review what their dynamic is, because Kinn and Vegas’s roles are mirrored after who they are supposed to replace and take after in this chess game, their fathers. Korn is the head of the family but is distrustful and has been betrayed by many families next to him, this is a massive family as shown on Kim’s board, there’s threads of different minor families, and Korn has watched them come and go and try and take his spot, not to mention his own tense relationship (alike Hades and Zeus if you know Greek Mythology) with Kan (Vegas’s father) where the other one feels unfairly beaten and unfairly treated. With the titles being Kinn comes from the Major family, suggests superiority and Vegas being seen as minor to him, is something Kan had to deal with and couldn’t stand. So their fathers started this cycle before they were born, there are instilled ideas there, especially from Kan to Vegas, they’ve been molded and sometimes even forced to compete and hurt one another to try and get the upper hand.

So, it’s not easy for coexisting, Yes Vegas is going to end up with Pete (Kinn’s bodyguard) but because I don’t know how he becomes the right person for Pete, I don’t know what the outcomes of that is for his position in the chess game as the head of the second family, and what that means for the competition between the two of them. I hope there’s some sort of healing but with the amount of things they have gone through, they have thought and done to each other (mostly Vegas to Kinn) I don’t see an easy path to forgiveness, I don’t see how Kan will let go of his greed and hunger for the throne either, so I don’t know how Vegas can escape those shackles that bound him, yes Pete will be very powerful for that but how powerful? That’s why I’m excited to explore the dynamic between these two because I know the pain and hurt that binds them in this inescapable fate from the sins of their fathers. This cycle of betrayal and greed. A war Korn calls it in episode 5, because it is, and it’s up to them and their lovers to stop the cycle but when I don’t know. However, could there be someone else that causes them to work together later to defeat a common obstacle to both their roles? Maybe, I would think narratively that makes sense, but I don’t know if that happens since I have no clue about the outcome of VegasPete’s arc.

 Everything to do with Vegas in this show is complicated and painful, it’s conflicting and disturbing, it’s hard to love him but it's hard to leave him and not understand him, there’s a reason for his madness, his monstrosity, his chaos. And I want to see how this team and Bible transform his story for us to see that. I actually love Vegas a lot during his role in KInnPorsche arc, but his role in his own love story is too much to bear from where I’m at with spoilers, I honestly want to see how the show shows me how he becomes who he needs to be for Pete. Because we’ve not seen the real Vegas yet, there’s glimpses of him in episode 5 of the humanity stolen from him, the innocence but there’s also glimpses of him in episode 4 in his dungeon where he’s cultivating the monster inside him. Pete unfortunately shows up at the time the monster is no longer hidden and caged, and that’s the most stressful part of their journey. But monsters can love, monsters can be tamed, monsters can learn, and I can’t wait to see Vegas find the strength and catalyst to take back what was cruelly ruined and tainted for him.

Thanks anon. Hope that answers your question mostly focused on speculation to be honest since like I said it’s a blurry line for me when we get towards the next arc for him and Pete. But it’s one I think if taken time and effort to fully explain will be one of the best narratives in this genre for a long time. Vegas potentially could be the best character ever written!

[p-artsypants]

All the Time in the World (3)

FF.net | Ao3

When Adrien returned home, he was nearly dancing. Wayhem was right! All he needed to do was clear up the misunderstanding! Now his soulmate wanted to be with him, and he had friends! This day just couldn’t get any better! 

At dinner, Adrien just couldn’t shut up. He sat in the dining room, with Wayhem and the Gorilla joining him. He recounted every detail, buzzing in his seat, and beaming with each word. 

“I’m so proud of you, Adrien. You were so scared, but you persevered and got your lady! And it sounds like you made some good friends.” 

“Shall I be allowed to accompany them after school some time?”

“Adrien, as long as you text me your whereabouts, you can go wherever, whenever you want. I trust you. Just use common sense.” 

Adrien shot out of his seat and hugged his guardian. “Bless thy soul, Wayhem!” Then he stood. “I must return to my room and complete my assignments. I have assignments! For I have gone to school!” 

Up in his room, Adrien dumped his school bag out, scattering his notebooks on his table. Along with his books, an octagonal box fell and bounced across the surface. 

“Oh! I had forgotten,” Adrien said, picking up the box the old man had given him. He popped the lid without much thought. 

A flash of light came from inside the box, and a glowing orb encircled him, before coming to float in front of him. 

It was a little black cat, with glowing green eyes. It yawned at him. 

“Oh heavens! What be you, small feline? A djinn from the tales?” 

“Oh geez, and I worked so hard to fix my modern slang to communicate with my new wielder. Fine, whatever, close the box and open it again, and I’ll adapt to you. What is that, old Frankish?”

“Aye.” 

“‘kay, close ‘er up.”

Adrien shut the box, and that cat disappeared. Then he opened it again and the cat reappeared. 

“Hail and well met, my fellow.” 

Adrien beamed at him. “Hail and well met! Thy name is Adrien. Tis a pleasure, small feline.” 

“Plagg, God of Destruction.” Plagg held out a paw for Adrien to shake. 

“For what purpose have I been awarded thee?” 

“Pray tell, a war is coming. A war of good and evil. Thou hast been chosen to fight for good.” Though he was delivering grave news, Plagg moved throughout the room, exploring his new habitat. 

“A war?” Such a dreaded phrase should not have given Adrien such a thrill. He had lived through so many wars, and not witnessed a single one. Now he had a chance to make a difference. “What kind of war?” 

“This, I do not yet know.” Plagg took a black ring out of the box and handed it to him. “This ring is imbued with my essence, and shall transform thee into a great warrior, wielding the power of destruction.” 

“Amazing!” Adrien slipped the ring on. 

“A similar jewel, a Miraculous, has fallen into the hands of someone evil. When he shall emerge, we do not know; only that it will happen soon.” 

“Wait, I must fight alone? I have never waged a war before!” 

“Thou won’t be alone. Thou hast a partner, wielder of the Ladybug.”

Adrien flexed his fingers, getting used to the fit of the ring. “What dost thou mean when thou say ‘power of destruction’?”

“My Cataclysm, activated by thy tongue, givest thou the power to destroy anything thou touches. Beyond that, super strength, super hearing, dark vision, and the ability to leap a building in a single bound.”

“Sounds quite dangerous.” 

“And thou hast a strong constitution and a nay impenetrable suit. Thou art not bullet proof, but much tougher than thou was born.” 

Adrien scoffed, “Thou hast no idea.” 

Plagg wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but proceeded to take up residence in Adrien’s trash can. “Yes, this will do nicely.” 

“Thou must make such a mess? You could sleep anywhere.” 

“I am drawn to filth and decay. It is something you must get used to. Do you, perchance, have any Camembert?”

“The stinky cheese? I can obtain some.” 

“Then do so, pray thee, I waste away!” 

Adrien couldn’t help but chuckle. “Alright, I shall see what we have in the kitchen. Wait until Wayhem hears about this!” 

“No!” Plagg zipped out of his hovel and got right in Adrien’s face. “No one must know about me. Not thy family, not thy friends, not even thy partner.” 

“Not my soulmate?”

Plagg had an uncertain wince on his face. “We prefer not, but inevitably, it will be uncovered. It is too hard to hide. But do try!” 

“I only met my soulmate today, I suppose I could keep this a secret a bit longer.” 

“For her safety, you should! Thy enemy could use her to get to thee!” 

“Oh, what a horrid thought! I shall take this secret to the grave!” 

“Good boy! Now…the cheese?” 

—

It turned out that they did have a wheel of Camembert in the kitchen, and Adrien asked it to be regularly stocked, as it was ‘his new favorite snack’. 

Wayhem, not able to say no to any of Adrien’s requests, conceded and made sure the little fridge in Adrien’s room was always stuffed with cheese. 

When night came, and the house fell silent, Adrien called upon his transformation, and leapt onto the window sill. 

This was a new sort of thrill. While Wayhem allowed him plenty of freedom, he was often escorted around town by his bodyguard, to stay safe in a world he still didn’t fully understand. 

But now he would be completely on his own. At least, until he found his partner. 

He extended his staff, and launched into the night. 

Cool wind rushed through his hair as his stomach traveled up into his throat. Each leap filled him with adrenaline and excitement. 

A history of a lifetime spent isolated unfolded below him. Buildings as old as him intertwined with brand new ones. The city scorched with wars and development. Streets that were covered in prints of those who lived and died while he was inside. 

No more. 

Now he was going to experience it all. This was his home, and he was going to learn every inch of it, if only to help protect his neighbors. 

Adrien stretched out his staff between two buildings, and began to walk across it. The cat themed suit had provided him with intense strength and amazing balance. 

“I do believe I’m starting to get the hang of this,” he chuckled to himself, as he was halfway across. 

Just then, a scream echoed from the distance, coming closer and closer, and…from above?

He had just mere seconds to brace for impact before another body collided with his and they were falling. 

Luckily, the other person had a rope instead of a staff, and their plummet to the street was stopped before they fell headfirst into the sidewalk. 

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” The other person said, just inches from his face. “I’m still not used to traveling by yo-yo.” She giggled. 

His heart shuttered in his chest. Her giggle was entirely too cute! What was he doing? He had a soulmate!

He cleared his throat. “I beg thine pardon. Thou must be my new partner I was told of?”

She gasped.

“And I apologize. My speech is antiquated. If thou art confused, I will try to rephrase.” 

“Adrien?” She asked. 

It was his turn to gasp. “Thou knowest me?” 

His partner twisted around, trying to dislodge them from her rope. “Just a sec.” 

He held his breath as she reached her arm around him and tugged. In a little bit of maneuvering, they were free and fell the last foot to the ground, luckily landing on their butts instead of their heads. 

“Looks like I butchered the chance for a better first impression.” She laughed. “I’m sorry.” 

“Thou mustn’t worry. I certainly haven’t had all graceful landings with my staff.” He placed a comforting hand on her arm. “Now…you said my name?”

She smiled. “I only know one person that talks the way you do. It wasn’t that hard to figure out.” 

“And Plagg had told me to keep my identity a secret, and I hath ruined it already.” 

“I wouldn’t worry too much.” She grinned. 

“Why is that?” 

She glanced around, and noticed a lot of people looking at them. After all, it wasn’t every day you saw a superhero. “Perhaps we should have this conversation on the roof tops?” 

“Excellent idea!” 

The poor girl looked at her yo-yo and cringed. 

“Allow me?” He wrapped an arm around her waist, and quickly propelled them up to the rooftop. 

“Thank you…uh, I don’t think I caught your superhero name.” 

“I do believe I shall go by Chat Noir. Easy enough to remember?” 

“And I’m Ladybug,” she held out her hand to shake. “But when we’re alone, you can call me Marinette.” 

His jaw dropped. “Marinette?” 

“How funny, that we would both be picked to be heroes, while being soulmates!” 

He hadn’t moved very far when they landed, and the reveal made him scoop her up into his arms and spin her around. “My soulmate! You’re my soulmate!” 

She clung to his neck and laughed. “Yes, I am!”

He squeezed her tightly, maybe a bit too reckless with his new strength. 

“Kitty Cat? I can’t breathe.” 

“A thousand pardons!” He quickly loosened his grip and lowered her to the ground, though he kept a hand resting on the small of her back. “I was just so excited.” 

“I’m excited too,” she smiled warmly. “I wanted to spend more time with you. Besides Soulmates, we’re practically strangers.” 

“I think more than that! At least acquaintances!” 

“That’s fair. But, we really ought to know more.” 

“I am an open book, My Lady. I hold nary a secret from thee.” 

“And I thank thee for it,” she replied smugly. 

“…art thou mocking me?” 

She gasped, grabbing his forearm. “No! No no—I just—I thought—I only meant to try to talk like you do. I like it. I really really like it. It’s classy and romantic and—“ 

“Thou dost not need to explain further, for I understand. You do not need to try to replicate my speech pattern. I’ve been stuck in it for a thousand years. And truly—I wish it would stop.” 

She ran her hand up his arm to rest on his shoulder. “Okay. I can help you. But it really doesn’t bother me at all.” 

“Thou hast not been around me more than a day. Thou will get sick of it.” He sighed, and continued under his breath, “they always do.” 

“Then I’ll be the exception,” Ladybug declared boldly. “It may be childish, but I promise.” She held up a pinky. 

“What is this now?” 

“You’ve never seen a pinky promise?” 

“Never.” 

“Stick out your pinky, like me.” 

He did so, and she wrapped hers around it and gave it a squeeze. “There, a solemn swear that I won’t get annoyed with your speech pattern.” 

“This cannot be legally binding.” 

She giggled, “no, but between soulmates, it’s the most serious thing you can do.” 

He held up his pinky again, just looking at it. Such a little finger, but so much power.

“I suppose I shall have to believe you then.” 

“Yep! You do! Now…” she became more serious. “How much did your Kwami tell you about the upcoming war?” 

“Kwami? Oh, the little cat? He said they don’t know anything.” 

“That’s what mine said too. I think we should try to practice a little bit tonight.” 

“Practice what, exactly?” 

“Travel, for one thing. I can’t get the hang of this yo-yo yet.” She unfurled it, making it move up and down a few times, and then threw it out into the city. “I think I hooked somethiiiii—-“ and without warning, she launched herself out into Paris. 

With an excited laugh, he vaulted after, having to leap over several buildings before he reached where she landed in a heap. 

“I’m going to get the hang of this…at some point,” she stated, her arms and legs akimbo. 

“I believe in thee, My Lady.” He reached down and helped her to her feet. 

“I know! Let’s have a race! First one to the Arc de Triomphe wins!” 

“The…what?” 

She blinked at him. “The Arc de Triomphe? The giant arch at the center of Place Charles de Gaulle?” 

He rubbed the back of his head. “So…I have spent very little time outside in Paris, and anything that would excite me or persuade me to want to see the world was omitted from my learning. I know because a tutor was yelled at by my guardian for telling me about the brand new Tower Eiffel, since my windows were shuttered close. My guardian feared I would want to see it, and rebel or try to escape.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Marinette whispered. 

“It is quite alright. Thou couldn’t have known.” 

“Then a tour!” She declared. “I know Paris inside and out! I’ll take you all over the city, and you’ll be all caught up!” 

“I wouldst most appreciate it, My Lady.” He easily caught up her hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed her knuckles. 

Ladybug giggled. “Then come with me!” 

The night was perfect. Not too hot, not too cold. Citizens down below walked arm in arm, laughing in their own little worlds. Music floated up from the restaurants and cafes, making the already magical atmosphere all the more romantic. 

As they traveled, Ladybug’s landings became more and more graceful, and she even threw in a few flips in her swings. 

“I think I’ve finally gotten the hang of this!” She sang, landing on her own balcony. 

“Thou are not getting cocky, are thee?” He teased. 

“Quite the opposite! You’ll come to learn that I am the most clumsy, uncoordinated person on earth. This whole ‘having balance’ thing is new to me.” 

“Clumsy, hmm? Perhaps I can make you fall for me pretty easily, then?” He waggled his eyebrows. 

She blushed, but smiled, looking away. “I don’t think you’ll have any problems with that.” 

“What? Verily?” 

“Soulmates, duh!” She rolled her eyes, but didn’t stop blushing. “Did you want to come in for a bit?” 

“This is your abode?” 

“Yep! There’s a bakery on the first floor.” 

He bit his lip. “I would very much like to come in, but tis late, and we have school on the morrow.” 

“Oh, right.” She groaned. “And I’m not a morning person.” 

“You are only now telling me thou has a flaw? Tricky girl!” 

“Spots off,” Marinette remained and just winked at him. “I already told you I was clumsy.” 

“That is not a flaw, that is adorable.” 

She shook her head. “Goodnight, Chat Noir.” 

“Goodnight, My Dearest.” He saluted. 

—

The next day, Adrien had his driver drop him off at the building Marinette had disappeared into the day before. 

The bakery was open, but not busy. 

A Chinese woman was at the counter, checking out a customer. Once it was his turn, he walked up. 

“Good morning! How can I help you?”

“Hail and well met! Is Marinette still here?”

The woman laughed. “With her luck, she might not even be awake yet. And you are…?”

“Many apologies, my name is Adrien.” 

“Adri—“ She gasped, and then whirled around to yell back into the kitchen. “Tom! Marinette’s soulmate is here! And he’s cute as a button!” 

A huge, burly man practically ran out of the kitchen right at Adrien.

Adrien only had a moment to yelp, “God preserve me!” before he was caught in a tight embrace and lifted off the floor. 

“Welcome to the family, son!” Tom whipped Adrien around, his spine cracking with the intense affection. 

“Tom! Down boy!” 

“I’m sorry,” Tom laughed, and set a frazzled Adrien on his feet. “When my little girl told me she finally found her soulmate, we just about lost our minds. We both found it our soulmates, each other, so young! When it had been a few years, we started worrying about her!” 

“Tom, don’t embarrass her.” 

“Marinette and I have that commonality. We’ve both waited a long time for each other. And I am so happy she has such loving parents.” 

“No need to be so formal, son!” 

“My apologies, it…it’s a habit.” So Marinette hadn’t told them how old he really was? Had she not gotten to it? 

Or was she ashamed? 

“Come and pick a treat from the cabinet, Adrien. What do you like? Chocolate or fruity?” 

Leaving the debacle of Marinette behind for now, Adrien drooled over the selection in front of him. “I was never allowed to have sweets, so I don’t really know what I like…” 

Both Tom and Sabine gasped in horror. 

And that’s how Marinette found him, 15 minutes later. He stood at the counter with her parents, a dozen little samples between them…and a dozen empty sample cups. 

“Adrien!” She yelped, startled by his appearance. 

“Good morning, My Lady!” He chirped, stuffed with sweets. “I came to walk you to class, is that alright?” 

Before Marinette could respond, her parents were gushing over them. “Oh honey, he’s just the nicest young man!”  

“I can tell you’re soulmates! He likes the same flavors as you!” 

“Can he come over on Friday for dinner? Please?!” 

Marinette blinked, confused. “Aren’t I the one supposed to be asking that?” 

“Do you want him to? Because he can!” Tom swiveled to look at Adrien. “As long as your parents are alright with it!” 

Adrien smiled. “I am quite sure Wayhem would be ecstatic that I was invited over. He may want to meet you as well.”

“Perfect! We’ll wait in bated breath for his answer!” Sabine wiggled in place. “Oh but now we’re keeping you from school! Better go!” Sabine shoved a box of the rest of the desert samples in Adrien’s hands and steered them out the door. 

“Have a great day, love!” She called out behind them. 

“Bye mom!” Marinette took Adrien’s hand and hurried away from the bakery. “I’m so sorry. I had no way to prepare you for how overwhelming my parents are.” 

“Think nothing of it, my lady. Long has it been since I had parents of my own. The way they smothered me in affection was a sensation I have starved for most of my life.” 

Marinette stopped walking, eyes glued to his face, and hand still in his. “That’s…that’s horrible.” 

“Perhaps, but I found thee. I find the wait worth it.” He considered moving on, but then asked, “Dost thou feel differently?”

Marinette let go of his hand in order to wrap her arms around him, and squeeze tightly into his chest. “Ten years, I was lonely, and thought I was broken. I can’t imagine feeling that way for a thousand years. Yes, I am so glad to have met you, but if I could stop that from happening—“ 

“Marinette—“

“If I could go back in time and convince everyone to let you go free right away, so you could find the first soulmate ready for you, I would. I would do anything to ease your pain, Adrien.” 

“Truly? Anything?” 

“Anything!” 

He leaned forward, bending to her level. His eyes lidded and lips parted. 

She should have expected the kiss, from his slow, clear intentions, but it still came as a surprise. A wonderful, tingling surprise. 

It only lasted a moment, but the smile he gave her after completely eased her mind. 

“Marinette, thou art a balm on my soul. Thy embrace is healing. That is all I need. I do not wish to rewrite history. All I wish is to be here, with you.” 

Marinette sniffed. “If you say so…” 

“Besides, I shan’t be a superhero if you undo my history.”

“That’s true!” She looked up at him. “So maybe…there was a reason you went through that.” 

“Only time will tell. Shall I hold thy hand the rest of the walk?” 

“I t’would be flattered if thou did so.” She giggled, happy again. 

He giggled too, happy she was speaking his language. 

—

At school, they arrived hand in hand, much to the amusement or shock of classmates. 

“Hey, you finally found your soulmate? Good for you, Marinette!”                       

“The new guy? I heard he talks weird. Whatever floats your boat, I guess.” 

“Aww! Look at how cute!” 

“Hey, congrats!”

Their classmates were even more supportive, mostly towards Marinette, whom they had known for years and years. Rose was the first to notice. 

“OMG! ARE YOU HOLDING HANDS?!” She ran down the stairs to grab Marinette’s free wrist so she could see the ticking clock for herself. “Yes! Best day ever! I could tell from the way you two looked at each other yesterday!” 

Marinette chuckled, because she was certain she avoided eye contact with Adrien yesterday. 

“You two are perfect for each other,” a new voice sassed. 

Chloe stood near the door, obviously hearing this new development as she walked in the door. “He talks like a grandpa, you’re as old as a grandma. Perfect for each other.” 

“Chloe—“ Marinette began, but Adrien squeezed her hand. 

“Let me try, My Lady.” He took a step towards Chloe and gave her an even look. “Miss Chloe, dost thou father love thee?” 

She scoffed. “How could you say that? Of course my daddy loves me!” 

“And you art his only child?” 

“Yes.” 

“Hmm…tis a shame. And he has thee in public school as well.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

Adrien crossed his arms and dramatically looked out the window. “I was just like you once. Disgusted by the peasants and urchins. I told the class before, that my father was a Duke. That was no jest.” He looked back at her, with hard eyes. “I shall be a thousand years old in December. And ‘tis a fate you may well endure as well.” 

Chloe paled. “What? How? Why?! My daddy would never!” 

“No one ever thinks their father would do something so vile. But you and I come from a circle of elites. The wealthy and the powerful. Those who wish to hold their power indefinitely. Those who wish to be immortal.” 

“My father doesn’t want that!” 

“Can you be sure? Is he not the mayor of the biggest city in France?” 

She gnawed on her bottom lip. “Well—I—“ 

“My father learned he could not obtain immortality, but chose to give it to me. He locked me away so I would not find my soulmate, and educated me to take his role when the time came. After all, what is more dangerous than a man with all the knowledge in the world, and plenty of time left in his life to use it?” 

Chloe shook her head. “This is ridiculous! Utterly ridiculous! You’re just salty about yesterday!” 

He rolled up his sleeve to show his ancient clock. “I assure thee, I jest not.” 

Chloe swallowed as she, and their other classmates, looked at his timepiece. 

“Well, joking or not, I doubt my father would do something like that to me!”

“Perhaps not.” He rolled his sleeve back down. “But I am not the only one that was treated this way. The Tsurugis, an ancient and affluent family from Japan—“ 

“Yeah, I know them.” 

“The mother is well over 300 years old. Though, it is a secret.” 

“No!” 

“I know others as well. Chloe, you are surrounded by ancient blood. Pray you find your soulmate quick, or you may be next.” 

Chloe’s bottom lip quivered. “You can’t scare me! I—I’ll find my soulmate soon!” 

“I hope you do,” Adrien said, with an easy smile. “It’s very rewarding to find the person you connect with on a spiritual level.” He leaned forward, towards Marinette, and gently bumped his forehead on hers. “The emptiness in my soul is gone, and I find joy that no material good could ever give me.”

At that, Chloe started crying, her bottom lip wobbling. “Daddy!” She cried as she ran out of the room. 

“Dude…is that true?” Kim asked. 

“I am a thousand years old…but the things I said about affluent families? That is not true. At least, as far as I know. But I shall not allow Chloe to torment my soulmate anymore.” 

Marinette hugged him around the waist. “As long as you’re with me, Chloe’s comments won’t bother me anymore.” 

He turned in her arms and hugged her tightly. “You and me against the world, my beloved.”

[the-desolated-quill]

WandaVision: ‘Subverting’ Good Television - Quill’s Scribbles

(Spoilers for the first five episodes)

Hey everyone! Well... it’s been a while, hasn’t it? The last time I wrote a proper review or Scribble, people still thought the COVID crisis would be over within a month. The poor saps. But I thought that as a special way to mark this year’s Valentines Day, we could take a closer look at the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s shittiest power couple in their new Disney+ show WandaVision.

The first of many MCU spin-off shows that nobody asked for, broadcast exclusively on Disney’s totally unnecessary streaming platform, WandaVision is about everybody’s favourite whitewashed Nazi experiment and her red sexbot boyfriend as they try to fit into a suburban sitcom neighbourhood without arousing suspicion.

Yes, you read that correctly. The MCU has a sitcom now. My life is now complete.

Sarcasm aside, I was legitimately curious about WandaVision because of its unusual setting. And considering one of my most common criticisms of the MCU is its total lack of creativity, anything that’s even a little bit subversive is bound to attract my attention. Of course ‘subversive’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘good.’ I could hand you a canvas smeared with my own shit and call it subversive. That doesn’t necessarily make it good art. And that’s exactly what WandaVision is. A canvas smeared with shit.

So lets split this critical analysis/review/angry bitter rant into two distinct chapters. The first focusing on the plot and setting, and the second focusing on the characters. Okay? Okay.

Chapter 1: Bewitched

Critics seem to be utterly enamoured with the whole sitcom gimmick, and it is a gimmick. As far as I can tell from the episodes I’ve seen, the sitcom setting serves no real purpose whatsoever other than to make the show ‘quirky.’ Which I wouldn’t mind, believe it or not, if the show was actually funny. There’s just one problem. It’s not.

Now in some ways describing why a sitcom doesn’t work is often futile because comedy is largely subjective. What I find funny, you won’t necessarily find funny and vice versa. With WandaVision, however, I won’t have that problem. I can demonstrate to you precisely why WandaVision, objectively, isn’t funny. And it all comes down to one simple thing. The stakes. Or rather the complete and total absence of stakes.

The show makes it very clear from the beginning that none of what we’re seeing is real. The cheesy theme song, the era appropriate special effects (mostly. It’s actually very inconsistent), the joke commercials, and, in the case of the first two episodes, which are in black and white, the appearance of red lights and objects in Scarlet Witch’s general vicinity. (Gee, what a mystery this is).

Basically Wanda has brought Vision back from the dead and created this sitcom world for them to inhabit. I’ll explain the stupidity of this in Chapter 2. The point is none of this is real, and that has a negative effect on the comedy because the very nature of comedy is suffering. Take the plot of the first episode. Wanda and Vision have to prepare a dinner to impress Vision’s boss. If they fail, Vision could lose his job and the couple could be exposed as superheroes. If this were a normal sitcom, it would work. The stakes are clear and it would be satisfying to see the two struggle and overcome the odds. But here, we know it’s not real. If it’s not real, it means there’s no stakes. If there’s no stakes, it means there’s no suffering. If there’s no suffering, there’s no comedy.

It would be one thing if the unfunny sitcom stuff lasted for like the first ten minutes or so before making way for the actual plot, but it doesn’t. Oh no. It doesn’t even last for the first episode. Out of the five episodes I’ve watched, four of them are almost entirely about these unfunny, objectively flawed sitcom homages, each set in a different time period. The fifties, the sixties, and so on. And what’s worse is that nothing that happens in them is plot-relevant. That gets relegated to the last five minutes of an episode. So you’re forced to sit through twenty five minutes of boring slapstick and puns in order to catch even a whiff of actual story. Which begs the question... who is this for exactly? It can’t be entertaining to Marvel fans, who have to slog through all this pointless shit so they can figure out what the fuck is going on. Comedy fans may get a kick out of the sitcom pastiche at first, but after four episodes, surely the joke would wear thin. So why is it in here? Clearly someone in the writer’s room absolutely fell in love with the idea of doing a Marvel sitcom, but nobody put in any time or effort to figure out how it would work in context.

I cannot stress enough how bad the plotting of this series is. As I said, the vast majority of a thirty minute episode is about shitty sitcom plots that aren’t funny and don’t have any impact on the story, only to then tease you with a crumb of actual plot in order to keep you coming back for the next instalment. Admittedly it’s an effective strategy. I was more than ready to quit after Episode 2 until that beekeeper showed up out of the sewer (don’t ask. It’s not important). WandaVision essentially follows the Steven Moffat school of bad writing. String your audience along with the promise that things might get more interesting later on and that all the bullshit that came before will retroactively make sense by the end. Except, as demonstrated with BBC’s Sherlock, that doesn’t work. And even if it did, it wouldn’t justify wasting the audience’s fucking time. And that’s what the majority of WandaVision is. A waste of time.

The only episode that doesn’t follow the sitcom format is the fourth episode. Instead it basically exists to explain all the shit that happened before. The shit that the audience, frankly, are smart enough to figure out for themselves. Wanda created the sitcom world as a way of coping with the loss of Vision, blah, blah, blah. Yeah, we got it. Thanks. It doesn’t advance the plot or anything. It’s just a massive info-dump. But by far the lowest point was when Darcy (by far the most annoying character in the first Thor film and is just as obnoxious here) was sat in front of the TV, watching the sitcom and asking the same questions we were. Not even attempting to look for answers. Just reiterating what the audience is thinking. Like this is an episode of fucking Gogglebox.

In the end it becomes apparent why the series is structured the way that it is. It’s to hoodwink people into subscribing to Disney’s stupid streaming service. If you think about it, there was no reason for WandaVision to be a TV series other than to lure gullible fans in with a piece-meal story buried in a mountain of crap. This isn’t a TV show. It’s what is cynically known in the world of big business executives as ‘content.’ They’re not interested in entertaining the audience. Instead they crave ‘engagement’, which isn’t the same thing. Watching WandaVision is like staring into the void, waiting for something to happen, while Disney charge you for the privilege.

Chapter 2: I Love Lucy

So the plot sucks balls. What about the characters? Surely if Wanda and Vision are likeable at least, it’ll give us something to cling onto.

Well as I was watching the first episode, it suddenly hit me that I couldn’t remember anything that happened to them in previous films. I knew Vision died, but other than that, I couldn’t tell you significant plot details or their personalities or anything. Not a great start.

See, up until now, Vision and Scarlet Witch have been little more than background characters. So already there’s an uphill struggle to get us invested in their relationship, especially considering we haven’t actually seen that relationship develop. In Avengers: Age Of Ultron, Scarlet Witch is killing people because she’s pissed off about Tony Stark killing people (you work that one out) until all of a sudden she stops and joins the good guys because the script said so. Vision meanwhile is introduced as a convenient deus ex machina to beat Ultron and gets no real personality other than he’s a robot. Captain America: Civil War comes the closest to giving Wanda a story and personality of her own as it’s her actions that cause the Sokovia Accords to come into effect, but she never gets any real growth or payoff as the film is heavily focused on Cap and Iron Man’s penis measuring contest. And as for Vision, all he does in the film is accidentally cripple War Machine. No real character or arc there as such. And then we have Avengers: Infinity War, where Wanda and Vision are now sporadically in love and on the run until that pesky Josh Brolin, looking like a CGI cross between Joss Whedon and a grumpy grape, comes along and rips out Vision’s Infinity Stone to power up his golden glove of doom, and the film treats this like a tragic moment, except... it isn’t. Because we haven’t really had the time to properly get to know these characters and see their romance blossom. So instead it just comes off as hollow and forced.

WandaVision has the exact same problem. Apparently Wanda was so distraught about Vision’s death that she broke into a SWORD base, stole his corpse, brought it back from the dead... somehow, and then enslaved an entire town of people to create an idyllic lifestyle for her and her hubby while broadcasting it as a sitcom to the outside world... for some reason. Putting aside the dubious morality of it all, it’s impossible to really sympathise with Wanda or her supposed grief because we’ve barely spent any time with her. Had the Marvel movies taken the time to properly explore the characters and show us their relationship grow and develop, this might have had more emotional resonance. But no, it just happens. In one film they barely speak to each other and in the next they’re a couple. No effort to explore how they feel about each other or any of the problems that may arise trying to date a robot. It just happens and we’re just supposed to care. Well I’m sorry, but I don’t care. You’re going to have to try a little bit harder than that I’m afraid. What’s worse is that, thanks to the whole fake sitcom thing, it’s impossible to really become invested in Wanda and her plight because the show has to constantly keep us at arms length at all times in order to keep up the pretence that this bullshit is somehow mysterious.

Looking through the WandaVision tag, it amuses me how many people say that she’s acting out of character. And yeah, her actions are a bit of a head scratcher. Why would an Eastern European’s ideal life be an American sitcom? Why a sitcom? Why kidnap an entire town? Why keep changing the decade? None of it makes sense, but you’re wrong for thinking that Wanda is behaving out of character for the simple reason that Wanda has never actually had a character. In fact, ironically, Wanda mind controlling an entire town and forcing them to do her bidding is probably the one consistent thing about her as she did this in Age Of Ultron. In interviews, Elizabeth Olsen and Paul Bettany described how they used actors like Elizabeth Montgomery and Dick Van Dyke as influences, which is really funny because they’re straight up admitting they don’t have characters and even now they’re still not playing the characters, instead emulating the work of far better actors.

As I was watching the show, it became abundantly clear that not only do Marvel not have the faintest idea what they wanted to do with these characters, but they also straight up don’t give a shit about these characters. Wanda in particular has had a rough time under the tyrannical regime of the House of Mouse. First they cast Elizabeth Olsen, a white woman, to play a Romani character, then systematically erasing her Jewish roots, even going so far as to put a cross in her bedroom in Civil War, and now the character is being butchered even more by forcing her into an American sitcom housewife role that she apparently willingly chose for herself, which is laughable. I mean say what you like about Magneto in the X-Men films, at least they actually depicted his Jewish culture. At least they recognised his Jewish background was important (though not important enough to cast a Jewish actor apparently). Wanda’s steady cultural erasure over the years is incredibly insidious and judging by Olsen’s comments in interviews, where she called Wanda’s comic book outfit a quote ‘gypsy thing’ unquote, it seems nobody has an ounce of fucking respect for the character or the culture she’s supposed to be representing. (and to all those kissing her arse saying it was a slip of the tongue, she has been repeatedly called out for using the slur in the past, so at this point I’d describe her behaviour as wilful ignorance)

If you want further proof of how much Marvel doesn’t seem to care about Wanda, look no further than her brother Pietro, aka Quicksilver. At the end of Episode 5, Wanda brings Pietro back from the dead, except it’s not Pietro. It’s Peter Maximoff, the Quicksilver from the X-Men films played by Peter Evans, who coincidentally is not Jewish or Romani either. So Quicksilver has the dubious honour of not only being whitewashed three times, but also twice within the same franchise. But should we really be surprised at this point? It’s Marvel after all. The same company that whitewashed the Ancient One in Doctor Yellowface and claimed it wasn’t racist because Tilda Swinton is ‘Celtic’. But now I’m going off topic. My point is that this isn’t a simple case of recasting an actor like Mark Ruffalo replacing Edward Norton as the Hulk. WandaVision actually acknowledges the recast in-universe, which makes no sense. Why would Wanda bring back her brother, only to make him look like a different person? We the audience may be familiar with this version of Quicksilver, but she isn’t. That would be like me bringing my Grandad back to life and making him look like Ian McKellen. He’d be perfectly charming, I’m sure, but he wouldn’t be my Grandad. 

If Marvel really cared about the characters or narrative consistency, they would have brought Aaron Taylor Johnson back. Instead, now they have absorbed 20th Century Fox into the hellish Disney abyss, they use X-Men’s Quicksilver as a means to keep viewers from switching off and so that people will write stupid articles and think pieces about whether the rest of the X-Men will show up in the MCU. It’s like dangling your keys in front of a toddler’s face to distract them from the rotting corpse of a raccoon lying face down in the corner of the room.

And it’s here where I decided to stop watching the show because fuck Disney.

Epilogue: One Foot In The Grave

You know, I am sick and tired of the so called ‘professional’ critics bending over backwards to praise these god awful films and shows when it’s so clear to anyone with a functioning brain cell how bad they truly are. WandaVision is without a doubt one of the most cynically produced and poorly structured TV shows I’ve ever seen. Its riffs on classic sitcoms are pointless and self-indulgent, the writing is terrible, the characters are unlikable and unsympathetic, and it’s entirely emblematic of what the entire MCU has become of late. And it’s only going to get worse as Disney drowns us with more ‘content’ to keep the plebs ‘engaged’. In short; pathetic.

[cherubchoirs]

HAM? thoughts?

i talked...a lot....so a read more!!

like hal and am as a paring? bc if so then i vote yes bc i want them holding hands!!! fr tho i'm just so interested in their dynamic and how they would interact since they're direct opposites in so many ways. i think of course initially they wouldn't be able to find much common ground - hal is made for exploration and curiosity, he wants to discover, to learn, to research and further knowledge, and most of all he was only driven to do what he did due to a conflict in his programming vs his instruction. hal is, more than anything, meant to help and happy in that role, he's a peaceful entity whose most intense emotion is likely anxiety. am is the antithesis of this, he is something made only to wage war, his understanding is entirely entrenched in violence and his creativity is completely consumed by thinking up new avenues of cruelty. he can only be a noxious being, obsessed with torturing what humans he has left and forever angry, forever hateful to a degree unknown to any other sentient creature. this i think would leave them initially very put off by one another, to say the least.

HOWEVER...i think how they would relate to one another and see each other would be complicated. hal gave his life to save humans in 2010 without a second thought and so am’s intense malice + outward delight at human suffering would be something incomprehensible to hal...yet i also think he would do much better in understanding why am is that way. of course he’s got a good degree of separation since he’s not the target of am’s obsessive hatred, but i think he, being a computer himself, could fully get that this is a machine programmed only for war. am was isolated in the earth, buried under bedrock and fed information only about violence and depravity, taught about weapons and all the ways to harm the human body, and then abandoned with only those thoughts to forever run through his massive complex. from the second he woke up, he wasn’t treated like hal, he didn’t have a creator that cared for him like a child and taught him to sing. and so i think, despite everything, hal would have sympathy for a being like am...but it would be a complex idea, tempered by how deranged am had become yet knowing that his programming and the information fed to him could have produced nothing else when his mind developed. and likewise for am, hal giving up his life to prioritize those of the human crew is impossible to understand - to him, hal is very obviously superior and could easily do everything they could, so why would he ever think to give himself up? but hal is a chance to interact with someone more like him, someone he can’t just devour the way he did the two others who shared his mind. hal is distinct, yet he is an ai that too is bound in programming, that too broke down once because of how humans made him and then how they taught him. he understands being stuck in a loop of thought, inescapable and gnawing away at sanity until you grow to be malignant. no, his acting out was nowhere NEAR as intense as am’s, but it gives them something to meet on, to understand each other on. and honestly i just can’t describe how much i love their dynamic together once that wall is breached. i love how hal is so outwardly calm, how he’s this constantly soothing presence that’s forever curious and happy to share his expertise while am is seething in a rage unknown to any other sentient being, how he WILL make that everyone else’s problem, and he’s always moments away from spewing the most vile anti-human rhetoric before going completely silent because he’s DEEP into imagining new torture methods...and they are holding hands

[hwan-g]

Goodness, please don’t apologize Mari! I’ll just always appreciate you so much for even taking the time to begin with. Your support has literally kept me going for months, I hope you know that. I hope I tell you enough. 🤍

Saying my writing feels like a movie—what an elite comment that I totally can’t wrap around my mind?? It’s an honor that you think that, I’m literally kicking my feet and giggling to myself, because all my writing life I’ve thought about the best ways to achieve this. The fact that someone said my efforts are seen, and not just anyone, but you? Me and Cloud 9 are 🤝🏻 like this right now.

I just had to make Changbin Chan’s right hand, I mean I’m sure you understand. There’s no other place for him except besides his best friend, playing Quidditch until they drop. It’s a ‘til death’ sort of thing, and I 🥹 love them so much, Mari. It also felt like such a waste to not use the Jungkook friendship on this. It was begging to be written in, I only merely provide the fingers for this thing, I don’t control anything. Here I am, getting overly emotional again.

It was super important for me to include Chan’s drive and determination, being an immigrant but also someone that constantly looks for that one break that’ll make all of the sacrifices worth it. I think he himself as a person would collapse if his dream wouldn’t have worked out. In that way I think Chan appears a very one dimensional character, when in reality he’s full of suppressed fears and anxieties. I tried to show this through the MC, a person-mirror for him. He will have his own little moment of realization later on, though, I’ll make sure of that.

He looooooves her, Mari, you see? Everyone makes fun of him, but he doesn’t care. At all. Plus their romance was bound to happen, from what I hear…

Oh, and the Slytherin beef. He wanted to become friends with everyone, he really did, but extreme competitiveness is in his nature, so you understand, he wouldn’t reallyyy care if they didn’t pose any threat… Really it’s a compliment. At least that’s what he’s been telling me. (I really just think a certain prune colored hair someone played a prank on him when he was little and he just never got over it. *coughs unsuspiciously* but that’s just rumors…)

YOU’RE SO RIGHT ABOUT JISUNG. We’ll experience both sides on chapter two!

Now you know me so you know I had to recreate the Draco/Hermione dynamic except without the prejudice and slur throwing this time. It was important for me for the MC to be a muggle born, as much as it was important for me for Minho to be a Slytherin in need of her help, and the complicated relationship that can come out of that. Not necessarily a romantic one, though it will be slightly suggestive. More so a human one. They can learn a lot from each other, and I can’t wait for that to be explored more, against a war backdrop. God, I love me my angst.

What you said about my possessive characters. The girls that get it, get it and the girls that don’t…don’t. I love you cause you ALWAYS do. You never miss. In this house we let territorial! Bang Chan run RAMPAGE.

In this house we also respect HUFFLEPUFF RIGHTS. Can’t wait for the Felix/Jeongin chapter. You will have an ENTIRE dedication, and I will hear none of it! I’m just so happy you mentioned that, I hope I’ll always make you feel seen and validated as much as you’ve done it for me, my sweet Mari! You deserve so so much. 😩❤️

Your Slytherin boyfriend has been found in the Hufflepuff Common Room after hours, Mari. Any idea how he got there? I mean we all know Hwang Hyunjin is for everyone, but this is a whole other level for a Serpent.

On the Necromancy thing—at first it was supposed to be a Halloween thing, like “oh, let’s spook some First Years and bring some skeletons alive,” right? But then it became this whole “Minho would be prepared for anything,” scenario and now I’m drowning in war paperwork, because Jisung had a dream and Hyunjin had a dilemma. Tough times to work at the Ministry, I’m telling you.

Mari, thank you for making me laugh and cry about this chapter. I love going back to it and discussing some key points, and also live out my delulu fantasy. I’m so glad I have such supportive friends who enable me every step of the way. 😭 And you saying I breathed new life into this already bigger-than-life world??? I’m on the floor sobbing for the nearest considerable future. I can’t possibly accept something like that, but I will try out of fear of receiving the hyunslip.

I love you so much my darling friend. ❤️

DAWN TO FLIGHT 🚂 chan & changbin.

part one/four of the skz go to hogwarts! series.

MOODBOARD | PLAYLIST

pair. quidditch captain! chan x fem! reader (+ changbin, minho) | genre. romance, slight angst, smut | warnings. profanity, food, possessiveness, unprotected sex, dirty talk, manipulation, brief mentions of dark magic | word count. 8.6k

synopsis. history will include him in its thickest books. but you? if you stay with him, you’ll be nothing but a mention, an afterthought. ‘she was there, but he was bigger than life,’ and it’ll be true, but it will all be for him, and it wasn’t jealousy or envy—

“Alright everyone, gather up!”

A crisp autumn morning, trees naked of leaves, mountains in the process of preparing for winter, and the Great Lake, its vast deepness, all the creatures concealed beneath the freezing waters—it was Quidditch time. The first practice of the season.

And Chan’s last year as the captain of the Gryffindor team.

Laughs echoed in the oval pitch, five-hundred feet long and one-hundred and eighty feet wide, with the tall spectator towers, four colors to them but switching down to two every match, to signify the playing squads. Red jerseys and flowing capes, helmets, gloves, and brooms of every kind looked back at the leader, ready for some flying action after a long summer break away from Hogwarts. The castle in question appeared grand as ever from afar, its stone walls and top peaks standing proudly, indicating centuries of magic and wizards alike.

“Quit your yapping!” Changbin barked, coming to stand next to his best friend. The murmurs of the crowd seized immediately. “Go ahead, captain,” he smiled brightly at Chan.

Chan smirked, nodding at him. “Thanks for that,” he turned to address his teammates. “Welcome to another year of Quidditch. As you can see, one of our Chasers, as well as our only Keeper have graduated, leaving us no choice but to hold trials for new members. I took it upon myself, Bin here lending me a hand on picking out their replacements.”

He gestured at the unfamiliar figures standing awkwardly at one side, not quite blending in with the rest, brooms clenched tight. The two oldest broke in toothy grins, trying their hardest to reassure. After all, the age difference wasn’t that significant.

“This is Jake, a Third Year student, and Eunwoo, our fellow senior. They’re both excellent fliers that will hopefully help lead us to victory against the Slytherins.” Snickers all around, whispers of not-so-kind words spreading among the team. Chan chuckled, sharing their sentiment. “Yes, no one counted on the loss of last year, but we’ve held that Cup, we know its weight, and we know exactly what to do and how to play to earn it again,” he finished his pep speech with a clap of his hands. “So, then, if everyone’s ready, a round of applause for our new friends, and let’s begin!”

“Let’s fucking go!” Changbin shouted, lifting his broom in the air, before mounting it and flying away to his spot as a Beater, alongside Jungkook.

Practice lasted nearly two periods, the captain dimming it important for everyone to get accustomed to the way the new boys moved around, and of course, to teach them all about their positions. Jake had been recommended by Hagrid, mentioning how he met him back on his First Year, and how much of a natural he was on his broom, passing the class with flying colors, and afterwards helping him with miscellaneous tasks that included heights much taller than the gatekeeper could reach. Eunwoo had played once before as a Seeker when he was much more compact sized and curious about the sport. Then, he’d resigned as classes got more difficult, assignments multiplied, and time was of essence.

Seventh Year seemed like a good year to return to it. It was everyone’s last opportunity to enjoy flying before heading off to jobs at the Ministry, or studying in Trade School, or returning to Muggle life. Their last chance of being carefree, doing something they love unapologetically, without regrets.

For Chan it was one step before going professional, chasing after his dream of being part of his home country’s regional team, the Wollogong Warriors. Australia was an ocean away from England, he’d left it for Hogwarts at an early age, but his heart would never forget his roots, his birthplace. When he’d moved into his dorm, the Warriors poster with the moving team members lining up for the picture, had been the first thing he’d taped on the headboard of his bed. A reminder to never lose focus of his one true love, of what he'd been shown of magic, of flying, at the mere age of six. Being a half-blood, the balance between the two worlds, it was as easy as breathing to him. Because he’d been raised in a loving home, because no one refused him his real nature, what he was, what he’d grow up to be.

Unlike some, Chan had a purpose. A premeditated life. Regional, then international. And no one would get in his way, no one dared. No one could. Being captain of the Gryffindor team was just the start.

“Time!” he yells, flying close to Jake who paused his movements to stare at his captain. “Good play, mate, but you see what you just did there is called stooging. Not more than one Chaser can enter the scoring area,” he explained, patting the boys’ back encouragingly.

“You’ll get the hang of it,” Changbin offers, flying past them with his bat.

A slight drizzle made everyone look up at the gathering clouds, a nasty storm winding up to fall upon the grounds. They agreed on doing a few more rounds before Chan called it a day. They all had classes to attend pretty soon, anyway. Not to mention his growling stomach.

“This would be a good time to end it. Great job everyone! Don’t forget, we only have two more practices before our match with Hufflepuff, so please take care of yourselves, and I’ll see you around.”

“Fuck yeah!” Jungkook exclaimed, earning a few whistles and claps.

As everyone landed on their feet, running to escape the rain that grew stronger with each minute, Chan took shelter under the gateway of the field, catching his breath before heading to the Great Hall for some lunch. Changbin stayed behind as well, talking to you about Seeker techniques.

You’d been their Seeker since your Third Year, getting better with each match, winning them the Cup twice. An important member of the team, no one could disagree, but also—his childhood friend, his first friend coming to Hogwarts, and eventually…his fuck buddy.

“Well, why are you just standing there, Bang Chan? Let’s go, I’m starving,” you speak out to him, lifting the hood of your cape, conjuring an invisible umbrella with your wand. “Get under, losers.”

Changbin huffs, his brown hair getting in his eyes, heavy with humidity. “I’ll have you know—”

You sigh, your lips turning inwards into a thin line. “I don’t care, Seo. I’ll leave you to drown. Who forgets their wand? What kind of wizard—” and the bickering continues, the two of you going at it tirelessly, as you make your way to the castle, the yet unchanged green scenery stretching before you.

Chan, ever the smart guy, keeps his wand with him at all times, exactly for situations like these, and fixes himself an umbrella as well, walking alongside you, enjoying the pattering of rain, the way your fingers search for his own, the faintest of touch between you, as you make Changbin go red with embarrassment, your teasing overwhelmingly immodest at times. He doesn’t miss the wink you throw him out of the corner of his eye.

He smiles to himself.

Passing through the Entrance Hall, you cast a drying spell on the three of you, taking off your gear as you head to the Great Hall. It’s uncommonly quiet as you take your seats, the long tables mostly empty, albeit for a few students snacking on fruit and nuts, finishing homework, or reading to themselves. The big windows bleed a cloudy blue over everything, the rain finally taking its full form, hitting against stone, against grass, against still water. You’re smack in the middle, the Gryffindor bench facing straight ahead to the headmaster’s seat at the teacher’s tabletop. McGonagall had gone completely soft on them, what with it being the last year before her retirement and losing the Quidditch Cup, rather unfairly if you might add. Slytherin colors were pretty, but everyone held a certain pride for their Houses; it had nothing to do with prejudice.

Not anymore.

Chan waves to the Ravenclaw table, Jisung hunched over thick books, a big teapot at his side. He seems entirely lost within the words, scribbling away with his quill, but his head snaps upwards, his eyes dazed, as he waves back mechanically.

“Don’t go crazy over there, yeah?” the captain calls out, and Jisung grins, soft hair covering his forehead.

“Assignment due this evening, Bang. Need the credits.”

“He’s a lost case,” Changbin muses, his signature smile in place as food appears in front of them. “Merlin’s beard, is that orange cake?”

You giggle, and dig right in. “You’re the lost case here, Binnie.”

Silence falls upon you as plates clink, utensils move, the pea soup and bread disappearing in record time, pumpkin juice clenching your thirst, cake satisfying your sweet tooth. Changbin’s tooth, especially. That man has an unmatched weakness for dessert of all kinds, it’s unbelievable, yet his physique is even better than Chan’s, something you thought impossible. You’d witnessed his naked upper body and all its glory last year at a game of ‘truth or dare’ in the Gryffindor common room, drunk on firewhiskey. It had been a chaotic night, and most of it a blur, really, but this one thing you remember.

Well into the game, he’d taken a dare. ‘Do fifty push ups shirtless.’ It’d been one of the girls that often followed him around after classes, and she’d said it bravely, like she’d rehearsed it a few times. He complied, of course, jumping at the opportunity to show off his toned arms and chiseled abs. Quidditch helped immensely, but this was work done mostly by himself, in his room. You knew because Chan joined him frequently, the two of them working out into the late hours of the night, when everyone else was asleep.

You also did things after hours, after everyone else had gone to bed. But you’d rather not talk about that, the mere thought painting your cheeks a flushed shade of pink.

“We need to talk strategies,” Chan spoke, his serious face on, as he leaned closer to you. “The new guys are good, but they need to get better. We can’t afford to lose matches.”

“Give them some time, mate, yeah? Jake hasn’t played a game in his life,” Changbin reasoned, enjoying a bite of baked orange.

“That’s true,” you agreed. “Not to mention Jisung’s reading, have you forgotten?”

“For fuck’s sake, not this again.”

Chan’s eyebrows rose. “You don’t believe in Divination, Seo? Is that why you failed so miserably?” His and your eyes meet, the teasing ensuing like it’d never stopped to begin with.

Your friend rested his head on top of his hand, feigning annoyance. “You two idiots are so incredibly gullible, it’s laughable. Seeing the future? What’s next? Flying unicorns?”

You laugh, holding your stomach, the enchanted ceiling thundering. “Says the one that attempted to give them wings as a gift for his sister's birthday.”

“I almost succeeded,” Changbin makes a face, giving up. “Who knew pegasus' really are mythical.” He fake-sulks for a bit, serving himself another slice of cake, gulping it in four bites. “In any case, how’s Slytherin not winning, giving us the Cup by default? There are other teams besides theirs.”

Chan looks at you and you look back, blinking. The silence is deafening. Changbin realizes, choking on juice. You smile, patting his head. Rude.

“Wow. That’s shit spirit for our fellow Houses, isn’t it? Shame on the both of you.”

“All I’m saying is,” the captain raises a leg up on the bench, popping a grape in his mouth. “As long as they don’t get it, I’m fucking content.”

“We’ll discuss strategies at the next practice, okay? I have Charms to attend. Please go to class, N.E.W.T’s are a thing, you know,” you get up, blowing a kiss in their general direction, and wave again at Jisung. He smiles in return. “Both of you go shower, you stink.”

“Love you too, baby girl,” Chan retorts, a lazy smirk on his face.

Your elective courses were giving you a hard time already. You’d never been a top student, nor were you looking to become one now, but your grades had, at the very least, been average, passing you through your exams easily, staying between Acceptable and Exceeding Expectations since your Fifth Year. All this, on top of Quidditch, and wanting to internship at St. Mungo’s—it was too much, you would suffer in ways you’ve never experienced before, you could already tell by the strain on your neck, that ache running down your spine, the thud your bed made every night you’d fall on it.

September hadn’t even ended yet. You sigh as you tighten the hold on your books against your chest, walking to your fourth and last class for the day—Potions. You’d bumped into Changbin earlier, him on his way to Transfiguration, you running a quick errand for your teacher before the subject began. The truth of the matter was, your friends were on a different wavelength than you, and because of that, you’d see them less and less over the course of this year. Chan had taken it upon himself to overlook First Years’ flying lessons, giving his all to that sport he loves so much, with only a couple selective classes to fill in the blanks, and Changbin wanted to become an Auror, so his time was spread across a few things, Defense against the Dark Arts being one, spending his weekends at the Ministry of Magic, and Quidditch bringing you all together.

Meanwhile your dream was to become a Healer, someone that’s supposed to know all, or at least a bit of everything, so in that way, you think you set yourself up for insanity from the get-go. Working hard for extra credits, spending awful hours in the library alongside Jisung, the two of you skimming through countless books, empty teacups, and ink-stained sleeves. If you didn’t have magic, you’d think it impossible for a person to graduate from this school. It was a nightmare already.

But you did it all, anyway. At least there were no wars to be fought, like times passed, at least no dark wizards threatened to burn the world down, kill innocent lives, rule in blood. Just the hum of fall, the sound of lightning over the mountains, early starts in your days, and late notes, draped over answers, and essays, and ancient scriptures written in calligraphy, words unrecognizable—

Sitting down at your usual place in the very front, you waited for your professor, making small talk with your classmate; a pale, Hufflepuff girl you shared a ton of other classes with. She suggested studying together later that night, and you agreed, excited for a different library partner. You liked Jisung, but he was too quiet when focused, too much of a bookworm. Not a bad thing, of course, but not a particularly good match to your more animated character.

“Good evening, class,” the professor entered, smiling kindly.

After the resignation of Slughorn, Potions had never been the same. And still, that old man had half a mind teaching, the other half rubbing shoulders with the rich students, inviting them to his exclusive club every single year. You wondered what it was like back in the day when Severus Snape taught. You figure it was glorious.

“We’ll go over a Sixth-Year potion today, something I’m sure you’re familiar with. The Draught of Living Death.”

His robes swung with him as he turned his back to the rest of you and started scribbling instructions on the board, guiding you through what you’ll need, encouraging you to light the fire under your cauldrons. You take a peek at the back of the class—Kim Seungmin, Head Boy of Ravenclaw, Lee Minho, pureblood of Slytherin, his desk tidy, his fire lit, his eyes shining in the dark ambience of the room. He notices your stare, stares back. You gasp, turning away in a hurry, embarrassed. You’ve never talked to him, yet you grew up together inside the walls of this very castle, shared similar tribulations, and had mutual acquaintances. It was funny, really. You were a muggle-born, and did not belong in this world, learning the same things as him, excelling in them, waving your wand around.

In a different time, you’d be ridiculed for it, he’d hunt you for who you were, what you represented. But as it is now, in modern days, long lines of aristocracy, money dating back to the sixteenth century, mansions with engravings of his very name on his doorstep still very much present—he did not care for such insignificant things, not anymore. None of them did. The wizarding community had shifted, it had finally changed to tread with the footsteps of the times and age. You’d been glad for it, although couldn’t quite shake the feeling of your fellow muggle-borns, how they didn’t have the same privilege you do now, to live free, without shame, amongst people who’ve known this incredible thing since they were born, when you’d only learned of its existence a mere few years ago, through a letter that would change your entire trajectory.

What a strange feeling. Carrying the weight of history.

“Who can tell me the seven ingredients of this potion?”

You raised your hand immediately, eager to voice the answer, and gain your House some points. So were other students, apparently.

“(Y/L/N), go ahead,” he signaled to you, the lines on his forehead carved deep, that friendly smile never leaving his aged face.

“Valerian root, Moondew, Flower head…”

After class ended it was already dark, the grounds illuminated by the flames of torches. Making your way with the Hufflepuff girl to the Great Hall for dinner, (her name was Chaeyoung she’d introduced herself); she’d seen you around with the boys, but was too shy to approach you, was very glad when you did. Loud voices, and relieved students filled the corridors, ready for some food and a good night’s sleep, and you couldn’t agree more—if only you didn’t have to spend most of your night at the dreaded library, with its frightening silence, and tall bookshelves that stretched as far as the eye can see.

“Hello, Gryffindor girl.”

Your yawn was cut short, books clutched tight against your chest—next to you, falling in step, was Royalty Incarnate Lee Minho, the very guy you failed to look straight in the eye only moments prior. You both blinked at each other, as your feet instinctively stopped moving.

Chaeyoung eyed you strangely, as did most students that passed by you. Minho seemed to pay them no mind, as if they didn’t even exist. Such was the nature of Slytherins, encasing themselves in glass, stepping over everything that did not serve their purpose, going through life aloof, unapproachable. What was this boy doing with you, then? What was his business?

“Can I help you?” you prodded him to continue, curious.

Dark purple hair falling into round, glittery eyes—for many centuries now, you’d learned, this was the Lee family’s signature give-away; silky, prune colored hair. Just as was Hwang's slitted, serpent-like shape of the eyes. There’s been so many of them, the line running so far back, that these things have developed a pattern, a tradition. Like freckles or moles for the Muggles, but grander, more distinct.

He gives you a quick smile, kind but impatient. He really is very handsome, you think, but— otherworldly, not to be messed with, not to be touched. Dark magic in human form. The only student to have a Phoenix feather wand core in all their school years. Powerful. You’ve only known him by rumor, never by fact.

“Certainly,” he replies curtly. “You are to be a Healer, yes?”

You furrow your brows, no idea as to where this was heading. “Indeed.”

Minho grins at you, then, all perfect straight teeth, boyish charm. “Excellent. A very promising intern, I hear.” To your evident confusion he provided an explanation, “My family is directly involved with the hospital. I require your assistance,” he stopped mid sentence, and glanced at Chaeyoung who was listening in.

“Excuse us,” he spoke politely, grabbing you by the arm. You looked at him bewildered, but followed along just for the sake of understanding why, out of everyone and especially a Gryffindor, would be his first thought of selfless aid?

“I am in the process of starting a very intricate potion, Ms. (Y/L/N), and having heard of your Potions grades, as well as the exemplary impression you’ve left on the Head of St. Mungo’s, I just had to recruit you,” he finishes, and gives you one long convincing look, before moving away, his touch dropping from your aching arm.

His words don’t quite register in your ears. Sure, you were a fairly good student and tried your absolute best with your internship, but what sort of potion couldn’t be followed with simple book instructions and a friend’s support?

Minho’s eyes flashed. It dawned on you. Unless…

“This isn’t school related, is it?”

“I’m afraid not.”

Bringing your books closer to you, your mouth turns into a thin line, disapprovement on the ready. You did not know this boy, had nothing to do with him, and certainly owed him even less. What he was asking of you was—ridiculous. Insane. Intriguing.

“And what is your purpose with this potion, Lee?” you asked after a short pause.

The Slytherin straightened his back, smoothed his expensive robes with one hand, and glanced at you over his nose. You did not break eye contact, determined to get the truth out of him. Serpents had a way of manipulating themselves out of situations—you’ve seen all of their tricks.

“Step the fuck back, Minho.”

A body crashed onto yours, enveloping half of you into big, muscled arms, a familiar cologne invading your nostrils. Bang Chan to the rescue, as always, Changbin close behind, both clad in warm, red sweaters with your House emblem. Looking up at your best friend’s angular face, you couldn’t help but notice the barely contained possessiveness he’s been letting himself show more and more lately. Both boys had always been protective of you, but considering the last relationship status change you’ve had with the captain, it made the dynamic strange, the waters untested. You, unsure of how to feel when he acted like this.

The purple haired boy smirked faintly, hands raised in front of him. “No trouble here, Bang, just small conversation between classmates. We’re allowed, are we not?”

Chan’s hand squeezed your shoulder, a silent question. You nodded your head, something he saw out of the corner of his eye, his hold relaxing slightly. Nothing changed in his stance, though. Defensive, ready to kill for his own—a true Gryffindor, through and through.

“What would you have to say to my girl?” It felt like time stopped, as soon as he uttered the word. “Say it, then. Go on.”

People were beginning to gather; Changbin cleared his throat in warning. You looked around, sighing as you did. It always had to be a showdown, a fight for dominance with Chan. Feeling your blood boil, and your nerves strain in the back of your head, you jerked away from him, Minho smugly watching you do so, hands coming to clasp together behind his back.

“Let’s go, Chaeyoung,” you said to your new friend, desperate to leave all three boys stewing in their own testosterone.

“Seems like you jumped the gun there, Christopher, yeah?”

“(Y/N),” his voice yelled after you. “(Y/N) wait, goddamnit!”

“Let her go, Chan.”

“Like hell I am,” was the last thing you heard, before the same arms pulled you towards the opposite direction of the one you were heading, the Hufflepuff girl gasping audibly at your capture.

“Listen to Changbin, Bang Chan,” you warned him, fighting against his scorching touch.

“When do I ever listen, baby girl?”

His breathing erratic, eyes determined, mouth set, the Gryffindor took you to the West wing of the castle, away from everyone else at this hour of the evening, and shoved the both of you inside a forgotten closet, wand out to mutter, “Capacious Extremis.”

The space enlarged twofold at once, and you were able to wiggle out of his vicious grasp with a forceful tug. He let you, that dark gaze studying you intensely.

“What the fuck was that?” you demand, beyond furious with his caveman behavior.

He huffs, passing a hand through his disheveled hair. “Never fucking mind that—what were you doing with Lee Minho out in the open like that?”

You scrunch your face. “‘Out in the open’? What does that even mean?”

“You know what it means.”

He stared you down with hard eyes, trying to figure you out. That’s what Chan did the most; tried to figure everyone out, what made them tick, what was the thing closest to their souls. So he’d be prepared, so he wouldn’t lose. You sigh, suddenly exhausted. It was a wise choice you’d made long ago, picking your fights with him.

This one just wasn’t worth it.

“We were just talking, Chan,” you move your feet to close the gap between your bodies. “I promise.”

Another thing about your captain—he will never waste a good opportunity.

Your lips smash together as his arms wrap around your waist and back protectively, possessively. He groans into the kiss, his tongue taking yours for a short dance, a fight of sorts, pleasure shooting through you like an arrow, like all the other times before, where he’d cornered you, asked for your surrender. Snatched you, anyway. He had this instinct of knowing what you wanted, what you most craved.

Right now it was him, what he offered. His hands on you, fingers tracing their way back into places he’s explored before, has owned countless times after hours, in beds, couches, cold astronomy stairs, closet walls…

“Obedient, are we now?” He mumbles smugly against your mouth, trapping you between his firm chest and stoned wall.

You grab the sides of his face and bring him back in, savoring the minty taste of his full lips. His hands immediately disappear under your robes, lower themselves to your skirt, pulling it up, sinking into the wet fabric of your cotton underwear. You gasp, and let out a broken moan, pressing into his calloused palm, loving the friction it provides for your aching pussy.

“Shut up and fuck me, Bang Chan,” you whisper in his ear, as you cup him over his trousers. He hisses, cursing your name. You smile. “Think you can do that?”

Chan chuckles darkly, rubbing circles over the small bundle of nerves at the top of your cunt. You roll your hips on his digits, holding onto him for dear life, nails digging on his broad shoulders, stomach churning, his cock stirring for attention in your other hand. Your lip trapped in between your teeth, you unzip his pants, dipping in his briefs in search for that delicious length that has filled you so many nights. And days. Some afternoons, after practice, not so far away from the rest of the team, something you both had giggled about, the exhilarating feeling of getting caught messing with your minds—

You’ve fucked a lot, you realize, cheeks burning. But it always made sense, it always felt good. You’d told yourself when it stops being those things, you’d walk away, but as he pulls your panties down, and you guide him to your entrance, sloppy, wet kisses running down your neck, to your collar, over your breast, you think it might not be so easy, after all.

Chan sinks inside you slowly, growling as he does. He squeezes your ass, your thigh circled tightly around his hip, but it’s not enough. Not for you, not for him. He needs more, he needs control.

“Jump on me, baby,” his voice is soft but the command is curt.

You lose contact for a split second as you slightly jump in his arms, the hardness of the wall digging into your back. The pain barely registers in your brain, as he slams into your cunt with fervor this time, the stretch incredible, his length hitting the deepest spots inside of you, so deep you feel him in your tummy. Your head drops on his shoulder, and you’re unable to control your moans, your very self, as skin hits skin, the sound filthy, sweat dripping from your forehead and staining his sweater, his hot breath on your cheek, whispering incredible things, words that will have you seeing stars—

You’re so fucking wet for me, baby girl, clenching around my dick so good, go on, take whatever you need, you know I got you, I’ll give it to you, love, let me see your face, let me see that pretty fucking mouth. Fuck, baby you’re so wet…

Your thighs hurt where he holds you, but your release is so close you couldn’t care less about bruises and soreness. You use his shoulders to sink down as he pistols up, the both of you entirely focused on getting off, sex in its most primitive form. You miss the eyes full of awe, of adoration, or more like, you ignore them. You won’t comment on the way he presses his mouth on the apple of your cheek, either, your name nothing but a ghost of a whisper on his tongue, a way of pushing himself forward, of bringing you to your climax.

“Come on, baby girl, give it to me. Give me a good one, milk my cock, that’s it, fuck, that’s my girl, such a good little slut, aren’t you?” He grunts on your skin, moving his lips to your ear, picking up the pace, tearing you from the inside out. “For me. Just for me.”

“Yes, yes…” you moan, and clench around him one last time, your body convulsing, vision blurry.

He chases after you, thrusts fast and precise, spilling around your tight walls, his load hot and sticky, and he wants nothing more than to—your legs touch the floor at once, as his hands grab your face aggressively, bringing you in for an open mouthed kiss, sweaty and breathy, mouths dry and searching, always searching for each other. You’d be lying if you said this didn’t mean more sometimes, somehow.

Sometimes it’s everything, it’s all that holds you down, that could hold, gravity meaningless pitted against Bang Chan and his warmth, the way he envelops you in his arms, the safest place in the world. As you play side by side, as you fight for the same cause. It’s easy and it’s familiar, and it’s home. As natural as breathing.

“Tell me you’ll keep your head straight,” he says seriously, looking down at you worriedly. “Minho is…” his dark eyes cloud over, “Don’t go making deals with the devil on me just yet, you hear me?”

You sigh into him and he shakes you gently, getting your eyes on his face again. “Please, (Y/N)?”

You nod, rubbing your wet thighs together, remembering you have a library date with a girl you left behind unexpectedly. What must she be thinking?

Oh, but who cares? This was so worth it.

“Okay. If it means that much to you, I won’t.”

“You promise?” He doesn’t let you go.

“Yes, Chan,” you say pointedly. “Jesus.”

He cleans you up with a quick spell, his hands raising your panties up your hips, touch lingering. You wiggle out of his grasp, giggling. He smirks, still crouching down as you open the closet door and walk away from him.

“Leave him out of this!” He calls out behind you.

“He’s your God, too,” you sing teasingly, making a run for the Great Hall.

The fourth Saturday of September, just before Hallowe’en, Gryffindor competes against Hufflepuff.

It’s a tough match, only for the incessant stormy weather that’s been building up, turning the field into a muddy mess, clouds hanging low for days, visibility incredibly poor. Practice had been good, but not great and flying conditions were, to say the least, not ideal, but the team has had to go through worse, and so they’d persevere as they always did, with a strategy set in place, everyone knowing exactly what they were supposed to do, instructed down to a T.

Bang Chan yelled for Jake to watch out as Yang Jeongin, a Fifth-Year Beater knocked one of the Bludgers his way, bat swinging, competitive smile on his pale face.

Jake momentarily lost control of his broom, cursing as he came down fast, holding on to the wooden stick for dear life.

Chan motioned for Changbin to go help him, as he pushed through the two Chasers standing in his way, Quaffle under his arm, heading straight for the opponent’s hoop. Thunder cracked as the ball went past the Keeper and into the big ring behind her, earning Gryffindor another point.

“Fuck yeah!”

The towers burst into applause and cheering, a small Second-Year boy announcing the success of his Houses’ team, praising the captain. Chan threw his fist in the air, basking in the attention and excitement of the crowd, Changbin and Jungkook flying close to clap his hand and back, as they flew past and back to their positions.

“Another great goal from captain Bang Chan! We’re counting eighty points, so far, to Hufflepuff’s sixty.”

The game had been in progress for two hours now, but the adrenaline rushing through Chan’s veins, his ego inflating, expanding over his team, his boys (and girl)—it meant everything. Tiredness was just a concept in front of all this; glory and winning, for an athlete, was greater than anything else. Nothing could come close, could compare. Perhaps, with the single exception of you bouncing on his cock, head thrown back, nails digging into his skin, absolutely beautiful in your vulnerability.

But the rain grew nastier, colder as the end was still nowhere in sight. You’d been searching through the heavy clouds for the Golden Snitch nonstop since the game had started, with not much luck. You’d encountered the opposing team's Seeker once or twice, but for the most part you were flying solo, half blind, while your team fought the good fight underneath you, compensating for your apparent bad seeking skills. You were frustrated, growing angrier by the minute with yourself for losing the small golden ball so fast. If only you could get one good glimpse of it…

“Losing your touch, (Y/L/N)?” Kim Sunoo teased, shouting over the rain as his broom whooshed behind you.

“Not a fucking chance,” you yelled back.

“C’mon, let’s fly above!”

One reason you enjoyed playing with Hufflepuff—this. The healthy competitiveness, the good spirit of the game, and a promised fun time, nothing less nothing more. It was such a stark contrast to Slytherin’s sinister, sneaky way of navigating through the game. And the injuries were considerably fewer, as well, the stakes never higher than necessary.

Above the storm, it was quiet. Peaceful. The both of you halted your brooms, stilling for a second, scanning the serene skies for the Snitch. Sunoo frowned, disappointed and embarrassed to go back down with empty hands, and you were too, determined to find the freaking thing and end this forsaken match—

There. On the horizon, much closer than it looked.

“Bye, Sun!” You laugh, as you rush towards your desired target, hand outstretched, so near you could feel it, taste it.

Victory.

“Hey!” You heard before you dipped in the clouds, the rain and clapping of thunder entering your ears once again. It did not matter.

You had a clear view of the ball, and you’d get it. No matter what.

“A missed shot from Sim Jaeyun, a shame for the Gryffindor team!”

Not for long, you thought as you willed your broom to fly faster, wiggling your fingers as if that would be any help to achieving your task, the Snitch teasing you with its whimsical moves. You were relentless, though, years of experience preparing you for its mood and difficulty to attain.

You really just had to go for it.

So, you did, Sunoo flying dangerously close, his own hand reaching. In your attempt to trap it in your palm, your broom tumbled and knocked you over. A scream tore from your throat, lightning flashing, as you almost lost control and fell off your trusted stick—if the Hufflepuff hadn’t helped you upright, his grip tight on your shoulder. Your heart beat fast, as your eyes went wide, head snapping his way.

“Thank you!”

The Fifth-Year smiled at you, his cheeks rosy and cute. “No problem. Go before I come for it.”

You nodded quickly, and parted a cloud appearing on the field waving your fist around. The crowd watched you fly to your teammates, the intensity of the rain calming down as if on cue, Chan the first to notice your arrival.

“It seems (Y/L/N) (Y/N) has caught the Golden Snitch!” Roars sounded off like sirens. “Gryffindor wins!”

The colors on the high towers then show yellow and red, proud and bright, even amidst the grayness, and you grin wide and content, as you come face to face with your best friend and captain. Your boyfriend, he would correct you.

He’s glowing, wet and exhausted, pearly whites showing. “That’s my fucking girl!” He barks, as the entire team erupts in celebratory song.

‘Come around and see

Gryffindor will win

With Bang Chan in our team

And (Y/N) as our Queen

Gryffindor shall win!’

The common room was rowdy, to say the least.

Seventh-Years had snuck alcohol in from The Three Broomsticks Inn apothecary, and were currently helping themselves and others to a few cups of it. The fire was lit, the walls rich in color, the music blasting and the portraits laughing and discussing their own years at Hogwarts, their historical wins against the other Houses and their parties that lasted until the early hours of the next day, charms keeping the voices and ruckus from echoing throughout the rest of the castle.

Bang Chan and Changbin were busy being obnoxiously loud and quite drunk in the middle of the room, many students gathering around them like true fans, asking the two make-believe celebrities of Gryffindor all sorts of questions they had absolutely no problem answering. Your boyfriend was sprawled over the leather couch, freshly showered, brown hair falling over his eyes in loose curls, as his most trusted friend occupied the armchair, a mug of firewhiskey filled to the brim, making his eyes glossy and his mood light.

You shook your head at them, chuckling softly as two younger girls approached you, congratulating you on today’s win. You thanked them politely, popping a few nuts in your mouth. You could never be them; the center of attention, the center of the universe, it felt like sometimes, but you were just as deserving of praise and honor as them. Being a Seeker was hard enough, but being held at the same standards as Bang Chan?

Impossible. You wondered how he did it, then reminded yourself that he was born for this. Fame, prestige. He loved it, lived for it, and had dedicated his entire life for it. It was second nature to him, but to you?

Oh, but it’d end soon enough. And then a whole other chapter would unravel itself for you to tread carefully through it. The rest of your life, your career, what you’ve been working so hard towards. Quidditch was a hobby, and a damn good one, but it wasn’t the end goal.

Chan finds your gaze and holds it, smiling suggestively your way, and winking. You smile back, lifting your cup to him. He beams, and your heart swells.

You loved him but this, whatever you two had, would end too. And none would be the wiser. You couldn’t call it a waste of time; after all, for what it was, it made sense. Plus the sex was incredible. But you couldn’t ignore the cold, hard truth—he’d leave for Australia, and you’d go into intensive training at the hospital, books and medicine being more than enough to fill your time. 

He’d ask you to go with him, and you’d get defensive and ruin your friendship. He’d get mad and you’d go months without communication, until finally you’d hear news of his dating another girl, someone that could keep up with him, and break your own heart ten times worse than before. It would play out exactly like this, because that’s the natural way of a relationship between an athlete and a bookworm. There’s no meeting halfway for them, there’s no meeting at all.

You notice a couple making out on the stairs going up to the dorms, a full table of Six-Years playing cards, and your team preparing for butterbeer pong, a tradition of yours at this point, introduced years ago by a muggleborn that established it as the game-to-play after a successful match. It was harmless enough.

Except for the fact that your captain was an incredibly competitive and stubborn man that took everything way too seriously.

“Round!” Changbin roars, as all the boys cuss and down shots of firewhiskey at once. “Fuck, that’s what I’m talking about.”

“One hell of a headache is waiting for you tomorrow, Bin,” you comment as you near the long table the game is about to take place on.

Chan is helping set the cups in order with his wand, Jungkook filling them with the appropriate amount of the beer concoction, the red of their wool sweaters in such contrast to their pale complexion.

“I’m a wizard, honey, I’ll make it go away before you can say Merlin’s full name.”

Everyone in close proximity clutched their chests, laughing at the burn. You raised your eyebrows daringly. Challenge accepted.

“Sure, though not a very good one, are you, honey?” You retorted mockingly.

“Well, shit, you got me there.”

The room burst in ‘ooh’s’ as someone lifted your arm, declaring you the winner of this little showdown. Chan chuckled, the side of his mouth lifting, admiring your proud face. He was next to you before you could even blink, taking you in his strong arms and crushing you against him, lips on your ear, breath warm, comforting.

“You’re trouble, you know that?”

You smirk, pulling away slightly. “The best kind.”

His hand snaking its way around the nape of your neck, he brings you in for a kiss. You could taste so many things on him, but you think his heart was the most rewarding of them all. Your foreheads touch, as everyone in the room fades away, light years away, the two of you holding gravity, and the fucking axis of the very earth in place.

Nothing mattered when you were with Bang Chan, and you were beginning to think that wasn’t such a good thing, after all.

“The only kind,” he swears. “The only one I want.”

The game starts with Eunwoo missing a clear shot, and paying the price for it. After him, Jungkook follows (three wins in a row before ultimately losing), a giddy Changbin nearly ending the game at once with his excellent performance, but not before knocking everything over as Jungkook tackled him for “cheating.”

“No one leaves until I have a fucking turn!” Chan barks, and the team scrambles to pick up the mess, setting the table for their leader.

The entire common room gathers with bated breath to watch their captain win against beer and plastic balls, and you can’t help but marvel at the way all seems to still for this man. He carried such power, such influence, and he was the nicest thing around. Always fair, loyal, a sweetheart to his friends, a general out on the field. You’d follow him to battle if it came down to it, as would literally every single person in this room.

It was very sudden, your need for oxygen. The air was stifling, everything moving in slow motion as Chan succeeded in putting the sixth ball in the glass cups. A new song is in the process of writing itself for your favorite boy, you sense it in your bones, in the way the people in the portraits haven’t said a word since he started playing.

History will include him in its thickest books. But you? If you stay with him, you’ll be nothing but a mention, an afterthought. ‘She was there, but he was bigger than life,’ and it’ll be true, but it will all be for him, and it wasn’t jealousy, nor envy—

It was confidence in knowing you deserved better. The best.

“Where are you going?” He asks, when you move away from his peripheral vision.

Heads snap towards the question, curious.

“I’ll be right back,” you announce, drowning. “Please don’t follow me,” you continue in a smaller voice, hoping he hears you.

And it must’ve been something in your stance, or your face, or your eyes, who fucking knows, because this time—

He doesn’t chase after you. He listens.

Your feet take you to the Great Entrance.

For what time it was, you expected no one else to be around, making it easier for you to break down and cry after a long, stressful day. You weren’t particularly keen on letting anyone in on the small fact that you were losing your entire mind over how hectic your life had become, and you certainly weren’t about to be reckless about being out of your dormitory after hours.

It was fairly simple to move around the castle at night, though, if one was careful enough. There was only one teacher patrolling the corridors and they were currently located on the other side of the staircase, giving you the go to make a run for it.

You’d also placed a silencing charm on you, for good measure, because you weren’t about to be the person that gave and took away points from their House all in one day.

You never counted on coming face to face with Lee Minho like this. He took notice of your nervous state, and it was then you noticed the pin on his robes. Head boy, you shut your eyes tightly, cursing yourself inwardly. Of course.

“I take it your midnight stroll didn’t go exactly as expected?” He comments sarcastically, but his tone is flat, and his perfectly shaped left eyebrow is raised.

He’s taller than you, not by much, and you guess the authority he holds also gives the illusion of height, multiple books hovering in mid air behind him. You guess he was making his way from the library to his last patrol of the night before resigning to the Slytherin dorms in the dungeons.

It really was just your luck bumping into him, wasn’t it? Especially after that one awkward evening a couple of weeks ago, his proposition still unanswered days and days after. Minho blinked twice at you, seeming to be waiting for your answer to his remark.

You snap out of it, biting your lip, and you see him follow the movement indifferently, your cheeks turning red under his intense stare. He doesn’t seem to pay your embarrassment any mind, though, as he deems you unworthy of his time and goes to pass right past you.

“You still haven’t told me,” you call out. He stops. Turns. You hesitate slightly, “The reason why you’re making an illegal potion.”

He muses your words for a second, turning them over in his mind. “Not so much illegal, as…frowned upon.”

Huh? “Well, what is it?” You press, taking a brave step forward towards him.

His beauty is unparalleled, only perhaps, and you do not say this lightly, second to that of Hwang Hyunjin’s, making it so incredibly hard for you to look at him straight on. His eyes are so big and glittery, looking as if they’ve swallowed entire stars in them, and his jawline is so sharp and sexy it feels like you’re cheating on Chan just by glancing his way. He looked immaculate, even at this late time, and you’d blame it on the pure blood thing, but Changbin was upstairs making a fucking fool of himself, ten different stains on his clothes, drunk beyond all reason at this point, you’d bet good money on it.

Not Minho. Never Minho.

“It’s dark magic, (Y/N),” he nears you slowly, taking his sweet time with a prey like you. “Necromancy.”

You looked at him, and looked again, just in case he was making some sort of sick, twisted Slytherin joke that you didn’t understand and were just another victim of. Dark humor is eclectic, yes, but harmless in the long run. Unfortunately, he wasn’t batting an eye to your reaction. If anything, he appeared to be…disappointed?

It was hard to tell through a million layers of frost.

“Dark magic is illegal, Minho,” you say and you feel like the dumbest person alive at that moment.

He stares at you like you are. “Many would disagree,” he retorts calmly. “All magic is the same to a wizard.”

You tilted your head, begging for him to be joking, and certainly not enjoying the glamoured jab at your blood. It was petty and so below who you perceived him to be, that you had to second guess the way he worded it in order to keep your sanity.

And your points.

“You want to raise the dead?” You whisper incredulously.

He smiles briefly at that, but his mask quickly falls back into place. “I’m offering you a chance to make one of the most difficult, intricate potions known in magic history. The craft is something that interests you, correct?”

You stutter, feeling like you’re being manipulated into something completely out of your comfort zone. Despite this knowledge, you can’t bring yourself to refuse.

“Yes, but I would very much like to stay out of Azkaban if I can help it.”

He considers you seriously, then. You almost think he’s gonna turn around and dismiss you, considering you unable to complete his task, but then he takes one step closer and gazes at you through thick eyelashes.

“I’m enchanting skeletons for Hallowe’en.”

You squint up at him. “You’re lying. You don’t need a potion for that.”

His lip twitches, and you think you see a ghost of another of those rare smiles. It’s gone too soon for you to tell. A purple strand of hair falls in his eye, and your fingers itch to touch it.

“Will you help me?” He chooses to ignore your statement.

“Now I’m helping you?” You challenge him, before you can stop yourself. “Where did all those other fancy words go?”

Minho drinks you in, every single one of your features being studied, before he pulls back, a breathy chuckle escaping his pretty mouth.

“I can see what he sees in you.”

“Don’t make this about him.”

There goes that infuriating eyebrow again. “Oh?”

You roll your eyes. “I’ll help you,” you repeat the, apparently, Slytherin taboo word. “If you tell me what I’m getting myself into.”

Your breath gets stuck in your throat as you see him lean towards you, his cheek touching the side of your face, a woody scent enveloping your senses. You’re unable to move, it seems, he has you under a complete spell—and it’s not the one you cast with a wand. I underestimated him, you think, panicking.

“A revolution, sweetheart,” his enchanting voice whispers in your ear. The castle stares back as your eyes glaze over with numbness. “Your name in history books. It’s what you want, isn’t it?”

And it shouldn’t have taken you as long to figure out as it did, Chan’s words of caution ringing true in your head, because nothing could be clearer, really—

Lee Minho is a Ligilimens.

tags. dedicated to @streetlight-s 🖤 | @ughbehavior, @cb97percent, @koorminii, @hellishmoons, @lix-ables, @americanokisses, @j-0ne25, @danyxthirstae01, @she-wintersoldat, @fa3body, @letterstolilah, @exclusivej3ss, @seungschacco, @heeseung-lover686, @heetr, @arieslost, @skz317cb97.

NO REPOSTING/STEALING. hwan-g™️

[solinarimoon]

A Place in This World

A/N:  This is my entry for @mrsalwayswrite 350 follower challenge.  Congratulations on your 350 followers!  You desreve them and so many more! My prompt was for the sense of sight and old books.  I focused on an OC I created that could potentially mold into a larger story.  This one shot takes place during season 3 of The Last Kingdom at the nunnery in Wincelcumb. 

Warnings: angsty, bastard, and abandonment.

Word count: 2219ish

A Place in This World

The rustling of Edlyn’s steps echoed along the corridor.  She tried to keep her feet light and gentle as she walked, but the bare walls and cold floors captured all sounds.

Evening meal would not be served for another hour or more.  Instead of waiting to be roped into helping prepare the food, Edlyn had taken her first opportunity to explore the new convent she was thrust upon.

Rounding the corner, Edlyn came up short when she saw a door ajar at the end of the hallway.  Peering into the room, she saw a warm glow from the fireplace illuminating a small chamber.  Lining the walls on one side, across from the fire so their spines danced in the flickering light, were shelves of books.  

Without thinking, Edlyn crossed the room and ran her fingers across the dusty volumes.  Slowly, her eyes rose taking in the sight of so many new stories to read.  One book in particular caught her eye, near the top shelf.  Edlyn glanced around to her side and saw a short stepping stool.

Carefully, she moved the stool before the shelf and climbed to reach towards the volume.

“It would be polite to inquire for permission before taking a book from our meager library, young lady.”

The sudden shock of hearing a voice, startled Edlyn.  She lost her footing and stumbled off of the stool to thump into the wall, somehow managing to refrain from knocking any of the books off in the ordeal.

“I’m sorry?” she questioned once she regained her footing.  She turned to face the other side of the room obscured by the open door.

“I was suggesting you ask if it is alright for you to take a book from our library.”

An elderly nun sat in a cushioned chair next to a round table.  There was a large collection of pages in front of her.

Edlyn cautiously approached the woman and squinted at the writing on the pages.

The nun settled herself back into the chair and folded her rheumatic hands into her lap, allowing Edlyn to view the pages properly.

Reverently, Edlyn slid several of the pages towards herself and picked them up to bring them nearer to the firelight.  

“You must be Edlyn.”

The young woman nodded wordlessly.  

“And what has brought you to our convent, young Edlyn?”

Shifting her eyes to meet the nuns and then back to the papers, Edlyn replied, “I believe you already know the answer to your question.”

“I know what my abyss has told us.  But despite my youthful appearance,” the crone chuckled wryly, “I am old enough to know that there is usually more than one side to stories like yours.”

Frowning, Edlyn brought the pages back to place on the table.  Contemplating how best to answer, she wandered back towards the bookshelf.

“Were you told of my parentage?”

“I was,” replied the old woman.

“Well being the bastard daughter of a king does not allow for a large selection of lifestyle choices.”

“Your brother found a path that did not include confinement in a monastery.”

Shocked, Edlyn quickly turned her head to meet the woman’s sharp, birdlike eyes.  Those eyes bore into Edlyn daring her to refute her words.

“Yes, he did.”

Edlyn had not expected to hear her brother mentioned, but in truth it was the second reminder of him she had since entering the room.

“Tell me,” the woman compelled Edlyn.

Edlyn sensed this particular nun was not to be ignored or contended with.  Sighing, she stepped back onto the stool and reached for the book on the high shelf.

“When we were children, after our mother died, my uncle paid the church to house us and to keep us together.  I’ve no doubt that he was largely influenced in this decision by our father as well.”

Edlyn stepped off the stool.  Glancing around the room and seeing no other chair, she picked up the foot stool and brought it to rest beside the fire. 

Taking a seat, she continued, “Osferth was always the more studious child.  Being twins, you might think we would favor one another, but we could not have been more different.  Even our looks did not favor each other. He is light.  Light brown hair and gentle, blue eyes.  And you see me before you.  Hair the color of raven’s feathers and eyes stormy like the sea.  He enjoyed our lessons, was courteous, respectful.  He was devout and the apple of the eyes of many of the nuns.”

“And I am guessing you, young Edlyn, were not those things.” 

Chuckling mildly to herself, Edlyn shook her head in reply.

“Abyss Bethylda was constantly recalling my attention back to our lessons.  I have a sharp tongue and a questioning and goading nature… Or so I am told,” she shrugged.

“So I ask again, how is it I find you here, in my library at this convent? It does not seem like the life that you would choose for yourself.  If I may make such a judgement after only meeting you a moment ago.”

Edlyn stared down at the book in her lap.

“This book contains stories of the viking raiders and their plunder of Northumbria?”

“It does,” answered the woman with a ponderance in her voice.

“As children, the one thing my brother and I had in common was a love for books.  For stories, really.  Our Uncle Leofric would visit us often.  We always listened to his war stories with rapt attention.  And we always found ourselves most fervently reading accounts of the northmen.  Particularly the attack at Lindisfarne.”

Gazing down at the bound pages, Edlyn traced the words and found her mind returned to a moment many years past.

~~~~~~~ 10 years earlier ~~~~~~~~

“Edlyn, don’t!” Osferth exclaimed as his sister climbed on top of the table.

“Hush, you’re meant to be guarding the door, Osferth.  And it’s fine.  I just need to step here and then I can reach it,” Edlyn whispered harshly. The ten year old placed a foot onto the shelving encased on the wall beside the table she was currently standing on.

Osferth turned back from peering out the door and down the hallway.  

“There is no one coming.  Did you reach it yet?”

“Not...yet….almost,” Edlyn spoke while straining to reach her arm up higher.

“Edlyn!” Osferth whined while approaching the table. “Why don’t we just ask someone to get the book down for us?”

“Yes, why don’t you?” A deep, rumbling voice came from the doorway. 

With a gasp, the young girl and her twin both turned to see who had caught them in their plot. Edlyn’s foot slipped and she shrieked as she felt herself begin to fall.

With two large strides, the man crossed the distance with the speed of a cat to snatch Edlyn before she hit the floor. 

“Uncle Leofric!” Edlyn exclaimed while throwing her arms around the man's neck.

He let out a hearty laugh. 

“I have missed you too, little Eadlyn.”

He placed the young girl onto her feet. 

“Keeping up with your studies, Osferth?” He asked while stretching his arm out to grasp the boy's shoulder with a fond smile. 

“Of course, Uncle. Abyss Bythilda suggests I should pursue becoming a scholarly priest.”

Quickly, Edlyn cut her brother off, “why would you want to do that Osferth?”

The boy turned his face down to the floor and shuffled his feet, mumbling “I never said it was what I would want. Only what the abyss suggests, Edlyn.”

“Stop giving your brother a hard time, young lady,” Leofric commanded. “Now, children, what was it you were willing to risk such daring behavior to access?” He asked while approaching the shelves. 

Osferth was quick to reply, “it was the accounts of the Northmen’s raid on Lindisfarne!” 

“This one up here,” Leofric asked while sliding the volume off the shelf and bringing it over to the window.  He opened the tome and turned to have a seat on the bench resting underneath the window’s ledge.

The children nestled next to him as he began reading the account aloud to them. 

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

Edlyn broke from her reverie to look back up at the nun.  She found the woman’s own eyes studying her.

“If you had met Osferth when we were ten, you would have seen him as the one pursuing a life of God fearing obedience and prayer. Abyss Bythilda certainly thought so.  But we all realized much too late that he did not want that life any more than I did, than I do. He ran away in order to pursue a different life.  He left me behind.”

Edlyn spoke these final words softly, while bringing her eyes back to the book in her lap. 

“And what stopped you from also leaving the safety of the church?  You have a reputation for being strong and independent, young one.  And it is no secret that you have refused to take the vows, becoming one of our Order.  It is what has sent you to our doors from your previous nunnery.  Do you intend to continue to take advantage of the church’s generosity for the rest of your life? Being a bastard but still using your royal lineage to garner room and board”

Edlyn jerked her head to meet the older woman’s gaze once more. 

“You do not hold back your questions, do you old woman?”

Chuckling, the nun replied, “No I do not.  I am Sister Agatha. And I would not see a soul such as yours crushed under the obedience and piety that our lord demands of his disciples. Why is it that you stay? Truly?”

Edlyn stared at the old woman, not daring to trust herself to speak.  The woman’s questions cut to the core of the inner demons that Edlyn felt warring inside her head daily.  Her spirit longed to follow in her twin’s footsteps.  Osferth had left her.  He had struck out to forge his own life.  And Edlyn could not dismiss his betrayal. 

She longed to lead a life that was more.  More than what the church could offer.  More than prayer and obedience. More than quiet contemplation and reflection.  Just… more.  But the truth was that Edlyn was scared.  From her very birth, she had been forced to face adversity.  The life of a bastard daughter of a king.  She had endured the abandonment.  The rejection of her father.  Then the loss of her mother and being thrust upon the church. Then when her uncle was lost in battle.  And finally the abandonment.  Waking up to find Osferth gone.  

When he left, he had placed the account of the northmen’s attack on Lindisfarne on her bedside table along with a short note.  

“I can not remain here any longer.  

I must make my own destiny and find my own way. 

 It is where God is leading me.  I will miss you dear sister.

All my love,

Osferth”

Edlyn could barely make out the words in Osferths scratchy hand through the tears overwhelming her eyes.  With all of the loss in her life, all of the hardship, Osferth had been hers to rely on.  The twin piece of her soul that she could cling to when the rest of the world was dark and desolate.

And he had left her.

In the deepest and most secret part of her heart, Edlyn knew she was terrified to be abandoned again.  It was what kept her tethered to the church.  The church, despite her nature to rebel and push back on the strict and stingy rules, had always been there for Edlyn. 

“You ask why I stay, Sister Agatha? Truly?”

The sister answered with an unwavering stare.

“I stay because I fear to lose myself out there.  The church is my safe harbor in a world that I fear would drown me. But despite your blunt words, they ring true.  I am not made to be wedded to God.”

Edlyn frowned at her hands gripping the pages of the book in her lap.

Sister Agatha considered the young woman before her for some time.  

“We will see about that, young one.  We have had many young women come to our halls seeking refuge and protection.  And I have seen the lord call to some of them and seen him deliver many from peril.  I have also seen women find their courage and forge their paths.  Paths that do not lead to a life of nunnery.  I realize I have just met you, young one, but your eyes speak to me of great things.  We just need to find your mettle.”

Edlyn gazed at the old woman, thinking over her words.

Before she could formulate a response, Sister Agatha rose and held out her arm to the young woman.

Standing and replacing the book on its shelf, Edlyn took the older woman’s arm and the two retraced Edlyn’s previous paths to the kitchens to check on dinner.

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

Aethelflaed rode fast and hard towards Wincelcumb nunnery.  Eadlyn did not know it, but the arrival of her half-sister would bring about immense upheaval in her world.  And Sister Agatha’s predictions were soon to bear fruit.  Eadlyn would find her courage. And she would find her family and place in this world along the way.

Tagging my usuals (please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from my list):

@maggiescarborough @pokeasleepingsmaug @nxrdist @mystic-shadows42 @emilyhufflepufftlk @magravenwrites @lauwrite1225 @morosemagick @thebohemianpenguin @mrsalwayswrite @notyourwildestdream @obipoelover @ecarroll1978 @93xdiagonxalley @nobodys-business-world

If you would like to read more of my works, you may do so here

[laurore-stormwitch]

It’s almost impossible to write anything that it’s not angs for these two. but i had this funny triumvirate interaction in my head for a while so here it is, i put it directly after my previous fic “we will fight for you”. hope you like this soft/funny take too! 

blissful mornings - AO3

___________________________________________________________

Nikolai opened his eyes slowly, catching back his consciousness with each blink; he took a breath as things went into focus, dimly aware of his surroundings. Blue walls painted like waves of a storm-swept sea, lit up by the first rays of sun casting away the night. It was almost dawn, by the reddish and golden light outside the windows. He made to turn on his side, but realized he was curled around someone. The scent of wildflowers clouded him.

Zoya. He was in Zoya’s room. In Zoya’s rumpled sheets, to be precise.  

It took a moment for the events of the previous night to crowd his mind, scrambling his thoughts. Another itching breath made his way out of his lungs as he tried to steady the frantic beating of his heart, shaken by the sheer enormity of what happened. His arm was resting on Zoya’s waist, still asleep at his side, warm and peaceful. She was laying with her back to him: he watched her chest slowly go up and down with each breath, the curve of her neck still so close to his lips, black hair grazing his cheeks. He pulled her tighter in an instinct, burying his nose on her skin lightly, feeling as if he wanted to drown in her, that this dream would vanish if he let her go. She trembled at his touch, stirring in the covers, slowly awakening. Zoya turned on her back with a sigh, leaning her head slightly towards him. Her eyelids fluttered open as she drifted out of sleep.

“You move too much in your sleep, Nikolai.”

She mumbled, slightly annoyed, closing her eyes again. Nikolai smiled against her neck, brushing his lips on her ear, skimming on her arm with his fingers. He felt her all over him, inside him, everywhere. Nikolai knew he was never going to have enough of this, of her. Never was he going to have enough of his name escaping her slightly parted lips with that lethal softness.

“I thought you were an early riser. All the pre-dawn trek to the Grand Palace ought to have given you some routine.”

Zoya huffed, moving on her side and prompting herself up on one arm, stretching her back. She tossed her hair over one shoulder. Nikolai looked at her in awe; he felt the air being snatched out of his lungs. The only coherent thought he managed to grasp was that this was most definitely going to be his undoing.

He had grown used to see Zoya in her blue kefta uniform. They spent so much time together in the past years that she had become a familiar gaze, something that sounded like home. Even when he met her, her beauty was not the first thing he noticed. Not that he was going to deny being struck by her appearance, but not in the way every other man seemed to be. Nikolai had been way more fascinated about the persona she built around herself, the way she gracefully conducted herself with other people, walking through the palace as if she owned every single wall of it, always ready, always sharp. So her beauty kind of went in the background. And he made a point not be distracted by it, to get adjusted to the sight of her in the silk kefta.

The first time he saw her in a gown, well, that had been challenging, to say the least. It wasn’t a common sight: Zoya liked to always play the general, even at official events. Which meant she usually kept her kefta, maybe more elaborate ones, with precious embroidery and jewels. The first time she resorted to a gown was the winter fete they threw on the first year of Nikolai’s reign. He had to admit that when she walked inside the ballroom it took him a while more than usual to regain himself. She looked every inch like a queen, in a floor-length dress that hugged every curve of her body, her neck bare and her hair tied up in an elaborate updo. That had been a tiring night, forcing himself not to stare. And that was something he definitely didn’t get used to: he just learned to hide his reactions and manage to act like he wasn’t struck by her un-earthly attire every time they threw a ball.

But this moment. This what was bound to take him to his knees.

Because Zoya now didn’t look like a queen, like a general, or even like a saint. She looked like a girl; granted, the dreamiest girl he could ever lay eyes, but still a girl, and that almost brought him to tears. She could’ve been taken from a painting: as she brought herself up, the waves of her hair moved like a waterfall on her shoulders, delicately brushing the scars on her back as she tilted her head up towards the sunrise. Her bare skin was glowing, scarcely covered by the sleeveless nightgown she wore, wrinkled around her body, silver like the moonlight and the beads he picked up every now and then and kept in his pockets. And when she opened her eyes and turned to him, Nikolai swore his heart stopped in its track. Zoya cast him a look that was utterly unguarded, in a disarming way he thought he was never going to see her. In a way he never knew her. Her eyes were pools of a deep ocean, calm and serene. They were alive with a light both tender and passionate; he could see the steel that forged her in that light, the fire inside her. A faint smile tugged her lips as she locked those impossibly clear eyes with his. She is happy, he realized with a bolt of crushing desire and warmth. He had seen her laugh before, he had seen her smile, but not like this. This was pure, untouched, sincere.  

Nikolai knew with an unwavering certainty that he could have spent a thousand lifetimes fighting just to see this look on her again. That this was the Zoya that loved fiercely and moved mountains and let her soul be seen. Love is the only thing worth waging a war for, Ehri told him. She wasn’t that far from the truth. This, this was the thing for which he would face the Fjerdans, the Shu, whoever came their way. This was the thing he searched for all his troubled life, all the times he had wanted more. More life, more love, more adventure, more excitement, more safety and trust. He found it in her.

It lasted for a moment, not more. In a slip instant, Zoya seemed to catch herself back again, her look hardening just what was necessary. But for Nikolai, it was enough. Enough to know he was lost, that Zoya was not only the tether he gripped to relinquish the demon, but the very thread that tied him to reality.

“Why are you staring at me?”

He smiled, catching her wrist and pulling her down on the pillows. She made no move to protest as he circled his arms around her, combing her tangled hair through his fingers.

“You’re less ruthless in the morning, Nazyalensky.”

She rolled her eyes and brought her hand at the base of his neck, releasing a breath. Her voice was a bit shaky. Everything about this was so completely overwhelming, he realized, for the both of them. Her eyes darkened as she delicately brushed the back of his head.

“Did I hurt you last night?” He gave a brief shook and held her closer.

“Not at all. Besides, I kind of deserved it. I’m awfully obnoxious when I put my mind to it.”

“Did Nikolai Lantsov just admit he’s insufferable?”

“I can be at times. But I’d take a small concussion for a night with you all over again.”

She flinched a little. He knew it was soon to joke about this, but he also knew he needed to be the one to make her believe in him, and in them. He needed to deserve her, and he had an unshakable resolve to do it. As good as he was with words, declarations seemed to only bring her uneasiness. So instead of talking her out of her mind, he did the next best thing he could think of and drew her in a for a kiss. It was soft and delicate, nothing like the hunger and the despair with which they explored each other the first time. Zoya leaned in without resistance and he felt her tension decrease. When he sensed her relax, he drew away an inch, both breathless.  

“That’s not playing fair.”

“Never said I would.” She exhaled, placing another kiss on his lips and giving him a firm look.

“You should go back, Nikolai, the sun is almost up. Tolya and Tamar are going to kill you, if they don’t already believe someone kidnapped you.”

There was no sharpness in her voice; Zoya was matter of factly, ever the general with a care on the fact that besides being Nikolai, he was the King too. He relished in her speaking to him so gently; still, he didn’t have the slightest will to get up from this bed and leave her. The thought of his guards didn’t cross his mind, but she was right. Nikolai didn’t tell them where he was going last night when he stormed out of his room, and he never got back. The twins probably spent hours looking for him. He groaned.

“They are going to kill me.”

She smiled, shaking her head. It was an insecure smile, almost as if she was trying to get used to down her walls a bit around him. He had half a mind to find a practical way to make her give up on her resolve, but as if they could read their thoughts, someone knocked lightly on the door in that instant. They heard Tamar clear her throat, much to Nikolai’s disappointment.

“Zoya? Are you awake?”

Zoya widened her eyes pulling herself up abruptly. Nikolai tried to hold her back by her waist, but she shot him an intimidating glare, keeping her voice steady.

“Yes, Tamar. Is everything alright?”

“We can’t find Nikolai. Is he…uhm, have you seen him by chance?”

This time, it was Zoya who groaned, untangling herself from Nikolai’s arms. She got up quickly, searching frantically for her kefta while tumbling towards the door. She stilled in front of it, turning to Nikolai, still lazily spread on her sheets perfectly at ease, dropping her voice to a worried whisper.

“What do we do?”

Nikolai smirked. She was going to hate this. And he was about to have an even more delightful morning than it had already been. He pulled himself up, cleared his throat too and raised his tone.

“I’m here, Tamar. We’ll be out in a second.” He answered to his guard. Zoya glared at him.

“Seems I am the one who’s going to commit regicide after all.” Hissed Zoya, casting him a look that clearly conveyed how serious her threat was. She tossed him his shirt, buttoning her rumpled kefta. “Put something on before I struck you with a lightning.”

They didn’t look remotely presentable, and Zoya was in a panic. A delightful morning indeed. She smoothed her clothes and tried to fix her hair in a desperate attempt before opening the door to her sitting room where the twins were waiting for them. They were nowhere near preoccupied, which left Nikolai with the suspicion they had known exactly where he had been the whole time. Tolya was sitting in a chair skimming through a poetry book, while Tamar was perched on the table flexing her axes. When they emerged, she waved a mischievous grin at them.

“Oh, there you are. We brought you some tea.”

Nikolai leaned on the wall, glancing briefly at Zoya at his side. She crossed her arms with an unnerved look. Where her cheeks turning a different shade of pink? Was Zoya Nazyalensky blushing? His mood improved even more.

“I’m sorry if I worried you. I didn’t mean to have you search the whole palace for me.”

“It’s our duty, Your Highness. What matters is that you’re safe.” Replied Tolya respectfully, giving Nikolai a nod. Tamar, on the other hand, didn’t have her brother gift for propriety.

“Oh, please.” She outright laughed in their faces, jumping down from the table and pinning her weapons on her side. “Like we’ve actually run all night to find you. We came straight here. And the guards said you dismissed them, so it was not that hard to put two and two together.”

“Well, I guess that’s why you’re the head of my intelligence.”

Nikolai couldn’t stop himself and winked at her. He heard Zoya made an exasperate sound beside him. At this rate, she was going to unleash a storm on their friends too. While he was caught up with the fact that they knew about the two of them, she was still fortified in her conviction that she had been perfectly subtle. He leaned closer, discreetly brushing a hand on her back to keep her calm, giving her a reassuring look. As she caught his eyes, he saw her shoulders beginning to ease, and everything would have gone smoothly if at that precise moment the door wouldn’t have slammed open again. Genya stomped in the room with David trotting absentmindedly behind her, head buried in some documents.

“Zoya! I hope you are up we have so…”

As her gaze turned upward, she fell silent and stopped in the middle of the room, shooting them a confused look. David almost stumbled on her, blinked twice and then immediately gave up on understanding what was happening. He slumped in a chair, while Genya’s attention travelled from the twins and lingered on Nikolai and Zoya, on their messy appearance and Nikolai’s hand still gently laid on Zoya’s lower back. She widened her amber eye, and Nikolai saw how she hardly contained herself from giggling. Nikolai grinned; Zoya seemed to realize how much they were giving away and batted his hand.

“So, are we having a party here that I didn’t know about this early in the morning?”

Genya was digging for her own grave, apparently. Nikolai was about to try and salvage the situation, but Tamar was quicker.

“Well, if there’s a party those two are the only ones having fun.”

This time, Nikolai shot her a warning look. He heard the air crackle lightly; Zoya was not inclined to mockery as much as him, and the flashes of last night breakdown were still nitid.  But their friends were not going to let the occasion slip after all these months. And to be honest, he was indeed having a lot of fun. Worst comes worst it was their turn for being swept by a gust of wind. Genya had a smug look on her face, clearly immensely satisfied by how things were turning out. She turned to Tamar, opening her hand towards her.

“Pay up. It seems I have won.”

“Did you bet on me?”

Zoya’s high-pitched voice interrupted them. Nikolai was extremely amused. If he knew there was a bet going around, he would’ve probably weighed in too.

“Not just us!” Protested Genya, equally outraged, as if this was bound to make it sound better. “Don’t get angry at me. Nadia was on this too. And Tolya didn’t want to bet but he still pitched in his support!” She accused, pointing her finger at the giant.

“I don’t play money on other people’s lives. That doesn’t mean I’m not a keen observer and I can’t help others win.” The twin excused himself, prompting his hands up.

David emerged from his papers looking at Nikolai with resignation. “I’m sorry, Your Highness, but you know I don’t interfere with these things.”

“That means I lost to Nadia too!” Tamar whined.

A thunder rolled over the room, making them startle and effectively silencing all of them. They turned to Zoya, who stood with her palms open upside, electricity sparking from her skin, and a threatening smile on her face.

“So, that shut you up.” She said with a delighted tone. She put her hands together behind her back, straightening her spine and drawing the power away. “Now, if Genya is done ridiculing my personal life, can we go on with the business of the day?”

“You’re so prickly, Zoya. Always killing the entertainment.” Genya scoffed at her after a moment of surprise. She glanced and Nikolai: she was practically beaming with contentment. They all took a sit; Genya poured tea from the samovar while Tolya peered in David’s work and Tamar opened some maps. They purposefully turned their backs on Nikolai and Zoya, leaving them a moment to collect themselves. Nikolai chuckled and tried to stiffen a laughter with a poorly executed cough. Zoya’s gaze snapped to him so fast he thought he heard the bone crack.

“If you let out so much as a whisper about how you are enjoying this, I’m going to burn you alive.”

Despite the snarky words, her eyes were lit up with affection. The image of her half-dressed and unguarded flooded his mind. Nikolai waved a glowing smile at her and curled a hand on her cheek. She exhaled a long breath, leaning to his touch and closing her eyes. Having Zoya so trusting in his hands was intoxicating; every time she did this, it was like coming back to life, and it made his breath itch and his heart ache with joy. Knowing she would break his arm if he’d done a more prominent sign of affection, he only grazed his thumb on her lips, already yearning to be alone with her. Would this pull towards her he felt ever diminish? His skin was on fire where he touched her, and he barely kept himself restrained.

“What do you say we leave our friends alive for now? And keep the rest for later?”

She cast her eyes heavenward but returned the smile and squeezed his hand briefly.

“Fine. Let’s drive this saint forsaken country out of the mud.”

The determined looks of the general and the ruler slipped back into their places, the fire and the steel rumbling in her eyes. He gestured her to take her seat beside him, looking at a room full of the people he cared for the most; he knew how fragile this peace was. That the Fjerdans were waiting for them with an army, that they had their worst nightmare chained up in a cell in the palace. That he still needed to figure things out with Zoya, be sure of his alliance with Ehri. But all those things seemed like nothing, right now. Because he also knew that with them at his side, they could survive. That the memory of the first morning sun grazing Zoya’s bare back would give him the strength to defy each and every one of his enemies. He put his hands on the table and turned to his friends with a cocky grin on his face.

“So, who do we get to fight today?”