#but who am i to doubt a potentially magic old woman

[uncle-dusknoir]

You're the one with the "incomprehensible" opinions, are you? Ohohoho! You should know, you caused Bede quite the stir with that one!

Of course, fairies can't be for everyone. Eventually, he's going to have to realize that. How boring the world would be if they were! I find you to be a very green individual... not pink, not pink at all. A dollop of purple, though, perhaps? Oho, quite complex shades!

...All this to say, I hope Bede hasn't given you any trouble. Has he been bothering you, dear?

@ballonleastadiumofficial

one second i feel like I'm missing some context here

{blog backscrolling interlude...}

... Arc, I'm glad my anons stay normal. What the hell. Who sends stuff like that to teenagers on the Internet?? Normal and hinged behavior. anyway.

Nah, he's alright. Someone's gotta handle the fairy types, anyway. I fuck with him a little bit but honestly if someone did the same thing in reverse I'd probably fistfight them LMAO.

I didn't realize you knew how to... uh. Use the internet. Hopefully people aren't being weird to you, too.

I feel like every time I say that I'm jinxing myself.

{thank you for the ask ms opal. ms basil's watching very scary movies and i got scared and she paused the movie to answer}

... you don't have to watch with me, Porypory. I know Toothy and Deckard are here but I don't think they can comprehend what a Saw trap is.

[vidalswife]

Open Fire

Word Count: I.8k

— pairing: agatha harkness / wanda maximoff, post wandavision, pre aaa.

Summary: Its been months since Wanda Maximoff defeated Agatha Harkness in Westview and left her powerlessly trapped in a fake persona. What happens when the brunette witch somehow escapes, finding Wanda in her seclusion. An even bigger question, will Wanda team up with her to accomplish the end to Agatha's plan, and if so, what will happen as the two get closer?

author's note: this chapter does not contain any pg13+ material. however in the future of the story, there will be mature themes, so if you are a minor i advise you not to interact. on another note, i wrote this beginning to a fanfiction while waiting for agatha's spinoff to release. i am aware my fic has been stolen and published on another platform, however it is my writing, as you will see, parts of it were edited out. if you would like proof of ownership i shall surely message you. it will not be based on the show, but possibly could have elements of it! and in order not to spoil the plot i will leave it at that. <3

The redhead smiled at the knock on her door, expecting a hiker or a mountaineer to be waiting for her, she called out a quick "I’ll be right there", rushing to grab the refreshments she typically offered to those passing by.

Ever since she left Westview, since defeating Agatha, she’d been in the mountains of Slovakia. A small cabin was all she needed, it had a room, a kitchen, a small area with couches. It wasn’t perfect, but it was hers. She crafted it on her own. She had finally reached the full potential of her power, at least she thought she did, and she used it to start anew. She did not want to be found, and she didn’t need anyone, but still, when hikers or tourists came around, she enjoyed the company. She would bake them pastries and bread every now and then. Agatha taught her to bake, but then again, Agatha taught her a lot.

When Wanda was growing up, she didn’t learn to bake or cook, but the witch she left behind in Westview taught her so many lessons about living in a mortal world. She’d hated her, for the most part, but there were so many things in her new life she had to credit to the brunette with mad curls.

As she placed the bowl of freshly baked bread upon the table, and the lemonade in a pitcher to the side, she checked her hair in the mirror planted on the wall, when she was satisfied, she opened the door.

And with a sudden flush, in the very instant, her heart sank, and she slammed the door.

_________________

It couldn’t be happening, I mean Wanda knew she couldn’t play keep-away forever with the other woman, but it sure as hell seemed like the best temporary option.

She turned with her back against the door, closing her eyes and exhaling a stress filled sigh.

”Now, is that any way to greet an old friend?” said 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 voice. Even though there was no mistaking who owned the captivating tone, Wanda wished that when she opened her eyes, she would wake up, and she would somehow be in a dream.

But alas, when she did open her eyes, reality hit the redhead like a semi-truck.

Standing in front of her was Agatha Harkness, the now powerless, crazy, curly haired raveness. The ‘evil’ witch she had defeated some time ago.

Wanda instantly resorted to using her magic, sending magical cuffs around the woman’s wrists, to which Agatha simply chuckled, “I’m starting to get the notion this wasn’t as pleasant of a surprise as i had hoped.”

”Oh, really? You think so?” spat the ginger, a soft hand now palming her forehead. She figured the witch would return one day, rise again and try to get her powers back. However she never figured it would happen only months later. She may have been the most powerful being to exist, but there was no doubting the strength of the other witch in the room, or anyone she could have used to free herself.

”Wanda, dear, these cuffs aren’t necessary” she reminded, hinting that she no longer had powers.

Wanda's brow furrowed, her eyes flooding to the sight of the cuffed and powerless brunette in her living area. She wondered about removing restraints, questioned the probability that Agatha knew other ways to harm her, and she figured it was best to keep them.

”Listen doll, I haven't come to harm you, I've come to help you.” she spoke, and Wanda slowly inched closer, tilting her head as her lips parted, in an attempt to suggest something that would not come out. It was like the woman read her mind, one of the powers she had was the ability to manipulate, interact with, and read minds, but that had only been with those in Westview. . and there was no way she had power again.

”How did you know what I was thinking, Agatha?” she said, tone cruel and interrogative. With the settlement of these words, she was inches from the other witch, her expressions clearly showing some form of confusion and anger combined. Agatha loved playing with the gingerette’s mind. It was almost an impossible thing to avoid.

”Wanda Wanda Wanda” she spoke, a long pause shadowing the calling of the woman's name. Wanda noticed how intently the witch was watching her, observing her, studying her. With a smooth and subtle smirk, she began to speak again, “You can’t ever make things easy for yourself, can you?” Agatha slowly began to move, raising her hands from behind her back, which were free from wanda’s cuffs, almost as if they had never existed.

Wanda stood lifeless, frozen and in shock. Slowly she began backing away, realizing that this meant 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘢 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝙥𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨.

”How did you–” she was cut off by a hand raising, a dim and small light of purple emerging from tan fingertips. Agatha whispered an incantation, flicked her wrist, and Wanda was forced upon the door, unable to move.

The witch inched closer, smirking at the woman’s confused look. “You're so. . dull. thinking you could take away 𝘢𝘭𝘭 of my power, and keep me trapped in your silly little persona?” she chuckled, “It took less than a week for me to break the curse you put on me, less than a month to gain some of what I lost. . I could’ve killed you, you know. I've been watching you, Wanda.” The redhead shivered at the thought of just dying, no warning, to the hands of Agatha Harkness, albeit. It made her think of Pietro, how he was dead, and never coming back.

”Oh, but don’t worry, I have bigger plans for you” she spoke, closer to wanda than ever before. Wanda had conflicting feelings towards Agatha. They had shared a friendship, of course, when Agatha was Agnes, and Wanda was “evil”. No matter the details, the two witches had built a rapport with one another. An unspoken understanding was present, so Wanda believed her when she said she wasn’t 𝘤𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺 planning to kill her.

”If you really want to help, with whatever twisted, fucked up idea you have of what I ‘need’, let me out of this hold.” Wanda shot a smile at the brunette, and Agatha simply tilted her head in consideration, before repeating another incantation.

The binding yet blinded force was now constructing her body, pressuring her more into the door. She yelped, wincing at the pain. Part of her wanted to use her magic, but she had learned it would do no good the last time she tried.

Agatha had a devilish smile on her lips, one that Wanda knew too well.

“Please” she winced. The older woman only chuckled mischievously, before flinging her wrist left.

As the redhead felt the force upon her body release, she sighed. Part of her wanted to run up and punch the other witch, mainly for imposing on her life so soon into her newly found peace (for the most part). Wanda instead shot an angry look at the brunette, and Agatha replied with an obvious smirk and a raise of her eyebrows.

”I'm sorry to have wasted you a trip, but I don’t want any help from 𝙮𝙤𝙪, and I never will” she remarked, walking away from the essence of the woman, to her kitchen counter. She grabbed a pitcher out of the fridge, pouring a glass of cold water. It was risky turning her back on such a powerful person, especially after refusing an offer, but there was some form of trust she felt, something unexplainable that she only felt with her.

It was quiet for a moment, until finally she heard the heels softly embracing the wood floor.

click.. click.. click.. click.

They stopped, and Wanda dismissed the notion of turning around. She could hear the smooth breaths Agatha took, so close. Wanda's hand clutched her glass, she planted the other on the counter.

Agatha's arms went past Wanda's waist, and she laid her hands over both of Wanda's. The younger woman reveled in the touch, it was the only human contact besides that of talking that she’d had in months. Agatha's body was pressing into her back, and she sighed into the touch. Her awareness of the situation only grew as she felt the woman’s lips brush along the skin of her neck.

The scarlet witch had always felt.. something when it came to her mentor. Her feelings about the woman were uncharted and complicated. She felt both comfort and edge, like she was safe but not secure. And to have her hands on her own, even if not interlinked, it got Wanda’s mind racing, as well as her heart. Heat flushed to her cheeks as she realized that the raveness could probably hear her heart beating.

”𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙞 𝙘𝙖𝙣 𝙙𝙤 𝙜𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙩𝙤𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧” Agatha whispered, her voice husky and low. Her lips were close to the redhead’s ears, and a soft moan escaped Wanda's lips. She felt so many things, so much confusion at why the things Agatha said made her want to lean into the woman and let her take control. Whatever great things the brunette had in mind were probably wicked. . but when Wanda turned her head and looked into those brown eyes, she couldn’t say no. She tried, opening her mouth to refuse and tell her to leave, but nothing came from her lips.

This made a smirk run onto Agatha’s face, and she held the eye contact that the redhead initiated. At the notice of the woman's still hanging lip, she softly inched her own lips closer.

The witch had always intimidated those around her, and it was no different with Wanda, except the contact was far more intense, and almost like a battle for dominance. Agatha’s lips brushed against the gingerette's, and Wanda’s head tilted to the side, if they were to kiss, the angle would be perfect. Wanda wanted that, she desired it as she desired the air in her lungs. She closed her eyes, waiting for the embrace, when Agatha softly hummed. The brunette pulled her lips away, and found the dip in Wanda’s neck. A soft, but hot kiss was planted on her neck, and the younger woman’s head leaned back. With a smirk, Agatha took the glass from Wanda's hand, and backed away from the woman.

She took a sip from the glass, winking at her ginger witch.

”Don’t be a fool, Wanda” She playfully remarked, setting down the glass beside the redhead, and retreating from the woman.

Wanda had never been so confused, yet had so much clarity in her life. She didn't want to let Agatha stay, or help with whatever she desired, but those lips, those hands, that voice.. they clouded every piece of rationale in her.

Come tomorrow morning, Wanda Maximoff would team up with Agatha Harkness, and no one would know about the moment they had shared that night.

[fallloverfic]

I am legitimately confused by repeated comments that ORV's opening is slow or boring or uninteresting, especially people who say you need to read [insert some very large number of pages/chapters] to get to the "good" parts. I've seen this on multiple socials at this point and I originally wrote this post months ago, but recent potential news has brought back people saying this again, particularly in recommending it to other people/trying to get other people into it.

I would personally argue that ORV has a good opening. A very good opening. And the early part of it is very good, too.

ORV opens with a literal train of angst, attempted friendship, workplace harassment (Sangah getting harassed by her boss), some neat Korean folklore (dokkaebis hello), graphic violence (remember when Bihyung just kills the president on TV?), a group of people in a subway attempting to beat an old woman to death, Dokja winning a pissing contest with a teenage edgelord, a bunch of people getting murdered, bonding in times in despair over a really unique form of problem solving, a man breaking open subway doors with his bare arms, young love, and magic, fleeing onto a bridge that gets exploded to bits by an evil gremlin, a horde of zombies appearing, the protagonist getting new magic powers, and then his getting held by the neck over said broken bridge in a complex back and forth with the "true" story protagonist before getting dropped into the mouth of a giant sea monster.

It covers topics like the limits of human compassion in times of strife, the complicated presence of the military (Dokja hated his time being drafted v Hyunsung's military leadership doesn't save anyone), international relations (Sangah is learning Spanish), trope subversion (I mean it is and isn't the entire book and Dokja's character, but he's constantly trying to be 5-10 steps ahead of what's going on, including literally fleeing Joonghyuk until Joonghyuk grabs him by the collar), workplace harassment, bullying, and it's all taking place during multiple apocalypse scenarios.

This is the like first 11 chapters of the book. And it never stops. There are "slower" moments, moments where characters take a breather (like it takes a while for Dokja to negotiate his contract with Bihyung, which is slow if you ignore the fact Dokja is arguing with an interdimensional being/alien for the limits of his own life and autonomy in the most dangerous streaming event imaginable, knowing he may still die if he gambles wrong on his personal wikipedia brain), but it's still frequently confrontational, whether that confrontation is about what characters mean to each other, what lives are at stake, finding your purpose in life, adaptability to complex circumstances, overcoming trauma and self-doubt...

And it's more intense in a way in the manhwa adaptation because you can clearly see most of it visualized (e.g., how visually wrecked the characters get, how young the kids are, how terrifying the monsters are, how scary the odds are, and how dangerous Dokja's gambles can really get with a fickle streaming audience), and Sleepy-C's art is gorgeous.

I just have to wonder (though this is more of a rhetorical question), what on earth do people consider fast? Because I am quite honestly terrified of what the answer is.

Like I get that ORV is long. It can be hard to recommend very long books to folks (and as the manhwa keeps going, long comics). To each their own, everyone is different, what appeals to me won't appeal to others. But there's a difference between "it's hard to recommend a very long work to someone" and "it's hard to recommend something that's long and takes a while to get into", and maybe folks are just writing the former a bit weirdly. I completely understand having trouble recommending long series to people. Also ORV has a very complex plot and I don't blame folks having trouble recommending that. I'm writing fic for later parts of orv and other manhwa and I dread explaining all the context for all that to someone who hasn't read them.

That being said, ORV has a very good introduction. Both chapter 1 of the novel and episode 1 of the manhwa are very good. They're not perfect, I can't say I was hooked from the immediate moment I started reading the page, but both of them have good introductions and it doesn't stop, and there's stuff to love in just about every chapter/episode, and I was definitely hooked enough by the time I finished to keep going to chapter/episode 2. Chapter 1 of the novel has great angst and character building, and it's funny and sweet and tragic. When I first read Dokja trying, earnestly, to recommend TWSA and getting harassed about it and worrying it will hurt this art and artist he cares about, but not being able to do much else to give thanks for this experience because of his circumstances, I cried. The first page/episode of the manhwa has them delicious boys love vibes and gorgeous art (and cute baby Dokja, I die for him), and the promise of a fascinating story ahead, and then the following page/episode has more gorgeous art and angst and great characters (combining them cause the first page feels sort of more like a teaser than a first page, though Episode 0 ends with a spread of Kimcom that makes me tear up). We'll unfortunately never know if I'd have loved ORV as much if I'd read the novel first, but I like to think I would cause ORV's opening is just that good.

I just truly, truly do not understand the sentiment that idk the opening and the first [insert large number of pages/chapters] aren't good or interesting or engaging enough. Maybe I'm out of touch. To each their own on what appeals, maybe I'm built different (doubt it though) but it just feels kind of dismissive of ORV's opening, in both the novel and the manhwa, which are both really good. Will it win over everyone? No. It's fine if you weren't grabbed by the opening or the first [insert however many pages/chapters/arcs]. It's fine if you took a while, even a long while to get into it, or never really did, and maybe don't like the manhwa, which is a great gateway into the story, or don't like the novel for whatever reason and prefer the manhwa. And at the end of the day it's just random opinions online, we all have different ones. Make the posts that appeal to you on your blog, complain on your socmed, whatever. But the opening is good, it keeps you very engaged with a lot of difficult scenarios, the characters are great and fun and funny, in those parts especially, and idk why I'm supposed to pretend that's not the case.

Anyway I don't like writing complaint posts. The opening and general start are excellent and Imma go back and cry over Dokja again ty singNsong for my tears.

[thenightfolknetwork]

Hey!!

(I saw your fairy girlfriend last week, I think. I'd recognize that snooty accent anywhere, and she looked angry. My condolences to whoever she's arguing with)

So, changelings! It seems that stealing children from their cribs never gets old, and if my parents didn't notice that their little baby suddenly had a mouth full of teeth from one morning to the next, then, well, they were begging for it.

You see, I'm not a person from the past, but lately I keep thinking about the child who was traded for me. I wonder how different it must have been to grow up human in a world of creatures, and whether it was as strange as growing up a changeling in such a sapio-normative world.

I keep thinking about a girl with lily hair and the right amount of teeth in her mouth, irredeemably human, despite her upbringing.

I know no one keeps humans as pets anymore, so I like to think she had a good childhood, unlike mine. For a while, thinking about it seemed enough.

Not anymore.

I feel like I'm rambling here, but I don't know how to explain it any other way than this: I was swapped for a child and never thought much about her. Today, I think about her every day.

I would like to find her. Does she still look like me? Or rather, do I still look like her? Or did the magic flow away like water? Or were we never alike to begin with? There are many questions and few answers, so I come to ask you for help.

Or to your irascible fairy girlfriend.

Where do I find the person I was meant to be?

(And if I find her, how the hell am I supposed to act?)

First of all, reader, kindly refrain from making comments about my personal life, the people with whom I might share that life, and the terminology we may or may not use to describe that relationship.

Secondly, I feel I must remind you that not all reclaimed slurs are acceptable to all members of the community they describe. In short: call her an “f-word” again, and there will be consequences.

Despite your quite astonishing lack of manners, I have chosen to respond to your question because I think it speaks to a very common feeling among people who were the subject of infant substitution.

It's easy to get fixated imagining your “other self” – the child who, were it not for an almost arbitrary choice made by your biological parents, would have grown up in your place.

However, I am not sure I understand what you hope to gain by reaching out to this person. Please understand, your sudden presence in their life has the potential to be extremely disruptive.

She is more than just your erstwhile template; she is her own person, with her own life and her own feelings and ideas about the way she was raised. I see no reason why you should feel entitled to impose yourself on her for your own whims.

Instead, I encourage you to consider what it is you feel this reconnection would achieve. You say you've never thought much about her in the past. I wonder if there is some reason you've suddenly developed an interest.

Perhaps there has been a change of circumstance in your personal or professional life which has left you feeling disconnected and uncertain of your place in the world. Perhaps you've encountered some new feelings of self-doubt, and are seeking some way to reassure yourself.

Or perhaps you are simply bored. Whatever the underlying cause, none of these are good reasons for inserting yourself into this woman's life.

Take some time to ascertain what might be causing this new obsession. I feel quite sure your rumination on your substitute is a symptom of something else. Get to the root of the issue and handle the matter from there – and leave this poor woman alone.

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]

[goodqueenaly]

I fell into a rabbit hole of your metas and it's great stuff! But while reading your bits over the Southern Bloc I couldnt help notice something. In Dance(ithink) Barbrey Dustin speaks to Theon about her distrusts for the maesters and insuates that Rickard's Southron ambitions were groomed by the maester of that time. I doubt that GRRM wrote that for no reason, and in the your work I don't see any mention of the Maesters 1/2

(tbh I really wouldn't be surprised if we don't get to see anything substantial on the Maester conspiracy because of time and pacing in two books thanks to GrRm great scheduling bbtp) but do you think the Maesters have any important part on the Southron Bloc plans? Because if so, what would have been their greater goal?

P.S. and another thing! Rickard Starks ambition level is unusual in most of the historical Starks throughout the Targaryen dynasty. Two sons and a daughter connected to land beyond the Neck? I know you mentioned why Rickard would benefit from these relationships, but why did he think of this in The first place? Why did he think it was better to go against the Targaryens when they hadn't bothered with the North much at that point?

P.S. pt2: I really think it was the Maesters that low-key were pushing, for something, and they really needed to cinch Rickard in. Except that Dragons and magic no longer seem to exist, so why continue to erode the Targaryens away(their anti Martell agenda checks out, at least) even if Aegon IV had done what he wanted to do it's not like the Maesters would suffer or benefit either? Sorry, I accidently put myself in the rabbit hole. It's dark here. Bye

The short answer is that I really don't believe in any maester conspiracy explanation for the (as yet theorized) southron ambitions power bloc. I think that there are (again, potential) explanations for why Rickard Stark (and, by extension, Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully) acted as they did which are not dependent on, or even really explained by, a united conspiracy of maesters puppeteering various paramount lords. I am not saying there has never been any greater schemes among maesters ever, only that I believe this specific group of marital and fostering alliances was the product of the aristocratic men involved rather than their maesters.

Number one, I think Barbrey Dustin's comments regarding maesters should be taken with a heavy grain of salt. I don't mean that Barbrey is stupid, far from it, but rather that Barbrey is a woman with very specific grievances and very specific sources of blame for those grievances. Because Barbrey believes that she loved Brandon and that Brandon loved her, she needs a way to explain the failure of her romantic desires that does not blame either herself or Rickard and Brandon Stark (since, after all, Barbrey's goal was to become a Stark herself). This is, after all, the same Barbrey who asserts that Brandon never wanted to marry Catelyn, despite the fact that Brandon fought a duel with (and nearly killed) the person who challenged him for Catelyn's hand and explicitly affirmed his commitment to Catelyn, to Catelyn, before he left for King's Landing. Accordingly, villainizing Rickard's old maester (who was both a foreigner - that is, not a northerner - and a bastard, with all the accompanying prejudice there) and Catelyn Tully (another foreigner to the North) allows Barbrey to create a narrative in which she, Brandon, and Rickard did no wrong and naturally (to her) untrustworthy people can serve as scapegoats instead. Barbrey is a smart and canny woman, but she is as much subject to bias and prejudice as any other character, and given those very apparent biases I am reluctant to simply accept what Barbrey says about maesters as true.

Now, could there be a secondary reason the author included this perspective from Barbrey? Just as the story Godric Borrell tells of the fisherman's daughter and the story Edric Dayne tells of Wylla the wet nurse are both (almost certainly) objectively wrong accounts which nevertheless support the true proposition that there is a greater mystery to be revealed about Jon Snow's mother, so perhaps Barbrey Dustin's antipathy toward maesters is wrongly justified but intended to catch readers' attention to a more general point. Perhaps the author wants to suggest here that there is something a bit underhanded happening with some maesters, just not politically - that is, that individual historical maesters probably helped finish off the Targaryen dragons, and that few modern maesters recognize the potency (and danger) of magic (an attitude which will be immediately, and fatally, undone when Euron shows up to take over Oldtown).

I think it is also important to contextualize Rickard in his time and place. Certainly, it was the case that few (although some) Starks had married outside the North, at least so far as we have the Stark family tree - which, by the way, was as much true for a family like the Lannisters (whose marriages from Damon Lannister through the present day were almost exclusively with other Westerlands Houses), and probably as much true for families like the Tullys and Arryns as well - but it was also very unusual, indeed virtually unique, for all the senior commanders of Westeros to meet in a single space to war against a foreign invading army, which is exactly what happened during the War of the Ninepenny Kings - a war in which RIckard almost certainly served as Warden of the North. This was the perfect opportunity for Rickard to meet his fellow Warden Jon Arryn, as well as senior Riverlands commanders Hoster and Brynden Tully - and if they may not have finalized their entire geopolitical strategy and ambition in that moment (which would have been impossible to do anyway, given that Robert Baratheon, the Stark boys, and the Tully girls did not then exist), they certainly had the chance to discuss their opinions on the current state of the kingdom and build the foundations of their allegiance and mutual regard for one another.

And indeed, it's specifically not the case that the Targaryens "hadn't really bothered with the North much at that point" - quite the opposite, I think Targaryen action and inaction toward the North may have been a major source of grievance that motivated Rickard's participation in this alliance bloc. Remember that when the North needed help during the reign of Aerys I - when Dagon Greyjoy decided to make the west coast of Westeros his playground for pillaging and reaving - the Iron Throne specifically, consciously did nothing. That purposeful inaction directly betrayed part of the feudal promise enshrined when the Targaryen kingdom was formed: in return for the homage and and military service promised by the Iron Throne’s vassals, the Iron Throne agreed to protect those vassal families when they could not protect themselves - when, in fact, the realm itself was threatened. If the Iron Throne had probably (through Maekar) eventually intervened to solve the Dagon problem, Rickard’s great-grandfather Beron and his sons had learned the hard way that the Iron Throne’s commitment to its protective obligations was at best dependent on the personality of the monarch on the throne (and/or the monarch’s chief advisor). That’s not a lesson that I think Rickard - who was ruling barely half a century later - would necessarily have forgotten, or not considered in his political decisions and ambitions. If the Iron Throne ignored its individual vassals' plight without compunction, perhaps the way to make the dynasty listen - to ensure the Dagon problem could not happen again, in other words - was to unite as a bloc with other great Houses, the better to force the dynasty's notice.

Nor might the Starks have appreciated the opposite end of the Targaryens’ exercise of royal power - that is, under Aegon V, whose stated goal as king was to curtail lordly power by "grant[ing] rights and protections to the commons that they had never known before". It is unclear as yet how the Starks felt about Aegon V's program of reforms, yet it is certainly the case that unidentified other lords deeply resented the king's actions, even going so far as to describe him as "a bloodyhanded tyrant intent on depriving us of our gods-given rights and liberties". Indeed, this had not been the first time the Targaryens had intervened in the North to remove traditional privileges of the Starks and their vassals, since under Jaehaerys I the crown had both forced Winterfell to donate lands of its vassals to the Night's Watch and removed the right to the first night (across the continent, to be sure, but even Barth specifically noted at the time that "some lords [would] surely grumble at this [i.e. the end to the first night], especially in the North"); moreover, at least the first of those royal decisions seems to have caused deep resentment among some of the Starks. It's possible, therefore, that Rickard (who may have come into his lordship toward the end of Aegon's reign) agreed that the crown could not simply (metaphorically speaking) stomp into the North and start making demands on those rights which Aegon I had long ago promised to protect.

All of this, I think, may have culminated in an expression of frustration when the various Westerosi commanders met during the War of the Ninepenny Kings. If the Iron Throne had failed to uphold its end of the feudal bargain, in the eyes of these lords, it was now nevertheless demanding that its vassals still provide theirs - fighting for the crown at the summons of the king, to keep the king on the Iron Throne against the ambitions of a foreign challenger. For the first time, the Targaryen dynasty had left a major war entirely to the execution of its vassals, expecting that those families whose ancestors had bent the knee to the Targaryens would lead the charge against the Blackfyre forces (while the sickly king retired in the capital and his young heir served as a mere squire). Why, men like Rickard, Jon, Hoster, and Brynden might have wondered, were they giving their blood and sweat - and the blood and sweat of their vassals in turn - for a dynasty which had decided that the feudal bargain meant little or nothing when it came to the Targaryens' responsibilities? If once the answer had been dragons, that answer was no longer true over a century after the death of the last dragon; I think the Starks, Tullys, and Arryns may have realized that, with the balance of power irrevocably (or so they thought) shifted, now was the time to ally together, the better to rewrite the feudal playbook in a way which better recognized their power and authority.

Conversely, and to the point you made, I do not see any reason why the maesters (assuming all maesters would even act for a single purpose, which I think is simply wrong) would have any desire to encourage these specific marriage and fostering arrangements. Even if we start with the idea that "the Maesters ... were pushing, pushing, for something, and they really needed to cinch Rickard in", what exactly was the end goal here? As you yourself note, it could not have been the extinction of the dragons (which had not existed for almost 150 years by this point), and there seems to have been no animosity on a political level between the Citadel and the Targaryen dynasty, certainly not by this time (indeed, the Citadel's representative enjoyed a place at the right hand of the monarch, as Grand Maester).

[kyndaris]

Legends and Lattes

While you, dear reader, may initially think this post is about Travis Baldree's novel of the same name, I am here to quickly disabuse you of that notion. In fact, I shall do you one better and admit I have yet to even read the book sitting on my shelf, begging to be read. Heck, I even bought the prequel not too long ago: Bookshops and Bonedust. And before you say anything, dear reader, I will get to it.

Eventually.

It just so happens my blog is not solely a book blog. Nor am I a BookTuber/ Booktoker by day or by night. So, you know, it's very understandable why I've not read through this, assumedly masterpiece of a tale. Plus, I also have a lot of other hobbies like badminton, videogames and my own actual writing. All of which detract from my reading time.

Then, of course, there's my dating life, which, albeit is slowing down because I've mostly given up on men. And well, the women are certainly not biting as often.

What's a 32-year-old supposed to do except pine for the love of a fictional character? Karlach, I'm looking at you for when I finally start playing Baldur's Gate 3.

As you've no doubt picked up on, this blog is yet another entry into my forays of dating. This time round, I met up with a woman (third time's the charm, maybe? We're still chatting on the occasion although the topic has shifted into more a creative enterprise). It started with her liking one of my Hinge prompts, and after thoroughly checking her profile (she had actually cropped up in a few of my recommends previously), I thought I would do her the courtesy of matching.

It was followed by a brief conversation on mythology before the two of us went down the tabletop role-playing game route where we both tried, and failed, at playing grifters stealing personal information. Now we're on a journey to stop the Goblin King. The dastardly creature has stolen her identity, leaving naught but an empty vault of where it should be. And because of that, I, the handsome rogue in this situation, must continue masquerading as a Nigerian Prince as we go forth to acquire a magical sword with the ability to track goblins.

So far, we've made it to a small town called Bree. Although we did try to ride towards Bag's End, a number of black riders passed us by and Keyleth - the codename I've decided to use in this instance to refer to my date - was insistent we put a stop to their evil plans. Not that we know they're evil.

They simply have business with a halfling and are being very difficult about anyone who might be in their way.

As you can see, dear reader, we are most assuredly not in Kansas anymore.

That said, we did arrange to meet at a cafe halfway between where we live in what is fittingly named The Shire for Sydneysiders like me. It should be noted that unlike me, Keyleth does not live in Sydney. Rather, she is situated in the coastal city of Wollongong. You'll remember it as a place I visited not too long ago with a group of friends as we tackled a dastardly difficult escape room.

At the time, though, Keyleth's path and mine had not yet crossed. A shame, truly, since there are quite a few choice burger places in Wollongong we could potentially visit if I didn't mind the long drive down.

The cafe was named 7th Heaven. To my dismay, there was no raven-haired bartender or a blond courier. What it did have were a number of brunch options such as my go-to meal in almost every situation: Eggs Benedict with a side of smoked salmon. Keyleth ordered a milkshake and Eggs on Toast, adding on top of it a rasher or two of bacon and some delectable avocado.

By the end, though, she'd barely touched it - having eaten only one piece of bread and egg, some bacon and hardly any of the avocado.

Keyleth was the first to arrive - most probably due to the limited number of trains and because she had further to travel. I arrived just shy of the appointed time at 10. When I arrived, I had not quite expected the shock of dyed red hair to greet me. After all, in all her previous photos - both on Hinge and on Whatsapp - Keyleth had sported long blonde hair.

Still, she was keen to give me a hug, though I was quick to advise I wasn't much of a hugger. Or even a physical touch kinda gal. Yes, I'm more willing to accept it from a woman but it's not something I tend to do. And it's certainly not one of my key love languages.

Once I had sat down, we chatted idly about how our week had gone. After putting in our order, we began the painstaking process of learning a little more of the other. Keyleth learned I was an only child, whereas I learned she had a sister. Some of our family dynamics were talked about before we moved to more dangerous topics: like my favourite musical and whether or not I am actually a theatre kid (spoiler alert, I am not. Yes, I've been to four musicals in the last four months but those are baby numbers compared to the actual musical nerds out there. Or so I hope).

We also chatted about the weird role-playing experience unfolding on our messages, with Keyleth confirming the Goblin King was none other than David Bowie from Labyrinth.

Then, of course, we also talked a little about our dating experiences. Given I was asexual and she was demisexual, it seemed prudent for us to address the very big elephant in the room of what an actual relationship would be like. Both of us were a little uneasy about jumping immediately jumping into relationships as we required time to get to know the people we would be committing a significant portion of time with. Lust is certainly not a thing either of us experienced at first sight. And in order to catch feels, a strong emotional connection must be created first.

I, certainly, have not been in an actual relationship of significance with another. At least in the romantic sense. I do like to think I have many meaningful friendships with the people in my life though it's anyone's guess if they agree. More than likely, they find me egregious or too sardonic for their tastes (in fact, I recently had a nineteen-year-old university student at my work place call me epigrammatic!)

We also bonded over how difficult it was to date cisgender men!

But while the conversation was invigorating, our brunch date did slowly come to an end. Given the immediate surroundings didn't have any other interesting diversion, we paid for our meals and headed back to the local train station. A little unfortunate but sometimes that is how the cookie crumbles.

After all, it would be the height of rudeness to remain at a table for several hours afterwards when all our food was taken away.

Will there be another date with Keyleth? I'm not quite sure. Our conversations were pretty easy-going, flowing from one topic to another.

It was certainly better than the date I had with Tip Top.

As always, time will tell if anything will come of it, but I'm hopeful in obtaining a new friend if nothing romantic blossoms from the encounter. Of course, there is still Dikottir.

And while we haven't exactly had a sixth date/ meet-up, both of us will have gone to PAX in Melbourne by the time this blog post goes up. So, keep your eyes peeled for that riveting entry. Or not.

In the words of the founder of feminism himself, Rhysand, "It's your choice, Feyre darling."

As an aside, I can't say for sure if that's an actual quote from the book but it certainly feels like something he would say. On that note, I need to stop reading books like ACOTAR. I mean, it's no Fourth Wing, so I'm glad for that. But it's definitely not the height of fantasy literature. I was hoping for.

Anyways, THIS WAS ANOTHER EPISODE OF DATING 2.0! WILL A ROSE BE FINALLY AWARDED TO A SUITABLE SUITOR? YOU'LL HAVE TO WAIT UNTIL WE COME BACK FOR THE NEXT UPDATE!

And now, back to the weather!

[jacscorner]

A person walks towards a table. She's clad in a black kimono, with a dark veil over her face; in the shadowy room, only lit by candlelight, her face was completely obscured. She sat at the head of the table, obscured by a tall, wooden screen. Then, she removes her veil and reveals her face to the camera; Erika, the Celadon City Gym Leader! Erika: Hello. And welcome to Heroes Of The Frontier; my Lamentations Of The Flame Princess virtual campaign. I am the Dungeon Master, Master of Ceremonies, and Host: Erika. Thank you all for tuning in. Now, allow me to introduce you to my players and their characters.

Brock: Thank you for having me, Erika. My name is Brock, I'm the Pewter City Gym Leader. And I'll be playing Gortaf Rubyhorn. He is a Dwarf; the 7th son of the Dwarf Lord, Lot Rubyhorn, the Dwarven Lord of the settlement of Neverrock, a mining town. Gortaf's brothers pursued scholarly pursuits; poets, politicians, painters and such. But Gortaf, enraptured by tales of adventure, decided to train and work their body, joining the Iron Patrol when he became an adult.

Erika: Ooh, excellent introduction, Brock. Does Gortaf's brothers have names.

Brock: Yeah, I'll DM you the family details after this session.

Erika: Good, good. 

Misty: Okay, my turn. Hello! I'm Misty! I'm the Cerulean City Gym Leader! My character's name is Dayfang; she is an Elf who lives in Glimmercoat, a town built near the coast of the frontier. She is the oldest of four daughter of two elves; Wolf, a pot artisan, and Sunlight, an infamous adventurer. Dayfang's tribe of Elves once lived deep within the forest in a traditional treetop settlement, but they were in a war with another tribe of Elves. Sunlight chose the enemy tribe and now their clan are refugees within the human dominant town of Glimmercoast. Dayfang, however, is sure her mother had a good reason for this and carries her mother's sword with pride and wants to find her, if she's still alive.

Erika: Ooh, so much drama! I love it~

Sabrina: ...

Erka: Go on, Sabrina. It's your turn.

Sabrina: *clears throat* I am Sabrina of Saffron City. I'm playing Pepper Hedge, Magic-User. She is a fledgeling Mage who lives in Magehelm; she comes from one of the major cities, far away fromt he frontier. Magehelm is not only home to a lot of magical practitioners, but also to the prestigious Marigold Keep. She was an orphan girl, working for a Mage as a maid, but when the Head Master discovered her potential and aptitude for magic, he sponsored her studies. Mages are traditional men, and many of the illumni are not keen on a young woman becoming a Mage, but because she's being sponsored by the ailing Head Master, they can't touch her...yet.

Erika: Ooh, spicy.

Sabrina: That's not...too much, is it.

Erika: No, no, not at all. This is a dark, cruel world. I think that your character is perfect!

Brock: Yeah, it's a great backstory!

Misty: I actually think it's a little tame.

Erika: Now then, the three of you have been summoned to the town of Sunpeak. Each of you received a letter to meet in a tavern; the Red Brick House. How did you all receive the news?

Brock: It was actually my father who got the letter. But my father is too old to make the trip and his duties as a lord keeps him busy. On top of that, he had suffered a serious injury in his leg, making walking difficult for him, so he's unfit for adventure. So I, his son, was given the task. And I eagerly accepted it, in order to bring glory to my town and my father's name.

Misty: I found the letter on my dinner table on night, two months after I had defended my town from an Orc! It was big, ugly, and rampaging through town. It's not the greatest feat, but in these collection of small towns, mostly made up of farming communities, slaying a raging Orc is a big deal and the news spreads like wildfire. As a local hero of sorts, the letter found its way to me and I made my way to Sunpeak.

Sabrina: The...the letter was sent to Marigold Keep itself, no doubt seeking the aid of a more experienced Mage. Many of whom scoffed at the idea of being a 'Rat Catcher'. I was given the assignment to make the trip to Sunpeak; there's no doubt in my mind that my professors expect me to fail and come back in a box.

Erika: Good, good, all good. I think that should be enough for Session 0. These streams will begin properly this Sunday, when we all have more time. So keep an eye out for this campaign, faithful audience. For in Session 1, our heroes will meet properly at the Red Brick House in Sunpeak. Tune in next time to see how the Heroes Of The Frontier...actually meet.

Okay, so, let's break this down a bit.

I mentioned this one before, but I quite like OSRs - Old School RPGs/Old School Renaissance Games (I just prefer RPG). Lamentations of The Flame Princess has a messy origin, but I'd love to play it at some point with actual people. But schedules are tight, but it's fun to make characters and slowly chip away at planning a campaign.

Lately, there's been a rise in AI Videos, where AI voices talk and are implied to be doing some kind of activity. Or, rather, AI President Videos are on the rise, where Obama, Trump, and Biden are doing stupid shit. Sometimes other Presidents are a part of it. My favorite, personally, are all the D&D videos that exist of them...though they do get a little dull at times. Like, they're funny and I love all the different takes there are on this formula, but I just wish that there was more variety. Like, the technology can have many different characters talking, so why is it always the same three, making the same jokes? It's like if The Three Stooges were being done by three different studios, all copying each other.

And, as I'm sure you know, I love Pokemon.

So, there you go: what if a bunch of Pokemon characters played a TTRPG.

Why Lamentations Of The Flame Princess and not just D&D. Well, for one thing, LOTFP is based off of an older edition of D&D. And the reason I like it instead of just making them 5e is because 5e has a very different feel to older, more archaic games. And I think it'd be more interesting - at least, I feel it would. If nothing else, it'd be different.

[tacetnix]

---- If there was anything that Mary doubted, it was that she would have loathed the boisterous, insufferable optimism that Heysel wrought with every step. Her dour demeanor had nary an opportunity but to be unabashed in her presence. And, maybe, just perhaps, that was one of the reasons that she felt so assured in the face of this woman. This person that, above all else she considered as friend.

How did one even try to express, that against her picking and prodding nature, the willingness to turn anything and everything into a jest, that Mary could not afford to be anything but sure of herself?

And that, mayhaps, Heysel's presence, companionship, and camaraderie had tempered the ill-mannered scholar, ensuring that nothing resembling self-doubt had remained. For while she may not have believed that gods were nary more than things to be consumed by the worms... she had naught but faith in her fellows.

---- "Where do I begin? That there is no 'before Yharnam' for myself? That I am an orphan with a speech impediment, who failed at every turn to earn kinship with those of fairer skin and finer hair? Outcast, left to study and to steal, as many did? That some old misers offered me their library in exchange for a child to defeat in chess and checkers? Perhaps that I learned to pull my punches, so they could feel better about themselves, so I could continue to peruse their shelves... Yes, that should do for us. Where I filled my head of knowledge that was woefully beyond me, and nary the foundations to make use of it. But it was enough to get me a sponsor when schooling was offered. And with it, was opportunity."

Mary shrugs, and tries to continue spinning a (to her) perfectly mundane story into something worthy of confession. It is awkward, and she is not certain what to add or what not to. But she tries.

"Eventually, my steps lead me to the School of Mensis. I begin to study with them, and through them, I learn much about the Cosmos above. Of the stars and the Great Ones that inhabit them. I learn invocations, rites, and other such things that would get me crucified as a witch by the people of Yharnam, so I distance myself. I consider myself 'other', I try to train the accent from my breath. The city gifted me nothing, so I gave not a thing back. I -- do tell me if I ramble too much, my friend..." She had been bid to confess. But what was there to?

---- "I studied, I learned that the rituals we were aiming to conduct were going to put the students at great risk, and so I instead began to look elsewhere. My lineage can be traced to the Tombs of the Gods, and so I began to study the Pthumerian people more. It then made sense to, potentially escape my fellows, and to learn more of where I came from, to join the Prospectors hired by the Church. Which -- as I'd mentioned prior -- was why I was never one for the superstitions held by our cadre. As much as I survived our expeditions, and learned to thrive in the depths as my ancestors did... I will always be a Scholar, first and foremost. Of Pthumerian Blood, but never of any god or Great One."

A pause. There was a point she could confess. There was no room for doubt. There never had been, with Heysel. So, Mary would trust in her as she always had, and lay bare her secrets.

"In the Tombs, I drained my kin of their blood, and transfused it into my own body. Through trial and error, learning to starve and subsist as they did. I tested my limits, and now, I'm as you see before you. Longer of life, free of the Beastly Scourge, and able to toil for who knows how long, 'ere my natural life comes to its conclusion? We have seen the Pthumerian Elders. We have seen the magics and arcane geometry they wield. Maybe one day I will be a decrepit old crone, still capable of fighting a hunter on more than equal footing? I have my entire life ahead of me to learn and fail. To flounder and to succeed. And, in a way, I am happy. And too, along the way, did I find certain agreeable comrades, for whom I would kill and for whom I would lay my life down. For it with with them that I found my first family. To be taken, as most things in Yharnam are, but mine all the same."

---- "One of whom, in particular, I never thought I would see again. So imagine my surprise, when a certain smiling, beaming, bloodied woman graced me with her brilliance once more." She trails off, happy to leave at least a tiny mote of playfulness in her confession.

"Ah, but to answer your question; 'I do what I do, because I can. And anyone who would stop me has either died, or has yet to be killed. For I am free to pursue as I wish, and neither the Church nor the School of Mensis will pull my strings any longer~'" A playful smile is written on the scholar's face, as she looks over to Heysel. Contented that when sleep took them both, that she would wake to her comrade's presence.

She had no idea how much she had yearned for that kind of stability again. For something as simple as 'waking up beside someone you could trust' to be such a distant dream.

tacetnix​:

—- Hearing Heysel speak in contradiction caused a sharpness to return to the albino’s gaze. Was she really about to entertain her with matters of debate and semantic? To trigger the memories of long years in halls and forums, speaking feverishly and tearing down the hypotheses of others to stand lofty above them all on a pedestal of being more correct.

It was an instinct not unlike the hound seeing bared teeth or hearing a bark. And so it was that she was already formulating ways to assail Heysel’s points of persuasion. That the notion of what was Godly and what was not would have to be defined before they could reach a consensus. That if such a thing could be bled and killed that it did not deserve to be her God.

But Heysel, lovely, mischievous Heysel, let her joke be laid bare. Her savior whipped her head back aside, to hide the embarrassed scowl now featured on her lips.

—- “…Shut up. You got me. You’d have made a fine scholar. Too good of one, even. Were you my classmate… perhaps I would never have left.” Whether that was a positive or negative thing, Mary herself didn’t quite know. But… More was to be said. From the corner of her eye, she listens to Heysel further. Hearing an apology that… helped, in a way. Reminding her that the mere act of surviving the circumstances was in of itself something worth celebrating.

The prospector did not respond. Did not say it was okay. Did not say that it was not Heysel’s fault. It would have been the only thing truly useless.

Her companion then complies. With the context known, she begins to weave the tapestry of the stars. Recalling memories of gazing out beneath the night sky and being transfixed by its majesty.

Mary’s eyes closed, and she listened to her spin the story. Just as she so often had beneath the Earth. Below the city where the secrets were theirs to plunder. The story turned to her, and she could not help but feel her arms around Heysel tense, turning into the hold and looking down at the woman with that fiendish glint in her eye and that chaos in her grin. A mote of distaste flicked in her brows, as Heysel offered her gun. “I won’t patch that one up.” she mumbles, still collecting her thoughts.

—- “Your presence here is everything to me, Heysel. Right here. Right this night. You could not promise to stay forever – I noticed. – But. You are here. Now. And you will be here when next I wake.” A plea hidden beneath a command. 

“…Ask away. I am not sure how much I have to confess, but my knowledge is yours, Heysel. Anything, for my only friend in the world tonight. I’m yours.”

“You would have loathed me, Mary, if my university years are something to base statements upon. I was insufferable, and oh yes, way more than I am now,” Heysel smiled, consigning the steel back to its leather holster, shifting lightly, and again she could do nothing but accept her friend’s candor- the undeserved beauty of it, the unearned trust. Blade-bare she proffered herself. Grasp and wield me. I’m yours. Heavens and stars unknown, the impossible  strength to say such thing. God might have been a perfect absence within this woman but what was this if not utter faith in another and the bright purity of it could have wounded worse than the bullet that had grazed her. Could she do the same? Or was she too bent towards the center of herself, too compactly curled and grown nautilus-shell inward- yes, too afraid- to ever hope to concede wholesale unraveling and not have her heart stop?

She swallowed. Worried her lower lip. Exhaled, guilty, guilty, as she voiced what she’d tried to not speak herself.

“I…I refuse to tell falsities to you. Even I have a limit to the injustice I can create and I do believe I’ve been cruel enough towards you. You deserve better than an oath I might break. You have meaning to me.” Her tone, low and soft. Her clawed hand, reaching for the back of her friend’s, resting there. “I promise that when you’ll open your eyes it shall be me and not the lack of me that you’ll behold. That much- I swear. I do.”

A slithering many-limbed part of her sighed in relief at the opportunity of retreat that now presented itself before her. She wanted the history of Mary exposed to her, of course she did, because she cherished her, cared for her, worried about her, and all of this translated into a desire to better understand her and to learn her, but it would have been one of those lies she could have not spoken into being if she’d said this desire didn’t walk hand in hand with, in small measure, a wish to also not speak about herself anymore- to not even circulate around the subject of her and all it contained. No more scrutiny of her, gods, no more. No more interpretation of her unwellness, no more attempts at plucking even a string of her thoughts from its nautilus shell. Tiredness and pain had left her raw-bruised, and perhaps, under the light of a dimming sky she only could see as studded with the light of stars, exhaustion was beginning to make itself visible across her face too. Hours had not passed yet. But it felt like they’d both done nothing but endure for months.

“Tell me of yourself, then. It is a shame for us to have worked together so long and for me to know so little about you, and I won’t tolerate such situation further.” Not, she didn’t say, with how everything seems to precipitating towards something comet fast-

“Who were you before Yharnam? Why did you choose to do what you do, here? I won’t inquire upon the exact why you reached this place in the first place. Volunteer this information if you so wish, but I won’t pry.”

Dread disease bound their steps all. Only the name changed.

“Go on, miss Stermann. If you are mine, then I am thy confessor. Offer.”

[cheekygreenty]

Little Witch - Part 16

The Darkling x Reader

'It's work-related Baghra, I'm not here because I miss you'

'Then get to it.' She snapped and walked around you, settling in her seat by the fire.

'How is Alina getting along?'

'Like a wounded animal' You sighed. As much as you hated the woman, she had a knack for training Grisha and always succeeded so this wasn't good.

'How bad is it?'

'She can't light a doorway on her own without Aleksander clutching her wrist.'

'Surely she's not that weak. Maybe you're just losing your touch'

'Get out.' She snapped.

'The Fete is 2 weeks away, it would do you well to make sure she doesn't embarrass herself' You let a subtle threat slip into your words but in reality, you couldn't touch Baghra, Aleksander forbade it himself.

'Or else what? You'll wrap my own shadows around my neck and wring me to death?'

'Perhaps.'

'Foolish girl. You have a pretty face but deep down you are uglier than the Black Heretic himself.' Baghra always seemed to have a paramount of new insult ready to throw your way.

'Well isn't it lucky that I share a bed with him'

'You are absurd'

'Only the best of us are.' With that, you left the blistering heat and made your way back into the palace, your mind drifting back to your first ever encounter with Baghra.

----

'You'll train with Baghra' General Kirigan said as you awkwardly stood in your lavish suite, feeling the ill-fitting Tidemaker kefta weighing heavily on your shoulders.

'I can fight already there's no need' You didn't want to be here, you wanted to go back to your regiment in the First-Army and sleep on an uncomfortable cot surrounded by your friends. The Palace reminded you too much of your old family home to the point of it making you uneasy.

'Not that kind of training' As handsome as the General was, you didn't let yourself succumb to his looks or that faint smile, even if it did erupt small butterflies in your body. Don't trust him.

'Do I have to wear this coat?' It was the first time you'd put it on and although it was very well made, you didn't think it suited you.

'That's your uniform from now on I'm afraid.' He gestured to his own black kefta. It was magnificent.

At the time, you hadn't yet known you could possess more than one Grisha power, but that was about to change really soon as he led you down the narrow steps leading to a hut.

It was nestled deep in the Palace gardens, and you longed for the same privacy. It wasn't anything like the Little Palace with its dull exterior and homely interior. But the heat, oh the heat, it was scalding. You fiddled with the kefta belt and buttons, tugging the thick coat off of you as you looked around, awaiting the woman the General referred to as Baghra.

'Hello?' You folded the blue coat over the back of a chair, feeling too awkward to sit down.

'You must be the Elemental, child you stick out like a sore thumb' An old woman appeared in the doorway. Her hair was graying and her clothes looked worn.

'An- wha- elemental?' You tested the words on your tongue, were you not a Grisha?

'Sit.' You did as you were told as she sat opposite you, leaning forward and having a good look at you.

'I've only ever met one of you, you're very rare'

'What am I' The urgency in your voice was strong.

'You take powers from other Grisha. You don't have any of your own.'

'So I'm not a Grisha. Why am I here then?' You scoffed.

'Just because you can't conjure up on your own doesn't mean you are not Grisha'

'I don't want to be here.'

'You've made that quite obvious.'

The room stilled as you thought about which questions to ask next.

'Is it hereditary?'

'Most likely. One doesn't don't know they are an Elemental until they touch a Grisha who is conjuring, hence why you're so rare. There's no test for it.'

'I don't fit in'

'No. You don't.' At least the old woman agreed. 'But don't let that be the reason you flock to change. There are those out there that would kill to have you in their ranks.' She eyed you again, a hidden meaning in her words that you couldn't decipher.

'I can be more than just a Tidemaker?'

'You can be much more, but only if you know how to control it.' She gripped your wrist suddenly, and a weird feeling spread through you, much like the one when General Kirigan touched you. It was like a rush of calm and surety.

'You have potential, a lot of it.'

'How are you going to train me if you've only ever known one of me?' You didn't mean to sound as harsh as you did, but you were growing impatient.

'Grisha science is simple child, even for those who come from Merzost.'

'Merzost?'

'Maybe in due time, Y/N. Maybe then I'll explain.'

-----

She never explained it, never mentioned it to Aleksander, never taught you properly. She held you back constantly and consistently. It was only when you left and almost died did you learn the true reason behind your kind and it still made you apprehensive.

You had yet to dabble in Merzost yourself even though your whole being came from it. You had felt drawn to it sure, but you understood that there was always a price to pay. Like Aleksander with the Fold, or Ilya when he created the amplifiers. You weren't willing to satisfy that silent thirst just yet if it meant sacrificing something dear to you.

The Palace was swimming in life right now despite the brutally cold air. The children had just finished school for the day and were running around playing in the snow while the Summoners were practicing on their grounds. It was nice to hear their laughs and content conversations, a stark contrast to the life you led a mere month ago.

The Little Palace wasn't perfect, but it was the sanctuary Grisha needed and you took pride in the fact that you helped achieve that. Aleksander may have done the bulk of the work, but you put blood, sweat and tears into ensuring that all kinds of Grisha felt safe in Ravka.

You watched as the young Tidemakers used all their might to break through the thick layers of ice on the lake. They worked in unison and in silence as the water shot up and behaved as if it were their puppet and they controlled the strings.

'Reminiscing?' Aleksander appeared at your side in his dramatic black cape.

'When I first came to the Palace, I truly thought I would be stuck as a Tidemaker forever' You laughed at your childish insolence.

'What's so wrong with being a Tidemaker?'

'Hmmm, maybe the fact that East Ravka is land-locked?'

'We have a lake' He pointed out with an amused grin. 'How is Alina?' He changed the topic.

'Your mother is doubtful'

'Isn't she always' His eyebrow raised in a sign of annoyance.

'Claims Alina cannot do anything without an amplifier by her side.'

'She's holding back.'

'Alina or Baghra?'

'Both.' You turned away from him, returning your gaze to the Tidemakers.

'You think she's up to something?'

'When is she not up to something, I fear your return has made her antsy.' You couldn't help but let out a giggle.

'Baghra is unnerved by me, my life goal is complete.'

'She thinks you corrupt me.'

'Does she know it is the other way around?' You mused and took hold of his hand, the action hidden behind his cape.

'I'm offended Ms.Y/L/N. I was under the impression we are both as bad as the other.' He squeezed your hand back, the cool silver ring pressing against your skin. You shivered, cursing yourself for not bringing a cape.

'I think I have to go back in' You said as you watched your breath leave in a cloud of fog.

'I think that's best.' He gave your hand one last tight squeeze and let go, leaving a brief kiss against your temple. You watched the elegant sway of the black material as he made his way to Baghra's hut.

You ran back to the warmth of the indoors and requested a food tray be brought back to your chambers while you dealt with stationing new Grisha around the camps. It was tedious and boring but once you got this done, the rest of the day was yours to do whatever you wished. The library was calling your name, but so was the banya. You had spent so much time in the Little Palace covered in mounds of work you completely forgot to enjoy yourself.

As you signed the last station order, you leaned back into your chair with a sigh and sipped the rest of the kvas in your glass. It wasn't even dinner time yet but you found yourself stifling a yawn. Your mind wandered to Aleksander for the umpteenth time that day. Why did he go to Baghra?

-------

His steps were loud as he descended the stairs into the main part of the hut. Baghra was still sitting in her chair from her previous talk with Y/N when she heard the door squeal open.

'Mother.' His voice echoed throughout the small building alongside the crackling of the fire.

'Have you come to ask about your Sun-Summoner? if so then the Witch has already beat you to it'

'Don't call her that, she's your Deputy now'

'I will call that brat whatever I please.'

'Baghra, I am warning you.' He didn't care for her petty games.

'Do you not see her for what she is Aleksander? She hasn't changed. You cannot go back from the atrocities she has committed.'

'Have you forgotten who I am, who we are?' He spat through his teeth.

'But you have a cause Aleksander, she craves power for the simple reason of it being addictive.'

Baghra had tried to reason with her son countless times about the girl. She pleaded with him when he'd first given himself to her, she's a monster, she will ruin you.

'I have shown you so much mercy Mother, am I not kind enough to you? Must you curse the woman I love?'

'Love is foolish my son and it never got you anywhere. She is trouble, let her go.'

'You would be an amazing court jester' He laughed and sat down beside her leaning in closer 'I am an arm's length away from finding the stag and when I do, the sun-summoner will be at our disposal and Ravka will be ours.'

'The stag is fictional. A myth. You are wasting your time.'

'If a Sun-Summoner walks amongst us, a magical stag isn't in the least a doubtful tale.'

'I'll believe it when I see it. Besides, your biggest worry right now is getting rid of the plague that haunts this Palace.'

'And what would that be, do enlighten me, mother.'

'The woman who came in here earlier bragging about sharing your bed.' Aleksander's heart leaped in his chest. She wasn't ashamed to admit it.

He leaned in closer to his mother, taking her worn hand into his.

'I suggest you find a way to get over your hatred for Y/N before it's too late. Nobody disrespects the Queen and gets away with it'

He got up and made his way to the door, ignoring the look of fury on his mother's face. He was too far away to hear her whisper;

'My boy, you will never get either of those things as long as I live.'

-----

Part 17

Taglist (tell me if you want to be added to the Little Witch taglist!!)

@theonelittleone @searching-for-gallifrey @0-artemis @lostysworld @xceafh @fire-in-her-veinz @patdsinner33 @cleverzonkwombatsludge @wizardwheezes @aleksanderwh0r3 @tomhollandisabae @hotleaf-juice @justmesadgirl @exo-1204 @houseofdupree @oberonpascal @eireduchess @lunas1x1 @lifeisingrey @edithsvoice

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

The Crown Found in Rose Thorns - fic

Characters: Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson, Talia al Ghul, Jon Kent, Cassandra Cain, Bruce Wayne Pairing: jondami Summary: “My name is Jonathan Kent, of the Kingdom of Krypton. And I’m here to marry Prince Damian of the Kingdom of Gotham.” A/N: I told @berryfartsart some medieval jondami headcanons inspired by the DKOS announcement and they cyberbullied me into writing the AU for it. (Kidding, of course.) Anyway get ready for some old fashion slow burns and smoopy goopy love~ (but like...eventually, this won’t be fast updated haha)

~~

Damian huffed, crossing his arms, wincing as the Cassandra pulled the brush through his curls once more.

“This is a farce.” He droned. “A complete jester act.”

Talia chuckled, but didn’t look back at her son. Continued brushing her own hair.

“It’s going to be the same as the past three days.” Damian warned. “They’re all simpletons not worthy of my time, or anyone else’s.”

“Then I would at least like to remind you, my dear precious boy.” Talia hummed, effortlessly twirling her hair into a braid. “That I am not asking you to marry today. I am asking you to explore what traits might appeal to you, what kingdoms you trust, or don’t.”

Damian winced as his sister tugged gently at his hair, and scoffed. “It shouldn’t be up to me. My marriage is unimportant.” He mumbled. “You should be focusing on the heir’s marriage.”

Talia sighed, dropping her brush onto her vanity and standing. She stared into the mirror for a moment before leaning over and plucking Damian’s crown off its stand. She turned and slowly walked across the room, staring warmly down at Damian as she approached him.

“Richard does not have a threat hanging over his life.” She murmured, pushing his bangs back before carefully placing the crown on his head. “Richard does not need all the protection he can get.”

“And our brother already has a suitor.” Cassandra chimed in with a giggle. “That warrior princess from the Tamaranean lands.”

“Indeed.” Talia agreed. “So even if he needed any protection from something he could not handle himself, it appears he already has it.”

“Jason then.” Damian tried. He twisted to look at Cassandra. “Or you.” He sat up. “You’re already betrothed to that bard woman!” He turned back to his mother. “Why can’t we make a big deal about her nuptials instead!”

“Because her grandfather is not threatening to steal her away and hold her prisoner and eventually murder her for power.” Talia laughed, holding Damian’s face with a hand on his cheek. “And I am not above a political marriage if that means you have two kingdoms protecting you instead of just ours.”

Damian pursed his lips, ignored the heat rising through his face. “…And if I pick no one to attempt a courtship?”

“Like I said, my beloved.” Talia leaned down and kissed his forehead. “I am not above political marriage to protect you.” She smiled, eyes darting between his. “Even if you forever hate me for it.”

She stood back up, adjusted his crown, then Cassandra’s, then her own, and turned to glide out of the room.

~~

The throne room was abuzz with citizens of the town, and even visitors who had come to try their luck and win Prince Damian’s hand.

Damian sighed as he followed Richard onto their altar. Scanning the room, he could already see no one of merit, and no one of interest. So it was going to be another boring, pointless, wasted day.

“This should be for you.” Damian mumbled again.

Richard snorted, plopping into his seat. “Sorry I found love on my own, little one. Without Mother and Father’s help.” He smirked. “Besides, you should be nice to me. I don’t have to sit here with you all day. I’m just here out of the goodness of my heart, and fondness for my poor, sorrowful, lonely little brother.”

“Piss off. You’re here to amuse yourself at my expense.” Damian rolled his eyes, sitting more politely in the throne next to him. “And so you can go cackle at my misfortune with our brothers later.”

“Nonsense. We cackle at your misfortune on a normal day too.” Richard promised with a wink. “How’s that growth spurt treating you anyway?”

Damian frowned, tugging at his sleeves. “…I have requested a new fitting with Alfred after today’s…festivities.”

Dick smiled again, running his fingers through Damian’s neatly combed curls. “Your clothes will fit for longer than a week one day soon, kiddo.” He let his fingers fall from Damian’s hair to his cheek. “…I’m not just here to keep you company, you know.”

“…Oh?”

“Mhm.” Richard nodded. Damian watched as his blue eyes darted around the room. “I’m here to vet your potential suitors. Make sure they are good enough for you, strong enough to protect you-”

“I can protect myself, thank you.”

“-and this is the fourth day of the festivities. No doubt your grandfather has heard of them by now. Someone has to make sure no undesirables have snuck in, or attempt to make a move.”

“Do you truly think he would be so brash?” Damian questioned. “Besides, this whole thing was Mother’s doing. So, I thought that was why Father keeps attending, to keep watch.”

“He is. But like I said, this is the fourth day. Enough time to get word and move to strike. And forgive me if I’d rather be safe than sorry.” Richard smiled apologetically. “So Father and I are in here, Jason and Cassandra are running the perimeter and Timothy is monitoring the guard towers.”

Damian sighed, staring out into the crowd once more. A few of the guests were glancing their way now. Giggling and falling back into their whispers. Some of the less modest ones outright stared, giving Damian as flirty a smile as they could.

“…Well, as much as I appreciate your concern, I’m afraid it will all be for naught.” Damian drooped in his chair and crossed his arms. “If today is anything like the past three, it will be the most boring day of your life, and nothing will come to fruition.”

“Never say never, little one.” Richard offered dreamily. “Love strikes when you least expect it.”

“Love.” Damian scoffed, glancing over as Bruce and Talia entered the room, hands clasped between them. “Who said any of this was for love?”

“Well.” Richard hummed. “It is because we love you.” He offered. “And we’re hoping not to make this an arranged affair. That we can find you happiness in a partner as well as protection. That’s why we want you to choose.”

“And if I never choose anyone?”

Richard blinked, then offered a smile. But it was sad, almost pitying.

Damian crossed his arms tighter, glancing towards their parents as the King and Queen sat next to them.

“As I keep telling you all, I can protect myself.” Damian mumbled. “And I’m content being alone.”

Richard kept his sad smile. Damian refused to look at him anymore.

~~

Damian wanted to rip his hair out.

As he had predicted many times that day, it was just more of the same.

A blacksmith offering the best weapons, and the safest house on the continent.

A nomad promising a life of adventure and delicious foods.

A group of sisters offering as many heirs as they could carry, and their father as the sole brave knight to protect them all.

A witch and a wizard together, offering magic as protection and endless fertility to continue the kingdom’s bloodline.

A princess offering the best clothes and parties.

A duke who…wasn’t even sure why he was there. He was sent by his father, and didn’t even know Damian’s name.

A young woman who merely offered her humor and loyalty. She could make him laugh, and made it clear that was all she had.

Damian almost agreed to meet with her, if only because he appreciated her honesty.

The sun was dipping in the sky outside the western window, and Damian could feel his stomach starting to growl. He glanced to his brother, who had sat all but stock-still all day, doing exactly as he’d said he would. Watching the room, vetting the visitors. Making sure these potential suitors were good enough for his littlest brother.

“…How many more do you think Mother will have stroll through here?” Damian whispered. “I don’t think I can take much more of this mind-numbing torture.”

Richard chuckled. “I’ll give her four more, then push for a recess. Alright?”

“Thank you.” Damian breathed in relief, glancing out towards the room. The crowd had thinned slightly, with some parties departing when their candidate was politely rejected. Others were just the local townsfolk, remaining purely to stick their noses in royal business.

Talia called for the next suitor to step up, and on the far side of the room, Damian saw three people stepping forward. But before they could make it even a yard, one of the large doors across from the thrones groaned open.

“Am I late?” A male voice called. A wave of chuckles swam around the room, and even Damian found himself smirking.

“Depends on what you’re looking for, son.” Bruce called. Despite the normal nature of the interruption, Damian could already see both his father and brother had put their hands on the hilt of their swords.

“Apologies, Your Highnesses,” Alfred appeared behind the man. He sent a glare over his shoulder as he passed by him. “I had asked him to wait a few moments, but he clearly refused. I do hope we aren’t interrupting.”

“No.” Bruce waved to three people apologetically, who nodded and disappeared back into the crowd. “If he is here for Damian, then we can hear him out.”

“I am!” The stranger called. When he moved, the sound of armor clanked around him. “Um, yes. I mean. I am. I am here for Prince Damian.”

“…Though tardiness is not a good first impression, I must say.” Talia scolded quietly. Bruce gave her a gentle smile and patted her hand. “Bring him forward.”

“Great!” The man – young, by the sound of it, probably closer to a boy – called, leaping past Alfred. “I mean, uh, thank you, Your Highness. For the opportunity.”

Damian watched the man as he walked the long carpet forward, and he felt his eyes narrowing in curiosity. He had dark hair that seemed permanently windblown framing his face, and an awkward smile that almost seemed like it was about to burst from his face.

What really struck Damian’s interest, however, were his eyes. They were a sharp violet, a color Damian didn’t recall ever seeing on a human being before. They were fascinating. Beautiful, even, if he really had to describe them.

As he approached, Damian realized the man – boy, he truly was a boy – was around his age. Seventeen like himself at most, but more likely a year or two younger. What surprised him about that, though, was the armour he wore. While a sparkling silver and recently cleaned, Damian could see nicks and dents in it, even a few shadows that could easily be blood stains, if he got close enough to look.

Barely seventeen and already a battle-worn war veteran?

Attached to the shoulder plate of his armour was a brooch that fastened his bright red cloak together around his neck. It was gold, shaped like a freshly cut diamond, with a large S painted blue on the inside.

Damian didn’t recognize the coat of arms. And Damian knew all the coat of arms of every kingdom and town on the continent.

That was suspicious.

He glanced to his side again. Richard had not taken his hand off his sword.

The boy had reached their feet now, that large smile still adorning his face.

“Hello.” He said plainly. “My name is Jonathan Kent, of the Kingdom of Krypton.”

Talia huffed, raising her head. “And what are you here for, Sir Jonathan?”

Jonathan’s smile, impossibly, seemed to widen.

“Well, Your Highness.” He started, turning his head to stare directly at Damian. Damian found himself flinching under the intense gaze. “I’m here to marry Prince Damian of the Kingdom of Gotham.”

A wave of gasps rolled through the room, followed by an almost deathly silence. While they were all here to propose a courtship and future with the prince, no one had dared to be so forward! Just as no one should have. It was presumptuous and out of place. Everyone knew that. Everyone.

Bruce and Talia glanced at each other, and Richard had the gall to stifle a laugh in his fist.

But Damian.

He was tired, he was annoyed. He was fed up with this charade that had not only taken up almost a week of his life, but one he did not want to partake in, in the first place. He was fed up with people looking at him. Fed up with being treated like a thing, a prize.

So as his parents glanced at each other, and the court calmed themselves over the offense, Damian stood, moving to the front of the altar.

“I beg your pardon?” He spat, brushing off Richard’s fingers as he tried to grab him. “How dare you think I’d want to marry a nameless peasant such as yourself.”

“Well, past experience says you wouldn’t be that against it.” Jonathan shrugged, armor clanking. “But that also is a moot point, because I’m not a peasant. I’m Jonathan, from the Kingdom of Krypto-”

“I’ve never heard of it.” Damian declared. “And I know every kingdom here to the coasts. Which makes you a liar, dear knight.”

The moniker was all but sneered, but Jonathan just let his smile grow a little wider, a little…fonder.

Suddenly Jonathan glanced over Damian’s shoulder. “My father’s name is Clark Kent, but he also sometimes goes by Kal. You’ve fought at his side before, King Bruce.”

Damian whirled around to find his father nodding. “Indeed I have.” Bruce frowned. “I don’t recall him being from any kingdom though. He called himself a traveler.”

“A…recent development.” Jonathan admitted. “One we are still getting used to. But Krypton is his – our – home, and once the truth was discovered, they welcomed us back with open arms.”

“Your father is king?” Jonathan nodded. “Quite the…development, as you said.” Bruce murmured. He glanced at Dick, who shook his head. “He never mentioned a son.”

“He has two. Myself and my older brother, Connor.” A nervous chuckle. “He was…very protective of us as we traveled. Hid us in forests and with witches when he and mother had dealings in towns and villages. Apparently whatever ousted him from Krypton all those years ago, he was afraid we would be its next target.”

“None of this is relevant to today.” Damian cut in, whirling back around to face the suitor. “How long have you been under the title of prince?”

“A few years.”

“And in a few years you did not learn any manners?” Damian scolded, crossing his arms. “You do not enter another’s kingdom and demand someone’s hand in marriage.”

“I did not demand.” Jonathan countered. “I promised.”

Damian felt heat rise to his cheeks. “And who said I would choose you? How do you know I have not chosen anyone to court yet?”

“Past experience.”

“Past experience with who?”

“You.”

The room’s silence grew tense. Damian’s hands balled into fists.

“I have never met you for a second in my life.”

Jonathan lowered his voice. “Are you so sure?”

Damian narrowed his eyes, and opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by his mother.

“Damian.” She hummed. “…What do you think of this…gentleman? Are you interested in him?”

“I think he’s a complete buffoon.” Damian answered instantly. Jonathan chuckled to himself. “An arrogant, deceptive moron.”

Jonathan merely blinked. “Your Highness, that doesn’t answer her question.”

Damian felt a blush blossoming on his face. “You-”

“And if we’re going to marry within the year, perhaps you should answer quickly, so we can begin our courtship.”

“Again, who said I would ever want to marry you?” Damian demanded.

Jonathan shrugged again. “Well, so far, you haven’t said you don’t.”

Damian felt his jaw go rigid. This idiot. This disrespectful, uneducated boy who claims he fell into power. So sure of himself, so narcissistic. And he already thought Damian belonged to him? That Damian was already his?

That smile was still plastered to his face. It was mischievous, and held a secret.

Held a challenge.

Say no, it said. I dare you. Let me embarrass you in front of your court and walk away with your tail between your legs. I dare you.

Damian never could turn down a dare. A test. And if it was a challenge Jonathan Kent of Krypton wanted, it was a challenge he would get.

He wanted to court Damian? Fine. Let him court Damian. Damian would eat him alive. Emotionally tear him limb from limb. Send him crawling back to Krypton wondering why he ever even bothered with the youngest Prince of Gotham.

After a moment, Damian returned the smile, slowly walked down the altar steps, and moved towards the knight. Stopped only inches away, and stared up into those mystical purple eyes.

There was something in those eyes, Damian noted. Something just out of reach. Purposefully hidden. Hidden from everyone? Or just Damian?

This close, and Damian was reminded once more of the marks on his armor. The red shadows he’d noticed before, he could now confirm were blood. Old and flaking, and much more of it than he first realized. Not his own, Damian decided, based on their locations. Blood from others.

Mischievous…and dangerous.

(And beautiful!, his brain supplied. But he ignored that part. Stayed focused on the challenge at hand.)

He glanced down between them when he noticed Jonathan’s fingers twitch, like he wanted to reach out. Want to touch him. Damian let his gaze rise. Smirked, and reveled in the scene of Jonathan biting his lip, just slightly.

“Yes, Mother.” He whispered. But his voice was heard through the whole room. “I think I am interested.”

Jonathan kept his gaze. Whispered back, “I knew you would be.”

“Your arrogance will be the death of you, Traveler.” Damian hummed, turning away. He began back up the steps, was almost to the top, when he heard the quietest words ever spoken.

“No, I do believe only you will be, love.”

Damian spun back around at the tender sound, his face heating up. Jonathan was still staring, but now his gaze was softer, more adoring. Like he’d known Damian for years.

Like he really was here just to profess his eternal love and marry him on the spot.

…Curious.

Suddenly, a hand was on Damian’s shoulder, and he turned to find Richard above him, watching Jonathan as he tugged Damian back to his seat.

Talia began speaking to Jonathan, Bruce adding a word or two, as Richard and Damian sat back down. That look was gone from Jonathan’s face now, back to business as the queen set a time for him to return the next day to spend time with her son.

“…First impression?” Damian murmured to his brother. He felt himself twitching every so often, when Jonathan would glance his way.

“Honestly? Suspicious.” Richard returned. “I’ll need to look deeper into this history he’s claiming. See if Father and I can get a hold of Clark. Find out about the status of Krypton.” Richard paused, then looked over at him. “Are you honestly interested in him?”

Damian shrugged. “If not for love, then for my personal entertainment.”

“That’s cruel, if he’s genuine.”

“Do you think he is?”

Richard looked back. The knight was bowing to their parents now. Stood, and turned to the two of them to bow again. When he stood upright once more, he gave Damian a wink, then turned to walk back down the aisle and out of the room.

Richard clicked his tongue as Jonathan disappeared out the large door. Glanced at Damian with a sly smile. “…Ask me again after your first date tomorrow.”

Damian groaned and slumped in his throne.

[enchantedblackrose]

Like I Love You

Jay Halstead/Plus sized Reader

Summary: Jay arrives at your apartment to pick you up for a date, but you're filled with self doubt.

¡Warnings! This potentially could be triggering. Poor body image, possible body dysmorphia, specific mentions of feelings of not being enough because of physical appearance

<Please, please lmk if I need to add any warnings.>

Loosely inspired by One Direction's Little Things

Like I Love You 

Your head throbs as hot tears of frustration continue to fall from your eyes. 

It was absolutely ridiculous to be this upset trying to pick out a decent outfit. After all, you've been successfully dressing yourself since age three.

But you don't have the mindset of a toddler. You're a jaded young woman with society's disgusting definition of beauty constantly shoved in your face. 

Deep down you know better. You know that the numbers on the scale give no indication of your beauty nor do they dictate your worth.

Sighing and trying to remind yourself that you are pretty, you again glance in the full length mirror. Standing there in nothing more than a top and underwear, fresh tears immediately fill your eyes. You only see flaws. Resisting the urge to poke at the cellulite near your thighs, you focus on your shirt. But the sleeves are cutting into your arms making them look weird. No, not weird. Fat. The too tight sleeves cause your arms to bulge. And the material clings to your soft tummy. You pinch the excess belly fat between your thumbs and index fingers, wishing you could squeeze it away.

You feel so ugly and gross. Angrily you pull the shirt off and throw it clear across your bedroom, where it joins a pair of jeans you couldn't breathe in and numerous other offending articles of clothing. None of which you look good in either.

You find an oversize t-shirt and slip it on before you just collapse on that very spot of plush carpeting.

Tears still roll down your face. All you wanted was something cute to wear. To be pretty. And go out with your boyfriend for a date night. He's a detective for the Chicago police department. The hours are already long and sometimes abnormal, but this week he, and the rest of the special unit he's a part of,  were logging extra hours on a particular difficult case. You haven't seen much of each other recently so you were especially giddy when you received his text earlier in the day saying there had been a break in the case which meant he could swing by your place and take you out on a proper date. Your reply had been almost immediate, telling him how wonderful that sounded.

You were surprised to hear from him again, still promising to take you out, but proposing you both meet up with his coworkers after dinner for some drinks. He included "begging" and "puppy dog eyes" in the message. 

Though you wanted to, you couldn't exactly say no for several reasons. You had already agreed to the date, so he knew you were free. Part of you suspected that he had done it on purpose. You'd accuse your favorite detective of entrapment later. 

You also were fully aware how much Jay wanted to introduce you to the coworkers he considered friends, having been invited to go out with them several times before. You kept putting it off.

Not because you had no interest in meeting everyone. Rather, the idea fed your worst insecurities.

What if they don't think I'm good enough? They're going to wonder what he sees in me. Then Jay will start wondering too. 

Wanting to do this solely for Jay's benefit, believing he deserved this after the hellish week at work, you went to your bedroom to plan your outfit. That's how you ended up in this nightmare. You only want to look your best, like you belong with Jay.

Nothing in your closet said that though. The truth of the matter was no one like him should be with someone who looks like you.

Cries turn to sobs. You draw your knees to your chest, hugging them tightly.

You hear the door to your apartment unlock, Jay using his copy of your key to let himself in. Hastily, you wipe at your face, not wanting him to see you like this; yet you can't find the will to stand. A loud, nasally sniff escapes you.

"Babe?" His still unaware voice calls out from the hallway. "I got us reservations." You don't answer back right away and you hear his footsteps approach. 

Having found you, he stops in the doorway. "Whoa. What kind of nuclear clothing explosion happened here?" He indicates to the mounds of clothes which surround you and cover the better part of the carpet and bed. His laughter dies as soon as he sees your tear-streaked, puffy face. "What's wrong? Are you hurt?" his worry evident in both his voice and light eyes. He looks you up and down, frantically searching for any sign of what has you like this.

You mumble incoherently.

"What?"

"I don't have anything to wear."

"The floor begs to differ," he teases. You glare back, in no mood for jokes no matter how well intended. He holds up his hands signaling he meant no harm before he pulls you to your feet. "What's going on?" You huff a heavy sigh in reply. His hand caresses your cheek and softly "hmms?" at you encouragingly.

"Nothing fits right," you confess. He hesitates unsure how to respond, so you continue. "I look extra fat in everything."

Jay frowns. "I doubt that very much. You always look good. I love how you look dolled up when we go out and I love when you're in an old tee and sweats."

"That's nice of you to say-"

"Well I didn't say it to be nice. I said it because it's true," he cuts you off.

You give a tiny, weak smile. "I hate how I look." Your voice cracks. New tears sting your eyes.

He brushes the few teardrops that manage to escape with his thumb. "Baby, what are you talking about? You're beautiful." His voice is soft with a hint of sadness hearing you talk this way.

"This is not beautiful." You pat your flabby stomach, then your thighs. 

Carefully stepping to avoid the clothes which litter the floor, Jay makes his way to your bed and sits on the edge, still mindful of the garments piled there as well. He opens his arms, indicating for you to sit on his lap.

"My huge ass will probably crush you," you mutter.

"Baby-"

 

Exasperated you throw your arms up, "I look nothing like you!"

"Well I'm a guy and you're not so…"

"Stop. I mean you look like a freaking model. That face and those abs for days." You catch him looking smug, no doubt a witty remark is at his lips, but one glance at you and he leaves it unsaid. You continue. Your voice hushed, "I'm afraid of what people might think or say when they see us together. It's why I've been so reluctant to meet your friends."

His eyes sadden. He reaches for you, gently pulling you to his lap. When he speaks, his voice is soft, but stern, almost begging you to believe his words. "I'm sorry you feel that way. I honestly had no idea, but listen to me, please. The only people who get a say about our relationship are in this room right now, okay? So our opinions are the only ones that matter. You. Are. Beautiful." He pauses only to shush you when he sees your mouth open. "The way your mind works fascinates me. Your sense of humor is amazing. You continuously show compassion for others, which in this world is not always easy. I swear your goodness is innate. Your laugh is intoxicating. When you smile...I wish you could see how your face lights up and your body turns me on exactly how it is. I have never been attracted to anyone as much as I am to you. I love you."

Jay's words move you, but they're not enough to silence your insecurities. "Even though I don't have a thigh gap?"

His brows furrow. "I...don't know what that means."

"It means my thighs touch each other. They're not supposed to."

"Says who?"

"...society."

"Society's ugly, not you or your thighs." His fingers trace nondescript patterns on the bare skin in question. "Besides, thick thighs save lives."

"Jay!" You laugh despite yourself. He smiles in return and presses his lips to your temple.

"I love you too. You know that, right?" You ask, realizing you hadn't said it back and he nods. A hand intertwines with his as you look in his eyes, "I'm sorry I'm such a mess."

"You're not. We all have insecurities or things we don't like about ourselves. I just wish you weren't so hard on yourself. I'm sorry too if you felt I was putting pressure on you to meet everyone."

"Not at all," you shake your head. "That's just me being me."

"Still, if my friends have a problem with us being together for any reason, they're not the people I think they are. Truly though, they'd love you. Hell, if we didn't show up together I could see one of them hitting on you," Jay pauses if imagining it.  "But seriously. They'd adore you. First, because they're going to see firsthand how good you are for me. Then because you're you. Funny, smart-"

"But I want to be pretty, Jay. And look like we belong together."

Jay sighs, but not out of frustration with you. He's only concerned."You are. And we do. I know nothing I say is going to magically change how you see yourself...I get that. You have to be the one to work this out. I really wish you could see yourself through my eyes and love yourself like I love you. Maybe then you'd understand you're so worthy of self-love. I promise, I'm right here and I'm going to keep reminding you how beautiful you are in hopes you'll start to see it."

Your hand caresses his cheek as you fight the urge to cry again. He leans into your touch. "You do help," you tell him because it's true and to reassure him. "I'm so lucky to have you. I'm really going to try to not be so down on myself. Besides. I  really don't want to ruin any more of our nights."

He waves you off. "A night trying to get you to see your beauty is not ruined. And the night's still young. We'll do whatever you're up for. Go out for a bit. Stay in and order food. Whatever."

A small smile appears on your face. You quickly peck his lips with yours. "I just want to wash my face before we do anything." Jay nods. You slide off his lap and head to your bathroom across the hall.

The light flickers for a second as soon as you hit the switch. You go to the sink, turning the water on and letting it run to get to the perfect temperature. Standing there, you glance into the vanity mirror. Your face is still slightly puffy with a few soft pink splotches across your cheeks from all your crying. You splash the water on your face and repeat the action several more times before using a fluffy towel to pat dry your face. You stare back into the mirror. And smile. It reaches your eyes and illuminates your face. You reach a realization. However fleeting or permanent, you don't know. But right now in this moment, you feel it. 

You're pretty.

-

[pollyrepents]

where his tenderness resides | thomas shelby

Summary: To others it would seem Tommy’s love comes in the lavish gifts he gives, but the jewelry and clothing and horses mean nothing when you know he takes the care to feel his love.

Warnings: Nothing major. Reference to John’s fate, so a little bit of hurt. Or a lot a bit of hurt, that’s all dependent on you, really.

Word Count: 2.6k

A/N: I’m absolutely obsessed with the idea of Tommy’s romantic love language being touch and that he only really indulges in it when he knows they won’t been seen. It haunts me, truly. I have a whole tag dedicated to it on my blog. This got kind of sad without meaning to, but that’s just how I write. Enjoy!

He was always careful when he paid attention to you in front of others.

A polite hand on your lower back, guiding you away from unpleasant conversation or steering you into a needed one with potential donors or the wives of lucrative business partners, wanting small talk to take the place of touchy conversations and new business ventures you could strangle him for ruining your evening with. 

His attention was gentle and calloused at the same time, with his hands rubbing up and down your arm in a weak attempt at soothing as soon as you dragged him to a dark corridor for questioning.

“What happened to minimal business tonight?” You rose the glass in your gloved hand to sip your champagne, raising an eyebrow as he opened his mouth to speak, “You’ve snuck off twice and now I’m hearing from Polly there’s powerful people here?”

“Yes, there’s powerful people here for the charity-” His attempt to clarify made you click your tongue.

“There’s blinder business, Thomas.” You pursed your lips and he nodded once, unable to deny anything under your scrutinizing gaze. He focused himself on something outside, trying to pull enough words together to excuse himself from your discussion. “Why is there blinder business here, Tommy? At our charity event for ailing orphans?” You straightened up, eyes unwavering as you tried to meet his.

Tommy turned back to you and his icy blue eyes met yours. “They’re making sure you’re safe, is all.” He lifted a hand to cup your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin with a reserved gentleness despite the roughness of his skin. The tone was nothing other than truthful, steady as ever while he spoke. “I can’t have anything happen to you. Extra security for my peace of mind.”

“Or the dress.” You quipped, proving your point by turning your hips slightly to make the fabric swish. “I spent a long time picking this out as I wanted it to pair perfectly with the apology earrings you left me on the dresser.”

His eyes rolled up to the ceiling briefly at the mention of the new pearls, and you didn’t doubt he was pushing his tongue against his teeth as he gathered his words. “Alright. Not a mark on either of you. You or the fucking dress you picked out just for me, Y/N. ” 

“I didn’t pick out anything for you.” You pecked his lips briefly, smiling softly as he moved in for another, whispering between the two of you, “The dress is mine.”

“And what’s under the dress is mine, ay.” He had that tone to him, treading the line of authoritative only you got to hear behind closed doors, the kind that came with pushing his buttons. You felt a smile pass your lips before schooling your features, an imitation of the man who undoubtedly knew you best. You pushed a stray curl behind your ear as you looked him over.

“As long as you keep your minimal business to a minimum,” You tutted and straightened his bowtie, the careful knot your own doing while Tommy had made his initial promise in the sanctuary of your bedroom during the early evening hours. “what’s under the dress if yours.”

His hand was on your lower back again and you relaxed into the touch, a warm smile coming to your face as you examined his. The cold, determined Tommy melted away for a split second, the changes you had learned to savor coming forth easy to spot in the dark of the cold hall. The corner of his eyes pinched slightly, the corner of his lips turning upward for a brief moment. He tilted his chin down, pressing his lips to yours softly.

“Now,” You cleared your throat, gently pushing his hand off of your lower back in exchange for his arm. “Back to minimal business, Tommy.”

There were mornings when his lips never left your skin for more than a few moments, the both of you needing tangible assurance of someone’s love. Yours usually came in the middle of the night when you would tuck yourself against his twitching body, his limbs settling as he felt the pressure of you against his side, the smell of your soap and hair oils pushing through the clay and muck of the reimagined tunnels. Where the mumbling and quiet gasping would ease as you rubbed his chest and whispered to him that he was home, that he was safe, that he was with you in your bed. 

His came in the mornings, seeing through the teasing to assure you that although he was off to a dealing business meeting  or political business in London or factory business in the shit and smog of Small Heath in a moment, he would not stray for too long. His mornings were always early, always that sweet spot in time when you were too drowsy to put up a believable act in front of Tommy and would grumble an answer to any question he had without thinking twice as long as he stopped talking soon enough.

“Is there anything else, Mister Shelby?” The voice recognized as Frances’ was distant, the old woman’s voice more delicate than usual.

“That’ll be it, Frances, thank you.” His low voice came next and made you stir slightly, taking a deep breath and turning over to bury your face in his warmth that lingered on the blankets, begging for sleep to whisk you away again.

The door shut and a moment later the mattress dipped behind you, the smell of burning tobacco and aftershave enveloped your nearly sleeping form. Soft lips pressed against the back of your neck and you tried to remain still, breathing evenly as his lips trailed across your shoulder.

“You’re awake.” The words rumbled against your skin, soft lips moving against your neck as he kissed where he had marked in the earliest morning hours. 

“Mm-mm.” You hummed, pressing your face into the pillow. “Not yet.”

“Frances has brought you breakfast.”

“You made that woman get up before the sun rose?” You mumbled into the pillow, furrowing your eyebrows despite your act. 

“That is what I pay her for.” Tommy reminded. “The sun is up, dearest. Open your eyes, see it for yourself.” 

“Come back to bed, Thomas.” You verged on a whine, reaching a hand back to try and run your fingers through his hair. Your nose wrinkled at the lack of contact on your part as he slipped away. “It’s Sunday. Let Linda and Arthur go to church then handle the business. Just take a day, we can even take Charlie out for a picnic.”

Skillfully and typically he ignored your request for his leisure time. “I’m Thomas now?”  His fingers trailed down the curve of your back and you all but arched into his touch like a spoiled cat.

“You were Thomas last night.” You reminded as you rolled over to face him and stretched out on the mattress. His fingers trailed up and down your side lightly and you flinched away from the ticklish touch, grabbing his wrist in your hand. “Watch it, Thomas.”

The corners of his lips twitched upward and something resembling mischief sparked in his eye and you narrowed your own at him, challenging, “Do you think they’d miss you?”

“I think you would.” He leaned down, pressing a tender kiss between your eyebrows. “How would you explain yourself then, ay?”

“Thomas Shelby was taken care of,” He snorted at your wording as he crossed the room but you persisted anyway. “Thomas Shelby was handled after pushing his lover to the limit so early in the morning after waking her up so rudely.”

He moved to where he had Frances place the tray of food and lifted it, nodding for you to shift yourself among the sheets. You propped yourself up, holding a hand out to stop him as he reached your bedside. Tommy quirked an eyebrow.

“Only if you’re planning on staying.” You raised your eyebrows to mirror him. “If not, I’ll eat at the window. On my own.”

Tommy looked at you momentarily, the smoke from his cigarette swirling upward and around him as he examined you for any sign of relenting. He sighed and nodded, placing the tray over your legs and trying not to show any amusement at your triumphant smile as he came to the empty side of the bed. 

“Your meetings can wait for a bit, Tommy-don’t get into bed with the suit.” You cautioned. “It’ll wrinkle.”

He sighed, patience steady as he listened to you. “Am I expected to feed you the toast as well?” He unbuckled his belt and slipped his gray suit pants off, folding them and placing them on the end of the bed. “Is that what you need me here for?” He slid out of his waist coat, placing it atop his matching pants. His fingers made quick work of the tiny white buttons on his shirt, lying it over his other clothes.

“Well, if you’re offering, how could I say no.” You laughed lightly, bringing your legs up under you as he laid out next to you, leaning back against the headboard. You took a bite of buttered toast, holding the slice to Tommy’s lips as you chewed. His unamused look made you giggle and you pulled the cigarette from between his lips and moved the toast slightly closer still, prompting him to take a small bite.

“Good boy.” You patted his face lightly and ignored the scoff, leaning in to kiss him around the crumbs. “Can I expect you back before midnight?”

He nodded once, pulling another drag from the cigarette and blowing it upwards toward your painted ceiling. “I’ll try for a reasonable hour.” He muttered to himself, lifting his fingers to try to tuck away the fabric where your scarf had slipped from its knot during the night. “No idea how you keep this fucking thing on all the time.”

“Enough magic to give me a headache.” You batted at his fingers, unraveling the knot and letting your curls loose. You massaged your scalp, shaking out the tightened coils. “I’m sure I’m a real vision right now. Looking like I’ve been shocked by a wool touch or something.”

Tommy puffed smoke out through his nose, a hand reaching up to tug at the curls on the nape of your neck. Your shoulders relaxed at his touch “Not a bad sight so early in the morning.”

“If you’re softening me up with the affection and compliments so you can leave, it’s not going to work.” 

His hand fell to the spot where your shoulder met your neck and he pulled you down slightly, pressing a kiss to your temple, mumbling something along the lines of you being insatiable and a menace, but his nonetheless.

It was rare he let you hold him first.

He was mourning.

Different than Arthur, who was weeping aloud and different than Polly who rolled the rosary beads between her fingers more often those days. It was a different mourning, when his persistent mind stopped for a moment and his thoughts droned into white noise and the realization that John was gone-permanently gone, at the fault of his own greed and impulse washed over him the way the panic in the tunnels would. You found him hunched over on his bed in their Watery Lane home, shaking breaths making the hunch of his back rise and fall unsteadily. In the candlelight beside him you could make out his hands-your favorite hands- hands trembling as they gripped at his hair.

“Tommy,” You spoke up carefully, staring at him from the doorway. You reached behind you, closing the door in an attempt to shield him from a passerby’s view. “Tommy, you’ll hurt yourself.” You took slow and measured steps toward him, fearful of creaky floorboards that would alert the other nearby Shelbys, or knocking anything to the ground that would set him off. His trembling form made a knot in your throat tighten and you reached out your hand, startling when Tommy sprung up. Automatically, his hand reached under his pillow and his wet eyes found yours, his normally calm eyes flashing with something wild before he reconnected himself to the present moment.

“It’s just me, Tommy.” Your hand that had flown up to stop him arming himself dropped, cupping his stubbly chin. Your thumb caressed his jaw, trying to push away the tension for a moment. “Couldn’t find you after dinner, I got scared.”

He nodded, pulling away from your touch. He cleared his throat. “So many places to check in the house.”

“I thought you’d be out smoking or at the Garrison.” Your fingers sought out his hair where he had been pulling at it, rubbing your fingertips in soothing circles on his scalp. “Taking your mind off of things.”

“I can’t be drunk if we’re being hunted, Y/N.” His tone was dismissive and reached for his cigarettes and lighter on the bedside table.

“Everyone in the house is armed.” Your hands reached out to touch him again, blocked as he rolled his cigarette between his slightly swollen and raw lips. You assumed he had been biting them, one of his tells that things had bubbled up while he was alone. “We’ve all got guns under our pillows and in our pockets. Even Linda’s got one on her.”

“Fear convinces people better than simple words can.” He rested his elbow on his knee, hunching over. He smoked for a moment, long drags and lingering clouds of smoke swirled around the two of you. You stepped in front of him and reached down to take the cigarette, watching him closely as his fingers went limp. You placed it between your own lips, both hands coming up to cup the back of his head. You listened to his breathing, waiting until the stuttering breaths became fewer and farther between.

“He was your brother.” You traced your finger upward over the shell of his ear, lightly tracing the outline of his forehead. “He was a Shelby.”

“Yeah.” Tommy spoke into your nightdress, his eyes shutting as your finger came to brush against his lashes. “Yeah, I know he was.”

“So you know you can mourn him.”

The next breath was shaky and Tommy’s hands began to tremble again. You took your final drag and snubbed out the cigarette, letting it smoulder in his aged ashtray. 

He pressed his face into your stomach, hands pressing into your lower back as he sought refuge in your being. You tilted your head to the side, taking in his closed eyes and clenched jaw before he turned his head away from the flickering candle light.

“Mourn him, Thomas.” You whispered downwards at his hair, a hand coming up to rub his cheek. Your fingers met wetness just under his eyes and you ignored it, stroking his cheek with your thumb as Tommy held onto you for dear life. “It’s alright.”

His hand began to move against the material of your nightclothes, palms pressing more firmly than before. You settled yourself across his lap, one knee on either side of him on the edge of the bed. You gripped at his shirt, still smelling of the day’s whiskey he had taken and cigarettes he had found a way to take more of recently. His face tucked into your neck and you wrapped your arms around him tightly, letting his forearms squeeze you close around your lower back. He took breath after shaking breath against you, his fingers holding the fabric of your clothes in an iron grip. 

You held him, pressing your face into his hair as he held you as close as possible, hiding above the blankets in the flickering candle light.

[joaquinwhorres]

The Fool (Ch. 6) {Fred Weasley x F!OC}

SUMMARY ››››› After getting tangled up with the Weasley Twins during the events of the Quidditch World Cup, Wren Collings’ life takes a turn for the chaotic. It threatens everything she has going for her, but she’s not convinced that’s entirely a bad thing.

PAIRING ››››› Fred Weasley x Female OC

WORD COUNT ››››› 4,589

WARNINGS ››››› There is no depression or mental health issues in this story, but there are mentions of death, violence, abuse, some PTSD, etc. As most of the specific warnings revolve around major plot points or are found throughout most chapters, I’m just going to rate certain chapters on the movie scale. This is chapter PG-13.

A/N ››››› General plea for validation through reblogs and comments.

Series Masterlist | Read on ff.net | Read on AO3

Wren felt sick all morning.

Ever since Fred and George had been escorted off to the Hospital Wing by Lee Jordan, she felt as if her stomach was twisting in on itself. She supposed this was a natural reaction to sending your friends to the Hospital Wing--a theory that was further solidified throughout the day as it seemed like everybody was talking about the failed attempts to enter the Tournament. Fred and George were not the only ones thwarted by the ageline, but their story was by far the most popular throughout the castle. Wren had even heard a group of ghosts gossiping about it, and several portraits had stopped her on her way to the common room to interrogate her about the incident and settle a debate as to whether their beards had gone down to their waist or their ankles.

The Common Room was not much safer in terms of avoiding talk of the Failure. Lee Jordan appeared to be holding court in the corner, recounting the story from his perspective to an enraptured audience, and even up in her room, Wren couldn't seem to get away from the terrible feeling that had made itself right at home in her core. Even her Potions' homework wasn't enough to distract her from the fact that Fred and George still hadn't made their way up to the common room yet, and it was nearing lunch.

Which was why right before noon, Wren found herself hovering outside the Hospital Wing.

It seemed to be busier than normal, which wasn't that much of a surprise, given how many names of unsuccessful entrants Wren'd heard other students throw around. She had to admit though, that she was a bit surprised at how raucous the noise was. Wren edged a bit closer to the open door, one voice rising above the others in an uncanny imitation of an old Scottish woman. "Albus, last year a known murderer and pack of Dementors roamed the school, and the year before that the heir of Slytherin opened the Chamber of Secrets. Perhaps, we could open it up to all students turning 17 this year?"

A slow measured voice responded, "Now, now, Minerva. Dementors and Basilisks are one thing, but a student died over 200 years ago from this Tournament. And even though it's now Ministry sanctioned, and we could potentially make it a tad bit safer, we must remain true to the spirit of the games, and only students who are of age can enter."

"But Albus, a student died--"

Footsteps rounded the corner, and Wren jumped back whirling on the couple who just came down the hallway.

Not a couple.

The bronze haired boy who was smirking as he said something to the girl walking beside him was Simon. He looked up from the blonde, his eyes landing on Wren who was just a step away from entering the Hospital Wing, and surprise quickly overtook his features. Still, he didn't look quite as surprised as Wendy Fairchild did, her cheeks turning a delicate pink.

"Wren?" Simon said, as if he couldn't believe that she was actually there. Then again, she could count the number of times she'd been to the Hospital Wing over the past six years on her fingers, so maybe it wasn't entirely unreasonable for him to be so shocked. Her eyes were drawn once again to Wendy, who suddenly looked very uncomfortable and very trapped. Simon stepped away from the blonde and towards Wren. "Did something happen? Are you alright?"

Her eyes shifted to the Hospital Wing's door, the noise suddenly quelled by the sound of a sharp admonishment. "I had a stomach ache, is all," Wren said, stepping further away from the door.  "Hi Wendy."

"Hi Wren," Wendy greeted, her eyes darting between the couple as the tension between the three thickened. The blonde Ravenclaw licked her lips, her eyes darting for Simon as if he'd provide a way out of the awkward situation but he was focused on Wren, the worry gone from his face, and a cool stoniness taking over in its place. A small sigh escaped Wendy. "Well, I best be going. Thank you again for the help, Simon," she offered a brief strained smile at the couple before hurrying off down the hallway.

Wren looked down at the stones between her and her boyfriend, eyes studying the grooves and dimples.

"I heard about what happened to Fred and George," Simon remarked, and Wren's stomach rolled. Words bubbled up, excuses and explanations and apologies all at the tip of her tongue as she looked up at him, but he continued. "I'm sure you see now why I didn't want you to do it."

Wren flushed and nodded her head, pushing a strand of hair back behind her ear. "Simon I--"

"It's ok, Wren," Simon cut her off, stepping forward and folding her into his arms. "I forgive you." He pulled back slightly, cupping her face in his hand. "At least you realized how foolish it'd be and pulled out."

Wren offered up a shaky smile which dissolved as Simon bent forward and kissed her, before releasing her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "Maybe next time, you'll just listen to me."

The sick feeling in her gut was worse, her insides churning in protest even as she kept her lips sealed shut, keeping her confession trapped inside. Simon looked down at her, seeming to note her silence.

He sighed, withdrawing his arm from around her. "You might as well just ask, I know what you're wondering."

Wren's brow furrowed in confusion as she cast him a look. "What I'm wondering?"

"Wren, I'm not stupid. I saw the look you gave me with Wendy, and I see the look you're giving me now. You're easy to read."

Realization dawned on Wren at what he was implying, and she quickly stumbled over her words. "Simon, I--"

"She needed help with her Alchemy work, and that's it. Nothing happened."

"I know--" Wren started again, but Simon cut her off.

"I made one mistake," Simon said. "One. And you and I both know that you're just as responsible for it happening as I am."

Wren looked to the ground, nodding her head. "I know. I…" she trailed off. "You're right. I shouldn't have even wondered. I'm sorry."

Simon sighed, his arm going around her shoulders once more. "I forgive you, I just wish you'd believe me that I love you."

"I do," Wren said, looking up into his face. "I know you love me."

He nodded solemnly. "More than anyone else ever could," he said before pressing his lips to hers and whisking her away to lunch.

Wren spent most of her lunch picking at her food and absentmindedly listening to Alicia's ranting about her parents and their post-Hogwarts desires for her and to Katie's wondering about whether everything Professor Moody did was strictly legal.

If the other girls noticed that Wren hadn't really touched her food or seemed to be preoccupied, they didn't say anything. It's possible a look was shared, but she didn't catch it.

Instead, she sat there distracted until she noticed her dorm mates getting up from the table, and she did the same, leaving behind a half full plate to follow them up to the common room.

There, she lost four games of Exploding Snap in a row, and was in the middle of losing a fifth when Fred and George burst through the portrait hole, announcing their arrival with a chorus of "Heyyyyy".

Wren's head snapped to them, watching as the twins modeled their newly clean-shaven faces, stroking the smooth skin of their chins to a smattering of applause and laughter.

Fred scanned the common room, his eyes locking on hers once he found her. He navigated his way around the couches and chairs to her. "There she is…" Fred said as he approached, and she flinched. Alicia tapped the stack of cards and looked entirely unapologetic as Wren glared at her.

"Cheater."

"Hardly," the other girl returned, twirling her wand between her fingers.

Fred plopped himself next to Wren as George sat next to Alicia, throwing himself into her lap. She shoved him off, and with a dramatic sigh, he switched to laying in Angelina's.

"About time you're back," Angelina said, tugging at George's ear. He winced, swatting her hand away. "How long does it take to fix a couple of beards anyway?"

"Longer when Dumbledore interrogates us for the secrets of our near success," Fred said, catching Wren's startled glance. "Don't worry--we told him we couldn't divulge any information."

"He seemed to understand but mentioned he'd be much obliged if the recipe  should ever end up under his office door," George said with a grin at Wren.

She flushed, shaking her head. "It didn't even work. I mean you two could have ended up--"

"Maybe it didn't work, Fred cut her off. But no one else even made it through the age line. We're the only ones to have crossed it."

"It was a good bit of magic, Wren," George agreed.

"But it just as easily could have landed you in the Hospital Wing for more than a few hours," Wren argued, and the group exchanged looks.

"I thought we'd been over this," George said, sitting himself up. "It was a minor risk, yeah, but we've taken bigger risks with our own testing."

"Besides, I doubt Dumbledore would have put any enchantment on the Goblet that could harm students if the whole point was to keep underage witches and wizards from entering," Angelina reasoned.

Wren wet her lips, turning this over in her mind. She still couldn't help but feel guilty for her failure, but what made her feel even worse was not the fact that she could have hurt Fred and George, but that she was disappointed her potion hadn't succeeded.

"Come on," Fred said, nudging her shoulder with his own. "You've got to admit, it was at least a bit thrilling to give it a go."

The corner of her lips traitorously twitched up. Around her, her friends made sounds of approval, George even reaching forward to shake her leg excitedly.

"He really came to ask you about the potion?" Wren asked, and Fred nodded solemnly.

"Seemed genuinely interested too," George added.

Wren offered a real smile then, and the group seemed to (accurately) take that as an end to the  conversation.

The rest of the afternoon passed happily. George finally ended Alicia's streak in Exploding Snap and Lee came into the Common Room about an hour later and recounted recent would-be entrants' failures for them. Now that Wren wasn't wracked with worry and guilt with Fred and George, she was able to laugh along with the rest of the group, especially over Lee's dramatic impersonation of Milicent Bulstrode breaking down into hysterics over her newfound beard.

By the time it was dinner, the events of the morning felt like they had passed weeks ago, and Wren traipsed down to the Great Hall with the group more than ready for the Halloween feast.

She wasn't, however, ready for the selection of Champions. Her heart stilled for a moment as Cedric's name was pulled from the cup, her eyes skipping over the group of Hufflepuffs shaking his shoulders and cheering, and instead focusing on Nora.

If Wren were in Nora's shoes, she'd be pale. But instead her cousin was alternating between clapping loudly and cupping her hands around her mouth to cheer.

She was only silenced when a fourth name came out of the cup.

In fact, the whole Great Hall went quiet for a beat. And then another one. And then the whispers started, moving through the room like wind rustling through the trees.

"Harry got his name in?" Angelina hissed next to Wren.

"How?" Katie whispered back, her eyes moving to Wren, but Wren was already focused on Harry, whipping his head around with surprise and saying something hushed and quick to his friends. Dumbledore called him up to the front table and her eyes followed his path, a clawing tightness in her chest as she watched him pass behind Fred.

How had he, a fourth year who by all accounts was not the smartest in his year, managed to get across the age line when the combined minds of her, Fred, George, and Lee hadn't managed it?

Her jaw clenched as a hand closed over hers. "Hey," George said, leaning across Angelina to get her attention. "If You-Know-Who wasn't able to kill him as a baby, you won't be able to now, even with that look."

The joke, coupled with Harry's disappearance into the chamber behind the professors' table, drew the small group's attention to Wren.

"I'm not trying to kill him," Wren protested as Dumbledore and other adults disappeared into the back room as well. With the disappearance of those in charge, the hall grew noisy once more, the chatter electric. "I just don't understand how he got in is all."

The look of mild annoyance on Fred's face melted as he took her in. "She's jealous!"

"Am not," Wren huffed.

"Come on, Wren, a win for Harry is a win for Gryffindor," Angelina said, but her smile was a bit tight, and Wren felt a bit embarrassed at being jealous when Angelina, who had legitimately entered, hadn't been chosen.

"And more than that," Fred said, bending his head forward conspiratorially. "It's a reason to party."

By the time Harry Potter, the guest of honor and very reason for the party, arrived at the Gryffindor common room, the party was in full swing. Students had come together to lay out a solid stash of snacks on a few tables, and Fred and George had procured a few cases of Butterbeer in a suspicious amount of time. This of course meant that everyone was almost vibrating with excitement to greet Harry. Indeed, all of Wren's friends left her the moment he came through the portrait hole to bombard him with well wishes and questions.

Wren, for her part, hung back with Alicia, making her way through a bag of crisps while staring warily at Harry. "Reckon he'll tell anyone how he did it?" Wren asked as Alicia took a long sip from her butterbeer.

"Harry?" Alicia asked, her voice a bit raw from the carbonation. "Probably not. He's rather tight-lipped. It'd be easier to get it out of Ron."

Wren nodded, scanning the room for the twins' younger brother. As her gaze skipped from redhead to redhead, none of them belonged to Harry's best friend. "Where is Ron?"

"This is really bothering you, huh," Alicia asked, her expression sympathetic. "I know you wanted it to work, but honestly Wren, it was always a long shot. The twins knew that."

Wren had no intention of trying to get Ron Weasley to tell her how Harry entered, but she would have been lying if she dismissed Alicia's claim outright.

She had known it'd been a long shot too. She always had a healthy dose of skepticism throughout the endeavor.

But she couldn't get rid of the small, irritating feeling of disappointment that scratched at the back of her mind.

She doubted Dumbledore would want her potion recipe now that someone had had an actually successful workaround.

"Why the long face?" Fred asked, walking back up with George. Over their shoulders, Wren could see Lee tying the Gryffindor banner around Harry's shoulders.

The two followed her gaze and Fred snorted. "Still on about that, then?"

"No," Wren said petulantly. The twins exchanged a knowing look, and she scowled, swatting at them. "I'm not!"

Fred's eyes darted over her shoulder, and she whipped around to catch Alicia mid-nod before pretending she was sipping from her drink.

"I'm not!"

Fred and George exchanged another look, although this one seemed to be more of a conversation between two pairs of eyebrows than just a look.

"Alicia, we're stealing Wren," Fred announced, wrapping an arm around Wren's shoulders and guiding her forward before Alicia could even respond to the statement. George trailed after the two of them, the group stopping in a relatively quiet nook of the common room, away from the thick of the party.

"It has recently come to our attention that you, Wren Collings, are a natural born inventor."

Wren quirked an eyebrow, staring dubiously back at Fred. "What?"

"You're upset that you didn't find the solution to the age line and Harry did," George filled in.

"Plus, you greatly enjoyed the plotting involved in making our potion," Fred nodded.

"So we were talking…" George started

"And we think you'd be an excellent addition to the Weasley Wizard Wheezes product development team," Fred finished with a smile.

"The what?"

"Fred and I have always dreamed of opening a joke shop. We've been working on a few products over the summer," George explained.

"Fake wands."

"Tom-tongue toffees."

"Trick quills."

"And we think that your mind and potions and Herbology expertise would help us with our next  venture," Fred said.

"Your next venture?" Wren repeated.

"Puking pastilles," the twins chorused with a nod.

"Puking pastilles." What they were proposing was so ridiculous, Wren wasn't able to come up with a coherent original thought. Instead she was turning the idea over in her mind--product development with the Weasley twins. It was true she'd enjoyed developing the aging potion with them, but that had been a one time thing. A deal. And even then it hadn't worked. Now they wanted her to come up with entirely original recipes for members of the public to eventually consume? She could poison all of London. Or worse, she could--

"You're spiraling," Fred said matter of factly. "I can see it right here," he said, poking at the crease between her eyebrows, and Wren slapped his hand away. He grinned at her. "Come on Wren, this is an exciting new venture. Nothing to get too in your head about at this stage."

"I just don't think I--"

"If this is going to be another self-deprecating statement, I should warn you. You're wasting your breath," George interrupted, holding up a hand.

"We happen to think you are nothing short of a genius, and there isn't anything you can say to convince us otherwise," Fred added.

Wren blinked at them. "I--" they cast her reproachful looks and she switched directions. "Thank you."

Fred smiled. "I'm going to take that as confirmation that you're in."

Wren shook her head, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. It would be easy to tell them no. To stick to the plan of just studying for her classes and spending free moments trying to track down Simon. But she didn't want to.

"Yeah," Wren said with a tentative smile. "I'm in."

While working with Fred and George on the creation of puking pastilles was fun and often led to Wren laughing so hard her sides hurt, it was still, at its core, work . She was fairly certain she had never used her brain so much. Not even for NEWT-level Potions or Transfiguration.

Still, there were far worse uses of her time than being tucked away in the common room or a corner of the library, drawing up plans and theories with Fred and George and sometimes Lee.

"I need a break," Wren announced, placing her book on top of the stack they had pulled.

"Breaks are for the faint of heart," George said automatically, not even bothering to look up from his reading. It had been the line the three used to keep each other on track.

"I fear I'm going into heart failure," Wren answered, dramatically, dropping in her chair. "If I have to read another line about common Italian plants' side effects, I think my heart will finally give out."

"Alright Georgie, I think a break's in order. We don't want poor Wren's heart to explode," Fred said, snapping his book shut.

"So when Wren's going through heart failure, we get a break, but when I'm dying of boredom, you just eulogize me."

"That's about the size of things," Fred nodded, and George grinned, shutting his book and looking over at the two. He opened his mouth to say something, but before he had the chance, a look of curious confusion crossed his face.

"Hullo," he greeted, and Wren turned to see Simon walking towards the group.

"Hi, love," Wren smiled up at Simon. His bronze hair curled above his eyes, and she reached out a hand for him. He shot a quick look at her and then at the Weasley twins, keeping his hands firmly in his pockets. Wren curled her hand back in, resting it on her shoulder as if that was what she intended to do. "What are you doing here?"

"Searching for my girlfriend," Simon offered a small smile. "Have you seen her?

"Simon," Wren laughed lightly as Fred and George exchanged mortified looks at the excuse of a joke.

"Oh! I hardly recognized you. Haven't seen you in ages."

"Ha ha, very funny," Wren smiled and let out an exhale as if he was joking, but he had that look in his eyes that she knew too well. He turned to Fred and George.

"So you're the reason my girlfriend's gone missing."

"What can I say, our presence is a delight." It wasn't the tone of Fred's voice as much as the look of George's face that made her stomach drop.

"Thank you for sharing Wren with us," George stepped in. "Must be hard to let this one go."

"Indeed," he swiveled to Wren. "Speaking of which, have a second?" Simon asked, flashing a seemingly charming smile. Wren looked up at him, and a flash of fear, which she hoped was unnoticeable, crossed her face. She slowly nodded.

"For you? Always," she said, standing up to follow him. Had he heard about George? What did he want? She had heard that tone of voice before, and it never ended well. She followed him a couple of rows over so that it was deserted and nobody would hear them.

"I didn't realize you three were so close," he commented, his voice still friendly, but in the dangerous phase. If Wren thought that her research was going to give her heart failure, she was certain that this conversation might give her a heart attack. It pounded away in her chest, as she racked her brain for an explanation. She had a feeling after Simon's reaction to the aging potion that he wouldn't particularly care for the truth.

"We're not that close," Wren dismissed. "We've just been studying together this year, is all. They're a whiz at Charms, and honestly this NEWT schedule is keeping me so busy--"

"Wren," Simon stopped her. "Don't insult my intelligence."

"What?"

"You're lying. I can see it all over you. What are you really up to with them?"

"What am I really up to?" Wren repeated, her heart beating faster. "Studying. Simon, where is this coming from? Why are you upset?"

"Why am I upset?" Simon asked. "After how you acted when you saw me walking down the hall with Wendy? I should have seen that you were projecting--accusing me of cheating while you're off spending your  afternoon in a dark corner of the library with the Weasley twins!"

"Simon, it's not like that. You've just been busy and I—" Wren started to argue, jerking away and shutting her mouth quickly as Simon shoved a finger in her face.

"Do not turn this into my fault."

"It's nobody's fault. There's nothing wrong here!" Wren began to grow hysterical. "You're reading into things that aren't there."

"So I'm crazy?" He dropped his hand, but moved closer to her, and she took a half step back.

"No, of course not," Wren held her temples "I just--there's no reason to be upset. I would never choose them over you. I-I'll go tell them I have to go. We can go to the courtyard, or wherever you want. "

"Don't even bother. I don't want to be your pity pick. Just go back to them," Simon scoffed, shaking his head. "At this point, I'm used to being left behind. Makes sense you'd do it too."

"Simon, I'll come with you. Just let me get my stuff. Please--" Wren reached forward grabbing his arm, and he snatched it away from her, sending her toppling into a bookshelf. A few books came loose, tumbling to the floor in a messy pile.

"You always do this," Simon's lip curled. "Make a mess of everything. I wonder if your precious twins will put up with half the things I do." Wren watched him leave, trying to blink back the tears forming in her eyes. He was right. She did always make a mess of things. She knew what she should have done--what she should have said. She should have packed up as soon as he came over. She should have told the twins she'd see them in class and told him she had more than a second--she had hours for him. She shouldn't have argued.

Wren wiped away a few tears as she bent down to begin picking up the books and finding their proper places. Footsteps approached the end of the aisle, and her head snapped, hoping Simon had come back.

"Everything ok?" Fred asked, standing at the end of the aisle where Simon had been moments before. Wren quickly glanced back at the book she was shoving into the shelf, as if that would hide her splotchy red face.

"Fine," her voice came out high and not quite as lighthearted as she'd hoped.

"And that's why you've decided to take up a part time job as a librarian?"

She let out a sigh that could maybe possibly be construed as a laugh. "No, I just--um--we stumbled into the books." She hoped that would explain the red face if not for Simon's conspicuous absence.

"Ah," Fred nodded, and she could hear the disbelief in his voice. "And where is the other half then?"

“He…he had to run off. Prefect duties. I told him I'd handle it.”

Fred's eyes rested on her, as she picked up another book and shoved it between two other ones, not able to even concentrate on making sure they were in alphabetical order. She couldn't understand why Fred had taken it upon himself to interrogate her. He was silent even as she picked up another book, as if for once he were carefully choosing his words.

"Must've run off pretty quick. I came as soon as I heard the books."

It was Wren's turn to furrow her brow at him. "Why?"

“What happened here?” George appeared over Fred's shoulder, stopping him from continuing the sentence.

“Simon couldn’t keep his hands off Wren,” Fred said to George. Wren flushed from the choice of words.

George wiggled his eyebrows at Wren. “Kinky.”

She turned redder if possible and Fred’s jaw ticked.

“Need a hand?”

Despite the fact that George asked the question, Wren looked at Fred. “That would be lovely.”

George moved around Fred and picked up the last few books, sliding them onto the shelf.

“Thanks, George,” Wren smiled. He reached over and squeezed her hand. His brow furrowed slightly. Wren looked over his shoulder at Fred who caught her eye before turning and heading back towards their seats. She looked back at George and offered a tight smile, standing up. "Let's go back to take our break."

[ilovehimsomuchwhydoeshehateme]

Ranking of Tamora Pierce books in the Tortall Universe (fight me).

Hello There! Tamora Pierce if my favourite author, and I have been obsessed with her books for years. I love all of her books so much, so it was impossibly hard for me to rank them. Often the ranking changes everyday, so this isn’t definite - I don’t think it’s possible for there to be a definite hierarchy for Tammy’s books, as they are all so good! For the sake of simplicity I won’t include Tortall: A spy’s guide or Tortall and other lands: A collection of tales. Please feel free to tell me your opinion in the comments below, and beware of major spoilers. 18. Wolf SpeakerI first read Wolf Speaker when I was still quite new to the Tortall universe. I believe it was the second book I read in Tortall, and the seventh Tamora Pierce book I had read. I don’t know what it was, but reading this book was a bit of an effort. I have only reread a few times since then, and although I love Maura’s character and am really excited for a potential book series set in Dunlath, I never really got into the book. That being said, it is still wonderful and an important part of the Immortal’s Quartet. 17. TerrierTo be really honest, Beka Cooper’s Trilogy is probably my least favourite Tamora Pierce series. I loved seeing Tortall as it was a few centuries before Alanna came along, but I have never been one to enjoy police thrillers. There is nothing wrong with Terrier, and the plot is exciting, but I prefer fast paced books as opposed to ones that are more slow paced. 16. BloodhoundAgain with Terrier, I never really found Beka’s Trilogy to be all that interesting. I have ranked Bloodhound over Terrier, however, because I really enjoyed the change of location. It was interesting getting to know a city different from Corus, and I hope we get to see Port Caynn more often in upcoming books. 15. MastiffI feel like we need to address the fact that Beka got engaged without us. And then her fiancé died without us, and we never got to meet him. I am really sad that we never got to meet Holborn. Although he sounds like a jerk, I would still have liked to see Beka’s relationship with him build up and then crumble. I still believe that this is the best book in the Beka Cooper Trilogy. Farmer is a likeable character, although his name is unusual. The plot is alright, but I am disappointed by Tunstall’s betrayal. A good book, just not my go to, pretty much. 14. The Realms of the GodsI love this book, just not as much as I love Tammy’s other books. The quest format is different from what she usually does, and reminded me of Lioness Rampant in a way. It was certainly an exciting conclusion to The Immortals quartet, and I definitely enjoyed it - even if Numair is the love interest. I was personally rooting for Kaddar in Emperor Mage, but I suppose you can’t have everything in life - and I doubt Daine would be very happy as Empress of Carthak. 13. Trickster’s ChoiceI certainly enjoy this book, although it lacks when it comes to my favourite trope - a group of friends who just do fun stuff together. Kyprioth is an amazing character, that’s undeniable, and I built up a healthy hate towards Bronau. The only problem is that I found many of the scenes to be boring, and like the plot was going nowhere. It was only when Trickster’s Queen came around that the plot came into action. Although I suppose that the Raka rebellion did need time to get to know Aly as an ally - I don’t really know, to be honest12. Wild MagicWild Magic is one of my favourite books in the Immortals Quartet. It is paced exactly how I like my books paced, and I remember reading this as a 10 year old and wishing really badly that Daine could be my friend. I love the scene where Daine meet Thayet, and I think it proves that Thayet is one of the best book characters of all time. If I ever have a daughter there is a high likelihood that her name will be Thayet. The reason this is only my twelfth favourite book is only because there are so many other books that I enjoy. 11. The Woman Who Rides Like a ManLet me just get this out of the way, Song of the Lioness is an amazing book series. This book is very detailed, and I loved meeting Bazhir. This is also the book where I started to dislike Jon. He was redeemed a little in Lioness Rampant, but I went back to disliking him in First Test. I don’t have much to say about this book, it’s eleventh because although it’s an amazing book it’s just not as amazing as any others. Also Kara and Kourrem have an amazing friendship dynamic, in my humble opinion. 10. First TestProtector of the Small is my favourite of Tammy’s series. When I read the book series I remember finding Kel really relatable, as back in the day I was a shy girl who towered above her friends. The only reason I’m so obsessed with Protector of The Small is because of Kel’s friendship group. I love, love, love it when there is just a group of friends in a book series who just have fun together. I also love how supportive Kel’s parents are, as oftentimes in Y/A books the parents are either dead, abusive or just not there at all. 9. Trickster’s QueenI love books about citizens rebelling against their government. I just think it is so fascinating, all of the planning that these characters go through just to carve out a better future for their world. A part of me is always still crying about Elsren’s death. I think that the last few chapters were so epic, and they let me breathless with excitement. Aly is not the most relatable protagonist, but I admire her ability to make mistakes like the normal human being she is. 8. Lioness RampantThe finale! I totally understand why Alanna and Liam didn’t work out, and I’m so glad that its George that Alanna ended up with. I am still disappointed over Liam’s death, and I feel like he would have been a valuable ally to the court of Tortall. He also would’ve supported Keladry in the court, which is definitely a plus! He didn’t accept all of Alanna, and I feel like that is highlighted really well in the book. You can clearly see how hurt Alanna is when Liam doesn’t seem too understand that Alanna can both be strong and like womanly things - it definitely shows young readers that you can never be happy with someone if they don’t love all of you. Also Thayet was introduced in this book, and I adore Thayet. She is such a strong character, and although I know she could have done better then Jon, she is an amazing queen. 7. In The Hand of the GoddessIt’s always nice to have a book character that you can hate, one that doesn’t have a redemption arc so you can feel satisfied that they are truly horrible. That’s why I love to hate Delia. She is such an unlikeable character, which somehow makes me love to read her. It’s strange but true. This book’s aura just radiates comfort, and I love books where the plot is just the passage of time with a few interesting events in between. 6. Alanna: The First AdventureAhh so nostalgic! My favourite scene is definitely when Alanna meets Jon for the first time, and Gary sponsors Alanna. I remember being so happy when Alanna got her period, because it was the first time I had ever seen periods be mentioned in a book. This is definitely a comfort book, and I think Alanna’s hard work to fight for a better future is so beautiful. One of the main reasons I love Tammy’s books is because her protagonists are not Mary Sues’, beautiful woman who are seductive and dangerous and have no faults. I love her heroines because although they mightn’t be incredibly seductive, or have ethereal beauty, they are still respected and they still do great things. 5. Lady KnightCleon made a big mistake, Kel is amazing. Although I would love for her to be with Dom, to be honest. Also Neal and Yuki have just got the cutest relationship dynamic, and I’m so glad things worked out for them. My favourite scene is where Dom makes fun of Kel’s carpentry, and also where Kel talks to the jerk Idrius - I just love his surprise when she informs him that she’s the head of Haven like yes ma’am tell the stupid idiot.  4. PageJust a bunch of kids being kids and having fun, while still training. I mean I suppose it’s a little more serious than just that, but this is still one of my comfort books. I first borrowed it out at my school’s small little library, after having already become obsessed with First Test. Also periods! I’m so glad that Kel had Lalasa to help her with ‘womanly stuff’, and I’m also really proud of how Kel stood up for Lalasa multiple times when she was being assaulted. Lalasa is one of the strongest characters in the series, and it is so admirable how she took what Kel told her and probably prevented many rapes and assaults by teaching other girls how to defend themselves. 3. Tempests and SlaughterOH MY GOD I’M SO EXCITED FOR THE EXILE’S GIFT! On Booktopia it says that it will be available 27th October, and I’ve already saved that date on my calendar. It was very interesting seeing a new perspective of Varice, as in Emperor Mage she comes off as quite shallow, but in Tempests and Slaughter she is a very likeable, ambitious person. You also see a mixture of traits with Ozorne, such as how you get to know him as a valuable friend, but also a person with numerous red flags. 2. SquireNeal is a daffodil. 1. Emperor Mage I love books about politics and international relations, and I feel like it’s even more compelling when in a fantasy universe. I think we can all agree that Daine beating Kaddar’s friends in archery was amazing, as well as Daine kicking Numair in the neck. I could go on forever about Emperor Mage, but it’s late and it’s already taken me forever to write this! I originally wrote this on my website but like no living soul has ever ventured onto my website so like here, I’m writing stuff here instead now, 

[fulokis]

Fulokis WandaVision Rewrite- Chapter 1

Hey wanted to take my two cents at something that made more sense than what they actually did to quicksilver. Hope you like it!

Peter stood staring at the man in front of him. He hadn't spoken for what seemed like a few minutes, still processing what Peter had told him. Peter sighed, he hadn't meant to let it slip, he still wasn't sure how it had happened. One minute the two were arguing with each other and then the next the room was enveloped in an awkward silence.

"Why didn't you want to tell me?" Erik asked. He had assumed that Peter was his son since the Pentagon, but he didn't want to freak the kid out.

"Just forget it." Peter said quickly trying to bury his feelings in his chest.

"Pietro, why didn't you want to tell me?" Erik asked knowing he was pushing.

Peter looked down at the floor, "I haven't been called that since the Cuban Missile crisis. Not even in the house."

"Those damn soviets am I right?" Erik attempted to joke.

"No." Peter said, "It was so that me and Wanda could go to school without getting harassed. So we could live life. So that we could protect ourselves when we didn't have a father to protect us."

"Wanda?" Erik asked, "Peter if I had known..."

"But you didn't because you left. You left and Wanda died!" Peter said, surprised at his own reaction and his anger. "Not because of the Russians, not because of the Americans, because of you. Because you left us, Wanda died. You know what killed her Bullets. Bullets from guns. Both things made of Metal! You could have stopped them, you could have saved her. But you were too busy killing the president to care about your family."

"Peter..."

"No. It's too late for that." Peter said storming out of the mansion.

Peter ran. He always ran, it helped him think. But all he could think about was his twin sister, her body laying there on the pavement. Him helpless to do anything. That's why he'd developed speed, he was too late, and running became an obsession. When his mother had gone into labor with Lorna his powers developed. He didn't even realize that they had until he was sitting by his mothers side in the hospital watching his newborn sister asleep.

Peter stopped running, he was probably an hour's drive from the mansion by now. He looked around his surroundings, he was in New York City. The sounds of horns from angry drivers, and the buzz of the electricity made the night loud and bright. The buildings loomed over head, one caught Peters eyes in particular. It was shorter than the rest only about four stories tall, the most noteworthy feature of its appearance was the large circular window on the top floor. Something about it reminded him of his sister.

Peter walked up to the door, to his surprise it was unlocked. Walking inside he shouted "Hello?"

"Pietro?" He could hear a woman's voice call out.

"How do you know my name?" He asked walking in the direction he heard the voice.

"Because I am the Sorcerer Supreme." The woman replied walking down the right side of the twin staircase that circled the entry room. "I know all Pietro."

Peter looked up at the woman "Yeah, Yeah and every old person claims they know all. Tell me something I haven't heard."

"Wanda is alive, in another universe that is." The sorcerer said finishing descending the stairs, "I can bring you to her."

Peter thought for a second, "How do I know I can trust you? And were you stalking me?"

"I won't force you. But I Think you're curious." She said, "I think you want to know how your sister would have turned out. Who she is." She rose her hand in front of the door and Peter looked through.

A woman stood in front of a cradle singing a lullaby in a language he didn't recognize. She looked up from her children as if almost sensing that he was there. Peter gasped, she had mom's eyes. He chuckled how many times had he seen those eyes look at him with disappointment. But this time they weren't, they were looking towards him with adoration. A look he'd only seen a few times from his mother since Wanda's death. The woman's hair was even the same color he had been jealous he didn't inherit.

"How did you do that?" He asked, unable to take his eyes off of the door.

"With a spell of course." She replied.

"What's that language she's speaking?" Peter asked, watching as someone else appeared on the screen and talking to who he assumed was Wanda.

"It's from a country that does not exist here."

"This isn't possible. You're messing with my..."

"I'm a twin." Wanda said, "I had a brother, his name was Pietro."

"What?" Peter said looking at the Sorcerer Supreme.

"Keep watching Pietro." She said nodding towards the door.

"He was killed by Ultron, wasn't he?" The other woman said.

Peter turned around, "So you're saying that there's this universe where Wanda is alive and I'm dead?"

"Fascinating isn't it?" The woman said, "A universe where you're dead and one where your sister is. Pietro the Multiverse works in strange ways, if anything this is destiny."

"It's fake. It has to be." Peter replied, "There's no way that its real."

"Then how is it possible that your father can bend the electromagnetic fields of the earth to change its polarity? Or that your beloved professor can send a message to the minds of every person on the planet? You know its more than possible Pietro, you know more than anyone how probable it is."

Peter swallowed, "I should go back, they're probably worried about me."

He turned to walk away but the woman stepped in front of him, "We both know they're not. We both know they don't care where you are or what you're doing."

"I should go." Peter said getting choked up thinking about what the woman in front of him was saying. Wanda was there, in another universe, but she was there. There and she clearly loved him and missed him, more than his father had. It wasn't like any of them would miss him if he popped over for a few minutes if only to give her a hug.

"You don't want to go do you?" The woman turned her head inquisitively.

"No." Peter admitted, "Maybe its too late for her here, but there I doubt it is."

"You want to go?" She asked.

"Yeah, so do I just step through this door or like..." Peter asked.

"It's a little more complicated than that." The woman said motioning for him to follow her up the stairs.  Peter followed resisting the urge to use his speed to explore the building. The woman led him to a library that reminded him of the one at the x-mansion. There were books on everything, from simple fake magic tricks to forbidden spells. Peter's eyes were drawn by a particular book. The title was almost impossible to read from the spine, so he picked it up and looked at the cover. The Strange Phenomena of the Witch Blessed Mutants the title read. Peter had seen the book before, strangely not at the mansion but in his own house outside of D.C. "What are you doing?" The woman asked popping right next to Peter.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked her.

"Do you want to see your sister or are you here to snoop?"

"You know more than you're letting on." Peter said, "What aren't you telling me?"

"Pietro, why would you think that?"

"This book, its in the wrong spot. It shouldn't be with the A's it should be with the H's if we're going by last name." Pietro said.

"Oops my bad." The woman said through gritted teeth.

"Either that or you wanted me to find this and its all some part of an elaborate plan to trap me in this other universe for some shady reasons." Peter watched as the woman's face dropped and he smiled, "I'm kidding, lighten up will ya?"

"That's a good one." She said awkwardly throwing up a fake smile, motioning for Peter to follow her. Peter followed her until they got to an open room. "Stand in the middle." She commanded.

"Okay." Peter gulped his anxiety resurfacing. He stepped into the middle of the room and a purple ring surrounded him.

"In order to travel through dimensions you need a protection spell. It keeps you from loosing your mind at the possibilities and the infinite outcomes between dimensions." The woman explained. She threw her hands up slightly and nothing happened.

"Was that supposed to do anything?" Peter asked looking around the room.

The woman ignored his comment and started chanting in Latin. The circle around Peter lit up with a purple glow. Peter attempted to touch it but yanked his hand back when he felt the heat the magic was producing. Peter watched intently and imagined Wanda doing something similar with her magic. The woman pulled out a necklace and made it float near the circle. The necklace began to syphon the energy off the circle, making the air around Peter unbelievably hot. Peter tried to stay conscious but the heat was unbearable and he hit the ground a few seconds later.

The woman kneeled over him and shook him gently. Peter startled looking up in confusion. "Uh..."

"Relax Pietro," The woman said "It's normal to feel overwhelmed by magic, especially when it's your first time."

"First time? Pfft I'm not that lame lady. Least you could do is take me out to dinner first." Peter said attempting to sit up.

"Take it slowly." The woman almost barked "Going to fast could potentially be fatal."

"Fatal? What is there like a list of side effects?"

"All the standard Magical ones." She said standing up, "Nausea, Heart attack, stroke, cancer..."

"I'd have said no if I knew it was going to kill me." Peter said easing onto an elbow.

"Possible side effects darling." She replied flipping through a worn out book.

"Darling? That's a little fast even for me."

She sighed and walked over to him, extending a hand down to help him up. "You should get going, after all your sister is waiting for you."

"Is it weird that I feel like I'm gonna barf?"

"No." She replied to him "Oh before I forget, you'll need to put this on before you go through."

Peter took the necklace and slipped it over his head "And you're sure this will work?"

"Of course it will. My magic never fails." She said and looked at him with a smile leading him down the stairs.

"By the way what's your name? You know if I want to come back home and what not."

The woman stopped dead in her tracks, "I'm... Agnes." She said.

"Coolio." Peter replied following her to the door.

Agnes motioned and the doorway led to a small field, "This is the closest that I can get you, you'll need to run a few miles to the west. There's a wall around the town your sister lives in, it's a security measure against humans harming the perfect little mutant community that lives there."

"So what your saying is my sister has a bunch of mutants that live with her?"

"Yes Pietro, she found her people." Agnes said pushing Peter through the portal and closing it behind him.

Peter fell landing in a mud pile. "Not cool!" He shouted "So not cool." He took a breath and stood up. The night was cool a slight wind blew through the trees. Peter looked around, he had landed in a corn field, the stocks were brown and fragile. He smiled to himself as he saw a scarecrow sitting in front of him.

"You stuck here too buddy?" He asked the limp sack of hay. Before smiling and starting to run. Peter ran and this time instead of thinking he enjoyed the air running across his face. The feeling of his feet hitting the ground, the sounds that each foot made when coming into contact with the mud. Peter kept running until he nearly collided with a military vehicle.

Seeing the vehicle he decided to take a look through the area. There was a drone on a table glowing red. A guy in a quarantine unit, being questioned by medical staff. Peter kept running, there seemed nothing related to mutants anywhere in the facility. He figured that they had no idea that there was a mutant community.

Peter kept running until he found the wall. Taking one look at it he decided to run through it. Running through he could hear and feel some of the most painful times of his life and he stopped as he could feel apocalypse trying to crush his skull. The pain was so real almost like living it again, almost like nearly dying again. Out of breath Peter collapsed on the ground, a new sensation spreading across his body. His body burned, it felt like his blood was causing his body to burn. He could feel the pain everywhere in his body, circular areas burned the most. Then he opened his eyes again and Peter couldn't explain what he saw. Metal corpses littered the ground even more were flying around shooting concentrated fire of some sort. Peter tried to call out to his father, he tried to call out for the professor or someone for help, but all he could feel was the burning hot pain from his injured nerves. Then it was quiet the dust and metal settled and everything was dark, but he could hear someone calling to him. Wanda he thought smiling before passing out.

"My goodness Ralph!" Agnes cried, "You're filthy and tracking mud into my kitchen!"

"Aw cut it out will ya?!" Ralph said back "At least I'm not running around the house getting in your way."

"You're not supposed to be running at all. If they find out you were using your powers..."

"Ha, if they do I'll be long gone."

"I swear it won't be my fault if you end up in prison for twenty." Agnes said.

"It'd be a blessing if I did." Ralph mumbled.

"What was that?" Agnes asked in a shrill tone.

"I said you look lovely tonight."

"Why yes I do don't I?"

"What's the reason?" Ralph asked.

"Of course you forgot! Why did I think you would remember?" Agnes sniped.

"Because you forgot your self?" Ralph offered up.

"Forgot? Ralph you know I don't forget." Agnes said, "Tonight is the night we're having a picnic in the yard. Go clean up."

"Why not just the gazebo in the town square?" Ralph asked after he had run upstairs and changed in a matter of seconds.

"We've been over this Ralph, it's best for you to not draw attention to yourself. Which means..." Agnes prompted.

Ralph sighed "No powers, No criminal activity and most of all no doing things that the people in town will think as of odd. But I'm pretty sure that having a yard picnic would be considered odd, gazebo not so much."

"Ralph people don't care what you do in your own yard, besides if you really are that worried you can tell them I asked you to."

"That's the reason I married you, because you asked me to. Though I do question that decision, what with the creepy basement and all."

"Oh Ralph you charmer." Agnes said leading him out of the house. She walked over to where their yard intersected with the next door neighbors yard. With a wave of her hand she placed down a picnic blanket and a bunch of food.

"'It won't be my fault if you end up in prison for twenty' yeah right, totally won't be your fault if you keep using your powers." Ralph said sarcastically under his breath.

"What was that?" Agnes asked from on the blanket.

"Nothing important." Ralph said.

"Come join me, please." Agnes said, "Look I know the move hasn't been easy on you. Especially since we've literally had to become different people. But Ralph I don't regret it, I can't regret it."

"Eh didn't much like it there anyway, here is nice it's quiet. No trouble for you to get into, no weird sorcerer fights I have to save your ass from."

"I'm still a witch Ralph."

Ralph chuckled and looked up at the stars, "No you're not, you can be anything you want, but not a witch not anymore."

"Do you miss teaching?" Agnes asked eyeing the house behind them.

"Teaching?" Ralph asked vaguely remembering something like it "Feels like a lifetime ago." He said slowly.

"Interesting." Agnes said.

"Huh?" Ralph asked.

"Nothing it's not important."

Ralph shrugged it off and continued looking at the stars in silence, "You ever think how massive the universe is, and how little you really know?"

"Yes I do." Agnes replied keeping focused on the neighbors house.

"I want to know how life got here. On earth I mean. Out the trillions of planets out there, why this tiny hunk?" Ralph said glancing over at Agnes. "What's something you want to know?"

"How she did all this." Agnes said a dark tone seeping into her voice. Agnes turned to face Ralph and started to cast a spell.

"You freak me out when you do that without a warning you know." Ralph said watching her guide the purple energy flowing out of her hands.

Agnes ignored Ralph and continued to chant until the spell was ready. Without warning she shot her magic at the necklace her companion wore, smiling as it hit the beads. Something seemed to stir inside the man and he stood up. Using his super speed he ran to the front door of the neighbors house and stood there.

Peter felt weird, he couldn't remember how long he had been running. Or even how long it had been since he left the mansion. The last thing he could remember before blacking out was his body on fire and hearing Wanda calling to him. He looked down, some how he had managed to change clothes. Instead of his typical jacket he wore a brown one, much like the one he had seen his father wearing every once in a while. His shirt was a purple flower print. He smiled, maybe it was weird to wake up in these random clothes, but at least they had his second favorite color.

Peter looked up at the door. This was it, after nearly 15 years he was about to look his twin sister in the eyes again. Only he knew it wasn't quite his twin sister. Peter swallowed nervous at the action he was about to perform. He rose his hand and considered using his speed to get the nerve wracking action over with. Deciding against it he firmly pressed against the plastic button of the doorbell.

The shouting from inside the house he had heard earlier had been replaced with hushed voices, that were seemingly surprised at a sudden visitor. The door swung open with a creak and a young woman stood in front of it. Peter stood there looking at her, waiting for some semblance of recognition.

"Wanda who is this?" A man from slightly further inside the house asked.

Peter waited for a second before extending his arms out and stepping forward slightly. "Long lost bro get to squeeze his stinkin sister to death or what?"

The woman stared for a second processing what was happening. "Pietro?" Her voice cracked.

Peter made a movement with his head to indicate that it was indeed him. Wanda sighed softly and took her brother in her arms. Peter closed his eyes at his sisters embrace, it felt good to have his second half here in the same room with him. Wanda broke contact and Peter glanced around the house. It was quaint reminded him of their moms house, simple yet useful. Peter locked eyes with the man who asked Wanda for his identity. "Who's the popsicle?"

Next >>

[daydream-hogwarts]

Books & Magic | Fred Weasley | Part 2

Genre: Fluff & Angst

Pairing: Fred Weasley x American!Muggle!Female!Reader

Summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, Fred Weasley was never the same. Constant fear and nightmares from almost dying filled his brain. It was so overwhelming, he just… left his family. He left in order to find himself again, and to not let his family hurt because he was no longer… him. When he meets a certain muggle at a bookstore, however, his old self seems to spark up….

Warning: Mentions of PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Harassment; Suggestions of Smut; Read with Caution. <3

Word Count: 1,084

Author’s Note: The first part got so much love, thank you all so much!!! Here’s part 2!! I hope you all enjoy it! ^_^

         This was how your weeks went. You’d see the boy every Wednesday, but he recently decided to come every Monday and Saturday as well…. He loved to watch you work, especially when you were busy. It warmed his heart to see how kind you were to people….

         Soon enough, you two were never seen without each other. He’d pick you up after work and you’d spend the rest of your night together before going to your respective homes and repeating the next day. You both were falling pretty hard for one another and, even though you both didn’t say you were dating, it sort of felt like you were….

         Finally, after six months of potential dating, Fred decided that you were the most important person in his life…. You made him feel like himself again and he was terrified to lose you…. He, ultimately, made the decision to tell you he was a wizard, and frankly, that terrified him….

         You had just arrived at his small apartment, where you’ve been a countless number of times. You knocked softly, listening to some quick rustling before the redhead opened the door, a bright smile on his face as you smiled back.

         “Hi, Freddie,” You said.

         “Hi, Y/n,” He replied, leaning down and pecking your cheek. “Come in.” You walked in, going to sit at the little table, watching him rush for his food.

         “It’s not much. Nothing like my mum’s,” Fred said, filling your plate before making his, making you chuckle.

         “Freddie, I’m sure it’s fine,” You replied, smiling bright.

         You proceeded with the night, making each other laugh or just talking about life. You knew about Fred’s large family, but you didn’t know much about his life beyond that, which was alright with you, but you were curious…. As the night continued, you noticed he got more nervous.

         “Are you alright?” You questioned, reaching over and holding his hand. Electricity buzzed through your hand, but you chose to ignore it.

         “I actually wanted you here to… tell you something,” Fred said, making your heart sink. “I haven’t been entirely honest with you and… well, I really like you, Y/n.” You felt a smile pull at your lips.

         “I really like you too, Freddie,” You said, gripping his hand a bit tighter. You felt butterflies roll into your stomach as you watched him flash a bashful smile.

         “Well… I want to tell you everything about me, but I’m terrified you’ll be freaked out and leave,” Fred admitted, making you furrow your brow.

         “Hey, it’s okay,” You replied, leaning forward slightly. “Not much can scare me away, so don’t worry.” This eased Fred slightly, making him smile and grip your hand a bit tighter.

         “Well, here goes…. Y/n, I’m a wizard,” He said, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.

         You waited a few moments, waiting for the joke, or “got you”. You gulped, your mind beginning to buzz in thought as you watched his mannerisms. He was tense, nervous… his eyes kept darting around your face, trying to see any signs of terror or disbelief. You took a few more moments before nodding.

         “Alright,” You said, watching him stare in confusion.

         “That’s… it?” He asked, wide eyed. You shrugged, a small smile playing at your lips.

         “It seems you’re genuinely speaking the truth, who am I to judge?” You questioned, before biting your lip. “May I see some magic?” He gulped, nodding. 

         He took his wand out of his sleeve, flicking it to make all the lights turn off, making you yelp in surprise. He quickly made them all turn back on, watching you carefully.

         “Wow, that’s amazing,” You admitted, smiling softly. “I never thought in my life I’d meet an actual wizard.” Now, Fred studied you, noticing you were being genuine and not mocking.

         “You’re really okay with this?” Fred asked, wide eyed. You nodded, chuckling softly.

         “Freddie, like I said, I really like you,” You whispered, heat running up your neck. “Magic won’t scare me off….”

         So, with that, Fred began to tell you everything…. From his first year at Hogwarts to doing Pranks on a woman named Umbridge, all the way to the Battle of Hogwarts…. Once he was finished, he was surprised at the tears streaming down his cheeks.

         “Oh, honey,” You whispered, setting the napkin on your lap onto the table and standing, walking over and hugging him to your stomach as he gulped, trying to calm himself.

         “I came here to get away… to forget,” He whispered, a small sob escaping his throat.

         “Freddie, it sounds like you have PTSD,” You whispered, watching him pull away and look up at you curiously. “It’s Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. It’s rather common in people who have been to war. It’s normal to be scared and upset….” His eyes widened once more, nodding his head along with you.

         “No one else got it…” Fred said.

         “Well, some people are different,” You whispered, gently. “I guarantee, everyone there is experiencing what you are, just in different ways. They may flinch at the loudest noise, try to brush off the memories, while others, including yourself, will physically throw yourself back to those horrible times and imagine you're still there…. It’s okay to feel that, Freddie.” You were so gentle, it surprised him. He watched you lean down, kissing his forehead gently. He shut his eyes, sinking into it.

         When you pulled away, he stood up, hugging you to his chest, kissing the top of your head. No words had to be spoken for you both to know you were each other’s soulmates. The world made you both specifically for each other, there was no doubt about it. Fred pulled you away, grasping your cheeks and kissing you roughly, passionately. 

         You were surprised, but you easily sank into it, molding your lips to his. Fred felt so normal, so loved, so… understood. When he pulled away, he had a small smile on his face. You giggled, shaking your head and biting your lip. 

         Fred kissed you again, walking you backwards to his bedroom, laying you down onto the bed as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He pulled away again, staring at you and admiring your beauty, making you feel embarrassed, but you smiled anyway.

         “Stay the night?” Fred asked, eyes bright as he stared at you.

         “After that, I’m not leaving,” You joked, making him give a belly laugh. You pulled him back down, pressing your lips to his once more….