#fun fact... I wanted to study architecture once

[dustofthedailylife]

Random thought but upon further reflection... I think I've finally figured out why I actually couldn't stand Kaveh at first (past tense! I love him now if you haven't noticed yet).

When it comes to his character I see myself in him a lot as well. To the point, where I'd say I kin him.

I think he is a bit too relatable for me so that's why I didn't like him.

I'm often down on myself, never feeling good enough or deserving of love or things, holding myself to an insanely high standard that's sheer impossible to meet, and then getting upset if I can't meet it. All of this goes to the point where I neglect myself and my health.

And on top of all of that, I constantly want to help people even if it means I'm inconvenienced. And if something goes awry I blame myself very often for that as well...

[ssa-dado]

i've recently started getting into philosophy because of symposium!!! i'm a literature major so i have my run-ins with it, but only recently started deep-diving into it...

so i have to ask because he's turning out to be one of my favourite philosophers... how do you think teach would feel about foucault?

First of all, I’m absolutely honored 😭😭😭😭 Honestly, I always thought the philosophy bits were just fan service for me - writing Symposium has always been my way of healing from my high school trauma with philosophy (I’ve always loved the subject, but my teacher only made us study its history, never its applications, so now I'm studying everything back again to my own terms) The idea that I might have influenced someone to explore a subject I love is beyond incredible. Truly, I might have cried over this 🤌🤌🤌🤍🤍🤍🤍

AAAAAAAÀ, I have so many thoughts…

First of all, I think Teach, being a professor at heart, will act like one. If asked directly, she will first give the family-friendly answer: "I don’t have a favorite philosopher. I love them all the same, so I appreciate Foucault's work."

Girl, wtf. You DO have favorites.

Long post.... I'm sorryyy

I think that out of the contemporary philosophers, Foucault is probably the one whose views she agrees with the most.

As you know, Foucault focuses a lot on the paradigm of power - what it means in modern society, the ontology of power, and all that good stuff. I did a mini breakdown (oversimplified, probably not 100% correct, it's just my interpretation) of Foucault's view on power and what she might agree with or not:

That power is everywhere: Not only in governments but also in every kind of relationship. That it’s something that flows between people and institutions in general: Here’s why it’s so important to be mindful on the kind of relationship teachers have with their students, because they shape them - they have power over them. But the opposite is also true, students influence their teacher. Because power isn’t just oppressive, it’s productive. It creates knowledge, rules, and ways of thinking.

She fucks with this last part very hard. When it comes to the teacher/student relationship she might agree in a way but she would use different words, in finding a balance of power between teachers and students.

Here's why she argues with that lovely unit chief so much. Ironically I think Hotch would totally agree with Focault (she probably tells him to read his works at least once a week but of course Hotch doesn't have time for this fuckery)

How those in power influence what is considered “true”: Here’s why, in his opinion, the way mental illness or sexuality is understood has changed over time - because of shifts in power and societal norms.

And since German Existentialism is unfortunately wired into her brain, I believe she does her best to form her own opinions based on individual studies rather than being swayed by someone else’s ideas. She still wants to believe in the power the individual holds within themselves. Idealistic, yes, but that’s Hegel’s fault.

Disciplinary power: Modern society, instead of using brute force, employs subtle forms of discipline, like rules, surveillance, and norms. Especially when it comes to surveillance - in schools or prisons, people are constantly monitored, which makes them behave a certain way, even when no one is watching. Here’s why he uses the panopticon as a metaphor for modern society. (Fun fact: in the Season 11 finale, when Tara is in the serial killer block of the prison, the architecture is influenced by the panopticon - circular floorplan, with all the cells facing each other)

To be fair, I think she kind of hates this, especially Foucault's idea of using the panopticon as a model for every prison. It’s only a temporary fix - people should not behave a certain way out of fear of being watched or judged, but because they truly believe it. Fear gives no real education to the individual. The core of the problem lies elsewhere. (Here’s why she vibes with the next point so much)

Resistance to power is possible by questioning norms and creating new ways of thinking.

Basically every interaction she has with anyone, especially that fucker of a lawyer Unit Chief

One random thought that came to mind is that when she applies philosophy to behavioral sciences, she doesn't do it because she strongly believes in a particular philosophy, but because she believes that over the centuries, certain ideas become ingrained in culture.

These ideas evolve alongside society, so her approach is to reconnect those fragments to their original concepts to understand the underlying patterns.

Influencing a culture takes time, which is why she rarely references 20th-century philosophers - they may have transformed the way philosophy operates, but they haven’t yet reshaped society. However, she is more likely to use them for the psychological aspects, as most of them base their ideas on experimental sciences. (Freud, Jung etc.)

Hopefully it makes sense AAAAAAAAAAA

[b4rkwoofwrites]

In Pursuit of Science and Studies

CHAPTER I

I never knew who I wanted to be, or what I wanted to do. As a matter of fact, I knew nothing more than do well and be successful. My life didn’t seem to have direction until word about Jinx started to spread. The attacks were horrific and flashy, and even though it was horrible, I found inspiration in it. In her determination, and in her engineering. I’d visit places she’d been to look for old scraps of her bombs and other inventions, and I’d analyze them. It was the only thing that brought me real joy, it meant a lot to me.

However, studying didn’t mean a lot to me. When my parents pitched the idea of going to Piltover Academy, I was livid. That was until they told me the classes they offered. There was a good variety, but I wanted to take Science and Engineering. For a year I’d been infatuated with Jinx’s mechanisms, now I could finally learn to create my own. Needless to say I ran at the opportunity.

Walking into the Academy was strange, this huge building I’d seen my entire life growing up was going to be my home for the next few years. The architecture was inspiring. It took a day or two to settle and I was thankful for the extra time they offer for students to move in and prepare before the semester starts. My roommates weren’t note-worthy to me, nothing about them really stuck out. I didn’t care to learn much about them, I had more important things to do. t took a day or two to settle and I was thankful for the extra time they offer for students to move in and prepare before the semester starts. My roommates weren’t note-worthy to me, nothing about them really stuck out. I didn’t care to learn much about them, I had more important things to do.

Through the last night I sat awake at my desk, going over the last of the syllabus for my Science and Engineering class. I’d taken notes of the books I’d need to borrow and the test dates. Based on the spacing, I’d have enough time to work on my own creations. When I had no more to read, I laid in my bed, holding the stuffed animal I brought from home. It was the only item I had any sentimental attachment to, other than my blueprints and personal Jinx study journal.

The next morning, the sun poured in through the large windows. I woke before my peers to get ready for class. After brushing my teeth and doing my hair, I slipped on my uniform. I’d only ever worn it once before, and it was surprisingly comfortably considering the restrictions. The reddish-brown color went well together, and I was enjoying the visual appeal of the Academy already.

It took me a few minutes to find my class, but I arrived on time. Each and every student was different, having something that made them special visually. Still, nobody stood out to me. The lecture began soon after and I listened intently. An assignment to learn about each other had been decided on. A debate; each student would form a thesis on the limits of ethical science in the eyes of plain curiosity, simply put, what’s morally okay to do for fun. It was an easy project, and I already knew what I was going to write my thesis on.

The professor mentioned how he planned to pair us up based on votes after thesis’ had been finished, and he shared that the thesis must be finished by tomorrow. Some of the class exclaimed or groaned, but I just smiled. Fast paced work was my preference, anyway.

My other classes were boring and I didn’t care to much to commit anything to memory; however, I do remember going to the library after once the afternoon had settled in. I wanted to skim over some books on the topic of ethics and morals just to understand a little bit better. While I was searching the library for a book that met my requirements, my eyes fell upon someone. I didn’t know his name, but I knew he was in one of my classes. I racked my brain for the memory. I’d heard his voice, he asked a question. Viktor was his name, I thought.

I didn’t mean to look at him as long as I did, I only meant to observe how he was. His looks, his demeanor, but he caught my glare and I flinched as I turned away. I hadn’t expected him to notice me analyzing him. Worse things have happened and the world would keep turning, so I want on to keep searching for a book. Eventually I found one and sat down at one of the many desks in the library. I opened my small bag and set down my materials. A quick study session wouldn’t hurt.

I jotted down notes for about an hour, yawning and playing soft music in my headphones. I hadn’t noticed when Viktor walked past me, or when he silently leaned over my shoulder to see my notes. Not until he was walking away already. I wondered what exactly he wanted. Was he going to copy me? I hadn’t written my thesis yet. It’d be better to do it alone where people couldn’t try and steal my ideas.

It was almost evening, so I went up to my dorm to start my work and shower. The thesis was relatively easy and fun to make. In my opinion, explosives are generally ethical, especially since they’re used for celebrations and such. They’re in most cases, used as weapons, but who truly cares as long as they don’t hurt anybody, right?

I liked the way it was written and I didn’t mind the small imperfections that riddled through the page occasionally. Generally, a thesis for a project like this would end up an essay, and I wanted to get it done. I wasn’t sure how many pages or words would be required, so I just started writing since I could always add more or change things. I ignored the feeling of sleep pulling me from my work, and I didn’t realize how tempting it was until I woke up, drooling on my desk.

I grumbled, how had I fallen asleep? I didn’t even have the chance to shower. I sighed, groggily walking to the bathroom to get ready. I wore our second uniform, it was mostly the same, but it had a few differences. I noticed the corset laced back immediately because it took me forever to lace it back. It was a little annoying, but it looked good on me. I wondered if the male students had the corsets too, but I didn’t have time to let the thought linger.

The walk to class was nice, easy to navigate and fun to observe. The halls were long and well decorated, set with paintings and small futuristic elements. I sat in my seat, close to the front. I wanted to present as one of the first few, that way I could get a feel for a few people’s writing styles and morals. While I was waiting, setting up my materials, that guy came in. And sat next to me. Why?

He didn’t make small talk, or even say anything to me. All he did was grunt what was his excuse of a greeting. It bothered me that he sat so close. He was snooping around yesterday, and I wasn’t sure why he was doing it. I scooted a bit away from him and moved my arm over my notepad.

The lecture began and we started expressing our thesis’ to the class. I didn’t care much for long works about animal experiments or other things I really don’t remember.

However, one of my classmates, Jayce Talis? I think that’s his name. His thesis was a big drawn out and my classmates yawned. I was intrigued, listening intently. Magic. I knew it was forbidden, and his willingness to share so much about what he’d already learned was quite brave. It was fascinating to hear of his studies and theories. I moved to change my position when I caught a glimpse of Viktor. He looked most enchanted than I was. It wasn’t obvious, but you could tell in his eyes he found it interesting.

When it was my turn, I presented my opinion. Quick and simple, straight to the point. I took a look around the class every so often as I spoke to gauge people’s reactions. I knew bomb and explosives were a big deal considering recent events in Piltover. A few confused faces, a few surprised. Viktor’s stood out to me. He seemed to be deep in thought, and with each word I said, he seemed to ponder more. Hiding beneath is interest I could see disappointment. Maybe he didn’t like the thesis. Good. He wouldn’t have a reason to steal from me then.

I sat back down and listened to the rest of my peers. I was mostly bored, counting down the minutes before class would be over. And when it finally was, I went straight to my dorm to get a snack.

The next morning, our professor paired us up. Me and Viktor’s thesis’ were most popular, even though I really don’t remember what it was about. I didn’t want to work with him, but I wasn’t sure about his character yet. We had to work on our essays after class and write counterarguments for our partner.

“I already finished my essay, so when you finish yours we do the other arguments.” I didn’t really expect him to respond, considering his quiet demeanor. As soon as I heard his voice, I was captivated.

“I can finish it by tonight.”

Barely even a full sentence, and my head was spinning. I knew why, it was his accent. I had a knack for finding fictional characters to stick to and characters with accents made me weak. But this? I had to keep my cool, he wasn’t some TV show character, he was my work partner.

“Alright, do you want to meet in the library tomorrow to work on it? I can give you my number so we can plan a time.” I fidgeted with my sleeve, it was to work. Not to admire him.

“Sure, I dont think I’m doing anything tomorrow.” He handed over his phone and I punched my number in.

“See you tomorrow.” I said quietly. He grunted in acknowledgment.

I sightly waved goodbye as I went to my dorm. The whole walk there my brain filled with the sound of his voice. I cursed myself for being so attracted to it. “It’s only his voice.” I repeated the sentence into my pillow fifty times. “I can’t even trust him yet.” I sighed softly, grabbing my stuffed animal and looking at it. I smiled a little and got comfortable. The next few days should’ve been easy. I already finished my homework for my other classes since they were pretty easy, and this was the last thing I had left to do.

All I had left to do was go to the library tomorrow.

next chapter...

[shieldxofelliot]

Name: Elliot Porter Age: 33 Gender & Pronouns: Cis male , he/him Place of birth: Vancouver, Washington Orientation: Bisexual

Previous occupation : Director of Art (owned a gallery and museum) Skeleton: Narnia Powers : Elemental Shields - the ability to use the elements of fire, water, earth and air as a shield. Zodiac : Cancer Height: 5'10" PINTEREST || INTERVIEW || SKELETON || CRYSTAL

About Elliot

Elliot Porter was born as an identical twin to Emmett, but their mother was never part of their lives. He had no memory of her, and their father never offered any details about who she was or if he ever cared to know her.

Rumors swirled about their father’s lifestyle, that he frequented brothels or places of pleasure. Whether Elliot and Emmett were a result of one of those nights, they would never know. Their father was a man of secrets—dangerous ones. If he wanted someone to disappear, it would happen without a trace. His work in politics and government granted him power, and he wielded it ruthlessly.

Unlike his father and brother, Elliot didn’t care for wealth or the influence it brought. Emmett, on the other hand, thrived in that world, fully embracing their father's belief that money bought happiness—and silence. But Elliot chose a different path.

From a young age, he found solace in drawing. What began as a casual pastime turned into a passion. He loved being outdoors, surrounded by nature, where he could truly be himself—free from the suffocating grip of his father’s expectations.

Living in Vancouver gave him endless opportunities to explore. The vast forests, lush gardens, and captivating exhibits were his escape. He cherished the beauty around him, capturing it in his art, knowing that every stroke of his brush or pencil could convey emotions that words never could.

He dedicated himself to his studies, initially focusing on architecture, but eventually his passion led him to pursue artistry. Along the way, he discovered his true dream—to create a space where emerging artists could explore their craft, share their designs, and showcase their visions for the world to see.

Like any dream, if it wasn’t the dreamer themselves who might shatter it, it was someone from the outside. By the time Elliot opened his museum at the age of thirty, everything seemed to be falling into place. The first two years went smoothly—he had kept his distance from his family, who had relocated to New York. But his brother Emmett? Well, Emmett couldn’t bear to see Elliot succeed at anything. And that’s when things began to change.

Within a year, Emmett had infiltrated Elliot's business by impersonating him. While Elliot traveled overseas, seeking inspiration and discovering emerging artists, Emmett took control—managing the galleries and artists under Elliot’s name. Upon his return, Elliot was blindsided by a news article announcing the "new direction" of his company.

Betrayed by his own brother, he hadn’t even seen it coming. His life, once thriving, was shattered—forever changed. He was on his way to confront his brother, to get answers. Was this always his plan, did his father plot this? did he know? however, he never got to his destination. His brother leaving him in the dark. For three months Elliot tried to pick up the pieces, and then woke up on the island..

Persona

He tries to see the good in things, even if the world he knows it is falling apart. Elliot doesn't like to show others his weak side, or the fact that he too gets hurt. A defense mechanism, he never was one to have attention on him. Deep down he wants to be cared for. The betrayal of his brother left him wounded, yes they shared things because they were brothers, but his dream? no, that was his alone to have. Elliot cares for others without expecting anything in return. He also has a brave side to himself that will go above and beyond.

Fun facts

If i had to pick a character he would resemble, it would be peeta when it comes to making himself blend. Blend in nature ( if you have seen hunger games).

Not a fan of water, he's actually scared of the ocean.

Can be surprisingly brave, and often times a good leader.

a bit of a magnet for being a klutz, but also the friend that can make you laugh.

protective and heart warming energy.

On the Island

Already settled in a bungalow, he actually drew his own map between the ship to the warehouse to the hub.

Will probably draw the people he interacts with so he identifies who they are as individuals.

a comedic relief at times, but also very helpful in gathering supplies.

[saberamane]

Ok, so I have finished the Fate of Atlantis DLC. And um...

I can't say the dlc made me like Layla any more than I did before? In fact, I like her less now...

I get that Isu devices can make people violent, but she straight-up killed Victoria for caring for her health, and then I'm thinking paralyzed Otso Berg? Why didn't she just kill him?

From the start she has been obsessed with the Animus, what it could do, and what she could get from it. She doesn't care what it does to her, and she gets mad when other people mention it. She's literally obsessed, to the point she has killed an ally.

She wants to be in the Animus too much. She is, in essence, the opposite of Desmond.

Desmond was forced into the Animus for the 'greater good', regardless of what he wanted. When he wanted breaks or some time to recover, he wasn't given it at all. Layla, on the other hand, has people begging her to take a break, eat something, take a nap, and she gets all pissy about people stopping her from going in the Animus. About people caring about her.

It honestly really makes her unlikeable, for me.

But enough about Layla, lets talk about the DLC.

Some reiterations:

The base game has too big of a map for a casual playthrough. (IMO)

Too grindy for an AC game (IMO)

Elysium was pretty, but the verticality was kind of annoying.

Torment of Hades was great, loved everything about it. (Especially Hades.)

Loved the Isu architecture in both base game and dlc.

Fighting the greek myth creatures was fun and exciting. (Though I had hoped the Medusa one would have had an actual snake body...)

Now for Atlantis:

It was a reasonable length, honestly. Didn't seem overly big, was filled with enough stuff to explore and find. The new Isu style 'forts' you had to conquer were fun.

The missions were pretty good. Did not see Atlas being 'evil' coming.

I found it really funny to talk to Poseidon while having the Poseidon trident equipped, the one that lets you have infinite air?, that had been my secondary weapon the whole game once I found it just for that ability. It made the cutscenes really funny.

Learning more about the Olympos project was cool, I think Lyra might have been an attempt at making a werewolf maybe?

And also, Zombies are canon to AC now.

Overall Atlantis was a good DLC, it was interesting, and actually kind of surprising that Kassandra had to destroy Atlantis and that the Isu were like...ok with it? Like all the humans ran to escape, and the Isu just accepted they were going to die... I don't really understand that, surely they could have left too? Not all the Isu in Atlantis were bad.

Finally seeing Aita and Juno as living beings and not, idk, data? was cool too. Their relationship, what little we saw right at the end there, seems kind of weird.

But also, some of the Isu knowledge stuff you can read parallels final fantasy 7 so much. An Isu scientist falls in love with a human woman and they have to run and hide because she's pregnant? Sounds a lot like Professor gast and Ifalna from ff7. A human scientist and a Cetra fall in love and have a child that's half human half cetra that is then hunted down to study...

The Isu thought of humans as animals...so technically wouldn't that have been a form of beastiality to the other Isu? Just saying...

[glorioustidalwavedefendor]

@jupitermelichios

I am sorry it took so long to answer, wen your answer is always so quick.

My head didn‘t work last week … and you take so much care to answer, that I really want to give it my full attention <3

It is really fun to read your answer :-)

And very interesting.

I want to take my time with it and really enjoy it :-)

And I am honestly sad that I don‘t really have any more big questions … just some tying up of loose ends :-(

SO no more reason to tell me anything … :-(

Btw. I totally understand if you don’t answer anymore … my answer is shamefully over due

Thank you for your time and have a great day/week <3

„I don't mind at all 😊 Glad to put my theology degree to actual use for once!“

I thought you might have studied something like theology … or history with a heavy emphasize on religious history

You talk so effortless about all these very densely packed infirmations

„incidentally, Mary's invasion was called the glorious revolution, a name which is referenced in pratchett's night watch!“

OMG!

I did not know that either

There are so many little nods and jokes that are completely wasted on my … because I just don‘t notice …

Do you have more of those?

“This has improved over time as Anglicanism has grown increasingly into its own identity, but there’s a reason the church is haemorrhaging members right now when more extreme protestant sects are growing, and (imo) a lot of it is that aspect of compromise.”

That is super ironic … considering that the bible says:

So, because you are lukewarm—neither hot nor cold—I am about to spit you out of my mouth.

(This is like the only bible quote I actually know XD and I still had to google it XD)

Like, you know ...they, of all people, should have kind a seen that one coming …

Levellers

I assume the Levellers fall under the general umbrella of protestant?

Or at least they do NOT fall under the general umbrella of high church an catholicism?

I tried to do my own research … but then google gave me words like antinomian and I got scared … ;-) XD

“at the same time as the church is trying to emphasise its unique qualities, the aristocracy are also trying to emphasise their own wealth and power because they’re genuinely terrified they’re going to be overthrown but also they’re all morons, so instead of compromising with the reformers (that does happen a little, with some parliamentary reforms, but not significantly) they think any compromise will be seen as a sign of weakness and instead get real into fancy art and architecture. (Disappointingly, this does kind of work, at least for a while)”

I am not sure I am more angry about the fact that:

the aristocracies answer to: can we please have some fair wages, equal rights and all in all better living conditions

Was to go: Look how rich we are

Or that it worked …

Well maybe I should simply be happy that it isn‘t working this time around …

“for some reason british map makers always coloured empire countries pink”

How adorable … maybe it was just the cheapest color XD

gothic revival

O.K. so the gothic revival was kind a the straw that broke the camels back and drove people away … yeah that makes sense …

“sharing a single room with three other families working 12+ hour days and your kid lost an arm to machinery and you still can’t afford to eat”

The more things change the more they stay the same …

„Which isn’t to say it was a good life, it absolutely sucked in a lot of ways, but the lives of the newly urban poor arguably sucked a lot worse, and this time, there was someone they could blame that on.“

100% agree, not just food being more secure but also if you look at working hours they worked a lot less … I mean if you just take in to account that in winter there is not really that much to do in a farming community … like yeah … stables need to be mucked out … some harvest maintenance … and spinning/weaving … etc … and of course chores … but it is still the more relaxed part of the year …

But in the city?

The machines run year round 24/7 … they don’t care …

The Wee Free men

The Wee Free men being a play on the churches just completely blows my mind … I am still not over it …

Every time I remember it I have to stare in to space for a while … XD

I wonder how much more little nods just went right over my head …

Even L-space didn‘t tell me either of those two things (the glorious revolution and the Wee free men)…

“It had never occurred to me that them thinking they’re already dead might be a reference to the way Calvinists think a person’s life is basically just an extension of their afterlife, but you very well might be right, that's really cool!”

Thank you! <3

That happened by sheer accident XD

broken clock and all that XD

[pen-observing]

a human myth of red

synopsis: These are the two times in which Jade felt genuine shock. He asks, and Azul tells him just what red strings mean to humans. All Jade wants to know, however, is how true they are.

word count: 1.1k  warnings: it is entirely from Jade’s pov, gn! reader

[ SERIES MASTERLIST ]

It is important to know that Jade has been shocked only two times in his entire life.  

Shock itself is something inkling to an emotion, and it is not that jade doesn’t feel rather; he finds it hard to even register that particular occurrence. What is shock? Something extreme. Sure, he has had his fair share of surprises but none quite so dire for him to use the stronger word. And yes, he has had to deal with two unpredictable and unruly souls always being around but, still, surprises would come tumbling down but a shock from them? Once.

Only once.  

“Are you insinuating what I think that you are?” he remembers that for whatever reason, the sea felt cold that day.  

“If you are insinuating, we are going to become humans and study on their land – then yes, indeed, that is precisely what I am saying.”  

That was the first time Jade felt true shock. It was just above the level of a surprise, but just below the level of an epiphany. After all, Azul has managed to surprise him so many times it was eventually bound to end up this way.  

“I see.”  

“So, I suggest you guys start reading the books I left for you in that corner.”

As soon as Azul gave them that advice, Jade knew he would be the only one to read them. Floyd preferred to pester others for questions rather than put in the effort to find out on his own. Jade also noted how this divergence in their personalities was rather suitable for creating both the excitement and being prepared to set foot – literally – to something so unfamiliar.  

And indeed, Jade did read. From the beginners' guide to human anatomy, emotion and the manual ‘How to walk like your legs were not fins just 5 minutes before’, Jade moved on to more complex books. He was rather curious, and the fun facts about humans managed to surprise even him.  

They were sometimes too emotional and that caused them suffering. Humans also found ways to discriminate between one another – at least that was something he could relate to the life in the sea. But wasn’t it rather odd? To him, all humans looked the same. Just how did they manage to carry on discrimination?   Humans assigned meanings to flowers. They would mix two poisonous chemicals and create something called ‘salt’ to eat and make their food taste better? How peculiar.  

When the time for their departure came, Jade was sure he knew everything that was necessary to blend in. He learned so much, what else was left?  

Jade refuses to talk about the trial and error of actually walking for the first time and learning to navigate the new anatomy he had to work with. If you were to ask him about it, he will simply say he was surprised but not shocked.  

So where lies the second thing that managed to shock Jade Leech?

Once his feet were finally on true human roads and not the sand, he had to halt. When he set his foot down, he felt something sharp cutting into his right hand. For a second, it reminded him of when Floyd and him went swimming among the waves with pieces of glass scattered all around. He looked down, but even if the pain was the same – his hand was completely clean.

Peculiar.  

Maybe this too was a side effect of the potion Azul gave him?  

“Jade, hurry up. We have no time to waste. Imagine what the humans would say if we were to arrive later than the scheduled time?”

So, he disregarded it.   Threw it away.   From his mind, from his focus and he was able to pretend like the pain wasn’t pulsating the closer he got to the school. He ignored it.  

That is – until he was unable to ignore it any longer.  

Jade had only read one book about human architecture deep in the sea and to him; it now looked old. In his mind, this was a solidification on the truth that humans couldn’t hold still. They would change their styles, for everything and of everything. Such restless souls were they.  

Still, he was able to appreciate what he saw. Perhaps that very day he would have been able to memorize all the corridors and rooms he went through. If it wasn’t for you.  

What Jade first saw was your foot tapping on the left. Was that just another proof humans were restless?   And he would have left it at that question but suddenly, the pain in his finger (for he was able to locate it now), grew stronger than anything he had felt before.  

A surprise.   Hardly.

As he held his hand, afraid for himself, he saw a red string suddenly appear. It reminded him of how human flowers seemed to bloom, unexpectedly and impatiently. The red string seemed to blossom, and it seemed to blossom specifically for you. Now, he was able to see the way it wrapped around your finger in the same manner.  

Shock. For the second time in his life.  

He was waiting for something. Anything. No books that he had read described anything about this. For some reason, you were still the same. Your foot was still tapping the ground, your eyes were still away from him and it looked like you were searching for someone else.   For some reason, that made him upset. How could he be so curious about you and feel this red string so strongly while you didn’t even glance in his direction?

Controlling his emotions was something Jade knew he could do well. For that, his voice was rational and calm when he uttered his next words.  

“Azul, do humans say anything about red strings that wrap around their fingers?”

Azul crossed his arms and raised one eyebrow.   “Why are you asking me that? I didn’t deem it important so I threw that book out. But yes, in some human folk stories they say soulmates are connected with a red string and—Floyd! Come back this instant!”

An epiphany.   Another first in his life.  

Azul did not finish his initial sentence but Jade already knew everything he was curious about.   How fascinating were humans indeed.  

Soulmates huh? Jade reached for his pocket.  

Just how much of that was actually true? You didn’t notice him at all. Why shouldn’t he play around with what he had learned?  

He watches your eyes light up as you embrace a man with unruly red hair.   Red, huh? Red again.  

Instead of approaching you, Jade brings the pocket knife next to the string and cuts it without hesitation.  

If the myth of the human world is true, he does not know yet. But considering how finally, you hold onto your finger with a shocked expression – Jade is sure, that he will eventually know the truth.  

[al-mayriti]

hello once again, your friendly neighborhood spaniard is here once again to comment on the references to spanish culture i'm seeing while playing scarlet and violet!

here's my previous post on this! and i wanted to tell you that as per this post, i've officially seen all the cities and towns in paldea which means there's not really much else to explore, these posts are coming to an end :(

anyways, let's start

if montenevera is based on the pyreenees, it makes sense that the area around the fairy squad camp is modeled around another part of northern spain, in this case asturias and more precisely the picos de europa national park, arguably the prettiest part of the country (i've never been there but everyone that has been says asturias is the prettiest so who am i to disagree). just like in the game, it's a beautiful prairie place next to big scary mountains and right by the sea! however, there are no marshy areas in asturias; the three largest ones in the country are the ebro delta [pic 6], the valència albufera [pic 7], and doñana national park [pic 8]. i would say the in-game one is probably referencing the ebro delta, only based on location, as the other two are more south.

another fun thing about this area is that if you go swimming in the north coast you'll be able to find the tynamo evolution family, based on lampreys! lampreys have been fished in galicia as early as the roman times, with unique rock constructions built in the rivers called pesqueiras used to specifically catch them. they are part of the traditional galician (and portuguese!) cuisine, and they are similar to anchovies, one of the most popular dishes in another northern iberian area, cantabria.

finally, there's the last town of the game that i had yet to see, alfornada! one fun fact about me is that my favourite architectural style is mudéjar, so i was absolutely stoked to see a whole town built in that style!!! for everyone who doesn't know what mudéjar is, or why arabic-inspired music sounds all throughout the town, i'm gonna summarize 700 years of story really quick: after the western roman empire fell, the visigoths took over the peninsula, and things were chill for a bit until 711, when the moors invaded the peninsula. by 722 all but asturias was now part of the umayyad caliphate (we call moorish iberia al-andalus for short), but the asturians defeated the moors in the battle of covadonga and from there on the reconquista started, a centuries old war between christians and muslims in iberia that lasted until 1492, when the last remnants of al-andalus were defeated. as you could imagine this conjured up a very complex social landscape and a unique cultural makeup that still lasts till this day. within all of that, there were three groups we had to study in class and were a pain in the ass to differenciate (i had to search what each one were for this post): muladíes (local iberians that converted to islam and lived in al-ándalus), mozárabes (christians and jews that lived in al-ándalus), and mudéjares (muslims living in the iberian christian kingdoms). mozárabes and mudéjares had to pay extra taxes and live in special quarters of the cities, but apart from that they all lived peacefully which is neat. both groups had their own art styles, but the mudéjar art and architecture was the most prominent of the two, and even experienced a renaissance in the 19th and 20th centuries with the neo-mudéjar style. it basically mixes muslim and christian styles and it's so good i love it with all my heart.

also, alfornada is known for its pottery, and ceramics are one of the traditional spanish arts, there are still a lot of ceramic workshops in rural areas where you can find handmade ceramic. and the plates displayed in alfornada are also very popular in the country, every grandma has at least one set very similar to the ones in the game lol. one particular place associated with this type of ceramic is talavera de la reina, in toledo. as our ex-president once said 'the talavera pottery is a big thing, in other words, it is not' a small thing' (it doesn't make sense in spanish either <3)

you thought i was done with this town huh? surely there isn't any more references right??? right??? well, we're just getting started. another interesting feature of alfornada is all the fountains in the streets, which, alongside with the music and the mudéjar style, made me realise what was the biggest inspiration behind this town: the alhambra, the palace complex of the kings of the nasrid kingdom of granada, the last stronghold of al-andalus and imo the most incredible human construction ever (it's a unesco world heritage site as well). even the setting of alfornada corroborates this; the alhambra sits on the top of a mountain, right by the sierra nevada mountain range, one of the tallest of the country (in fact, the highest peak in iberia, the mulhacén, is located there). one of the main defining features of the alhambra was the usage of water, with tons of canalization through the complex and lots of gorgeous fountains.

we're almost done, hold up (this is the first post where i had to cut some images cause i had reached the 30 pic limit oops). just north to alfornada, if you continue to climb up the mountain, you'll reach a ruins area. there are tons of these in paldea, and it makes sense, there's a ton of ruins everywhere in spain as well, but these are special due to its location, its context, and the arch and colums that can clearly be seen. i'm pretty sure this is a direct reference to medina azahara, the palace complex of the caliphate of córdoba, that now lies in ruins (another world heritage site). i visibly gasped when i got here, it shows how much thought the pokemon company put into this game :)

and that was all! i hope you liked it :)

here's next post !!!

[dream-of-butterflies]

Seele gave Alhaitham a look, one of slight disappointment as she began to flip through the pages, aiming for the bookmarked one that he pointed out. For all of the boredom she felt from hearing all of his fun facts -- it felt like Natasha had been giving her school lessons all over again -- she really did want to learn from him directly. Less work, that way.

Maybe this is how this Allhaitham guy bonds with people? Through stuff like this? The thought flitted through her mind like a solitary butterfly, as she landed on the page. She noted that his choice of 'bookmark' -- if it could be called that -- was a folded corner page. Worn books express love, I think?

She stared at the architecture, studied it thoroughly through and through, as she even read the little paragraph about the Palace of Alcazarzaray as well. It was a beautifully crafted structure, something that clearly took a lot of time, something she could even tell even from an untrained eye. Her eyes then landed n mentions of who made it, mentions of an individual named Kaveh. She hummed to herself, her once disappointed gaze being replaced with impress, as she looked back up at Alhaitham.

"Woah, this Kaveh guy seems impressive, no? Is he like, a known architect in Sumeru? Do you know the guy?"

Whatever reason Alhaitham had for picking this Palace, whether it's just a fascinating history, something more, she wanted to understand. It was complicated for a snowman, or rather, a snow creation, but-

-She had a sense that maybe it held some importance to her companion, here.

kavehromantic elsa and lesbian anna build a snowman

dragonspine snowman | starter for @currentlyoffwork

[powdermelonkeg]

Do you have any thoughts or such about Loftwings?

I made a whole post on what Loftwings eat!

If you want more, though, well then.

Loftwings are an incredible species to study.

They lay spotted eggs in a various shades of brown, about twice as big as an ostrich egg, and have clutches between 1 and 3 eggs at a time.

They typically build their nests in the nooks of uninhabited islands, away from people and with a good source of bugs for their young to nap on. It’s incredibly difficult to locate a nest; even though the Loftwings trust their riders with the world, they still make efforts to hide their dwellings from anything besides their own kind.

This leads them to nest in islands hidden by the cloud barrier. If you’ve ever flown too close to the sea of rain, you’ll find that your Loftwing occasionally bumps into things and squawks at you in protest. That’s where they nest, and why you’ll seldom see a bird actually landing on Skyloft for any extended period of time

Onto Loftwing colors!

Loftwings come in every color of the rainbow, though by the time of Skyward Sword, most of them have faded off into obscurity.

That’s hardly the fault of the Skylians; there’s only ever as many Loftwings as there are people, and the number of people on the isles has dwindled as of late. However, if we were to document every single color that a Loftwing has been, from the moment Skyloft rose to the moment it sank, we’d have a lot of them.

And I mean a LOT.

Back when Hylia first gifted the birds to her people, a Loftwing’s color was said to tell what kind of person you would be. The people of early Skyloft belived that their goddess would only give a bird that perfectly matched the soul of its rider, so they took color seriously—a tradition that’s carried on to modern day Skyloft, though is more regarded as a fun myth than a divine fact. There are, of course, specific tone variations (all the way down to secondary feather colors), but here’s the basic rundown:

Reds are said to be fast fliers and early risers, always full of energy and raring to go. They love to show off their skills in the field, becoming aces in the sky but winding up injured at least once a month.

Etymology notes: Pale red is eggshell to Skyloftians, given the color of loftwing eggs, and heartflower red comes from the color a heartflower’s fruit stains your skin.

True Reds, on the other hand, were known more for their impulsivity than their energy. A True Red could be counted on to leap into a decision without a plan, and would be brimming with passion and emotion 24/7.

Etymology notes: While cochineals don’t exist in Skyloft as a source of carmine (a specific red pigment), starry fireflies do. And scarlet, while meaning vibrant red-orange for us, has a more literal meaning to Skyloftians, being the color of fresh wounds.

Soft Reds are followers rather than leaders, and are known to guard their feelings very closely. It’s a very difficult job getting a Soft Red to open up, but once they do, they tend to spill everything all at once.

Etymology notes: Hatcher and Speckle colors are named after the different reddish shades on healthy Loftwing eggs, and Spicecrest is named for the color of hearty spice, a condiment made from the bases of heartflower leaves that somewhat resembles nutmeg.

Pinks are the bookworms, people who can’t stop researching any interesting thing that comes their way, and tend to be a little more disorganized than others. You can count on a Pink to give you random trivia about any topic you can think of.

Etymology notes: Guardian is named after guardian potions, which, while they look a variety of shades, are singled out for their odd pale pink colors. Sugarpink is named because of the sugar gained from heart flower roots, and Garnet and Ruby, among other gemstone colors later down the list, are known because of how often we can find gems worked into Skyloftian architecture.

Jams are known for being exceptionally organized and dedicated. They follow schedules, they know their routines, and they keep their notes all formatted and easily read. Their fatal flaw, however, is that they tend to panic if that routine is broken, scribbling down new to-do lists to try to get back on track.

Etymology notes: Vital is named for the color of revitalizing potions, much in the same way that Guardian is named above. Jamdown is named for the jam made from preserved heart flowers and stamina syrup, plus “down” as in soft feathers. Supposedly, the first Jamdown Loftwing was discovered as a chick, before it had even selected a rider.

Purples are quick thinkers, fast actors, and light on their feet, at the cost of being jumpy and nervous when they don’t have anything to do. They’re notoriously easy to startle, but do so at your own risk; they’re just as likely to react with a punch as they are a scream!

Etymology notes: While Skyloft doesn’t have the flowers fuchsia and violet, they do have words for the colors we associate with them. Flower names, at large, are to be taken as translations into English, rather than suggesting Skyloftians are aware of specific Earth flora.

Hard Blues are full of determination and wit, never backing down from a challenge and single minded in any task set before them. They can be pushy and snarky at times, but they’re absolutely the ones you’d want to have with you on a tough journey.

Etymology notes: Goddess Loftwings are named for the Goddess Plumes that can be found around the world. While it’s much easier to find them on the Surface, up in the Sky, they’re prized as exceedingly rare treasures. Firefly Loftwings are named for the shells of Starry Fireflies.

True Blues are said to have luck on their side—though, maybe that’s more of a product of blending into the sky so that Skytails can’t see them. True Blues are skilled fliers and survivalists, and prefer camping out to being stuck at home.

Etymology notes: Butterfly Loftwings are named for Blessed Butterflies. While the actual colors of a Blessed Butterfly are icy blue and purple, powdered wings mix the two hues to create a vibrant shade of blue that’s reserved for special occasions.

Blues are gifted and insightful, if a bit oblivious, and love to watch the world go by. On the other hand, though, they’re also plenty forgetful, and tend to walk into a room and promptly forget what they were doing.

Etymology notes: Softsky Loftwings are named after a misconception that blue Loftwings have softer plumage, making their shed down a highly desirable pillow stuffing. While the myth was debunked a long time ago, you can still see the value Skylians place on them in the price of blue Chirri feathers from the Surface!

Ice Blues are the explorers, the ones who can’t get enough of new things out in the wild. They’re easily excited and fast to jump to conclusions, all with a more-than-healthy dose of optimism and delight in hard work under their belt.

Etymology notes: Skystag Loftwings are named for the color of Sky Stag Beetles (a fact that a certain traveling shopkeeper was more than delighted to find out about his bird).

Soft Greens are rash and temperamental, but are exceptionally good at pinpointing the strengths and weaknesses of people they run into. They can be a little judgmental at times, but usually, their gut is pretty accurate with first impressions.

Etymology notes: Celadon is a kind of pottery in our world, and WAS a kind in Surface culture up until the War of Demise. While the practice itself has faded into obscurity, the name lives on through the color of the final product.

Stamina Greens are known for being playful and lighthearted, who delight in making other people laugh. They’re very emotionally intelligent, able to read a room in an instant and diffuse situations easily, though they can stress themselves out if they don’t get enough attention.

Etymology notes: Skygrass isn’t just “grass in the sky,” it’s an actual plant! The blades of it are broad and rounded, and the seeds of them are used in making a kind of millet-like flour.

Herbals are people who take great care in their appearance, and don’t respond well to their pride being hurt. They can be dramatic and sassy, but all in all, they’re people with big hearts who adore getting—and giving—attention.

Etymology notes: Skyloftians don’t actually have a word for “yellow,” seeing yellow as a brighter shade of green than its own color. This is similar to certain Earth cultures and patterns, like the infamous “wine-dark sea” and grey skies of the Greeks, or the blurred line between blue and green in Japanese (both being marked as 青 for the longest time) that led to about half their traffic lights using blue for go. The lack of a word for yellow is why yellow and green seem to be interchangeable in future eras: Farosh is yellow-green, but comes from Faron, which is known for emerald green.

Also, Nimbus is classified as an herbal due to the color of Stamina Fruit seeds.

Dust Browns are quiet, reserved people, whose skill lies in waiting and listening before deciding on what to do. They tend to occupy themselves with busywork while paying attention to something, be it drawing, playing with coins, or collecting things.

Etymology notes: Dusty Loftwings aren’t named for dirt around Skyloft; rather, they’re named for the kind of dust that gets swept up from the Surface during tornado season, which tends to coat the walls of buildings after a particularly bad storm.

Golds like to create more than anything, and share what they make with other people. They usually get jobs in cooking, sewing, or construction work, and love seeing how happy people get when they receive the rider’s handiwork.

Etymology notes: Triplegold Loftwings are one of the oldest Loftwing breeds around, named for the brilliant gold of the goddesses and the Triforce they left behind. Modern day Loftwing experts puzzle over the “triple” meaning in their name.

Ambers are sentimental, cherishing each moment and gift in their life—and not knowing how to get rid of things. They’re cheery, pleasant people to be around, but they’ve got a closet somewhere that’s just full of things that they don’t know where to put, and they do NOT respond well to people breaking anything of theirs.

Etymology notes: Skyloftian clay can be found at the bottom of the neverending spring that floats above Skyloft. It’s a precious resource due to the perception of being finite, though overtime, Hylia restores it just like she does the water.

That’s not going to stop people on Skyloft from freaking out if you break their pottery, though.

Oranges tend to be laid back and easygoing, coasting through life with a pleasant attitude. It takes a lot to bother them; in fact, you could drop soup on their lap a chandelier on their table and they wouldn’t hold it against you.

Etymology notes: Barrier Loftwings are named for the color the cloud barrier usually is at midday, and “Roast” is actually short for “Roast Pumpkin,” though seldom used in full.

Autumns are shy and sweet, though prone to anxiety. They like to do their own thing, most of the time, and they shy away from people and responsibilities that would put them in any kind of spotlight.

Etymology notes: Darkwood refers to stained Loft tree wood, which is used as more of a luxury than just another color of wood to get. It’s a popular stain with woodcarvers, since their work tends to be on the decorative side.

Browns are romantics and dreamers, good at storytelling and better at finding the beauty in the world around them. It’s a bit of a joke among the Skylians that one of these riders can fall in love with anything they spend enough time near.

Etymology notes: Tornado Loftwings are named for the same reason as Dusty Loftwings, while Mudslide Loftwings got their name for the birds’ habit of splashing around in mud when grounded during storms.

Soft Darks are dependable and loyal, sticking to their word and following directions as closely as they can. The downside, though, is that they’re bad at improvising, and tend to get caught up in the semantics of a conversation.

Etymology notes: Technically speaking, all of these would be considered “grey” in Skylian eyes, since their definition of grey is just that a color is muted. This is a side effect of constantly being surrounded by bright pastels and jewel tones in everything they work with.

Darks are ambitious and clever, be it through charm, cunning, or invention. They aim to be the best and stop at nothing to defend what they care about, and aren’t afraid to get other people mad at them if it means they can achieve their goals.

Etymology notes: Hunter Loftwings were named for their pre-Skyloftian advantage of being able to sneak through vegetation. This name has little meaning now, where Skyloft has cleared out most of its growth and Faron Woods is inaccessible.

Early Skylians also took age and season into account when considering a rider’s potential! The earlier your Loftwing came to you, the faster you were thought to mature as a person, while the later the season in the year, the more you were thought to depend on others for help. I can go into a full post on the ins and outs of Loftwing Ceremonies later, if people are interested.

Finally, let’s look at behavior.

Loftwings are very social...with humans. Like most storks, Loftwings are solitary, building their nests as far from each other as they can get. When with humans, however, their behavior shifts entirely, and they act more like excited puppies.

While it’s a popular theory among Skylians that this strange dichotomy in attitude is because the Goddess herself appointed the Loftwings to be the humans’ guardians, that’s actually not the case! The way they act with humans is exactly how they act with their own chicks.

So, Link’s Loftwing sees him as a strange, featherless child that needs parenting and positive reinforcement.

[drawlfoy]

across the pond P.1

masterlist request guidelines

pairing: hbp!draco x reader

requested: for the harry potter writing event!

summary: y/n y/l/n, an american witch with a fascination for the dark arts, is wrenched from her home to study abroad during a period of political turmoil. things were complicated enough without draco malfoy crashing into her life. 6th year slightly canon divergent fic/slight soulmate AU (if soulmate aus really aren’t your thing, dw. this is still a slowburn)

WARNINGS: this is a very dark fic. be warned. mentions of domestic terrorism, bigotry, slut shaming, explicit language, allusions to sex, violence, mild gore. 

a/n: soooo this is in fact a rewrite of faux diplomacy. i hope you enjoy! i’ve had great fun writing this and participating in the harry potter writing event. apologies for any typos/eerrors. i started this project abt a week or so ago and it’s been a sprint to finish this. 

wc: 13.1k

tags hehe @writeandtranslate @sycathorn-slush @gruffle1 @missmultifandommess @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop @naiomimoonshard @jejegu @ophelia-enthusiast @alwaysbeanunknownfan @nearly-memories @litty-dumb @callieclearwater @malfoy-wife15 @charlenasaxen @belladaises @fiantomartell @yiamalfoy @crystalox @dracoismybabey @dreamcxtcherr @decaffeinated-turtle @marrymetheonott @felicityofbakerstreet @daedreamss @sycathorn-slush @writeandtranslate @erisdogwood @loveissupernatural @sycathorn-slush @big-galaxy-chaos @lilyrachelcassidy 

enjoy!

It all happened so suddenly. One moment, she was laughing with Jackie in her dorm and attending classes in the modern Arithmancy building and swimming in the lake that bordered campus. The next, she was standing outside the rubble that she once called home with one duffle bag, stretched silly with extension charm after extension charm. 

They called it a freak accident, a tragedy. Y/N knew it for what it was, though. No amount of mincing words would cover up the information that her father had hastily owled her: it was a terrorist attack, clear and simple. The extremist spirit, brought forth by the rise of Voldemort, had seeped into the American Wizarding World and mobilized the long forgotten WFP (Wizards for Purity) group that had otherwise shuffled off into the shadows of the South. So much had been made clear by the attack on the MACUSA Center of Muggle Affairs earlier that month. 

“Do you think you’re ready?” said Jackie from behind her. Y/N turned towards her roommate, clutching her bag so tight that her knuckles paled in the mild autumn weather. 

“I’m going to miss you,” she said. While she meant it, the words seemed hollow. Of course she was going to miss her. “I miss you” didn’t even begin to capture the tearing she was going to feel once they parted ways. “What am I going to do without you?”

Jackie stepped closer, her eyebrows knitted. “You’re going to be fine. I’m sure this will all blow over soon. Once they rebuild everything and reset the wards, we’ll be right back to normal.” 

She offered a watery smile, wanting more than anything to tell her roommate that no, it was not just a matter of rebuilding and architectural logistics. But her father had made it clear to her in his last letter: she needed to keep it under wraps. If the whole of the Wizarding World knew that the WFP was back, there’d be pandemonium. In no uncertain terms, her only job was to ensure that her things were packed in time for her to be transferred to Hogwarts. She hadn’t told Jackie that part—the one that specified that she would not be returning to Ilvermorny. She didn’t have it in her. “Have you heard back from Mahoutokoro yet?”

“Yeah.” Jackie kicked a stone that rested by her foot. 

“And?”

“They say that they’re sorry, but—”

“That’s fucking ridiculous,” said Y/N. “I can’t believe they wouldn’t let you in.”

“It’s the middle of the fall term, Y/N,” she said gently. 

“So come to Hogwarts with me!”

“You know that the only reason you’re able to participate in a non-existent exchange program is because of your dad.”

“Maybe he can get you in too.”

Jackie sighed. “I don’t want to ride your coattails. I’m sorry. I just don’t think I’d be happy there knowing that I’m only allowed because of my best friend’s dad.”

“I get that.” Y/N swallowed. “But you’re still leaving the country, right?”

She shrugged. “I might go visit my family in Japan anyways. Maybe they can help me transfer.”

“That’s good. That’s good you’re doing that.” Y/N’s mouth was dry and cottony. She didn’t like lying. She’d always been an awful liar, the awkwardness of telling a fib obvious in her stature and lack of eye contact. So, as sick as it was, she was almost relieved as Marvin, her advisor, waved her over to the academic green where a group of faculty and staff were forming. “So this is goodbye,” she said, turning to look Jackie in the eye.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” 

“No, I’m just—”

“You’re looking away again,” said Jackie sourly. “There is something you’re not telling me.”

“Y/N! The portkey is about to activate!” Marvin’s voice thundered from across the green as she looked helplessly at Jackie.

“I’m sorry. I wish I could tell you more—”

“Tell me what?”

“I need to go,” said Y/N, sidestepping Jackie’s attempt to grab her arm. “I’m so sorry. Just be careful, okay? Leave the country. Take any opportunity you get. Come to Hogwarts with me if you can.”

“But why would I need to—”

“Goodbye, Jackie.” Y/N took one last look at her oldest friend before turning tail and jogging to the green, the sick feeling of guilt coiled in her stomach.

~

Y/N had never been to Hogwarts before. She had visited the Ministry once with her father when she was a small child, so young that she could barely remember anything beyond the perplexity she felt at the strange accents and the coolness that chilled her to the bone as she walked around London. This time, her family wasn’t there to accompany her. She wasn’t even able to partake in the classic experience of riding the Hogwarts Express—something that she had seen everywhere in contemporary wizarding fiction set in the UK. No, it was the middle of October, and the green leaves had already begun to shrivel and die. 

The portkey spat her and Marvin up on the cobbled streets of Diagon Alley. There had been something horribly wrong with the magical barrier around where she had grabbed the boot. In their travels, she had been dragged underwater for a moment in the Atlantic. Thankfully, she was fine. Unthankfully, she now smelled of seaweed and was shivering so hard that her teeth were chattering. Their arrival brought forth the attention of the passing wizards on the streets. Marvin rushed the cast drying spells over Y/N’s damp Horned Serpent robes, a soft emerald that easily became filmy upon contact with water. Once Marvin was satisfied with his work, he stepped back and gestured at the shops with open hands. 

“Here’s Diagon Alley. This is where most British Wizards do their shopping. The necklace I gave you will act as a portkey to the actual Hogwarts Castle—hopefully that one will be a much drier experience this time around. I thought you might want to stop here to replace any supplies that may have been lost in the fire.”

“Thanks, Marvin,” she said. 

“Well, I should get going,” her companion said, brushing his palms off and gripping the boot again. 

“You aren’t coming with me?”

Marvin shook his head. “You’ll be fine. Do whatever shopping you need to do and be sure to use the portkey once the clock strikes 5. The headmaster will be waiting for you.”

She gave him a tight smile. Without another word, Marvin disappeared, his form contorting and folding into the light until nothing left of him remained. 

It was a gloomy October day with thick, black clouds reaching across the sky. The street lamps weren’t on, but warm yellow light spilled from the windows of the shops on the sides of the cobbled streets. Not every shop was alight, though. Some had their windows smashed in, glass littering the sidewalk and their interiors dark. Wind ruffled the worn edges of the parchment “WANTED” posters posted on the buildings, depicting a manic looking Bellatrix Lestrange cackling alongside other wizards that Y/N couldn’t put a name to. A newspaper stand caught her eye. Copies of The Daily Prophet were stacked haphazardly on poorly painted green shelves, wrought with splinters. She tossed down 2 sickles and picked up a copy, flipping through it as she walked.

As far as she knew, she didn’t need anything. Thanks to the many extension charms she’d placed on her bag, as well as the fact that her dorm wasn’t the first to be destroyed, she’d had time to pack and bring everything she could feasibly ever want abroad. It was clear that Marvin had assumed otherwise. It was half past 4, and there was nothing left for her to do but wait until the portkey opened. It was times like these that she wished that she could legally apparate. 

As she perused the Daily Prophet, something on the front caught her eye. Alongside the many bolded titles depicting the Death Eater attacks on muggles, there was an article on the trial of the Malfoy family. Y/N remembered briefly hearing the name in her European Wizarding History class. It was an old name, she thought. An old, important name. It was a pureblood family, that much she knew. Part of the sacred 27—or was it sacred 28? No matter. A picture was supplied to the left of the column. A boy with blindingly bright hair blinked back at her, a scowl etched into his aristocratic features as the flashes of other cameras danced across his face. An older woman stood behind him, wearing an identical expression. Mrs. Malfoy, she presumed. 

A quick skim of the article told her everything she needed to know: Lucius Malfoy was found guilty in his involvement at the Department of Mysteries earlier that year and was now being held in Azkaban. His wife would continue assisting with the Wizarding League for Young Witches. His son would continue his studies at Hogwarts. 

At the last line, Y/N’s eyes widened. They were letting a Death Eater’s son have free roam of the school? Knowing the kind of influences he had grown up with? She shoved the newspaper into her bag, not caring if it crumpled. Was Hogwarts a big enough school that she would never have to see him? She didn’t even know if they were in the same year. Back at Ilvermorny, there were so many students from both Canada and the US that there were multiple sections for every class. Unless someone was in your dorm or your friend group, you were rarely ever put in a situation where you had to interact with them. She hoped that that would also be the case for Hogwarts.

Her wand buzzed, letting her know that it was 5 minutes to the hour. She took a shaky breath and looked down at the necklace in her palm. It was large—a locket, she realized, but no matter how hard she ran her nail along the seam, it refused to open. This time, as she felt space and time folding around her like a tight blanket, there were no gaps in the magic. 

~

“Name?”

“Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Give me a moment…I’m not seeing it…” The silver-bearded wizard flipped through the snow-white scroll in his wrinkled hands, squinting as he ran his nail along the paper before vanishing the list entirely and grinning at her. “I’m just kidding. I know who you are. We’ve been expecting you.”

“Oh,” said Y/N, feeling like she was supposed to be relieved but instead just sick from anxiety. “Haha.”

“May I see your wand?” said the wizard, extending a hand. The black mottled skin startled her.

“May I ask why?”

“To ensure that you are who you really say you are,” explained the man. “I’m going to check your last spells.”

Upon gripping her wand in his hand, his face scrunched in interest. “10 inches, hawthorn wood, and unicorn hair core. Am I correct in my assumptions?”

Y/N blinked. “Um. Yes, sir.”

“Interesting.” He clicked his tongue, then tapped her wand on his forearm. She could see wisps of her past spells wafting out: the warming charm she had cast moments before, the many extension charms to fit her things, a hair-smoothing charm that had been used earlier that morning…

Once he seemed satisfied, the wizard gave a quick nod and gave her the wand back. “It’s lovely to meet you, Y/N Y/L/N. You may call me Headmaster Dumbledore.”

The realization splashed over Y/N like cold water. The Dumbledore? The Albus Dumbledore that she had seen all over her contemporary wizarding politics textbooks? “Thank you, si—Headmaster. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

His aged face split into a wide smile. “Minerva here will show you to the Great Hall to be sorted. Thank you for joining us here, Miss Y/L/N.”

To her shock, the gray tabby that had been quietly sitting by her feet transformed into a human woman. Y/N had been around Animagi before, but it still startled her. The woman had a kind look in her eyes, but the firm set of her lips told Y/N that Minerva expected nothing but respect. 

“Miss Y/L/N,” she began in a lilting accent, “I’m glad to see that you made it safely. You may call me Professor McGonagall. I’ll be teaching you Transfiguration this year.”

“It’s great to meet you,” Y/N said. After a few beats of silence, it occurred to her that she was expected to say more. “Thank you so much for allowing me to continue my studies here at Hogwarts. I can’t begin to express how grateful I am for your generosity.”

McGonagall nodded. “We’re just glad that we can keep you safe. Right this way. Let’s get you sorted.” Y/N quickly found out that she meant this in the most literal term. 

The Great Hall was aptly named. Its ceiling stretched so high that Y/N swore that it must’ve gone on forever. The stars that were charmed to twinkle in the distance certainly didn’t help that certain illusion. Candles floated in midair, a warm yellow contrast to the vast night sky. It was so much better than Ilvermorny’s cafeteria-esque hall with clusters of round tables scattered throughout the giant room. The long wood tables here seemed warm, almost inviting. To her disappointment, though, it appeared that the entire Hogwarts student body appeared to be about the size of Y/N’s class year alone. 

The chatter quieted as McGonagall walked her down the center row, passing by the tables enshrouded in yellow and blue. Eyes peered curiously at her as a voice thundered from the front of the room—Dumbledore, already stood on the platform where the professors ate and poised at the speaking podium.

“Students,” boomed Dumbledore. “Today is a very special occasion. Today, we welcome our very first transfer from across the Atlantic. After all our years of comradery, neither of our schools have taken foreign students. This is a momentous event in our history as an accepting and welcoming institution. I expect all of you to welcome Miss Y/N Y/L/N in as you would any of your other classmates. I shall begin by inviting her up to be sorted.”

McGonagall steered her towards the stairs leading up the platform. Y/N felt her nails press into the pillowy flesh of her palm. There were so many people looking at her. The last time she had felt so watched had been when her father had been sworn into MACUSA, and at least then she was with her family.

An eerie silence blanketed the room. She lowered herself onto the sorting stool, hoping that no one would remember the way that she almost lost her balance. The sorting hat felt supple on top of her head, its weight made heavy with centuries of use. It took no more than a moment of deliberation before sucking in a deep breath and shouting,

“SLYTHERIN!”

She didn’t know what to expect. When she had chosen her Ilvermorny house, the Horned Serpents leapt to their feet and roared with applause, joined by the polite cheering of the other houses. Instead, the only noises that could be heard in the Great Hall was the limp clapping from the Slytherins that slowly crescendoed into a dull thunder. Dazed, Y/N allowed herself to be helped down the stairs and led to the Slytherin table. It was mostly full aside for a few empty spaces on the benches, mostly congregated near the end. She felt the heat rush to her cheeks as she considered sitting in the spots near the wide-eyed first years before she heard someone yell, “Hey, you!”

She whipped around to see a raven-haired girl standing up from her seat, her hand waving. “Yeah, you! Come here!” The girl turned to the boy next to her. “Fucking move, Goyle. We have a guest.” The boy next to her grunted and scuttled off. 

“I’m Pansy Parkinson,” said the girl, holding out a hand. Y/N shook it, noting how cold her skin felt. “And you are?”

“Y/N.”

“Last name?”

“Y/L/N.” She could tell that Pansy was thinking this over, deciding if she’d heard the name before. 

“What does your family do?” she asked as Y/N sat down on the bench across from her. 

“We work for MACUSA,” said Y/N, only partially lying. “My father is a senator.”

“A senator?” Pansy seemed impressed.

“And your father, what does he do?” She knew that it was wrong the moment it left her mouth. Of course Pansy gave her a weird look. Of course. Parkinson sounded familiar to her for a reason—she had read about the family line along with the Malfoys and the other sacred purebloods. 

“He’s in the Ministry,” answered Pansy. “Of course, he doesn’t really have to. We are the Parkinsons, you know. I’m not sure if you caught that.”

“You’re right,” said Y/N, thankful for the easy excuse. “I had a rough portkey trip. My head isn’t quite right.”

Her newfound companion seemed satisfied with this. The rest of the dinner consisted of easy conversation with Pansy and her friends that she met—Theodore Nott, Daphne Greengrass, and Blaise Zabini. She liked Theo the best. There was something about the twinkle in his eyes when he spoke to her that made her feel at home. She was especially relieved that she had yet to come across the Malfoy son considering that she was sorted into what she presumed to be his house. 

She had not known much of Slytherin before coming, but what little she knew was confirmed by the conversations she overheard at the dinner table. It was the house of ambition, she knew, but apparently also the house of prejudice and blood supremacy. Her father would be so disappointed in her, she realized. The sorting hat thought she belonged with the blood purists. 

It was also becoming apparent to her that she was walking a particularly fine line. She was lucky that her father was a MACUSA senator, but her luck stopped there. Her mother was a muggle, and while she technically hadn’t lied about that, she hadn’t been entirely upfront. She knew that if she told her new friends that she was a half-blood, they would no longer continue to be friends with her. 

Two years left she thought as she stared at the ceiling of her dorm room. This year and 7th year. I just have to get through it. 

~

She saw him for the first time that morning. It was early, just ticking past 7 in the morning as she stepped out of the common room and made her way to the Great Hall for breakfast. She was one of the few who was taking the early period for Advanced Potions and thus had to be awake earlier than the rest should she hope to get something to eat. The Great Hall was largely empty, save for the blue table that Y/N had learned belonged to Ravenclaw. A few students populated the Slytherin table, making it easy for the bright blonde head of hair that belonged to Malfoy to stand out. 

Y/N slid onto the bench on the opposite side of the table, careful to keep her distance. He didn’t look up as she placed her textbook on the table and began flipping through it. It was easy to forget about people like Malfoy when there was an already more pressing stress: the one that involved her having to catch up with the students at Hogwarts. As an honors student at Ilvermorny, she was already better prepared than most transfer students, but she wasn’t entirely sure where her class was in the textbook that had been sent to her by Professor Slughorn last week. 

To her relief, she noticed that she had already brewed the potions in the first quarter of the book and reviewed the basic concepts of simmering down gillyweed and moondust into a base. She was, by all accounts, somewhat prepared for the class. 

When she looked up again, he was gone. 

~

“Miss Y/L/N, so glad you could finally join us,” said an elderly professor at the front of the class as she flung open the door and clambered in over 5 minutes last. 

“I’m so sorry, Professor,” she said, slightly out of breath. “I got lost.”

If he was irritated, he didn’t show it. “No worries. Take a seat. We haven’t begun brewing.”

Whatever short term relief she’d felt at this did not last long when she looked up and saw that the only seat open in the room was next to Malfoy. Blaise caught her eye and sent her a wave from his seat across from him. Without any better option, Y/N approached and set her satchel down on the work table. For the first time, Malfoy turned and looked directly at her. His eyes were a startling silver in a way that wasn’t adequately captured in the picture from the Daily Prophet (that she had, in fact, stared at for a bit last night). His well sculpted jaw rested in his palm, and once he had seen enough, he turned his attention back to his parchment. 

“Draco,” said Pansy from her place across from Y/N, “This is Y/N Y/L/N. She’s the Ilvermorny transfer.”

Draco. The name rolled around Y/N’s mind like a smooth marble. Once she heard it, she couldn’t imagine any other name being as fitting for the boy sitting next to her. 

Draco shifted in his seat to look at her again, this time lifting his jaw from his palm. 

“Hi,” she said shyly.

“Hi,” he echoed, extending his hand towards her in an offering. His hand was warm and unscarred. He had the immaculate hands of someone who had never worked a day in his life. 

The brewing commenced without any further trouble. Each student was instructed to brew the potion with the strongest healing properties they knew. Y/N chose to brew Liquid Episkey—which was really just the essence of dittany added on top of any stable base potion. As she worked, her table chatted quietly.

“I’ve been thinking about your last name, Y/N,” said Blaise. “I think I know your mother.” 

She narrowly missed slicing her finger. “Oh, um, you do?” 

“Is she affiliated with the Y/L/N modeling company? My mother speaks very highly of her work.” 

It felt like someone punched her in the stomach. She had never heard of the company before, but she would take any chance at saving herself. “Yeah, actually. I have to admit that I don’t really have any interest in modeling so I don’t know much about it, but yeah. That’s her life’s work.”

Blaise hummed as his diced beetroot splashed into his cauldron. “Tell her the Zabinis say hi the next time you see her, yeah?”

“Of course.” Y/N swallowed. “She’d love that.”

“Blaise, how’s the Slug Club treating you?” Draco asked. It was the first time she’d heard him speak unprompted. She found her head turning to watch the interaction despite being closely focused on her potion. 

“Oh, you know.” Blaise gave his cauldron a stir. “Pathetic, as always. Slug spends the entire time kissing Potter’s arse. Everyone pats themselves on the back for being so progressive as to invite mudblood Granger and pretending like her opinions on the magical world hold a candle to those who have actually grown up in it.”

Draco snicked. “Riveting. I can’t contain my jealousy.”

Y/N felt glued to her seat the moment she heard the slur easily slip out of Blaise’s mouth. None of her friends would say that back home. She supposed, though, that these weren’t her friends, even if they thought they were. She had a feeling her time in Slytherin would be harder without them. Her new friends had quieted down when Draco turned to her directly and said, 

“How did you end up coming here, anyway? I didn’t think Hogwarts accepted transfers.”

“They don’t,” said Y/N, feeling uncomfortable under the weight of his gaze. “I got really lucky. My father knows someone in the Department of Education who was able to secure me a seat.”

“And why would you want to come here?” He watched his cauldron simmer, his ladle lazily tracing circles at the bottom. 

“There was an attack on Ilvermorny’s campus,” said Y/N. “MACUSA is telling the people that it was a one-off, but they know it was just the start of something worse. My father wanted me to leave as soon as I could.”

She wasn’t sure why she was telling him all of this. He certainly didn’t seem very interested in the details she was providing. His eyebrows were raised in faux engagement.

“Fascinating,” he said. “And naturally you chose the one school situated in the center of Europe’s Wizarding conflict.”

Y/N bristled. “There’s more security measures here.”

Draco made a noise that seemed like he was agreeing before tapping his ladle on the rim once and setting it down. That seemed to be the end of that conversation. And good timing, too. Y/N’s Liquid Episkey wasn’t looking so good.

“Fuck,” she muttered, flipping through her textbook to see if there was any mention of what to do when it turned piss yellow. A few quick chops of the crushed beetles in her workspace and a brisk clockwise stir seemed to do the trick. Despite her sudden preoccupation with her potion, she couldn’t help but pay close attention to the movements of the person next to her. He clearly fostered no interest in her, but it appeared that he fostered no interest in anything. Now that his potion—a very cleanly brewed Sanitum, she noted with a sense of envy—was finished and corked, he was flipping through the yellowed pages of a book and looking exceedingly bored.

What does it matter? she thought angrily. It’s not like it matters what he does.

After that, it became exceedingly clear that Y/N was never going to be entirely free of Draco Malfoy and his pureblooded crew. She’d been initiated into whatever weird friend group they had going on and was hating every minute of it. It was bad enough that she had to bite her tongue whenever Blaise said something that smacked of blood supremacy; she also had to continue to lie about who her mother was, a detail that kept weighing on her. Thankfully, no one seemed suspicious in the slightest, not even Draco, who was quickly becoming the person in Hogwarts she spoke with the most once Slughorn started assigning partners. 

“In interest of saving time, you may work with the person seated directly next to you,” said Slughorn as he circled the room, distributing past Potions essays. “I trust that you each will have the decorum to behave well, even if you’re working among friends.”

Y/N desperately wished that that veiled warning applied to her in the slightest as Draco sat up straighter, unrolling a parchment and pointing at the textbook between the two of them. 

“Sorry, what was that?”

Draco sniffed. “I said, do you want to do the chopping or the stirring?”

“Oh,” she said stupidly. “Um, whichever you prefer. I mean, whichever one you don’t prefer. I honestly don’t care.”

“You chop,” he said finally, his eyebrow slightly arched. He was most definitely judging her. 

“Cool.” She tried to sound casual as she gripped the knife and began to dice the shrew’s head in front of her. “So, um, do you know what you want to do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Like, what do you want to do after Ilvermor–I mean, Hogwarts. Do you want to be a Potions Master?”

There it was again—that coy, calculating look that always came across Draco’s features as he examined her. “I don’t imagine I’ll become a Potions Master anytime soon. I have slightly more pressing matters to handle first.”

“Like what?” she asked, keeping her tone light and conversational. 

Draco shrugged. 

“Do you even like Potions? Why are you taking an Advanced course if you don’t even know if you want to pursue it?”

“I like to keep my options open,” he said simply. “And potion brewing is always a valuable skill to have.”

She nodded. Her tongue felt too big for her mouth. In other circumstances, she could talk the ear off of strangers, but as she watched Draco, his white button up slightly rolled up to his forearms as he stirred, she felt nothing but nerves coil in her stomach, like she was a bottomless pit of anxiety. 

A few beats passed before he cleared his throat. “So, ehm, what about you? Do you want to continue with Potions?” 

“Oh, I’m not sure,” she responded. “I like brewing a lot. I like the ways it expects me to problem solve on the spot. I just don’t really feel like I have enough passion to lock myself up in a lab all day.”

Draco’s lips turned upwards. “Yeah. I think you’d have to be a little self-hating to want that for yourself.”

Y/N sent him a small smile back. “What do you read? I always see you bring a book to class.”

“Nothing special,” he answered quickly. “I just like to shop around the library to see what interests me.”

“What’s it today?” 

He finished stirring the potion and wiped the edge of the ladle before answering. “Today it’s something that I’m not supposed to have from the restricted section.”

“There’s a restricted section here?” Y/N felt her heartbeat pick up. “I didn’t know that. We don’t have those in America, you know. They just get rid of the books altogether.”

Draco looked positively horrified. “They get rid of books?”

“Yeah,” she said, frowning. “Is that not a thing here? There’s a banned book list in the US. If it’s on there, it’s not allowed into the school library. I’d have to ask my father to scour the MACUSA library connections if I wanted one of those.”

He let out a low whistle. “What kind of books do you have over there? I didn’t think much dark magic made its way into your artifacts.”

“It didn’t,” she responded. “There’s just been a lot of tension lately surrounding certain political topics. Like, muggleborns and blood purity. Ilvermorny has decided that it’s better to just ban the books altogether so we don’t have to talk about it during the school year.”

“That’s bloody ridiculous,” said Draco. Y/N was suddenly very aware that she was having a very civil and, dare she say, pleasant conversation with the son of a murderer. “What a cop-out.”

“Anyway,” she said, leaning over the table and motioning over to his side of the table. “How’d you get that? What are your restricted books about?” 

He shrugged. “Oh, you know. Anything. It’s hardly an organized system. Anything deemed too controversial is placed there. If you have the right connections, you can get in.”

While she was many things, she was certainly not stupid. She knew her shot when she saw it. “Would you take me?”

Draco paused. His features hardened. “No.”

She was just about to beg when she saw something poking out of his pocket. “Hey, why do you have my wand?” 

“The fuck are you on about?” Draco stared at her like she’d grown a third head.

“My wand,” she repeated. “I literally see it in your pocket. I don’t know what you’re playing at, but you better give it back right now. Before I, uh, make you regret it.” It was, admittedly, a poor attempt at appearing intimidating, a fact that was not lost on him as he let out a short chuckle.

“You’re gonna make me regret it? And how, pray tell, would you do that?”

She huffed, holding her hand out. “Give me my wand back.”

“I don’t have your sodding wand,” he clipped in response. “If I wanted another wand, I would just buy one.”

“Charming.” She flexed her fingers outwards. “My wand, please.”

Before he could stare at her any longer, something clattered underneath her chair. Draco watched, unmoving, as she glanced downwards. “Oh. I’m sorry. I guess it was on my chai–”

“What are you doing with my wand?” His sharp tone made her jump to attention. 

“Pardon?” she said once she had grabbed her wand and seated herself back into her chair. 

“That’s my wand,” he said simply, pointing to her hands. 

“It’s not—hey!” Her wand was wrenched out of her grip. “That was my wand!”

Upon touching her wand, a gust of wind rushed through the room and nearly knocked her off her chair. Once she regained her balance, she snapped her attention back to getting her wand back. Draco was frozen, staring at the wood in his fingers. Slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out an identical wand, setting them side-by-side on the table.

“Oh,” was all Y/N could say. “Oh.”

Blaise and Pansy had quieted from their chatting, staring at the pair in front of them as Y/N gawked and Draco frowned. 

“That solves it, I suppose,” he finally said, rolling her wand towards her. “Our wands are both made of hawthorn.”

“I think they’re the same wand,” said Y/N after she found her voice. “Look at them. The engraving at the base is the exact same.”

Draco shrugged. “It’s a common pattern. I’m not surprised that they look similar.”

“What’s the core?”

“Hm?”

“The core,” she repeated, gesturing to his wand. “What’s yours? Mine is unicorn hair.”

At this, Draco paled. “Oh.”

Y/N took that as a yes. “Is it also 10 inches?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Y/N swallowed. “So, I was right after all. We have the same wand. Does that mean something?”

“No,” said Draco quickly. “It’s not the same wand. Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t know what they teach you at that school of yours over in America, but they’re two different objects. They’re not the same.”

“Obviously,” snapped Y/N, becoming irritated herself. It hadn’t quite sunk in yet that she had the same wand as a Malfoy. “I was able to come to that conclusion myself, thank you. We have the exact same kind of wand, does that make you feel better?”

Draco rolled his eyes. He tucked his wand back into his pocket and gave his book a pouting look. “Yes, yes, how very fascinating. Can I go back to reading now?”

Y/N scoffed. “Aren’t you a treat.”

“Aren’t I,” he echoed, picking his book up and paging through it. There was still—Y/N checked the clock on the wall—30 minutes left of class. They had worked so quickly together that they’d managed to finish their potion far in advance. She’d neglected to bring a book of her own, so she waited a few beats before deciding that Draco was morally obligated to entertain her after having the audacity to willingly keep company like Blaise. 

“So, does it mean anything?” asked Y/N. 

“Does what mean anything,” Draco said, though the usual venom was gone, replaced by a tiredness that was reflected in the darkness under his eyes.

“The fact that our wands are the same.”

He scoffed. “You’re really stuck on that, aren’t you?”

“I think it’s perfectly reasonable to be curious about that,” she responded snippily. “Have you met someone else with the same wand?”

“We don’t have the same wand,” said Draco, exasperated. “But no, I haven’t.”

“See! It’s not normal. I don’t know of anyone who has the same wand as me. I don’t know of anyone who knows anyone else with the same wand. It has to mean something.”

“No, Y/L/N, it doesn’t.” The use of her surname startled her. She’d forgotten that British people did that. “It doesn’t have to mean anything. It’s just a coincidence.”

“Oh. Okay.” Y/N finally let out a sigh. “Whatever. Be a pill about it if you want. I’m just mortified that I happen to share a sister wand with someone who is as much of a pain as you.”

“Fighting words,” he supplied in response, though he didn’t seem particularly vexed by this insult. He made it through another chapter without interruption. 

“It responded to you,” said Y/N. “It acted like it did when I first picked it up. That means something, doesn’t it?”

“It means that Slughorn forgot to close the window.”

“It’s closed.”

He shrugged. “I don’t know what you want me to say. It’s not like I know.”

And like that, their conversation was over for good. Draco continued to glower over his book for the rest of the class. Y/N pretended to be interested in her graded paper, reading and rereading the comments Slughorn left her. 

~

The incident of Katie Bell occurred a month after Y/N’s arrival. It was a wonderfully snowy day. Y/N took a walk around the school grounds, wishing she had real friends to go to Hogsmeade with. Pansy had extended an invite as she always did, but she didn’t quite fancy spending a full day dodging questions about her mother’s apparent modeling business from Blaise while feeling nervous about her proximity to Draco. Which, by the way, was certainly only because of what she knew about his father. It had nothing to do with how tall he was or how the silver rings he wore looked on his tapered fingers or the way his hair looked like it would be soft. Obviously.

On her way back to the castle, her mind wandered to the events in Potions class. Something bugged her about the way that her wand responded to Draco’s touch. It hadn’t been behaving any differently since, but she knew that she’d read something about sister wands and old families before. It had been too long. After a few moments of weighing her options, she decided to head to the library instead of the dungeons and see what she could find.

After scouring the entirety of the magical history section, she was beginning to get a pounding headache. She had used so much of her magic casting look-up spells for the term “sister wands” that the incantation didn’t sound like real words anymore. A movement registered in the corner of her eye, but she ignored it, placing her focus on the last shelf in front of her. Then it happened again. She turned.

“Fuck!” She jumped nearly a foot in the air. “You scared me. I thought you were with Pansy and Blaise.”

Draco Malfoy shrugged. A collection of thick tomes was nestled into the crook of his elbow. “I didn’t feel up to going out.”

“Oh.” She cleared her throat, feeling pinned to the bookshelf behind her by his stare. “So, um, what are you doing here?”

“Take a guess.”

She rolled her eyes. “I was doing something called being polite to an acquaintance from class. Perhaps you ought to try it sometime.”

“Just acquaintances?” He frowned. “I’m hurt.”

“Go antagonize someone else,” she said, about ready to turn back to her task before a thought crossed her mind. “Wait, were you in the restricted section?”

“I should go, I don’t want you to feel antagonized,” he drawled.

“You’re going to answer my question,” she said, pulling her wand out and pointing it at him, more for the theatrics than anything else. She wasn’t going to fire anything off at him, and he seemed to know that.

“Americans, so pushy,” he tutted, grabbing the base of her wand and pulling it down. 

“I’ve been so civil to you,” she argued. “I’ve been nice to you in Potions. I helped you crush the leaping lilibets last week while you were too busy brooding or whatever. The least you can do is help me get into the restricted section.”

He sighed. “As fun as this has been, I’ve other things to attend to. See you around, yeah?”

“Wait!” As he turned to leave, she grabbed his upper arm. Purely by accident, the leftover magic after casting with such a broad scope narrowed into an electric current, zapping Draco. He started. Two of his books thunked on the floor. 

“Merlin, what was that for?” he snapped, summoning his books nonverbally and glaring down at her.

“I didn’t mean to!” Y/N took in a deep breath before shaking her hand out and continuing. “I’ll do your Transfiguration paper for you. If you can get me into the restricted section, that is. I’ll write it and I’ll get an O on it for you. I know that McGonagall gave you detention today for missing the last paper. Let me help.” 

“How did you know about that?”

“Pansy. She mentioned it to me.”

“Oh,” He exhaled. “Fine. Just this once, though. And you’ll write two papers for me.”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. She stuck her hand out. “Deal.”

Draco looked at her oddly as he took her hand and shook it once. The tips of his fingers dragged across her palm as he pulled away. 

“Right, then,” she said. “Let’s go.”

“Now’s not a good time.”

“Now is a spectacular time. Unless you want an E, or perhaps an A on your next paper.”

His lips were set in a tense, straight line. “Fine. Okay. 10 minutes.”

“15.” 

“10.”

“30.”

“5.”

“30 and the prospect of framing you for plagiarism will never cross my mind.”

“5 and I won’t think of reporting you for stealing from the restricted section.”

Y/N sulked. Draco’s lips were turned upwards. He was enjoying this. “Ok, fine. 15.”

“10.”

“It appears we’re at an impasse,” said Y/N.

“It appears so. Can’t we just do 10?”

She frowned. “Let’s compromise. 12 and a half minutes.”

“12 in the interest of neatness.”

“Why not 13?”

“Unlucky.”

She threw her hands up. “Fine. I can’t argue with that. 12 it is.”

Draco shoved his books into his satchel before producing a small rusted key from his pockets. “General rules for restricted books,” he began as he inserted the key into the large padlock wound around the entrance of the section, “are to not pick up one that is moving or making any sounds from the shelf. If it is bleeding or dripping any other liquid, don’t touch it. If the cover is bound shut with chains, don’t try to open them. Don’t tear pages out.”

She visibly balked.

“I know you probably wouldn’t do that anyway,” he assured her. “It’s tempting, though. Considering that you can’t check these out.”

“Do you just steal them then?”

He shrugged. “What do you think?”

“Can you steal them? Are there any security measures in place?”

Now he turned to her, a curious look on his face. “Would you? Would you take them if I told you how?”

It was her turn to shrug. “I don’t like stealing. It makes me nervous. But it depends on how hard it is. You’re only giving me 12 minutes to look, you know. Doesn’t give me much time to absorb what I’m seeing.”

“10 minutes now,” he corrected her. “You’ve spent the first 2 talking to me.”

Y/N glared at him before brushing past his shoulder and into the restricted aisle. A shiver ran down her spine immediately.

“Dark magic makes things colder,” he explained passively from the entrance. 

“You’re not coming in with me?” The titles that flashed by her eyes were dazzling, ranging from old blood magic rituals to the journals of great wizards that she’d read about in history class. 

“Someone has to keep watch.” Draco yawned. “Plus, the aisle would be a bit cramped, don’t you think?”

He was right. The aisle was considerably narrower. The span of her arms was wider. Before she could ask him again how to take the books (the journals of Merlin were looking especially interesting to her), she heard the unmistakable sound of a gate shutting and a key turning in a lock. Slowly, she turned back around to face the entrance.

To her horror, she was trapped. The padlock was once again tightly wound around the gate and her Potions partner was nowhere to be seen.

“Malfoy!” she hissed, rushing up to the door. “Malfoy! Come back here!”

Now that she was closer to the gate, she could see Draco around the corner, talking animatedly to a man that she recognized from the faculty table—a tall, dark one with long black hair. Neither of them turned to look at her as she tried to rattle the gate open, confirming her worst fear: that Malfoy had not just locked her in, but placed both a silencing and disillusionment charm on the gate. Not only was she trapped; no one would be able to see or hear her. 

She could catch a few words, shielded by another silencing charm that was hastily and poorly cast on the two. 

 “—I told you, I can do this—”

 “—He’ll be displeased to hear—”

“—The Vanishing Cabinet—”

Y/N pressed her ear to the gate, no longer as focused on her current predicament as she was on eavesdropping. What was Draco hiding? The two kept speaking in hushed tones, Draco’s agitation growing clear as he tossed his wand back and forth. The man appeared to have enough of the repeated movement, reaching out and nabbing his wand before scowling down at him. 

She decided then that perhaps she didn’t want to be meeting this man just yet, even if it meant escaping the restricted section. It wasn’t like she was in any immediate danger—

Thump.

Slowly, carefully, she turned to see what had made the sound behind her. To her horror, the book that had been jittering about above Merlin’s journals had shuffled off the shelf, landing in the middle of the aisle and convulsing on the wood. Thick, red liquid began to pool on the floor. Malfoy’s warnings floated back to her. She’d thought he was joking when he said that books could bleed, but it appeared that he was most certainly not. The oozing book was behaving in a way that was far too akin to a dying human for her to feel comfortable.

The blood crept towards her on the floor. She whipped out her wand and cast a few Scourgifys, but as soon as the floor was clean, the book would only bleed with more deliberation in its movements. Slow tendrils of smoke began to rise from the floorboards that the book was near. What would the blood do to her skin if it touched her? She racked her brain for any possible spells that would put a stop to it. 

“Sanguis Thrombus!” She waved her wand and aimed it at the book. To her relief, the blood-clotting spell that she’d only ever seen used to stop nosebleeds actually worked. Then the shaking began again. The book leapt up and down like a jumping bean, eventually landing on its spine with a crack and spilling open, its pages parting. A horrible shriek filled the aisle, but it wasn’t from her. 

“Petrificus Totalus!” she cried out. It didn’t work. The book continued screaming and shaking, blood forming once again. “Sanguis Thrombus!” Its movements were so rapid that the blood refused to clot, rushing out and racing towards her. 

Malfoy and the man outside seemed to be quiet, so she turned and was about to begin casting frantic unlocking spells when she was met with the sight of Draco, his face half obscured by the gate. He was unlocking the gate.

“Why the fuck did you lock me in here?” she wailed, wasting no time in shoving past the gate the moment he had undone the padlock. He stared at her.

“What? Didn’t you hear? Professor Snape was coming. If he knew I was letting another student back here, he’d have my head.”

“So you decided to trap me?” Her breathing was heavy, ragged.

“What, are you claustrophobic or something?”

“Not usually,” she retorted. “But when I’m stuck in a small space with a book that bleeds and has it out for me, yeah.”

“So I take it you met the Adams volume,” he said, brushing past her shoulder to lock the gate again as she caught her breath. 

“That’s what that thing is called?” 

“Yeah.” He leaned over, peering into the gate. “What’d you do? It looks like it gave you a pretty good thrashing.” 

“I cast a Sanguis Thrombus.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Quick thinking. Despite it being bound from human skin, its blood doesn’t quite behave like you’d expect, though. Hence the part where you failed to stop the bleeding.”

Y/N gaped. “Human…”

“Yeah,” he answered. “Adams’s skin, to be specific. Apparently one of his buddies thought it would be funny to use it to bind his life’s work. Barbaric, really. Are you alright?”

Y/N most certainly did not feel alright, but she didn’t want him to know how much that had rattled her. “Um, yeah. Sorry. I’m still just a little on edge.” She swallowed before bile could rise to her throat. “Anyway. I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

“You really thought I’d leave you in there?”

“Well, considering the fact that you kind of did, you can’t really blame me for jumping to conclusions.”

“I’m flattered by your assessment of my character,” he drawled. “I even gave you an extra 5 minutes.”

“Every minute of that was spent fearing for my life, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” 

They made it out of the stacks before Y/N came to another realization. “You said that Professor Snape would have your head if he knew you were letting ‘another student’ into the restricted section. Does that mean he knows you have access to it?”

He puffed his chest up and reached into his pocket, producing the key. “He gave this to me. Of course he knows.”

“And why would he do that?��

“Oh, well, ehm, family connections.”

“And what was he talking to you about?”

Draco spun around to glare at her. “Stop being so nosy. We’re not friends, you know. You said it yourself.”

“Ouch,” said Y/N, rolling her eyes. They had since made their way out of the library and were now passing by the Hospital Wing. She began to wonder if they were going to walk all the way to the dorms together and hated how the thought made her feel giddy. “Did it have something to do with Vanishing Cabinets?”

An explosion of motion in front of them stopped them in their tracks. An incredibly tall, bulky man was carrying the limp form clothed in a blood red Gryffindor cloak as a few students trailed them, chattering nervously amongst themselves.

“Out o’ the way!” said the gruff man to Y/N and Draco. The students looked grim. Y/N recognized one from the papers and her history books: Harry Potter. The boy made brief eye contact with her before turning to glare at Malfoy, who suddenly looked white as a sheet.

“I have to go,” said Malfoy, rushing off before she could ask what was going on. 

“What was going on” was quickly discovered to be the near-fatal cursing of fellow sixth-year Katie Bell. Within hours, rumors were flying around the castle speculating as to who did it. The culprits ranged from Snape to a seedy stranger she met at the Third Broomsticks to Harry Potter to Voldemort himself. 

She was seeing less and less of Malfoy, even though she was admittedly keeping an eye out in the library for him. He often skipped meals and even began to skip Potions, leaving her to work on her own. She could manage, of course. It wasn’t not like she missed his presence or anything. That’d be ridiculous. 

When she finally saw him again, it was to drop off his Transfiguration paper. Y/N endured the whistling from Blaise when she asked Theo how to get to Draco’s dorm, something she wished to never experience again.

“Is there something Draco hasn’t told us?” said Blaise, the corners of his eyes crinkling elfishly. “Good for him.”

“It’s not like that. Theo, help?”

Theo just shrugged. “Nothing I can do about the way it comes off. The way you’re blushing isn’t helping.”

“He has a book for me,” she lied. While they had never spoken about their deal, she assumed that Draco didn’t want it circulating that he had someone else writing his papers. Y/N certainly didn’t want it to get around that she was doing Malfoy's bidding, either. “Merlin, you two. Get your heads out of the gutter.”

“A book?” Blaise laughed. “Theo, are you hearing this?”

Theo smiled good-naturedly at her. “Don’t worry. We won’t tell. Once you go down the stairs, it’s the seventh door on the right.”

Y/N thought about further defending her honor but decided to bite her tongue instead. “Thanks.”

“Have fun with that book, Y/N!” Blaise called after her. She flipped him off.

It took only two knocks before Draco swung open the door, his usually pristinely styled hair unruly and a tad wavy. “What do you want–oh.” Upon seeing her, he kicked a bottle by his foot under the bed and ran his fingers through his hair. “Hi, Y/L/N. Can I help you?”

She reached into her satchel and pulled out a scroll. “Your Transfiguration paper. Well, mine, technically, but no one needs to know that.”

Draco stared at the parchment in her hand, hesitantly reaching out and taking it. “Oh. Thanks. I’d forgotten about it, to be honest. You didn’t need to write it.”

Y/N shrugged. “We made a deal.”

“Right. Well, have a good night.” He shut the door before she could say anything else. As she walked back to her dorm, she could help but let her mind wander back to what his room looked like. His bedding had been black—not like she was surprised by this—but his room had been a mess, papers strewn everywhere and the lingering essence of stagnant magic. 

Blaise and Theo whooped from the common room couches as she walked through the common room.

“That was fast!” jeered Blaise. At this point, Y/N couldn’t tell if his words were jokes or genuine attempts to slutshame her. 

“I’m that good,” she said dryly. The boys howled in response. 

~

At first, she thought it was the lake lapping at the window by her head that awoke her. But as her eyelids fluttered open to her dark room, the tell-tale gurgling was gone. Her clock read 3:02. Then she heard it again: footsteps, going past her room. Y/N relaxed. Probably Pansy coming back from partying or something. But then she heard the footsteps turn around and approach her door again, she swung her legs out of the blankets and crept towards the door. 

The footsteps were gone. It struck her, in that moment, that someone was standing no more than a foot away from her with only the wood of the door to separate them. She clutched at her wand.

Thunk.

From the little light that managed to creep into her room from the crack of the door, she saw a definitive shadow that was not there prior. Someone had left something outside of her door. 

Unable to ponder it any longer and knowing that she wouldn’t be able to sleep without closure, she wrenched the door open.

“Merlin fucking Wyllt,” yelped Draco Malfoy, leaping back the door.

“Why’d you bring me a book on blood rituals?” asked Y/N, crouching down to pick up the book that was on the floor in front of her door frame.

“Oh, well,” he began, “I was just in the restricted section and I remembered that you paused in front of the section on blood rituals. If you don’t want it, you don’t have to read it. Just think of it as a thank you for the paper.”

Y/N tilted her head as she took in the sight of him in front of her. She decided that she liked tired, rambley Draco. He looked slightly undone, but that was to be understood as it was in the middle of the night. What didn’t make sense was that he was still fully dressed. “Thanks, Draco. That’s really thoughtful of you. But why were you just in the restricted section? It’s Tuesday. Curfew was 4 hours ago.”

“I should probably go,” he said. “We might wake others up if we talk in the hall.”

“So come in.” She opened the door wider, reaching over to flick on the light. 

He stared at her, his eyes big. It occurred to her that he was much worse at appearing stoic when he was exhausted. “No, no, it’s really ok.”

Draco was just about to turn to walk down the hall when Pansy’s door down the hall began to open, apparently having a change of heart about the whole situation and brushing past her shoulder and entering her room.

“Scared of Pansy?” she teased. 

He scoffed. “Scared of what she might start saying if she saw me outside your door in the middle of the night.”

Y/N wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing inviting a Death Eater’s son into her room, but she would be lying to herself if she said that she still saw him as so two-dimensional. “Ha. Well, hopefully she didn’t hear us.” They quieted as the sound of Pansy’s door creaking closed was heard from the hall. Y/N wondered if Draco would take that as his cue to leave. 

“Do you dye your hair?” he asked conversationally as he perched on the edge of her bed whilst she placed the book on her desk.

“No,” she responded. “Why would you ask?”

“The little blonde streak,” he said. “Was that on purpose?”

Y/N ran her fingers through the ends of her hair. “What? I don’t have a blonde streak.”

“Yes, you do.”

She frowned as she sat next to him. “Now you’re stressing me out.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, the edges of his lips turning up. “Do you want me to point it out to you or something?”

“Go for it,” said Y/N, mostly because it was becoming clear to her that he wasn’t going to be entertaining her questions about why he was up so late. Before she could think about it much more, his fingers pushed away the upper layer of her hair and threaded through one of the strands. His thumb brushed past her jaw. She hoped he couldn’t feel the rate of her pulse, racing underneath his touch. 

“Right here,” he said, holding up a small lock of hair that was, startlingly, a pale blonde.

“Huh?” Y/N stared at it, taking it into her own hand. 

“How have you not noticed that?” 

“Is this a prank or something?”

“It would be a stupid prank. Why would I even–”

“Because it’s the same color as your hair,” snapped Y/N, the realization hitting her. Draco held his hands up. 

“Merlin, I was just trying to make conversation until Pansy went back to sleep. I don’t have anything to do with whatever’s going on with your hair. Are you a Metamorphmagus or something?”

“Not that I know of,” she said, still staring at the piece of hair in her hand. “I’ve never seen this before.”

Draco cleared his throat and laced his fingers together on his lap. He looked almost gray. Y/N pulled her own legs up under her, resting her head on the wall. “So why were you interested in blood magic?” asked Draco finally after a few beats of silence.

Y/N shrugged. “I don’t know. Dark magic and blood magic aren’t really spoken about back home. I’ve always found it really fascinating, but maybe that’s just because none of us are allowed to learn about it.”

“You want to know more about dark magic?” asked Draco. “Do you want to take over the world or live forever or something?”

She laughed. “No. No, I don’t want to do anything with it. I think I’d be too scared to, even if I had the chance. I’m just curious. Is it like that here in Britain? Is it just as taboo?”

“It really depends on the family you’re born into.” He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. “They don’t exactly teach about dark magic in Charms class, but it’s not hard to learn about it if you’re from the Sacred Twenty-Eight. I’m surprised your family didn’t teach you much about it.”

Her heart rate quickened. “Well, like I said, my father is a senator. Dark magic is so clearly disavowed publicly that any suggestion that we study it or have interest in it is enough for us to lose our seat. It’s more politics than anything.” 

“Hm.” He didn’t press further about her family, something she was immensely grateful for. “So how long are you here until?”

“Until I graduate.”

“Oh. So you actually transferred.”

“Yeah, I did.” 

“I’m sure you miss your friends,” he said, mirth creeping into his tone. “Especially when you have tossers like Blaise as replacements.” 

“Did he tell you—”

“About the book thing? Yeah. That’s another reason why I brought it for you.”

“Thanks,” she said, and she meant it. It occurred to her then that she actually enjoyed Draco’s company over anyone else’s at Hogwarts. A traitorous part of her wished desperately that he felt the same way.

“It’s probably a safe bet that Pansy’s asleep by now,” said Draco, sitting up and wringing his hands. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”

Y/N nodded, though she really didn’t want him to leave. “Goodnight, Draco.”

He gave her a tired smile. “Goodnight, Y/N.” And then she was alone to ponder the sudden change in her hair.

~

It was normal for her to not see Draco for prolonged periods of time, but when it had been over a week without seeing him at all, she consulted Blaise.

“Did Draco leave early for the holidays or something?” she asked over Potions one Friday, gazing at the empty seat next to her.

Blaise snorted. “What, miss him already?” 

Pansy looked considerably less amused. “Merlin, I can’t believe you don’t know. Did no one tell her?”

“Tell me what, exactly?”

“Draco’s in the hospital wing,” explained Theo, ever the saving grace. 

 “Is he okay?” Y/N gasped. 

“He’s going to be fine,” said Pansy, though her jaw was clenched. “He was in an accident.”

“What kind of accident? And how long ago?” 

Theo and Blaise shared glances, though Y/N didn’t know what for. 

“We don’t really know,” said Theo finally. “I think maybe he got in a tussle with a magical creature or something on one of his night walks. Merlin knows it’s not the first time.”

“Have any of you gone to see him?” 

Blaise shrugged. “I’ve been busy. Draco’s a notoriously self-pitying invalid, too. You can’t blame us for opting out of that.”

She nodded sharply. She got a feeling that if she continued to press, they’d never stop teasing her about liking him. Besides, she had more pressing matters to worry about; namely, the Drought of Paralysis simmering in front of her and the fact that she still hadn’t figured out what had turned the strand of her hair the pale blonde that was distinctly different from her natural hair color. She’d tried to dye it back with charms, potions, and then eventually muggle hair dye, but nothing worked. It remained a bright platinum. She was beginning to worry. Had she been cursed? What kind of curse subjected her to a long life of having…one strand of blonde hair?

After dinner, she swallowed her nerves and decided to pay Draco a visit at the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey gave her a cold look as she entered.

“I’m here for Draco,” she said, creeping past the doorway and melting under her withering stare. 

“Draco Malfoy?” 

“Yes ma’am.” Y/N swallowed. 

Madame Pomfrey eyed her suspiciously. “He’s very tired, you know.”

“I know,” Y/N rushed. “I just…brought some of my notes. I know he was stressed about this Potions exam and I wanted him to have a copy of the class material. If I need to go it’s–”

“Make it quick,” commanded Pomfrey, extending a finger to point to a bed, curtained off in the corner. “And if the boy is sleeping, I don’t want you here.”

Draco looked ghastly. Of course, he was still devilishly attractive, his aristocratic features as regal as ever and his hair still soft. It was the coat of bandages that covered his body that startled her.

“Y/N?” He sat up, wincing. 

“What happened?” she asked, pulling the chair closer to his side and taking a seat.

“Fucking Potter,” said Draco. He offered no further elaboration. 

The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them. “I’ve missed you in Potions. It’s terribly rude to leave like that without any notice, you know.”

Draco snorted. “My deepest apologies. I’ll keep that in mind the next time I’m cursed into oblivion.”

She rolled her eyes. 

“For the record, I missed you too,” he said. Despite the cold hospital air, she’d never felt warmer. “Did you read the book I brought you?”

“Yeah, I did,” she responded. “I actually had some questions about one of the sections on contemporary European blood bonding…”

And just like that, they’d slipped back into their playful banter. She realized then just how much she’d missed his company and sourly reflected on how meticulously she looked over her reflection before her visit. 

“So, are you going back home for break?” said Y/N during a lull. 

He shifted, a short gasp of pain escaping his lips. She wished briefly that she could reach out and help him, but she wasn’t sure how to react. “I was planning to, but considering the current circumstances—” He motioned to his bandages, “My family agreed that it’d be best if I stayed.”

“I’m sorry,” said Y/N. “I’m sure you must miss your parents—er, parent.” Her cheeks flushed. 

Thankfully, Draco didn’t seem too bothered at her slip-up. “Eh. I miss them, sure, but it’s kind of a relief if I’m to be honest. My extended family is, ehm, a bit of a nightmare. I can’t say that I’m heartbroken that I won’t see them for another few months. What about you? I assume you’re heading across the pond for the holidays.”

“Yeah,” said Y/N, though she was keenly aware of the sudden desire she had to remain over the break to spend more time with Draco. She diligently beat that thought back with an imaginary broom. “I leave next Friday afternoon, after the final Potions exam.”

She met his eyes and was startled to see the soft way in which he was gazing at her, then came to the conclusion that it had something to do with the empty bottle of pain relieving potion on his night stand.

The curtain was yanked to the side, revealing a rather peeved looking Madame Pomfrey. “That’s quite enough, Y/L/N,” said the woman. “You may see yourself out now.”

She didn’t see Draco again until the morning of her last day. He sat across from her at the breakfast table, perusing his Potions notes and writing up the notes that he had missed. The comfortable silence was broken by the arrival of a single owl, releasing a familiar squawk as a few letters dropped in front of her plate. Y/N gave the owl a few pets before it took flight.

“You’re popular,” Draco mused, motioning to the pile of mail in front of her. 

She scoffed, then rifled through them. There was one from her father, one from Jackie, and one from Ilvermorny Admin. She opted to open Jackie’s first.

Y/N,

I’m starting to get why you weren’t able to tell me what was going on when we first said goodbye. I’ve been thinking of you a lot lately. Your father reached out to me once again and offered a chance at admission to Mahoutokoro, so I’m writing to you from Japan. It’s been really lovely visiting family. The tensions over here aren’t quite as bad as they are in the US. 

While a part of me is still angry that you lied to me, I choose to forgive you. I know you’re going through a lot. I can’t even imagine how hard it would be to go to school at Hogwarts without being a pureblood. I was hoping that we’d get a chance to see each other over break and catch up. I’m coming home, you know, but I just read the news that you won’t be able to. I suppose it makes sense in terms of security, but it doesn’t make it any better. Write back, will you?

Yours, Jackie

She stared at the writing in her hand. What did she mean, “I just read the news that you won’t be able to”? After a moment of processing, she tore open the envelope from your father.

Dear Y/N,

I’m sure you’ve read the news by now. Don’t worry. It’s for the best. I don’t want you traveling, portkey or otherwise. I heard about your mishap across the Atlantic on your way over. I imagine that if you come home, the magical interference will be much worse. Both the Death Eaters and the WFP have utilized so much dark magic over the past season that it easily taints sensitive spellwork; for example, an international portkey. Do not attempt to get on a plane or travel through any otherwise muggle means. Given the high number of attacks on muggles, I don’t think that would be safe. 

We’re discussing now the option of banning all incoming mail and packages from the UK before we get any more cursed heirlooms showing up at the doors of our lawmakers. This may be the last time I write to you until this is all settled. Rest assured that I am well-taken care of here and that you are as well under the care of the Hogwarts administration. Don’t panic. You are in the safest place possible and I’ll have the chance to see you in the future. I’m sorry it will have to happen after the holidays.

Your mother says hello. She misses you quite a bit. She wanted to send you one of those muggle advent calendars, but I doubt that would be received well if you were to open that at the Slytherin table. 

Love always,

Dad

Tears pricked in her eyes as she opened the final letter.

Dear Miss Y/L/N,

As I’m sure you’ve already heard, the MACUSA voted last afternoon to cut off all travel and communication from the UK. You must be alarmed. Do not worry. We know exactly what we’re doing. This is all part of a great plan to stay safe. While we recognize that you are no longer officially our student, we want to reach out and assure you that Hogwarts is more than capable of taking care of you.

Best,

Headmaster Charleston

“Y/N, are you alright?” Draco peered at her, concern etched into his face. Wordlessly, she pushed the letters towards him. His eyes skimmed the words, his eyebrows shooting upwards. He took a few moments before gathering up the words to say, “Merlin, I’m sorry. At least your father seems like he’s okay.”

She nodded, anchoring her lip down to keep her from crying. 

“Hey, look on the bright side,” he said, bumping her shoulder and giving her the letters back. “Now you’re stuck with me for the holidays. I’ll take you on as many restricted book trips as you want.”

True to his word, they found themselves crammed into the aisle of the restricted section late that night, wine drunk and giggly. The rest of Slytherin had gone home to their families for the holidays, leaving the two of them to celebrate their midterm exams alone. 

“How do you take books, anyway?” asked Y/N as she stared, dazed, at the titles in front of them. “Do you just take them off the shelf and walk away? Is it that easy?”

Draco rested his chin on her shoulder as he squinted at the book she was pointing at. “Merlin’s journals? Yeah, I can get those for you.”

“That’s not what I asked,” retorted Y/N, but she couldn’t manage to put any venom in her tone. He was warm against her side, his hair soft against her cheek. He smelled good, like a mixture of spearmint and lapsang souchong. 

Thump.

She squeaked, jumping away from the now familiar book that tumbled to the floor and began to bleed. Draco startled, his hand coming around her waist as they leapt back. Once he saw the book, though, he let out a chuckle. “Ah. It likes you.” He murmured an incantation that she didn’t recognize, and the book rolled away from them. 

“Won’t it come back?” she asked. She turned to look up at him then, his other hand remaining on her side. They were close enough that she could see the slightest spray of faded freckles across his cheekbone. 

“Not for a while.”

Y/N could feel the vibrations sent through his diaphragm with the words. She couldn’t look away. Her heart was pounding, and this time they were standing so close that she had no doubt that he could tell. The last thing she remembered before she kissed him was the feeling of her chin being tilted up by his unoccupied hand. 

The effect was immediate. Her hands were wound in his hair, her back pressed against the bookshelves, her weight supported by the knee that had risen to pin her against the books. Deep down, she knew that it was wrong. She’d been lying to him, and the lie she was telling him was concerning enough. She knew that if she came clean, he would regret it all. 

At that revelation, she pulled back, their lips separating audibly.

“Was that okay?” asked Draco, suddenly looking very concerned. 

She couldn’t help but smile. If she was smart, she’d tell him no. “Of course.” 

His fingers curled around the green satin of her Slytherin tie and pulled her in once again. 

~

Draco clearly wasn’t planning on having a relaxing winter break. This was made clear by the amount of studying he constantly excused himself to do after their (admittedly very frequent) meetings. Y/N appreciated the time she had alone, though. It gave her the opportunity to walk around the castle, stew in her feelings, and ponder her options. Neither of them had expressed an interest in putting a label on it, something that Y/N wasn’t quite certain of. On one hand, she really liked Draco. On the other, she knew who he really was: the son of a Death Eater and an undoubtedly blood prejudiced wizard. She was toeing a fine line. There was nothing redeemable about catching feelings for a Malfoy.

Y/N knew it wasn’t right of her to want Draco as much as she did. But he was so kind to her, so intelligent, so unlike any other man she’d been with before. It wasn’t fair, she settled upon during one of her castle walks. It was a difficult time for everyone involved. She might as well enjoy what she can. 

Her walk was interrupted by quick footsteps in the corridor ahead of her. She froze. No one else frequented the castle during this hour of the night. Hell, not even she was supposed to be out. She debated the prospect of following the footstep, finally resolving to trail them.

The footsteps led her down to the 2nd floor girl’s bathroom. Her interest piqued. What was someone doing there? The one time she had entered, a transparent ghost girl jumped out of the toilet and started crying at her. She quickly realized that there was a reason why it had been such a quiet, untouched bathroom. 

She paused by the entrance, leaning against the wall. For the first few moments, it was silent. Then the faucet was flipped on. Once that had been turned off, Y/N heard what could be nothing other than the sound of a sob. 

Y/N moved into the doorway. 

Draco Malfoy was crouched over the sink fixture, his powder white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows. The ghost girl was floating a little above the mirror, murmuring something quiet as he cried. She looked up, and upon seeing Y/N, she vanished.

“Myrtle?” said Draco in a strangled voice. “Where’d you–” His eyes flickered up, seeing the reflection of Y/N behind him. 

She stood, frozen by the doorway. “What’s going on, Draco?” 

He exhaled shakily, then bit his lip and turned away. Y/N took it as her cue to come forward and place her hand on his shoulder. “Draco, please. You can tell me, you know.”

Draco shook his head, tears pooling in his eyes. He wouldn’t look at her. “No. I can’t. I’m sorry. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” she soothed, reaching up to run her fingers through his hair. He shuddered. Myrtle, as Draco had called her, materialized in her eyesight, sending Y/N a sour look. “You’re okay. Do you want me to make you tea? We can break into the library again. It’ll take your mind off things.”

“I don’t have time,” he choked out. 

“Don’t have time?” She frowned, pulling away to look at him from a clearer angle. “Draco, we’re on holiday. You don’t need to be studying all the time, you know. You’re so smart already. You’re the smartest person I know.”

He was quiet for a few moments. 

“Hey, what are you thinking about?” she asked gently.

He squeezed his eyes shut, his jaw clenched. “Okay. Okay, you can’t think any differently of me, okay? I know that you will. You just…you can’t. And you can’t say anything. If you do, I’ll…I don’t know yet.”

“What are you talking about?” 

“This.” Draco rolled up his sleeve, rotating his pale forearm so she could see what he wanted her to see in its entirety.

A Dark Mark.

final a/n: i promise i will contiue with a part 2 that ties up the hair/wand lore and the whole ordeal here if y’all want. apologies to the sweet commetns i have neglected on btoh 4/1 and wonders of ohio 11—i’ve had a crazy few days of corporate girlbossing and some family drama. 

[relax-and-read-on]

i like to think that if Rogal Dorn created a youtube channel about buildings just to espread his knowledge Perturabo would on the same day create his and turn it into a full blown competition, not only on the construction aspect but also on the youtuber aspect and would be constantly frustrated on why Rogal have more subscribers than him, also if the other primarchs made youtube channels, what kind of channel they would make?

Yes

Y E S

I WAS THINKING OF MAKING THIS ONE!!!

The primarch, if youtube had been around.

Leman: You know those tiktok of fedex guys being bff with dogs? This, but it's leman across the galaxy. Just a ton of youtube short of him going "oooHHHH WHO'S A GOOD BOY!!!!" At every single dog he encounter in the imperium.

Jaghatai: travel vlog. Very little narration, mostly just insanely cool vibe and him going "so if you take this road only accessible for 3 months of the year every year you too can go visit this hidden valley with the BEST hot spring on the planet-"

Magnus: video essay channel that make 8 hours narrative docs on shitty random media that you have never even heard of before. Goes way too hard on the overanalyzing. Millions of view.

Horus: a fucking vlogger. One of THOSE youtube influencer. He does a bit of everything and no one can really remember why he's popular now, but he sure is. Is always in some youtube drama or another. Get cancelled at least once a year.

Sanguinius: Arts and craft channel, with super easy and nice tutorial. Very active with the commenters and the community, and seem to be good at everything.

Angron: How to Basic channel. Except it was angron ACTUALLY trying to do the thing and everything else is natural and unscripted.

Alpharius Omegon: prank channel, but they are actually funny. They pull on some SHIT on one another.

Ferrus: "Hello everyone today we are going to create a functioning lightsaber because we aren't pussy and we want to cut things." His things are always pretty functional.

Fulgrim: "Artist react" video and it's him watching like, fucking 5 minutes craft and starting to scream. Has also timelapse of his art, and run a super popular series of video where he try to make his brothers do art. The one where he try to teach Konrad to knit has become viral.

Lion: He walk into the forest. The camera move slowly, in unexplainable pattern. Sometime, it follow sound and end up hiding in the bush filming unsuspecting hiker or just starring at random animals. Lion see ot as his hiking journal. People think this might be a serial killer diary.

Corvus: might be a creepy pasta chanel, might be an ARG, or just an analog horror thing. No one is sure. There's creepy sad original music in each videos. It's actually just the video clip for her musics and she did not realise she might be creating a cult.

Konrad: a urban exploring channel. No narrations, just more or less shaky video with innocent title like "the home on 3rd street". The fact the he straight up break and enter and do parkour give it a very mirror's edges feel to it, and it's actually a youtube challenge to watch his scary af videos without screaming.

Mortarion: very nice niche lil science and biology channel. Does voice over of lil clipart and fix pictures and semi shitty lil doodles to explain hos concepts. It's actually a really fun and easy to understand channel, highly underated.

Roboute: let's play channel but it's only cosy game like Stardew valley or animal crossing or minecraft. Actually mostly talk about his life on top of it, just little vlog that explain stress and ptsd and his anxiety. He has a very loyal following and a lot of vets really relate to what he talk about.

Rogal: an architecture channel, except he like to explain a lot of his concept using Lego. Has become a meme for some of the accidentally saying hilarious shit like "Off colored bricks may work the same, but they deserve the Shame Bucket". Absolutely feral fanbase, and he understand none of it.

Lorgar: religious study channel... And legit helpful. Like yeah ofc he totally believe in what he's talking about, but he also will happily explain the texts, the historical context, translations, interpretations throu history and relevance to other excerpt, etc. If you are going through a religious study class he 100% will help you pass.

Vulkan: a very nice and sweet channel where he explain the basic of how to forge things. All the tutorial and super nicely labeled. Also explain the basic of how to be a farrier for horses and donkey, even if half of those videos is just him petting a blissed out animal and calling them the cutest thing in the galaxy.

Perturabo: tried making a channel similar to Rogal. Failed. Posted one video of him reacting to a shitty reality tv. Instant overnight superstar. Content outrage to the max. Reality tv are BEGGING him to review them and call them trash, they get millions of extra viewer because of him.

[sailxrmxrs]

i wrote this for discord nightowl hours but then didn't share bc the conversation moved on so instead i am sharing it here for the tumblr nightowl simps. some very slight angst with mentions of his family and home life and some implied abuse but this is only alluded to and not discussed in detail. overall it's really just some sweet high school art boy nightowl fluff. have fun fellow nightowl enjoyers.

High school for Nightowl was bittersweet. As much as his various teachers loved to weigh him and and classmates down with homework and assignments, it was freedom. Freedom from being stuck in the same few walls of home. He could never go out with friends, have random outings to go see a new movie, go to house parties and just live the teenage experience his peers were all having. Of course, school life was still tainted with the memory of his overbearing mother and the strict expectations she and his father placed upon him. After all, they had made him sign up to all those extracurricular activities and clubs to make his college application as outstanding as humanely possible. It was all a pressing weight on his shoulders and neck, crushing down harder and harder until Nightowl felt as though he was moments away from collapsing.

He couldn't even look how he wanted. Couldn't dye his hair, pierce his ears, experiment with makeup here and there. He had to be the outstanding, perfect golden child who got good grades and didn't take a single step out of line—all because his mother demanded it of him. Oh, how he longed for high school to be over. There were only a handful of months left before he could graduate and finally leave for college. He was lucky his grades and application were good enough that he was almost guaranteed a spot at his preferred college, one that was so far away from home there was no chance his parents, namely his mother, could try and convince him to live at home while he studied. He'd also manage to convince them to let him study architecture under the one condition that he at least minors in a traditional science subject. He agreed, though internally dismissed the idea. After all, once he was there, how would his mother know if he was taking those classes or not?

The day had been as typical as ever, all his usual classes and busy lunch period filled to the brim with studying and learning and all the other responsibilities of a high schooler. It was draining, but it was school. Everyone got used to it real fast and just dealt with it. What could they do to change it anyway? However, the single, small nugget of hope dwelled in Nightowl's cancelled club meeting. The student council president had gotten sick and they couldn't hold the meeting without them so now everyone had earned those two precious hours of freedom. Most opted to go home, with some choosing to go into the city to grab food together.

Nightowl, on the other hand, was walking with purpose to the other side of the school. He hadn't been invited out by his friends and so his only other option was to go home. Not a chance was that going to happen. So, with his small slice of heavenly freedom, Nightowl was headed for an art room. One specific art room, in fact, that was always out of use at this time of day as he had learned from repeated visits in the past. Any time he was given the option to go there and clear his head, he would. Art was the only form of freedom he had. The only choice he was allowed to make. The only control he had over his own damn life. So many nights he had stayed awake until the early hours of the morning sketching, drawing, painting. By now he had near-permanent dark circles under his eyes from the poor sleep schedule he'd developed. But it was worth it to be able to pour all that he was feeling, all that was pent up inside, all of his very soul into his artwork. He had sketchbooks filled to the brim with portraits of characters from a new show he'd watched, landscapes of images he'd taken on his walk home from school. Anything and everything that sparked even the slightest joy or inspiration was collected and compiled in the stack of sketchbooks he kept hidden away under his bed.

He barely saw any other students in this section of the school, most others collected at the exit doors or out on the playing fields as part of their sports club. He was glad for it, not wanting to get caught up in mindless conversation that detracted from his intense need to get to the art room and just draw. His mind felt clouded after the day of school and the angry text he'd received from his mother during lunch about his bedroom being untidy had left him feeling uneasy all day. There was no telling what would be waiting for him at home. But there was a saving grace awaiting him at the end of this corridor—the perfect remedy to clear the fog collecting in his brain.

As he reached the open doorway to his beloved art room, Nightowl abruptly stopped. The room was not empty. There was, in fact, someone sitting by an easel, sketching away. Nightowl felt like he'd seen them before, perhaps, but no names were coming to mind. Really all he could notice was the way the light shone through the window, illuminating their skin with a golden sheen. He had never felt so enraptured by another human's appearance before. Truly, they were the most beautiful person he had ever laid eyes on. His cheeks reddening in the realisation that he was staring and ogling at this mysterious stranger inhabiting the art room. Nightowl frantically reached into his pocket, fumbling for his phone, praying that there was no one in the corridor to witness him capturing this photo. They'd never believe him if he tried to explain that his intentions were pure.

But, as it turned out, luck was not on Nightowl's side and the sound of the camera shutter went off the moment he tapped his phone screen, the sound feeling as though it echoed through the art room—though the sound certainly reverberated in Nightowl's brain as he froze at the realisation he had been caught. Sure enough, the mystery person heard the noise and turned their head in his direction, eyes widened in surprise.

"Do you need the art room for-"

"Sorry! Shit, uh I promise I wasn't being weird. I just got here and the lighting in here, uh..."

"It's fine, don't worry about it. The lighting in here is really pretty, isn't it?" Of course they had an angelic voice to match the ethereal glow the sun cast on their skin. They angled their head slightly as they asked, "Hey, you're in my English class right? I think I sit a couple rows behind you. Care to join me? The art room's plenty big for the both of us."

Nightowl nods, mouth open in an attempt to answer but the words simply won't come out. How had he never noticed this person before in his classes? Although, he supposed, he never really gave himself the opportunity to do much else other than study and make notes, avoiding the deep-rooted urge to doodle instead of annotating his extract of Shakespeare. Still feeling all kinds of embarrassed, Nightowl moved an easel over to the window, setting up a canvas opposite the mystery stranger from his English class. He took a seat, balancing his phone so that he could sketch out from image he'd just taken. His eyebrows furrowed and he got to work, determined to create a masterpiece that captured even half of the beauty of his afternoon art companion. Little did he know just how much his companion had been secretly admiring him from afar, secretly hoping they might one day catch his eye. And who knows, perhaps high school sweethearts would make a nice title for them as they sat together in comforting silence, only the sounds of graphite scratching against paper accompanying their private moment together. The start of something new, exciting, and sickeningly adorable. For the first time in his life, Nightowl felt truly alive.

[imkylotrash]

It’s An Adventure

Pairing: Jesper Fahey x reader

Request: You’ve been dating him for a little while and he takes you on a cute, spontaneous date since you have some time off in between heists and other jobs. Anonymous And Hi! could I have Jesper Fahey x reader with this prompt : “I would have never believed that one day we’d be so close.” And “I dreamed about kissing you.” please. Anonymous

Credit for the prompts: @swanimagines​

Tagging: @bitchwhytho​ @music-of-melody​ @shadowhuntyi​ @avada-kedavra-bitch-187​ @sanktaesperanza​ Let me know if you want to be added or removed. 

“I’ve got a surprise for you.” It’s 7 am and you have absolutely no clue why Jesper is awake at this hour. Both of you went to bed much too late for 7 am to be considered a good time to get out of bed. 

“Can the surprise wait?” you whine rolling over in bed but he stays persistent. 

“Nope, absolutely not.” Before you can say anything else, he’s ripped the duvet away exposing you to the cold morning air. You yell out but there is no mercy. It turns out you’ll be quite happy he did wake you up. Not right now, but later when you see what he has in store for you. 

“Where are we going?” you ask as he drags you through the streets of Ketterdam. Despite the early hour, it’s nice getting away from the club. It’s not that you don’t adore Kaz and Inej but it’s nice getting a little alone time with Jesper. It doesn’t come often seeing as you’re always moving on to the next heist or the next mission. Always an opportunity to earn money. 

“It wouldn’t be very much of a surprise if I told you, would it now?” He squeezes your hand to let you know he’s teasing you but he keeps his lips sealed. It isn’t until you reach University District that you realize where he’s taking you. 

“Jesper...” You stop dead in your tracks wishing you stayed in bed. You’ve always wanted to attend but you didn’t have the means and you definitely didn’t belong there according to most people in Ketterdam. You were meant for the streets - a fact that had been knocked into you from a very young age. 

“It’s okay. Trust me,” he smiles but you stay put. “Please.” Very slowly, you put one foot in front of the other and follow him inside the university. You walk straight to Boeksplein, the heart of the university, where he heads straight for the door of one of the libraries. You look around and notice the iron gates, gargoyle statues, and the windows with stained-glass borders. All things you’ve only ever dreamt of. You can’t find architecture like that where you come from. 

“Just act like you belong,” he whispers and opens the doors to the reading room. He grabs a few books and leads you to one of the long tables that haven’t been occupied by actual students. 

“Fun, huh?” You know he doesn’t care much for being back here but it means the world to you. This is the kind of experience you’ve always wanted but you never would’ve dared to do on your own. 

“We really have to get some studying done,” you tease him flipping to a random page in one of the books he brought over. He keeps his mouth shut and lets you enjoy the moment. Several professors pass you by but no one seems to realize that you don’t technically belong here. 

“Are you finished with your studying? I’ve got another surprise.” 

“This wasn’t the entire surprise?” you ask bemused. What else could he have in store for you?

“Please, you think I’d just plan a trip to the university to read? Don’t you know me at all?” he teases feigning hurt. Once again, he takes your hand and leads the way. 

“Wait,” you say when you reach the courtyard. He turns around with a smile on his face reserved just for you. He raises an eyebrow waiting for you to spill the beans. 

“I just... Thank you. I loved every minute of it,” you say leaning forward to kiss him. Next spot is a place you happen to know for a fact that neither of you can afford but he still drags you through the front doors as if this is every-day-life for the two of you. Geldrenner Hotel is as luxurious and gorgeous on the inside as it is on the outside. You’ve passed it many times but this is the first time you’ve been inside. You hadn’t been part of the Crows when they’d been here. 

“We can’t afford this, Jesper,” you whisper looking at the people in all their fancy clothing and white pearls. He doesn’t bat an eyelash as he asks for the key to the Ketterdam Suite but you certainly do. Fast forward and you’re lying in the master bedroom and Jesper is telling you all about the bets he’s won lately to save up for this one night. 

“When I first met you, I would have never believed that one day we’d be so close,” you say looking into those beautiful eyes of his. He brushes a few loose strands of hair away from your face with a soft look in his eyes. 

“I dreamed about kissing you. For so long, I was convinced that you’d never even look in my direction. Dreams were all I had.” It’s not often you get sappy sentimental like this but it seems fitting after the adventure he had planned for you today. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you.” 

[crazy-hazy-sims]

My opnion on the new cortyard oasis kit leak

Now i am fundamentally against kits and haven't even installed the previous ones for free and this won't change for this i am still against the concept as a whole but i had some thoughts on this one because i am tierd of getting more of the same with the Moroccan inspired theme americans in general keep shelling out.

Now listen maxis said the kits concept is being somthing that allows them to focus on one theme and provide more for it really gave me the impression that maybe with kits they are gonna do thier research properly and stop with the "presenting you stuff from foreign countries but from our stereotypical colonial point of view where you exsit for our adventuring and vacationing and thats it" but looks like not they still went in with the same theme they went with like 3 times(in city living and the free update atleast) now for the sims 4 and the same exact theme for the past games when it relates to Moroccan inspired stuff -_-

Here are the leaked pics from sims community twitter:

And while i dont hate it i adore this type of architecture what they created is outdated and is basically more of the same thing i have been seeing for years now when in reality modern Moroccan(and north african too) architecture furniture and decor has been updated and looks diffrent not only that but the color palette they keep using is the same exact color palette that everyone that wants to do somthing north african inspired anything for YEARS has been sticking too ( i am talking irl stuff like inspired pillows or even eyeshadow palettes or paintings etc ) just the same rich dark green dark medetrenian sea blue and rich dark ochre like my dudes thats a historical a color palette not a modern one please update your colors atleast.

Personally i would have loved to see this light powder blue and orange colors instead

And modern architecture along side the historical one too alittle more like

And updated furniture and interior design ideas that folow modern morocan design ways which keeps the intricate details but instead of having it be very colorful it focuses on one color (usually the light blue ) and accents everything els with white or small touches of color making a beautiful blend of modernity and ancient culture like here

And i say this as a designer myself i studied interior design for 2 years and studied all the historical color palets and elements of each major architecture theme (morocan and medetrenian being major ones) designers keep using the historical color palettes as if they are current and ignore the fact that north africa evolved and became modern. Like what if i wanted to do a LA inspired collection of things but used a color palette and pictures of LA from the 50's S if it was the most current thing being used i bet yall would make fun of me to death lol.

Anyway this is not saying that what they have now in the kit and in game is bad no absolutely not some of the pecies are absloute art and are perfect but i just wish that they would do a diffrent take on the theme for once and i think if they had went with a more modern look it would have been one of the most unique addons any game has offered to date and it would have gotten them alot of praise and recognition but what can i say companies like to stick to the sure safest way to make them money especially American companies that dont want to upset thier core American consumers with somthing they are not used too its too much of a risk i suppose idk i just think its a missed aprotunity for now i hope when the kit comes out there will be much more variety of styles not just what they have in the promo screenshots.

[the-iceni-bitch]

A Warm Fire

Pairing: Valkyrie/Brunnhilde/Fem-Reader

Word Count: 3876

Summary: Val helps you warm up after you get caught in a storm.

Warnings: Fluff, Spoilers for Avengers: Infinity War and Endgame (erring on the safe side with this one), Explicit language, explicit sexual content (oral sex- f receiving, scissoring, fingering) SMUT, 18+

A/N: I’ve decided for my b-day week I want to bless all you sweet bitches with a brand new smutty fic each day. My holes are worn out from all the rough himbo sex I’ve been throwing at you, so today I wanted to soften things up with something for my WLW ladies. I sub for no man, but Val could spit in my mouth and turn me into a housewife!

“Well, fuck.” You sighed.

You had hoped you’d be able to outrun the storm you saw rolling in off the coast on your weekly trip to New Asgard but hadn’t even been driving for an hour when lightning started streaking across the sky and the clouds let loose a deluge that had your ancient pickup’s wipers maxed out. You couldn’t even see 20 feet in front of you and slammed on the brakes suddenly when you came upon a massive tree blocking the road. The engine stalled out and you had now been trying to turn it over for 10 minutes with no luck.

You had thankfully been able to contact Aud and Sigurd and have them bring your animals in and batten down the barn, but there was no way you were making it back tonight. You resigned yourself to sleeping in your front seat when a pile of rocks reared out of no where and tapped on your window, causing you to let out a shriek.

“Everything ok in there?”

“Jesus Christ, Korg, what are you doing out here?”

The massive Kronan straightened back up and you thought you saw his brow furrow before his face split open in a wide grin.

“Y/N, excellent! Some of us got concerned once the storm rolled in and Val sent out a group to make sure you made it off of the Fjord ok.”

“Ok, well clearly this piece of shit is not cut out for Skagerrak storms.” You told him as you stepped out into the deluge, pulling your parka around you tightly as the wind tried to whip your hood off. “I don’t suppose you drove here in any sort of vehicle?”

“As a matter of fact, Miek drove the Jeep.”

“I’m sorry, Miek drove?” The thought of the Sakaarian larval creature driving a vehicle filled you with equal parts horror and mirth. “Do you mind if I drive us back?”

“Probably for the best. I told him that knife hands are not conducive for steering but you know he doesn’t listen to me.”

You let out a laugh as Korg lumbered into the large trailer hooked to the back of the Jeep, causing it to sink into the mud a bit. Miek scooted into the passenger seat as you turned the vehicle around and started to head back to Tønsberg.

Your cautious driving extended the trip by a good 45 minutes. The thunder had stopped but it was still pouring as you parked the jeep in one of the converted stables. Korg and Miek gave you a wave as they headed back to Thor’s, Korg carrying 3 of the pallets of Aquavit you had brought with you earlier.

You headed towards the town square and saw Brunnhilde leaning against the posts in front of her small brick house, watching the storm that was still raging out at sea before she saw you and broke out in a grin.

“Y/N, I told you not to head out in this! That piece of shit truck of yours give out on you?”

“What do you think, Hilde? I just decided to walk all the back to your house for fun in this?” You shook out your hair as the two of you stepped inside, spraying her with a thin mist of rainwater.

“Ah, you bitch! Get out of those wet clothes, I got a fire started and some dry towels and blankets set out for you. Want a hot toddy?”

You winced at the thought as you started peeling yourself out of your soaked jeans. “I’d like to be able to wake up tomorrow hon. Your hot toddys are literally just a hot mug of Aquavit with a slice of lemon.” You cursed yourself silently for introducing the Asgardians to the spicy Scandinavian liquor that you now had to truck in every week. While it was extremely lucrative, they now put it in everything.

Hilde sauntered back into the main room carrying two steaming mugs as you wrapped yourself in a wool blanket and settled in front of the fire, wearing only your bra and panties.

She rolled her eyes at you and handed you a mug, which you took a wary sniff of and were pleasantly surprised to find it was just peppermint tea.

“You’re just a lightweight.” She said as she curled up in her armchair, wrapping one hand around her mug while the other picked up the worn book that was sitting on the end table.

“How do you like it so far?” You asked her, sipping your tea slowly as you waited for it to cool.

“The writing is lovely, but it’s pretty inaccurate.”

The friendship the two of you had built over the past 3 years was something truly lovely. When she and the rest of the refugees had landed, after the snap, they were all hollow shells of grief. Thor shut himself away almost immediately, and Hilde found herself thrust into a position of leadership she had never wanted. All of them wanted nothing more than to be left alone with their sorrows, doing just enough to keep themselves alive.

The first storm off the Skaggerak had almost devastated their new home though, and when she contacted Banner for help, he called you. You still kept in touch after your years together at university, and he knew you had settled somewhere in Norway and could arrive to lend a hand faster than he could.

Your arrival brought some much needed distraction to their sleepy town. You had managed to round up a group of your Norwegian neighbors, along with some fellow expats, and set about making the necessary changes to assure that New Asgard would be a thriving community. While the rest of your group set to restructuring architecture, and teaching the town’s new inhabitants the necessities of a seaside existence on the windy Fjord, you began the slow process of helping the refugees move on from their sorrow.

Your anthropology doctorate was specialized in Norse culture, after all, and you would often bring small reminders of their lost home with you whenever you came to visit. Whether it was a collection of replicated Talharpas, Skalmejens, and Lurs to give to the children to learn music or a large cache of drinking horns to stock their taverns, every time your truck came lumbering down the hills, Brunnhilde watched the faces of her citizens light up with anticipation for some new pleasant surprise. When you arrived with your first load of Aquavit and spent the night drinking with them and singing the drinking songs they knew well, you were all but confirmed as an honorary Asgardian. Your haunting rendition of Lilja actually brought tears to a few eyes.

Brunnhilde made sure to let you know how grateful she was as much as possible. She would always have some small gift for you when you arrived, but all you asked her for was to sit and talk, discussing the history of Asgard and the nine realms as you scribbled copious notes. She loved watching your face screw up in concentration as you bent over one of your notebooks, one stubborn lock of hair falling into your face.

She laughed to herself softly now as she remembered the visit a few weeks ago when she had first introduced you to her winged steed, Aragorn. Your look of awe had been replaced quickly with uncontrollable laughter when she had told you his name. You refused to tell her what was so funny, but she was determined to get it out of you at some point.

You had brought your original copy of Snorri’s Edda the next week, and she had read it through 3 times already.

She ran her hands softly over the spine of the book before tossing back the rest of her toddy and setting the book and her mug back on the end table before sinking to the floor behind you and nuzzling herself into your hair, sighing as she inhaled the scent of fresh rain.

You leaned back into her slowly, giving a soft hum of contentedness. She slipped the blanket off of your shoulders to pool around your waist as she left a trail of soft kisses down your neck, before softly raising a bruise into your collarbone with her mouth.

The moan you gave her made her grin against your skin, and she slipped one hand into the front of your bra, softly drawing her fingers across your nipple.

“Fuck, Hilde!” you pressed your chest further into her hand as her other moved behind you to unhook your bra and slip it off your shoulders, freeing your breasts. She felt your nipples harden against her fingers as she turned your head and slowly teased your mouth open with her tongue.

“Eyes open, pretty girl.” She whispered as her left hand continued to palm at your breast and roll your nipple between her fingers. You stared at her through your lashes as she brought her right hand up and put her index and middle finger in your mouth. You gave them a soft nip before sucking and swirling your tongue around them slowly.

She grinned at you wickedly as she dragged her soaked fingers down your torso at an agonizing pace, leaving a thin trail of your saliva before she tucked them under the edge of your panties and dragged them over your sopping cunt, separating the soft folds there to tease against your entrance.

“Oh, poor baby, look how much this pussy missed me?” She said as you let out a thin keen, screwing your eyes shut and dropping your head against her neck. She slapped your tit suddenly and tweaked your nipple hard, making you gasp. “You better keep those eyes open if you want me to let you come sweetheart. You want me to stretch this pretty pussy around my fingers and make you feel good?”

“Yes, god” you let out breathlessly, forcing your eyes open as she studied your face.

“Ah, ah, ask nicely.”

“Yes please.” You hissed as her fingers continued to tease at your folds, lightly brushing against your clit.

“Good girl”

She slipped one finger inside of you slowly and you immediately clenched around it as she pressed it against that soft spongy spot.

“Ooh, honey. You’re so fucking tight, I’m gonna stretch you out so good.” She whispered against your lips as she kissed you softly.

Her second finger slipped in easily and she started fucking them into you slowly, pressing her palm against your clit as she did so and your arousal seeped all over her hand. Your breath was hitching in your chest as she increased her pace.

You felt yourself flutter around her and it took all of your willpower to not screw your eyes shut and drop against her shoulder. You ground yourself against her hand as she suddenly slowed down, hungry for more friction.

“You want me to add another finger, sweet girl?” She asked slyly, teasing her promise against your entrance.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak so you nodded at her, your chest heaving as she continued palming your breast and you felt a resounding shiver in your core.

“You’re lucky I’m soft on you sweetie, I should be making you beg for this.” She murmured as she shoved all three of her fingers in suddenly, causing you to let out a small cry as she started fucking them into you at a rough speed. “I’m just finishing you off so I can feel this sweet mouth of yours on my cunt. You want to taste me baby?”

“Shit, Hilde!” The thought of her taste on your tongue sent you over the edge as she drove her palm into your clit one last time and you released around her, fluttering as you soaked her hand. Her strong arms held you still as your orgasm wracked you and every muscle trembled. Once you had ridden it out, she drew her hand out of your ruined panties to suck on her fingers.

“Mmm, you taste so good honey. Don’t you think?” She placed her mouth on yours and pressed her tongue against yours and you moaned as you tasted your own release.

“Help me out of my clothes baby, I need to ride that pretty face.”

She climbed around you and settled into your lap, kissing you deeply and making happy little humming sounds. You drew her sweater up over her head and tossed it aside, and were pleasantly surprised to see she wasn’t wearing a bra. You gave her a wicked grin before lifting her up and pressing her chest to your face, latching your mouth to one of her nipples as your hands cupped her ass through her leggings. She gave a light laugh and tossed her head back as her fingers carded themselves through your hair. You brought one of your hands between the two of you, shoving it down the front of her leggings and drawing your fingers through her slick, making her gasp.

“God, baby, you’re so fucking greedy.” She laughed lightly as you peppered her chest with kisses, occasionally creating some light suction with your tongue to raise a light bruise. “Mmm, you know just what to do, but I want to come all over that beautiful face of yours.”

You smiled against her chest as you gently nuzzled yourself between her breasts before falling back abruptly and making her gasp.

“You are being such a trouble maker, today, Y/N. Fine, I’m going grind your pussy so good before I rub that smirk off your face with my cunt.”

She sat up between your legs a drew your soaked panties off before removing her own leggings. She stretched your right leg off to the side and lightly drew her fingers up the inside of your thigh, removing them right before she reached your quivering pussy and making you whine.

“Don’t be a brat baby. Look at this pretty pussy, just weeping for me.” She stared at your swollen cunt with a grin as she hooked a hand under your left knee and positioned herself so she was straddling you, her soft folds just kissing yours as she hovered there. “You want to feel my pussy on yours, baby? Want me to grind that clit so good? You better fucking beg for it.”

“Oh god, pleasepleaseplease…” you let out in a hiss as she pressed herself down and ground herself into you.

“Mmm, I feel that sweet pussy quivering for me. God, you’re like my own fucking vibrator.” She kept twisting her hips into yours, hitting you at that perfect angle each time and making you mewl and whimper unintelligibly as she edged you closer to your release. She unbent your right leg slowly, running her thumb up your calf before nipping at the pad of your big toe, making you arch into her. “No no, sweetheart, isn’t it so much better when you hold still? You know I’ll take care of you.”

She stretched your right leg out so you were wide open and pinned your thighs down with her hands as she picked up the pace. She bit her lip and gazed down at you through hooded eyes and you felt her core twitch against yours. One more drive of her hips and you came apart at the same time, your releases mixing together to coat the insides of your thighs. You let out a scream while she just gasped, still managing to hold you down as your pleasure wracked through you and you wound your hands into the blanket beside you for some kind of anchor.

“Fuck baby, this pussy is so good to me. I wanna run my tongue over this pretty cunt while I ride your face. You better be good for me.”

She twisted herself around to straddle your face. You softly nipped at her left cheek then gave her ass a slap, making her yelp, and she responded by smacking your pussy twice before grinding into your face.

“Oohh, are you going to be a bad girl?” She scolded you as you wrapped your arms around her thighs and teased her folds with your tongue. “Am I going to have to edge you all nigh… Fuck!!” Your tongue found her entrance and you moaned into her cunt, causing vibrations that made her clench against your face. “God, baby, you’re so good at that. Your miss this pussy so bad, look at the mess you’re making.” She separated your folds and softly blew against your clit before shoving three fingers into you with no preparation. “Mmm, you’re fucking ready for me sweetheart, I’m barely even stretching you now. You want me to add another finger?”

She gave your clit another soft slap and you came suddenly, legs and core trembling as you clenched and released around her fingers. You tried to come up for air, but Hilde just ground her hips into your face.

“Na-ah.” She scolded you. “You wanted to get fresh with me and now you better make me come if you want to breathe. You get to work. I’m going to wring every ounce of pleasure out of this pussy until you give me what I want, I don’t care if you pass out.”

She inserted a fourth finger into your canal and started to fuck them all into you, flicking soft kitten licks against your small bundle of nerves before she latched onto it, sucking hard.

Tears started streaming down your face as another orgasm ripped through you. You were starting to feel light-headed from a mixture of pleasure and oxygen deprivation. She drew her tongue slowly up and down your entrance while her fingers kept moving inside you, doing her best to lap up your release before her tongue went back to massaging your clit.

You barely skimmed your teeth against her clit and she let out a soft cry against you, slapping your pussy in response and making you come again. You shook your head to bury yourself deeper into her folds and fought off the urge to pass out before shoving your tongue into her pussy and bringing your fingers up to rub harsh circles into her tiny apex of pleasure.

She collapsed against you at the sudden change in sensation with a gasp before she rose up to really grind into you.

You started fucking your tongue in and out of her, making sure to press it against her g-spot each time and felt her thighs tense around your face.

“God baby, don’t fucking stop. Fuck, just like that, right there. That tongue of yours is so fucking good. You’re so fucking good. Feels so good.” You knew when she started babbling breathlessly like this she was close. She brought one of her hands up to palm her breast as her other gripped the wrist of the hand you had working her clit, making sure you didn’t move away.

Just as the edges of your vision started to close in, you felt her core vibrate and her cunt clenched around your tongue as her release gushed into your mouth. The only sound she made was a rapid breathless pant and she rolled off of you slowly, finally allowing you to suck in oxygen as stars swam behind your vision. You did your best to catch your breath as you felt her stretch languidly beside you before she sat up to stare at you.

“Fuck, baby. I don’t know why I let you take this pussy away from me. I know you just lay there by yourself every night dreaming of my fingers buried in you.” She slowly drew a hand along your slit and you groaned when she brushed against your overstimulated clit. “Just swollen and crying for me. Whose pussy is this baby?” She asked you, curling her fingers against your mound.

You knew if you didn’t tell her what she wanted to hear, she would wring it out of you, and if you had any more orgasms you were going to pass out. “Yours, baby.” You murmured, staring at her through your eyelashes.

“Good girl.” She patted your cunt twice, making you twitch, before she bent down and kissed you softly.

She stood up and collected your mugs and brought them back into the kitchen, wiggling her ass at you when she felt you watching her, making you laugh.

“Can you throw some more logs on the fire, Y/N? I’ll grab us some clean blankets and pillows and we can sleep out here.”

“Yes ma’am.” You called back to her, breaking the current logs apart with the poker before adding three new ones and stoking it. You gathered your discarded clothes and the soiled blanket in a bundle and headed to the bathroom to put them in the hamper and run a damp towel against your sex to clean up, bringing another out with you as you headed back to the fire, where Hilde had piled a ridiculous amount of blankets and pillows in a massive nest for the two of you.

You sank down next to her and she drew your face to hers for a kiss. You smiled against her lips as you gently drew the soft towel you had brought with you over her cunt and along her thighs to clean her off as she gave a contented sigh.

“Stay.” She said softly, nuzzling softly into your neck as you held her against her chest and slowly sank back against the pile of cushions, giving her hair a soft kiss.

“Hilde, the road is out, I’m not going anywhere until tomorrow.”

“No, Y/N. Stay. Move here with me. I need you.” She looked up at you with genuine pleading in her eyes. You had never seen such open emotion on her face before.

You only had to think about it for a minute. The weeks between your trips were always spent planning your next visit. Thinking over what you wanted to talk to Hilde about. Your bed felt empty without her there.

“I need you too baby. I love you.” You whispered to her, tipping her chin up to look into her eyes as you gave her a gentle smile.

Her face split into a grin. “Is that a yes?”

“Of course, Hilde.”

“Oh god, Y/N, I love you too!” She drew your face down to hers and kissed you deeply, clutching you to her needily before releasing you with a grin. “I miss that pussy almost as much as it misses me.”

You laughed at that and laid back with a sigh. Hilde rested her head between your breasts and brought her hands close around your sides, pulling the thick wool blanket around the two of you tightly.

“Just make sure Miek doesn’t try to fight my sheep again.” You whispered to her, running a hand softly up and down her back.

“That was a misunderstanding.” She smiled against you as her breathing slowed and deepened, and she sunk closer to sleep.

The two of you laid there intertwined for the rest of the night, drifting off as the fire crackled and died. You had never felt so content in your life.