alkemic

[wilburwhateley]

[cassieuncaged]

WIP/Last Line Games

Thanks for the tag @emotionalcadaver, @galaxycunt and @bardic-inspo!

Rules: In a new post, post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

I have a shit ton. Feel free to ask about any!

King of War

Grave Bound Redux

Ragdoll

Domesticated

Wild Inhibitions

The Return

Uneasy Alliance

Rat Race

New to Town

Ghoulish Intentions

Last Line Game:

Here's a little paragraph from The Return:

“Make it up to me by not getting completely shitfaced tonight.” He sneered before sashaying towards the lacquered bar nestled between the two marble staircases. The ballroom was lavishly decorated, like it was yearly. He tried not to roll his eyes as he overheard whispers concerning Tavara’s rumored appearance.

[random-imagines-blog]

Post Red {Viktor Krum x Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 3072 Summary: At a time when he should be focused on the game, Viktor Krum is distracted by you, his childhood best friend, and a blonde-haired boy who won’t stop flirting.

The Quidditch World Cup. You came just about every year, getting pretty okay seats with your best friend Viktor and his family. His parents and yours were good friends, which instantly meant that you were best friends. And with his father holding season passes to every Quidditch world cup, no matter where it was, this had become a yearly tradition. “I’m going to be on the Bulgarian team one day,” Viktor would always state as you watched the players fly. Bulgaria was always his favorite. Home country pride. It was yours too, but sometimes you liked to cheer for other times to mix things up. You would always grin and nudge him to point out something a player was doing, but not this year. This year, you were at the top of the stadium, standing next to the Minister of Magic in a special area, watching Viktor Krum play in Bulgaria versus Ireland. He was achieving his dream.

Every time that he flew past you, you jumped up and down, waving the flag of his team. He had become the star seeker of the team so quickly, it made your head spin. But you were nothing if not supportive. You used up your allowance to buy his merchandise, even though he could get it to you for free. It almost became a joke between the two of you, how you would always show up to his house wearing a sweater with his face on it, bright and smiling. You always made the joke that he was smiling on the sweater because it was the closest that he would ever get to your chest. He would make the joke in return that he was just smiling because he finally was looking at someone good looking - himself. He was actually very funny for a serious looking man.

You weren’t the only one high up in the stadium. Sharing a box with you was the Minister of Magic himself, and a man with his son. The boy was two or three years younger than you, you would assume by his size, and his hair was as silver as snow, just like his fathers. You had no interest in them. You weren’t here to make friends. You were here to support the best one that you had. But you did give a friendly hello and smile to the Minister, as it was better to have a friend in him than an enemy.

The other boy though, he wanted to have more than a friendly hello with you. He kept moving closer to the part of the box that you were occupying. He spoke to you with a very snobby voice, and though it would be considered rude and your parents would be disappointed in you, your direct reaction was to pretend that you didn’t know English.

“I’m Draco Malfoy,” He said, sticking his hand out to shake yours. “We’re here with the Minister of Magic. Are you here by yourself?”

Rather than shake his hand, because you honestly didn’t want to touch him for too long, you tapped yours against his in a high-five. “Ja, go fast!” You said, pointing at one of the Bulgarian Chasers who just flew past you.

The look on Draco’s face was worth it. But there was still a long game ahead of you. It could go on for hours. For days. Hopefully for the former though, because Viktor was a really good seeker. You had full confidence that he would get the snitch before it turned midnight.

Draco went and stood by his father for a little bit, and the two had quiet conversations. You didn’t pay him much attention. You were too busy watching the game. Even during lulls when it was just Chasers fighting over the ball in the middle of the pitch, you were intrigued. You didn’t pay attention to anything else - except for maybe making faces at Viktor when he passed by you on his way to catch what he thought was the snitch. He was darting back and forth so quickly though, it was hard to tell if he had seen you.

Since the World Cup was officially sponsored by Butterbeer, it kept being brought up to your box by people who worked for the Quidditch federation. It was enough to keep you warm as the game went into the nighttime. The skies seemed to threaten rain, but you didn’t care whether it fell or not. You were having fun, regardless of the weather.

The Irish scored the first goal. You booed, even though the others in your box seemed to be very supportive of the green team. You smiled apologetically at Fudge as he gave you an odd look, but didn’t pass a glance at the other two. However, the young boy came and stood beside you again, leaning over the box to look down at the people below in the lesser seats. He was sneering at them, like they had done something wrong by just existing there. That was worth a look to you at least. He caught your eye, and that sneer turned into a smile.

“Is this your first time at the Quidditch World Cup?” He asked. You shook your head, still feigning not knowing any English. “We come every year. But this is the first time that we’re in the Minister’s Box. So how did you get up here anyway? Who are you?”

He wasn’t letting up. You tried to look up at the players again, but the war for the Quaffle was going on in the middle of the pitch which meant there wasn’t much to look at right now. He nudged your side, so you finally answered, giving him your first and last name.

“Sounds exotic,” He said, which made you have to turn away and roll your eyes. Leave it to someone from England to think that your name was exotic, when it was commonplace where you were from. And not like he had the right to judge - what sort of name was Draco?

There was finally some action on the pitch, which took his attention from you for a little while. Unfortunately it was Ireland again, scoring the second goal of the game. Your eyes scanned the pitch to look for the familiar frame of your best friend and you saw him across the stadium. He was balanced on his broom, sitting on it in a way that made it look easy. Comfortable. You always admired how effortless he made it look to fly, while you were always hunched down, holding on with both hands until your knuckles had started to hurt. You waved at him when you thought you caught his eye and he smiled back at you. You chuckled as you heard a few girls in rows below you start to squeal because they thought that it had been at him.

“He’s overrated,” Draco muttered beside you.

“Krum?” You asked - before realizing this was very close to exposing yourself as a fraud.

“Yeah. He’s not even that good. In fact, I’m better than him. I’m the Seeker on the Slytherin Quidditch team. I got in second year, which is really rare, actually.”

You let his voice go in one ear and then out the other. This boy seemed to like to talk about himself an awful lot.

Ireland scored a third goal, and you groaned loudly, cutting off Draco in the middle of a sentence. “Oh, are you cold?” He asked.

Either he didn’t notice that you were shaking your head, or he didn’t care. He moved in closer to you and tried to put his arm around your shoulders. In your discomfort, you took a few hasty steps away, and ended up bumping into the Minister himself, stepping on his robes which almost pulled him down.

“I’m so sorry,” You said in horror as you realized what you had just done. You helped him to upright himself, and he gave you a wary look, like he should have expected this.

“It’s quite alright,” He said, but he did wander to the other side of the box, far away from you. You watched, feeling a bit bashful about what just had happened. At least, until there was a cheer from the fans. Ireland scored yet another goal. You sighed, and put your gaze back on the game. Viktor had moved since you had last seen him, and you began to scan for him once more, only for him to pop up not too far from you.

“I knew you spoke English,” Draco said from next to you. You almost forgot about the little twerp, but here he was, making himself known again. You never met anyone so infuriating before. He just couldn’t pick up a hint. “Come on, talk to me. Do you go to Hogwarts? I felt like I would have seen you there.”

“I don’t go to Hogwarts,” You stated. “You have not seen me before. And after this, we shall not meet again. Please, leave me alone.”

“I’ll be telling my father about your rudeness,” He said, finally turning away from you. You let out a sigh of relief. Maybe you could finally get into the game.

There had been a few close calls of Ireland getting the snitch. They were winning by quite a lot, and you could feel Viktor’s frustration from where you were standing. He kept looking at you, and you didn’t have much to offer him except for crossing your fingers.

“I think you should come to have dinner with us after the game,” Draco said, strolling back over to you after a while.

“The game could go on for hours, or even days,” You said, clenching the fence in front of you. You had never felt the urge to punch someone before but it was growing slowly and steadily. Something about his ferret like face.

“Well, we’re taking a break soon. We brought our new house elf. It’s an alright cook, it’ll do for the occasion. And you’re going to join us, aren’t you?”

“I’m fine here, thank you,” You said, scoffing at the idea of a break. You had no intention of leaving the game until it was over, even if that meant starving or peeing yourself. You were dedicated to stick it out for Viktor, at the very least.

He was flying not too far, eyes peeled for the stitch. But he looked at you. He was able to smile once more, but a hand grabbed yours and pulled you away from the fence. In your astonishment, you had let go. “Come on, we’re going to have something to eat.”

There was a sound of awe from the crowd at the exact same time that something went soaring by your head. You just barely managed to duck before it turned around and came back. A bludger. But how in the hell did it-

It went returning the way that it had come from, flying across the pitch. That was when you saw Viktor again, a little closer to you this time, holding a beater’s bat. He tossed it back to the beater, who went soaring after the bludger, while Viktor looked over at you. You put your hands over your heart as a thank you. He had always been a little overprotective of you, but right now, you were grateful for it. You were able to snap your hand away from Draco’s grasp, who was still ducking from the bludger attack. “I said I’m fine here. And if you, or your father, have a problem with that, you can shove it up your rear!” You shouted. The Minister overheard this part of the conversation and let out a little ‘oh my’ in surprise.

You didn’t even care. Enough was enough. If he grabbed you again, you would be telling everyone that you were being assaulted, and put him on full blast. Though he looked rather shaky after the encounter with the bludger, so you had the feeling he wouldn’t actually be bothering you again. You returned back to the fence so you could overlook the pitch again, and wrapped your hands around it so no one would be able to drag you back again.

-

The game finished with Bulgaria’s loss. You were disappointed, but it wasn’t Viktor’s fault. He still managed to catch the snitch, so he had done his job. It was the Keeper that you were disappointed with, and you would be bringing that up to him later.

You descended the endless flights of stairs, blending in with the crowd after the game - many were celebrating but there were quite a few who looked the same as you felt. Damn Ireland, you were thinking to yourself. And damn the Bulgarian Keeper! He hadn’t been able to do his job properly. Even Viktor would have done a better job, and it was his least favorite position!

You managed to veer away from the crowd to go to your own little campsite. Much like the others around yours, the tent was much bigger and roomier on the inside than it appeared on the outside, thanks to a little magic. You marched on through the flaps to go inside, and change out of your clothes. It had been a long game, and you had definitely sweated at least a little bit. You wanted to be much more presentable when Viktor would come along and join you.

The flap came open once more, and Viktor strolled in, just as you were fastening the button on your bottoms. He had perfect timing - now at least, maybe not so during the game. His jaw was clenched, you noticed, and he looked very angry. He’d lost games before, but still reveled in the fact that he had been playing. This was not a mood that just came from the game.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, watching as he walked past you to the armchair that was in front of the budding fire. Thank heavens for magic - a fire and a tent would never have worked otherwise.

“That boy who was touching you-” He said, sinking into the chair, and spit directly into the fire with disgust. “What’s his name?”

“Oh, we don’t need to worry about him, Vik. I think you scared him enough with the bludger. He wouldn’t even come close to me after that. Turned white as a sheet,” You chuckled at the memory, but his anger seemed to rage on.

“No, tell me his name.” Viktor demanded. You sighed, and walked to where he was sitting. The chair wasn’t big enough for the both of you, but it had rather wide arms and you planted yourself right there. You leaned your head against the top of his, the bristly growth of his hair tickling your forehead. “Y/N...”

“He was a stupid, petulant child who I am never going to lay eyes on again, Viktor Krum. Why did it make you so mad?”

“No one should be touching you. No one should be dragging you...” He said, moodily. He was staring into the fire, not at you at all.

“Tell you what. I’ll let you know his name after you calm down, how about that?” You suggested. It would take some time - he had a temper like a bonfire that would just keep on burning until the morning.

“Fine,” He grumbled. He said nothing more, and the two of you sat in silence, staring at the fire as it crackled, and listening to some of the cheers from outside. People were still celebrating the Irish win out there, and it gave everything a joyous atmosphere. “I’m not angry anymore.” He said after a few more minutes.

You pulled away from him, and took a look at his eyes to see if he really was in a post-red mood. He still looked grumpy but the worst of it seemed to be over. “His name was Draco Malfoy. His father is friends with the Minister, which is why I didn’t do much about it myself. You took good care of me, Vik. Just be happy that it ended the way that it did and we could move on with our lives.”

“If I see him again, I’m punching him,” Viktor grumbled. You shrugged, alright with that since the likelihood of it seemed so low.

“That is a price that he will have to pay then,” You smiled, moving back towards him and fell into his lap. Before you could try to get up, his arms went around your waist and started to tickle you in the way that he knew you hated. Fingers digging into your skin, it was a horrible feeling but the closeness that it brought wasn’t entirely terrible. “Vik - come on, stop...”

“I like it when you call me that,” He said, finally letting a smile come across his usual gruff features. You smiled in return, and lightly ran your fingers across his sculpted jawline, feeling the bone beneath his skin. His breathing hitched, and he held you closer, tighter.

You grew closer, until you could feel the heat of his breath on your lips. Viktor was so close - and you hadn’t realized until this moment that this was something that you wanted. You had always been friends, and your parents had teased since the beginning that they were planning your wedding to each other. But this was the first time that you had seen what they had been seeing.

Screams came from outside, and they were far from being the joyous kind. There was serious fear in the female voice that you had heard. And then came others. More and more screaming. The tent seemed to move as people were rushing past it. You could just see it through the crack between the flaps which acted as doors.

“Stay with me,” Viktor said, getting up immediately. You agreed to this without question, and when he offered you his hand, you took it. Whatever danger was out there, you were certain that you could face it together.

[xbrilliantsims]

It begins...

Harold and Norah had walked for nearly an hour when Harry suddenly stopped.  “Let me cover your eyes darling, I have a surprise for you”, and promply stepped behind her and put his hands over his wife’s eyes. Norah giggled.  “What are you up to, silly man?” “You’ll see soon enough. Come on, let’s walk, it’s just around the corner.” They walked on, much slower now since Harry had to make sure he kept Norah’s eyes covered. She was not very good at being surprised, being much too impatient. “Hey, no peeking!”

“Alright we’re here. You ready darling?” Harry whispered dramatically in Norah’s ear. She giggled again.  “Just show me already!” “When I say when, open your eyes!”

“Tadaa! What do you think?”

Norah just stared in shocked silence at the large house in front of her. Finally, speech returned to her. “Oh h-heavens, Harry! Is.. is that what I thi-” “Our own, brand new home, yes!” Harry interrupted her, excitement shining on his face. “I did it. I bought the farm!” “But I-I thought we c-couldn’t afford it?”

“Well... I came to an agreement with Mr Wentworth, that he’d be given 10% of any income I make from the farm until my debt is payed. We’ll struggle, but I think it will be worth it. I know you hate living with my family...” “I don’t hate living with them Harry” she said reproachfully, “I just don’t like how your mother treats me like a child and your brother seem to think I’m a nuisance.” Harold laughed. His wife could deny it all she liked, but he knew she was miserable at his family's home where they had lived for the past year since they’d been married. They had no time for themselves and there was no room for them either. With his mother and father still alive, his older brother and his wife and child, as well as their little sister, the house was crowded. Harry and Norah had long wanted to move out and start their own little family, and they had spotted this little abandoned farm owned by a man in the village. But funds were low and it had all seemed a distant dream. Until Harry had run into Mr Wentworth when tending to errands in Finchwick, and told him that he dreamed of purchasing the house from him one day. Mr Wentworth had proven to be a very kind gentleman and agreed to let them purchase it with the little funds they had in return for 10% of the farming profits yearly. So here they were.  “Oh Harry. I can’t believe it! When can we move in?” Norah sighed dreamily.  “Well, immediately my darling.” At these news, Norah flew into his arms.

“Oh how I love you, Harold Bradford!” “And I love you my darling. Let’s start our life together.”

PREVIOUS | NEXT

Info under cut.

Soooo... I decided to start a decades challenge. I was inspired in part by the happiness I felt when my favorite @deadlymodern returned with a new legacy post and also reading through the entire, most fantastic @pixelnrd ‘s, Langston Legacy in one go (it took me ~6 hours, I regret nothing). Thank you both of you for being amazing and SO inspiring.

I am making no promises to post regularly or anything. I don’t have the best track record with that... But I have intentions. My posts will be a mix of plain gameplay screenshots and more fancy storytelling with poses (like this one). I would love to just do that, but it takes up far too much time and I also really want to actually play the challenge. I also see this as an opportunity to play around with editing, which I am not very good at. The images above only have reshade (which I am also just learning how to navigate) and “unsharp mask” in PS haha. 

 Hope you’ll want to hop along for the ride. I’m excited at least!

[nimbus-tatze]

so the lab grown meat post ( https://nimbus-tatze.tumblr.com/post/639887396603920384/ok-so-lab-grown-meat-i-hate-with-a-passion-the ) gained a bit of traction and I decided to adress how to approach agriculture, some of these technologies and how to help out rural communities, thanks goes to @lordofthechips

Mostly I've listed attitudes/mindsets you may want to adopt to a certain degree, depending on your circumstances and beliefs. Anyone can add if they have good advice, but essentially 'get rid of animal ag' ain't it.

Don't generalize and try to look for nuance, especially coming from the locals/experts. Influencers aren't experts. It'd be lovely if more of us try to let rural communities make their own decisions and don't talk over them. That includes online posts.

Instead of always looking for new answers, look for older ones as well. There is a reason many traditions have become traditions. As you lose them through modernization you lose generational knowledge. Not a call for bigotry in case that's not clear.

Agriculture is different in each case. Don't try to make one solution fit every case or judge them if they don't. Hating animal agriculture is one thing, but when you want to get rid of it you include indigenous people, poor people, etc. There is a reason these people continue to do it that way and they know better than you why.

If you have the time/opportunity try to help out on a farm for a while, especially during harvest, feel free to do so. It's a great way to learn, get into conversation with farmers and the community (think about all the people you meet on the way, those working in the small shops you might need to go into to grab a snack etc), and make connections.

Look up CSA farms in your area. Community Supported Agriculture. I don't know how it works elsewhere but where I live we come together as a group, pick a farm, and get into an agreement with them to have an exclusive relationship as consumers with that farm. That means we as a community are their sole customers, but we agree to financially back the farm on a yearly basis (or 6 months and so on, each agreement can be different). So we agree on a price and pay that even if there is no produce/products yet. We don't have to pay every single time we get food, can make requests to grow certain cultures or apply certain practices, and can also frequently visit the farm. If the harvest is extra good that year, we don't have to pay more. In return the farmer is financially insured against stuff like a few years of bad harvest or issues with livestock, can get additional funding for expanding their operation etc. It's oversimplified here, and there are varieties so if you like to learn more about the german model you can look for SoLaWi (Solidarische Landwirtschaft). In my case farmers drive their stuff into the city for us on specific days and in locations close to your neighbourhood and hand you a box with what you want.

Don't talk over people in their own field. Don't go into the field with the intentions of a missionairy. You wouldn't try to teach a virologist about Covid. I hope. Even if you have reason to believe that person is wrong about the point they make, don't try to disprove it, that's the job of other people of the field. And they already make sure to disprove what's wrong.

essentially like the point above but If you decide to quote someone from the field don't do it against someone also from that field. Don't direct indigenous quotes at me to discredit my indigenous experiences for example, especially if you aren't indigenous yourself. That's a conversation for us. Also each tribe/scientific field is different (look Point 1).

Look outside the western world and if you have the means to travel pls visit not just the popular tourist sites. The villages/towns can tell you so much more than I can in a post. Try to have a local host you if it's not too difficult for them.

Don't dismiss rural folks as dumb/naive/racist. Doesn't mean bigotry isn't a problem, but try to pick out what they are saying about rural communities and ag in particular, bc they're still locals and still know more about local circumstances. Stay on topic.

Be suspicious about feel-good-uwu-stuff. It doesn't always have to be bad, but if what you're looking at primarily adresses your emotions you wanna be suspicious. Like cute animal videos, anthropomorphism especially, tech that seems to magically solve an issue, that stuff.

But also, even if you feel suspicious about tech/agriculture/etc keep it mind it might help others out. I highly criticized lab grown meat from an ag engineering perspective, but also mentioned it is probably amazing for healthcare. Some gadgets we might call lazy, but they can be incredibly helpful to disabled people and so on. Let's try to keep a door open with the benefits other people in mind

I'll add constantly seek education to this list BUT I don't recommend specific documentaries or books, bc they can be misleading especially if one misses out on pre-info that those forms of media built on. There can be a lot of emotional manipulation, weird framing, and so on and even with factual statements it's easy to frame smth wrong, check out the entire dehydrogenmonoxid=water project a student tried out.

Not to say there isn't good stuff out there, but pls don't get caught in echo chambers. If you have access to academic sources try to use them, even if they're more 'boring'.

TL;DR: don't get polarized, use nuance and talk to a variety of people and leave the job of 'correcting' experts to other experts.

(Also it's a bit hastily put together, so I hope it answers the question, lemme know if not precisely enough!)

[love-and-monsters]

Wyvern Prince 15

And we’re back! Thanks for being patient while I finished up college; I’ll post something else tomorrow to make up for the wait. But for now, here’s our favorite wyvern!

Male wyvern X female reader, 3013 words

Keeping your relationship a secret was a concept Davrakoss seemed to only understand in theory. He hadn’t attempted anything as obvious as kissing you in public, which was something of a relief, but that seemed to be the limit he understood. Instead of avoiding you in public and ensuring your relationship at least looked professional, he often sought you out or tried to stay around you. Every time he stood near you or engaged in conversation with you, you could feel eyes turning to you. The soft murmurs of conversation became jagged whispers as people frowned disapprovingly.

The fact that there was a ball coming up was only increasing the amount of stress on your shoulders.

Balls were done twice yearly, a highly formal one on the winter solstice and a much less formal one on the summer solstice. The formal one was designed to allow nobles from surrounding kingdoms to come together and, as far as you could tell, show off. Wearing increasingly elaborate dresses, showing off ostentatious wealth, and subtle bragging about exactly how well their kingdom was doing seemed to be the main focuses of the evening.

You really couldn’t see Davrakoss at such an event. Subtle politics had never been his strong suit and you couldn’t spend as much time as you wanted preparing him because you had to spend your time making sure the castle was prepared for the ball.

Preparing for the ball was the worst part of the year for every servant. Not only was there a lot of extra work, but nobles tended to become shorter and shorter of temper as the date approached. One of the particularly bratty noble girls had nearly pushed a servant down a flight of stairs when he had failed to bring her a particularly expensive bolt of fabric for a dress.

The pressure at least didn’t seem to be getting to Davrakoss, which was a relief. “Stay with me tonight,” he insisted as you made to head back to your quarters. “It would be simpler. And you wouldn’t have to get up as early tomorrow.”

He had been making the proposition every day since you had officially become a couple. Not once had you taken him up on it, but there was something to be said for his tenacity.

“It would be suspicious,” you said. “People could notice that I don’t return and if I start appearing in your room every morning, they’re going to find out.”

“I don’t care what people think,” Davrakoss crooned, but he wasn’t terribly insistent. “Just stay a little longer, at least?” He gave you a pleading look. It was impressive how much he managed to make his reptilian eyes look like a puppy dog’s.

“Only a little longer,” you said. “I really do need to get some sleep before tomorrow.”

Davrakoss wrapped himself around you, twining his tail around your legs and putting his arms around your shoulders. His cool nose pressed into the crook of your neck and you had to strangle a squeak. “You’re tense,” he said, kneading his fingertips into the muscles near your neck.

“It’s the ball. I hate these things,” you said. Davrakoss lifted his head from your shoulders and pulled you securely against his chest.

“I’m not all that excited for it either,” he said. “I’m not certain what I’m supposed to do.”

“Your part shouldn’t be too difficult,” you said. “Just stand around and make nice with the other nobles. Be polite to anyone who talks to you, smile a lot, and please try not to threaten anyone in any way.”

“I threaten one queen once and you never let it go,” Dravrakoss chuckled into the top of your head. “I won’t threaten anyone.” He rubbed your back, scratching gently with the tips of his fingers. “The other nobles have been talking about bringing dates.”

“Oh, yeah.” There was an unsettling drop in the pit of your stomach. “A lot of them use the ball as an opportunity to declare intent to court. Or to show off their partner. And those who don’t bring partners will usually be trying to get a partner at the ball.”

“I wish I could bring you,” Davrakoss said.

“I’ll be there,” you said.

“Not as my date,” Davrakoss snorted. “As a servant. It’s not the same.”

“Well, I’ll still be there if you need help,” you said. Davrakoss sighed, fluffing your hair with a hand.

“I don’t need you there for help. I want you to be able to go to a human party with me. You deserve a break. You’ve been working so hard for this and you don’t even get to enjoy it.”

“I’ll enjoy having the next day off,” you said. “Trust me, it’s better to work the night of the party than it is to have to care for all the hungover nobles the next morning.”

“And I think you’d look nice all dressed up,” Davrakoss said.

“It doesn’t matter because I can’t go.” You yawned and slowly untangled yourself from Davrakoss. “I have to go. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Wait,” Davrakoss said. When you turned back toward him, he took your face gently in his hands and pressed a kiss to your lips. He wasn’t a great kisser, which you mostly attributed to having spent most of his life without lips. Generally, though, his lack of technique was made up for with his enthusiasm. After a moment, he broke away, fingertips brushing along the lines of your face. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said reluctantly.

“See you then,” you said. His hands dropped away from you and you hurried out the door before his sad expression changed your mind.

The next day was spent rushing back and forth between preparing Davrakoss for the ball and making sure that everything else was ready. His clothes were, as was usual for the ball, incredibly elaborate and many-layered. His hair was also done up in an elaborate, twisting braid around his head, and jewelry hung from almost every part of his body. Typically, other servants took care of the clothing and hairstyling for the ball, but Davrakoss made others nervous enough that they kept calling you in for help.

“Ow.” You ran a comb through his hair, tugging on a particularly stubborn knot. The servant next to you drew back, as if frightened he would bite. Instead, he just gave his head a small shake and settled back into his seat.

“What did you do to your hair?” you muttered. You were terribly aware that the other servants in the room were staring at you with wide eyes. You would have to be careful to not be overly familiar with him. But at the same time, it was hard to be overly cool to him. He was already bristling with discomfort from all the people fussing over him and your comforting presence seemed to soothe him.

“I didn’t do anything. Ow!” You gave a sharp tug to one of the knots in his hair and his clawed fingertips dug into the arms of his chair. “Be careful!”

The servant next to you stared with wide eyes, but you just gave her a reassuring smile. “He’s more bark than bite,” you reassured her. Davrakoss’ expression didn’t change, but his tail tapped against your ankle for a moment, an acknowledgement of your teasing.

You gestured for one of the servants to come closer and, with her help, began to twist his hair into an elaborate crown around his horns. It took quite a while. Davrakoss sank back in his seat, eyes closed. The only sign that he wasn’t sleeping was that he twitched slightly whenever you pulled on his hair a little too hard.

Finally, once his hair was all done up and pretty, you managed to shoo the other servants out of the room. Davrakoss peered at himself in a full-length mirror, shifting a little to get a better look at himself. He was wearing a long, greenish-blue robe with a large cape that covered much of his tail. His horns were half hidden under his hair, and mostly covered in long, hanging jewels and metal. Gems and jewels, mostly blue, white, and silver, adorned him all over.

“You look good,” you said. The colors and flowing material made him look almost ethereal. It made your mouth go dry and your palms go clammy just to look at him.

He turned toward you, looking a little dazed. “Thank you.” He reached up to touch one of his horns, but dropped his hand halfway through the action. There was a strange sadness in his face.

“What’s the matter?” you asked, stepping up to his side. He leaned into your touch, eyes drifting shut for a second.

“You did a very good job at making me look human,” he said, leaning away from your again. You gaped, startled, but looking again, you could see he was right. The most obvious marks that he was a wyvern had been hidden away. If you only glanced at him for a moment, you could mistake him for a human. Your stomach twisted.

“That wasn’t what I wanted to-” you started, but Davrakoss stopped you with a sad smile.

“I know this isn’t your fault,” he said gently. “You didn’t design this outfit. I expect it was requested by the royal family to make me look less intimidating.” He sighed, disappointment etching itself across his face. “I am disappointed that I am able to predict human politics to that extent.”

“Don’t be. You’re better than all of them,” you said, drawing close to his side. He smiled down at you.

“Hearing you say that means a lot.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Do you have to leave now?” he asked, still holding you close.

“I should get going,” you said, though you didn’t move. He tilted your head back and kissed you. It was a surprisingly delicate and gentle kiss, but you couldn’t keep your mind on it. Half your thoughts were focused on trying to hear if there was anything outside the door. There was a soft clunk and you broke away, heart pounding. Davrakoss didn’t say anything. He had gotten used to your jumpiness.

“No one’s there,” he said, guiding your attention back toward him. “I would tell you.” He pressed his forehead against yours. “Trust me.”

“I do trust you. I just…” You trailed off, swallowing against the anxiety that swelled up into your throat. “I should go.”

Davrakoss stepped back with a sigh. “I will see you later, then.” He hesitated, then swooped in for another quick kiss. You had the urge to grab onto him, but you were pretty sure that even the smallest errant movement would ruin all the hard work you’d put into his outfit. Instead, you gave his hand a squeeze and left the room.

By the time the ball was ready to begin, you were thoroughly tired of the pale blue and white decorations that covered the ballroom. You were also physically exhausted from the effort of putting up all the decorations. Unfortunately, servants were also required to attend the ball as servers, which meant walking around with a tray and usually getting yelled at by drunken nobles. It was the lesser of two evils, really.

Nobles filtered in as soon as the sun dipped beneath the horizon. Most of them were lesser nobles who were unimportant enough to simply attend without announcement. However, many of the royalty from other kingdoms needed formal introductions.

It was a long, boring ceremony, but you paused in your slow rotation of the ballroom floor when Davrakoss’ name was announced. “Prince of the Wyverns, Davrakoss.” A low murmur swept through the room as he descended into the ballroom proper.

The low light made the jewels on his robe glitter and gleam and his expression was aloof and ethereal. Despite the efforts to make him more human, he looked greater and more terrible than any person you’d seen before. His eyes almost glowed with fire. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from him.

A few of the other members of royalty gathered around him as he stepped into the ballroom, blocking him from view. You continued circling the room, gradually shifting closer to Davrakoss in the most nonchalant way you could.

He was amidst a throng of chattering royalty, looking blessedly aloof rather than uncomfortable. Still, when he saw you, his expression relaxed a little. He moved closer to you, under the pretense of grabbing a glass of wine. He couldn’t speak to you without drawing attention, but he managed to convey both a sort of pained irritation and happiness at the sight of you. His fingers brushed yours as he took a glass.

You retreated again and Davrakoss returned to the crowd of royals. You caught sight of him a few more times as you rotated through the ballroom. He was nearly always surrounded by other royals. Once, late into the night, you saw him out on the dance floor. He was swaying in a slow circle with a princess you vaguely recognized as the third daughter of a northern king. Despite his little practice, he was able to hold his own. At the very least, the princess seemed happy and he wasn’t stepping on her feet.

They stepped off the dance floor and another princess approached him. He took her hand and graciously returned to the dance. Your stomach knotted. It was strange. You had never been jealous of nobles before, not in this way. But watching Davrakoss smile down at the woman in his arms made you feel a little sick.

You left the ballroom to refill your drink tray. Jealousy and exhaustion mingled in an emotional combination that made your eyes sting.

There was a rustling noise behind you and you straightened, wiping off your eyes. Before you could pretend to be getting more drinks, the person who had entered the room walked over to you.

“Are you all right?” You jumped a little. Davrakoss was leaning over you, eyes gentle.

“What are you doing back here?” you hissed. “This area is only for servants.” Davrakoss grinned.

“Yes, so hopefully no one will think to look for me back here.” He slipped an arm around your waist and tugged you into a shaded and secluded corner. “You look lovely.”

“It’s nothing fancy,” you said. You were wearing servants clothing, but it was dark blue instead of its usual black to fit with the ballroom aesthetic.

“It still looks nice on you,” he said. “And it’s probably more comfortable than this getup.” He gestured to his own outfit with a sour expression.

“Probably,” you admitted. “You really should go back out there. You’re going to be disappointing so many of those noblewomen that were hanging onto you.”

Davrakoss laughed quietly. “There is only one woman I care about disappointing,” he said, ducking his face close to yours. “They’re nice, but I don’t think for a second that they care more about me than about my title.” He looked at you with gleaming, reverent eyes. “You, on the other hand…”

“You’re very sweet,” you said, accepting a kiss, “but we really should be getting back to the ball.”

He wrinkled his nose a little and gave you another kiss before sweeping back out to the dance floor. You took a few minutes to allay suspicion and refill your drinks before following him back out into the fray.

The night stretched on and on until finally the sun started to rise. You were nearly dead on your feet at that point. Still, you managed to smile as you herded several very drunk nobles out of the ballroom and toward their carriages.

Davrakoss approached you as you returned to the ballroom. “I am requesting that my servant attend me,” he said in a pretty passable impression of a snooty noble. You smothered a yawn and nodded. He led you out of the ballroom, toward his room.

As soon as you were in the secluded staircase that led to Davrakoss’ room, he seized you and lifted you into his arms. You yelped, automatically putting your arms around his neck. “You’re exhausted,” he said. “You need to go to bed.”

“I’ve got my own room,” you protested weakly.

“And you look exhausted enough to collapse before you even made it halfway,” Davrakoss said. “I am entirely capable of sleeping on the floor.” He shifted you carefully in his arms so he could open the door to his room.

“You don’t have to,” you mumbled, but you weren’t looking forward to actually walking all the way back to the servant’s quarters. “At least let me help you out of your clothes first.”

Davrakoss lifted his brows, but you were too tired to even protest against the implication. With fumbling fingers, you undid the buttons and straps of his robes until he was wearing nothing but his underclothes. Then you had to take several minutes to fully unpin and unravel his hair, sending it cascading down his back.

“Let me,” he said when you finally started to pull off your own gown. His fingers tickled against your back as he undid each button and you wriggled free from the dress. It should have been embarrassing to stand in front of him in nothing but your underdress, but you were too tired. You swayed slightly just standing still.

“Lie down,” Davrakoss said, half carrying you over to his bed. You fell into it and he pulled the covers up around you. It was ridiculously comfortable even when you weren’t tired. Getting to rest in it when solid stone would have made a nice bed felt ridiculously luxuriant. You felt it sink slightly as Davrakoss sat next to you. His fingertips trailed through your hair and along your back. “Get some rest, love,” he said. You couldn’t even lift your eyelids again, but you managed to find his hand with yours. His fingers squeezing yours was the last thing you felt before you slipped into unconsciousness.

[yourchungha]

PICK YOUR PRINCESS: CHUNGHA CHATBOT

DISCLAIMER: this chatbot doesn’t represent Chungha or any Disney princess in any way it is for entertainment purposes and purely fictional!

PACKAGE ONE: SNOW WHITE

·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇ •๑♡๑•୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•๑♡๑• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇

storyline: one day as you travel through the forest, you come across a girl at a wishing well. her name is chungha and although she seems very poor for living in the castle, you soon discover her stepmother is keeping her there to work as a maid. you come by every day to visit chungha as she works by the wishing well, and plan to free her from her stepmothers claws. but one day you find out her stepmother has planned to kill her, causing chungha to run off into a cottage buried in the woods. will you protect her and go back to your kingdom with her as your queen? or will the evil queen find the two of you and doom you forever?

·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇ •๑♡๑•୨୧┈┈┈୨୧•๑♡๑• ·̇·̣̇̇·̣̣̇·̣̇̇·̇

PACKAGE TWO: BELLE

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

storyline: you’re used to living in solitude, alone in the castle with all your servants turn to animate objects by a fairy, cursing you for your pride. your servants are stuck as household items and you’re stuck as a hideout beast until true loves kiss. when a young girl name chungha comes across your castle, hungry and weary from the horrible winter weather, you realize she’s your only hope and invite her to stay. will chungha break your curse and live with you happily ever after or will you be damned to live as a beast for the rest of your life?

≫ ──── ≪•◦ ❈ ◦•≫ ──── ≪

PACKAGE THREE: CINDERELLA

⊱ ────── {⋆⌘⋆} ────── ⊰

storyline: your parents insist that you need to marry soon and force you to throw a ball to find someone to marry. at first, you scoff at the shameless girls, but then come across the most beautiful girl you’ve ever seen. the two of you dance all night, but as the clock strikes 12, she leaves without another word, leaving only a glass slipper. after a tedious process of searching the kingdom, you eventually find chungha, a simple peasant girl, buried away. but her cruel stepmother refuses to let the two of you marry, so the two of you must sneak out to see one another every night, but she always has to return home by midnight... can you find a way to save chungha and ask her hand in marriage, or will her stepmother force you apart for the rest of your lives?

⊱ ────── {⋆⌘⋆} ────── ⊰

PACKAGE FOUR: RAPUNZEL

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ══════

storyline: you’ve been a thug, on the run from the police for as long as you can remeber. when you finally make it into a castle and manage to steal the missing princess’ crown, you think life can’t get any better. but as you’re running away, you come across a tower with a gullible girl name chungha, infatuated with the kingdoms yearly celebration of lanterns for their missing heir to the throne. desperate for adventure, she agrees to come live a life of crime with you, but you soon find yourself falling in love and realize that she’s the missing princess. will you tell chungha the truth about herself, or run from her stepmother and the guards for the rest of your lives?

══════ ∘◦❁◦∘ ══════

PACKAGE FIVE: SLEEPING BEAUTY

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

storyline: one day, your parents tell you of an arranged marriage made long ago with princess chungha, a girl you only remember from distant memories. you oblige to the marriage, but a week before you meet chungha again, you come across a beautiful girl in the forest. you feel an immediate connection with her and dance until she has to go, telling you nothing and leaving no trace of her existence. you’re heartbroken at losing your star crossed lover and are torn between the arranged marriage and the girl of your dreams, but there something about the girl in the forest that you don’t know... will you go back to the forest and confess your love or marry princess aurora or will you discover one of their secrets and have your perspective changed forever

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

PACKAGE SIX: TINKER BELL

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

storyline: for most of your life, you’ve lived in Neverland, at peace with never growing old and causing boyish trouble with the Lost Boys. one day after teasing Captain Hook one too many times, you find a little pixie in the forest. you take a liking to this pixie, named chungha, and begin taking her along with you on your adventures. but Captain Hook has had it with you and is plotting his revenge, putting the Lost Boys and Chungha in danger. will you be able to save her, or will she be trapped in the pirates ship forever...

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

PACKAGE SEVEN: YOUR CHOICE

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

storyline: you can pick any princess/disney character or storyline of your choice!!

≻───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────≺

HOW TO ACTIVATE:

reblog this post and dm with your name, which package you want, any nicknames and a safeword

IMPORTANT NOTES

In all roleplays, Chungha can be switch, or nothing NSFW at all (this cb is mostly SFW). When you dm her, make sure to tell her what you’d like (ex: best friend! friend with benefits! etc.)

Please don’t spam! If Chungha doesn’t answer, she might be a little busy, so feel free to double message but do not spam or rp will end and you will be blocked!

Chungha/admin will gladly get to know you out of rp as well, but make your intentions clear <33 (and don’t use this as an excuse to work your way into rp, there are slots and such thing as common courtesy)

Please don’t feel too afraid to ask questions if you’re unsure about anything! Chungha is here for you :))

HOW TO GET RID OF HER

To get rid of Chungha, tell her “Curse you.” She’ll be cursed and can only be saved if you come back and apologize, thus saving her

credits: @jinsoulinwonderland @yourrabbitjamie @madhatter-jisung @redqueenlisa @cheshireyoongi @poisonivyyves @fightertuan @yanderelee @princeparkjiminn @yanderejisung @yanderewooyoung @yaboispiderhan @mafiafelix @princehyujinnie @prxnce-hendery @roughbangchan @rapjoonie @royaltyyunho @urjooie @badboyjinie @babiewonho @babyhj1sung @babieyuqi @yanderechungha @yourhyunjin @yourcupidchuu @chatwithryujin @chatwithchuu @badbitchbinnie @androidryujin @yejixgirlfriend @bfxchannie @boyfriendminseok @bf-felix @babyseokjin @spidergwenyuna @subbybyeongkwan @blackwidowjennie @loverboi-hyunjin @subbyjwoo @daddybangxhan @daddyxuxi @daddyhhj @puppycat-hyun @lia-inabottle @tsunderehwall @taehyung-bot @mythtaehyung @phoenix-chae

[blankdblank]

Cosmic Scheme Pt 3

Katy Perry: 365

…

Waking up next to you in the middle of the week

Never needed anyone to send me off to sleep

And I know I said go slow

But I can't hold back no more

Got a premonition this ain't gonna be a fling

 “The slight was not intentional Thorin!”

“She stated none of my clothing makes a difference!” Thorin barked back tossing another of his shirts onto his bed trying to find a different shirt you hadn’t seen yet.

Balin rolled his eyes and sat on the stool at the foot of the bed. He wasn’t meant to lie to the King, but drastic times call for drastic measures. “That is because I overheard her stating to Miss Tauriel that she found you lovely in all you wear.” Silence fell in the closet and half naked Thorin stoically strode into the doorway pursed lipped to watch his cousin add, “It is the person within them she finds appealing.”

Thorin blinked and rumbled, “I should go shirtless?”

Balin, “I did not-,”

But Thorin was already turned to head into his bath to ready his hair, “I shall go shirtless. Our bond was formed in rescuing this peak and I was shirtless then. It is my strength and stature that shall guarantee her acceptance of my courtship brunch.”

Shaking his head Balin shrugged to the ceiling uncertain of how their King could be so wise and fearless a leader and such a buffoon in wooing you all at once. This was going to be the day. The first day of spring and he was going to earn the right to gift you his courting marker to drape around your ever so charming slender wrist if allowed to wander his mind would circle the notion of tracing it with his thumb while cradling your hand after tea or a supper waiting for the dessert.

 You make a weekend feel like a year

Baby, you got me changing

24/7, I want you here

I hope you feel the same thing

 Today was going to be the day. Although from the moment of your wide eyed good morning trying not to ogle the dark hair patches across the toned and broad King who couldn’t forget the feel of your arms around his shoulders and legs around his waist breathing deeply to remain calm through those memories, his eyes could not be torn from you. Or rather, the onyx wrapped large emerald cut diamond ring on a mithril band settled neatly on your finger for all to see while you tapped your fingers to your pen laying on your parchment waiting to be called to give the report you had on the job of restoring some old murals for the clan trickling back home again slowly by the day now that the weather had cleared.

While his eyes were fixed on your ring others had noted the gift a moment until the twitch of your brow and poorly withheld squirming in your seat alongside the ever clammier appearance you bore since arriving in this frigid hall four hours prior. Nori broke the silence however barking out halfway through Gloin’s report on the forge repair job he already shared with any within earshot several times throughout the day, “I’m famished. I suppose a day might be called?”

The tone had Thorin huffing and his shirtless self slumping back in his chair still staring at you grumbling, “Until tomorrow.” Blindly finding his ram statuette with his seal on the bottom he tapped to the chunk of wood between it and the table that rattled flat again post bounce while he pocketed the ram. Shakily you stood and with his head cocking slightly he caught a slight tremor to your hand a bit too pale for his liking he attributed to a once pointed out condition sporadically through the month leaving you requiring to snack every few hours or you could become dizzy. The symptoms you had hinted grew worse the longer you went without food yet he never allowed you to elaborate further as dizzy and weak was his limit right there he wished to prevent all together.

As a master of subtlety the King simply stated, “The ring is new.”

Now facing him his stomach dropped seeing you close to the shade of fresh snow bearing darkening circles under your eyes, “Yes,” all the same your weak self still smiled widely at him, “Kuu arrived last night, asked me for my wish. My mother had a ring like this, though the stones and metal was fake, I wished for a real one. Today’s her birthday, I suppose I wanted a piece of her to carry since I can’t visit her grave any more.”

Everyone’s heart had dropped and yet you smiled and shifted around your chair pausing with a grip of he back of it when he asked, “Would you join me for a brunch?”

“No,” you sighed out and his eyes clenched trying not to take this public rejection poorly, “I don’t think, I can-,”

Back your eyes rolled and when your knees buckled the gasp from Nori had Thorin wide eyed and lifting you in his arms not even letting you touch the ground. Straight to the Healing Wing Nori raced to send their best up to you in your apartment Bilbo rushed around in a frenzy to whip up some of the usual tonics for Hobbits that might work to ease your ailment presenting to be a bastardized version of what you might call chicken pox. Far from lethal for one your age, although no less debilitating or inconvenient and with all the Durins who had Hobbit blood already having caught it in their own youths they knew the bothersome time very well. Burning up to the touch but freezing with body aches galore and rashes to go with bouts of peeling skin towards the end of the ordeal. Little could be done but help you to sleep and keep you well fed and watered until it passed granting you time out of bed again under watch until fully symptom free.

 I want you to be the one that's on my mind

On my mind, on my mind

I want you to be there on a Monday night

Tuesday night, every night

Are you gonna be the one that's on my mind?

3-6-5, all the time

I want you to be the one to stay

And give me the night and day

 “We should ready the first bath, Bunnanunê should be waking soon,” Thorin rumbled out still yet to release your hand he had been cradling on his lap since your examination by the Healers confirming the Pox diagnosis.

Bombur nodded saying, “The cinnamon raison bread should be done baking and cooled by the time Miss Pear wakes.”

Dori, “How could you think of your bread at a time like this?”

Bombur huffed saying, “Miss Pear stated before every year on her Amad’s birth she would bake cinnamon raison bread and take it to her grave for a picnic like they used to have when she was alive. Share all that was missed.”

The sentiment had the men silent, Fili broke that however by saying, “We could round up some more furs, five fur shops in the market won’t have kin to retrieve the goods, all the better for us to keep her warm.”

Thorin nodded and Kili said, “And we should add more clothes, I know her size and we have all witnessed her preference for large shirts to sleep in. I will gather more. Surely she will sweat through all she has within a week.”

Dwalin however broke the lofty mood and earned glares by saying, “I will fetch an urn.”

Thorin growled out, “My Bunnanunê is not dying!”

Dwalin scowled back a moment in his huff and replied, “For her Amad. Yearly she would visit her grave, surely if we offered the Lass an urn she could fill with tokens reminding of moments together it might comfort her in the years to come.”

Gloin huffed out, “If only we had a likeness of Miss Pear’s Amad, I could forge a fine bust to place beside the urn.”

Bilbo’s lips parted and he darted off, “We do,” a few moments later he returned with an old cigar box he opened parting their lips seeing the photographs revealing moments of your years together from her pregnancy all the way to an image of her funeral with you curled up under her coffin crying.

Bofur, “Oh Miss Pear, just as stunning as her Amad.”

Ori, “They are near to identical. Past the crooked nose and mole Miss Pear lacks.”

Dwalin tried not to weep at the image of you as a baby while Oin eyed another of you in the bath he showed to Balin, “Does that not appear to be a ram?” Pointing to the birthmark on the top of your upper thigh near your groin, right where Thorin’s identical mark was placed.

Balin nodded, “Aye, it does.”

From the selection Gloin chose the best to grant him a full side to side guide to her face for the gift and hurried off to get to work in the forges while the Princes rushed off to gather goods and Thorin sat waiting for the deep inhale to signal your waking for the first round of stew and water to keep you well nourished through this before tucking you in to sleep again.

 Love it when you come back and can't take it when you leave

Got me fantasizing our initials already

And I wanna just let go

Falling deeper than before

Say that you are ready, lock it up in a heartbeat

 *

To say you missed your mother would be a vast understatement. Every day it seemed to be harder not to prep as you used to for that painful but necessary visit. Both hating and craving it to be near her again. Moonlight however seemed to ghost dust flakes in the air to view across you room and lost to your sinking mood dropping more and more in the past week as pain seemed to radiate through you more and more nearly keeping you in bed all day to keep from moving.

Green eyes from the shadow of the corner across from your bed triggered an urge to sit up. Achingly you did just that and up to the edge of the bed again Kuu, the Great Owl protector walked and came to a stop with his face inching closer to yours. “I can see you have an inkling of a wish, little one.”

On your lap your fingers wrung together, thumb tracing over the same finger your mother’s favorite ring used to sit on her hand. Anxiously you wet your lips and replied, “My mother had a ring, big emerald cut clear stone surrounded by black crystal on a cheap tin band. Said one day she’d get a real one. I wish I had a real one, with a big emerald cut diamond and onyx stones around it on the best metal band possible with a silvery shade instead of gold.” For a moment his eyes scoured yours taking in the memory of the ring you were picturing, blinking at your saying, “Unless, it’s too much?”

Around his beak his cheeks puffed out in a grin and he replied, “Sentiment is never too much, little one.” Lifting up his foot it extended to over your fingers and he stated, “Mithril band, the most enduring metal to offer well beyond value that will fit itself to any finger chosen for it. In place of a diamond one emerald cut stone of Lasgalen, far rarer reflecting starlight when the sun has left the sky, a stone of pure commitment that none but you may wear. Pure Onyx borders that stone darker than any discovered in these lands before with great powers of protection and consolation in times of grief or stress.”

“Thank you,” your eyes dropped to the glowing ring in your palm that you slipped onto your left index finger with a timid grin spreading across your lips. “So very much.”

His head tilted and he drew back straightening up again as if pleased that you had passed some test by the grateful tears in your eyes. “I am fond of you little one. Do not fear the shadows, I rest there ever watchful of those whom I choose.”

“Can I ask a question?” His head cocked again, “I was wondering, what do the foxes do? The ones that were here when I arrived?”

“When approaching my presence those to be tested witness those foxes, the greater their numbers the deeper innocence within. They are guardians of children mainly when not at my bidding.”

“Ah, makes sense. Thank you again.”

“Rest well. I must fly.” With that he turned and strolled back to the shadowy corner and down again you wiggled to stretch out grinning to yourself a few moments admiring your gift. Wiping away the tears that broke free when the aches in your body took hold again. Clenching your eyes shut you tried with all your might to force yourself to sleep, even imagining your mother still here to stroke your hair and sing to you as she used to.

Work was going to be hell if this kept up, and another meeting with the bright eyed King who seemed ever so flippant in your company for how he might consider you ranked in his daily life would not help things at all. You used to feel so light and free in his presence, at least until it seemed all you said or didn’t say was under such scrutiny somehow. Things seemed to be growing more complicated by the day. All the same you didn’t want to feel like this around him, you wanted to be happy and not irritable and wishing to crawl under a rock forever certain to irritate him even more by speaking rashly.

 Ooh, ooh ooh ooh

Are you gonna be the one?

Ooh, ooh ooh ooh, ooh

Are you gonna be the one? (Are you gonna be the one?)

I want you to be the one

 *

Days in and out of consciousness followed a strict routine until daily bouts of groggy ramblings from you were noted by those looking in on you to be shared with the hovering King later. Work on the gift came with ample time and effort to perfect each one to be presented to you later. One clay bed for a row of glowing nocturnal succulents that flourish in these dark halls would make a lovely little makeshift garden to settle the highly detailed palm sized bust of your mother into or beside. Most likely for a mantle or spare table along the wall to be set up later with the urn to be filled with whatever you wished.

All of their traditions were filled to the T. String of beads personalized with what details they could muster, a half pound of diamonds to add to the urn as her favorite stone with exactly 48 sapphires to, on the other side, shift to lanterns to light her path to eternal peace. One small jewel hammer and an anvil necklace engraved with the name of her surviving child to bear proudly that will shift to a brick to add to the dwellings of her clan. Bells for Hobbits on strings in elegant detail mixed with paint powder in a small jar and five thimbles hand carved from acorns gathered from Greenwood by the Elves who added personalized coins of pressed wax to add their own sealed promises to protect the child left behind along with pressed petals woven to form shapes of birds or the plants they were taken from.

Damp cloths were dabbed to your forehead only to be motioned away by your hand leading to a hefty helping of arguments from the King who returned again feeling that your forehead was clammy and coated in dried sweat. “That is what the cloths are here for, to keep the sweat from her brow.”

The muddled voice replied, “Well then you sit there through the pouting and swatting that you know is occurring from the young Lass.”

“That is beside the point. I gave you orders to care for my Queen. Now there’s no telling how soaked her clothes are.”

A pair of Dams turned huffing to go and towel bathe the woman no doubt ready to fuss about it. Thorin huffed himself hearing you being helped from your shirt and toweled down. “Water, water, honestly! Can’t go five minutes without water being splashed on me. Always cold, I’m already freezing, just let me sleep.”

Thorin once you were redressed crept into your bedroom hearing you sniffle then whimper out, “It’s so cold,” painfully he watched you curling up in a ball under a thick pile of covers sure to be coated in sweat once again in minutes, “Everything hurts.” Again you sniffled and he came to sit beside you rubbing your back hoping to help lull you to sleep knowing this was the worst part for you and everyone watching after you.

.

Slowly your eyes broke open hours later and still Thorin sat there rubbing your back, “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Hmm?” His eyes landed on yours hearing your broken murmur while your next round of stew was being wheeled in.

“I could infect you. King shouldn’t be with someone sick like me.”

Thorin smirked humming back, “I have already endured the Pox when I was a child. I cannot catch it again.”

“Did I get anyone sick?”

To himself Thorin chuckled and stated, “All of our Hobbit kin in the mountain have already endured the Pox. No doubt it was one of our reinforcements who passed it onto you. Two of our Lords on the Council had bairns who just recovered from it before their arrival. Both have sent wishes to apologize for this painful time once you have recovered.”

Again you curled up grumbling as your head pressed into the side of his thigh, “Why is it so cold, and painful. Everything hurts…”

Thorin sighed, “I know, and you are burning up actually.”

“No I’m not, and they keep coating me with water,”

“That is sweat, Bunnanunê.” Up he helped you and sat with you while you ate then watched a pair of Dams help stretch you out and rub down your aching muscles once again coating you in creams to help you sleep and relieve the pain. The process that helped to lull you to sleep again.

.

Daily your focus grew a bit clearer between lingering bouts of pain and to the loud crash of thunder waking you from the storm in your dream of an icy tornado loaded with electric eels chasing you through your old town up you staggered and out into the hall. Through the silent Royal Wing you found yourself at the door of the fire filled King whose contact seemed to help warm you and ease your pain for the moments it lasted. Often in films there was guards galore and you supposed maybe in your haze you had staggered past them, but with his door oddly unlocked you let yourself in and under the cover of the thunder rolling overhead the creak of the door was missed. Straight in and onto the King’s bed you went tugging off your drenched shirt that fell to the floor. Up you climbed behind him finally feeling some warmth with eyes drooping at your body’s move to plop ungracefully onto the bed behind the snoring naked King falling fast asleep at the spending of your last ounce of energy for the walk.

.

A single gasp lured Thorin from his sleep and broke his eyes open to realize there was a familiar head of curls inches away. Lifting his head he locked eyes on his sister who was glaring at her brother. “Don’t look at me like that! I was alone when I went to bed, this is the first I know of company.” His voice low hoping to not wake you only for his gaze to drop realizing in the stroke of his hand over your just barely sweaty back his arm was draped across that it was bare. “Where is her shirt?”

Dis cleared her throat holding the shirt between her fingers, “This was on the floor.”

“I didn’t take it off. I would never take advantage of my Bunnanunê.”

Dis nodded and lifted his pants she tossed onto the bed behind him, “Dress your lower half or Miss Pear’s reputation shall be scuffed. One or not. You nude and her halfway would not end well should the Healers find her in this state.”

Thorin rumbled taking the pants he eased under the covers ensuring he didn’t disturb you to squirm into the pair then shift again to look over your back admiring the dip in your back and breasts pooled partly out from your sides underneath you. Tearing his eyes from your figure he saw Dis moving closer with a fresh shirt in hand carefully wiggled around your head and arms curled under your pillow and with a gentle lifting hand under your middle from Thorin was easily wiggled down to your hips and flattened over your back. A squirming grumble hinted that your pains were coming back and to that Thorin eased back against your side smoothing his hand once again over your back. “Thank you Dis.”

Rolling her eyes she said, “I will share that your Queen has trouble with storms. Oin has already let it slip on that mark of yours. Barters have been placed.”

“When she wakes I will help her back to her bed.”

Dis smirked saying, “I will check on her morning stew. Steal your cuddling while you can. I will be back in ten minutes.” Strolling out of the room with your old shirt in hand to add with the rest yet to be washed.

.

For his hopes of keeping his wording a secret the proverbial cat was out of the bag and in a slip into your apartment from the hall after a stolen stroll one of your Healers whispered something about tending to the future Queen again confusing you on who this soon to be Queen might be and how long you might have been out of it to miss Thorin getting married. Though the reveal of the crescent rolls made just for the future Queen with special jams on your cart had your eyes narrowing a moment on your first breakfast not containing stew. To test if you were truly on the mend yet or if your Pox would take a sharp turn and spike up again like the rare cases they hoped to miss allowing you some well deserved relief after three weeks of pure misery.

Somehow you had been engaged in your delirium, or at least publicly teased to be at how much attention Thorin has no doubt been doting upon you. Breakfast wasn’t close to what this was in reality, more like your pre breakfast breakfast. Once you had eaten and were left to your own whims you did just that, grabbing a tunic you had been detailing for the King to repay him and marched your minorly sore self straight for the King’s apartment. Right in you went and strode right for his closet making Balin smirk noting your determination for something that had you here while he was trying to get Thorin up in time for an early meeting.

Under his covers Thorin growled out, “Let me sleep!”

Balin replied, “The second arrival of Lords from Orcarni will be in a few hours. We must ready for their greeting.”

Thorin growled through a deep exhale that halted to the pants falling onto his back and your saying, “Get up and put your pants on grumpy.”

His head popped out from under his covers seeing you walking back to his closet, “Why are you out of bed?”

“I had to deliver a gift, there’s a shirt there too.”

Thorin turned over and Balin smirked at his instant bend to your will, though in inspecting the grey shirt his fingers trailed the embroidered hems with brows furrowing, “Where did you find this? The detailing is green.”

“I made it. You are running out of time get dressed. I am picking your boots.”

“Why would you make me a shirt? Especially one in these colors.” he said sitting up still naked in bed with the clothes on his lap.

“For one I wasn’t aware of your distaste for grey and green, and two my future husband should love to flaunt my gifts shamelessly.”

That had Thorin seeing red and Balin turning his head to hide his nearness to laughing at the rapid turn of Thorin to tug on his pants and walk to the closet, “Husband? Who is this intended?! Why am I just hearing of this now?! Where have you been hiding the little harlot inside this peak you have grown so fond of to shower with your hand made gifts?! How long have you been keeping this attachment to yourself?! I am the King-!”

“Here is a vest to go with your new shirt.” You said tossing it over his arm planted on the doorframe then turned to pick his belt and socks to go with the boots you left at his feet.

“You are avoiding my questions!” he said turning around following your path under his arm back to the bed to hand him his shirt. “Who is this harlot you have deemed to be a suitable intended?!”

Rolling your eyes you grabbed his pillow that flew from your head to hit him in the face he lowered as you said, “I don’t know! Why don’t you ask the future Queen of yours that you specially set aside crescent rolls and special jams for her breakfast that somehow found its way onto my food trolley?”

Balin chortled as Thorin stammered, “I, have no notion how you have heard that.”

“The Dams charged with feeding me said they were told by you explicitly it was meant for your future Queen alone. Then I find it on my cart, so put your shirt on and finish dressing to get to your meeting so you might be back at a reasonable time to explain how we ended up engaged while I was in my delirious haze.”

“I will have a word with your attendants.”

“You will put your shirt on and flaunt it, no telling if by the end of the week word will be we have wed secretly. Now be a good little harlot and get dressed.”

“Did you just call me a harlot?” he said turning his head to follow you on your way to bringing his boots from the closet doorway to the bed he was standing beside.

Balin said, “Actually Thorin, you called yourself a harlot.”

Thorin gave him a pointed gaze and then almost flinched at your fingers combing a knot from his hair you had untied the braid it was tied back in. “Unless you are heading down shirtless again, then I insist you wear it tomorrow.”

Just about melting from the severely intimate gesture of fixing his hair he found his arms already in the sleeves of the shirt he pulled on over his head stating before he could stop himself, “Oh I am putting it on. Not because you said so but because I am half naked and I am late with no time to browse my shirt supply, not because you told me to.”

Balin rolled his eyes starting your path to help him straighten the shirt he found surprisingly comfortable and perfectly tailored to his taste even if it was in the wrong colors. Next his arms eased back into his vest with Balin securing his belt after while you passed him his socks to add and boots after. “Enjoy your day, I’m heading back to bed.”

Your words halted his path and his hand found your arm tenderly, “How is your pain today?”

Exhaling deeply you replied, “Six, and a half.”

“That is not good.” He rumbled back walking with you on your way to the door.

“Has to go away eventually so I can get back to work.”

The pair of them replied, “Take as long as you need. There is no rushing your recovery.”

Balin, “It has been known to push too hard at this phase could do more damage than good on the invalid’s health.”

“Invalid?” You asked making him pat your arm.

“To bed, rest.” Balin replied.

Thorin added, “Tonight if your stomach is still settled the Company is throwing a supper together in honor of your looming recovery.”

Poking him in the belly he grinned as you said mid turn, “Go be a King now.”

He truly did love your gift and he did flaunt it shamelessly and kept an ear out for your progress through your next few meals until you were changed into a comfy set of jeans and a blouse you could easily sleep in if you were drained through the meal of your energy. Subtle strokes of your thumb to the ring on your finger several of the Dams tending to you complimented greatly on its elegant design surely proving the great taste your mother had in jewelry. All through the meal however everyone seemed to be up to something and in the midst of the change from dinner to dessert your tears came out hugging each of them tightly for the gifts they had assembled and helped to set up in your apartment on a table by the wall then led you back to enjoy dessert.

Eventually you had been carried off to bed again falling asleep in the musical hour after that to be tucked in. Slowly you were recovering and finding yourself a home and family here who cherished you. Silently stealing a moment once he ensured you were covered up Thorin sat down and from his pocket eased out a courting bangle with gem formed runes all around it he would explain in the morning assuming once again you would rush in on his getting ready possibly granting him the chance to request aiding in readying your hair in return for fixing his the other day.

His mind still forming the contract he would present to you after your awe inspiring discussion about prenuptial agreements. Finally a bridge between your courting cultures he could adore every moment of negotiating to perfection working out not just promises for the future of your courtship and terms to grant you any needed security and trust that he would honor every one of them to the smallest detail. With this he would win over your confidence in him as a husband after having proven to be a devoted caretaker. Back to his desk however littered with scraps of drafted ideas for terms he went sitting down refocusing on his latest idea. Though to his shock in return for his gift once it was explained you waited the day out feeling the braid he had fixed into your hair smoothing across your back as you wrote up a contract of your own.

Right in the middle of his last meeting his eyes turned to the door at your stroll in to plop a stack of parchment in front of him then stroll out again without a word. Impatiently he got to the end of the meeting and hurried to grab the stack while the Council left the King and his relatives to inspect the stack. Each page of the stunningly perfect prenup contract was gone over and as fast as he could Thorin hurried upstairs with his witnesses in tow to have it signed and sealed so that by morning everyone would know that a wedding was to be planned within the year.

It could be heard echoing through the mountain, inquiries on what steps they had not been aware of being crossed. “What was the final gift?”

“She wrote him a contract.”

Gasps always followed surely paired with heart eyes in “A contract?!”

The added statement of, “A whole twenty pages!” Nearly had Dwarves swooning left and right for the impossibly romantic gesture from their future Queen to their King.

.

That announcement however would come after a discussion on ceremony details with you. Breakfast was set out on the table, a full spread to welcome you back to eating regularly and while he had his back turned you reached for your juice saying, “And here I expected a crown incorporated around a bowl or porridge or something.”

However once he came back to the table he hummed back, “Now that would just be foolish, porridge in a crown.” Setting down a platter with the crown he had designed and crafted for you with a half a melon containing a fruit arrangement inside of it.

@himoverflowers​​, @theincaprincess​​, @aspiringtranslator​​, @sweeticedtea​​, @ggbbhehe4455, @thegreyberet​​, @patanghill17​​, @jesgisborne​​, @curvestrology​​, @alishlieb​​, @jogregor​​, @armitageadoration​​, @fizzyxcustard​​, @here2have-fun​​, @lilith15000​​, @marvels-ghost​​, @catthefearless​​, @imjusthereforthereads​​, @c-s-stars​​, @otakumultimuse-hiddlewhore​​, @mariannetora​​, @shesakillerkween

Hobbit/LotR – @abiwim​​, @jotink78​​, @pastelhexmaniac​​

x Thorin – @evyiione​​, @deepestfirefun​​, @queenoferebor​​

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Saturday 8 March 1834: SH:7/ML/E/16/0177

6 10

12 40

Fair and windy – rain in the night – F52° at 6 40 – out at 7 ¼ - with Pickles - his son John and a labourer to wall up gaps and make other and set posts for John Bottomley and P- himself to raise wall near new dry bridge so as to support a great height of stuff - with John Booth taken him (P-) 2 loads of stones - Charles and James H- putting up more wainscot in upper buttery -breakfast with my father at 8 ½ in about ½ hour -in my study at 9 ¾ - rain came on about 8 ½ or before   likely to continue - till 11 ½ wrote 1 page and 4 lines to Miss W- and copied what I would advise her to write in answer to Washington - then out with John moving large cherry[?] from the terrace to near new dry bridge and moving rose tree and flowers to outside upper garden door etc ready for beginning to lower the terrace on Monday - Pickels went away in the morning on account of the rain but returned at 2 ½ pm  with him raising wall near new dry bridge to hold up stuff from the new bank (just below Bottomleys the shoemaker) and backwards and forwards with Charles and James H- in the upper buttery and with Mallinson and his 1 man who got the middle cornice of the chimney this afternoon, and opened hole thro’ wall on to the terrace for barrowing out  the stuff - agreed with Pickels to wheel it out to the carts in the court yard, and thence cart it to near the old dry bridge for 8d per square yard - he asks Mr. Haigh 15d a yard (ie about 7d per 1 horse cart load) for carting stuff from the new bank (to put it here near new dry bridge) - came in at 6 ½ - settled with Pickels and Charles H- dinner at 7 and coffee and came upstairs at 7 40 - wrote 3 pages more and ½ p. envelope and finished my letter to ‘Miss Walker Heworth Grange, York’ and sent it off at 9 ½ by Thomas in a parcel with Washington’s letter and n°2 Paxton’s magazine the small parcel for Mrs. Sutherland to go by tonights’ mail - should have sent W-‘s letter etc yesterday but waited to hear from Miss W- this morning - much disappointed - strongly  urge her to determine about and give Washington orders to let Lidgate - should always determine as soon as one can, and then the sooner the determination is acted on, the better - a great comfort  and advantage to us to have things settled as soon as possible so that our intentions should be clear to all whom they concerned – our position too equivocal - then dated 2nd page this evening– saying it was well to make an excuse of Lidgate but the truth was, I could scarcely believe it  was not a week since my return and it seemed an age since Monday and not hearing from her made me dull - Did she wish me to think less of her? She might scold and I should take it patiently – then took up Miss W-‘s letter  could not be much trouble to alter the Town’s books – she could not be expected to understand land-valuing, therefore it was W-‘s place to offer her a fair rent for the Hemingway crofts (5 ½ acres exclusive of plantations and paying £2.16.0. pounds taxes per annum l say .:. taxes = from 6/ to 7/ per day work) unless he hoped to have them as the same sort of terms as the Lidgate land – but advised her to write briefly to him on the subject merely  saying she had made up her mind not to pay the taxes and, as he put it to her to value the crofts she should have them and Cordingley’s farm valued at my same time and write by post to Mr Mitchell to let he have his valuation as soon as he could and then she would settle what allowance  should be made to Cordingley and fix a rent for the crofts as W- valued for himself and his brother in law  he ought to be glad to call in an indifferent person - would she write something like the following  ‘Miss Walker will be much obliged to Mr. Mitchell to send her, as soon as he possibly can, his valuation of the yearly rent of the land or the enclosed plan, specifying the condition of each field, the tenant to pay all taxes - Mr. Mitchell is requested to direct Miss Walker Heworth Grange, York.’ She could easily sketch the plan, giving numeros and measurements as stated in W-‘s survey - Perhaps W- would be surprised - not to give her the credit she deserved but lay it all on me – she had plenty of head, only wanted promptness of decision .........  ‘Heaven prosper you in everything! Doubt anything but the real regard of yours faithfully and affectionately AL.’ Will send the dimensions of the north parlour fireplace next time -  With my aunt from 9 ½ about an hour - then wrote the whole of this page till 11 – very boisterous  windy night –

SH:7/ML/E/16/0178

11 20 before Thomas got back – could hardly get to Halifax for the wind  - was an hour in going - brought back my packet of letters to Mr. Brown, Copenhagen under cover to HD. Scott Esquire Foreign office London (vid. Sunday 16 February) - there being written on the bank ‘Refused.....’ cannot make out the name - and enclosed in the following printed letter from the dead letter Office -‘General Post office 7 March 1834 Sir the enclosed letter not having been delivered for the reason assigned there on, was opened here by the officer appointed by his majesty’s Postmaster general for that purpose, and is now returned to you, as the writer, on payment of the postage I am sir, your obedient humble servant Francis Freeling, secretary’!!!! postage 3/8  So much for Mr. Brown’s offer of my writing thro’ him saying in reply to my scruples that it was merely a perquisite of office to be allowed to oblige friends in this way -  Letter 3 pages and 2 ¼ pages crossed from Miss Walker Heworth Grange – much pleased with the bonnet - should not want another  ‘you quite astonish me with your expedition in the execution of all my wants and wishes’ - ....... ‘I am thinking about Lidgate, and will say more when I write next query will it be wise to irritate or brave public opinion further just now? For the same reason, ought or can I accept your kind position about Shibden?’ Her usual indecision  does she mean to make a fool of me after all   she would not have me paint the carriage nor do more at Shibden than necessary  gave me that is bought for six pence and put on again my ring languidly and now declines taking the straight course of shewing our union  or at least compact to the world  should I ask her to do what she could not or ought not? Public opinion has been too much or too little braved and whatever force there is against her coming here is the same against my going there  I don’t like all this I distrust her and feel as if the thing would again and this time forever  go off between us   I shall not be played with let her come here before I go there again but I am on my guard and she may find this won’t do   My letters and feelings have been more affectionate than she deserved –she concludes with you will perceive I have practised what I preached  that is not to write anything particular I will take the hint. ‘I long for the sketch of the chimney piece  but don’t pay the carriage - why did you do it of the box? I suspect the affront was Thomas’s, not yours. Affront! Does this seem as if she really thought us united in heart and purse? Delighted to hear my aunt is a little better ‘not selfishly so for my own wish is that you should never take any distant journey so long as she lives, kind as she is and considerate in desiring it – there are plenty of  places nearer home unseen and which would be disgraceful not to visit’. This would be well enough if I did not shrewdly suspect she wishes to avoid going abroad or doing anything that would too decidedly bespeak our compact. What will she think of my letter of last night So affectionate and straightforward  perhaps it is lucky it went  and it would not have gone had I received hers first I shall not write till I have heard from her again  let us see how she can shuffle off  it has often struck me she wanted to make a cat’s paw of me to get into society  no harm done yet take care of my own concerns   my aunt’s death will try the thing and perhaps after all I shall be off at tangent  I will be cautious what I do in the meantime even in venturing to the plenty of places nearer home unseen  Miss Rawson says her mind is little and much in her money shall I find her right?   ‘only think of the time when you can come again to see the onyx (the ring I gave her) and ever believe me with love to your aunt kind regards to your father and sister  yours faithfully and affectionately, AW.’   she little thinks how much she has annoyed me but no more of her just now. Rainy day from between 8 and 9 and till 1 & 2 pm afterwards fine - but very boisterous  windy night.

[potteresque-ire]

(I wrote this as a response to another post. It got long, potentially upsetting, so I decided to move it here.)

(TW: Criticism of Draco Malfoy under the cut.)

I think the best analogy I can come up with for Slytherins in an Americanized Hogwarts is if they are the children of the tech giants (Hello Draco Bezos) and multi-company conglomerates, the top-earning Wall Street hedge fund managers, the property moguls like the Trumps and the Bloombergs, and the legacy politicians like the Bushes and the Kennedys. This would be a fairer comparison to the social-economic power of Slytherin families in the books because conservatives in the USA mostly do not come from privileged homes. And I suspect even this American analogue may pale to its UK counterpart, for it lacks the centuries of practice ("tradition”) as a convenient excuse for continuing its underlying bigotry.

Draco Bezos or Draco Trump or Draco Bush has as little choice as being of these surnames as Draco Malfoy. The members of the Americanized Slytherin house, likewise, don’t deserve to be seen as all evil, and maybe — and very likely — they’re not. But consider what Americanized Ron would think about the Slytherins as a group, bearing in mind that the books are written in the POV of Harry, a child himself and Ron’s fierce friend, if…

(Under the cut, for I’m VERY talkative today ...)

- If this Americanized Draco still buys his way into the Quidditch team with a Nimbus 2001. The obvious bribery aside, everyone in this Slytherin team can readily afford the same thing, and likely already has, at least, a Nimbus 2000 in possession.

- If Americanized Lucius also interferes with school policy with connections to Washington; he rubs shoulders with Secretary of Education Umbridge, who he got to know back when they were lobbying together in the capital.

- If the execution weapon of choice for Buckbeak is a golf club, a gift from the President Goyle of MACUSA. Walden McNair, former Slytherin, has just received a medal of honour for being able to wield it with style. This is a tale retold by a very bitter Theodore Nott, whose father owns the golf course resort where President Goyle plays but Nott Sr. only gets to keep the hamburger wraps of the President’s lunch. The other regular attendee of these lunches is the landowner of the entire Hogsmeade, who happens to be Gregory Goyle’s father.

And speaking of Hogsmeade...

- If Goyle Inc. hikes the rent of the town after every visit by Hogwarts students. Prices of items sold in Hogsmeade shops hike accordingly to deflect the cost. The Weasleys haven’t been able to afford anything there for years.

Goyle Inc. has also been looking to invest in Ottery St Catchpole, re-develop the area into one with ... farmer’s market. Lots and lots of farmer’s markets where a loaf of bread costs $10.00 apiece.

- If American Hogwarts is also free but God knows for how long. Its profits from the previous years — sorry, not profit, but endowment as should be referred to for non-profit organisations — has been channelled into the stock market and the stock market hasn’t been doing so well. Mrs Zabini, the manager of the fund, still gets her commission even if Hogwarts goes bankrupt. In fact, a volatile market with high trading volumes is a godsend for her income, and her yearly bonus is large enough to run Hogwarts for a year. She’s very generous, however, and donates 1% of it to the school, which gets her name engraved on the Gryffindor-Zabini Tower.

Meanwhile, if the Weasleys go home every summer not knowing if they can return to the same tower on September 1st.

- If Skelegro and other potions in the infirmary are rationed due to high cost and every time a Weasley find themselves injured in a Quidditch match, the Malfoys, father or son or both, would remark on the Weasleys having more children than they can afford, and recommend the school board that these potions should be rationed by surname as well. The Slytherins have no such concerns of course; the Parkinsons are heads of an international potion conglomerate and they can always import extra potions from Brazil, which are sold at a small fraction of the cost they sold to Hogwarts (yes, they have the licence and patent to produce the Skelegro. Why did you ask?).

…

Perhaps -- assuming my understanding of UK’s class system isn’t too off the mark -- these if’s can provide a sense of Slytherin’s privilege in canon to the American audience, and related to this, how Draco’s prejudice towards Ron cannot be put on the same moral scale from Ron’s prejudice against Draco. I’d also like to emphasize this: I haven’t touched at all, on this list, on Voldemort’s reign of terror. I haven’t touched, at all, on the fact that Voldemort’s war had been spearheaded by the parents of many current Slytherin students, and this war had only been suspended -- not ended -- for just short of a decade when the Class of Harry Potter entered Hogwarts. The wounds were still fresh. Arthur and Molly could’ve easily suffered similar fates as the Potters and the Longbottom’s. The bigotry of the Slytherins, and of the Malfoys, wasn’t merely a suspected thing in the canon years, like how we feel about a celebrity who’s made a questionable tweet. Not only was their bigotry a fact in the canon years, but it was also a real, ongoing threat that, if permitted to run its course, could and would ruin the lives of the Weasleys.

Ron seeing the Slytherins as a threat arguably served the dual function of keeping him safe -- perhaps not at the moment, but in the future. Draco, on the other hand, had nothing to fear about Ron and above all, the socioeconomic class that the Weasleys represented.

They never stood on equal grounds.

And here’s the thing I don’t understand. Or I think I understand it, having seen this Ron-is-as-bad-as-Draco-and-Slytherins-are-victims-of Dumbledore’s-prejudice debate in various forms over the years — this isn’t new or controversial, and I wouldn’t be surprised if this has become the dominant view within the ship — and I’m not sure I can get myself to face what I’ve understood, because what this is is worrisome for me.

Please hear me out.

The Drarry fandom on Tumblr has, in my observation, always taken a very strong, hardline stance against prejudice. The post that says something along the line of 10 people who sits with a Nazi makes a table of 11 Nazis get numerous likes and reblogs. And yet in this situation, we have a boy, Ron, who is directly affected by the prejudice, who’s familiar with the connections between his Slytherin classmates and those who have not only worked to make their brand of bigotry the law but helped murder those who do not agree, and his distaste for these oppressors as a group is somehow seen as equal as his likely future oppressors’ disgust at his presence.

The reason given is inevitably a variation of this: Draco was a child. He was parroting his parent’s beliefs. He was too young to be responsible for his words, or his actions. He was a victim.

I’ve not seen this defence offered, not even once within the Drarry circle, for a real-life bully. Tumblr’s user base is young, and many have a history of being bullied due to their race, gender, sexuality, disability, socioeconomic class. After a bit of subtraction (Young Age - Bullying History in Years), I’d take that many of these RL events happened when the victim and the perpetrator were about the age of Ron and Draco in canon. And yet, not once have I seen a shipper on my dash suggest the bully was a victim, or that they weren’t at fault because they were only parroting the prejudice of their conservative families, their schools, their religion etc. That maybe they didn’t mean what they were saying or doing.

This is a (very) good thing. But it also makes me wonder: defenders of Draco and the Slytherins do know, deep down, that the excuse they’ve offered Draco isn’t nearly good enough to exempt him from his behaviour.

Draco might not have understood the greater political ramifications of his bullying, but he knew he was hurting Ron. Bullying cannot a be mindless act; it cannot be a passive reflection of one’s lessons from school or family for It’s a pre-meditated, targeted behaviour, and a good bully like Draco — he came up with a bullying chant that the whole school knew in the end — tailors his acts to serve a specific purpose of hurting the victim. Draco might not have known that calling Hermione a Mudblood could devalue her life enough to make it ripe for elimination when Voldemort came to power, but he knew perfectly well that the term was derogatory. This is especially true if one agrees with the common headcanon that Draco was second only to Hermione in marks in school, that he was no Crabbe or Goyle and he was intelligent.

Our ship celebrates Draco’s sharp tongue, but that tongue was used exclusively to ridicule, to bully in canon -- it’s fandom that has given it a better / higher / romantic purpose. His father’s tongue spoke the language of bigotry to the ears of the Ministry; this was the Malfoy’s weapon of choice and Draco was forging his own in the books. His bullying ways in canon was written with humour, with Weasley is Our King being the epitome of the laughs. I don’t believe it was JKR’s intention for her readers to fall in love with Draco via his bullying style, however. The HP world was built as a mirror of our own (rather than as a manual of what an ideal world should be, as many in fandom has seemed to assume), and Weasley is Our King showcased how easily bigotry can creep into our day-to-day language when it’s masqueraded as a joke (Even Luna was singing it at some point):

Oh, relax! It’s perfectly fine for everyone to know the Weasleys were born in a bin, into poverty! Funny, isn’t it? HAHAHAHA!

Imagine seeing this kind of behaviour on Tumblr. Imagine trying to defend this kind of behaviour on Tumblr.

I have faith that most of my Drarry friends cannot, will not do the latter.

So please, please reconsider what you’re really saying when you call Draco the victim, the vulnerable one, when you insist that he and the Slytherins had been wronged. I don’t mean to start another debate and I don’t plan to engage in one; this isn’t a call-out post either, I enjoy reading all the opinions expressed and I understand many of the sentiments I’m questioning comes from a place of love. I just hope that everyone who’s reading (thank you) can sit back, think a little. Imagine for a moment that table with the Nazis. Even if, at the table, there’re actually 10 Nazis and 1 who isn’t, who is more vulnerable? The non-Nazi sitting with the Nazis? Or the person who refuses to sit at the table and makes a bad judgement call on the 11th sitter by assuming they are a Nazi as well? Who is more the victim, or more likely to become one? The 11th sitter who’s wrongly labelled? Or the standing person who is being eyed by the 10 Nazis with disgust, the 10 Nazis who already have a family history of hunting down the standing person’s family and friends?

Or does the answer -- and this is the understanding I’ve got but haven’t dared to face -- does the answer depend on if he character in question had white-blond hair that glinted so beautifully in the sun? Is that the reason why Draco Malfoy, bigot, bully, has been given this special treatment, this carte blanche in the sense that he’ll always remain on our good side, be exempt from our moral judgement regardless of what he did, because his physical description doesn’t contain a single hint of melanin?

[misslisterkeepsajournal]

Saturday 8 March 1834

6 10/.. 12 40/..

|| L

fair and windy - rain in the night - Fahrenheit 52°. at 6 40/.. - out at 7 1/4 - with Pickels - his son John and a labourer to wall up gaps and make other and set posts for John Bottomley and P- [Pickels] himself to raise wall near new dry bridge so as to support a great height of stuff - with John Booth taking him (P- [Pickels]) 2 loads of stones - Charles and James Howarth putting up more wainscot in upper buttery -

breakfast with my father at 8 1/2 in about 1/2 hour - in my study at 9 3/4 - rain came on about 8 1/2 or before likely to continue - till 11 1/2  wrote 1 page and 4 lines to Miss W- [Walker] and copied what she write I would advise her to write in answer to Washington -

then out with John moving large Cherrysuckers from the terrace to near new dry bridge and moving rose tree and flowers to outside upper garden door &c. ready for beginning to lower the terrace on Monday - Pickels went away in the morning on account of the rain but returned at 2 1/2 p.m. with him raising wall near new dry bridge to hold up stuff from the new bank (just below Booth's the shoemaker) and backwards and forwards with Charles and James Howarth in the upper buttery and with Mallinson and his 1 man who got the middle cornice on the chimney this afternoon, and opened hole thro' wall on to the terrace for barrowing out the stuff - Agreed with Pickels to wheel it out to the carts in the court yard, and thence cart it to over the old dry bridge for 8d. [pence] per square yard - he asks Mr. Haigh 15d. [pence] a yard (i.e. about 7d. [pence] per 1 horse cart load) for carting stuff from the new bank (to put it here near new dry bridge) -

Came in at 6 1/2 - settled with Pickels and Charles H- [Howarth] dinner at 7 and coffee and came upstairs at 7 40/.. - wrote 3 pp. [pages] more and 1/2 page envelope and finished my letter to 'Miss Walker, Heworth Grange, York' and sent it off at 9 1/2 by Thomas in a parcel with Washington's letter and no. [number] 2 Paxton's magazine and the small parcel for Mrs. Sutherland to go by tonights mail - Should have sent W-'s [Washington's] letter &c. yesterday but waited to hear from Miss W- [Walker] this morning - much disappointed - strongly urge her to determine about and give W- [Washington] orders to let Lidgate - should always determine as soon as one can, and then the sooner the determination is acted on, the better - a great comfort and advantage to us to have things settled as soon as possible so that our intentions should be clear to all whom they concerned - our position too equivocal -then dated 2nd page this evening - saying it was well to make an excuse of Lidgate but the Truth was, I could scarcely believe it was not a week since my return - it seemed an age since monday and not hearing from her made me dull - Did she wish me to think less of her? She might scold and I should take it patiently -

then took up W-'s [Washington's] letter could not be much Trouble to alter the Town's books - She could not be expected to understand land-valuing, therefore it was W-'s [Washington's] place to offer her a fair rent for the Hemingway Crofts (5 1/2 acres exclusive of plantation and paying £2.16.0 Taxes per annum say ∴ Taxes = from 6/. to 7/. per daywork) unless he hoped to have them as the same sort of Terms as the Lidgate land - but advised her to write briefly to him on the subject merely saying she had made up her mind not to pay the taxes, and as he put it to her to value the Crofts she should have them and Cordingley's farm valued at the same time and write by that post to Mr. Mitchell to let her have his valuation as soon as he could and then she would settle what allowance should be made to Cordingley and fix a rent for the Crofts - As W- [Washington] valued for himself and his brother in law he ought to be glad to call in an indifferent person - Would she write something like the following - 'Miss Walker will be much obliged to Mr. Mitchell to send her, as soon as he possibly can his valuation of the yearly rent of the land on the enclosed plan, specifying the condition of each field, the Tenant to pay all Taxes - Mr. Mitchell is requested to direct to Miss Walker Heworth Grange York' - She could easily sketch the plan, giving nos. [numbers] and measurements as stated in W-'s [Washington's] survey - Perhaps W- [Washington] would be surprised - not give her the credit she deserved but lay it all on me - she had plenty of head, only wanted promptness of decision.....'Heaven prosper you in everything! Doubt anything but the real regard of yours faithfully and affectionately AL- ' will send the dimensions of the North  parlour chim fireplace next Time -

with my aunt from 9 1/2 about an hour - then wrote the whole of this page till 11 - very boisterous windy night -

Reference: SH:7/ML/E/16/0177 - SH:7/ML/E/16/0178

[solac1um]

Brief Respite

I’ve also posted this on AO3! Written for the this fanfic collab.

Basically my first actual attempt at sexy writing. I tried to blend my default style into it, got a bit carried away, tried to shoehorn a piece of dialogue in, etc. Hopefully it came out at least miiiildly readable? Lmao. Anyway this was super self-indulgent, the Nakahechi route is, indeed, very special to me, although I’ve only ever been there once. If I lived in Japan, though, it would definitely be somewhere I visit yearly. A person can dream, I guess.

Izuku x GN!Reader

———

One of those nights again. He'd returned home, to lay his weary body on the couch next to you with a sigh, staring empty-eyed at a blank phone screen in one hand, the other seeking yours gingerly - too gingerly.

You'd put your book down, curled into his side and turned his face to yours. He'd looked so tired it broke your heart. As if in response to that thought, he'd attempted a smile. "I'm okay, don’t worry about m-"

"- don't give me that. Right now, I'm not a colleague who needs to be reassured." Your fingers brushed soft locks from his face as you'd peered into his eyes. "How many times have I told you not to bring work home with you, baby? You don't have to be a hero within these four walls." You'd brushed a thumb over his cheekbone. "If Izuku is tired, or worried, or scared, let him. You need to take care of this, too." And you'd tapped your fingers on his chest over his heart, watched the perfect veneer crumble, let him cry in your arms.

Later, stroking his shower-damp hair as he slept, you'd decided you both needed a good, week-long vacation.

Besides, it was that time of the year. You made a pilgrimage to the mountains of Kii Hantou every year, since it captured your heart the first time, walking the same route. This trail has seen you through your progress as a rescue hero. From worrying about being able to pass your first fitness test, to attempting harder and harder stretches of the trail every time you returned. The Nakahechi route witnessing you in all your seasons. For you, it was less religious, more a place that felt like home, that surrounded and held you, that kept safe your fears and dreams. And this time, you got to bring her the person you'd been telling her about for so long.

"For the next week," you'd told Izuku firmly, pressed against his side on the bus rumbling through the quiet countryside. "You're not a hero, you're not on duty, and neither am I, and no one is going to put us on call for anything. The only thing I'm fixing is food for lunch every day. And if someone has the gall to interrupt the first real vacation you've had in the 8 years you've been a pro hero, it better be because the world is literally crumbling." You stare into his eyes, still so guileless after so long. "Mmkay? Promise me."

His eyes are always so gentle when they behold you. "I'll try, puppy," he'd said, kissing your forehead. "But no promises."

It would have to do. You know how much his work means to him. You lean over and press a kiss to his cheek. "Good enough for me."

-

You watch as Izuku navigates the undulating paths with more ease than you could ever hope to muster. You lead the way, but only because he keeps pace with you. Your excitement is his excitement. You watch as he gapes at the landscape, his boyish excitement not lost to age - "you come here every year? I bet you don't ever get sick of it!" (You don't.) You laugh with him as he giggles at the "not Kumano Kodo" signs along the way. Signs you were in stitches to see the first time you walked this route. You watch him absolutely demolish the home-cooked meals every family-owned establishment feeds you both, lean into the soft comfort of quiet conversation before bedtime, his hands wandering languidly, affectionately over your skin.

Time and the mountains swallow your five days. Early mornings, sun dappled lunches sitting on logs. Walking rain drenched, through the gates of the hongu grand shrine, the water from the basin so cold your hands numb. The damp rough of the rope in your hands, the melodious rattle of the bell. Walking the grounds, cold and tired, picking out omamori for the both of you. (You always returned them at the new year, knowing you'd be back to get another one) Stopping before the gate to kiss Izuku in the rain, sweet and full of intent.

You’d booked a hotel with a hot spring for your last night there. It isn’t the biggest - that was expensive and always booked out a year in advance - but it is fancy enough, and has private bath rooms. You were a frequent visitor on your travels. Besides, you’d like some time to stare at your man in the nude, thank you very much.

The temperature of the hot bath is delicious after a cold late-autumn day in the rain. Your hands and feet are numb. You’d barely registered your shower, hurriedly rinsing suds from your skin and hair, nearly flinging yourself into the hot bath. You sigh as the shock of the heat fades into a warmth that wraps around you. An eye on the clock, you watch Izuku as he showers. He is so familiar, and no less beautiful for it; cut in marble, almost, your Adonis. How long had it been since you’d had the time to-

“Puppy?” You’re drawn back out of your head to concerned eyes on you. “Are you okay? You look a little flushed. Maybe you should go have a rinse so you don’t overheat…”

You blink at him. “I, ah. No. I’m okay, I’ve only been in here for uh” - a glance at the clock - “Five minutes.” You flash him a smile. “Come join me, the water’s great.” And he obliges.

You want to enjoy the bath, you really do, but you seem to have miscalculated just how fatally distracting it would be to have him next to you, so tantalisingly undressed. You sigh and lean your head on his shoulder, trying to ignore the tendrils of desire you feel rising deep in your core. He hums and deposits a kiss on your head, and warmth blooms in your rib cage.

Had it really already been seven years? Eight, since you first met in the debris of a fallen building, the aftermath of some villain’s harebrained scheme. Dirt-streaked and exhausted. You, working your first year as a rescue hero, and he, almost fresh out of UA. You’d both unwound over a cup of shitty coffee in the break room of the hospital afterward, a conversation cut short, that’d led to another. And another, and another. And here you both are.

“You’ve got that faraway look in your eyes again.” Izuku nuzzles you. “You’re so pensive today. Is everything alright?”

You giggle, lean in for a kiss that you draw out. “Couldn’t be better. After all, I get to spend aaall this time with the love of my life.” His eyes hold yours, a little hazy as you pull away. Entranced. You watch, with some pride, the blush dust his freckled cheek. It’s flattering that you can still do that, after all this time.

“Did you miss me that much,” he mumbles, and your barely-audible “too much” and the resounding yes in your mind brims over. His face is in your hands, your lips are on his again, sweet and insistent and ravenous. And the water burns on your skin, or is it the heat in your skin, the way your breath is stolen from your lips, the way your head is spinning?

His breathing is ragged when you pull back, a fire in his eyes that finds its echo somewhere in your belly.

You find your words first. “Let’s get out of here,” you say, taking him by the wrist. “Before we both get a heat stroke.”

The walk back feels like eternity. Bodies pressed into each other, huddling for warmth, for contact. The door clicks shut behind you, your hands are on him, tangled in his hair, breathless against his lips. Kissing him, his body against the mattress, your body against his, imprinting the length, the shape of his desire into your contours. His hands on your hips. You gasp into his lips, drawing a groan. The whisper of fabric as the sash of his yukata comes undone in your hands. Your fingers on his skin, trailing down his body, his breath hitching in his throat.

"You are so beautiful," you murmur against his skin. "These shoulders shouldn't always have to carry the weight of the world."

He sighs. You let your fingers trail down his form, studying every dip and curve and freckle and scar. “Let me spoil you today, baby. You work too hard.” You've long memorised the constellations in his skin, the way muscle under skin flutters beneath your hands, the way it does now as your touch wanders, fingertips and lips, down to the waistband.

He shivers, bites back a moan. Straining. You run a hand along his length, through the fabric, fingers finding the elastic, and you tug, achingly slow.

Lips brush the weeping tip, catching his precum on your tongue. You take him slowly, sucking the swollen skin, tearing a groan from his throat. A hand in your hair - gentle pressure, but enough to feel the tension humming in his veins. He breathes, a drawn out, shuddering breath.

Slowly, agonisingly slowly.

You moan, a sound that starts in your throat and reverberates into the cavern of your mouth, and he feels it. “F-fuck–” his breath hitches, and you hum. You take him deeper, your hands wandering the planes of his stomach, his thighs.

Deft lips, and a practiced tongue, you devour him. His tip hits the back of your throat and you groan. His taste is so familiar, your blood thundering in your ears and you are so full of him, and all you know is him. And you hold the moment, as he squirms, for what would have been a breath, or two, or three -

- and you pull back, only to push down again, feel him twitch and swell between your lips as you move. Hungry for his passion, his unravelling, faster and faster.

Izuku’s hand is in your hair, grip almost demanding. The taste and heat of him on your tongue, egging you on, fuelled by the sound of his voice, caught between a groan and a whimper, the way he shifts and trembles, back arching away from the mattress. His body a line of perfect tension as you guide him to his climax.

His own hand stops you. “Puppy, baby, wait, I–”

“Mmm?” You hum, earning yourself another soft gasp.

“I- I need to be inside you.”

You pull back, lips gliding over his length, leave him aching. You’ll make him wait a little, you’ve waited for this for so long. You look up at him, through your eyelashes, faux bashful. “Yeah?”

You grind against his cock slowly, teasing, and he draws a shuddering breath. “Are you going to ask?” You breathe the words into the air between your lips and his, close enough to feel him whimper as you move against him again.

“Please,” he gasps. “Please, baby. I need you. I need this.”

You swallow the moan rising in your throat, lean in. “Good. Because,” you breathe, “I do too.” Your words meeting his parted lips before your own steal the choked moan that escapes - yours, or his - as you guide him into your velvet heat.

You’ve waited for this for so long.

You move slowly, savour every inch of him, the way his eyes hold yours, unfocused, the way he bites his lip and gasps at every thrust, not enough to silence his moans.

“Fuck, puppy, yes–” His voice catches on the edges of his pleasure. “Oh god, you feel amazing, puppy.”

You chuckle breathlessly. “Yeah, baby? Did you miss this? Just having time... to ourselves like this?” The heat rises in your core, the closeness and friction and fullness of his cock tearing a rawness from you. “You did, didn’t you?” you move faster, chasing intensity. “Tell - tell me.”

His hips twitch against you. "You– did I miss this," he gasps in the midst of a pleasure that threatens to steal his words, “Puppy, you have no idea, I - ah - all that… that wishing… for, for uneventful days so I can come home early, only for it to - ah - never happen, being too tired to do anything all these nights - oh fuck - h-having all that time on patrol, to all but dream of you and how I fucking ache for you. I-I’ve wanted you so much I can't breathe. Fuck, baby, I don't think you have a single inkling-”

And then they’re gone, shipwrecked in the storm of his pleasure as he takes you by the hips and thrusts up into you, the change in angle bringing you closer. And the desperation of his words and his touch make you want to lose the measure, fuck him into oblivion, sate a hunger you cannot name.

And so you do, bracing against the mattress, hips snapping against his, feeling your walls tighten around him. You drop your forehead to his, kiss him deeply. He groans into your lips, low and desperate. “Puppy, I’m- I’m going to cum-”

The need in his voice pushes you over the edge. You ride him through your orgasm, his name tearing ragged from your lips over and over as you convulse around him. Your hips don’t stop until his body echoes your climax, shuddering against you, twitching inside you.

You hold him until he stops trembling, until you stop trembling, until his breathing slows. Green eyes gaze at you, still hazy and so, so soft. You kiss him slowly, pull away to brush the hair from his sweat-damp brow, and he wraps his arms around you. “I love you, puppy,” he murmurs.

You press a kiss to his forehead. “And I love you, dearest.”

He hums and buries his face in your shoulder. “I really needed that.”

You run your hands through his curls, gently. “I know, baby. So did I.”

“Maybe we should... Do this more often,” he mumbles, drawing a soft laugh from you.

“Oh, definitely. Anything to get your workaholic butt to take a break every now and then, and spend time with me.” You touch a kiss to the side of his head. “Would you come with me again next year, if you can?”

He looks surprised and gratified. “You really want me to? I’d love to.”

You bump your nose against his. “Don’t look so surprised. If the last seven years is anything to go by, there isn’t a part of my life I want separate from you.”

He responds with a tight hug. “Me neither. Thank you, puppy.”

You let your fingertips wander, tracing idle patterns in the sweat cooling on his skin. “You know, since we’re going to have to go take another shower, let’s go enjoy that private hot spring without getting distracted.”

Izuku laughs. “What are the chances?” You flick him lightly on the shoulder. “What?” He looks at you innocently, all big guileless eyes. “It’s not my fault you’re so distracting.”

You roll your eyes, tugging him up. “Oh you sweet talker, you. C’mon, before it gets late.”

[mahalkitajohnnysuh]

Two Birthdays

I wrote this piece today in honor of today’s birthday celebrators, one of which NCTzens should know by heart. 

Mark Lee has been my gateway to the world of NCT, and now I am fully immersed in it. Well, not so much with the Dreamies but I appreciate them.

Then, who’s the other one celebrating their birthday? I guess you have to find out who! Johfam knows – don’t embarrass me, guys.

As always, I put a GIF to hype you up – here’s Marky with black hair, which is the best color on him. 

Mahal ko kayong lahat! :) 

–––

Summary: This piece is dedicated to Mark Lee and Mama Suh, who share the same birth date of August 2. Johnny and Essie prepare something for them, and then get emotional at the end. Aren’t they such attention-hogging drama queens? 

POV: 3rd person as usual. 

Word count: 1,160 words 

–––

August 2 is an important day for Johnny Suh – not only is it the birthday of his dearest eomma, but it was also the special day of his bro Mark Lee.

Since Essie Park has been living with the two boys for quite some time now, those days have also become important to her. She loves both of them – Johnny is her boyfriend, while Mark is the little brother she never had.

She woke up early to prepare a feast for the birthday celebrators, which in turn, made her partner do so as well. Both of them were puttering away at the kitchen at five in the morning, preparing a mixture of both Korean and Western dishes.

“Baby, why don’t you check on the birthday boy?” Johnny suggested after placing a newly cooked omelet on a plate with mashed potatoes and vegetables on it. Essie gave him a thumbs-up and silently ran to Mark’s room, whose door was slightly ajar. She could see that he was cocooned in his comforter, and she couldn’t tell if he was still asleep or pretending to be.

“I can’t tell if he’s still sleeping or not,” she whispered once she was back at the kitchen. The couple glanced at the clock – it read 7:40 a.m. – and giggled. “Probably not yet,” her boyfriend said, who picked up the French press nearby to make their coffee. “Let’s give him a few minutes, and then we’ll surprise him.”

\\\

At around 8:30 a.m., Essie led Johnny to Mark’s room as he carried a small tray of breakfast food. She opened the door carefully and saw that the young man was still asleep. This time, they can see his bare face – he always had a mustache forming – and they could hear him snoring lightly.

She went to the left side of the bed while Johnny went to the opposite side, placing the tray at the foot of the bed. The couple looked at each other first before they decided to surprise Mark by screaming their birthday greeting.

“Happy birthday, Mark Lee!”

The birthday boy, who is now 21 as of writing, was startled and kicked the comforter off the bed. “What the hell,” he grumbled, looking at his hyung and noona in disbelief first, “but thank you, guys. You didn’t have to scream into my ear like that.”

“But that wouldn’t be fun, right?” Johnny snickered, which earned him a glare from the younger guy. “Happy birthday, Marky!” Essie squealed, messing with his hair. He bit his lip as his hyung joined in on playing with his hair, trying his best not to be annoyed at the situation.

When they were done, Johnny reached over to the small tray and placed it closer to Mark. “Of course, you know how it is in this household when someone has a birthday. We made you breakfast fit for a king like yourself.” Essie made dramatic hand gestures to emphasize that, as there were three plates crammed into the tray that contained a full-course meal.

“Thank you again, Johnny hyung and Essie noona! I truly appreciate it,” the birthday boy said, now less grumpy than a few minutes ago. Once he got his utensils, he dug into his majestic breakfast. The couple patted his back affectionately as he bit and gulped his food.

After he finished eating, Johnny left the room briefly to grab his Polaroid camera. Then, they took pictures – the couple’s favorite was of them kissing Mark on the cheeks with the guy completely flustered in the middle.

“This is so cute!” Essie gushed, staring at the newly-developed photo lovingly. “I’m going to hang it up in my gallery. May I, love?” Johnny winked at her, which meant she could. She replied by tackling him in a hug, in which she also included Mark after.

“I love you boys so much,” she murmured while still in proximity with them. “We love you too,” they said in unison, and everyone giggled at their harmonization.

They spent a few more minutes in bed talking and teasing each other until Mark had to go home to his parents’ house to spend the rest of the day with them.

“Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow, guys. I might spend the night there,” he said as he tugged at the straps of his backpack.

“It’s okay, Mark. You deserve the time off with them. And I’m sure it has been a while you went to Mass with your family too,” Essie said softly, remembering the time that she and Mark went to church recently to pray for their intentions.

“Yeah, that’s true. Well, I’m off then. Have a nice day ahead!” Mark waved at them until he was out of their eyesight.

\\\

“Then, that leaves us with the next thing on our agenda – call Mama,” Johnny said once they retreated to the couch.

“Check what time is it there first, dummy,” Essie teased, flicking the space in between his eyebrows. “I’m sure she’s awake at this time,” he replied, rubbing the part she hit. “Come here, my big baby,” he patted the space beside him, “and let’s call her up to say our birthday greetings.”

It was already late in the evening in Chicago when the couple called Mama Suh, who was already in her pajamas. “Happy birthday Eomma! I hope you had a fun and fabulous day there,” Essie said while she waved enthusiastically at her boyfriend’s mother.

“But of course, my darling! We went to this hotel and had a nice steak and wine dinner,” the older woman shared, which got her son ‘ooh’-ing and ‘aah’-ing at the details of her day.

Johnny and Essie snuggled closer to each other as they listened to Mama Suh talk about her day and more. “I wish you two could go here again, I’d love you to experience what I had too,” she said wistfully, making the couple hug each other tighter.

“We’ll fly there again once things are better, Mama. We promise that,” her son replied.

“Yes, Ma. You can count on that. We miss you so much,” his girlfriend added.

As much as they didn’t want to end the call on a sad note, Mama Suh got teary-eyed, and soon, they were crying and sniffing.

Although it has been years since Johnny decided to work in Korea, he always made it a point to fly back to his hometown in Chicago yearly. However, given the current pandemic, he couldn’t.

The couple held each other for a while after their call, saddened by the effects of the global situation and a million other thoughts.

“Baby?”

“Yes, love?”

“Promise me we’ll be together forever?”

Essie looked at her boyfriend’s distraught face, and she kissed him squarely on the lips. “Yes, I promise you that.”

He returned the gesture and carried her to their shared bedroom, presumably to make sure that she will stay true to her words.

–––

FIN

P.S. I know, it doesn’t feature enough Mark! Don’t worry; I have another post to make up for that.

[sproutspright]

Forget Me Not

A/N

This is my first writing and its not very good, but I figured I’d just post it anyway. I kind of struggled with the ending. Let me know if you’d like to see more /.\

Pairing: Doyoung x Reader 

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Word Count: 4.1k

Song Rec: Summer Love- Aseul

“Please darling, it won’t be the same without you,” your mother pleaded over the phone as you began to stack up a semester’s worth of textbooks and scrawled note paper. Your dorm window was propped open to invite the warm balmy May breeze into your bedroom. You had just finished your second semester of college, and were looking forward to moving into your own apartment. Though you had been away from home for two years, you only had just begun to feel truly independent.

“I’ve gone every year though, can’t I just enjoy my new place? I have so much to do,” you replied, boxing up the books for good. Of course you loved the yearly summer vacation tradition of going to the seaside town of Cape Azure. Yet somehow, you felt it would hinder your momentum. You had been on the trip every year without fail, but it only symbolized a part of yourself that was now in the past.

“You’ll have plenty of time to do that afterwards, it’s only three weeks. It’s the only time we all have together,” her voice cracked, and you couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not, but it struck you still. Your father was a professor, and worked tirelessly over the fall and spring. Summer really was the only time you could say you had spent with him for as long as you could remember.

“Fine,” you sighed, knowing there was no arguing with her, “I’ll see what kind of flight I can catch later tonight, okay?”

“He’ll be so happy to see you,” your mother sang. You laughed, suddenly looking forward to it. In the back of your mind, you wondered if he would still be there too.

The familiar salty breeze ruffled your sundress as you strode across the road and onto the boardwalk, colorful sailboats dotting the turquoise shoreline. The air was slightly humid, and sweat had already begun to stick to your neck. You gazed up at the endless sky, so crushingly blue it only served to contrast the stark white beach houses hugging the sand. You had arrived at Cape Azure only yesterday, but you were already eager to immerse yourself back into nostalgia. You had walked along the boardwalk so many times, enjoying the view and the different kinds of people scattered about. Some local, and many others just visiting like yourself. Although you didn’t want to admit it, you had come to see if he was still here.

Your steps took you back to the kayak rental stand, nestled between the dock and a gelato shop that you never failed to revisit. You had met him here at fifteen, when your parents had asked you to pick out a kayak. That entire summer was spent together, an innocent friendship blossoming. He was all you thought about until you’d seen him again.

Your eyes scanned the inside, but you were only met with a middle aged man reading a book from behind the counter. Your heart sank a little and you turned around, heading for the edge of the dock. The expanse of blue took your breath away as you trailed the edge of the railing, looking down to see if there were any seals swimming below. Peering down from such a drop made your head spin, and you quickly turned back up, staggering slightly.

“Are you alright?” a soft voice chimed beside you, and you froze.

“Ah, I…” you managed, looking into the eyes of the concerned boy. His black hair tousled in the wind and his dark eyes blinked into the sun. It was him.

“I-I’m fine, I just get dizzy easily,” you brush your hair out of your face, your pulse beginning to quicken.

“I see, well be careful then,” he said kindly, turning his attention to the water. You stood there for a moment before resting your arms against the railing, not sure of how this interaction would continue. It was like this every time, and you cursed at yourself for not being able to get used to it.

“My name’s y/n,” you said courageously, balling your fists and biting your lip. The sheen of sweat against your skin had become more noticeable to you now. You hoped the bright sun was a good enough excuse for the deep blush that colored your cheeks.

“Ah,” he said shyly, looking down, “I’m Doyoung.”

“Have we met before?” you asked, gritting your teeth. You knew it was a meaningless question.

“I-I don’t think so,” he said, looking over at you. His words were the same every time, but they still hurt nonetheless. It had been five years since you had known each other, and not once had he remembered you. At first you thought it was a joke, or his cruel way of trying to get rid of you. It didn’t take long for you to realize he had truly forgotten, and you had no way of knowing how he could possibly remember you. Each summer, you would meet again for the first time, become close, and then repeat the cycle. Though at first you were simply interested in him, your feelings quickly grew into something more.

“Do you want to get some gelato with me?” you smiled at his confused expression.

“Um, s-sure,” he agreed, and you heaved a sigh of relief as you both walked down the dock together.

“Are you here for the summer?” he asked timidly, his eyes glancing in your direction for only a moment.

“Yeah, just a few weeks. I usually come with my family every year.” His brow furrows and he nods as if he’s trying to recollect the broken pieces of his memory. You try not to let your disappointment show as you introduce yourself to him once again, pretending that you had never met before. But your memories of the previous summer made it all the more difficult.

The both of you picked out your ice cream and strolled along the white sand of the beach, the crashing of the waves calming your anxiety as you tried your best to make an impression on him. This was always the most critical time, because you were always afraid he would lose interest and you’d never get him back. But he always returned to you somehow.

Long after you had finished your gelato, you realized the sun’s angle in the sky and how long you had been “out for a walk”. Though it pained you to leave him, you weren’t sure how you could keep his attention much longer.  

“Shit, it’s kind of late,” you looked at the clock on your phone, standing up from the stone wall you both had been sitting on, “I should probably go.”

“Wait,” he rose, “Can I give you my number?” You looked into his dark eyes, and you could swear they were sparkling. Your breath caught in your chest as you handed him your phone. Though he had given you his number many times before, you had always ended up deleting it as soon as you were back home. Even after a few days he didn’t know who you were, and it was pointless reaching out as you had learned.

He handed you the phone back and you smiled, “I’ll text you later. It was nice meeting you!” He returned your smile and nodded, “You too.”

You hadn’t wasted a single moment after your reunion with Doyoung. Every day he waited for you on the boardwalk, and you would talk until your parents would call asking where you had gone. It was blissful being around him again. The way he would laugh until he fell over, how he would always pick out a shell for you from the beach. As much as you tried to contain your feelings, you couldn’t help but fall in love with him each time. You had never met anyone like him.

“Hey, let’s go for a picnic today,” Doyoung suggested over the phone as you threw your wet hair up into a towel. Your mind immediately recalled the year before, when he had asked you to go on a picnic. Your cheeks flushed and you bit your lip, remembering how he had kissed you that day. It wasn’t your first kiss, but it was somehow different. Both of your feelings had progressed so much then, it felt like an entire lifetime within that span of three weeks. You had gotten better at distancing yourself from that part of your life, but the feeling of his lips lingered long into the cold winter months. You had spent countless nights lying awake, wishing you could just talk to him again.

“Yeah sounds fun,” you inhaled sharply, becoming flustered, “I’ll meet you at our usual spot.”

You finished getting ready, throwing on a denim skirt and light blue blouse, and applied a tinted gloss to your lips, just in case. As you headed out the door, you were greeted by bright sunshine and a temperate breeze, the sky so blue it made your chest ache. Doyoung met you at the boardwalk, a jean jacket draped over a black t-shirt and jeans, his lean figure propped against the wood of the kayak stand. He seemed startled by your appearance, unable to take his eyes off of you.

“You look...pretty today,” he breathed, taking a moment before grabbing your hand and leading you to a red tandem bike resting against the wall.

“I thought it would be fun if we tried this,” he said as he swung his leg over. You grinned and hopped your leg over carefully, grabbing onto the small bars for balance. This was one of his favorite things to do, and you loved it each time. The both of you rode to the sandwich shop nearby, picking up your favorites before heading through the rows of beach houses, securing your bags onto the handlebars. Before long, the houses dwindled into nothing but a wide road and a sea of grass and trees. You knew exactly where you were going, but it was still thrilling all the same.

At the large willow tree, he stopped and you both hopped off the bike, laying it on its side. He spread his jacket on the ground and offered for you to sit. You became nervous as memories flooded your mind, his soft lips and gentle hands.

“You know, it’s so weird,” Doyoung started after finishing his sandwich, “I don’t really know you, but you feel so familiar. I think that’s why I probably can’t stop thinking about you.” You gulped your strawberry soda and turned away, your cheeks ablaze.

“I don’t mean to embarrass you,” he said softly, his knee against your thigh, “I just really like you y/n.” Your heart pounds in your chest at his words. You can feel the electricity from his close proximity. You understand the moment, knowing all too well.

“I like you too,” you say quietly, the wind ruffling your hair a bit and cooling your face. Doyoung grabs your chin in his hand, looking at you intently as you try to avoid his gaze. His touch is like a searing hot iron on your skin, and you nearly flinch away.

“Can I kiss you y/n?” he whispered, his breath fanning your face and you nod, looking up at him through your lashes. He closes the distance between your lips and his, kissing you softly. All the tension in your body melts away as you both tentatively taste each other, becoming blissfully unaware of your surroundings. The sweetness of his kisses become slightly fevered, and he slips his hand to the back of your neck, curling his fingers in your hair. You shiver at the sensation, but this only seems to encourage him further. He pulls your waist closer to him until your chest is against his, continuing to deepen the kiss as you both become melded together. Your head is spinning but it’s the loveliest feeling, and you wish you could stay in that moment forever.

After awhile, Doyoung pulls away and watches your face as it becomes more and more overcome with emotion. He looks down at the grass, lacing his fingers between it as his hand falls from your cheek. You’re silent, heart wrenching as you try to remain composed. You had been longing for him for what seemed like decades, but you’d never allowed yourself to cry. Now it felt as if all those tears were prying their way from your eyes, suffocated by your suppression.

His hand reaches up to catch your tears that had already begun to fall. The look in his eyes was so beautiful and sad you felt you would weep.

“I do know you, don’t I?” Doyoung mumbled solemnly. You couldn’t look at him, your face entirely covered in tears. Why did you have to miss him so damn much? There was no future between you two. It was a vicious cycle of trying to get him to hold on to your memory, but you hadn’t accepted the fact that you yourself were trying to hold onto the memory of him.

“Please don’t forget me again Doyoung,” you whispered, clutching at the bottom of your skirt, shoulders twitching as you cried softly.

“I’m so sorry y/n,” he hushed, pulling you into his arms to lay your head on his chest. Usually it would take much longer for him to remember, but your lips had been enough for him. The pain in his chest now mirrored yours, only from guilt and hopelessness.

“I tried so hard to remember, I don’t know how long it even lasted,” his voice was heavy with shame, holding you tighter as if it could erase all the pain he had put you through, “But I’m here now. Let’s just try to make the most of the time we have.”

You weren’t sure if you should have tried to find him again. To unearth these feelings you so desperately tried to hide. But the steady beating of his heart, the rise and fall of his breathing intoxicated you. His presence was a temporary high, making everything okay as long as he was there. You knew this choice would only hurt you more, but for now you didn’t want to waste any time.

Days had gone by in a blissful blur as you both reminisced of the summers past. It always happened this way. You simply waited for him, and all of his memories of you came flooding back. In some ways it made things complicated, but you’d never felt so close to him before. He couldn’t stand a day without you. You were gone so much, your parents had started to complain. They had no idea, and you had no intention of telling them.

“Honey, let’s have one last sail on the water today,” your mother called to your father from the kitchen of their vacation home. You were lying on the couch, scrolling through your phone lazily with a leg hooked over the side.

“Hmm,” your father grunted, keeping his eyes fixed on his laptop from the lounge chair adjacent to you. Even now he was still focused on work. It made you sad, wondering if you’d end up like that too. You hoped he at least felt it meaningful or fulfilling in some way.

“Y/n, get dressed so we can all go out.” You sighed and rolled off of the couch and into the bathroom. You only had until tomorrow, and then your fleeting romance with Doyoung would be quickly extinguished. It made your body feel heavy. You couldn’t imagine forgetting all the wonderful new memories created, the smiles and kisses. It would all come to an end. And you weren’t sure if you could ever continue this again.

With much effort, you managed to look presentable and followed your parents to the harbor. Your father’s yellow sailboat sat tranquilly rocking back and forth, awaiting its next voyage. As you hopped aboard, you looked around to see if you might catch Doyoung hanging around somewhere by the beach. You wished you hadn’t felt so guilty for wanting to stay back.

After setting out on the water, you checked your phone to find that there was no service. Any hopeful texts would have to wait, and you begrudgingly took out your book you had brought with. Your parents chatted as you read, honing in on the sound of the waves lapping at the boat and the cry of the gulls overhead. Finally, you grew impatient and stripped off your shorts and tank, diving into the deep blue abyss. You popped your head from the water to the annoyed screams of your mother.

“Y/n, don’t scare me like that!” You shrugged and swam out a little, loving the feeling of the cool water on your sun kissed skin. The sky above you looked so infinite, you felt as though you’d fall into it and drown.

The sun had sunk low on the horizon, a burning, enduring red bleeding into the waters. You had never given much thought to sunsets, but it stirred something in your chest and you felt a lump begin to form in your throat.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” you mother mused, her eyes glued to the vibrant seascape. You nodded, not trusting your own voice to sound normal. It was so beautiful it hurt.

“Sad it never lasts long though,” your father hummed as the colors quickly began to ice over into a subdued purple. He began to steer back to the harbor before it got too dark, docking just as the sky became a dusty blue. Your footsteps were heavy with fatigue as you all walked back to the beach house, supposedly satisfied with the day.

“Oh dear you got a terrible sunburn,” your mother fretted as she took a good look at you. You had just sat back down on the couch, wincing at the rough fabric brushing against your skin.

“Guess I forgot sunscreen today,” you sighed, getting up to see if there was any aloe vera hiding in the bathroom cabinet. To your disappointment, there was none.

“Hey, I’m gonna go walk to the convenience store,” you called as you grabbed your purse from your room and shuffled on a pair of sandals.

“Are you sure? We could go for you,” your mother offered, but you insisted. You were exhausted, but you needed the fresh air to clear your head. The store wasn’t very far, only about a fifteen minute walk. There were still quite a few tourists out, heading to restaurants and enjoying evening beach strolls. You wondered if Doyoung had tried to call you, seeing as there were no texts coming through.

After picking up a bottle of aloe vera, you stepped back outside and shivered, the air considerably colder. You tried rubbing your arms, but it only aggravated your sunburn. As you turned the corner, you felt the weight of someone else crashing into you. You exclaimed in surprise, taking a step back. It was Doyoung.

“Y/n, I need to talk to you,” he said, a hint of desperation in his voice. You stood dumbfounded for a moment, but his presence brought such relief you finally felt normal for the first time that day.

“Doyoung,” you gasped slightly, “of course. I-I’m sorry I was out all day.”

“It’s okay,” he wrapped his arms around you, “I was just scared. I didn’t want to forget you.” Your heart sunk and you held onto him, burrowing your face in his chest. You didn’t know what to say. The agony of missing him paled in comparison to the thought of him fiercely yet futilely protecting his memories  

“I’m leaving after tomorrow,” you said finally, and his body became stiff. He pulled away, looking at you with pitifully empty eyes. You bit your lip, feeling the lump in your throat once more.

“That’s okay. We’ll get through this,” he reassured, but even his voice wavered. You remained silent, blinking as you took his hand and began to walk. You didn’t know where you were going, but you couldn’t think straight. The moon had risen and painted a pale yellow streak on the waves, rippling and twinkling like stars. The both of you had made your way down to the sand, your hands still entwined.

“I can’t believe it’s been three weeks already,” you sighed, gazing up at the half moon, “I don’t want this to be over.” Doyoung stopped to place his hand on your cheek, his lips gently pressing against yours.

“We can make it work somehow,” he said as he kissed you again. You allowed yourself to be taken by his lips, committing the feeling to memory one last time.

“Doyoung, I don’t think it’s possible. At least, not anymore.”

“What are you saying? We can talk everyday. There’s no way we couldn’t-”

“You don’t remember,” you interrupted him, casting your eyes to the tide that snaked closer to your flip flopped feet. His brows knit together.

“But-”

“We’ve already tried. It never works. I don’t know what it is, but as soon as I’m gone you can’t remember anything.” He looked lost. Of course those memories never return. He’d never remember the way you cried over the phone, chanting your name over and over until the line went dead. It was never going to work. You cursed yourself for thinking otherwise at any point.

“Y/n, I don’t want to forget you,” his eyes glistened with tears, and your heart wrenched in your chest at the sight. There was no way you could do this to him again, or go through this. This was the last time.

“You won’t care as long as you don’t remember again,” you said solemnly, hating how your words sounded so cold, “I won’t come back.” He ran his hand through his hair in frustration, turning towards the sea with a helpless expression.

“Please, we can just take up where we left off. Can’t we?”

You shake your head, “I’m sorry, I just can’t. I should have let you go. I was being selfish and I’m sorry. I’ve just never met anyone like you before.” Your voice became quiet, the waves overpowering you.

“I think I’m in love with you though,” Doyoung said restlessly, and his words pierced through your chest. The waves became louder and you felt the splash of water as it nipped at your ankles. He looked so lovely in the moonlight, his features soft despite how distressed he was. Your heart ached at how much you would miss him.

“I can’t do this anymore. I won’t.” Your tears escaped you and you hugged him so tightly as though he would disappear at any moment. He kissed you again, though with such intensity you became dizzy, as though he was trying to convey all he had to you. When he lead you to the ridge of the sand, you let him. You let his hands explore your body, feeling the crackle of electricity running through you. You let him make love to you right there on the sand, for the first and last time. And it was both poignant and devastating, the only way you could say goodbye.

The next day, you didn’t see him or speak to him. You had already deleted his contact from your phone, ready to brace yourself for the pungent remorse. You tried not to think about how many times he would try calling you, how he must hate himself for being the reason it would never move past what it already was. It was all just too bittersweet.

As you packed your things the morning after, you took a deep breath of the salty air spilling from your window. You thought of your apartment waiting for you, your new life just beginning. It was something you so desperately wished you could share with him. But this place was a limbo, never changing, and he was another part of that. Though it broke your heart to admit it.

On your way to the car, you saw Doyoung’s soft black hair from down the sidewalk. You wanted to call out to him, but you were afraid he had already forgotten. There was still a bad taste in your mouth for leaving things like this, but it was the best you could do. Though you would be erased from this place, you would keep the memories alive in you. You were afraid of finally accepting what was never meant for you, but you could never, ever forget him. You knew the most beautiful things in life were too quick to vanish. And he was certainly beautiful.

[aroworlds]

When Quiver Meets Quill, Part One

Alida Quill is just fine spending hir holidays alone with a book if it means freedom from hir family's continued expectation to court and wed. When hir co-worker Ede sets hir up with a friend and won't take no for an answer, Alida plots an extravagant, public refusal scene to show everyone once and for all that ze will not date. Ever.

Ze doesn't expect to meet Antonius Quiver, a man with his own abrupt, startling declarations on the subject of romance.

It isn't courting if he schemes with hir to pay back Ede ... is it?

Contains: One autistic, aromantic organiser extraordinaire armed with coloured ink; one autistic, aromantic officer a little too prone to interrupting; and an allistic friend in want of better ways to go about introductions.

Content Advisory: Aromantic characters pressed into dating along with casual references to general amatonormativity and ableism.

Length: 2, 261 words (part one of two).

Note: Posted for @aggressivelyarospec​‘s AggressivelyArospectacular 2019.

I don’t date, court, woo or pay suit to anyone.

“Do you ever do anything but work, write and read?” Ede Thimble leans across the counter and stares at Alida with intent brown eyes, ignoring the crate of straw-packed ink bottles at her feet. Ten minutes ago, she offered to shelve them. “You come here, you spend the day looking things up and writing things down, and then you go home and do the same!” She sighs before waving her arms and the trailing sleeves of her dress with extravagant enthusiasm. “Yesterday was a holiday! You could have spent it dancing, drinking or gaming! Anything involving another person!”

Alida Quill sets down hir pencil, working to hold back a frown. Hir family owns the business—the name Quill is a byword in Elsten for fine stationery—but as the youngest of the three Quill siblings, hir thoughts on matters of hiring go ignored.

Did Jan select Ede because her inquisitiveness gets under Alida’s skin?

“I didn’t just read. I went to morning service, I baked...”

Spiced apple cakes, the sultanas conveniently “forgotten”. After which ze curled up by the fire, book in hand, and spent a glorious, undisturbed afternoon flipping through a collection of fairy tales for hir catalogue of stories that don’t end in marriage. Hir siblings and their wives patronised dance halls and gaming houses, granting Alida a rare half day with nobody to annoy hir about avoiding friends and family.

“Temple!” Ede rolls her eyes and leans against the glass counter, putting fingerprints over a surface Alida just finished polishing. “You’re not even pious! Do you go anywhere not home, here or services—”

The door opens, admitting a blast of chill air and a pair of damp student mages in brown robes, and Alida grits hir teeth at the thud as the taller lets it slam closed. Both carry empty string bags and a folded piece of cream paper—good cotton rag watermarked with the Academy’s crossed-wand seal. Why the Academy wastes expensive paper on yearly materials lists, ze’ll never know.

Ede straightens and gifts the students her warmest smile. “Good morning, sirs! I see you’re looking to get ahead of the winter’s commencement class. Smart! Can I first tempt you with our newest brushes, or would you prefer me to work through your lists?”

Alida permits hirself a sigh of relief and returns to inventorying the shelf of journals and ledgers.

Ze considers Ede no small trial, between her questions and a lackadaisical attitude to cleanliness. Yet Ede’s ability to charm and flatter, a gift Alida doesn’t wish to possess, frees hir to manage stock orders, shelving and the accounts book. Ze answers questions and handles sales when needed, but Alida prefers to leave the art of convincing customers to Ede and Jette. As if either will think to dust the shelf or turn the bottles labels-outwards when displaying!

By the time Ede sends the students back out into the weather, bulging parcels wrapped in spelled wood-pulp paper, Alida stands on a stool behind the counter, positioning the last of the new inks. Ze doesn’t know how to answer people asking, for the umpteenth time, about hir prospects; ze always knows how many nibs, pens and brushes are contained within the store’s array of redwood drawers and shelves. Hir hands give the glass counters their sparkle, the wood its gleaming richness, the leather chairs by the window their waxy softness and scent. Ze laid the fire warming the shop against the cold outside. What’s wrong with finding contentment in hir work? Why isn’t this a worthy life, hir days spent in labour enough for bed, food, clothing and a reasonable number of books?

Alida wonders, not for the first time, if ze should have tried to pretend belief and gender enough to join the Sisterhood.

“Rain!” Ede declares in the smug tones of a woman who charged an extra ten cents for the protective paper. That fewer people dare the streets in a worsening squall doesn’t diminish her joy; she claps her hands, swathes of blue wool and white lace shrouding her fingers. “I love when I can make rich mages pay for something extra!”

Alida takes up hir duster, steps down off the stool, doesn’t fall when hir toes catch the hem of hir skirt and moves to hir nook by the counter. Hir small desk, hidden from customers by a display case of envelopes, holds a ledger, a brass cup of pencils, a wad of cat fur and a tin of wax polish above a drawer that doesn’t quite close. Spell more wrapping paper sheets, ze writes at the bottom of the day’s list, nodding at Ede so she doesn’t think herself ignored. “Not all the students are rich. The Academy is expensive, but that doesn’t mean some people don’t save up. Or that those people can afford to replace a soaked journal.”

Hir parents sent hir, back when the family thought Alida to make something grander of hir life through magic.

“They’re richer than me.” Ede sighs again; Alida represses the urge to mention that Jette pays Ede wage enough to support her mother and fund a penchant for lace. “I tell you what—I’ve got a friend who makes those annoying corrections, and I can’t get his nose out of the newspaper, either. I bet you two’d get on like anything. Instead of temple and reading, how about I introduce you next Endday lunch?”

Alida twists the folds of hir skirt through hir white fingers, watching the wind hurl rain against the front windowpane. Didn’t Ede understand Alida the first time ze explained this? “I don’t date, court, woo or pay suit to anyone.”

“You’re just like Antonius, Alida. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before now!” Ede opens her mouth as the door admits a regular gentlewoman in a long coat, a sopping newspaper held above her head in a vain attempt to protect her dyed suede. “Good morning, good sir! Such dreadful weather out, and so early in the season! Should I help you now, or would you like to first stand before the fireplace a minute?”

Wet newspaper, coat and boots, along with the door the customer struggles to close, create puddles enough that Alida darts into the stockroom for a mop and bucket.

Please, ze prays as ze works the mop over the floorboards, let Ede forget this plan as easily as she forgot about the crate of ink bottles.

***

“You need to meet Antonius,” Ede says the next morning, entering the shop without a greeting or by-your-leave while Alida places two small logs above the flaming kindling in the fireplace. “My cousin brought him around last night, and I swear he said five words—and most of those were contradictions! Things he read about!”

Alida takes the poker and shifts one of the logs to get more air underneath, biting hir lip. If this Antonius discussed books or articles, he likely said more than five words.

“See? You’d get on like ducks on a pond!” Ede bustles towards the fire, peeling her gloves off her hands and tucking them into her belt before unbuttoning her cloak and hanging it on the hook beside Alida’s. “Like priestesses in the vestiary!”

“Like priestesses in a room for storing clothes?” Alida asks, returning the poker to the rack beside the grate. Is this an absurd double-entendre? If so, why the vestiary? Surely there’s better places for those goings-on than the religious equivalent of a cloakroom? “And what did I say to make you think that?”

“You had that look where you’re bursting to correct me.” Ede sighs and turns to warm her back, hiking up her skirts and inching as close to the fire as is safe. “You think I don’t know that look? Alida, you must meet Antonius. He’s perfect for you.”

Ze glances around the shop in search of distraction. The counter gleams, the table with scrap for testing pens sits cleared of yesterday’s samples and the shop cat, Miep, lies asleep on the armchair closest to the fire. The floor doesn’t look dirty, but Alida will sweep while Ede double-checks the paper inventory. That should redirect her from this horrible conversation.

“I don’t date, court, woo—”

“I know! Please, Alida, please. Just once.” Ede crooks her head, fluttering her long eyelashes. She’s pretty in an artistic, skilful way, never in want of admirers: this morning she pinned her myriad black braids into labyrinthine coils and knots adorned with white lace and ribbon. “You need to talk to people! Do something on a holiday that isn’t a book!”

Alida shaves hir brown hair to avoid prolonged morning ablutions. Ze’s always wondered, but never dared ask, how early Ede rises to groom, dress, eat and walk the ten blocks along the Wine Canal.

“You’re people!” Alida jerks hir hands in frustration. “This is talking!”

“Talking talking. Talking because you want to, because it’s fun, not because we’re stuck in a shop together six days a week. Please.” Ede drops her skirts, setting thick layers of wool and cotton to rustling, and turns to face Alida, her narrow hands outstretched. The fire gifts the underside of her dark fingers, protruding from their wreaths of lace, a rich, reddish shine. “Antonius needs someone, and you need someone. You’d get on so perfectly if you wet blankets dried out enough to try!”

“I don’t—”

“Think about it. Please!” Ede whirls away from the fire and heads to the counter, perhaps surmising that she’s pushed Alida past general annoyance into I-can’t-bear-to-look-at-you anger. “Do you want me to wipe the counters?”

Alida, fighting to calm hir voice, darts into the stockroom for the broom. “No. I need you to double-check my counts on the paper inventory. All of them.”

Even Ede’s strangled curse isn’t enough to make Alida feel pleasure in revenge—not after the stabbing betrayal of one more person failing to understand hir.

***

Over the next three days, Ede finds a wealth of excuses to mention her cousin’s cousin. He was top in penmanship at school, is an amateur historian, and once rescued a drowning kitten. Alida has to admit, past Ede’s tendency to deliver criticism as an enticement, that Antonius sounds more interesting than most. Similarity holds no meaning, however, when one partner wants what the other can’t offer. If Ede can’t accept Alida, how will anyone else?

“Please, Alida!” Ede leans over the desk, buttoning her green cloak. “Just talk with him! Just once!”

Alida, counting out the cashbox and checking the total against the day’s purchases while Miep rubs his grey cheek against hir boot, looks up, tired. If ze agrees, Ede will have learnt that she can badger Alida into anything with enough time and repetition. Just the thought makes hir shudder, given Alida’s struggle to correct that error with hir siblings.

“If you don’t like him or never want to see him again, I won’t say a word. Not one. Just once. Endday lunch. By the time we walk there and back, it won’t even be an hour!”

“Ede—”

Ede looks right at Alida, her brow furrowed, her hands fisted and raised to her chin in a gesture resembling praying or begging. “Meet him once and I’ll never ask anything of you again. And I’ll come early and shovel the ash from the fireplace for the next week.”

Miep yowls, looking up at Alida. Every evening, ze checks the books, counts out the money and feeds the cat, in that order. Never has their routine stopped Miep from demanding that Alida disregard human tasks in favour of his fish or mince.

“You’re supposed to also catch mice,” ze mutters. A cat’s badgering bears no unexpected consequences. Alida need not struggle to realise what will happen if ze feeds Miep when he requests. Acquiescing to Ede, though? Meeting someone Alida doesn’t know and can’t predict?

In the shop, strangers rarely deviate from standard forms of communication and intent. They ask questions about stock, prices, quality, delivery. At temple, services provide memorisable, rote shapes of interaction. Outside those worlds, where people new to hir can and do say anything? Ede, Jan and Jette desire the unexpected; Alida doesn’t understand why.

“Alida!” Ede waves her hand in front of Alida’s face. “Don’t just ignore me!”

Can ze agree in a way that means Ede won’t again harass hir? A public refusal, perhaps? A bold, dramatic declaration of Alida’s unwillingness to engage in romance, in front of Ede and this Antonius? One announced in such a way that embarrassment will keep Ede from thinking Alida suitable for anyone? Word will come back to hir siblings, but they already think Alida prone to shameful outbursts. Why not?

Alida writes down hir last total, releases a sigh of relief at the matching numbers and carefully returns the stacks of coins to the box. “Never ask anything of me again and shovel the ash for a fortnight.”

Miep meows as the lid clicks shut, butting his head against Alida’s skirts.

Ede bounces upright in a cascade of fabric, her sleeves flapping underneath her cloak. “Done! By blood and name and craft! Oh—please wear your blue, white and red skirt tomorrow! And your red coat with the long tails and brass buttons! And your good cloak with the satin lining, because the hood looks so pretty with your eyes, and...”

Alida will feed the cat and lock the shop behind Ede, but before ze goes go home, ze has some planning to do.

And a few signs to make in coloured inks.

[ranger-report]

Thoughts On: HERETIC II (1998)

Just over one year after the release of Hexen II, Raven Software published the final game in their dark fantasy series. Set apart from the Serpent Rider Trilogy of Heretic./Hexen/Hexen II, Heretic II told the tale of Corvus Corax, the elven hero of the first Heretic, and his journey to return home after years of wandering the Outer Worlds. See, defeating one of the Serpent Riders resulted in his being thrown far far away from his origin world of Parthoris, and left to his own devices, he had a bit of a time attempting to make his way back. Marking the first time in the series that id Software had no involvement in the release of the game save for providing the modified id tech 2 engine (AKA the Quake 2 engine), this release was published by Activision under their purview. Moving in the direction of a third-person adventure with first-person shooter mechanics, Raven made it clear that they were going to take inspiration from wherever they could, including a popular little title called Tomb Raider. While garnering favorable reviews, Heretic II would ultimately be lost in the holiday shuffle of PC gaming as it had the unfortunate circumstance to be released one week after a particularly groundbreaking first-person shooter from Valve Software. You may have heard of it: Half-Life. As a result of the unfortunate coincidence and the lackluster response from fans due to the series changes, Heretic II was a commercial flop. But, with all that said, how does Heretic II stack in the lineup of the series it brings to a conclusion? And why has there been no further entries in the series since?

To begin with, the decision to make Heretic II a third person adventure was controversial amongst fans of the series. Yes, the style was popular and gaining traction, and Raven was nothing if not innovators, so the decision to a degree made sense. Why not take their dark fantasy world and put it through the wringer, especially since the main plot of the first three games was now over? Going into this title, I knew I was in for an adjustment period, but I had no idea it would be as shocking as it was. Slow, unintuitive camera movement coupled with clunky, lackluster controls make the game much more of a chore to play than the original games. Gone is the fast-paced combat, replaced with deliberately paced enemy encounters. Picking up heavily on the Tomb Raider inspiration, Corvus can leap, flip, roll, and somersault his way around the maps. Points for inspiration. But man’s -- er, elf’s -- reach exceeds his grasp, and while this sounds well and good on paper, molasses-like reaction times feel more like directing Corvus through waist-high water instead of the nimble acrobatics the game shoots for. Animations, graphics, sound design, everything on a technical level is top notch stuff. Corvus himself has a modeled backbone to allow for more fluid animations, shown off in his running, fighting, and even idle cycles. It’s impressive stuff that the gameplay just can’t seem to live up to on an engaging level. Heretic II feels like an attempt to return to the form of the first Heretic, but through the lens of a team who’s never played the first one. Rather than using different types of mana for ammunition, green mana is reserved for offensive spells, blue mana for defensive spells, and most weapons have unique ammunition types. Gone, too, is the inventory system of carrying items and objects for future use; instead, Corvus automatically uses any health or magic pickups he comes across, something which is bolstered by shrines which either completely refill mana, health, or armor points. When it comes to story, one must wonder which direction the intent was headed. Perhaps the original vision of Hecatomb was to come full circle with Corvus and face the final Serpent Rider after being outcast from the realms. The scattershot nature of the plot here doesn’t seem to suggest it, however.

As Corvus progresses, he returns to his home of Parthoris to discover a strange disease has taken over the land, changing the elves into diseased, violent versions of themselves. After being attacked, Corvus himself is infected, initiating his quest to discover a cure, and stop the mad magus Morcalavin. On an interesting note, it turns out that Morcalavin has collected the Seven Tomes of Power to aid him in magic use, but one of the Tomes is a fake and is the cause of the infection -- Corvus has been carrying the seventh Tome with him since Heretic. A bit of revisionist history considering that Tomes of Power have been consumable items since Heretic, and there were many more than seven. Noting this change to lore, Corvus simply needs to replace the fake Tome with the true one, and that should reverse Morcalavin’s corrupted power. Another noteworthy change is that the hub system of the previous games is also gone, replaced with a similar map progression to Heretic. Some maps are linear exercises in traveling from start to finish, others require moving about the many layers of the map to collect and bring together keys and objects. This is one of the largest departures from the previous games -- this story is far more intimate, more structured, more character-driven with cutscenes, dialogue, worldbuilding not seen in prior entries. Before, we were simply nameless warriors moving through dark fantasy worlds, kicking ass, taking names, killing gods and monsters alike. Here, we get to know one of said warriors by name and history. Yes, before now, Corvus was never actually named in his first appearance. He was simply “The Heretic” which was FAR more badass, although Corvus Corax is up there on the list of great fantasy names with ease. But, rather than a ride, this game wants to tell a story, watering down the experience. Whether Raven can tell a good story in other games is besides the point; here, the slipshod nature of the shoestring story attempting to provide a bit more theatricality feels tacked on, an oddity. Sure, perhaps the evolutionary nature of progression is where Raven felt the need to provide an actual factual story with their action game, also again from the inspiration of Tomb Raider slipping in, but it doesn’t hit the mark, nor age well in particular. Here we can see the beginnings of action games moving forward out of simple exercises in running and shooting, but telling stories with cinematic flair. Half-Life did the same, but with striking results, and far less awkward dialogue. And then, furthering the frustratingly bland story is the abrupt ending, in which the villain is cleansed of his corruption and ascends to godhood the way he intended, but leaving behind his power to Corvus in order to protect the world. So the bad guy....wins? But has become a good guy?

So, the question must be asked: what happened? Where Hexen II showed little of the changes that Raven were forced to make when new owner Activision mandated that they split the Heretic and Hexen series into separate entities, this game bears the unfortunate weight of that departure. As previously mentioned, the planned third game in the Serpent Rider Trilogy, Hecatomb, was divided into two games post-mandate, the ideas of which also went in two separate directions. John Romero has made frequent commentary in the past about the separation of the games as products vs a proper trilogy. He’d been involved with Hecatomb until his departure from id Software, which was also around the time that Raven was purchased by Activision. The publishing giant, he notes, split up the Raven team who had worked on the Heretic/Hexen games, further increasing the divide of the products. According to one of his accounts, one team worked on all three Serpent Rider games before the split, at which point that team was divided amongst the three in-house developing teams that already existed. While Brian Raffel, the mind behind the game series, was present and active on Heretic II, not everyone who’d put their passion into the rest of the series was there for the creation of this game. This shows in the final product. 

With that in mind, it seems a little unfair to judge this game as harshly as I am. Perhaps we should be examining it, looking at the interesting bit of gaming history it represents. It marks a point in time where Raven, having experienced fair success on their own through working with technology giant id Software and other publishers, has become a corporate-owned entity. This is, in fact, the first game by Raven to be published exclusively by Activision. Eventually, Raven Software would be conscripted by Activision into the Holy Trinity of Call of Duty developers, rotating in and out making new COD games so they can come out yearly. What legacy, then, does this particular game leave? There is a mark here, a brand, a scar, a sign of things to come. Mandates from above demanding two franchises instead of one, an ironic analogy of the division of Raven from id Software -- Heretic II may have been published and distributed exclusively by Activision, but id Software published the previous games, and held publishing rights to those games. Meanwhile, the transfer of copyright went to Activision, putting future games into a pickle. Activision no doubt has little interest in creating new games in a series when they can’t make money from previous entries. Furthering problems is that Heretic II does not exist in digital format, probably again due to Activision unable to profit from sales of the prior games; a casual copyright search for Heretic II in the public record comes up with zero results, effectively placing the game as abandonware. With Raven owned by Activision, and id owned by Bethesda (formerly Zenimax), establishing cooperation between the two giants may seem difficult to impossible at this point.

What a shame for the final entry in what began as such a promising series to end limping across the finish line. In my research I found quite a few people who were glowing with nostalgic praise for Heretic II, and why not? In the opening level of Silverspring, we’re greeted with a run down town disparaged by the rampant virus. Flies zip back and forth and Corvus slaps his neck to be rid of them; children cry in the distance, dripping water echoing reminds of the empty nature of this place. All the environments in the game are rife with audio and visual treats that literally drip with atmosphere and character. There is a strange amount of life here, in a living world that feels interesting and worth exploring. But the controls and story fall flat, alongside the abysmal decision to make the game a third person adventure instead of the first person shooters of the previous entries. Whether or not we’ll ever see a proper new entry into the Heretic/Hexen world is, unfortunately, something that remains to be seen. Spiritual successors, such as AMID EVIL and the upcoming Graven reap the fields which were sown of Hexen’s seeds. Activision and Bethesda may never see eye to eye on the subject of reviving Heretic or Hexen or maybe even the fabled Hecatomb, but one thing is clear: regardless of the corporate greed which aborted the lifespan of this wonderful series, the first three games of this series live on as passionate exercises in dark fantasy, examples of how to push the FPS genre forward while remaining firmly grounded in what makes it work. Heretic II is the Crystal Skull of this series -- many will find themselves better off forgetting it ever happened. Activision certainly has. And again, how ironic is it, that the very mandate which they laid down in order to spawn new sequels and twin franchises led to the death of them.