#Legacy and possessions

[alexwesterman]

I've always been fascinated whether meaning travels with objects through time.

[turtledudeextreme16]

Literally every ninjago season in a nutshell 💀

Credit to original poster (not sure who)

[potatounicoorn]

The fact we grew up along side him makes me emotional every single time.

[limonnitsa]

lda sees where it's coming 😵‍💫

I had a silly brainrot in my head based on @choccy-milky 's Seb and my HC one bc "oh so ENTP and ESTP in one room, what can be so bad about it?" And, well, EVERYTHING

Both troublemakers, both don't respect any authority in general, but the first one is good at understanding abstract conceptions, the second one's still smart but more practice-oriented and has a "social butterfly" energy.

They're a mess...

[the-way-astray]

i genuinely cannot think of a moment pre-legacy where fitz ever displayed jealousy over sophie

[beanstroni]

Okay so the "Damian volunteers at a hospital" thing is going around and I saw a post about how happy it would make Alfred and I just.

No.

It would not make Alfred happy.

It would crush him.

He would tell Damian he was proud.

And that night he would sit down on his bed. (In his outside clothes!)

Pull the flask from under his pillow.

Tap it up against the photo on his nightstand of the first black-haired blue-eyed boy who had kept him up until the wee hours of the night asking for a plate of sandwiches.

The first boy who had come home with blood on his clothes and a broken heart and cried on Alfred's shoulder when he lost a patient.

The first boy who looked at the man equal to him in age but greater in composure (an act , an act, it was all a role to play) and fell apart in the safety he found in gloved hands holding onto his shoulders.

The boy he had to convince to turn back around and go ASK HER PROPERLY when he came in distraught but delighted over Martha's proposal to him.

The boy who had been his friend and more, his brother.

The boy who had brought HIS son in, and placed him in his arms, saying quietly, "I don't know what to do, Martha needs sleep and you always calm me down when it's this late..."

Alfred would tap his flask to Thomas' picture, down the contents, and sigh.

"When will I learn how to keep my boys away from sorrow? It's all you and your big heart's fault, you know, Thom. You started this path."

The next day, the manor will wake to find a note - "Do try to leave my kitchen in one piece," and "don't touch the crock pot," "yes, that includes lifting the lid for 'just a peek.'" Alfred is back by dinner. He mans the comms, patches them up, and sends them to bed.

When Damian makes it upstairs, he finds two things:

- a skeleton in a bowler hat, plaque denoting "Anonymous Donor, given to Thomas Wayne" (when he flips the plaque over, "Falcone" is found in the cipher on the back, written in his grandmother's pen)

- a labcoat, freshly pressed, with no identifying marks until he slips it on to find patches of the Wayne crest in the cuffs. One hand makes its way to the pocket, where a strong hand has written in the script that Damian has come to learn means safety and love and harbor, "This was your grandfather's favorite lab coat. He found the reminder of who he was and who he had to return home to helpful. May it serve the same for you, dear boy."

The next day, there is no comment from either party.

But that night, when Alfred returns to his own quarters, there is a new frame on his nightstand. An embellished "P" in charcoal. "Who we come home to." Lettered precisely underneath.

[ps-cactus]

No Voices But Ours | HL oneshot

5,400 words | also posted on AO3 and Wattpad Ominis x f!MC, & Sebastian (unnamed MC, no appearance descriptions)

Thank you, the ever-amazing beta @accio-bagel

Tags and TWs: Major Character Death, Post-Canon (10 years later), Haunted House Vibes, Thriller, Mystery, Unreliable Narrator, POV Multiple, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Survivor’s Guilt, Redemption, Tragic Love, Tragic Friendship, Hallucinations, Implied Suicidal Thoughts, Found Family But Also Lost Family, Depressive Themes, Nightmares.

Summary / Preview:

If the past calls, can you ever ignore it? Should you run—or listen closer?

Ominis is right, of course. Sebastian Sallow died months ago, and she saw it happen. He’s gone. Completely gone, because this is certainly not a ghost. She recalls clearly from Hogwarts: ghosts are visible, faintly tangible, capable of conversation, and some even of heated discussions. Whatever voices reach her, whether in dreams or waking hours, they don’t truly exist. It’s nothing more than something perfectly normal that comes with grief—the wish that he were still alive. ... Tonight, he receives another reminder that it's not even a ghost. He knows what ghosts look like and how they behave... Sebastian crouches down but makes no effort to pick up the book. Resting his palm against the polished wooden floorboards, he feels this again. The faint, rhythmic pulses, like the ghost of a heartbeat. After all this time, he knows the pattern—once the rhythm fades, all the odd sounds fall silent too. Not forever, no, but for a while at least. Usually, it fades fast. And it's fading already. Good.

“Are you hearing him again?”

Familiar hands grip her shoulders firmly, bringing her back from the depths of sleep. They also force away a lingering echo of her own scream that still rings in her head. She lets go of the wall where she had probably instinctively clung to escape the familiar rhythmic pulses coursing through every surface in moments like this.

“Yeah,” she answers, feeling the scratch in her throat, and hastily adds, “I know. Just a dream.”

Ominis brushes a strand of hair from her forehead, and she knows he’s using the gesture to feel for fever. She watches his face, bathed in pale moonlight, and his eyes, where this light glimmers in fleeting reflections. It keeps her from acknowledging the never-ending shadowy hallway looming behind him. At night, this house always seems oppressively enormous.

“Just a dream,” Ominis reassures her, placing a light kiss on her forehead. The suffocating dread slowly fades, and sleep starts pulling at her again.

Ominis is right, of course. Sebastian Sallow died months ago, and she saw it happen. He’s gone. Completely gone, because this is certainly not a ghost. She recalls clearly from Hogwarts: ghosts are visible, faintly tangible, capable of conversation, and some even of heated discussions.

Whatever voices reach her, whether in dreams or waking hours, they don’t truly exist. It’s nothing more than something perfectly normal that comes with grief—the wish that he were still alive.

x

Sebastian doesn’t move, hardly even breathes, standing barefoot in the dark corridor. The moonlight carves a pale path beneath him. The screams have faded. Except for the ones that will never leave his head, of course. But in his mind, that same voice isn’t screaming. It’s casting spells. Calling his name sometimes. Spitting out curses occasionally.

But here, it’s always the same—a scream of fear, a scream of pain. He holds back from speaking to that voice again. Maybe there’s no voice at all. Maybe it’s just this old house driving him mad. Tonight, he receives another reminder that it's not even a ghost. He knows what ghosts look like and how they behave. This is a haunting punishment.

He checks a few unused rooms, just in case—filled with nothing but silence, as expected. 

Of course. He’s just going mad, plain and simple. Serves him right.

He leaves without another glance back, retracing his steps toward the bathroom.

x

The trees stand bare, having surrendered into an early slumber even before winter’s touch, yet she always finds comfort in strolling through the garden. Especially as soft strains of a piano drift through the air from a slightly open window. 

She is careful enough not to glance toward the far end of the grounds, taking an early turn to avoid the white tombstone among the old oak’s fallen leaves. Clutching the book she failed to concentrate on to her chest, she lifts her head, absentmindedly looking for the seagulls in the silent sky, but the island’s autumn fog is thick as wool, even at noon.

Lunch passes soon, as unremarkable as so many that came before. The house-elf follows every request, preparing the meals exactly to their liking, but they all taste like nothing to her. Just like the familiar groans of the floorboards, the whispers of the drafts in the old house are simply background details she doesn't even notice anymore.

But her cup slips from her fingers, rolling on the table and sloshing its remaining tea the moment she hears a sharp, furious thud from the room above.

x

Sebastian brushes the book off the table. Useless. Worse still, he can’t even leave to search for something more useful on his own, depending instead on booksellers he barely trusts.

But there is always this fear whispering to him: what if, by leaving, he risks the protective spells faltering or vanishing altogether? He doesn't trust his own magic anymore. Whatever that risk is, it isn’t one he can take. He has to finish what he started. No one must find him before that. He won’t be able to explain. No one could ever understand.

He barely understands himself these days. Least of all can he grasp what truly happened after she used the spell meant to rid them of the relic for good. But he just blacked out—no other term fits better. When he regained consciousness again, it was long past the moment it mattered.

Maybe the confusion goes back even further, because he still has no explanation how the relic found its way back to him after almost a decade.

He hadn’t looked for it, of course. That much was certain. The moment he saw it again, he knew only that it had to be destroyed. He had the audacity to ask his friends for help without having any semblance of  a plan. What a fool. How dare he even call them friends now?

x

She quickly says, "There's something upstairs," even though Ominis hasn't yet asked. He’s just frozen, worried, across from her at the table. “Something fell. Dusky, see what’s going on up there.”

The house-elf, having already cleaned up the tea from the table with practiced efficiency, nods and disappears with a sharp pop. 

x

A muffled pop, both remote and unnervingly near, makes Sebastian turn to the middle of the room. Nothing. 

A second noise, like the lingering reverberation of the first, makes him blink and peer at the empty space. Still nothing. Not a shadow, not a whisper. Not a ghost.

He almost wishes it were just a ghost. He wonders if just a ghost would even bother speaking to him. Or would it simply linger, observing in silence, with no words to give? Would it despise him? Or pity him?

He’d take hatred over pity any day.

x

“Nothing?” she asks sceptically, irritation rising as the elf shrugs and shakes his head. She knows he returned too fast. She sees he’s scared. “Are you lying?”

His frantic head-shaking intensifies, eyes flickering in panic for a moment before he dashes from the room.

“House-elves can’t lie,” Ominis notes calmly.

“Wait!”

The elf doesn’t stop, his retreating steps disappearing down the hall toward the kitchen. She turns sharply toward Ominis.

“House-elves can’t disobey, either.”

x

Sebastian crouches down but makes no effort to pick up the book. Resting his palm against the polished wooden floorboards, he feels this again. The faint, rhythmic pulses, like the ghost of a heartbeat. After all this time, he knows the pattern—once the rhythm fades, all the odd sounds fall silent too. Not forever, no, but for a while at least. Usually, it fades fast. And it's fading already. Good.

He frowns at the book on the floor before eventually placing it back on the table, where there’s still a little space left among all the glasses and plates.

Beneath the papers, Sebastian notices an envelope resting at the very edge of the table. This one holds nothing but more grief and pain. So be it.

He tugs at the corner of a letter a little. The recipient’s name stings his mind. His own handwriting looks foreign. It’s the last letter he ever sent here. He never should have written it. Even if it had been the last thing he ever did, he should have handled it alone. 

Well, it doesn’t matter anymore, does it? That’s exactly how it will be now. Alone as he is, and with this probably being the last thing he ever does, he will see the relic destroyed. There are already a few ideas he’s considered. For instance…

A gust of wind scatters some papers from the table along with that letter, making Sebastian glance up, noticing the seagulls flying by again, their cries unusually loud today. With an annoyed flick of his wand, the window snaps shut, and the glass rattles in protest.

x

“...Or suddenly go mute! But all of this—” Her voice rises, frustration mounting with every syllable of a conversation they’ve already had too many times—until she stops. “Did you hear that?” 

Ominis doesn’t answer, focusing instead on making a genuine effort to understand, just as he does every single time she hears something he does not. As usual, for him, there’s only silence. Her chair screeches against the floor right before she darts past him out of the room. Soon, her hurried footsteps reach the top of the stairs.

Ominis hesitates before going after her. Whatever these ‘sounds’ are, they terribly exhaust her. She doesn’t know how to stop them or make some sense of them, and he has no idea how to help. All ever since that day.

He still remembers the rage that consumed him—his entire being, the whole world at once—when Sebastian, after ten years of a perfectly decent life, claimed that the relic had simply turned up in his house. How convenient, Ominis said then, because it was agonising to realise that every bit of faith he had in his friend’s redemption had been misplaced. 

However, she had always been the one willing to trust people, to believe in them. It’s because of her he agreed to listen to Sebastian at all. Now her faith is likely the reason she still can’t accept how truly catastrophic his mistake had been and why she can’t let it go. 

When Ominis finally follows her into the room, she comes to him at once. He searches for any disturbance, any inconsistency in the signals from his wand—but there’s nothing. Nothing but silence and stillness.

“There’s nothing.” Her voice comes out quiet, almost shaking, just like her hands. “I don’t know… Must have imagined it. Sorry.”

“No, don’t be,” he squeezes her hand slightly, repeating the simple words that still seem to help them both. “It’s alright. It’s an old house; I used to hear things here all the time. It’ll pass.”

Later that night, Ominis leans over a sink in a bathroom far from their bedroom, gripping the porcelain with both hands. The rush of water fills the silence around him.

Yes, he still remembers that all-consuming rage. But the rage and anger are long gone. Ominis has had no will for anger in a long time. The little strength he does still have, he hoards for forgiveness but never quite reaches it. If there’s one thing he has in excess, it’s pain—so much that, deep down, he knows exactly what she feels, far better than he cares to admit.

Each time he jolts awake from that nightmare, detailed as ever, Ominis edges closer to acknowledging what she had always seemed to know. That the person coming to their house that day wasn’t a reckless teenager, but a man genuinely terrified of something he wanted to but couldn’t explain. Terrified of what came true after all.

Odd enough, Sebastian’s death had never once appeared in his nightmare. The final moment is never about him at all. And her dream is the exact same. There are moments when Ominis almost speaks aloud the theory forming in his mind. He may not hear voices or strange sounds, but he feels the way the silence here lingers unnaturally. It makes every room feel emptier than it should, stretching the time even. Or the way the fire in the hearth loses its warmth the more attention he gives it. The simple yet so complicated theory. Almost impossible. Rather insane.

“No. This is ridiculous,” Ominis murmurs, shutting the tap off. He presses his hands, insufficiently cooled by the water, against his face. Wrapped up in his own mind on this troubled midnight, he fails to notice that the tap seals itself shut, ceasing its quiet dripping.

x

Sebastian twists the tap tighter and hurriedly returns to his usual spot—the blanket spread out on the bathroom floor. Thick enough that he can’t feel the subtle impulses beneath him, though he knows, without a doubt, that they’ve started the moment the tap started dripping by itself. 

He sleeps right here often because the space is just small enough not to smother him with its hollowness and because, until now, this was the only place where they had never reached him. He always hears them from afar, from other rooms, but never here. 

Although now he would swear on anything, he just heard Ominis’ voice right beside him.

He isn’t afraid of such things anymore. He doesn’t even indulge in these imagined voices, either, weaving the illusion that he was never at fault at all. But lately a mere voice seems a rarity, because what he hears more often is the scream. And it gets closer. Just like the voice was right here in this room. As though any semblance of peace is vanishing from his reach completely.

x

“You’re gone… you’re not real… you’re gone…”

She rushes through the garden, her tears sliding off her cheeks just as fast. This time, she doesn’t turn away from that path. She is barely awake from yet another dream that returned the terrible, aching thoughts. 

She doesn’t even wait for Ominis to come back, so desperate is the need to see the tombstone again, to remind herself of reality, of acceptance, and—please—just calm down.

It’s too late to change anything. She must live on. Must focus on the future, or at least the present. Anything but the past. 

She steps closer to the white stone standing out in the darkness and wipes off the soggy leaves clinging to it. Her fingers trace the rough-cut letters briefly before they freeze.  

x

Sebastian hugs his knees closer, still sitting on the bathroom floor. Her voice. The deafening ‘No!’, as distant as it seems resounding straight from within his own head. He senses the faint, rhythmic pulses coming off the floorboards and walls. Stronger than he’s ever felt them. The pain is no longer confined to his chest; his whole body hurts.

He knows what’s doing this to him. Knows it’s punishing him and knows why. But he can’t take it anymore. No matter how—it just needs to be over. He has to act. He has to try. 

As he stands, he keeps his gaze on the door, refusing to acknowledge the mirror. One of the reasons is the grey in his hair. As if he has any right to still be here, growing older, when they will never get the chance.

Determined, he steps into the hallway. 

Each step down the creaky staircase is deliberate, and the grip on his wand is firm. 

All the resolve drains from him as he reaches the entrance to the vast, empty basement. Almost empty. He leans into the cold stone as his breath catches.

Is he really allowed to take another step? Will it let him even try? What if it already knows what he wants?

The house drafts feel much colder than before. He’s barefoot again, clad in only pyjama trousers and a thin shirt, but sweat drenches his skin.

x

As she drops to the ground, the wet leaves beneath her knees smear into mud. Ominis calls her name again and again, but her voice is just as lost as her mind might be. It’s only when he touches her shoulder that she jolts and tries to speak again, unsure, however, she will make any sense at all.

“Th—there…” She chokes out, unable to finish, her eyes locked on the letters on the white stone. “And you… your…” 

Ominis kneels beside her, dropping his wand on the leaves. One arm wraps around her, steadying her trembling body, while the other gently finds her face. 

“Shhh… I’ve got you, shhh… It’s alright.”

That’s when she notices that unlike her, he hasn’t even thrown on a coat. She doesn’t think when she starts to rise, oddly happy there is a reason to leave. She keeps swallowing her tears, trying to say, “It—it’s freezing. Why are you—”

“No, it’s not,” Ominis stops her. There’s tension in his voice, but it carries a quiet steadiness hers lacks. “Feel it. The wind, the ground—they're not cold. Please, just stop and feel.”

The request stuns her for a moment, but she lowers her hand to the damp leaves. Her fingers dig into them, seeking for the earth beneath, searching for a chill that should be there, that must be there—but isn’t.

“How? Why?” Her voice falters as her eyes snap back to the white stone. It doesn’t make any sense. She begs it to be some nonsense. Another nightmare. She finally speaks the words she had meant to, even as each one feels unbearable. “Ominis, the tombstone… It has our initials. Both of ours. Ominis, please… Why?”

“That dream we both have sometimes,” he says, drawing closer, his fingers skimming her cheek again. It hurts him too, to speak, but he can’t keep holding this in. “You had a feeling it was the truth, didn’t you? But something stopped you from saying. Like a word on the tip of your tongue, just out of reach, no matter how hard you try to grasp it, so you let it slip away.”

The truth. 

The truth is somewhere so painfully close.

It is in so many things she keeps both accepting and hopelessly missing. All this time, she had never questioned when their break from work, taken months ago, would end. There were no letters sent or received. No owls for so long. No seagulls in the ever-quiet sky, not once in months. 

And yet, she never questioned it. 

She had turned away from these questions, just as she had turned away from the tombstone, because deep down, she knew too well. Because even though Sebastian’s body and the relic had vanished without a trace, she knows that the stone was more than a memorial and that beneath it, the ground was not empty.

She knows why the nightmare always ends there. 

She understands why it always ends the same way.

x

Another drop of sweat trails along his temple, blending into the single tear streaking down his cheek as Sebastian steps into the basement. He lights a few torches along the walls.

The relic waits, undisturbed, right where he left it. 

A monument to his foolishness. 

Spells are echoing in his head again, desperate, never-ending. 

Slowly, he advances toward the small pyramid on the stone floor, more surprised at each step. It didn't even let him this near that day. 

Blink. A glance to the side—that’s where Ominis was. He was closer, so Sebastian reached for him first, fingers searching for a pulse. He hoped. Listened for breath. Heard nothing. Blink. His eyes dart to the farthest, darkest part of the basement—where she fell. Walking toward her, he knew already. Blink. He turns, just for a moment, toward the door. That’s where a curious house-elf was peeking inside, terrified. 

Sigh.

He raises his wand, aiming directly at the relic. He doesn't know if he could cast the spell or if he could even force out a single word and what might follow. 

He simply wants this all to be over.

x

She once believed that facing some kinds of truth can be painful enough to unravel someone completely. And still, even through the ache, her mind is sharp; it feels clearer than it has in such a long time. To understand, to recognise the truth, is now as effortless to her as drawing breath had once been. A pang of guilt and disappointment in herself stirs inside her—is she really so selfishly determined to deny her own destiny that she chose to believe it had belonged to someone else?

For so long, she had been spiralling, lost between reality and endless illusions, unable to comprehend whatever this is that’s happening to them. But now all her thoughts, both clear and still taking shape, flow down her cheeks in the form of tears… 

No, not quite. They flow onto the fingers that slowly trace her skin.

Ominis is here. Beside her, just as he always has been. Even as she pulled away, as she lost herself, when he had been struggling just as much.

“Ominis, I’m so sorry…” She whispers, leaning on his knee, clutching at the thin fabric of his pyjama trousers. “I’m so sorry…”

“No—Why?” His hand moves carefully as he brushes against a stray strand of her hair near her face before returning to settle beneath her chin. 

“I think… the last thing I remember before everything changed… Is using Ancient Magic. Something went wrong. That must be why we’re both… I’m sorry. I don’t know… Merlin, I just…”

"No, don’t say that," he says firmly, holding her tighter against him. "We made that list of ideas together, didn’t we? We all chose to take the risk. That relic was far more complicated." He breathes in deeply before continuing. "You remember when I said that if it found him, rather than the other way around, it could be worse than anything else?"

She watches as his hand trails down her arm, finding her hand clenched into a fist on his knee. Carefully, he unfurls it, weaving his fingers through hers. 

“I do. It would have meant this relic is so powerful and complex, it may have something like a consciousness of its own…” She looks up at him. “So… you believe him? That he didn’t try to find it again?”

“I truly don’t know. But if both he and the relic are gone, and that means he’s facing it alone somewhere... then I genuinely hope he can overcome it.”

“He loathes himself so much. There’s so much pain inside him. But whatever happened then, I know the relic has no hold over him anymore.” 

Her eyes drift back to the gravestone with six letters on it. It hurts more the more she understands; her mind is flooding with all the realisations she used to suppress. And yet, she still doesn’t fully get it. “You truly haven’t heard anything? Nothing at all? No thuds, no footsteps, no voice?”

“I swear, I didn’t hear anything,” Ominis says, as if regretting that it’s true. “No voices but ours, no footsteps, nothing unusual at all.”

“But you had the same dream as I did?”

“Yes.”

She grips his fingers tighter, and his thumb strokes hers in slow, steady movements. Her mind swirls with thoughts, and though some facts settle easier than others, they wound her just as deeply. 

Sebastian has some bond with the relic because he once wielded it, and she has one because she attempted to destroy it with magic she believed she understood. Could that be the reason she had heard his voice? 

But why—why is Ominis here? And the elf...? What if she is the reason they are all somehow trapped? That would be too cruel. Is there any part of this she can still change? Is there anything left for her to undo at all, or did all the possible moments pass beyond reach?

“What if… maybe this is all just another dream?” She breathes out, pressing her eyes shut, unable to handle the number of questions—some unanswerable, some too painful to even voice.

Ominis says nothing. He simply leans forward, pressing his forehead lightly against hers.

x

Sebastian clenches his teeth so hard it hurts—from sheer anger. Mostly, he is furious at himself. At the foolish fifteen-year-old boy who once decided this damned thing was the answer he needed. 

The relic had changed—there are no Inferi on its edges, it seems smaller, and utterly silent. And he didn’t black out after unleashing magic on it, spell after spell. 

Still, none of it worked.

The only thing left to try is the spell he had used the first thing back then. The relic had changed so much in the months. Maybe this time, it will work. 

Anyway—

He is so done he’s ready to tear the whole world down and himself afterwards just to make it all end. He takes a deep breath, his wand already starting the precise movement.

A flash. 

A thunderous crash.

He freezes, eyes narrowing as he notices something new. The smallest, almost invisible crack on the relic’s surface. He feels something he hadn’t felt in eternity—a sharp, unexpected jolt of joy that almost makes him laugh. 

x

Ominis lowers his hand from her face, his head tilting toward the house.

“There’s someone there,” he whispers, his words almost lost in the wind. “It’s not the elf.”

“True… Not an elf,” she whispers back, placing her palm to the ground again out of habit, expecting the usual pulses, but there is nothing. The shock of it—both the missing sensations and the man standing before her, whom she hadn’t seen for so long—is so great that it takes her a moment to realise she wasn’t the first to notice.

“Hold on, you actually heard it?”

The silhouette doesn’t move closer, stopping just a few steps away.

“Is that… Is that you?” The distant voice wavers, hesitant, uncertain.

“I hear,” Ominis nods. “It’s Sebastian.”

“Forgive me,” he still hesitates, as if afraid to take another step. “I fixed it. I think I did. Just… please…”

For the first time in forever, the voice doesn’t come from within her own head—it’s real, right beside her. His real voice. But the weight of the new suspicion is so heavy, so full of sorrow, that if they had been near the island’s shore, she is certain the grief alone would have pulled her under the waves straight to the ocean floor. From the way Ominis remains perfectly still and silent and only furrows his brow, she knows he feels the same. 

The brief hope they had is mercilessly gone.

x

The pyramid’s peaks emit a soft silver glow, their rhythmic pulses no more spreading through the ground and the walls. A faint light seeps from the crack, sluggish and indifferent, as though the relic knows it has no audience. And even if Sebastian Sallow weren’t lying motionless on the stone floor and was still able to be interested in anything, he wouldn’t have seen this glow no matter how hard he tried.

The glow pulses at the four peaks, climbing the ridges toward the highest, the only still unlit point. When it reaches the top, it gives a last, weak flicker. And fades.

A last, feeble shudder runs through the relic. Then, there is only stillness. Probably the kind that exists in the last fragile second before an unstoppable storm.

The relic cracks. 

One thin line becomes many, crawling over the relic’s surface like vines overtaking a house, claiming it entirely.

x

“He just vanished,” she murmurs in disbelief. She barely has time to process it before noticing something worse. “Ominis, the house—it’s fading. Something’s changed.”

The world transforms quickly. She doesn’t even have time to describe what she sees, but soon there is nothing left to describe at all. The wand on the ground is gone. Ominis’ arm remains wrapped around her waist, and she suddenly understands that she must not let him go, so she clasps his hand and presses it tighter against herself.

The house is gone. The elf is nowhere around. There’s even no earth beneath them anymore. No leaves. Nothing but the blackness where the world used to be. 

Beside them, on what looks like a floor made of black glass, lies Sebastian. In the vast, consuming darkness, the only glow emanates from beside him. Covered in an endless network of fine lines, the relic appears to still be whole only because of this soft, familiar glow.

“He destroyed it,” she realises, looking closely. “The relic. It looks slightly different now, and it carries a little trace of Ancient Magic.” 

“So using your magic wasn’t the wrong choice. Maybe that’s what altered the relic and allowed it to be destroyed. But why did he appear so briefly?”

“He’s… he’s here as well.”

She guides Ominis’ other hand to Sebastian’s shoulder, and he tightens his fingers uncertainly around the damp fabric of the shirt. 

“Tell me, is it just me, or…”

She knows. She doesn’t understand why, but she’s glad to know. “This is strange, but… yes. Maybe…” 

She glances around quickly, but there is nothing. Nothing at all. The void stretches on, endless, empty. The last traces of the faint glow continue to fade. 

“Nothing?” Ominis asks, but she can hear it in his voice—he knows the answer.

“Nothing,” she says, because she has to say it out loud. “If all this was tied to the relic, that means we… we’ll be…”

She knows, with unbearable certainty, what’s happening. There’s nothing they can do to change it. And the only thing that truly matters now remains unknown—what comes next.

“Hey. It’s alright. This is just a dream. Any moment now, we’ll wake up,” Ominis murmurs, lightly lifting her chin. “You hear me? There will be no more nightmares. All of them are over now.”

She watches the tiny reflections of light flicker in his eyes as she trembles in his arms again. She doubts it will happen the way he describes, but the way he says it soothes her.

So she accepts it.

And from acceptance comes peace.

From peace comes… hope. The last one. 

She reaches for the silver glow of the relic, if anything of the original relic remains at all. For the last time, she calls upon this magic, and it obeys, eagerly, almost as if it’s glad to. The glow drifts with her hand as she lowers it onto Ominis’ fingers, which have just returned to Sebastian’s shoulder, as if he had known exactly what she was about to do.

“It’s alright,” Ominis says, leaning slightly toward Sebastian. “It’s not your fault. None of us is to blame.”

“No more nightmares,” she adds firmly, watching as the edges of their fingers blur, dissolving within the dwindling glow. She looks away, squeezing her eyes shut, curling forward, her forehead pressing against Ominis’ chest.

The sharpest pain now comes from knowing that their final days, their last months together, had been filled with confusion and suffering. And that those months were truly their last.

“I… I wish we had more time,” she says.

“Let’s find each other again when we wake up, alright?”

She barely nods. “Alright.”

“Just please, don’t be too hard to spot. I’m not exactly great at hide-and-seek.”

A weak laugh escapes her as she sinks further into his embrace. His hand settles over her head. His other hand moves slowly, smoothing down her back in a measured rhythm—steady, unchanging, like the tide rolling in and out. Her trembling lessens with each pass of his touch, and at last, she feels safe, fully sheltered—not just from the endless emptiness that’s already around, but from whatever comes next.

x

The last traces of the silver glow fade away. The relic lingers only for a heartbeat more, as if offering a final farewell, before it shatters into countless fragments, each no larger than a speck of dust.

xxx

Sebastian Sallow’s pulse hammers against his ribs, wild and unsteady. Each breath he exhales pushes the tiny piles of dust away from his face. He doesn’t dare to move yet. 

He listens. 

The voices reach him, but for the first time, they bring no fear. There is no anger in them for some reason. No hatred. He doesn’t like that. He thinks back to his own thoughts, but the weight of self-loathing is no longer there somehow. It isn’t his choice—he doesn’t want any relief—but he lacks the strength to fight. His gaze catches on the scattered dust, and suddenly, he knows what it is.

He actually did it. It worked. The relic is gone.

As he steps outside on unsteady legs, he shields his eyes from the light that burns his eyes. It’s too bright and feels almost too warm for autumn. He looks toward the white tombstone. There’s no one there, of course.

He trembles, feeling his body surrendering to exhaustion. He stumbles back inside and sinks onto the first sofa he finds. 

He sleeps for hours, peaceful, dreamless, and unmoving. This sleep will definitely settle something inside him. When he wakes up, he will know what to say to people who keep asking. He will know how to return to work he once loved, and he will love it again. He will live.

And no one in this house will ever suffer another nightmare.

P.s. I couldn't have said in the beginning but it was partially inspired by 'The Others'. Thank you for reading, your feedback is very much appreciated ❤️🥹

[kitkat-the-muffin]

Wu’s Teas is not included because it’s dubiously canon

The Era 2 poll contains Seasons 11-15 and the currently-released seasons of Dragons Rising

[glowingwaves]

Hold up...

Do you think the "new" animation crew had been WAITING for a shot to make Dragons Rising?

rant!

What I am trying to say, is how the story telling shifted once we got the new animation crew after season 10.

Season 1 of Ninjago, going all the way to season 10, there was a good, constant plot. There might've been a few hiccups, or randomness... (looking at you season 6), but the lore was preserved. When one season ended, the next would lead off of that, but also adventure into its own territory. While, still keeping it within the bounds of "Ninjago".

But then, there was the new animation crew following season 10. You could tell they were new to animation, and perhaps even storytelling, granted I don't think they did TERRIBLE. The seasons they provided were fun, but they had also began to feel more lazy and almost rushed... not providing proper world building.

Because, mainly looking at seasons 11-13, those were just... they almost felt like filler seasons to me.

After giving the new animation crew time though, they had began to improve on their storytelling and were able to provide strong lore, the build up for Seabound in season 14 is proof of this.

Going forward, onto Crystalized, the plot was SEVERELY improved. But as much as I love Crystalized... I almost wish they didn't make it, as it feels like they couldn't let go of old lore... and not to mention how it just got chucked to the side the moment Dragons Rising began.

And to expand off of what I just said; Crystalized was good, yes, it is most certainly a fan favorite, but it clearly was forgotten and ignored when Dragons Rising was made.

They went from picking off where they left off, in seasons 14-16, and even starting to point back at old lore, to just... ignoring it all. The big thing in Crystalized was Lloyd refusing to be part Oni, and even then, they were forgetting his dragon side! This processed to happen again and AGAIN in Dragons Rising. Like yes, this is YEARS after everything in season 16... but still? This was something so important for Lloyd's character... and you just. forget it? But granted... I haven't watched anything post S2 P1.. so maybe they do bring light to it once again?

But! Back onto the topic! Once we enter Dragons Rising, all past lore... it almost feels like it's being forgotten. But as they ignore past lore, they make new lore. Dragons Rising goes on and tells a very complex tale, each season and part leading off of each other. There's so much more effort put in Dragons Rising that wasn't there in the past by this crew...

So it almost makes me wonder, if maybe all along... This is what they were waiting for?

[morelikeravenbore]

pov: you're sebastian

"ugh, what do you want, sebastian?"

Esme belongs to my beloved @sallowsangel and honestly, I've never seen a more intimidating duo than our girls together 👑🧎would 10/10 set myself on fire if they so much as glanced in my direction.

Anyway, sometimes I drib and drabble around with little stories for this au. No plot, just vibes and friendship ya know. This is Aurélie's introduction. I really leaned hard into her being the most unimpressed French girl who ever set foot in Hogwarts. Note that moments prior, she'd copped a face full of beans thanks to one Sebastian Sallow, so the attitude is warranted imo 💅

Aurélie Collins was absolutely positive that if the Sorting Hat had tried sticking her in Slytherin house, she'd have packed up her things and left Hogwarts the very same night she'd arrived. Having just transferred from Beauxbatons – both the superior magical school and the standard of elegance and sophistication – the ordeal of wearing a manky old hat while a thousand-odd British children gawked at her had been bad enough. But if that hat had declared her a snake and condemned her to live in the dungeons…

Thankfully, she'd been spared the trouble of arguing her way back to France after she was proclaimed a Ravenclaw, and it was with much relief (and a perfectly executed side-eye to the Slytherin boy who'd thrown beans at her head) that she'd joined the Eagles with their flattering blue-and-bronze uniform and their bright, airy common room in a tower; if she was to endure a year of freezing cold temperatures, oppressive cloud cover, and the tasteless brown mush the British passed off as food, a uniform that complimented her eyes and a room with a view was at least a small consolation.

Esme and Sebastian's little intro drabble is here: You Don't Make Friends With Green Beans or: the new French transfer student gets her “proper Hogwarts welcome” in an unexpected way. 600~ words, SFW.

ANYWAY LOVE YOU @sallowsangel

[fledermausbend]

All that shit I learned from you. Kindness spilt like milk and juice. So blindsided by the truth. In some way I was sure you knew.

[ previous | start | next ]

[llau-ren-ti-a]

Replaying Hogwarts Legacy I thought so much about the characters and their relationship to MC - whether they are actually good friends or rather use 'us' as means to an end to achieve their goals and solve their problems.

I complained to a friend about it after playing Niamph's trial and realised:

To Natsai, we are like a cloak. Someone to shield her from her mother's keen eyes, to protect her from Harlowe and his associates while she uncovers their criminal network, keping her identity hidden as well as we can.

To Poppy, we are like a wand. Someone who speaks up when she wouldn't, who takes action when she's can't, to attack when she doesn't want to. She has strong morals and values, which she is able to enforce through us and our power.

To Sebastian, we are like a wishing stone. We are what he wants us to be - a trusted person, a partner in crime, a supporter, an enabler, an enforcer. We are by his side through everything, even when all had turned against him. To him, we are the catalyst to help him raise the dead.

[oleafia-art]

some clare siobhan extreme vampire legacy characters in my style/semi redesigns

i never finished this series but i’ve been rewatching from the beginning and am hoping to finish it this time bc it’s so much fun and so chaotic. it’s probably not as well known since it’s on clare’s streaming channel, so i’m not sure how this post will do lmaoo, but i knew i had to at least make some simple fanart as it’s definitely one of my favs of clare’s series (i just love occult sims sm ok loll). i love how shamelessly dark it is and how many twists and turns the story took (most not even planned by clare lmao). the characters are so fun to interpret in my style !! pls click on image to see details better

[codycodybobody]

NOT OBI WAN WANTING TO LET LUMINARA GET POSSESSED IN THE NAME OF SCIENCE LMFAO

[whomst-doth-art]

Hear me out: Link Click Tron au where Lu Guang is a user that keeps resetting the game every time Cheng Xiaoshi dies (he wants the good ending). Maybe he had a save point that he keeps going back to— like in more “modern” video games.

But like also imagine Cheng Xiaoshi, who is largely unaware of the outside world, seeing Lu Guang get derezzed at the end of season 1. For all he knows Lu Guang is gone forever. Or I imagine it’d be like when Quora lost her arm in tron legacy (that is a thing that happened right? It’s been a while since I’ve seen the movie).

[pillarsvista]

sexy vampire with many thoughts