#is leave possible

[writer-room]

They became the signals, do you understand. They became the sailors. Alex, Jonas, Clarissa, Ren, Nona, they were the USS Kanaloa. They were the trapped, lost souls who were so desperate to get out. They were the ones preying on the traumatized and vulnerable, knowing how to convince Olivia away because it happened to them, too. Their only difference from the sailors is that they tried to be ‘nicer’ about it, that Alex was able to drop everything before it went too far, but even then...

All of it, every last piece, is a cycle. Of time, of trauma, of generations, of death. Leave is not possible on any of these fronts, because it is impossible to leave when claws sink in so deep that you run right back to the beginning, and only at the end, looking back, do you realize what you broke as you fought to go home. Becoming what hurt you, because you knew no other way to survive.

They’re kids. They’re scared, lost kids, who didn’t know what else to do. So they acted on what they hoped would work, and they’d think about those consequences when they were finally safe. The sailors almost had them, so they will follow suit, but they’ll do it right, and then they’ll be okay. It’ll all be okay, won’t it?

They wanted to live. But so did the sailors. 

And so, once more, we return to the beginning.

[whitesunlars]

it's me, i'm girls

[floccinaucinihilipilificationa]

[juniemunie]

[Abandoned by the Lightners, his heart became cracked with hatred.]

Hitting a lil' too close to home?

[clone-futon]

Basically Kid in every movie when it comes to action scenes

[keferon]

So about that guy at the end of tf one who might or might not be Prowl..

[val-of-the-north]

Marika's master plan.

[anistarrose]

[ID from alt: a tumblr textpost with Ghost Trick sprites added. As an anon, Lynne asks: "Mr. Elvis weren't you dead," and as a blog named elvis-official, the Man in Red replies: "I got better." Then the other, identical Man in Red appears as a blog named ghost-of-elvis-official, and he replies: "Well this is awkward..." The original man, elvis-official, gasps: "Woah mama it's my own specter." End ID.]

[berrryparfait]

amortentia ! ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

‪‪‬♥︎ featuring: slytherin! sylus x hufflepuff! fem!reader | prompt

— ༉‧₊ᐟ premise: oh, how marvelous your school days were—going to class, brewing potions, befriending magical creatures... and getting tormented by that awful (and infuriatingly handsome) slytherin boy! 「you never forget your first love...」

— ༉‧₊ᐟ tags/cws: hogwarts au, some angst, brief depictions of bullying, enemies-to-lovers, first love, character development, implied hea

— ༉‧₊ᐟ word count: 9k

— ♫₊ᐟ soundtrack: harry in winter, neville's waltz, potter waltz (from harry potter and the goblet of fire)

✧ a/n: just a cliche little fic for yall. combining two things i love from the bottom of my heart and turning it into a story of life and first love... i leave this in your hands now, so i hope you love it as much as i do. i’ve included a number of references and easter eggs in this fic—click here for bts! <3

You’ll never forget those glorious days of your youth—Hogwarts really is and will always be your home. The wonderful friends you made, the lifelong lessons you learned, all of it can be traced back to that school, that magical place.

Ah, but you mustn't skip over that part; the story of your very first love. How an arrogant, horrible young boy turned out to be your greatest, most everlasting love. Your only true love.

It all began in third year, the year you discovered your witch-hood and transferred from muggle school. Little did you know, at the time, that a particular white-haired boy from Slytherin house was about to uproot your life…

...

You’ve just been placed in Hufflepuff. The house of the kind, they said. To be completely honest, you’re...excited about your first day of school. You’ve always been an introvert, but there’ll be other introverts around—from each and every house, surely. You won’t have to worry about bumping into boisterous Gryffindors or snobbish Ravenclaws, or even those especially awful Slytherins you’ve heard tales about.

Clutching your textbooks, you round the corner and stop short. Just your luck. A small boy in Hufflepuff robes dangles in midair in front of you, his face streaked with tears. A first-year, perhaps? Cackling in the corner are a group of Slytherin boys who look like they’re having the time of their lives, clutching their bellies as if this is the best thing that’s happened to them all year. You can’t believe it— Such an evil act in broad daylight is...is abhorrent!

Bracing yourself, you take a deep breath and shout, “Put him down at once!” The bullies turn to stare at you, the smiles on their face vanishing for a brief second before returning in full force. Your cheeks flush and you try your best to stop your knees from shaking.

One of the boys recovers from his fit and begins to approach you, a sardonic grin twisting his lips. He’s the tallest of the bunch, with a head of pale white hair that seems to glisten in the sunlight. His eyes are a deep, crimson red, piercing and intense. “Is there a problem?” he drawls, a hidden edge to his otherwise snarky exterior.

“Put him down, now. I won’t ask again.” Though your chin trembles and your hands have gone numb, you stand your ground, refusing to avert your gaze.

His jaw ticks, annoyance written all over his face. “I’m going to remember you, Hufflepuff,” he sneers as he stalks past you and down the neighboring corridor, his shoulder brushing yours as he passes. The boy is abruptly released from the invisible force as the other Slytherins follow their leader into the shadows.

In a moment of shocking clarity, you feel those red eyes glance back at you as you flee the other way.

What a horrible boy, going around scaring people like that! You exhale in relief when they disappear, counting your lucky stars. Still, something tells you this is only the beginning of a terrible—and likely very irritating—string of encounters…

As a result of your rash righteousness, you spent the rest of the year avoiding him—and failing miserably. He seemed to trail you everywhere you went, finding new ways to torment you each week. Every few days or so, he’d either pull a stupid prank on you in front of a million (utterly useless) students or spread some nasty rumor about you that thankfully wasn’t likely to gain much traction.

Most teenagers grew tired of watching the same show over and over again, and soon enough this rivalry of yours became a personal thing. Of course, there was the added effect of him having significantly more friends than you, but that didn’t mean you were unable to defend yourself when it mattered…

…

Why hasn’t anyone been working to find a cure for werewolfism if it’s that deadly? Where’s the urgency—the compassion for those poor werewolves?! You frown at the textbook in front of you, the lack of justice for werewolves muddling your mind.

Something is crawling up the side of your face. “AHH—!” you shriek, swatting the hairy spider away from you. Your vision blurs as your heart pounds so fast you think you might collapse on the spot. You’ve always been deathly afraid of spiders; a fear you’d acquired back when you’d been left on a stranger’s doorstep with nothing but gangly arachnids to keep you company.

“Is something the matter, Miss <y/n>?” The professor appears unamused as he squints at you, mild confusion in his tone.

Pulse stammering, you look down at the floor where the spider should have been...and find nothing. “T-There was a spider, r-right there—” you stammer, a bad, sinking feeling settling deep in your stomach.

You swivel around at the sound of a group of boys giggling uncontrollably, the mirth in their eyes cruel. “There was a spider, she said! Well, where is it? Tell us now so we can kill it!” the purple-haired Rafayel whistles, before proceeding to imitate your piercing scream. The entire class erupts in laughter, and hot tears threaten to spill down your cheeks.

Sitting next to him is his best friend Sylus, a look of pure, spiteful satisfaction on his face. An illusion charm. A blinding rage consumes you, pumping through your veins like lava as you rise, your seat toppling over behind you. The professor can’t stop you. Your deskmate can’t convince you to sit back down. In this moment, you’re invincible. You storm toward the smirking rat so fast that the students you pass flinch away from you like a sea of startled turtles.

Time freezes as you deliver the hardest, most powerful punch you’d ever thought possible, your knuckles bruising from the impact. He’s nearly flung out of his seat, the shock in his eyes tangible. That stupid grin wiped off his perfect face. “What the—”

Your voice, surprisingly steady, cuts him off. “Don’t you ever bother me again. You hear me?! I swear on your bloodline that you will regret it. Leave. Me. Alone.” His friends have gone silent, their mouths hanging agape. The professor is too stunned to speak.

Sylus simply stares at you, a glaring red mark blooming on his cheekbone. His gaze never leaves yours, half-dumbfounded and half-…something else. You sashay out of the classroom, fully aware that your very condemning display just cost Hufflepuff ten points—possibly more. But you couldn’t care less. Today, you stood up for yourself, and it felt amazing.

What felt more amazing, however, was the way his scarlet eyes followed you all the way out the door.

…

On the very last day of school that year, right before summer break, Sylus came up to you in the Great Hall. He was alone, a rare sight considering (you believed, at least) he had an odd fear of being seen by himself.

He sauntered over with ease, a lazy grin playing on his lips. And though you hated to admit it, he truly was gorgeous. All sharp edges and hard lines. Yet there was a boyish sort of charm to him—one he would soon outgrow and trade for a more masculine allure, as you’d come to discover in the years ahead.

You drop your eyes to his hand in his pocket, not wanting to cause a scene on your last day. “What do you want, Sylus…” Exasperation saturates your words.

He appears almost wounded. “Do I have to want something to come and talk to you?”

“Stop playing around. You won’t be seeing me for the next couple months, alright? That’s what you want, isn’t it? Since you seem to dislike me or something…” You gather your books and begin to walk away from him.

“Dislike you? Whoever said that?” He’s as unbothered as ever, sharp canines visible from behind that lopsided smile of his. God, he’s annoying. Why does he have to look like that?

“You’ve spent the past year making my life a living hell!” Sure, life in the castle wouldn’t have been half as interesting without him testing your patience every other day, but you aren’t children anymore.

“Please. Even you have to admit that trick with the spider was a new level of genius, even for me.” Smooth as honey, evil as sin. It isn’t unbelievable in the slightest that he comes from one of the wealthiest pure-blood families in the country.

You huff at his ignorance. A part of you wants him to know just how sore of a spot he’d touched that day. Would it diminish your power act? Maybe. But you want him to feel guilty for what he did. To hurt, if only a little. “I don’t do well with spiders. My parents left me on a stranger’s doorstep when I was a child. It was riddled with them. I’ve been terrified of the creatures ever since.” You say it with confidence, as if it doesn’t bother you in the slightest. What if it doesn’t anymore? Distantly, a part of you wonders if you’re baring your vulnerabilities to him in an act of stupidity. But you’ve also made peace with the fact that this boy’s opinion matters less to you than that of an ant’s.

His lips part ever so slightly at your revelation, and he hesitates. What a foreign display, Sylus hesitating. “I apologize. I was unaware.” He only sounds partially apologetic. Forty percent, at best. But you don’t have time for his antics right now. He can miss the train, for all you care—you’re getting on that carriage if it’s the last damn thing you do.

“Okay. Bye.” You scurry past him as that tiny smirk returns to his face, so quickly it’s as if it had been begging to be set free.

“Don’t miss me too much, Hufflepuff,” he calls from behind you, a lightheartedness in his tone that has you questioning things.

Naturally, you roll your eyes instead of dealing with those things, and your third year ends there; with you running to board the Hogwarts Express, and Sylus left watching you leave, just as he had a million times before.

Your fourth year was as irritating as you’d expected. However much Sylus had bothered you the year before couldn’t compare to the endless teasing and dreadful clinging you had to deal with this time—for instead of pulling pranks on you, he’d started to talk to you.

He trailed you in hallways and whispered to you in classrooms, asking you stupid questions like, “Do you think I should start charging a fee every time I catch you staring at me?” and “I believe there’s a ball of lint somewhere on my robe. Care to remove it for me?”

God, he was a pesky one. Your interactions with him lacked hostility, but were somehow more difficult to deal with. How on earth were you supposed to respond to those questions? What is he trying to achieve here? It all puzzled you to no end. You tried your best to ignore him, but he was like a bad omen stuck to your clothes—permanent and a pain in your ass.

It goes without saying that he wasn’t above making fun of you from time to time. Him and his Slytherin buddies loved a good joke, but it was…different, that year. While his goal last semester had been to humiliate you, now it seemed he was merely after a reaction—any kind at all.

You’ll always remember that small corner of the library; books piled high on your desk, tears streaming down your face, and that insolent white-haired boy finding you at the worst possible time…

…

Again. You failed your Transfiguration test again. You just can’t seem to get it right! How embarrassing to be sitting here bawling my eyes out while all the other students are feasting away on their stupid treacle tarts and cauldron cakes and—

Someone’s coming towards you. You wipe your eyes on your sleeves and hastily sit up in your chair, suddenly acutely aware of how much of a mess you are right now.

Inquisitive red eyes meet yours. “Oh. It’s you,” you say between sniffles, the repulsion in your voice clear as day.

He grabs the chair beside you, spins it around, and plops down, resting his arms across the back like he owns the place. Your tears don’t seem to faze him, nor do they earn you any form of tact. “Looks like Hufflepuff here is missing out on the festivities. Displeased to see me, Myrtle?”

You know he meant it jokingly, but it stings more than it should. Do I really look like Moaning Myrtle right now? “Do I really look like Moaning Myrtle right now?”

He chokes out a laugh before reeling it in, pretending to be mindful of your current state. “A little. What’s wrong? Run-in with a spider, perchance?”

“Not funny, Sylus. I failed Transfiguration, okay? Now leave me alone… I don’t need to hear your weak attempts at rubbing it in…” You don’t know why you chose to be honest with him. The words just rolled off your tongue before you could stop yourself.

“If it makes you feel any better, I failed too.” You stare at him, surprised. Such sensitivity feels strange coming from the likes of him.

“Really?”

“No.” He laughs so hard he’s driven to tears, and though every inch of you wants to be mad, you end up fighting a smile of your own. This boy and his stupid, contagious laugh.

Maybe you feel a little better. It’s impossible to tell—all you want to do right now is smack him on the shoulder. So you do, lightly.

His laughter fades and your sniffles slow to a halt, the sound of your heartbeat filling your ears. Suspend your disbelief, and this almost feels like a comfortable moment between…friends.

Friends? No, that doesn’t seem right. He still pisses you off to no end.

Noticing the awkward silence, he jolts back into annoying mode and coos, “Gullible as ever, Hufflepuff. Good to know that’s a constant.”

It rubs you the wrong way. Instantly, your mood is soured and you no longer want to sit here and play-fight with him. “Great. I’m so glad to hear I’ll always be the same old, gullible me. Always the one getting taken advantage of, right, Sylus?” No response. “I hope you got what you came here for.”

He’s no longer laughing. “That’s not what I—” You don’t hear his feeble protests. You’re already rushing out of the booth.

You know you’re overreacting, but something about him makes it so hard to react...normally. Don’t turn around, you tell yourself. Because even though you can’t see him, you know he’s tracking your every movement.

Fifth year was a tumultuous whirlwind of mess, feelings and blurred lines. You were to sit for your O.W.L.s that year, and you were hell-bent on besting Sylus this time around. How you loathed the way he always managed to achieve top scores while barely paying attention in class. It wasn’t fair.

However, most students seemed far more concerned with another event set to take place on school grounds: the Triwizard Tournament…

…

The tournament has been nothing short of exhilarating. You have to admit, despite your insistence on focusing on your studies this year, you too have been swept up in the heat of competition. Everywhere you go, excitement buzzes in the air, the entire school in silent support of their champion.

Caleb Xia—the charming Gryffindor boy whose name had been chosen by the Goblet of Fire—happens to be one of Hogwarts’ most popular students, and you find yourself rooting for him, too. He’s easy on the eyes and a menace on the Quidditch pitch—a deadly combination.

He’s looked at you once, from across the main courtyard, and you’d blushed so hard your friends teased you for days.

The first task concluded a week ago, with Caleb emerging victorious. Everyone went positively out of their minds, plastering his handsome face on every wall and cheering wherever he went. You cheered too, naturally, though you’d never really expected him to notice a wallflower like you.

You were wrong.

Caleb Xia began to say hello to you. You. It started with simple waves from a few feet away and eventually progressed to him coming up to you and asking what you were up to after class. It still baffles you, the fact that a high-flyer like him would be romantically interested in you, but it feels…nice, to be noticed in that way. He’s sweet, polite, and genuinely compassionate—all traits you hold in the highest regard.

It goes without saying that Sylus has been observing you and your new suitor. He’s mellowed down a little since last year, but a dark presence still trails him like a cloak, the intensity in his gaze grounding.

“How’s loverboy?” he hums, low and calculating.

You bumped into him at The Three Broomsticks and decided to sit down for a drink. Butterbeer, of course. Sylus and his underage drinking have nothing to do with you. “We’re just friends.” It’s the truth—for now, at least.

“Right. And you’re the Triwizard champion.” He takes a slow sip of beer from his cup. Amusement plays at his lips, but his words carry a blade barely sheathed. “I saw you making goo-goo eyes at him earlier.”

“Happy to hear you’re looking out for me,” you chirp in response.

He rolls his eyes, a not-quite-smile tugging at his lips. “Please. As if you’d ever get yourself into any kind of situation.”

A primary gear in you shifts, dangerously, and you feel a sudden urge to do something rash. To prove him wrong. You snatch his mug and chug the remnants of the beer, gulping it down as it drips past your chin.

He raises his eyebrows, mildly amused and probably a little concerned. You've got that lightweight quality to you, and it doesn’t take an expert to notice. “I’m impressed, Hufflepuff. Now, can you hold it?”

Your face grows warm as you struggle to think of a coherent response. I’m not drunk I’m not drunk I’m not drunk— “D’uh…” Damn it, you’re drunk. Buzzed, maybe? You don’t know the difference. Whatever it is, you’re sober enough to make out his next words.

“One pint. You humor me, you know.”

Your mind clears a little—it was only beer, after all. “I told you, I’m not drunk. You’re getting on my nerves now. Bye.”

He puts a hand on your elbow, steadying you as you hop off the barstool. “Not so fast, Puff. You’re tipsy. Let me take you back to the castle.”

You swat his arm away. “Stop pretending to care! It won’t work on me! Oh, look, she’s here—” Your friend walks into the tavern and spots you, in your wobbly state, making your way toward the door. She sighs and grabs you by the waist, steering you in the right direction.

“To the castle!” you shout, throwing one last glare at Sylus.

He sits in silence, your cup of butterbeer in hand, watching you leave.

…

Utter chaos.

The Yule Ball is fast approaching, and the student body couldn't be more ready for a night of dancing and fancy dresses. The air hums with electricity, alive with the prospect of flirting and courtship and mysterious suitors—none of which you had much interest in before, but…things change. Hope fills you at the thought of him asking you to the ball, a feeling you welcome with open arms.

Caleb Xia is a dream come true. And the best part? He’s interested in you. So interested he goes out of his way to sit next to you in the Great Hall, offering you his potatoes after you’ve finished yours.

So why hasn’t he asked you yet? The ball is taking place in two days.

Surprisingly, Sylus doesn’t have a date yet either. It doesn't make any sense—everyone practically throws themselves at him every chance they get. How is he having trouble finding a dance partner? To think he had the nerve to comment on your dire lack of a date when he clearly isn’t any better off…

“Still no date, Hufflepuff? Huh. That’s unexpected.” He said it sarcastically (as usual), which ticked you off.

“I could say the same about you, prick. Relieved to know your fanclub has finally come to its senses.”

He sneered at you then, but was there something else he wanted to say to you at the time? Now that you’re thinking about it, he did linger a little more than usual that day…

Whatever. Who cares what Sylus had to say? Besides, there’s still a chance Caleb might ask you to the ball. Patience, patience…

Speak of the angel.

Caleb walks up to you, drenched in sweat after what you can only assume was an intense Quidditch practice. “Sorry I’m late. I have something to ask you.”

Your heart leaps. You dreamed of this moment. Literally. “What is it?”

“Will you be my date to the ball? I know this is short notice, but I think we’ll have a great time together.” A shy smile. Earnest, sincere eyes. How could anyone possibly decline such an invitation?

“I think we will!”

…

Snowflakes glisten like crystals midair, winking at you playfully as you make your way down the grand staircase. They’ve really outdone themselves with the festive decorations—pearly white snow covers the ground, and powdered Christmas trees stand around every corner.

And of course, you’re dressed for the occasion. You picked out a gorgeous off-shoulder gown just yesterday, the dark red fabric cascading around you in majestic waves bound to draw plenty of second glances. Your bosom is tightly secured by an off-shoulder lace corset, and your pointed heels are just an inch too high.

You feel beautiful.

Caleb waits at the foot of the staircase, his mouth slightly agape in awe of your appearance. Standing further behind him, in the shadows, is none other than your nemesis, You-Know-Who. His gaze rakes over you as you glide down the stone steps, dark and dreadful.

You take Caleb’s outstretched hand, and he smirks at the scene before him.

Take that, Sylus. I’m here with a Triwizard champion. Who are you with? Oh, no one? What a shame…

Your inflated thoughts are brutally popped by the sight of a stunning young woman in pastel blue looping her arm through his. It doesn’t take you long to identify her—you’ve been watching her all year, in the crowd. The Beauxbatons champion. The Beauxbatons champion is Sylus’ date.

It’s like the wind has been knocked out of your lungs. “Are you…alright?” Caleb sounds concerned.

"I’m fine. Just a little hard to breathe in this corset," you reply casually, with a hint of humor.

The rest of the night involves a lot of dancing, during which you cast hesitant glances in Sylus’ direction. Really?! The Beauxbatons champion?! She’s ethereal! And so out of his league! They look like the perfect couple, gracefully waltzing to the music while getting lost in each other’s eyes…

It sickens you.

The crowd dies down towards the end of the night, most students trading their cheering and elaborate waltzes for slow dancing and mocktails. Caleb went to the washroom and hasn’t returned since. So here you are, sipping your glass in silence with no one to socialize with.

You turn your head at the sound of footsteps and are greeted by a crisp, very expensive-looking set of robes. He’s dressed head to toe in jet black, silver embroidery decorating his cuffs and collar with meticulous detail. Devastatingly handsome, deathly irritating. You roll your eyes.

“Lost your date?” Though his voice drips with honey, for the first time ever, he doesn’t look so disgustingly pleased with himself.

You decide to humor him. “Lost yours?”

“It seems my dance partner has fled to the toilet with yours.” He says it with disdain, as if the word “toilet” insults his dignity.

An unexpected anger rises to the surface then—and it has nothing to do with Caleb. You realize you couldn’t care less if he were making out with another girl or stealing a Mandrake from the Herbology greenhouses.

You’re furious at Sylus for trying to make you feel less than. What exactly did he hope to achieve by feeding you this information? Did he get some kind of sick kick out of your reaction?

No, that’s not it… You’re missing something. There’s a gaping hole in your emotions, one you can’t explain. It’s like he’s complicating things. Muddying them. The words fly out of your mouth in a failed attempt to untangle your mess of feelings.

“Stop. Whatever you’re doing, it isn’t working on me.”

He crinkles his brows, taken aback. “What are you talking about?” There’s no more sarcasm. No more mockery.

“This. You’re trying to-to trick me or deceive me or—play with my—” You pause, frustrated by your inability to put your feelings into words. “It’s not going to work. You can’t use this against me.”

A shadow passes over Sylus’ face, and—for a split second—he looks like one of those Death Eaters you learned about last year. He curls his lip into a sneer. “All you had to do was ask.”

You’re stunned into silence. What on earth does that mean? “Huh?”

He seems even more offended by your ignorance. “Don’t pretend. I waited until yesterday to ask her, and she said yes. It’s not my fault.”

Understanding clicks, and it does nothing to tame your indignation. You don’t want to address it—not even in your head. You’d rather shove it down deep and ignore it for all eternity. A whole minute passes before you decide that this is too much to deal with tonight.

“You’re an asshole. I never want to speak to you again.”

You turn around and make a run for the exit, nearly tripping over the elaborate skirt of your dress in the process. Suddenly, it’s as if your corset is squeezing the life out of your lungs.

Your heart feels almost as heavy as his gaze on your back, weighing you down with every desperate step you take. Hot tears sting the corners of your eyes, but you’re determined not to let them fall.

Everything is a mess right now. Your night has been effectively ruined, and you still can’t quite figure out why your body feels like a ticking time bomb and your pride has shattered into a million pieces.

But just like how no one’s discovered a cure for werewolfism, it isn’t that simple.

Soon after, your fifth year came to an end. You aced your O.W.L.s and celebrated Caleb Xia’s victory—toward whom you held no ill will, truly. It turned out he’d been in love with the Beauxbatons champion all along and was only trying to make her jealous at the ball. Maybe you should’ve felt vexed at being blindsided, but you mostly felt…indifferent. All power to him.

You figured this was the innocent kind of infatuation they talked about—the kind you quickly forgot once bigger things came along.

As for Sylus… You avoided him for the rest of the year, neither of you making any attempt to reach out after that night. Part of you felt a little embarrassed by your harshness, but another part insisted he deserved it. How dare he complain about not being asked, when he could’ve asked you himself?

Regardless, none of that mattered anymore—your sixth year was about to begin…

…

“Alright, class. Today, you’ll be learning about Amortentia. Can anyone tell me what Amortentia is?”

Someone answers, “It’s the most powerful love potion in the world, Professor. A single drop can stir a powerful obsession with the maker, and it’s said to smell like the things a person desires most.”

You stare at the swirling potion on the professor’s desk, its enchanting white sheen inviting. The first thought that occurs to you is how dangerous this potion could be in the wrong hands. Love is the strongest force in the world—and the evil this concoction could unleash is unspeakable.

“As part of today’s lesson, you’ll each be making a vial of Amortentia. However, I must caution you all that the use of any amount of this potion on other students is strictly prohibited. Take this as a learning experience and a learning experience alone.”

After setting up your cauldron and gathering the required ingredients, it’s time to get to work. You hear Rafayel whisper something to Sylus somewhere behind you and try your best to drown out their conversation.

You and Sylus haven’t exactly been on speaking terms lately. Ever since the ball, it’s as if he’s been avoiding you just as much as you’ve been avoiding him. I don’t care. It’s not like I want him anywhere near me anyway.

"The potion bubbles and glows in the cauldron before you, and it’s as if you can feel its magic brewing beneath your fingertips. All at once, you’re hit with a wave of potent aromas and heady emotion.

Freshly-picked flowers. The pages of old books. Warm loaves of bread…

A final scent hits you then, and your breath catches in your throat. It’s strong. Pleasant. Familiar—too familiar.

You spin around to see Sylus at the back of the classroom, silently cracking up at something Rafayel said. They both look positively unhinged.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

…

The Potions professor asked you to speak with him after class, so you ended up being the last student to transfer your potion into a vial. By then, the transparent vials had run out, and an opaque one had to be fished out of the storage room for you. A small matter.

Now, you’re running to the edge of the forest for your next class: Care of Magical Creatures. You’ve always rather enjoyed this class; animals have always been drawn to you—and you to them.

“This is a hippogriff.” The professor gestures toward a feathered, winged beast, though it isn’t quite a bird. It caws softly at its introduction. “You were supposed to meet this fellow in your third year. However, with the old professor going missing and turning up dead and all—” You wince at the memory of Professor Beans’ death.

As she goes on about the origins of the hippogriff, you reach into your bag for a sip of water—and realize your tiny vial of Amortentia has vanished. No. No no no—

A movement in the corner of your eye catches your attention. It’s Sylus, in his haphazard Slytherin robes, taking a sip from your opaque potion vial. The very same one—

Oh no.

“Now, are there any volunteers?”

You startle at the question, every inch of you tensing in panic. Far too soon. Everything is happening all at once—

“No volunteers? Alright then. Miss <y/n>, Sylus, come up to the front.”

Oh no.

Slowly, you inch toward the hippogriff, unsure whether to be more wary of it or the fidgeting boy beside you. You glance at him suspiciously, anticipating any…strange behavior. His expression is unreadable, but you get the distinct feeling he’d rather be anywhere but here.

“With my help, you’re both going to mount him. You should be back in no time.”

You still. “What?”

No time is wasted. She guides you to the creature’s side and helps you onto its back. Its feathers bristle slightly at the added weight, but it generally responds warmly to your presence. The same can’t be said for Sylus. It resists his touch, crying out once or twice as if distrustful of him. Sylus flinches in kind. Is he…scared?

It’s an amusing thought—but his chest brushing against your back abruptly pulls your thoughts back to his ingestion of your love potion, and once again, your pulse picks up speed. You have no idea what to think, what to feel— Does he hate you? Is he thinking unsavory thoughts at this very moment? Will the effects of the potion last forever—

“Hold tight, Hufflepuff,” he whispers in your ear—and the world disappears beneath you.

Cool wind breezes through your hair as you soar over the forest grounds, large wings flapping on either side of you and a grounding warmth around your waist.

It’s magical. You wish you could bottle this moment and save it for your darkest days.

You’ve never seen sights quite like this: the sprawling castle with its many towers, winding pathways leading to Hogsmeade, huts and fires set up for travelers far below. Breathtaking.

“Wait, why isn’t he going back down?!” you shout over the roaring in your ears. It’s been about ten minutes, and the hippogriff shows no sign of returning to class.

“I don’t know! Look, he’s headed for the mountain pass—” Sylus yells back, pointing towards the giant row of mountains south of Hogwarts.

He lands smoothly, a gust of wind kicking up the loose dirt at the cliff’s edge. You slide off his back with a “thud”, and he nuzzles his beak against your hand. Sylus is practically thrown off and poked at disdainfully, to which he scoffs, glaring daggers at the winged beast.

It makes you laugh, and he turns to look at you—really look at you—for the first time in months.

“This isn’t quite how I’d expected to spend my evening, but here we are.”

“It’s beautiful,” you sigh, gazing out at the shimmering lake below. The sky is awash in hues of orange, pink, and gold, bathing you both in an almost ethereal light. Sunset.

His eyes are on you as he says, “It’s…alright.”

Together, you move to sit at the cliff’s edge, your feet dangling over. The silence is comfortable, peaceful. He isn’t acting strange, so the Amortentia must not have affected him—thank god.

You feel the sudden urge to say something.

“Why haven’t you—” “I’ve been wanting to—” you both start at the same time. Ugh. So much for “not awkward”.

He recovers first. “Wait.” A faint note of desperation laces his otherwise steady voice. “I have no interest in playing any more of these games.” His steely gaze is locked on yours, intense and sincere.

“What games? You’re the one who’s been avoiding me all year.”

He squints. “I assumed you hated me.”

A ball of guilt lodges itself between your ribs, cold and selfish. To this day, his formal way of speaking still endears him to you. “…I don’t hate you.”

He doesn’t respond right away, just stares at you like you’re a puzzle he can’t solve—a puzzle he’s desperate to unravel, so achingly it might kill him if he can’t. “I wanted to ask you. To the ball.”

It stings. “I figured.”

“He had a habit of getting in the way,” he chuckles wryly, that familiar darkness flickering across his face. “Did you love him?”

You shake your head without pausing to think. “Nope. Never did.” You feel lighter. This genuine conversation with him is…nice. “What about you? You ever like her?”

He shakes his head. “I had my reasons for asking, and she had her reasons for saying yes.” You can’t explain the rush of relief that floods you then.

Minutes pass as you talk about dreams, family, and the past—learning things about each other you never thought to ask. You lose yourself in his company, a fragile, delicate thread pulling you closer, twisting your lips into a smile. You learn about his desire to become an Auror, his complicated relationship with his pure-blooded parents, and his particular fondness for sweet treats. You tell him about your experience in foster homes—both good and bad—and what it was like discovering you were a witch.

The exchange is light, yet a tinge of regret punctuates your mood. You’re halfway through your sixth year. If only you’d gotten to know him sooner…

“What, disappointed you never got to date me, Hufflepuff?” He sees right through you, and the mood shifts. Static electricity crackles in the space between your bodies, and that bittersweet feeling somehow intensifies. You roll your eyes at him, fighting a smile.

No. Your stomach drops, the fuzzy bliss fading from your head. The love potion.

“What’s wrong?”

You’re a horrible person. You have to come clean. “The vial you drank from earlier—it was mine. You drank my love potion and now you’re in love with me but it isn’t real so you have to snap out of it, okay? God, I’m so sorry—”

You would’ve kept rambling if it weren’t for the fit of laughter he suddenly bursts into. He’s clutching his belly, wheezing as tears form in the corners of his eyes.

“What’s…so funny?”

“That wasn’t your love potion. How would I even have gotten my hands on it? Use that brain of yours, silly.”

Okay, now you’re really lost. “Huh? I swear I couldn’t find it…” You dig around in your satchel and gasp when your fingers close around a familiar vial—opaque and very much there. “Oh my god.”

He grins that snarky, boyish grin at you, and your stomach flips.

Your cheeks flush pink as you half-heartedly jab at his arm, the most flustered you’ve ever been in your life. As usual, your first instinct is to lash out at him. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?! I thought I was taking advantage of you! I thought I was being a complete idiot!”

Sylus simply stares at you, a dreamy, enraptured look on his slightly rosy face. He looks positively bewitched. “I like it when you yell at me.”

You stutter, at a loss for words. How…infuriating! You huff at him defiantly, but your heart feels full and warm.

Something still pokes at your conscience. “Wait… We have the exact same vial. If you didn’t drink Amortentia earlier, what did you drink?”

He beams at you impishly. Victoriously.

“Liquid Luck.”

…

You stand by the open doors of the Hogwarts Express on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters, bidding your friends goodbye and wishing them a happy summer holiday.

A tall, lean figure appears behind you. “Leaving so soon?”

Your face warms at his voice, and you try your best to hide it—though something tells you you can’t hide from him, not anymore. “My family’s waiting outside. We’re travelling this summer.”

He nods, a hint of disappointment crossing his features. “Will you write back?” Knowing him, he tries to act nonchalant, but you hear the subtle fear in his voice.

“I will,” you say, and you mean it. “I’ve really got to go… Bye.” You smile sweetly at him and wave, and he returns the gesture. See you next semester, Sylus.

You turn to leave for King’s Cross, your sixth year at Hogwarts now behind you.

Summer came and went, a dizzying rush of new beginnings and many, many letters. You kept your word, writing back almost instantly each time a new package arrived in the mail, your fingertips tracing the cursive letters that spelled out your name. His script. His scent.

You felt close to him, even though you were away for most of the holiday. So many times, you wished you could be near him. He told you about his new kitten and his strange difficulty casting a Patronus charm. You replied with a few possible solutions, but he’d struggled to think of many happy memories growing up—Something to work on later, you made a mental note.

Subconsciously, you counted down the days until you could see him again. Of course, there were your N.E.W.T.s to focus on—you placed great importance on pursuing your dream career as a magizoologist—but spending your final year at Hogwarts with Sylus felt like a dream in itself. One you desperately didn’t want to end…

…

“Never thought to visit Hogsmeade at this hour.” Your breath fogs as you take in your surroundings.

The village is quiet—fast asleep. A few windows still flicker with candlelight, but not a soul stirs on the streets. The streetlamps cast a soft, hazy glow, their light barely cutting through the mist, shadows dancing along your profile.

It’s enchanting, strolling with Sylus like this. Just the two of you tonight.

His plush Slytherin scarf sits snug around his neck. “Naturally. Ever the follower of rules,” he teases. You punch him in the arm and he sniggers.

It’s still surreal to you, the fact that you’re going out with Sylus, of all people. Your mind flashes back to the days he used to tug on your robes and laugh at your walk, the pesky little scoundrel who went out of his way to make your life miserable. Somewhere along the way, that boy grew up, and now you spend most of your time exchanging flirtatious glances and wishing he would just hold your hand.

As if reading your mind (again) he slips his hand from his pocket and wraps it around yours. It’s large in comparison, warm. Your skin prickles with nerves—the delicious kind—and an uncontrollable urge to kiss him compels you.

You stop in your tracks, and he does too. A single snowflake lands on his lashes. You reach up with your free hand to brush it away. Rising onto your tiptoes, you lean in, and he doesn’t pull away…

“STUDENTS SNEAKING OUT! THERE’S STUDENTS IN THE VILLAGE!” someone howls, and you’re startled away from him.

A devastating smile curls his mouth, and for a second, your need to kiss him senseless only multiplies. He tightens his grip around your hand. “Run?”

You nod and race off into the night with him, laughter bubbling up your throat.

…

For eight whole months, you and Sylus were inseparable. You studied together, went to parties together, snuck into the forest together… You even supported him at his Quidditch games, biting your lip as your eyes searched for the white-haired Beater in the opponent’s robes.

For eight whole months, you were completely, and perfectly, and incandescently happy.

But good things, as you’d soon come to learn, were never meant to last forever.

…

Your N.E.W.T.s went well, and now all that remains is to make a strong impression on the Ministry officials visiting the school this week. If you're lucky, you'll be earmarked as a potential hire in the Beast Division—and finally, you'll have reason to celebrate a successful final year.

It’s a grand affair, with students and Ministry employees swarming the place. Pleasantries are exchanged, hands shaken, introductions made, and though your capacity for socializing is wearing thin, the noble art of “networking” must be seen through.

The head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, a stern-looking elderly woman, approaches you, having heard of your active involvement in the conservation of magical beasts. Oh my god, I can’t believe this is actually happening— A wave of anxious nausea threatens to seize you, but then you glance across the room. Sylus catches your eye and winks. Reassuring. Confident in your abilities.

You take a deep breath and introduce yourself. After that, everything flows naturally. You talk about your passions, your journey, and what led you to fall in love with magizoology. She listens—captivated—and your confidence builds with each word. By the end of it, you're left with a glowing sense of pride. I deserve this.

"I have to say, Miss <y/n>, I’m impressed by your knowledge of the subject and your conviction to expand the realm of magical research. It’s rare for someone your age to show such unwavering compassion, and I must applaud that to the highest degree.” Her voice is frail, yet her gaze is ironclad. “I’d like to offer you a rare opportunity: an internship at the Beast Division, where you’ll be working directly under me.”

The smile that stretches across your face is so wide it hurts. It’s as if a weight has been lifted off your shoulders, the sun’s rays warm against your back. Years of determination have led up to this. I can’t wait to tell him.

After profusely thanking the lady for her generous offer, you reconvene with Sylus outside the hall. From the way you’re beaming like a psychopath, it’s not hard to tell things went well.

He smirks at your squealing, pride glinting in the crimson pools of his eyes. “Didn’t I tell you you had it in the bag?”

Bursting with untapped glee, you wrap your arms around his middle and pull him into a suffocatingly tight embrace. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

He places a hand on your head as he returns your squeeze, his breaths coming out short and uneven.

Oops. You almost forgot to ask how it went for him. “And…you?”

He hesitates for a second, a shadow of doubt passing over his face. “…It’s hardly anything to celebrate. Don’t worry about me. I want to hear everything about your interview with the beast lady.” A small smile touches his lips, but it’s false—you can tell right away.

“Hey! You’re evading my question. How did it go? You know you can tell me.”

Sylus shrugs, as if what he’s about to say holds little importance, though it couldn’t be further from the truth. “I’ve been offered a spot as a Junior Auror. It’s no big deal.”

Your mouth falls open. “Sylus, this is amazing. It takes years to become an Auror, and they’ve just handed it to you—! They must know how brilliant you are at Defence Against the Dark Arts. You have to accept it immediately—”

“MACUSA. Junior Auror at MACUSA,” he interrupts, staring at the ground.

MACUSA? America? The realization dawns, and you nod, trying to keep your voice steady. “Oh.”

He waves a hand dismissively. “It’s no matter. I don’t plan on leaving, so it doesn’t concern me.”

“Why not? Sylus, this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

He shifts uncomfortably. “I’m perfectly capable of working my way up here. The British Ministry needs Aurors. I’ll do just fine taking the regular route.”

The unspoken truth hangs in the air, but you understand it immediately. He doesn’t want to leave you. He’s willing to pass up a lightning-strike chance just to stay by your side.

No. You won’t allow it.

…

Your last week of school was the worst week of your life.

You tried to act distant, as if you had no interest in spending time with him, when in truth, all you really wanted was to nuzzle up next to him and tell him how sorry you were. Sorry you had to put up this act for his own good. Sorry for disrespecting his decisions.

Sorry for loving him so much that you couldn’t bear to watch him sacrifice his dreams for you.

You hadn’t told him you loved him—not yet. And now you never will.

It tears you apart each time you brush him off, leaving him looking wounded and confused. You feel like a villain, when all you’re trying to do is give him the one thing you possibly can.

So here you are, brisk walking in the rain towards the Hogwarts Express. The train doors should be closing any minute now.

A MACUSA carriage had been sent to the castle to escort students of interest to New York. You need him to get on that carriage.

You need him away from the train.

“Wait—” he calls from behind you. He’s caught up to you. Shit. The harsh pitter-patter of raindrops fills your ears, cold rainwater drenching you, soaking you to the bone. “Tell me what’s going on.”

The quaver in his voice is like a stab to your gut. You spin around so violently he flinches.

Everyone else has boarded—you’re the only students left. Bracing yourself, you bite out the most painful words you’ve ever had to say. “Stop bothering me! Haven’t you taken the hint?!”

The hurt in his eyes is palpable. Somewhere, deep inside, he refuses to believe you’d toss him aside like this. There has to be another reason—something he hasn’t accounted for, a past grievance he never addressed— “I’m sorry for tormenting you when we were children,” he says quietly.

He’s desperate, lost.

“This has nothing to do with that!” you spit, bitterness coating your tongue. “I. Don’t. Want. To be with you. You’re holding me back.”

A flash of unresolved rage fills him then, bursting to the surface like his head’s been held underwater. “Is that all this was, then? Just—some kind of distraction?”

You nod, hoping it stings.

And, oh god, it stings. It hurts. It hurts so much you want to crumple up and disappear. Sylus, the boy who’s always waited for you, always stayed behind and silently looked after you while you conquered your battles and chased after your dreams. Sylus, who never asked for anything in return.

Your Sylus. Devastated beyond repair because of you.

You glance up at him, and his anger is gone. Just like that. Like he can no longer bear to be mad at you.

Like you’re on borrowed time, and all he can do now is beg.

“Please don’t do this…” he whispers, taking half a step closer. “I love you.”

Your entire world crumbles. Tears well in your eyes, and you tilt your head up to keep them from falling; because if they do, you don’t think they’ll ever stop. You imagine running to him, closing the distance, kissing him then and there—his hands on your waist, yours in his hair—as if you were the only two people on earth.

Telling him you love him too.

But some dreams just aren’t meant to come true.

So you turn your back to him. “I don’t love you.”

It’s such a blatant lie you fear he might see right through it.

But you don’t give him the chance. You step onto the train just as the doors hiss shut, eyes fixed on your feet. If you looked back... You might not survive it.

I’m sorry, Sylus. I’m so, so sorry…

You watch, blurry-eyed, as the castle shrinks in the window, bidding your time at Hogwarts—and a very special boy—farewell.

Ten years later…

…

Applications: check. Research paper: check. Sampling session with Tabitha… Need to reschedule that one.

You tap your quill against the table as you try to sort out your schedule, possibly your most daunting task as Head of the Beast Division. It’s been rather busy at the Ministry lately, with reports of magical creatures running wild and escaping into the Muggle world.

Not to mention that creepy coworker of yours who won’t take no for an answer.

Everything’s piling up, and you’re in desperate need of someone to share it all with.

It’s moments like these when your mind flits back to your school years. How you long to return to Hogwarts one day—perhaps as a professor, or maybe even as a tourist. There are so many places you’d love to revisit: Hogsmeade village, the Great Hall, the Hufflepuff common room... Every nook and cranny of that place brims with memories you’ll hold dear forever.

Then, of course, there’s your first love—the boy with the startling snowy hair and striking scarlet eyes.

Your heart pangs, a small piece of you breaking all over again. You wonder how he’s doing now. Is he still in New York? Does he have a partner? Kids?

Great, now your mood’s soured all over again.

Though love is like this—no matter how selfish it makes you feel, no matter how scorned, you wish nothing but the best for them. From the bottom of your barely beating heart.

Your coworker bursts through the door, a glass of champagne in one hand and a half-eaten cauldron cake in the other. "Sorry to interrupt— There’s a party downstairs to welcome the newest members of the Ministry. Care to join us, or…?”

“Yeah, I’ll be down in a second.”

…

Your heels click sharply against the polished floors as you weave through the crowd, eyeing the dessert trays while trying not to knock anyone over.

The headquarters of the Ministry is a sprawling place, all moody colors and serious faces. Maybe you should go on that expedition in Brazil after all.

A hand touches your elbow, and you turn to see your coworker smiling almost psychotically at you. “Miss <y/n>, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Again with the sucking up. You’re fed up with it. How important could this person possibly be that they needed to be greeted with a shiny smile crafted just for them? How entitled—

Tall, built, handsome. A sharp glint in his ruby eyes, matching the equally sharp angles of his features.

A head of pale white hair that seems to glisten in the sunlight.

You freeze, not sure what to think, what to say—a million questions swarming your head— How many years has it been? Why is he here? Does he even remember me?

The past decade of hurt and regret and longing crashes into you, all at once. I can’t breathe.

“Hi,” you blurt out, self-conscious and fidgety.

He stares at you with those bright, intense eyes, a familiar feeling you can’t quite pinpoint written all over his face. “Hey.”

The crowd fades to dust, and suddenly, it’s like you’re standing face to face on the platform all over again. “How are you?”

“Good. You?” He’s still the same boy you remember from your childhood. Yet…he’s changed. He’s grown, matured—just as you have.

“I have so much to say to you,” you breathe, thick, raw emotion rising in your throat, choking you. “So much to explain.”

He shakes his head, smiling softly. “You don’t have to. I’m not an idiot, however much you think me one. And by the way, I finally managed to conjure a Patronus, in case you were wondering.”

A laugh escapes your lips despite yourself, and for the first time in a decade, you let your tears slip.

He’s here. He’s the same, but different. He’s working for the Ministry.

He’s here.

And though you’re both young, and stupid, and very well may always be, there’s one thing you know for certain:

No more running away. No more leaving.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Hufflepuff.”

— ⋆˙⟡ ©berrryparfait

《 please do not copy / plagiarize / translate my works or publish them on any other platforms. 》

[stars-obsession-pit]

When Jason Todd first met Danny Fenton, he fell in love instantly.

At least, that’s what he thinks.

Danny’s not so sure.

Really? An ecto-starved revenant with malformed instincts just happens to fall in love with the Ghost King, quite possibly the first source of healthy ectoplasm he’s ever encountered and someone who naturally influences the emotions of undead, on first meeting?

Nah, it’s far more likely that Jason is just having an unexpected reaction to Danny’s powers.

And unfortunately, there’s no quick way to resolve that issue.

Jason’s condition can be improved, but it’s a slow process. Even if he went to the Ghost Zone for active treatment by ghost doctors—a huge ask for an active vigilante like him—it’d still take some time.

A more reasonable option would involve brief trips to the Zone along with time spent in proximity to Danny so his ecto can help Jason’s core recover faster even without the doctors present.

And Danny’s… not entirely sure how to feel about that option. Like, he’s happy to help, but it still feels… a bit wrong, considering how his powers might be affecting Jason’s mind.

Jason, on the other hand, is more excited. He’s hoping he can use their time together to win Danny’s heart and convince him that his feelings are real.

[kiiratart]

Gal pals

[mrs-gauche]

The Dread Wolf Take You (Part 1)

~~Link to the complete 31 page comic here~~

"Imagine that, overlooking the god in your mids!"

May I present, my attempt at illustrating the last four pages of Tevinter Nights. 😁 (Also, the first time I'm posting art on here!)

As the whole thing was quite literally too long to post on tumblr, I uploaded the full version on a customized site made for reading webcomics (via ComicFury). Feel free to check out the link above if you like to read the rest! Also, if you're on mobile, there's a "Scroll View" option for easier navigation. :)

And, obviously, HUGE spoilers for those who haven't read Tevinter Nights!!

On a personal note though, I can't believe I actually finished it... As it had been a *very* long time since I drew (and finished) anything, let alone a 31 page comic and reading Tevinter Nights again finally sparked my motivation (and the courage to post it lol). So I want to thank Patrick Weekes for helping me overcome this massive art block and over two decades of Case Closed mangas for inspiring me how to draw an overly dramatic "exposing the imposter" moment. 😂 I tried my best to be as faithful to the book as possible and it took me forever, so... hope you like it! :D

[officialrocketjumper]

Hey All! I had the absolute honour and pleasure to be lead animator for Dust Queen! We worked TREMENDOUSLY and incredibly and ridiculously and insanely hard on this! And I really hope you like it!

I had a lot of responsibilities as lead:

I made the facial expression, hand pose, lip sync, and walk cycle reuse libraries

Helped the riggers tailor their rigs to our needs as animators

Interviewed and trained the team, with guides on how to animate in Blender and keep the style consistent with choices RWBY makes

Talked a lot of my friends into working on this project and helping (Hi Ioana Hi Jackson Hi Cass Hi Beth Hi Issa Hi Kat Hi Kemmer Hi Andy Hi Vincenttt)

Managed the schedule/checked in with our volunteers, until we got dedicated Production Coordinators for animation (Vincent and John thank you for my life)

and left notes/feedback/drawovers on just about every single shot in the episode. hoo boy!

But I Also did some shots! Here they are! I touched up a few others before they went to rendering, but anything that's at least 80% Not Mine I didn't include. The team did such FANTASTIC work, I'm so floored and working with everyone was nothing short of a pleasure!

Anywho! Thank you all so much for watching!

-Rocket

[dclovesdanny]

Old Timers

Clockwork x Alfred

Alfred had never hidden his marriage from the young masters. Sure, he wore his ring on a chain around his neck, but he never made any move to hide it. He also never hid his own abilities in duplicating himself. How else would he be able to keep the manor clean?

Still, none of them had ever asked any questions. Now, he had to do the awkward business of telling them his husband and his husband’s adoptive children would be coming to stay for a short period of time.

He hoped the young masters wouldn’t bother the children too much. The poor children needed a rest.

[elodieunderglass]

I’m still processing how it happened and wondering what it all means, but today a big pink hamfaced English guy tried to fight Dr Glass in a parking lot (!) and a completely unrelated, amazingly tall woman appeared (!!) and charged the other guy in defense of Dr Glass (!!!) shouting at him so effectively that he got in his car and drove off.

Dr Glass doesn’t look like anything in particular or even do that much, he is so ORDINARY. He just emits some kind of magnetic field that causes Events, and yet the magnetic field also creates feedback that insulates him from the Events. Doesn’t even have to do his own fight scenes!! just magnetically attracts a TALL BRAVE WOMAN to destroy the entire fighting premise. No one can prepare for this. I feel like I’m the only person who notices it

[thericene]

I'm reading SVSSS.