#thread: not every magic potion is bad

[lulu-recs]

lead me into the light by third_crow

“wh– well– why–” james stammered, attempting to get his bearings, because if he didn’t, and he let regulus tell him ‘kiss me’ one more time, his heart would probably give out. “why don’t you get sirius to help?” regulus narrowed his eyes. “because sirius would just knock his teeth out,” he said as though it were obvious. “yes,” james hissed, “and he’ll knock my teeth out if I kiss his little brother.” “oh, yeah, great, so I’m the sacrifice,” he sighed. “you can take a hit, Potter, I’ve seen you on the quidditch pitch,” regulus waved him off, and james groaned, leaning away from him. “precisely,” regulus stepped right into his space, and james felt his chest go a little hot.

or, Regulus asks James for a favor to get his ex off of his back, and James makes bad choices.

like real people do by third_crow ♡

“could I get a name for the order?” marlene asked. “serious,” the man replied. “like the star,” he clarified, and remus mentally scratched out 'serious' and rewrote 'sirius' in his head. “the… star?” marlene asked, her pen hovering over the cup as she hesitated. “s-i-r-i-u-s,” remus said. he stocked croissants into the display case, not looking up. “the dog star,” he added, “brightest star in the sky, actually. visible from both hemispheres.” when he looked over, the man– sirius– seemed surprised, his eyebrows raised as remus spoke, and when remus finished, he blinked a few times before smiling lopsidedly. “er– yeah,” he breathed a laugh. “that.” there was a baby on his hip. somehow, it had taken remus a second glance to notice that.

or, remus works as a barista and sirius comes in every morning with the world's cutest baby, and man, these two just wrote the book on mutual pining, huh?

season of pumpkin spice by blackoccamy

out of many obvious perks of working at a coffee shop - like actually being paid and having near unlimited access to coffee - if you had to select one, you would point to the customers you could observe. of course, you knew all the stories about how working in customer service was a pain, people being basically just people, sure. but it has never been the case in the coffee shop that you worked for now. it was hard to explain why. all kinds of different types of beings would parade in front of the counter on any given day, but either there was some actual magic at work, or the enchanted cafe only attracted the polite ones.

the lines we cross by yumenouveau

once the idea hit him, sirius could not get it out of his head. remus was perfect for him, so why had they never dated? and now that they were both newly single, why did remus think it was such a bad idea?

moonstruck by pixelated (prettyremus)

sirius can ease his aches with a few little tricks he’s learned over the course of their friendship and inevitable romantic relationship— a nice hot bath, a few pain relieving potions, a full-body massage… a good fucking.

and, luckily for them both, sirius knows how to tame the wolf.

the other side of the wall (or laundry day is every day) by bluberd

sirius has never been the most moral of people, but he's pretty sure that wanking off to the sounds of remus having sex is crossing some sort of line.

you make loving fun by playitasitlays (on going)

remus lupin is a barista with zero social skills and boom one day he meets the mysterious, leather jacket-wearing sirius black. also, remus is best friends with regulus black. what could go wrong?

one single thread of gold tied me to you by itsprettyunfortunate ♡

after a really terrible one-night stand, sirius wants nothing more than to forget what happened. it doesn’t help at all that he keeps running into that handsome stranger wherever he goes.

would that I by third_crow (on going) ♡

sirius studied Remus’ face. he was curious what he thought of all of this, the only one of them who didn’t have a mark– theoretically– and the only one with a muggle parent. muggles didn’t get marks, he knew. if remus’ parents were soulmates, then they wouldn’t know it. he wondered if there was a way to tell, though. if they could just feel it, somehow, even without the help of some magical fate.

because it seemed like something you would just know, just from being near someone, from being close enough to them, from being in the same space. like their souls would attract like magnets or like water droplets traveling down a window, waiting to merge until the last moment when they realized they were on the same path, and then they’d become one.

was that fate, sirius wondered? he realized remus was staring back at him, his eyes puzzled and curious and warm. sirius looked away first and didn’t look back, pushing down something heavy and impossible in his chest.

or, the marauders soulmates au where your soulmate shares your scars in gold, and everyone is oblivious, pining, and/or in denial.

what's it gonna be? by fen (alarainai), industrations ♡

the probability of meeting the same stranger twice in london is low. but three times? well, that’s pretty damn impossible. it’d take fate, destiny and some divine intervention from the universe to have them meet again.

“sirius?” ...maybe the universe really is looking out for him.

or sirius, remus, missing trains and the embarrassing pursuit of happiness.

say what you mean by fen (alarainai), industrations ♡

james thinks the man might be new, which would explain his attitude and lack of real grace as an attendant. james still grabs the drink with a thanks, taking a much-needed sip.

“anything else?” regulus asks. your number, your life story, your hand in marriage.

“nothing for now.”

or winning over the grumpy flight attendant: a guide by james fleamont potter.

stay with me by charmstwit, pigeononacloud (on going)

secondary genders have been repressed for generations until one day they are suddenly back. james, remus, and sirius are just trying to navigate 7th year at hogwarts without losing their minds. luckily for them, they are best friends who are willing to help each other out. it's just a little bit of knotting between friends, right? totally temporary.

casanova & his moon by youprettythings (on going)

it was difficult for him to ignore. sirius was impossible to ignore, really. he knew what he had signed up for. he knew it wasn't a good idea when he put his signature down on the lease, but he couldn't help himself. remus liked to think he was an intelligent person, but it seemed logic and self preservation went out the window once a certain steely eyed individual became involved.

remus loves sirius. sirius is clueless. after pining after his best friend for years, remus decides he needs to put an end to it. he gets out of his comfort zone and tries to move on - making questionable decisions in the process.

sirius sees something he wasn't meant to and deals with the aftermath.

two idiots falling in love in winter by r33sespieces

when art history PhD student remus lupin books the last ticket to an anniversary showing of titanic, he’s forced to share a loveseat with a stranger, and a chance encounter turns into so much more.

a cauldron full of hot, strong love by r33sespieces

when sirius black bumps into his favourite omega camboy at a work event, it doesn’t go even remotely as he expects. he smells wrong, for one thing. for another, he has a partner sirius didn’t anticipate. but when sirius snags an invite home with him anyway, what else is a lonely alpha to do?

it is a good time to panic! by blackoccamy

when drama strikes, who you gonna call? Harry calls his fey-father. obviously.

borrowed potion by stardust_kenobi

after a long day, remus suggests using the veritaserum he borrowed from severus in a game of truth or dare with you and sirius. you aren't able to hide your feelings any longer after just a few drops of the potion.

the winner takes it all by damn_it_derek_hale

you planned to leave your life in wizarding britain behind after your relationship with sirius black and remus lupin fell apart but then mycroft holmes presents you with the option to take his place in the duelling competition that hogwarts is hosting.

unfortunately, this means coming face to face with remus and sirius who have realised what they've lost and will try anything to win you back.

raspberry donut by samunderthelights

since losing his job, sirius spends his days at the coffee shop where remus and lily work. remus is happy to spend more time with him, but he can't help but worry that sirius is in trouble. because he spends hours scribbling something down in his notebook - which he closes as soon as Remus comes near him - and it isn't like him to keep a secret.

my cup of tea by fivepips

sirius runs a queer coffee shop, remus waits outside to meet up with a friend every week -- until they finally come in one day.

i can be mean too, baby by rottin6

wide eyes stare at remus and he loves it. “what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” he can feel where pale cheeks heat up beneath his palms. he can see where small hands clenched into fists down at his sides.

sirius looks down at his lips and the motion makes remus look down at his and before he can even look back up, sirius is all over him. his mouth on his, slick with cherry flavoured lip-gloss. it’s all consuming, heavy and everything he wants. and even though something nags at him to pull away, he kisses him back.

kisses him like they weren’t fighting a few hours ago. kisses him like they didn’t break up and ruin each other completely. kisses him like he can’t get enough.

or, sirius crashes his ex's party.

blends by rvltn909

words got in the way sometimes, but remus got the sense sirius knew what he was trying to say.

another coffee shop au.

bewitched, bothered, and bewildered by anonymous

it is the marauders final year at hogwarts and the graduation ball is fast approaching. but remus doesn't know how to dance. luckily, he has just the friend to show him.

staying strangers by 3amandcounting (on going) ♡

sirius get's given a wrong number, remus definitely isn't being sarcastic, and they should probably agree to stay strangers...

[triforce-of-mischief]

@ailesswhumptober day 7: field medicine

Summary:

He had a few options. One, he could drink the potion now and probably have to deal with a half-healed, infected wound. Two, he could clean the wound then drink it, but he didn’t have enough bandages in case it kept bleeding. His hand landed on one of his newest dungeon treasures, a short rod with a red jewel inlaid at one end. …Or, he could burn it closed.

Contents: blood and injury, moderately graphic descriptions of violence, cauterization, trypanophobia

Words: 700

AO3

Please reblog to show your support! Likes do nothing.

Breathe, Link. You can’t heal yourself if you don’t breathe.

His own reminder rang in his head as he held his right arm tight to his chest, careless of the blood staining his green tunic. Link had worn the thing through the Light and Dark Worlds both, and it resembled an oversized rag more every day. He didn’t carry needles and thread in his small bag; he didn’t even know how to sew. Whenever his clothes tore, he would bring them to Uncle-

Link choked on a sob. Uncle wasn’t there, and he knew that he could never bring himself to use a sewing kit in a different way. It would have been so much easier if Link could close his own wound without a second thought, but even the thought of a needle near his skin made him feel like he might pass out. The deep gash running from his wrist to his elbow wasn’t getting stitched, but it sure wasn’t resolving itself either. He was still bleeding a lot, and he was running out of time to find a different solution.

He dumped the contents of his bag on the ground, sifting through what few supplies he had. Two bottles, one full of water and one with a few measly sips of red potion. Link never had enough rupees to get by, especially running all over Hyrule like he was, and he had been testing the effects of potion if he only drank a little at a time. If the cut on his arm was smaller (much smaller), the potion may have been enough but right now…

He had a few options. One, he could drink the potion now and probably have to deal with a half-healed, infected wound. Two, he could clean the wound then drink it, but he didn’t have enough bandages in case it kept bleeding.

His hand landed on one of his newest dungeon treasures, a short rod with a red jewel inlaid at one end.

…Or, he could burn it closed.

He felt sick at the very idea, but it wasn’t a paralyzing fear like stitches were. This was going to suck, this was going to hurt, but somehow Link could make himself do it. He didn’t have any other choice, so he hurried to arrange his supplies before he could overthink it.

He didn’t really need much. The water, the potion, the fire rod, and what few bandages he had. He uncorked the first bottle and carefully poured water over his arm, flinching and hoping that anything nasty washed out before he burned it in.

Oh gods, was he really about to do this?

Overthinking. He couldn’t do that. He concentrated a tiny amount of magic into the fire rod, enough to make it burn with dangerous heat but not send flames shooting at his face. He held it above his arm, hearing the mix of water and sweat and blood sizzle and evaporate.

His left hand was shaking. He was breathing too fast and he needed to do this before he lost his nerves or passed out.

Link pressed the fire rod to his forearm.

It hurt, oh Golden Three and spirits and whoever else was there it hurt so bad. Link tasted salt and copper, the dull sting of a bit tongue nothing next to the searing agony coursing through his arm. He prayed that he had been right in assessing that there were no monsters around because nothing could stop him from screaming. His entire body and mind felt weak as he burned all the way down his arm, then set the fire rod aside and reached for the bandages. He whimpered as the raw flesh protested, wishing desperately for a salve or something to soothe the pain. Belatedly, Link remembered the red potion and clumsily drank it, finally able to take a real breath as his arm felt just a little bit better.

He wouldn’t be surprised if he removed the bandages to find an ugly red scar, stretching across half of his arm as a permanent mark of his own stupidity. He didn’t really care, in this moment. Link was stubborn and resourceful and he wasn’t going to lose, not here, not now.

[gothwizardmagic]

@jaimehwatson waah thank u!!

19: what are some books or authors that influenced your style the most?

i feel like the most obvious influence on my writing is homestuck like... i learned SO MUCH about character voice and story development just from reading it. genuinely the writing advice i am most embarrassed to give when people ask but also believe in most strongly is Read Homestuck Critically with an eye to what works and what doesn't and why. you will learn things you never in a million years expected to.

formative strong influences would be along the lines of eoin colfer (i devoured SO MANY of his books as a kid/teen not just the artemis fowl series), howl's moving castle (favourite book as a kid LOATHED the movie), and babysitters club (i love a strong ensemble) and more recently it would be the locked tomb and murderbot series', and tj klune's books. also not his written works bc they are unfortunately 99% total ass (reading the bestiality scene in the hippopotamus when i was like 16 was. uh. sure an experience) but i get a lot of my love for wordplay from stephen fry. oh and i get a lot of my sense of humour from growing up watching red dwarf (again tho Not The Books they suck)

funnily the authors ive heard most comparisons to are douglas adams and terry pratchett and ive only ever read 1-2 books from each of them when i was a kid and neither grabbed me 🤷‍♂️

41: what is the weirdest story idea you’ve ever had.

oh man when i was like 15 i wrote a fanfic entirely from the pov of a rock on the path watching the characters grow up as they passed by over the years & another one where one character ate a tomato & got obsessed with how his crush's lips were the same colour

was also featured on godawful fanfiction once for an mpreg fic where a characters hormones were so bad he had a meltdown and accidentally magically exploded his entire house which i am HEARTBROKEN i deleted (also heartbroken the gaff thread is long gone bc a person compared it to someone else's fic where a character got a fertility potion on his nose and got nose pregnant & then sneezed out a baby which i yearn with every fibre of my being to read again if anyone has a link to the nose mpreg sneeze baby fic please GOD hook me up)

i used to basically just write Fucking Anything back in the day and slap it up unedited i think i have about 80 fics on ff.net lmao

fic writer asks!

[transitfever]

Witches and Accessibility

It's super trendy nowadays to call yourself a witch.

But let's take a step back and look at the roots of this phenomenon.

Once we sweep away the fluffy bunny feminist agenda confetti, what do we really have left?

In Greco-Roman sources, witches were called pharmakos, grais, and aidos — painting a very vivid picture of who they actually were.

They sang their chants, brewed potions, and were mostly older women — the classic self-made bitches who figured life out the hard way.

Medieval times tell us about witches as heretics, mostly from Cathar and Waldensian backgrounds, touched by the last echoes of gnosticism and free-spirited biblical preaching.

What's the common thread?

Well, Waldensians notably didn't suppress women.

And in Roman times, witches were the people’s competition to priests — the DIY spiritualists of their day.

Same spirit still lingers: surface-level knowledge being sold as sacred fruit to the desperate.

Speaking of fruits — during the Dark Ages, witches were stamped as devil-worshippers and diabolic minions.

Modern witches often (maybe a bit too gleefully) lean into that aesthetic.

And why not? Every massive social trauma tends to birth its own cult eventually.

Unlike fluffy neo-Wiccan bunnies, there's an entire movement of traditional witchcraft believers who openly worship the Devil.

And by "Devil" — chill — we mean mortido, the raw, death-bound energy, destructive but in skilled hands, incredibly potent.

It's the "if we die, let's at least die with music" approach.

Where’s the rational core?

The underground movement of alt-magic is huge.

It can even be "right-hand path," like in my own case:

fasting, asceticism, vows, psalm magic, Bible-as-grimoire, no-harm oaths, saint work — you name it.

Because true witchcraft is about resistance.

It's about being the wolf wearing the sheep's costume.

It can look like a sweet old church lady or a pagan priest of Brigid.

But the core is still the same:

"You didn’t invite me — too bad, I showed up anyway."

Locally, it’s just a little band-aid over a broken system.

Globally — it’s the upstart nobody asked for, but who showed up and rewrote the rules.

Witches-for-hire aren’t a new phenomenon either.

That beard’s been growing for centuries.

The only thing that's changed is the lack of fear — now they weaponize cringe on TikTok, laughing at each other and adding to the entropy.

So, when you see a "commercial witch," don’t rush to roast her face off — maybe she's also a misfit from the old magic bloodlines.

Because historically, witchcraft isn’t about sparkles and pastel Instagram grids.

It’s about otherness. About resistance. About f*ck-you energy distilled into an art form.

Crystals, Instagram-perfect aesthetics, and "witch starter kits" are nothing but pigs' lipstick.

Real witches do stuff with their hands — we're talking utilitarian magic, baby.

Some worthy branches of real witchcraft?

Stregoneria from Italian traditions.

Sabbatic Craft classics.

Even the Tubal Cain Clan with their secret goodies.

There are others — drop your favorite examples in the comments.

And if you wanna dive deeper, my inbox is open.

May your broomstick be well-oiled.

[nikatyler]

✨ Ross Goes to Baldur's Gate ✨

Oh yeah he's shooting his shot folks but it's too late to be messy now ahhh we're committed

what if i want him. like listen i'm an astarion girlie through and through but realistically gale would be so much more fitting for me. well hold up what if i want both of them. what are two hands for after all. ross move aside the rizzard is mine. and i'll steal your vampire too

what if i want his depressed yapping arse

n-no space magic weave woohoo? alright then yeah it's fine i get it 😔

well damn now I feel bad, we hurt him, but in my defense it was very much in Ross's character to not tell him

Aww he's okay with being friends after all 🥺

Yeah Minthy I did notice, I'm stupid but I'm not that stupid

Minthy no we don't do that here

And down into the darkness we go

.

Well, I'm not doing well, with every move I moan like I'm on my last hp, so I'll continue tomorrow. If someone could throw a healing potion at me that would be lovely

Original thread.

[stellaectus]

“If the path to hell is paved with good intentions, as they say what do we do if we’re already there? What then? I suppose we could always watch it all go up in flames.”

◇ Threads ◇─◇ About ◇─◇ Connections ◇ ◇ Headcanon ◇─◇ Mirror ◇─◇ Musings ◇

✦ Trigger warning: Tw death, tw violence

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: Emmeline Vance

ALIAS/NICKNAME: Emmy, Emms, Snake (those that dislike her)

AGE: Twenty One

BIRTH DATE: September 23rd, 1957

BLOOD STATUS: Half-blood

AFFILIATION: Order of the Phoenix (torn/struggling)

GENDER/PRONOUNS: Cis-Female. She/her

CURRENT LIVING CONDITIONS: Hogwarts, Slytherin Dormitory

OTHER: Vance Manor, Flat in Knockturn Alley

OCCUPATION: Student at Hogwarts, Majoring in Potions (with consideration of swapping majors to Herbology)

PATRONUS: Chestnut Stallion

RELATIONSHIPS

PARENTS: Ismelda (muggleborn) and Alusius Vance (pureblood).

SIBLINGS: None.

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: None.

OTHER FAMILY: None known to her.

CHILDREN: None.

EDUCTATION:

SCHOOL: Hogwarts

HOUSE: Slytherin

EXTRACURRICULAR: Chaser for the Slytherin Quidditch team, Charms club, Ancient Runes, Potions Club, Dueling club, Arithmancy

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: English, Italian

PHYSICAL TRAITS

EYE COLOR: Dark Hazel

HAIR COLOR: Black

HEIGHT: 5′5

SCARS: Thin lines spreading like roots from the palm of her right hand up in the inside of her wrist due to dark magic firing back

PERSONALITY

INTELLIGENCE: High. Adaptive.

SKILLS: Wandless magic (minor, practicing), Flying (decent), Dueling (practicing, decent)

POSITIVE TRAITS: creative, resourceful, determined, caring, proud, observant

NEGATIVE TRAITS: desperate, impulsive, impatient, reckless, deceptive at times

MBTI: INTJ

Before Hogwarts

✦ Born September 23rd, 1957 on a stormy fall night ✦ Father was a pureblood with five generations of purity when he married her mother, thinking he could simply move on as though nothing happened and his choice didn't affect anything ✦ Emmeline grew up raised like the other purebloods but early on noticed she was treated differently at times. Despite that she holds the same education as the other purebloods ✦ Due to the events of her childhood in which her mother was seen as the issue, Emmeline developed a hatred for her mother and begun to see her as the issue and reason why things were bad ✦ Absolutely adored her father and lived to make him proud while being her own person ✦ Mother was Hufflepuff while her father came from a line of Slytherins ✦ She spent years playing in the gardens of the manor, always finding something new to explore. Whenever she wasn't out in the gardens, she could be found in the library, trying to learn all she could about magic

During Hogwarts

✦ When the letter to Hogwarts arrived she was absolutely thrilled and ready to go ✦ Was sorted into Slytherin without the hat giving much a second glance toward any of the other houses ✦ Got along splendidly with her house mates, fitting in with the usual crowd and while she wasn't a bully due to being quieter at times, certainly hung around the standard group ✦ Lost her mother during her second year as a potential victim of early purist actions but was to disconnected from the person that gave her life to care much about it. It simply became something slumbering under the surface as she moved on with life. Seeing her mother pass on allowed her to see thestrals. ✦ Joined the Slytherin Quidditch team in her third year, playing as a chaser for the team ever since ✦ Made sure the fact that she's a half-blood wasn't known to everyone. Eventually keeping it quiet simply became not talking about it which leaves her amused every time someone mistakes her for a pureblood ✦ Excelled at Potions, Herbology and Defense against the Dark Arts while absolutely hating Divination and struggling with Care for Magical Creatures ✦ During her eight year she lost her father with rumors claiming that it was Death Eaters during the early day. It was too early to know anything for certain and so it was passed off as a tragic accident. It changed how Emmeline viewed the world around her. ✦ Afterward, she started siding with the Order. At first out of anger and a need to take down whoever took her family away but gradually she learned that the world wasn't entirely black and white as she originally thought. She is still a snake, despite it all ✦ Every now and then days come during which she struggles with the choice as she sees those she considered friends still as her friends and family. At times it makes her choice quite odd and view rather twisted ✦ When the time to pick a major came, Emmeline opted for Potions. Always having had an affinity the art of brewing all kinds of concoctions, it seemed like the obvious choise ✦ More recently she's played with the idea of swapping majors to Herbology or doubling down on both, though as she finds it may be the more useful since both align with her interests and work together hand in hand.

Future Plans

Emmeline is currently considering a career with the ministry. While she certainly has a love for herbology and a tendency to delve into the dark arts and other areas she should not be in, curse breaking for the ministry in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement seems the most suited to her liking as it brings her closer to the Dark Arts while allowing her to work with the aurors.

Headcanons (more here)

✦ Emmeline chose the Order after what happened to her father but every now and then struggles with her choice as she feels torn between the world she called her home and the world she's now facing ✦ Her favorite flowers are lavender and tulips, making purple and yellow her favorite colors ✦ Emmeline always has a scent of lavender about her. Not a day goes by when one could go by without picking up the soft touch of the floral scent in the air ✦ Owns a Great Horned Owl called Barnaby that she's had ever since she started her time at Hogwarts. It was an early birthday present from her father ✦ Emmeline hasn't been back to her father's manor ever since she lost him in her seventh year ✦ When Emmeline connects with someone, be it friendship, kinship or love, she becomes someone entirely loyal to them with a fierce need to protect while allowing them their own space. When feelings arise therefore, it is not uncommon for the witch to simply not speak of it at all ✦ For a while after her father's death, Emmeline kept looking into various people around her to see if she could find a connection with those allying with the other side. By now that knowledge is used in part to protect them

[azvolrien]

Flight Camp

A pleasant weekend giving flying lessons to a group of young gryphons goes somewhat awry.

---

“At least the weather’s good this time,” said Asta. “How many weekends have they had to postpone this, now?”

“Three,” said Redbolt with a deep sigh. “Now, I’ve flown in some pretty rough weather, but don’t suppose it’s fair to ask the little chickies to fly in a full-tilt thunderstorm.”

“It could be a useful skill for them,” said Asta, smiling. “We are in Stormhaven, after all.”

Redbolt gave a soft clicking laugh in his throat. “Likely save that for the advanced classes.”

However bad the summer storms had been, they had passed completely with no sign of returning just yet. The sky above Aberystrad Beach was a clear, pure blue, only interrupted by a few high white wisps flying in the wind coming off the sea, but despite that, the beach itself was almost deserted, other than a handful of beachcombers along the tideline and the gaggle of young gryphons – older than fledglings, but not by much – gathering on the white sand.

Redbolt leant over the edge of the huge gryphon sculpture’s head to glance down at them. “How many’s that now, d’you reckon?”

“Mmm, I think I see twelve,” said Asta. “Thirteen, if that one off to the side is with the group as well.” She flipped back the top of her satchel and took out her notebook to check the roster. “And there were… Fifteen on the signup sheet.”

Redbolt settled back with another sigh. The remaining half of his tail twitched slightly, suggesting that a phantom tail-tuft flicked to and fro in relaxation. “I’ll give them another few minutes to show up, then.” He glanced at the notebook in her hand. “Were you always this keen with notebooks and such, or did you catch it off Master Gwen?”

“She is a fearsomely organised woman,” said Asta, double-checking an earlier page for the weather forecast. “But no, in this case; I don’t think I’ve gone anywhere without a notebook since I was at school.” She paused. “Certain circumstances notwithstanding. Actually, while we’re talking about the College, I was wondering something, and it’s turned out to be surprisingly difficult to find in the library. Even Arianrhod – you remember her, I lived with her for a few weeks when I first came to Stormhaven – wasn’t sure if they had any books about it. I was hoping you might know more about it.”

“Hrm?”

“Do gryphons have magic?”

“Hrm.” Redbolt wiggled his ear back and forth a couple of times, something like a human making a wavering gesture with one hand. “Yes and no.”

Asta frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well – we all have magic. All of us, every one of us. It’s worked into us, like… like threads in a tapestry. Runs through every feather, every drop of blood. I mean – look at me.” He unfolded both wings to their full, huge extent, more than thirty feet from one wingtip to the other. “Now, I’m lighter than I look, air sacs and all that, but still, you think a beast my size could get off the ground without at least a spark to help out? The wizards always look forward to our moults – our sheds can be useful ingredients for potions and whatnot.” He folded his wings again, shuffling them a little to settle them more comfortably along his back, and looked out to sea.

“So, yeah, gryphons do have magic,” he went on. “But if what you’re really asking is ‘can gryphons be mages’ – that’s rare. That’s very rare. It’s not unheard of, but every generation only hatches one or two, if that, who can really channel and control their magic like the wizards do. I think Owl and her little apprentice are the only ones around at the moment. They live a ways outside the city – Oakhollow, nice little place a bit east of here – but you might have seen her around now and then. White and pale grey feathers, sort of a ruff around her face, hence the name.”

“I think I have seen her once or twice. I’ve never seen one at the College, though. Not as a student, at least – Inkfoot and the messengers are always around, of course.”

Redbolt shook his head. “You wouldn’t have. It sort of – it goes along different lines to a human mage, I’m told. Not much point trying to teach a gryphon to wield magic the same way a human does, ’cause it just won’t work. I did hear that the little one wanted to sit in on a few theory classes, though, so she might turn up now and then after the summer.”

“I’ll keep an eye out for her,” said Asta. She checked her watch. “That’s after ten o’clock now. I think anybody who hasn’t shown up by now is just going to have to deal with being late.”

“Hrm. Don’t suppose it’s fair to keep ’em waiting, the ones who got here on time.” Redbolt stood, stretched, and nodded for Asta to climb onto his back. He waited for her to buckle the safety strap around her waist before he unfurled his wings again, stepped off the side of the sculpture’s head, and glided down to the beach. The gathered youngsters looked up when his shadow passed over them, and had formed up into a wobbly line by the time his claws touched down on the sand. Asta undid the belt and slid off his back.

“We still waiting on anyone?” asked Redbolt once he was within earshot of the young gryphons. “One, two, three, four – yeah, fifteen of you here now. Right! Like as not you’ve seen me around the place – not like this face blends into a crowd easy – but we’ll do some intros anyway. The name’s Redbolt, lately Flight Captain in the Second Assault Wing. Retired the year before last after eighty-odd years in the Army. Saw action in the Battle of Second Eyrie, the Darkwald War, and more border skirmishes than I can even remember.”

“It shows,” said one female on the end of the row. Her neighbour gave her a scandalised look and made a desperate shushing sound.

Redbolt just looked at her for a few seconds until she began to stew. “Yeah, I’m missing a few bits,” he said mildly. “This one here is my pal Asta; mostly she just tagged along for something to do, but she can help you out if you need anything noted down. Any of you got more than a nest-name yet?”

A few of them did; the one who had commented on Redbolt’s scars went by Vinegar for reasons she declined to explain, while a small male halfway along the row was called Goldcrest for reasons that were entirely obvious. Most, however, were still nameless other than whatever their families shouted to get their attention.

“Well, maybe a few more of you’ll have proper names after the weekend,” said Redbolt. “Think I got my first one when I was about your age. So! Let’s make a start. I take it you’ve all been out at the practice trees? Got in some branch gliding, worked up your flight muscles?” Nods all around. “Good. Sky above knows why your families would’ve sent you out here if you hadn’t. So, since you know how to glide down from a high place, lesson one for today: getting off the ground. What do you already know?”

There were a few seconds of silence as the students all glanced at each other, before Goldcrest held up one fore-claw. It seemed such a human gesture that Asta smiled. “Uh… Flap?”

Redbolt laughed. “You’re not wrong, but there’s more to flight than flapping. Look at the shape of my wing.” He held one out to the side. “Not how it’s shaped from above, but from the side. See how the leading edge is rounded where all the bone and muscle is, then it trails to a sharp edge at the back where the feathers are. Then each big feather is like that too, but smaller, with the vane and the shorter barbs at the front and the longer barbs towards the back. You’ve all got the same. How you hold your wings, how the air flows over that shape – that’s just as important as flapping. More, I’d say. See the gulls up there? How they soar about, only moving their wings now and then? It’s the same for them.

“Now, me, I’ve got enough power in my chest and my back legs that taking off with one big downstroke-leap is easy enough for me, and I’ll try you out on that later, but for now let’s start you out with a wind take-off. Good weather for it today; nice strong breeze off the sea, not too many eddies to throw you around. Asta, you’d better go off to the side for a bit.”

“Yes, I think I better had,” said Asta, and sat down on the sand at the base of the statue. A couple of the students turned to watch her go, clearly still wondering why a human was sitting in on a flying class.

Redbolt cleared his throat to regain their attention. “All right! Step one! Spread out so you don’t all crash into each other.” He waited until they had done so, forming a straggling row along the tideline. “Step two!” he went on, raising his voice so they could all hear him. “Face into the wind. Step three! Wings out.” He waited until all of the young gryphons had their wings spread. Most of them were, in gryphon parlance, ‘eagles’ like Redbolt, with long, broad wings built for soaring, but a few had the shorter, rounder wings and longer tail-feathers of ‘hawks’. Redbolt nodded his approval and turned towards the sea, spreading his own wings. “Step four!” he shouted. “Make shallow flaps like this, and run!”

Two of the students almost immediately crashed into each other and fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs; one tripped on an inconvenient stone and planted his beak in the sand up to his nostrils. Three others managed to take off in a wavering glide for a few seconds before settling relatively gently in the surf and wading back to shore. The rest, however, successfully caught the wind at just the right angle and, and they picked up speed, lifted their claws from the sand and rose into the air. Redbolt nodded again and led them in a wide, gently rising spiral over the sea before coming back in for a long gliding descent to the beach. Asta couldn’t hear what Redbolt shouted back to them as they neared the sand, but presumably it was something to do with how to brake properly. Their landings were less graceful than their take-offs; only four of the students managed to copy how Redbolt dropped his hindquarters, fanning out his tail feathers and spreading out his wings to slow himself before he lowered his hind claws to the sand, took a couple of awkward little hops as his speed fell, and finally dropped to all fours and came to a halt. ‘Crash’ was probably too uncharitable a way of describing the others, but it wasn’t that far off the mark. One came close, but went to all fours too quickly and fell flat on her chest; another missed the mark with his hind legs and tumbled over in a rather spectacular forward roll.

“Everyone still in one piece?” asked Redbolt, to a chorus of pained but affirmative groans. “No broken bones or feathers? Good. Little ones like you should still be bendy enough to take a few knocks with no damage to more than your pride. Right, everyone back up to where we were first.” He waited until everyone had assembled once more and lay down on the sand, crossing his front claws over each other. “Now for the bit everyone loves,” he said, with something like a wicked grin in his voice, though his body language betrayed nothing. “Crrrriticism! Now, you two, and you,” he said, nodding towards the ones who hadn’t even left the ground. “Don’t think I need to say where you went wrong, eh?”

“We’ll stand further apart next time,” said one, glancing sheepishly to the side.

“And keep a better eye on where I’m putting my feet,” added the one who had tripped.

“Good. Now, you three, you had the right idea, but you needed more lift, which in this case means you needed more speed.”

“So, run faster,” said one of the trio who had landed in the sea.

“Run faster,” agreed Redbolt. “Like I said, I’ll try you on a leaping take-off later, but I want to see about getting you all off the ground this way first. Now, as for getting you back on the ground…”

Asta had, she privately admitted, been a little dubious when Redbolt had told her about the flying lessons. She didn’t have much contact with the other military gryphons, but those few she had spoken with who had trained under Redbolt remembered it with something approaching horror; one had told her with a haunted expression that they still dreaded the occasions when he came in as a guest instructor. However, he had clearly adjusted his teaching style for a non-military audience. ‘Gentle’ was probably still not the right word, for he made sure every one of his students knew exactly where they had gone wrong, even those who, such as Vinegar, seemed to Asta’s eyes to have performed perfectly, but he had tempered his criticism with enough coaching on how to improve that soon they were all raring to line back up for another attempt.

It was almost sunset when Redbolt finally called a halt. They had, finally, all managed to take off into the wind, circle around, and land without crashing at least three times.

“Bit trickier than a quick flutter up to the top of the statue, eh?” said Redbolt, pointing up to where they would all have been presented to Lady Starfeather after growing their first set of flight feathers. They murmured their agreement. “We’re gryphons, chickies. Flight’s in our blood. You’d get off the ground without my help, sooner or later. But instinct’s best when it’s paired with proper training.” His tail twitched from side to side in a ‘smile’. “Reckon you’re all starving now, though. C’mon, back to camp for some grub.”

A cheer went up and they followed him back through the coastal dunes in a ragged crocodile, to where a series of tents big enough to comfortably house gryphons had been set up around a huge firepit. Another cheer greeted this sight, for an entire ox had been roasting on a spit over the fire. The team of human cooks who had overseen it lifted the spit from its supports, carried it over to a wide, flat area of stone that had been carefully swept clear of sand, and stood back as the students descended upon the carcass like a flock of starving vultures.

“Gruesome sight, isn’t it?” said Redbolt, almost laughing.

“I think Goldcrest just put his entire head inside the ribcage,” said Asta faintly.

“Yeah, I didn’t think he had that in him, truth be told,” said Redbolt. “Struck me as more of the fussy type.” He glanced sideways to catch Asta’s mildly horrified expression. “Ah, it’s just a flight camp tradition to go a bit wild on the first night. Tomorrow’s dinner’ll be a bit more civilised. Might even have tables.”

“Tables!” said Asta. “How decadent.”

“No need for us to join the scrum, though,” said Redbolt. “C’mon, over – ah, hm. You do eat meat, yeah? Never thought to ask but I know some humans have a thing…”

Asta assured him this wasn’t a problem and followed him over to a second, smaller firepit where the cooks had roasted a pig for Redbolt. He must have warned them in advance that he had human company: they were prepared with a plate and cutlery and carved off a few slices for Asta before placing the rest down on another clean stone for Redbolt. He gave a grunt of approval – evidently high praise from the way the head cook smiled – and began to tear into it with his beak, pinning it in place with his great hooked talons. Long since used to Redbolt’s eating habits, slightly neater than the youngsters’, Asta watched quietly as she ate her own helping, noting how he used his other claw to compensate for the missing talon on his left. She frowned thoughtfully, her gaze drifting up from his claws to the great scar that cut through where his eye had once been.

“Redbolt?” she asked once he had mostly finished his pig.

“Ayah?”

“You’re missing part of your tail.”

“I am?!” said Redbolt, letting his jaw drop. A strip of pork fell from the corner of his mouth. “Why did nobody tell me?!”

“Very funny. I was just wondering, after watching you with the students today – does it affect how you fly?”

“Good question,” said Redbolt. He retrieved the fallen scrap and swallowed it before twisting his head around to look back at his tail. Intact, it would have been some six feet long, but whatever long-ago wound had taken it had left less than half of that. “It did throw off my balance at first,” he said after surveying it for a few seconds. “Had to re-learn a lot of that. But see these big feathers at the base?” He fanned them out in demonstration. “They’re what’s really important for steering in the air. You see it with birds too. Use ’em to shift the airflow over the wings.”

“I think I understand.” More hesitantly, Asta went on. “How did that happen? I know you lost your eye and your talon in the Darkwald War, but…”

“Hah, nah, the tail’s an older thing. Not even a war wound, really, if we’re strict about it.” He sighed. “Gang of slave raiders had climbed up into the Chainbreaker Hills, a good bit north of the Harbinger Pass. Started preying on a couple of the little tiny villages up there, chaining folk up and making ready to drag them back down the hill. And somehow – dunno where they got it – they had a bladehound with them.”

Asta gasped. The terrifying war-constructs had been designed for killing wizards, loaded with as much resistance to magic as their creators could manage, but their sheer bulk and steel claws as sharp and heavy as meat cleavers made them easily a match for a gryphon on the ground.

“Yeah. I was with a border patrol when we came across them. Killed some, chased the others back down the hill, and freed the people they’d grabbed. But I reckon whoever’d been giving the bladehound its orders was one of the dead, because the thing went berserrr – uh, ran wild. Started flailing around like nobody’s business. Well, we got pikes, started forcing it back towards a drop that might break it up enough for us to finish the job, when one of my mates got too close. It went for him, all claws, and I lunged to get him out of the way. He did. I didn’t quite, and, well…” He brought his own talons down in a decisive motion. “Chop.”

Asta drew her breath in through her teeth. “I suppose you were lucky to only lose that much. If you’d been any slower it could have severed your spine.”

“Strictly, it did,” Redbolt pointed out.

“Well, yes. But you know what I mean.”

“Heh. Yeah, I know.” Redbolt paused for a moment and continued, a hint of reluctance entering his voice for the first time. “Actually,” he said slowly, “if I’m honest… losing the eye was worse for flying. Made it harder to judge distances, you know? Crashed a few times when the ground came up faster than I’d thought, until I got used to it.” He stared into space for a few seconds, then gave himself a shake as if to dislodge a bad memory. “Still, I am used to it now. Barely remember what it was like to have two, really.”

Asta found that difficult to believe, considering that Redbolt was more than a hundred years old and had been missing an eye for less than twenty, but thought it best not to voice as much. “You’re very philosophical about all your scars,” she said quietly.

“Ah, well. Don’t see much point being otherwise. Not like pulling my feathers out will make my tail grow back, eh?”

“Hm.” Asta ran one hand back over her shoulder and beneath the collar of her blouse, finding the uppermost whipping-scar across her back with her fingertips. Only after a few more seconds of silence did she realise that Redbolt had turned his head and was watching her without speaking. She met his steady golden gaze and raised an eyebrow.

“It’s different, I think, with all of mine,” he said, his raspy voice unusually gentle. “They weren’t fun – actually picked up a nasty infection with the eye, had to sit out the last few months of the war – but… I was on my feet and fighting, you know? Heat of battle sort of thing. Them or me. There wasn’t the same…” He paused, wiggling his ear again. Asta imagined he might have wrinkled his nose, had his beak been capable of such an expression. “Wasn’t the same kind of… of cold cruelty behind it that there was with that.” He nodded towards her back. “And I think maybe it’s that that haunts your dreams as much as the real pain of it.”

“…You might be right.”

Redbolt grunted and gave himself another shake. “You said your berserker killed the one who did that to you?” he said, his voice back to its usual deep, gruff tone.

“Yes. She did.”

“Good. Else I might’ve had to track him down.”

Asta smiled despite herself. “Oh, he wouldn’t stand a chance.” Another short, companionable silence passed by before she changed the subject. “So, you said you might try the students with one of your leaping takeoffs tomorrow?”

“Yeah, we’ll see how many can manage it. They’re young still, and it takes a lot of muscle. They would’ve sort of done it for their presentations, but going into level flight from that is a different skill to a quick flap-flap-flap straight up.”

“You know, I can’t say it’s one I’ve ever had much cause to master.”

They finished eating and, after briefly taking the students to wash up in the river, turned in for the night. Redbolt unbuckled his harness and left it in a heap at the edge of his tent. All he had with him for a bed was a huge rug made from a number of sheepskins sewn together, which he had brought from his eyrie in the city and laid out on the tarpaulin floor, but someone had thoughtfully provided a camp bed for Asta.

“They must’ve been worried I might roll over on you in the night if you just slept on the ground,” said Redbolt as Asta laid out her bedroll on top of it.

“As cosy as your feathers are, I would rather avoid that,” said Asta. “Though as a matter of fact, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve slept next to a gryphon.”

“Yeah?”

Asta nodded. “On the way south with Curlew, I was sharing Captain Steel’s cabin. That first night on the ship, I… was not in a very good place. Mentally speaking. I was trying to muffle it with the blankets they’d given me, but she must have heard me crying anyway, because she got up from her own bed across the room and lay down next to my pallet instead. She didn’t say anything, just folded a wing over me and went back to sleep.”

“Huh. She didn’t strike me as the cuddly sort.” Redbolt yawned enormously, arched his back, and turned around in a circle before he lay down on his front and rested his head on his forelegs. “Well, feel free to snuggle up if you have a bad dream, but otherwise – I’ll see you in the morning.”

They didn’t make it to the morning before both of them woke with a start. Screams echoed from down by the beach, not human voices but the earsplitting shrieks of terrified young gryphons. Somebody clawed frantically at the tent door, talons piercing the canvas. “Redbolt! Mr Redbolt! Sir!”

Goldcrest. Asta sat up and dragged her hair into an unbrushed ponytail as Redbolt lurched to his feet and wrenched the flap aside. “What’s wrong?”

The little gryphon cringed back from Redbolt looming over him. “I- We were- it’s-”

Asta went down on her knees, bringing their eyes to the same level, and took his face between her hands. “Look at me. Deep breaths. Now, what’s happening?”

Goldcrest drew in a long, slow breath, nervously fluffing his feathers out. “A few of us went back to the beach for a bit more practice after lights-out,” he said. He cast a cautious glance up at Redbolt, who just listened in silence. “One of the others, that hawk with the sort of falcon markings? She – I don’t know, she must’ve panicked or something, and, well, um…” He pointed back towards the beach.

Redbolt looked. “Ah.”

The other students had gathered in a frightened huddle, staring helplessly at the cyclone hovering above the beach. Although the sky was otherwise still clear, the funnel of howling winds had whipped sand and spray alike up into a veil around a lone figure in midair, lit up now and then by a flicker of sparks.

“She’s a mage?” said Asta.

“We didn’t know!” one of the students wailed. “She didn’t know!”

“Vinegar!” Redbolt bellowed over the wind. The gryphon in question sat up on her haunches to stand out from the pack. “Oakhollow’s a straight flight four miles east of here. Think you can find it in the dark?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Good. Go. We need Owl, and we need her fast.”

Vinegar nodded, took a run-up, and disappeared into the night in a flurry of feathers.

Redbolt looked back at the miniature windstorm on the beach, ran his talons through the feathers on his chest, and sighed deeply.

“What are you thinking?” asked Asta.

“That next time I run one of these, I should enlist a couple more adults to keep an eye on the youngsters.”

“I’m an adult,” Asta pointed out.

“Adults who can fly.”

Asta’s eyes flicked down to the sand at the bottom of the funnel. “How close can you get me?”

Redbolt turned his entire head to stare at her. “What?”

She pointed, grabbing a handful of his feathers with her other hand. “Look – look at the base of it. It’s moving.”

“Of course it’s moving, it’s a storm!”

“I don’t just mean around in a circle, I mean it’s drifting towards the sea! However long it takes Vinegar to find this village and then for Owl to get back here – I don’t think we have that long until that thing turns into a waterspout. And then – well. I don’t want her to drown, do you?”

Redbolt continued to look at her doubtfully.

“I know I’m not a mage and I’m certainly not a gryphon, but I do work at the College. If there’s one thing I have done a few times by now, it’s calm down a panicking apprentice.”

Redbolt looked from her to the storm and back a couple of times, breathing slowly and deeply, before he nodded. “Get a good hold on my neck, then. No time to go back for my harness.”

He took off at a run the second Asta was on his back, leaping into flight above the dunes and hurtling towards the cyclone. Asta clung harder to his feathers as he half-folded his wings and plunged into the funnel, riding the gale in a tight circle until he burst through into a pocket of still air in the middle.

The young gryphon hung in the very centre, not as motionless as Asta had initially thought: her body spasmed as bright bluish-white light crackled over her feathers, pulsing along the stiff vanes of her primaries and glowing in her wide, staring eyes, while her talons raked at the air as she tried desperately to steady herself. Her beak gaped open as her chest fluttered with rapid, shallow breaths. Slowly, jerkily, she managed to turn her head to look at them, but if she cried out, the sound was instantly torn away by the wind.

“I can’t hover, Asta!” Redbolt shouted, circling in a small ring above the youngster. “Whatever you’ve got planned, do it quick!”

Asta steeled herself and, before Redbolt could object or she could second-guess herself, threw herself from his back. He gave one appalled squawk, shocked out of his coordination, and the wind tossed him head-over-heels out of the funnel. Asta flung her arms around the young mage’s neck, dragging them both a few feet downwards before the uncontrolled magic arrested their fall. Pinpricks of sparks crawled across her hands as they dug into the slate-grey feathers, but she kept her grip and brought her mouth as close to one pointed ear as she could.

“Can you hear me?” A nod, felt rather than seen. “Have you got a name?” Shake. “I think you might after tonight, but we need to get safely back on the ground first. For now, just close your eyes and focus on my voice. You’re going to be all right.”

The gryphon’s forelegs twitched upwards to wrap around her waist; Asta winced as the talons dug in through the thin fabric of her blouse, but kept it from her voice. “Now, close your beak. Breathe in through your nostrils for a count of one… two… three… four… five… and out through your mouth. Like this.”

Slowly, the gryphon’s breathing evened out. The sparks became fewer and further between, the glow fainter, but the funnel surrounding them did not let up.

“That’s it. You’re doing well.”

“The wind-”

“Don’t worry about the wind yet. It’s not the wind holding you up here. Have you ever seen a wizard levitate? For now, just think – down.”

The gryphon took another deep breath, and slowly they began to sink until finally their feet touched the sand. The gryphon’s rear talons dug in as if to cling to the ground, and she opened her eyes. The glow was gone, revealing them to be a shade somewhere between a chick’s brown and an adult’s gold, but the wind still spiralled around them both.

“There we go,” said Asta, holding eye contact. “That’s the worst part out of the way.”

Then, a flash of motion. A pale shape hurtled through the air outside the funnel, circling around and around opposite the direction of the wind. Bit by bit the storm slowed until they could see the newcomer clearly: a lone adult gryphon, her feathers a snowy white fading to a pale grey on her wing coverts, and a strange ruff around her face. She brought herself up short, golden light coursing along the vanes of her flight feathers, and thrust both wings forwards with a sound like a thunderclap. With one huge gust of wind towards the sea, the young mage’s storm disappeared. The waves settled, and the beach was peaceful once again.

The youngster let go of Asta’s waist and backed away, looking at the sand as Owl landed. Redbolt hurried forwards and swept Asta in under his wing, preening her hair with the tip of his beak. She pushed his beak away half-heartedly before she hugged him around the neck and buried her face in his feathers.

“You sure the berserker’s the mad one of the pair of you?” muttered Redbolt, bowing his head over her shoulder.

“Heh. Well, under certain circumstances…”

Redbolt lifted his head again to take in the scene. Now that the storm had ended, the rest of the students had crept down from the dunes, edging carefully towards the mage. At their head, Vinegar sat up and punched one clenched claw towards the sky. “Galewing! Galewing! Galewing!” Soon the others had taken up the chant, and didn’t stop until Redbolt let go of Asta and stepped forwards.

“Looks like you have another apprentice,” he said to Owl. She didn’t look terribly pleased by this development. “You know the law,” Redbolt told her, his tail twitching. “All those with magic must learn to control it.”

Owl tipped her head back until it almost rested between her shoulders and gave a long, drawn-out groan. “Fiiiine.” She eyed the newly-named Galewing for a second, and her bristling crest-feathers settled into a somewhat gentler expression. “Well, I guess Sunbeam’ll be happy to have a ‘study buddy’,” she said, the last two words a little stilted as if she was unfamiliar with the term. She lifted a front claw and jabbed one talon towards Galewing. “I’ll see you at Oakhollow first thing on Ravensday to get started. You’ve got until then to sort things out with your family.” Galewing nodded. Owl lowered her talon and turned away. “Good.” She groaned again. “I’m going back to bed.”

“You know,” said Asta once Owl had flown off, “when you mentioned her earlier, I think I imagined someone with more… gravitas.”

“People usually do,” said Redbolt with a sigh. “But she does know magic, and she’s softer than she likes to act. Galewing’ll do fine with Owl keeping an eye on her.” He looked back at the rest of the students, who were still bunched in a loose half-circle around Galewing, and unfolded his wings in a shooing gesture, herding them back towards the camp. “The rest of you, back to bed as well! And stay there until morning this time!”

“I’ll speak to Master Gwen when I get back to the college,” said Asta as they walked back through the dunes. “I’m sure she can set aside some time for a chat with you before the next time you run one of these weekend events.”

“Huh? What for?”

“Because,” said Asta, “I don’t think there is anyone in Stormhaven with more experience organising groups of magical children than her.” She poked him in the side of his neck, grinning. “You are going to learn all about risk assessment forms.”

---

What has two thumbs and spent more time than is probably necessary reading about bird anatomy and flight physics? 👍👍

Gryphons aren't real! They don't need to be 'scientifically accurate'! And indeed kind of can't be, considering the aforementioned 'not real' thing. But I've always felt that at least a few nods in that direction adds a certain verisimilitude to fantasy and helps to suspend disbelief about all the stuff that's just nonsense. This was also the rationale behind noting that yes, Redbolt does actually have trouble with his depth perception.

I'm not sure how old the young gryphons are chronologically, as their aging doesn't really map neatly into human terms, but developmentally I'd put them in sort of the 8-10 range.

[sandersonsrunningamok]

“Not every magic potion is bad.” Sally said to the new witches in Halloween Town.

“Ours are!” Sarah chirped  There was nothing better than the thrill of being evil .  "Of all the witches working, we’re the worst!“ she sing-songed, earning a slap from her eldest sister.

[lovebillyhargrove]

Harringrove seasons AU

***

August is running out. It is the time when nights have already started getting perceptibly colder, but days are still so heartbreakingly warm, you don't wanna let go.

Like Steve, who doesn't want to let go of Billy.

Or Billy, who wants to hold on to Steve.

Who desperately wishes to add just a couple of more days to August. Make it thirty-three. Or thirty-five.

At least.

***

One evening Steve sets off to look for Billy, because he hasn't seen him in the last three days. When he asks the magpies if they know where the summer is, they tell him he's wandering around the woods with a big basket searching for something and talking to himself like a madman.

"The summer's gone cuckoo!" - they burst out into chatter and laughter, but Steve isn't up for having fun.

Only close to midnight does he finally find Billy.

The warm simmering light and the sweet smell of burning pine wood have led him on the right path.

Steve sees Billy in the thick of the forest, on a small clearing, surrounded by tall mighty oak trees, so tall that their tops get lost in the dark starry sky above. Stars in August are witchy, it is common knowledge. They are so distant, so sparkly and cold, and they are watching you.

August stars are enchanted just like everything else around. The night is cool and damp, and there is dense fog laying heavy in milky swirls above and around the swamp nearby. Under every leaf there lives a mystery, a story, a creature. Behind one single cloud hides the silver moon, waiting to flood all with its crisp eerie shine.

The stars are twinkling bright, so magically bright, and the chilly, hocus scented air fills the head of a midnight wanderer with clarity and vigor, and anticipation of a miracle.

Steve is trying to be as quiet as possible, not to disturb.

Everything around is immersed in sleepy calm, and only the frogs' drowsy ribbit-ribbitting and distant hooting of a night bird fill the deep silence. The usual night orchestra.

As he is making his way towards Billy, there's a falling star, shooting right above the clearing, and Steve makes a wish - to always find summer.

Billy is busy.

Steve sees a big fire, sparks flying up towards the invisible tree crowns, and Billy's focused face lightened by the glow.

He is constantly stirring something gurgling and boiling in a huge cauldron, muttering under his breath

"Seven red fly agarics, nine orange ones .. three yellow .. thirteen russules, each a different colour .. eight orange chanterelle mushrooms of different sizes .."

With one hand he stirs whatever is brewing in the cauldron, and in the other he holds a thread with dry and semi-dry mushrooms strung on it. From time to time, he stops stirring and plucks the mushrooms from the thread, counting.

"Eleven brown hay mushrooms, one birch chaga, the size of a palm .. where the hell is this chaga .. ??" - he stops stirring and pokes around in the basket standing nearby. - "Alright. Found it. Come here, don't fight it .. seventeen honey fungi .. three aspen mushrooms .. ugh, you are such beauties .. All of you."

Billy looks like a witch. Too bad he's not wearing a spiked black hat and a black cloak

Stirring, mixing that magic

"Wait a second, did I put twelve ink mushrooms .. ? Yes, yes, I did. Ten violet webcaps .. and one whole circle of fairy-ring mushrooms."

"Oh, I forgot you buddy .. one grey spotted amantia, here you go .."

"Okay now for the more serious stuff."

Billy grunts and goes digging in the basket again.

"One satan's bolete .. A set of devil's fingers .. spooky .. And, finally, one pale grebe."

Steve steps out into the clearing

"Oh, do you mean a death angel?"

Billy stops mixing whatever there is in the cauldron and looks up.

"You startled me, pretty boy. And yes, it's the same one, different names."

Steve is still watching Billy in bewilderment

"What on earth are you doing?"

"I'm making a potion. Can't you see?" He answers seriously.

"A potion?" Steve is amused.

"An old owl told me. Who lives in the hollow of a hundred-year-old elm tree, down by the river."

"What is the potion for?"

"For .. making it last a little longer. Stalling the time. See, I don't want to go yet. I want to stay, just a bit more .. It's going to give me the power to do that."

"Oh. But .. Billy, this old owl is so old, she has dementia. I wouldn't trust her on anything she says."

"Well, I've got no other choice."

Steve is amused but he also knows that he has to soothe Billy's unnecessary wilful wanting, once again.

"When will it be ready?"

"In the morning. I should drink it when the first sun ray breaks the sky."

Steve sits near the fire and Billy joins him after some time. The fire is getting duller, the potion stops gurgling and is beginning to settle.

Billy is the first to slide into sleep near the dying flames, and Steve is gazing at the bright live coals, listening to night sounds and Billy's even breath, until his own eyelids become heavy and eventually fall.

In the morning, Steve is woken up by Billy's upset voice:

"No, no! I'm two hours late! .. The sun is already high in the sky."

He is pacing around the grey ashes, looking at the sky and fiddling with his necklace

"No, oh no ..! That's all your fault, autumn. I always sleep longer when I'm with you. I can't drink it now. Do you know how long I've searched for these?? How many woods I have wandered through?"

In a swift fit of anger Billy kicks the cauldron. It falls and tips over. Steve's still on the ground, watching the thick substance pour out of it on a patch of green moss.

"I am sorry, Billy, truly. But .. I am of the opinion that you shouldn't have drunk it anyways."

Billy's looking at the spilled potion.

"Baby. You are such a baby sometimes, Billy."

"I'm just sad. So much work for nothing." - Billy sighs and pouts a little.

"It is only .. really, it is only less than half a year. We will meet so soon, in the northern hemisphere. Aren't you excited?"

Billy is shaking his head, slowly and gloomily.

"I don't wanna leave."

Steve gets up, comes close and gently traces his fingers down Billy's arm.

"You are not leaving just yet. We still have time. We have all the time in the world. But when you do go, think of the moment we will meet again. Because it will happen, it is the way the world works."

They are standing amidst the ever-living nature.

"I need to bring back the pot and the basket. I borrowed them from a barn in the village."

"I will help you."

***

A couple of days later, on the very last August day, Steve takes Billy to the same clearing and shows him the prettiest gemstone of the most amazing colour, sparkling under the rays of soft morning sunshine, crystallized in the shape of a heart. There's moss and some beautiful exotic flowers growing around it.

"It is so pretty, but I am glad you didn't drink the potion."

"I wonder if it's going to stay here till next season."

"Let's hide it."

Steve takes the gemstone, it's rather big and heavy, and carries it to a hollowed out log near the swamp.

"We can come back next year and see if it is still here. It will be our secret."

August and September are my absolute favourite months, and I'm also stuck on the idea of summer and autumn not wanting to part. Billy especially is having a hard time.

Thank you @akioukun ✨💖 for the 💫 magical au

[imkylotrash]

Found A Lover

Pairing: Saul Silva x reader

Request: They are soulmates but Saul is stubborn (all the angst) and refuses to accept the bond until reader gets hurt and we get an epic love confession. @kingunder221b And She's close to graduation. Her friend, also a fairy, is really into potions, he's brilliant at that. He hides his stuff in her room and something goes wrong with his last potion. The reader is hurt and it's like in a fairy tale, she falls asleep. The difference is, she's trapped in one big nightmare and her heart will give up if they don't find a solution. They try everything, even go to Dowling, but nothing helps. The only option left is true love kiss, so they go to Silva. Anonymous

A/N Italics are the nightmares and I tried going for a little bit of a horror theme though nothing too bad. They can be skipped if that’s not your thing. I’m not sure if any of this falls under trigger warnings but please let me know if you want something added 💛

Tagging: @grey-girl @intoanothermind @anreeixcobra @kingunder221b @lflores2008 @alexiapayne12 @quuenofblacks @quarterback-5 @estelmei @bitchwhytho @music-of-melody @artsyle​ @baueoud @glowingatdawn @shadowhuntyi

There’s no denying it though Saul tries very hard to. His soulmate is not a student at the school. He refuses to believe his own eyes as you hold out your arm with the exact same scar as his. Same shape, same placement, same everything. 

“This is a mistake,” he says making it seem as though it’s somehow your fault that the universe decided that the two of you would be right for each other. 

“With that reaction I’m not exactly too fond either,” you sneer upset that he so willingly disregards you. All your life, you’d listened to people finding their soulmate and falling head over heels in love within seconds. Like they’ve been walking around blind and now they can finally see. That’s what you expected when you found your soulmate - not a grumpy old man desperate to get as far away from you as possible. 

“We should keep this information to ourselves for now,” he says and you couldn’t agree more. Why would you want to tell everyone that your soulmate refuses to acknowledge your bond? What Saul doesn’t tell you is just how terrified he is finally having found his soulmate. He’d made peace with the fact that he’d spend life alone. He’s terrified that you’re so young compared to him and that he won’t be able to give you everything that you want. He’s already raised Sky and he’s not eager to think about doing that again. The best action for him is staying away and allowing you to fall in love with someone who can be what you need. It’s just not how this soulmate thing works.

Upset from his rejection, you run straight to Logan’s room hoping he’ll be back soon so you can cry on his shoulder. You’re not sure if you’ll be able to tell him what happened but you know he won’t push you if you don’t want to talk. He doesn’t get there in time though. You have no way of knowing that the book you grab to inspect as you wait is actually a secret storage box. The weight surprises you and it slams onto the floor. Something breaks inside the book which confuses you even more. When does books contain glass. When you open the lid, a weird dust spreads making you cough violently. Your eyes water as you struggle to breathe. Within seconds, you’re lying on the floor looking as if you’re blissfully asleep. 

“Y/N!” Logan runs over to shake you awake but he knows it’s no good when he sees the smashed bottle. Without wasting another minute, he runs right out the door to find Mr. Harvey leaving you to your own worst nightmare. 

“Hello,” you call out walking down the empty hallway. It feels like you’re underground but you can’t be sure without finding a window so you keep walking. The first thing you notice when you enter the new room is the blood soaking your slippers. The white bunny slippers are now red and you feel like you might be sick. 

“Hello,” you call out once more hoping someone will hear you. 

“Hello,” someone says in a mocking tone. You spin around to find yourself standing there? Is it a mirror of some kind? 

“I’m not a mirror, you idiot. I’m you,” it says carelessly throwing a knife into the air and catching it again, “but without all the weaknesses.” You want to scream but suddenly, your mouth is sewn shut. When you reach up to touch it, you feel the thread closing your lips together. 

“I figured that was the easiest way to keep you from yelling. God, do you ever shut up?” The thing takes a few stops closer to you still clutching the knife in their hand. 

“Sorry. That was a very dentist move of me, wasn’t it? Asking you a question knowing full-well that you can’t answer.” You must’ve sprouted roots because there’s no way you’d still be standing there if you were able to move. Carefully, the copycat lifts the knife to your mouth letting the tip of the blade run across the thick thread. 

“Poor thing, huh? Not even your soulmate wants you. It’s sort of like mommy and daddy all over.” 

Your body is being transferred to Mr. Harvey’s office as well as the powder you inhaled. Logan knows exactly what potion it is but there’s no cure in the records. No cure to wake you up and it’s all his fault for not storing the potions correctly. He knew he should’ve kept them under lock and key but half the stuff in his room, he wasn’t even supposed to have. 

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Harvey. I never thought anyone would get hurt.” He looks down at his best friend lying on the table and he swears he’ll never be so careless with potions ever again. 

“It’ll do you no good to dwell on that now. We need all hands on deck to figure out how to wake her up again.” What he doesn’t mention is the fact that he’s not sure how much time your heart has left before it stops entirely. The stress it’s being put under is nothing like Mr. Harvey has ever seen before. 

“Fight, Y/N,” Logan whispers. 

You want to scream at yourself for bringing up mom and dad but you can’t. The knife comes to rest on your throat so that every time, you take a breath you feel the cold blade on your skin. 

“Should I be quick or slow? What do you prefer?” Once again, you try to scream but to no avail. The first cut takes you by surprise. When the copy of you brings the knife down to your chest, you get worried. Could you really kill yourself like this? 

“Blink once for quick, twice for slow.” You blink once waiting for it to be over. You don’t know why you’ve given up so easily or why you not even for a second think to use your magic but you just don’t have a fight in you. 

“Perfect.” The blade pierces your skin until it reaches your heart. You feel the heart beating faster in an attempt to persevere but it is futile. 

“I’ve tried everything, Farah. Every solution the greenhouse has to offer and nothing works.” Three days pass with Harvey working hard to reverse the potion’s effects but nothing helps. You stay asleep and your heart continues to beat itself to death. 

“Do we know who their soulmate is? We should probably inform them,” Ms. Dowling says bringing out a vague memory in Logan’s mind. He runs straight to the library hoping his theory is right. 

“Is everything okay?” He looks up to find Mr. Silva standing there.

“Y/N is hurt. I’m trying to find a cure,” Logan says grabbing the book and running straight back to Mr. Harvey but this time Mr. Silva is right behind him. 

“True love’s kiss!” Logan exclaims finding the fairy tale in the book from Earth. He shows it to Mr. Harvey and Ms. Dowling who scans over the fairy tale of Sleeping Beauty. 

“Then we must find her soulmate,” Mr. Harvey says and while Logan knows it’s true, he also knows you haven’t found your soulmate yet. He’s about to open his mouth when Saul beats him to it. 

“I’m their soulmate. We just found out a couple of days ago.” He was so scared when he found out he was your soulmate but watching you lie on that table he knows he can’t let anything happen to you. It’s the reason he leans in and places a gentle kiss on your lips. The effect is almost instantly. You open your eyes very confused and terrified out of your mind. Is this another nightmare? 

“It’s okay. You’re safe,” Saul whispers holding your hand tightly. You don’t need words as you look into each other’s eyes. The love is evident even if Saul tried to run from it. Seeing you in pain like this had awoken something inside of him and he swore from that day on that he’d always protect you.

[mxvladdy]

Hi, I love your writings 💜 and wanted to suggest a prompt, but if it won't hit you or if your requests are closed than feel free to ignore.

What if MC will forget the brother and that they are in relationship (it can be as side effect of some spell /potion etc, but it will last for quite some time, no one knows how long). How brothers will react on that? What they will do to make MC fall in love again, or will they do anything at all? Or they decide that it's the chance to change everything? What if MC won't love them again? I don't know if that can be angsty (I want some angst), or you can do whatever style you find appropriate. Anyway, if you don't feel like doing for 7 brothers you can do only for brothers of your choice (who you feel comfortable to write about, but maybe Lucifer, Mammon and Beel?? ).

Thank you! And have a good day or night!

A/N: 80000 years and a day later I post lol ;.;. Sorry for the wait! I tried something new with this, hope you like :)

So I was going to drop all three at the same time but it turned into 20+ pages of work. So I will post in 3 separate parts since they all turned into beefy boys... Much like their counterparts >:)

Hope you like it!!!

Part One of Three: Lucifer

Magic is a beautiful and powerful thing. It permeates the Devildom like an eternal fog. For the residents, it is as common as breathing. From the strongest of their kind down to the lowest inhabitants, it is integral to their culture and daily life. Mistakes and accidents happen daily with young and old alike learning or experimenting. Magical rebounds and mishaps mean very little to them, especially the brothers. From the Celestial Realms down, they have seen it all.

Sometimes they forget that to you, magic can be a volatile and dangerous.

The crackle of energy and the acrid taste of sour magic on his tongue are his only warnings before things went south. He reaches for you, strong arms moving to shield you from the blowback of energy discharging around you both. Lucifer crouches, turning his back to the explosion to cover you from the debris and dust raining down. The rebound of the failed spell washes over him for a moment turning his stomach on impact. A heavy miasma coats the room. It weighs down his wings momentarily before disappearing as quickly as it had come.

Once the dust settles, the room fills with light-hearted teasing and jabs at the inept caster. Whatever chastising remark he had stuck to his tongue. When he looks down at you the air seizes his lungs in horror. You were heavy and unresponsive in his arms, eyes closed and face slack. Physically, he could see nothing wrong with you, no hair unkempt or dust on your uniform. He shakes you trying in vain to rouse you.

He doesn’t remember fleeing the room with you clutched tight to his chest nor the shouts of his confused brothers all he could focus on was your limp body cradled in his. You weren’t waking up. None of his magic was working, and you were still sleeping. It was like looking down at his brothers all over again. The feeling of dread, of helplessness, had him staggering. You were like his little Lilith all over again, another failure in his unending life span.

The healer's answers do nothing but anger him. Diavolo’s weak speculations drive him into a frenzy. Wait, they want him to wait. For how long was anyone's guess. They say that you just need rest, the human body is unaccustomed to such stresses. That though your body is weak, a human’s spirit is strong. You’ll recover-he had to trust that you would heal on your own. Trust… he had so little of that left to begin with, but he had he gave to you.

He couldn’t lose you. Couldn’t lose this small flicker of hope you brought into his life, of happiness. He didn’t want to be alone again.

So he waits, a permanent sentinel by your bedside. He sits in silence stuck with his sins. His rough hewn palms cover your small hand to warm your cooling finger tips. He strokes them with callused fingers. He contemplates all the little things he could have done differently while he waits. Hells, what he should have done differently. Spells at the best of times were unruly and dangerous and in the hands of a novice? He shakes his head squeezing your hand. He was so stupid to have let you take that course. Why hadn’t he told that weak pissant of a demon off for trying such an incantation? Or at least to take it outside. Was he that bad of a protector? Of a lover? Deep down he wants to be angry at you. That this somehow was all your fault, with your puny human constitution and defenses. He wants to blame you but the moment passes with a gut-twisting sense of guilt and almost shame.

The days move on unceasingly, the clock on your wall mocking him with every steady tick and turn of the hand. With each moon that passes his simmering anger and wounded pride cools to an ice cold fear in his veins. The healers stopped showing up daily, they were at a loss like the rest of them.

No one would say it, least of all around him, but he heard it travel down the halls like an unwelcome guest. The whispered sympathy, the soft admissions of acceptance. He blocks them out, his world narrowing down to nothing but your icy hand and weak pulse. Your room begins to turn into his. His paperwork fills your desk, while he holds meeting over the phone. One hand clutching his phone to his ear and his other always touching you. No one but him is going to take care of you. He refuses help, turning down Diavolo’s increasing offers and pleas of support.

He turns them down each and every time. He will take care of you.

Yet, no matter how much he tends to you and researches you remain inert.

It’s maddening, he was suffocating under the weight. Finally he tips. One night drunk and desperate in his destroyed room he does the last thing he could think of.

The hardwood of his bedroom is unforgiving under his knees. The cold of it soaks through his pants and the harsh grain digs into his skin. But he doesn’t care, he wasn’t looking for absolution anymore, he was begging for your salvation.

It burns him bowing like this. His pride lashes out, roaring like the untamed beast it was as he dives deep searching within himself to find the tattered remains of his former self. Each second with his eyes closed and head bent was tortuous as his pleas fill the oppressive silence of the room. No matter the discomfort of the moment he can only think of you. No cost was too steep to have you open your eyes again.

Lucifer should have known going back to his father would be a mistake. Nothing was ever simple with them, everything was by their rules and their way. Not even being the once most favored son could fix that. Your eyes open, sure. They are hazy with confusion, but also bright and full of life. You were back.

Papers forgotten Lucifer approaches you like he would a wounded animal. He stares in disbelief for a moment before succumbing to his need to hold you. “Amata-” He breathes out in relief into your neck squeezing you closer to him. Lucifer pulls away when he notices you not embracing him back. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah. You just took me by surprise is all.” You rub your eyes and smile wearily. “What did I do to deserve such a good morning hug?”

His smile fades, hearts sinking. “Do you not remember?”

“Remember?” Hmmm. You look around you at the clutter of your room. “I- remember being in class, then you over me.” Something must have happened, but for the life of you, you couldn’t recall. He fills you in leaving small blanks hoping to see some recognition in your bewitching eyes. But you sit, nodding along taking his word as gospel truth. “Wow.” You lean back on your pillows. To be asleep for so long, you had so much work to catch up on. “Thank you for looking out for me.”

There was an odd look in his eyes before he nods, rising to his feet. “Of course… for you, anything.” He flees then, choking back a sea of emotions to go fetch a healer to look you over. It was as he expected. You were whole and healthy again, back to your old wonderful self. Except for him. Did you truly remember none of him? Have you really forgotten how he held you at night when you were able to tear him from his works.

How could you forget the words he would whisper to you as you drifted off long after the candles had been snuffled out, the sweat had cooled on your skin, and your limbs loose and tangled with his? Would you ever remember the way he would watch you at school? How he would search for you and watch you with vigilante and hungry eyes. You were not his little lamb anymore. Even after everything he had lost you.

It was what he bargained for with his father it seemed.

He calls a meeting soon after informing his brothers and the Prince of your condition without telling them of his speculations as to why. “We will say nothing.” He speaks standing rigidly while the room erupts with confusion around him.

“Why not tell them?” Beelzebub asked brows drawn low in concern.

“And say what?” Lucifer rubs at his nose pinching the bridge tightly already feeling a dull throbbing growing underneath. “What would it change?” He leaves it at that and retreats to his room. He looks at his dusty chambers and broken furniture from his explosive temper. It is so cold again without you there. This is how it must be. The thought brings a broken whine from his lips. Tt soaks through his leather gloved hand, refusing to be shoved down. He didn’t want to believe he was so forgettable, that something as intimate as his trust and love was so weak in your soul. He had thought surely he had ingrained himself deeper than that. You were in his mind.

He turns to his private libraries that night, looking for any scrap of information he could find. Perhaps the threads of him were there within you, maybe they just needed to be mended. He often forgot how malleable the human mind was, how easily things can just slip from them. Each book on the topic started promisingly enough before piddling off to a dead-end or debunked hypothesis.

He hunts down the student that had fired the spell. If he knew the original purpose of the spell maybe he could recreate the reaction? No, yet another dead end.

He comes to realize one night sitting hunched over on the grimy floor that either your mixed blood had altered the spell's intentions or the fact that since you were not in your original timeline it had changed something deeper within you that none of them had taken into consideration. Or, perhaps-just maybe he truly did make a deal with Father.

Devil below, he hoped that wasn’t true. How ironic it would be that the first time they had heard his pleas to only answer it with more pain and punishment. Either way, he must accept this...eventually.

“You know, if you keep frowning like that it’ll leave permit winkles.” Lucifer ignores his brother, not glancing up from his journals to entertain him. He had recently found more old tomes deep in his studies. “Luci.” Multi-colored nails block his view of his documents.

“Move Asmodeus. I will not ask again.”

Asmo frowns but moves his hand back to his hip. “You need to breathe brother. Take a minute for yourself.” Lucifer snorts dismissively, flipping to the next page. Asmo sighs deeply, his old bones rattling with the heavy gust of air. “You know you won’t find anything in there. We’ve all tried, you know? Read up on fruitless leads and scoured the depths of the catacombs too. Satan’s hands are a mess from rummaging through his books.” He swallows thickly. “Perhaps it is time.”

“Time for what?” Lucifer rises to his impressive height towering over his smaller brethren. “I do not like what you are implying Sakhr.” Asmo flinches, he hates that damn name. He calms the simmering rage underneath his well kept skin. Lucifer was hurting, he lashes out blindly when he is. He always suffers alone.

“I’m not implying anything. We just want-” Lucifer laughs, the hollow sound pulls at the emptiness within Lust’s heart.

“What would you know of my wants?” His ruby eyes lock with Asmo’s. It was a mistake. Lucifer’s presence was imposing at the best of times, but as mad as he was now it was a knee jerk reaction from Asmo to put his guard up. It was a strong defensive mechanism that Asmo took special care not to let slip, but as Lucifer approaches him shoulder hunching and chest puffing up in anger. It took only a moment for his defenses to take over, eyes locking Lucifer saw exactly what he wanted reflected back at him.

He didn’t know what Lucifer saw but he could see the absolute agony etching into his older brother's glassy eyes with each second. Asmo steps back breaking eye contact with a gasp, the trance between them breaking. “I-I’m sorry!” He trembles.

Lucifer says nothing but raises a shaking finger while he collects himself. Finally, he looks up, face impassive once more. He shakes his head and points to the two chairs in front of his desk. A wordless order that Asmo takes. Asmodeus watches Lucifer busy himself with a decanter, broad back turned to him. “You meant no harm,” Lucifer says, voice tight. He turns back with two glasses in hand. “ I-my aggression was unnecessary.” He offers Asmo a glass before sitting back in his throne-like chair with a grunt. They drink in silence.

Asmo swirls the spicy drink around his tongue thinking hard. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go. He thought he could make things better by offering a shoulder or ear, perhaps tell Lucifer that you were doing well. You didn't seem to notice the hole at the table or in the classroom where Lucifer used to join you and the rest of them to eat or study. They had missed seeing him look so at peace around them. Everything had reverted back to like it was when you first arrived between the two of you, and it was affecting everyone. “Talk to me?” Lucifer blinks.

“And say what?” He peers at his empty glass before grabbing the decanter. “I’m fine? I have meetings piling up and I frankly don’t give a damn anymore. Or the fact that I have yet to cancel the table I had reserved for our anniversary dinner?” His last words waver dangerously before he burns them away with a large gulp of his drink. He sees the look in Asmo’s honey-colored eyes when he looks up. “I don’t need pity.”

Asmodous sniffs, waving away the thought. “Please. We all know better than that. I just want to check on you, and perhaps give you an idea?”

“What idea could you have that I have not thought of?” He asks curiously. Asmo lights up leaning in.

“What if we’ve been going about this the wrong way? We’ve been looking at magic to solve this when the answer was in front of us the whole time. Humans aren’t used to magic, so why look to it for the solution?”

“I don’t follow.” Lucifer puts his glass down leaning back in his chair. Was science what he needed to look at? He had tried that, had talked to human doctors and surgeons that owed him “favors”. They were as unhelpful as the rest.

“We are thinking like demons! We have to think like a human, woo them again. You did it once, surely their attraction wasn’t wiped out, just their memories.” Ahh. Lucifer shakes his head. He had thought of that, staring at himself in the mirror. Many nights were filled with the nagging fears of defeat. If his father had a hand in your recovery could he even be allowed to try again? Lucifer looks back at all the things he said those nights kneeling by your side. It was foolish, what even contract he might have accidentally made had too many open ends, too many half wishes, and clauses.

“I’m afraid I have already thought of that my brother.”

“Then why haven’t you tried? Have you given up?” Asmo is met with silence. “Does that mean the rest of us have a chance?” He gets the reaction he was looking for then. Lucifer’s form shutters, a full body twitch as his body blurs around the edges in warning. “Seems to me like you haven’t given up yet. So what is stopping you.”

Lucifer crumbles under his brother’s worried gaze. Perhaps he could divulge his worry, just this once. “I asked father Az.”

Asmo gasps in surprise, eyes wide in disbelief, then dawning realization. “You think They did this?” Lucifer shrugged, running a hand through his disheveled locks. “They wouldn’t-they couldn’t...could they?” None of the brothers knew what their father was up to anymore, nor if They were even still able to track them. It was an ever present cloud of stress over all of them. While they trusted Diavolo and his protection, the nagging fear was never-ending.

“This is perfect!” Asmo claps his hands together. Lucifer stares at him in confusion. Lust’s smile grew toothy and dangerous. “Do you know what this means?”

“No.” His younger brother snorts looking down at his nails. His mind was running a mile a minute. For as organized and crafty as Lucifer is, he sure had his moments.

“Think about it. If Father did meddle then you have to try courting them again. Defying Father is a talent!” Asmo claps his hands in giddy delight. “Wouldn’t it just chafe their linens if you got back together?”

“And what if They didn’t meddle?”

“Then what do you have to lose?” Lucifer laughs. It was breathy and lifeless at the start but grew in intensity as Asmo’s words sunk in. Why was it when he said it it made sense?

“As devious as ever Az.” Lucifer smiles. Yes, he could win you back easily and reclaim his pride all in one fell swoop. “Thank you for reminding me of who I am.” They were troublemakers, the lot of them and it was time for him to prove it once more that he was the worst of them.

He starts the next day dressing down for once in his long life. He wears an outfit you always complement tucked neatly into a pair of dress slacks you bought him after a date gone awry. He smirked, remembering the tight squeeze of your hand on him on the drive home. The friction of your palm on the smooth material...he tipped his dry cleaner extra that night. “Good morning.” He purrs out in greeting taking his seat at the head of the table. The few brothers around the table freeze for a moment, keen eyes darting from him to where you sat still eating as if nothing had changed. Asmodeus shot him a wink.

“Morning.” You chirp back around your spoon. “It’s good to see you back at the table. Finally got a break from work?” The demons hold their collective breath.

“Yes, you can say that I came to a revelation of sorts.” He hums into his mug.

From that point on no matter what corner you turn on Lucifer was there. A pleasant smile on his lips and an offer of aid. “Thank you for the help!” You drop the large stack of books on your desk with a satisfied grunt. “You know- even though our pack is still somewhat new, if you need help with your work I’d be glad to give you a hand too!”

“Would you?” He hides his predatory grin under his hand. “ Some of the matters I have to attend to will require some long, hard work. It may take up some of your nights.” The flush that graces your cheeks and the warm buzz from his pact mark make him giddy.

“I’m willing.”

Slowly he begins to pull you back into his world. He leaves well placed hints of your past together scattered around his workspace. Your favorite Devildom blooms and treats always seem to be around when you come to offer your help in the evening. He slips old pet names into daily conversations as you scribble notes and transcribe letters for him by the soft light of his desk lamp. Pacing himself was never so hard before in his life. Was he finally cracking through? Or were you falling for him again? It was a heady rush to be sure, the mix of anticipation and thrill of such earthly courting made him realize many things he didn’t see the first time around. He learns all over again just what he loved about you.

He had forgotten how patient you were around him and with his siblings. Your keen eye and attention to detail reminded him just why he trusted you. You flitted about him picking up things he missed and settling brotherly disputes without him having to waste his breath. It was almost like things were going back to normal, minus the cold sheets beside him at night. But he sticks to his plan, finding pleasure in simply learning about you all over again.

It came to an end sooner than he had expected.

“Enter.” Lucifer calls from his overflowing desk. It was finals time once again and the damages done to school property were picking up dramatically. He heard your fluttering heartbeat before you even entered his domicile. It picks up as you approach.

“Am I interrupting?

Lucifer looks up from his work, a grin growing on his tired face. “For you, never.” You smile back, coming closer. You held a mug of coffee in your hands. The beast within him wanted to raise its hackles in triumph and howl. His life must be a divine comedy. This night is playing out just like it did nearly a year ago. Did you remember too? Or was this just how it always was meant to be?

“I haven’t seen you in a bit, and got concerned.” You fiddle with the handle of the copper mug. Lucifer nods, it was true. He regrettably had to put his plans with you on hold, he had spent so much time scheming he had let a few things build up. “Asmo told me you were hold up in here working, and I thought you could use a pick me up. He-he helped me make you some coffee.”

Ah. It wasn’t the same as the first time, but it was a matter of time before his sibling started meddling again. He takes the cup from your outstretched hand. “Thank you, this is much appreciated.” You glow under his praise taking a seat by his side.

“Need any help?” You eye the stack of papers with interest. “I’ve gotten pretty good at reading the fine print.”

“Have you now?” He pushes a small stack of papers towards you. “Very well, I would love your company again.” You take the work with a nod eager to spend time with him again. He watches you work, unable to contain his growing smile before looking down at the cup by his side. The tar-black coffee looks back at him. Oh, how he wished to commend his brother and berate him all at once. It is putrid and stomach-churning but he savors it all the same.

“Is it alright?” You pause watching him drink in. You have never seen him so enraptured by a drink before.

“Yes.” It will be.

[auco-archive]

     PLOTTING CALL.

    hello hello!! i feel like i’ve had khoi at least somewhat settled and with my really unpredictable schedule,  it’s a bit easier for me to write when i have at least something plotted whether it be to get ahead of the awkward hello stage or just a guide to direct our threads!  if you’re interested in plotting something with this feral little fox  please see some potential ideas below:

FRIENDS:    they’re few and far between even with their extensive lifetime,  khoi has only managed to call a small handful their friends.  they would definitely benefit from having more but forming those connections,  especially as someone who’s only comparatively recently learned how to navigate ‘human’ life.  having some here and there would allow them a more comfortable space to grow.

CUSTOMERS:     they’re making a living now using what little magic they have left.  while transformative magic is second nature to them as a fox,  they’re also well versed in medicines and potions.  changing appearances of themself and others is a breeze and they’ve taken a liking to using it to earn a living.  well,  when they aren’t busy hunting for prey.

IMMORTALS / GODS:     khoi doesn’t take too kindly to gods;  after all,  they were killed by one and driven from their home by another.  having long-lasting connections isn’t something that they particularly like,  but in the case of immortals,  it’s quite difficult to simply be forgotten by one.  whether it be long-time acquaintances or old flings,  i think this dynamic could be fun.

FOX SPIRITS:     there are enough,  i feel,  that i can make this its own separate category.  they’ve gone millennia without encountering another one of their kind and it’s strange and uncomfortable for them to be thrown into a setting where they’re meeting one what feels like every other day.  they’re curious,  but would never admit it,  and has never really known the kinship of a fellow hồ tinh.

ENEMIES:    it’s quite easy to fall into this list:  khoi is not a good person  ( far from it )  and they’re a bit difficult to get along with.  most of what they do,  job included,  is fairly illegal if not bad practice and they’ve done plenty to make enemies of people.  from stealing both possessions and faces,  to killing and eating as they please,  heroic characters don’t mesh very well with them at all.

ROMANTIC INTERESTS:    not really something that they’ve ever consciously had but it’s definitely an option!!  it’ll take a lot of time and effort because they have a very high wall and low level of trust,  but they’re a very loyal and tender lover should it ever happen.

ANYTHING ELSE YOU MIGHT THINK OF:     i’m happy to plot relationships that aren’t one of the above!!  these are just potential launchpoints!

NEW ADDITIONS:

CASUAL PARTNERS:     khoi has weaponized sex and used it to their advantage a plethora of times;  that’s the origin of their allure and a promise they’ve always made to lure humans into their cave to eat them all those millennia ago.  now that such promises don’t hold as much weight as monetary exchanges do,  the necessity has dwindled but that doesn’t mean that they don’t entertain the idea for their own enjoyment.

FOOD SOURCES:     whether it be someone who they personally feed off of or someone who provides them with the means of acquiring food,  they aren’t one to question or doubt.  so long as they have the means to live another day,  eat another meal,  they’re content.  i mentioned this briefly in a previous post but khoi feeds on memories, dreams, worries, and promised years of life just as equally as they do blood and flesh.  they’ve had this contract with many immortals because they can provide most readily,  but they aren’t opposed to having one with a mortal.

MAGICAL BEINGS / SHAPESHIFTERS:     their magic is ancient,  but they’re as curious as they were when they first came to existence.  it’s ever-changing and they never want to be left behind with the times so they’re eager to absorb as many new techniques and recipes as they can.  

[toh-writings]

Fortunes of Love Pt 1 (Eda x OC)

Summary:

When King needs his most loyal soldier fixed, Eda decides to take them to an old acquaintance of hers to get it patched. What starts as a visit turns into another visit, then another, then another. Eda begins to wonder why they were never friends before.

Warnings: None

It was a surprisingly quiet afternoon. Luz was still at school, Hooty was taking a nap, and King was off somewhere playing. And Eda had every intention of taking advantage of the break in the chaos. She slumped onto the couch with a sigh, a steaming mug of tea in her hands. She took a sip of her drink, closing her eyes and relaxing, a lazy smile on her face. This was the stuff.

Eda’s peace was shattered when a screech rang out through the house. She sighed, putting her mug down on the coffee table. Looks like her tea would go cold. She crossed her arms, scowling at King as he dashed into the room, but her face softened when she saw him. He looked like he was on the verge of tears, his little stuffed rabbit clutched tightly in his arms.

“Eda!” he screeched, running into her legs and toppling over. He was quick to get back to his feet.

“I’m right here, King, you don’t need to screech.”

“Eda, Eda, The worst thing ever has happened!” He continued to screech, not bothering to lower his voice a bit. “Francoise’s been injured!”

He shoved the rabbit in her face, showing the arm hanging on by a thread, the stuffing spilling out.

“He needs immediate attention or I fear he’ll lose his life!” The little demon insisted, looking quite devastated at the turn of events. Eda sighed, a soft smile on her face.

“Alright, alright, let me see.”

She gently took the rabbit from him and took a closer look. The thread attaching the arm to the body was in pieces, bits poking out of the worn fabric. It had probably just gotten too old, played with too much, something like that. She wasn’t the best at sewing, but it looked easy enough to fix.

“Guess I can fix it. Just let me get some things.”

She handed the rabbit back to King and gave him a little pat on his head. She had a bunch of junk in the closet to look through.

It was tougher than she thought it would be just to find a needle and thread. Luz had returned from school before she had even found anything.

“Eda? What are you doing?”

The witch huffed from her pile of stuff, the shelves of the closet empty. She grumbled, wading through her pile and standing by Luz.

“Looking for a needle and thread. King broke his doll.” She said dismissively, idly drawing a circle in the air. All the junk on the floor jumped to attention and flew back to their spots. “Clearly, I didn’t find anything.”

“Awww, that’s why King looks so depressed.”

They looked back to the couch where King sat, still clutching his broken rabbit with big crocodile tears in his eyes. He sniffed.

“Yeah. We need to fix that thing.”

Eda went quiet as she thought, pacing the living room. Okay, maybe she couldn’t fix the damn thing herself. That meant she would have to find someone else to do it. She went through all the people she knew in her mind. Half of them hated her, so it was easy to cut the list down. None of the first people she thought of actually knew anything about sewing or stuffed animals. She had to dig deep before she remembered someone who might be able to help. It was a long shot, but they had to try.

“Alright you two, I have an idea.”

She turned to them with her signature cocky smile.

“We’re going to the market.”

--------------------------

The Market was busy this time of day, the witchlings who just got out of school running around through the crowd. Eda hated being at the market when it was like this, but desperate times they say. The market was large and there were many stalls, but only one of them was the one they needed. She wished she remembered where it was better. She had never actually been there before, she just passed it every once in a while. After several wrong turns and irritated mumbles, she finally spotted the familiar stall.

“Ah, here we are! Told ya I’d find it.”

She crossed her arms, a prideful smile on her face, but Luz and King looked doubtful.

“It looks like a … fortune-teller?” Luz said, cocking her head to one side.

And so it did. The dark blue stall was decorated with white glittering stars and a crystal ball sat on the counter alongside various other tools. A group of teenagers were clustered around it, giggling and squealing at each other.

“How is some palm reading supposed to help Francoise?” King shouted, looking irritated.

“Just come on, ya little demon. Trust me.”

King continued to grumble his doubts as the approached the stall. The group of teenagers dispersed as they approached, talking amongst each other and staring at their hands in wonder. As they left they could see the witch waving goodbye. She looked friendly enough, her black curls tied back and what looked like a snake hanging on her shoulders. She smiled at them as they approached, though she looked a bit hesitant when she saw Eda.

“Hello! How can I help you?” Her voice was small and quiet.

“There you are! What was it again? Nila or something?” Eda’s voice boomed in contrast to the other witch. She leaned against the counter, a hand on her hip.

“Niliana.”

Eda gave a dismissive wave.

“Whatever, close enough. Listen, Nily, we have a bit of a problem here and need your help.”

She nodded to King. He still looked doubtful, but jumped on the counter and showed the witch his rabbit. She focused on it instantly, brows furrowed as she inspected the damage, humming thoughtfully.

“You want me to fix it?”

Eda nodded.

“It’s desperate! We must heal Francoie immediately!” King shouted, waving his arms around. “I don’t want to lose my best buddy!”

The woman smiled at him, giving his head a few pats.

“He’ll be fine. I can fix him. Come on then, my supplies are in the back.”

She left her stall, leading them into a tent behind it. Luz gazed around it in wonder. It was dark, little balls of light floating around the ceiling giving all the light they needed to see. There shelves upon shelves of stuff surrounding them, crystal balls, crystals, various jars of herbs, and other mysterious substances. Even more dried herbs were hanging from the ceiling alongside various fabrics. In the middle of the room were several comfy looking chairs and a love seat surrounding a round coffee table with a few unlit candles.

“Take a seat, I’ll get working on this.” Niliana told them in her soft voice, motioning to the chairs. Luz hopped into a chair, giggling as she bounced slightly. Eda sat with a sigh, sprawling out over the love seat, but King couldn’t sit. He followed the witch, right on her heals as she walked to what looked like a work table. The shelf above it was lined with various stuffed animals in various rates of decay and mismanagement. King crawled onto the table, watching anxiously as she got to work. The snake on her shoulders slithered away due to some unspoken command, curling around a nearby staff and turning to wood.

“This is a nice place ya got here!” Luz said, still staring around in wonder. “I haven’t meant anyone who was really good at oracle magic before! Can you tell the future? How? What’s your favorite way to do it? What’s all the herbs and crystals for? How…?”

“Slow down, kid!” Eda said, laughing. “Not everyone can talk as fast as you.”

“Oh, right sorry.” Luz said, looking a bit sheepish and shrugging.

“No, dear, I can’t tell the future. Not exactly. Oracle magic is actually quite complicated. It’s more like I see pieces what could happen. I do it by connecting to others magic. I like reading tea leaves the most. The herbs are for the tea. The crystals can be used to focus someones magic so I can read it and use it to tell the future.”

She answered easily, not missing a beat as she worked. The rabbit was empty of all stuffing now, the broken thread removed and the arm sitting next to it. She got herself a bucket and filled it with water, adding an herb here and an herb there. Once the concoction was completed she put the pieces of the rabbit in to soak.

King stared into the bucket, then looked up at her, confused.

“What are you doing?” He asked, the nervousness creeping into his voice. She smiled at him again.

“He’s just taking a bath is all. It’ll make his fur soft and stronger.”

King nodded, keeping a close eye on the bucket.

“What do you mean you see pieces? What does that mean? And what does tea have to do with telling the future?”

Niliana sighed.

“Why don’t I just … show you? Would that appease you?”

Luz’s eyes went wide and she nodded, almost bouncing with excitement. So, she started putting together a pot of tea, heating the water with a magical floating fire. With nothing left to do but wait, she finally sat with a sigh, grabbing a deck of cards to fiddle with.

Luz never stopped talking, but once the witch had settled the girl went oddly silent. Niliana looked over to her to find the girl watching her with intent, curious eyes.

“Sooooo…” She started, a smirk on her face. “How do you and Eda know each otherrrrrrr.”

“We went to school together,” Eda spoke up before Niliana could, but she didn’t seem to mind. She just nodded.

“We were both in the potions track, at least for a short time.”

“Ugh, those classes were so booooring.” Eda groaned, slouching even further in the love seat at the very memory of them. “It was nothing but stirring and stirring. I don’t know how you managed it.”

“Clearly, I didn’t.” She said, twirling a card between her fingers. “I transferred to the oracle track shortly after you left.”

Eda snorted.

“I’m amazed anyone's making potions these days with a class like that.”

Niliana shrugged.

“I didn’t think it was all that bad. The monotony was calming, especially when I was having a bad day.”

Eda waved her hand aimlessly, clearly unimpressed.

“Awww, you guys were friends?” Luz asked, but Eda shook her head, confusing the girl.

“Not really. We were more like … Aquaintances. We knew of each other, but we didn’t hang out or anything.”

“We only really talked when we were paired up for a project.” Niliana added.

“Yeah, I remember that! I always got a passing grade with you watching my back!”

“You made me do all the work.”

“Not like I was learning anything anyway. I still did some of the stirring, didn’t I?”

“Mmmm, I suppose. Not much. You were too busy getting into trouble releasing spirits in the locker room or something.”

Eda snickered, remembering all her troublesome pranks.

“They never could get rid of those spirits. They made me do it!”

Niliana looked doubtful.

“And how exactly did they manage that?”

Eda just smiled, sitting up so she could ruffle Luz’s hair.

“I had to get Luz here into that school somehow.”

They spent a while retelling some of there adventures from school. Well, Eda retold some of her adventures. NIlly occasionally would add something here or that, mentioning something she herself remembered. Otherwise, she busied herself with other things. The tea needed to be finished and handed out and the rabbit needed dried off after soak and restuffed. The tent was filled with laughter. Even King was laughing at some points, though he kept his attention mostly on his rabbit.

“I finished my tea!” Luz piped up. “Do you read the leaves now?”

“In a bit, hun, let me just finish this real quick.”

King bounced anxiously, watching her carefully as pulled the needle through the fabric. Finally, the string was tied off and snipped.

“He’s done! Ya fixed him!” King shouted, eagerly grabbing for the rabbit, but the woman pulled it away.

“One last thing.” She said, opening one of her drawers to pull out a black ribbon. She tied it around the rabbit’s neck, forming a cute little bowtie. Only when that was done did she hand it to the little demon. He snatched it from her hands, giving it a big hug.

“Francoise! You’re all fixed!” He cheered. “Thank you, lady!”

He jumped off the counter, dashing over to Eda to show her his newly fixed rabbit. She whistled.

“Dang, it almost looks brand new! I knew you did this sort of stuff but I didn’t know you were good at it.”

Niliana shook her head.

“How did you even know? I don’t remember telling you about it.”

Eda shrugged, moving to the side so King could sit next to her, Francoise in his lap.

“I don’t know, you mentioned something about fixing stuffed animals during one of our projects.”

“And you remembered?”

“Yeah, I know. I even shock myself sometimes.” She smirked smugly, crossing her legs and putting her hands behind her head.

Niliana rolled her eyes, sitting down and putting a hand out to Luz. The girl eeped gleefully, rushing to give her the tea cup.

“Now, what do you want me to focus on?”

“Uh, what?” Luz asked.

“I need something to focus on. So, what do you want to know?”

Luz thought for a moment, then beamed.

“Oh, oh, I know! Will I ever fall in love?”

Eda rolled her eyes, mumbling something about teenagers and love. Niliana smirked at that before gazing into the cup. A moment later her eyes started glowing teal. Luz watched, fascinated. Several moments passed in silence before Luz got too impatient.

“Well? What do you see?”

Niliana closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them again. They were no longer glowing, returned to their usual golden brown. She thought for a moment, Luz staring at her intently, slowly inching closer to the witch.

“You will fall in love. In fact, you’ll fall in love with someone you already know and who you’re already close with.” She finally said, placing the cup down on the coffee table.

“Whoa, really? How do you know?”

“When I read your tea leaves, I focus intently on you and whatever you want to know, in this case, love. When I go into my trance, I don’t really see things, I feel things. They're more like impressions. I felt love, that’s how I know you will fall in love with someone. But I also felt a sense of familiarity, which is how I know it’s someone close to you. I’d advise you to figure out if any of your friends like you.”

“Whoa…” Luz whispered, looking amazed. Eda chuckled. It was amazing that her face didn’t freeze like that.

“Alright, hotshot. If you’re so good at this then read my stupid leaves.” She said, leaning forward, her teacup hanging off a finger. Niliana snatched it before it could fall and shatter. She shot the other witch a hard look.

“What do you want to know?”

“I don’t know, just tell me something about my love life or whatever.”

The witch stared into the teacup for a moment before her eyes lit up once more.

“This is all nonsense anyway,” Eda added, sitting back and crossing her arms. Luz looked taken aback.

“What? Why?”

“Simple. There’s no such thing as a set future. It hasn’t happened yet! Sure, you can be told what might happen and give all sorts of random advice or whatever, but it’s you’re own actions that determine what really happens. That’s not something she can control.”

Luz looked a little downtrodden by her mentors' words, but brightened almost instantly.

“So she can’t tell exactly what’ll happen, but she can point me in the right direction! It’s like well-informed advice.”

Eda waved a hand dismissively.

“Whatever you say, kid. Personally, I don’t let this stuff get to me.”

Niliana blinked, her eyes returning to normal once more.

“... alright, there’s a lot more to go through here.” She commented, looking rather thoughtful.

Eda frowned, just a bit irritated.

“What’s that supposed to mean.”

The woman didn’t seem affected by Eda’s steely tone, continuing with her even, soft voice.

“You have a pretty crazy love life already, it can be hard to sift through. You feel a lot of love for the people around you, so it's hard to say if there’s anything new there … There will be others that’ll come into your life and join your little family, that’s for sure. For a wanted criminal, you really draw them in.”

Eda huffed, her irritation fading as a soft smile spread on her face.

“I suppose so... “

She tried not to react to the look Luz was giving her.

It was a few more seconds before Niliana spoke up again.

“For someone who’s dated a lot, you haven’t felt a who lot of romantic love before. But there will be someone someday. Probably someone from your past. You may be nervous about it, it’ll be odd and new, but It’ll be worth it. My advice would be to not go searching for anything, but don’t shove anyone away who might want to get close to you. You may never find love if you stay closed off. But make sure they’re making an effort, too.”

She gave a little nod, satisfied with her reading, and put the teacup next to the other.

“My turn! I want a reading too!” King piped up. Niliana nodded and made him a cup. He snatched it out of her hands with a “nyeh’ and gulped it down. He shoved the now empty cup into her face. “Do your magic, Lady!”

Niliana chuckled, taking the cup from him and reading it.

“You, dear, are going to live a very happy life surrounded by the ones you love. You’ll be very pampered like you are now.”

“Yes! Only the best for the King of Demons!” King said, puffing his chest out. Eda pat his head, nearly knocking him over.

“Whatever you say, tiny.”

They left shortly after that, all waving as the left. Niliana waved back from her tent.

“I liked her. We should visit again sometime!” Luz said, looking up at Eda expectantly. King did the same from Luz’s arms, tail wagging. Eda sighed, a smirk crawling onto her face.

“Fine, if you want.”

The two cheered, running ahead a bit. Eda smiled at them.

[ur-jinji]

the fire ferret of fate

bolin x f!reader

summary: the story of a girl who manifested her soulmate as a child and a guy just looking for his ferret

prompt: the red strings of fate

a/n: this is for the second prompt of an avatar/tlok writing collaboration that @twilight-toph is doing! the masterlists for the collab can be found here :)

a/n again: also i totally didn’t get the idea off of practical magic aka the best witch movie ever to grace this world

When Y/N was eight years old, she dreamed of finding her prince charming.

She would have her parents read love stories to her every night. She remembered one myth that her mother once told her called the Red Strings of Fate, which entailed an invisible thread that connected one to their soulmate. She believed it to be true until she took the idea too literally, and was frustrated to find there was no red string attaching her parents together.

One night, Y/N had to the crazy idea to create her own soulmate. Her perfect match. She grabbed a glass jar and her mother’s herbs and spices. She collected everything and brought it into the dining room and stood on chair. She thought for a while, what her perfect match be like?

“His favorite color will be green,” Y/N manifested, picking up a random green leaf for her parents’ tea, dropping it into the jar. “And very handsome.” Another leaf went into the jar.

“Y/N? What are you doing in there?” Her father asked from the sitting area. He was listening to the radio, and she could faintly hear a Pro-Bending Tournament happening.

“Nothing!” She shouted to him as she picked up a random white powder from a bowl. “And he’ll be famous.”

She picked up a few red flakes from a tiny jar. “He’ll always have something red on him. Like the strings of fate.”

Y/N thought of what else he would like, scanning around the room. She noticed her cat owl, Mittens, looking up at her from under the table.

“He’ll have the cutest pet in the whole wide world,” The young girl manifested as she picked some sugar between her index finger and thumb, sprinkling it into the glass jar. “And he’ll love noodles!” She ran to the kitchen and grabbed a noodle from a large bowl that was meant for supper. She hurried back into the dining room and dropped the noodle into the jar.

“It’s perfect!” Y/N exclaimed. She closed the jar and shook up the ingredients. “Wait. I’m missing something.”

Y/N made her way back to the kitchen, leaving a mess on the table. She found a pitcher of water and opened the jar again. She catiously poured some of the liquid into the jar, trying not to drip it onto the floor, but failing. She set the pitcher down and closed the jar before shaking her love potion again.

“Mama, I made a magic potion!” She announced as her mother entered the kitchen, unaware that she was about to get in trouble for making a massive mess.

Ten years later, Y/N still remembered that night fondly. She kept the jar under her bed despite mold beginning to grow.

One chilly autumn day, she was dressed warmly. Her mother sent to the markets to grab a few things for dinner that night. She made her way through the streets of Republic City, smiling politely at the passing strangers. Eventually, Y/N found herself at the markets. She gently picked up a large, red tomato, inspecting it carefully. As she rotated it, she felt something on her leg, like tiny claws poking her through her pants. She looked down and saw a...rodent with red fur? She shrieked, nearly jumping out of her skin and accidentally dropping the tomato onto the pavement. The rodent flinched but continued to cling onto her clothes, and began climbing up her leg and into her coat pocket. Y/N froze, not knowing what to do. She saw it poke its head out, and look up at her curiously. The more she looked at it, it looked pretty cute. Actually, extremely cute.

“Hey! You’re gonna have to pay for that tomato!” The merchant suddenly yelled at her, pointing down to the tomato guts spread across the street.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am!” Y/N apologized, reaching into her pocket to where the thing was. She gently pulled it out, realizing it was fire ferret, before set it on her shoulder. It held one of her coins in its paws, which Y/N snatched and handed to the angry woman. The woman flared her nostrils at her and turned away. Y/N turned her head to look at the fire ferret.

“You’re in big trouble, sir,” She said sternly, but not being able to hold any seriousness. “You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

Y/N stepped away from the tomato stand and continued down the street.

“Do you have an owner, buddy?” She asked the ferret, who simply squeaked in response. “I’ll take that as a maybe.”

She made her to the next stand full of cabbages. She picked up two, paid for them, and the merchant for that stand thanked her before handing them back in a brown paper bag. The fire ferret chirped, sniffing down at the bag.

“No, mister, that’s not for you,” Y/N scolded quietly.

“Pabu!” A voice behind her shouted. The fire ferret on Y/N’s shoulder perked up before quickly climbing down her body, running in the direction behind her. She turned around and saw a guy who looks frantic and out of breath.

“Oh, is that little guy yours?” She asked as the man approached her. She instantly noticed his piercing green eyes.

“Yes! Thank you so much for finding him and taking care of him!” The guy said as the red fire ferret, she assumed who was named Pabu, jumped into his arms.

“He’s a mischievous little guy. He made me drop a tomato and then tried to rob me!” Y/N explained, breathing out a laugh.

“I don’t even know what got into him! We were reading today’s paper and he just took off! I spent, like, forever looking for him!” The guy said, giving really dramatic arm gestures. “And bad Pabu! We don’t steal from strangers!”

Pabu’s ears tucked back in response, seemingly ashamed of himself.

“I thought he was massive rat at first! He scared the hell out me,” She said, gaining a laugh from the guy.

“I’m Bolin, by the way,” He introduced himself. “You might’ve heard of me and my brother, Mako. We play for the Pro-Bending Fire Ferrets Team!”

“Oh, yeah! My father and I have listened to many of your matches!” Y/N said, smiling, and feeling a little starstruck. “And I’m Y/N.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” Bolin replied while grinning, his emerald eyes sparkling. He held out his hand, which she took, and shook it firmly. “And you’ve already met Pabu.”

She smiled, reaching her hand out to pet Pabu’s red fur, who was planted firmly on Bolin’s shoulder.

“I have to repay you somehow! Would you like to accompany Pabu and I to Narook’s Seaweed Noodlery? They have the best seaweed noodles in Republic City!” He offered. Y/N felt her stomach grumble.

“Oh, wow. That sounds great actually,” She replied. “I just need to finish getting a couple things for my mother.”

“Of course, of course. We’ll tag along with you!” Bolin insisted. Y/N nodded eagerly, sending him a warm smile. He lifted his arm, offering it to her. She didn’t hesitate to wrap hers around it, and they began their walk down the pavement.

Pabu jumped over to Bolin’s other shoulder closest to Y/N’s and settled in between. As they made their to next food stand, her mind began to wander to the potion she made years ago.

[continentcakeshop]

i love the witcher show! it's my favorite canon by far. what's your guys' favorite thing about the show?

Since you asked for "you guys", I asked the server.

@childoffantasy: the choreography, Henry Cavill's face.

@jlyarts: Jaskier's eyes and his costumes.

@major-trouble: the lute, Jaskier's outfits. Every single one of Jaskier's stupid facial expressions.

@caspertheassholeghost: the fact that the camera zooms on on Cavill's ass, the fight choreography, particularly with Renfri.

@jayofolympus: I fucking love the black eyes potion look. I have a Thing for the "creepy physical effects caused by magic/potions/whatever". Gimme more creepy black veins and fucked up looks. The fight scene between Geralt and Renfri was so cool too.

@rawrkinjd: Yeah, I really loved the Hexer.

@roseskye13: The expression on Cavill's face when he's talking to the peasants about the Striga when he first arrives, before he knows what it is or that it already killed a witcher. "What happens if you can't kill it my" "Then I die."

@sometimesiwrite: Honestly, the fight coreography and execution is stunning, as is the filming for those scenes. The flow, form, and timing are all so tight, and that kind of thing only works when all the cogs are meshing from everyone's hard work. Springing off of that, I get a really strong Ensemble vibe from the cast. Even though the episodes are, for the first season, little one-offs, there's a really strong sense of healthy cohesion--not just actors all doing their darnedest, but actors who are bonding, trusting, and having fun with each other in the process. It makes me really happy to see and I hope it continues in the upcoming season.

@cylin-aka-ankamo: I loved Moussack/Ermion and I like show Yennefer better than game Yennifer. I loved the backstory they gave her. Tissaia is also great! The fight choreography is also amazing. Yeah, I think the thing I appreciate most about the show, is that it made me start in the fandom and that the fandom is really diverse and also unusual as fandoms go, cause there is quite a mix of age groups, whcih I appreciate so, so much.

@so--many-fandoms: I like how they have her (Triss) a personality/characterization that was more than “pls fuck me geralt”, it makes it easier to separate the Netflix version of her from the books/game version that does some questionable stuff in her obsession with Geralt and like. This triss is a bamf (well game Triss is too, but.). I like the way they had Geralt’s armor go from pristine condition pre-Blaviken to a bunch of rags barely holding together immediately afterwards and then gradually improving as his reputation and self-image do

@hungarianbee: phew. netflix? music and jaskier's costume are a yes. renfri and calanthe and eist and mousesack were lovely. the main thing i would say of the show that was a positive: it brought together a fandom and made it possible to meet y'all.

@eyesofshinigami: I actually also really enjoyed getting to see Yennefer's back story. It made me appreciate the things she's gone through and understand her as a character a little more. Maybe it's just me, but also one think I like is how easy it felt to blend them with other mediums in the witcher universe. Like, I love writing TWN!Jaskier with W3!Geralt, and I like that. I know that might not be true for everyone, but for me as a writer it gave me a lot of opportunity to sort of... explore different facets and avenues of the characters. The show was what got me into the Witcher in the first place, and now I've played W3 and have been trying to work through the books and I've run the tabletop, and met all you lovely folks.

@winter-fir: Well my favourite things about the show are, the way it's filmed (camera angles, settings) I really like the places they pick to film in. I like Henry Cavill as Geralt. The soundtrack works very well despite the fact that it was some modern twists. Love the fight scenes, specially the Blaviken fight the way they managed to portrait that Geralt wasn't human in the way he fights a group of men. I also love the Visenna scene, I have watch that scene so many times, the way Henry shows emotion in his eyes despite the bad contacts, gets me.

@anonymousblueberry: I adored show!Triss.

There were hundreds of posts, I'm a tired mod and lost track of the thread. But other things that came up included the music, the way the scores and overlapped, the set and locations, Yennefer's portrayal on multiple occasions and the casting of other female characters, and the costuming. And not everyone was online, so I'm sure there would have been a lot more. Hope this satiates your curiosity, Non.

[embrassemoi]

Surrounded by the Moon and Stars ✷ 18

Pairings: Sirius B, Remus L, [F]Reader   CW: mentions of abuse, throwing up, depression, horrible coping mechanisms, implied sexual references   A/N: Read CW for this chap.

【 Masterlist: Previous Chapter | Next Chapter 】

Chapter 18: Love Isn’t a Magic Potion

━━━━━━━━━༻✩༺━━━━━━━━━

February 14th, 1976

There wasn’t quite another person like James Potter who knew what unrequited love felt like.

After years of harbouring feelings for Lily, making a fool of himself, his failed attempts of trying to impress her; she never seemed to take interest. Lily always sent him disgusted looks, never passing up the opportunity to call him a dirty arrogant toe-rag.

And sure, it phased him sometimes; her words cutting deep, but despite it all, James still believed in the fairytales, the sparks, the magic of true love, finding your soulmate — your better half. His parents were his main inspiration for love. Years — decades they’d been together and still, the love they held for one another, so fierce and unstoppable, it even shocked James at times.

A long time ago, when he truly understood the concept of love, he made a promise that he wouldn’t settle for anything but for the fairytales, the sparks, the magic of true love, finding his soulmate — his better half.

He wanted all of it. The good days, the bad days, the glitter and sparkles, the cheesy one-liners; long walks on the beach, nursing them back to health after they caught the flu, watching the sunsets, dancing in the rain — even the stupid petty arguments. He wanted all of it.

No matter how long it took to find them, he would; after all, everyone had their person.

Maybe that’s why he chased after Lily for so long — hoping for that romantic love — the love that’s made for movie screens — the type of love that conquered all. But he wouldn’t continue to beat on a dead horse, especially if Lily didn’t want that.

He wouldn’t force her and certainly, he wouldn’t harass her.

But, James would consider himself lucky, he found his friends — they were already his platonic soulmates and he’d go to the ends of the earth for each of them. His parents, the Marauders, Marlene, now Whiskers; he was always surrounded by only the purest amount of love.

He was never a person to cover up his emotions — hardly, that is. He wore his heart proudly on his sleeve, never once letting others dictate his life and the way that he loved. He laid himself bare, open, and there was a beauty to it that words couldn’t describe.

Love truly conquered all, whether it be romantic or platonic.

But to the women that fell in love with Sirius Black, well — there wasn’t quite another group of people like them who knew what unrequited love felt like — not even James ‘Oi, Evans!’ Potter could compare. 

Love is shit.

Love is cruel.

Love is unfair.

Sirius would go on date after date. One fleeting look and soon enough, he had women at his feet, falling for his devilish charm that captivated them in seconds.

They swooned over his chiselled jaw and thick glossy hair; eyes so mysterious with profound, moonlit mirth. The epicanthic folds highlighted his sharp and pointed look that they swore cut through them, searching through the deepest part of their souls.

He was a part or used to be a part of the oldest and most noble Pureblood families in the country. He was rich, of high status, French, could speak five languages and a mischievous bad boy straight out of your classic Muggle film.

Falling in love with Sirius Black was an easy task, so simple and it could happen in a blink of an eye. The realization would come either fast or slow depending on the poor lovesick git who let themselves fall.

But getting Sirius Black to return that affection was an impossible task.

He was raised as a gentleman and would play the part before becoming bored. They were all fillers, the people he dated.

He would admit it, he’s a bit of a dick.

He never fell in love with anyone he’s dated so far — never got past the fancying stage and even then, it was never strong. It never made him feel those butterflies that James described them as. His heart never jumped, never sped up fast, he never felt his skin heat nor did their laugh ever put him into a trance — nothing like what he described them to be like. If anything, he’d always break it off with the girls he found himself getting too comfortable with; always severing it before it became too much.

Although, it technically never was his fault that they fell in love. Most of his admirers like to daydream from afar, or they’d make a promise at the beginning — no strings attached.

Well for them, it did. It almost always ended with strings attached with Sirius holding a pair of shiny scissors at the end of fried thread.

He did not believe in the fairytales, the sparks, the magic of true love, finding your soulmate — your better half.

But that doesn't mean he didn’t want it.

But, above all, Sirius Black considered himself to be a realist. Unlike James, he couldn't — he wouldn’t let himself believe in that shit anymore. Love is disappointing and it does nothing but hurt you, nothing but a filler he used to distract himself with, no matter who it was. Love did not fix his fuck ups nor himself.

All of the adoring admirers, the ones that lined up for him, they would all leave if they caught a glimpse of the worst parts of him. The ugly, nasty parts. He used rage as a means of defence, he pushed the people he loves away, he was moody, dramatic and above all, reckless.

All they wanted was to take, use him for his body — they wouldn’t love him if they knew him. The real him: the ugly side along with the beautiful one he wore. The side that wasn’t always adventurous, daring, bold, brave… happy, go-getting.

Nobody would stay for the ugly part of him.

In that regard, Sirius was unloveable. Completely, utterly unloveable.

Currently, the uglier, caged part of Sirius re-emerged as he writhed around in his bed. Eyes moved rapidly behind eyelids, squinted in pain as he squirmed around, clutching the bed sheets tightly. His head flopped from side to side as he was unable to wake; stuck in a nightmare.

“You mudblood lover —” “Don’t call them that!” “Babies, Regulus, babies!” “It’s killing me to stay.” “CRUCI —”

Sirius woke with a jolt, choking on a strangled scream that clawed at his throat. His mind seemed to be encased in a wordless static, muting him to the noise around him as he felt the rapid, hard thumps against his chest. Distantly, he could feel his body raking in waves as the sticky, cold feeling of his sweat dripped from his temple and down the side of his face. It made his hair stick to his forehead uncomfortably yet somehow, despite the sweating and the overwhelming feeling of heat, he felt ice cold.

He swallowed thickly, sniffingly away the stinging growing behind his eyelids but failed as a few stray tears had already settled on his cheeks. Sirius looked around frantically, meeting the familiar red and gold bed sheets that were now pushed off of him as he sat upright in his bed. Red velvet drapes hung around the sides, pulled together as slivers of bright light sliced through them. It made him squint and focus on the surroundings.

Soon enough, it felt like a weight lifted off his chest, marked in unspoken forgiveness once realizing where he was.

You’re safe, his inner voice spoke firmly, It was just a dream. A dream.

“Wakey, wakey Padfoot!”

He had just enough time to wipe the freshly fallen tears away before James ripped back his curtains, jumping into his bed. He drew a deep sigh, avoiding James’ eyes and trained them to look outside.

Upon the grass and mountains, snow sprinkled on much like sugar over a cake. The distant chirping of birds could be heard singing their usual song, or more like an alarm clock, as they soared high in the sky without a worry in the world.

If only Sirius could be a bird, what a simple life he would lead.

“Fuck you,” groaned Remus, “He might be awake, but I’m not.” His eyes clenched in annoyance, throwing his blanket over his head.

“Well aren’t you lovely? Isn’t he, Sirius?”

“The loveliest,” he managed to grit out, throat groggy and dry.

“Shut up!”

“Okay, calm down big bad wolf.”

“Well,” he mocks James, his voice going an octave higher, “This big bad wolf can maul you.”

James beamed brightly, the ever morning person he was, unaffected by Moony’s response. Instead, he padded his way over to him, shaking him before Remus flipped the covers off his body, tackling him into his bed.

“Do you guys think I should cut my hair?” James managed to get out as he gasped. Remus sprawled out on top of him, pinning him in place as he was being crushed from his weight. “I want to make sure I look good for today.”

“You’re always in need of a trim,” Peter called out.

“You look fine,” Remus added, “Besides, you and scissors are not a good move right now.”

Meanwhile, Sirius’ stomach felt hollow, worry ate at his very being before he felt something rise within his throat. Quickly, swinging his legs over the edge, Sirius made his way to the loo in a rush while James and Remus were both distracted.

Peter was there, rifling through the cabinets with his toothbrush dangling from his lips. “Morning,” he said, not quite looking over to him, “Do we have any more toothpaste? I keep telling Prongs not to use so much…”

“Get out,” he managed to say before shoving Peter out of the door, closing it shut. He barely managed to cast a silencing charm before opening the lid of the toilet seat, throwing up. For the most part, Sirius gagged on air before finally attempting to collect himself, preventing hyperventilation.

Foolishly, even up until that dreaded night, Sirius had an ounce of hope. For what exactly, he wasn’t sure. Perhaps it was hope that Regulus might have turned out different, or maybe it was hope that he’d finally be accepted, even though he knew that would never be the case — never with parents like Walburga or Orion.

But every time he dared to dream, to hope, he was always quickly reminded why it hurt. Hope was dangerous, a false sense of reality — a taste of what people dreamt and chase for but could never quite grasp.

It was more addicting than any kind of alcohol he drank — or the girls — or pranks.

Eventually, he got up from the floor, jumped in the shower and followed his morning routine before wrapping a towel around himself and stepped out.

Sirius was drying his hair before catching a glimpse of himself in the large mirror in front of the sink.

Sirius had never been insecure about the way he looked. A part of him, the arrogant and narcissistic part of him knew that he looked good and he’d flaunt it. But there were times like today, where he’d look at himself, but feel as if he’s looking at a familiar face that wasn’t his — a monster reflected back.

He wondered if this is what Moony felt like.

For a moment, Sirius let his face rest, allowing the helpless, loitering fear and guilt he felt engrave its way onto the smooth surface of his skin.

The eyes looking back at him today were his father’s, his hair reminded him too much of Regulus, his high cheekbones reminded him of Walburga and the tired, slightly crazed look reminded him of Bellatrix.

A member of the Black family, that's what people saw when they first looked at Sirius, the heir of the most noble and ancient house of Black.

Sirius Orion Black.

Orion Black… Even his name made him want to cry out in rage. Another reminder.

Pushing back his wet hair, he studied the faded scar that disappeared into his hairline.

It was more apparent than ever that Sirius had scars.

But unlike James, whose scars were from happy memories of the Quidditch pitch, or Peter, whose only scars were from chopping chocolate for a fancy baking recipe — and lastly, Remus, whose scars were visible, laid out for everyone to see, Sirius’ scars were invisible.

He wore them day in and day out without anyone ever knowing.

With a blink, he drowned out his thoughts immediately; his dreams, his past, his thoughts were for another time.

He sucked in a breath, clicking the door open.

Remus was the only other person still in the dorm. He stood in front of the mirror, buttoning up his white school shirt before ducking down and grabbed his bag, shoving in books, his wand and any other loose pages of parchment that he assumed was for his little study group.

“Where’s Wormy and James?” He asked, not liking the way his voice sounded wobbly and hoarse. His eyes no longer peered up at his chap, instead looking around the room. Anywhere but his face.

Thankfully, Moony didn’t seem to notice, preoccupied with the now overflowing pile of Valentine gifts and cards on his bedside. He grew frustrated with them with every passing second as they littered his space.

“Accio bin!”

The black bin from across the room flew into Remus’ hand, quickly shoving the letters in but soon a guilty look flashed across his face.

Remus had always been too considerate about their feelings, perhaps Sirius should take a page from his book.

Sirius had a pile accumulating on the carpet beside his trunk; it seemed like more and more people every year were confessing their feelings, but this time, Remus seemed to be getting a lot more along with the rest of the Marauders. But he smiled, happy to know that Remus had been getting some action. He fucking needed it.

“Er — sorry, Pete’s off to Wood’s room to borrow their toothpaste and James —” Remus cut himself off, bringing a hand to the sides of his temples as he moved them in circular motions. “I’m pretty sure Prongs went to find Y/N. Something about finishing a sign or a song for today —”

Sirius bit back a laugh, “A song?”

“I guess he’s fucking Paul McCartney now.”

Remus passed him, disappeared into the loo, giving enough time for Sirius to get dressed.

It was his third dream that week about that night and it was wearing down on him emotionally. He was losing sleep, he wasn’t eating, he was reclining from the Marauders, he was so prone to anger; lashing out, yelling… he didn’t like how he was acting — it reminded him too much of Orion.

And the thought made him sick to his stomach. He didn’t want to be a monster.

Lost in his depressing thoughts, Remus re-entered the room. But instead of walking up to his bed, Remus halted, looking directly at him before he crossed the room, putting a protective, encouraging hand onto his shoulder. A serious and calculated look crossed his face.

“Do you need anything?” He spoke in a hushed voice, as if he were to speak any louder, the walls might hear.

Sirius felt unexpected annoyance brewing in his chest. Bloody fucking Lupin, of course he knew — using his heightened senses to sniff out his distress.

Unlike Sirius, who hid his emotions, who covered and buried even a sign of weakness, who searched for answers high and low, Remus was so blunt — clear cut with his emotions. He knew just what to say, knew what was happening before others did even if they hadn’t even spoken yet.

He wished his thought process was as clear-cut as Moony’s.

“What do you mean? I’m fine,” he said, faking nonchalance. Jokingly, he prodded Remus’ cheek with his finger, “Turning into Moomy, again?”

His friend did not smile, concern still latched on.

“You know I’m always here for —” Before he could say anything more, Sirius hastily grabbed his bag, slinging over his shoulder, bolting out of the room.

Hiding — running away from his problems — that’s what Sirius was an expert on. And like that, he switched off that part — the ugly, unloveable part of his brain for the day.

When Sirius reached the Great Hall, he wasn’t surprised when a dozen owls bombarded him with letters and chocolates. It brought a sly smile to his lips

What? He did say he was arrogant.

“Looking grand, Black,” Marlene teased as she observed the overflowing amount of cards already in his arms. She ruffled his hair as he was forced to take the seat next to L/N. Marlene turned to chat with Dorcas, who finally was back on her feet and kicking it.

“It’s not even eight and your bag is filled?!” Peter exclaimed, baffled.

A part of Sirius didn’t feel annoyed as he sat beside her. Maybe it was because his main stressor, the Black family, was out of the picture and he’d been desperately trying to control his lash outs, but Sirius was stumped. Since the break, especially after the ‘Muggle’ incident, he found himself tolerating her presence.

Just a bit.

He understood why James, Remus, Lily, Marlene; why everyone took a liking to her.

But he had an inkling as to why.

Although, his mixed feelings towards her were not helping in the slightest as he dealt with the string of recent events in his life.

She was the one that spoke first, which surprised him.

“Ugh —” Y/N fiddled with the hem of her robes, “Kettleburn wants us to switch the Puffeskin between us. I was thinking since we’re in the same house, we could keep it in one of our dorms. I was thinking about keeping it in yours.”

“Why not yours?”

“They liked to hatch in warm places. Your dorm has a fireplace, right? I remember James telling me you had one… And it would make it easier since women can go into the boy’s dorms.”

For some reason, he couldn’t stop himself — he just couldn’t. “I bet you’re trying to get off quick.”                

The accusations did not sit right with her.

For someone like Sirius, someone who dealt with the worst shit imaginable; someone who'd been beaten down, both metaphorically and literally — someone who by the textbook was supposed to curl in on himself — keep to himself, be small, avoid drama, don’t cause arguments — Sirius did anything but that. Everything he did, he made sure to cause a reaction.

“No —”

“Are we about to argue because you want to win, or is it because you want to learn?.”

“You’re so arrogant. I don’t need you for grades. Your brain probably grew twice in size when I turned you into a dog.”

“Didn’t ask.”

“Then why are you replying?”

Sirius rolled his eyes, “Very creative.”

“Do you ever just shut up?” She snaps. Her face inched closer to his.

Unbeknownst to her, for a second, a second that he’d never admit, Sirius' brain falters. They hadn’t been this close to each other since that day after Kettleburn had assigned their group project. He catches the smell of faint floral — tulips, he thinks. Or maybe vanilla? Books? Tea? He couldn’t place it.

But his heart did a funny thing. It never does a funny thing like that and it concerns him. He wasn’t sick, was he?

Silence lingers.

L/N scoffed, “Well finally, it looks like you have.”

Although, she seems completely unphased by their closeness.

“Huh, you really do shut up.”

He snorts, his brain finally working again. “You nag an awful lot.”

“Well, you —”

“Whiskers. You’re a woman, how do I look?” James asked. He came bouncing up to them across the hall from the entrance. He twirls a little, showing off his outfit. In one hand, he held a sign and a bunch of roses. “Would you fancy me?”

“Dropping hints, are we, Potter?” She smirks playfully, “Anyway, I know you nicked that from Sirius.”

Sirius looked over to him, his head nodding up and down but was surprised that she noticed the difference, “She’s right, that is mine. Maybe that’s why you look so good.” He meant for the remark to come off as a joke, but cringed as the words spewed from his mouth. He sounded like a complete arse. 

James ignores him, “I have everything planned.” Then, he holds up a sign, all in baby pink with hearts dancing across the page as a huge message declaring his affection for Emmeline was written in bold fonts. I looked fairly cheesy, but that was James for you. A romantic at heart.

“Well,” he starts, clearly happy, “Do you like it?! I’ve also got a song written!”

“Remember the last time you wrote someone a —”

Y/N kicked him, hard, under the table, which caused Sirius to look at her sharply before his face turned annoyed again. She hadn’t even glanced his way yet. She continued to calm James down, giving him a pep talk while Sirius would jump in with encouraging words.

“Of course we love it — is it for Lily or —”

James shakes his head and they both knew who he was referring to.

“— Then Emmeline will love it even more! Get the girl, Bambi!”

James smiled triumphantly, sticking his fist out for a fist bump before running off happily towards the Ravenclaw table.

“Y’know,” Y/N starts, talking to Sirius as they both watch as James gets up on the table, preparing to serenade Emmeline in front of the entire Great Hall with a guitar that vaguely looks like Remus’. “You can choose not to be a dick.���

Surprisingly, he laughed, small, but there. And then, he finds himself responding to her comments, “I beg to differ.”

“Then beg.”

Sirius’ eyes widened, feeling his mouth go dry. He bit the inside of his cheek, eyes fluttering shut a couple times. It didn’t help that she smirked at his reaction and it made Sirius feel funny. An odd swoop piddled at the base of his stomach.

“I’ll take that into consideration for later,” he settled on.

Remus and Lily waltzed into the room, both holding small cards of their own. L/N and Sirius shuffled over as much as they could to fit in with both Remus and Lily. 

A part of Sirius’ routine had started incorporating Lily doing his hair. Most often, she did pretty braids or buns — but of course, not without James pouting to him later. He only hoped that with Emmeline’s new presence, James would stop.

“Ooo la-la!” Y/N mocked, swiping one of the cards from Lily and Remus. “You two are popular.” She turned to face Lily.

“It’s n-nothing, really, “Lily stuttered, her head ducking down. But her eyes seemed to look up at her, seemingly in hope of some recognition.

“Don’t be so modest!”

“A-hem!” James’ bostal voice. His foot wobbled on the edge of the table that made them all nervous if he were to fall. He finally concluded his song. Lily looked over and smiled, glad to know that James had finally chosen a different target to annoy.

“Fuckin’ barmy,” Remus muttered out, a hand going to cover his mouth in suspense. His hand travelled down to his chin-stroking his jaw.

“Emmeline, thou beauty —”

“Oh my god,” groaned Remus again, sinking in his seat from the second embarrassment but smiling nevertheless.  

However, Marlene whopped loudly, a large grin on her face.

Lily looked over to the scene, her eyes finding their way back to L/N, Peter paled slightly at the scene, Marlene was howling in laughter along with Sirius.

But much like himself, L/N found herself laughing with them too.

Her laughter rang out, and Sirius found himself drawn to the noise. But what was worse, was that he wanted to hear it again.

And even though he knew that other women and even men were staring at him right now, ready to give him all their affection and attention, Sirius found himself unable to look away from her.

He felt his palms getting sweaty, his heart beat harder, he wanted to sit closer to her and a smile tugged at his lips but he forced it down.

Fuck.

It was almost as the realization hit him there like a thousand tidal waves.

His heart jumped, it sped up fast, he felt his skin heat and her laugh put him into a trance — everything like what James described it to feel like.

If it was what he thought it was, Sirius wasn’t quite pleased with his newfound knowledge. He already had too much shit to deal with and certainly, someone like her was not worth it.

As the thought arose, there was something else that pulled him from these thoughts; it was the very shit that Sirius was dealing with, coming to haunt him again.

Regulus entered the Great Hall and Sirius had the urge to run to the nearest bin again. He hadn’t seen him since that night.

Within seconds, Regulus sensed his gaze and their eyes locked.

He wasn’t proud of Regulus, if anything, Sirius resented him — hated him and his entire body spiked in anger as he stared at him. He chose his path. But he couldn’t help but feel immense, dreadful guilt.

He could’ve done more, been there for him more, talked to him more. There were so many possibilities, so many outcomes and Sirius managed to end up with one of the worst paths imaginable.

He both wanted to scoop him up in his arms, cry — hold onto him tight like how they used to years ago, but the other part also wanted to take a Beater’s bat and swing a Bludger at his head.

His head shook slightly, just enough for Regulus to get the hint.

There was a hard, hopeless expression on Regulus’ face as he seemed to take a sharp inhale, his shoulders slumping within every passing second.

They were from two separate worlds, more evident than ever now. They weren’t brothers, not really.

Two of the brightest stars were torn apart forevermore.

Once the bell rang, Sirius sprang out of his seat and walked down the halls. He dodged owls, letters, chocolates and even a few love potions. There was a familiar void that punched its way through Sirius’ chest.

It was too early for firewhiskey, he couldn’t get knackered, he couldn’t talk to James, not when he was this happy and getting a pack of smokes from Remus — he’d bloody know within seconds what was wrong and call a Marauder's meeting or sort out some intervention for his sanity. Besides, he needed to apologize to Peter for how he acted that morning.

So the next best thing; snogging — a quick shag.

The next girl that tossed a flirtatious wink his way, he immediately approached. She was pale, had brown hair, soft skin and he vaguely recognized her but couldn’t quite place it. They flirted, Sirius would suggest it, she smiled, nodding her head and giving out a breathless sigh as Sirius dove for her lips, walking into the nearest broom closet.

Things were fast, almost a blur. She reached down, fumbling with his buckle before it clanked to the floor; he unbuttoned her top, hoisting her up and pushing them against a wall. She let out soft whimpers and he groaned into her neck.

The sensation, the building pleasure had left as soon as it came, leaving him feeling empty once more. He peeled off the girl, checking if she was alright like every other time. He didn’t know her name, forgetting it, and smiled awkwardly as she dressed.

He watched her leave the broom closet, the door clicking softly behind her. He could hear the faint scuffle of her shoes as she skipped down the hall excitedly. She had gotten what she wanted, a piece of Sirius; the Sirius that he put out — the pretty, nicely packaged Sirius.

Bent down, sinking to the floor, rocking on the balls of his feet, arms wrapped tightly around his legs and his head resting on his knees; emotions pooled through Sirius, attacking his frail heart.

Sirius laughs; it was dry, sad, pathetic, defeated. It was hard enough to hide with smiles, pranks, the random girls, sex, but those happy hormones that he craved, it was never, ever enough.

He couldn't go on like this, he had to fix something because something else was bound to break.

His laughing became strained as the walls of his throat began to close, eyes filling with tears. But now, finally alone, he let them cascade freely as his quiet sobs echoed in the dusty closest.

Love isn’t a magic potion.

━━━━━━━━━༻✩༺━━━━━━━━━

【I hope it was clear in this chapter that in no way am I trying to romanticize Sirius's trauma】