#through a chalkboard with a magic chalk....

[thelovers-2001]

Hello Skrawl aka middle school me's crush (that I didn't know was a crush at that time). So nice to see you again in the year of 2024 ← ( I am developing feelings for him again )

[mo0nfairy]

ᥫ᭡ . # ۫ , ⸺ BLOMSTERTID, PART FOUR !

summary :: Centuries-old mage, Y/N L/N, possesses magical abilities unheard of. A few citizens monopolize the remnants of magic they find, of which they now title “Hextech”. Hearsay of this power bleeds through all of Runeterra, until Piltover and Zaun find themselves in an anarchic war to obtain said power. Before Y/N can even blink, however, the humans neglect their plans when they realize they’d rather have Y/N instead.

chapters :: the masterlist.

word count :: 10.7k

content warnings :: SPOILERS! obsessive!vi, yandere!vi, yandere!jinx, yandere!viktor, gender neutral reader, alcohol/alcoholism, violence, suic1de attempt, & some s3xual themes (but nothing too explicit).

vi's yandere traits are . . .

ambitious, territorial, & controlling

⋆ ｡ ˚ ⋆ ⸺ When the moon rises and the vibrant world eases, Vi always finds herself dreaming of the same thing. 

She imagines herself beneath a shower of softness, the sight of prickling tears or bruising flesh disintegrating. Even in the height of her childhood, her desires have always been adorned in thick blankets of fluff. Instead of toys and trinkets, it was hopping sheep and tickling feathers. Here, there would be no further need for clenched fists anymore, not when there is tender love. 

To feel the touch of gentle warmth — that is the haunting desire which paints her dreams.

It is a desire that is entirely foreign. A stranger, indubitably. Yet, this hunger is so immense, the mere thought of actually satiating this emaciation causes her stomach to sway. 

Even standing at a high point in Piltover, identity exposed to any lingering pedestrians, Vi does not feel at unease. Beside Mylo, Claggor, and her sister, Powder, the heist they frivolously forged in their heads fails to provoke any nerves within the young girl. If anything, she is fearless, as many have described her as. Not a worried bone in her body.

Slithering into the apartment of a Topsider came with its bumps in the road, but nothing that team could not swiftly smooth out. The mess of golden gadgetry scattered around is framed in an array of twisting cogs and sprockets. Books are spread through the expanse languidly, a few left open and dogeared to certain chapters. A wide chalkboard joins this scientist’s paradise, as well. Scribbled in white chalk are a myriad of mathematical equations she couldn’t decipher even if she cared enough to try. 

With a warning of concern to Powder (and a quick scolding to Mylo and Claggor), Vi sets out by herself and finds an office space nestled at the end of the hallway. The door is of a dark mahogany wood, carved with dark golden frames and intricacies. Oh, to be born so lucky and care for the appearance of a simple door. 

Within, there is a wider variety of books, scattered pages of blueprints, and even a lone, half-eaten sandwich. 

And right in the center of this mess is a figure. 

She cannot articulate how (or even why, for that matter), but the sight of them yanks the breath right from her chest. For the very first time in her tumultuous, violence-induced life, flight-or-fight has become a afterthought. Standing on the threshold, she freezes. 

Bent over the desk is a cloaked stranger. Their fingers, jagged and dark-hued, toy with some electric experiments. The subtle jingle of the jewels and adornments beneath their coat perfuse through the silence. A cloud, almost a halo, suffuses from their form in hues of purple and sapphire. All that is missing is a fluffy pair of wings and Vi would be positive she’s just stumbled upon an angel. 

When they turn over their shoulder to identify the sudden, yet sneaky entrance, she truly feels like she has become a statue.

They are pretty. Frighteningly so. Not in the same vein as the Piltover Pageant Queens, but something entirely beyond that. It is pure and unearthly; something soft, yet gut-wrenching. A whole other universal level of ‘pretty’, she’d describe. And as high and mighty as she carries herself, that stone-hard facade crumbles to baby pebbles when a subtle smile stretches on their serrated lips. 

They stand to their feet, abandoning their efforts with Topside science in favor of her. As they step closer to her, something unknown crawls about in her stomach. That hunger, so comfortable in its withering starvation that the mere scent of nourishment has it itching to sprint away. Still, she remains frozen in dazed wonder. 

It is only when they halt before Vi does the realization settle. She wished she had chased them through that sandstorm. Chased them through any storm, for that matter. She can no longer count on her fingers the instances in which she found her sister doodling that exact face among the walls of the Last Drop’s basement, her hands a permanent stain of old chalk and dry markers. It is simply a sloppy cartoon, she always assumed. But now, it is everything and so, so much more. 

“You may have a good heart, but you must not let it blind you.” 

Wind chimes. 

That is what the voice sounds like, accentuated by summer winds and sprinkling rain.

Wide-eyed like some stupid puppy-dog, all Vi can do is stare as they bring their hand up to her cheek. The heavenly warmth perfusing from their palm meets her flesh and in a flash, her vision is overwhelmed in darkness. Images flood through the shadows, all painting a picture of this stranger. 

They sit beside a river’s edge, peering into the water surface and scrutinizing their appearance in utter horror. Splotches of purple and blue cover their skin, contrasting in varying sizes and hues. Incomprehensible gibberish glitters across their exposed, sparkling skin. Black streaks of dirt and ash leak down their face with the seeping tears. Horrific perfection. 

“Mama…” They whimper, cracked and devastated.

A gasp leaps from Vi’s chest as she is finally granted clarity. 

Her feet fail her in awkward tumbles, before she inevitably falls to the ground. She finds herself to still remain in the office of this rich Topsider, but she is now in complete solitude. The stranger has vanished. Nothing remains in their departure besides the open window panes swinging with the wind. 

They leave the girl no room to digest the fact that every desire of softness and tender touch was just clutched in her palms. Not when it had abandoned Vi as quickly as it was granted to her.

This sense of abandonment festered inside of her for the remainder of an entire decade. 

Desperate endeavors at grasping a sliver of what you had gifted her all prove to be futile, no matter how ambitious the attempt. If anything, the sheer opposite had infested Vi’s life; a pendulum swung ahead to something amazing for only a second, just to remain stagnant on the opposing end for many agonizing years. 

Any effort at forcing that pendulum back, maybe even reforging the events of her memories, only serves as a blunt reminder of what she is now. A pit fighter, of all things; a savage spectacle. All her hands now know is violence.

Large streaks of dirt paint the expanse beneath her eyes. A smudge here, some dusted there — just the same as you, peering at yourself on the reflective surface of the river. And as devastating as the conclusion is, she has no choice but to accept this is what her life was made for.

The only remnant of peace Vi can grasp in this life is within the walls of her bedroom. As artificial as it may be, drinking herself sick and watching her poisoned brain carve fantasies into reality is the highlight of her day. 

Slumped over the thin mattress, she gapes in reverie at the blurry sights of you. Sometimes staring into the cracked mirror, a deity admiring the masterpiece of their appearance. Other times laying right beside her, gentle hands that cannot get enough of her flesh. Maybe even bludgeoning her fists into the punching bag, imagining some lovelorn, teenage-like fantasy of her defending your honor, to where you drown her in praise and gratitude. 

The peace is puny, pitifully so. Yet, is the only drop of fuel pushing her forward through this pathetic life.

And indulging in these visions is exactly Vi’s intentions as she returns to her room after another win in the pit. That is, until she is greeted by a sight that alone is enough to ruin her entire night. 

“Violet.” A smooth accent speaks.

Standing beside her door is a figure dressed in that familiar, irritating gold and blue uniform. Navy-blue hair is slicked back into a ruler-straight ponytail, framing her sharp face, paired with a gun almost as tall as her towering frame.

“Who are you? And how do you know my name?” 

She displays her badge like a shimmering trophy. 

“Commander Kiramman. Leader of House Kiramman. Address me with respect, or keep your mouth shut.” She speaks with direction, chin held high and chest puffed out. Classic Topsider.

“Still doesn’t answer my question.” 

“It’s written on your face.” 

Vi sighs out in defeat, entering her room and grasping a random, half-full bottle from the ground. She lands with an exhausted groan on her mattress.

“So, what is it now? Random search? Escort off the property? Or are you just here to waste my time?” 

The Kiramman follows suit and stands on the threshold, gaze stern as she glares at Vi. 

“I’m here for an investigation. I’m sure you and your people,” She spits out, “have heard of the attack against the council.”

“Yeah.” Vi snickers. “Just means we got a few less Pilties to worry about.” 

The last syllable barely parts from Vi’s mouth before she finds herself staring down the barrel of a gun. 

“I warned you, filthy rat.” 

She merely rolls her eyes at the aggressive gesture. Violence is a second home, after all. 

“Fine. I don’t know shit, alright? Bomb went off, rich people died — I know just as much as the other schmucks in this pit.”

With measured ease, the Kiramman sighs out a breath, folds her gun, and tosses it over her back. 

“We’re looking for Jinx, the criminal mastermind behind the attack. We’ve received several reports of her appearing around this area.” 

She folds her long arms over her chest. 

“Since you are the most prominent figure in this… pigsty, surely you have seen her.”

Vi sneers in response. “I don’t know who you’re talking about. I’m too busy trying to keep myself afloat down here. Not that you Topsiders know jack shit about that…” 

She then takes a hardy chug of the alcohol in her hands. As she drinks, the Commander slips her fingers into her back pocket. She unfolds a wad of paper, before presenting it to Vi. 

“Then, do you recognize this person?” 

Cheap whiskey spatters from Vi’s mouth when she registers the contents. Eyes blown wide, she goggles at the sight of your face sketched in almost exact clarity amongst the lined page. A near identical replication of the day she was blessed with the genuine sight. 

The bottle in her grasp is swiftly abandoned in favor of snagging the paper from the Enforcer. A grunt of disdain huffs from her, but Vi is too engrossed in you to care for the disrespect of the stranger in her room. Every intricacy and trace is done with such grace, she may as well have been holding your face in her palms. 

“We are under the impression they played a role in this attack-” 

“No!” Vi abruptly interrupts. “They wouldn’t- You don’t know anything about them…” 

“Well… Whoever is behind it, we believe they are after Hextech. We’re halting all trades until further notice.” 

The words may as well have been background noise to Vi. In one ear and out the other, inevitable when she is met with the most realistic depiction of you she’s seen in years. 

“If it interests you,” The Commander begins, shoveling another item from her pocket. “You seem to know more about Y/N than you let on. And we need as many bodies as we can get.” 

The gold glimmer of an Enforcer badge grasps Vi’s attention. Taunting her, almost. She slaps the badge out of her hands almost as quickly as it was revealed, the metal clinking with the several empty bottles left languidly in the corner. 

“Fuck. You.” Vi seethes, her grasp still latched to the paper in her hands. Possessive is her disposition.

Nonetheless, the Kiramman remains just as stone-cold as she was when she first waltzed into the room. She does not utter another word before she leaves Vi to herself, her offer still plaguing the silent air.

Vi’s back hits the mattress with a hard thump. Paper still in hand, she stares into the etchings as though you were truly here beside her. Terrifying perfection.

It is that very perfection that sat Viktor here in the first place.

Right beside his partner before the city's councilors, who all look down at him as though he were a muck-covered stray at their doorstep. 

Piltover has never been his home, nor has its people accepted him as. The only home he has ever been granted full claim of is you and the paradise that is the sanctuary you’ve cultivated. Now, that serenity has been robbed straight from his hands; he was granted a second of heaven and nothing more. And it is torturing him more than he is willing to admit. 

Viktor’s disposition alone does all the confessing necessary, however. Urgent conversations from the councilors are drowned out by the forlorn, cry-ridden mold seeping through his mind. What was once soul-crushing anguish is now simply nothing. A hollow numbness that permeates his entire being; a deep pit that could only be filled by you.

Some frantic entity within him desperately latches onto any loose thread of yours he can find, but any breath of you is merely a figment of his imagination. No matter how hard he may fight and thrash, the truth still bludgeons its bruised, bloody fists into his form: Viktor was not strong enough for you. And without you, there is nothing else in this life that interests him.

“If the Under-City possesses even a sliver of Hextech, this could only result in-” 

“It is not the Under-City you should concern yourselves with.” Viktor interrupts. “It is Jinx who is the problem.” He snarls her name like he is spitting out rotten food. 

All attention is forced to Viktor, but his gaze remains far and distant. His thoughts have lost themselves in an open field of torturous disarray. 

“How are you so positive this is the effort of a single individual?” Cassandra questions him. “How do you know this Jinx you speak of is not working with others?” 

A sneer itches at his lips. 

“That rat stole Hextech directly from my hands. She will stop at nothing if it is for the sake of Y/N.”

“You speak quite highly of this… Y/N.” Mel Medarda inserts herself into the discussion. “Seems to me they hold some imperative power. Am I mistaken?” 

“They are of utmost importance. Y/N is an absolute necessity.” 

Whether this imperativeness is for the sake of Piltover or himself, he isn’t sure. Still, he will lay his deepest feelings bare for all the Councilors to judge and belittle if it means bringing you home. Viktor is now miles beyond desperation and this new sensation frightens him to no end.

“Power that Jinx could want, perhaps?” 

Viktor shakes his head in disagreement. “No, no. These… feelings Jinx has for Y/N tread deeper.” 

“You propose Jinx is possibly in love with Y/N?” Mel inquires further. 

“I believe Jinx thinks she is in love with Y/N, but it is merely insincere. No, a creature like her will never amount to anything worthy enough for Y/N. They are simply too…” 

A soft fog drapes over his expression. 

“Resplendent. Brilliant a-and radiant. An angel we have been-” 

“I think what my partner is trying to say is… Jinx is a problem that needs to be promptly addressed.” Jayce rescues Viktor from the social-suicide he was seconds away from committing. 

This does not save him from the ghost of his memories plaguing his body, however.

In the clap of a second, Viktor has returned to the scene of the crime: within the whorls of your beloved sanctuary. That laughter, that haunting laughter, pervades through his memory like a thrashing storm. Perfusing into every corner of his mind, granting the tortured man no possible room for clarity. And so enchanted with the moment, Viktor does not attempt to fight the urges his body indulges in before his eyes are rolling back and he’s leaning in to kiss you. 

Before your lips can meet in a music-swelling moment of bliss, an abrupt explosion penetrates through the air. The romantic scene is brought to a record-scratching halt and instinctively, Viktor leaps to protect you from the sudden intrusion. A fraction of his mind curses him for not discerning the threat sooner. He’d be a stronger knight if his monarch weren’t so damn hypnotizing. 

The swarming fireworks are soon engulfed by the encroaching of smoke bombs, erupting the once breathtaking environment into hazy clouds of purple, pink, and blue. Viktor does not hesitate before sacrificing his body as your shield, tackling you to the ground and ensnaring himself around every inch of flesh he can reach. 

Just as he begins to drown you in relentless assurances of his protection, his devotion, how he’ll never abandon your side, the rampant chorus of footsteps then accelerate behind him. 

In a flash of blue braids, he is knocked out cold.

When Viktor wakes, he discovers himself motionless in a pool of his own blood. Through his dizzy gaze, the colorful smoke has eased and the sun has reached its highest point. A bitter silence has now overwhelmed the air. Nonetheless, the only thought present in his mind is you. 

He searches through the havoc to no avail, dragging himself to his stuttering legs to further search his surroundings. Limping forward, every nook and cranny present is scrutinized by this crazed man, prayers of finding your face drifting from parted lips. 

The frightened villagers have all scurried to their homes, barricading the doors and windows with any fragment of protection they can garner. Cowards, Viktor mutters to himself. There is no force in the universe that could restrain him from ensuring your safety. He would tear mountains asunder just to see a smile stretch on your face.

Abruptly, Cassandra Kiramman is what halts Viktor’s trip down memory lane. 

“We cannot ignore the possibility that Y/N may be working alongside Jinx. What proof do we have that tells us otherwise-?” 

The snap! of Viktor’s cane splitting into two permeates the room’s expanse when he slams it against the desk edge. 

“You keep their name out of your filthy mouth!” He spits out, wild and enraged. “There is no boundary I will not cross if it means being united with my spouse! Be it another bomb from that blue-haired mutt, I will persist through all-!” 

In the matter of a second, a violent force crashes into the room and several councilors are killed beneath its weight. 

Viktor, horrifyingly so, is almost among those several. Not with the desperate enforcement of Jayce Talis, who rushes him to the lab to treat his fatal injuries.

And this very lab is where Jayce has remained for the past several days he has lost count of. 

His partner remains stagnant in the mess of Hextech, opalescent strings of gooey sludge enmeshing his unconscious body. Meanwhile, Jayce scrutinizes every etch of Viktor’s journals, searching for some antidote that will wake him from this magic-induced coma. Though, the most redundant theme in these scientists’ notes is the etchings of the same face, sketched over and over again in an obsessive harmony. 

Jayce’s fingers drift among the surface of the page, dragging his gentle touch among the curves and shading of their paper face. He can understand why Viktor is so enthralled by them, as they are evidently, heart-wrenchingly beautiful. But, Jayce is not an easy man. Thus, he does not waver for the artistic works of a man head-over-heels. He’ll just choose to ignore the strange pit in his stomach every time he recalls Viktor using the word “spouse” in regards to them.

“We need to begin preparing ourselves for a full-scale invasion.” 

Caitlyn Kiramman announces herself abruptly as she struts into the room. 

Upon this intrusion, Jayce slams the journal shut as though he were caught by his mother sneaking sugar before dinner. He cannot put a finger on the reasoning behind such a culpable reaction, but he digresses to accommodate her presence, anyway. 

“You’ve taken this time to secure Hextech, I presume?” 

She rounds the corner, but her determined strides reach a sudden halt upon finding the sight of Viktor. For just a moment, there’s a glimmer of emotion in Caitlyn’s expression. Brief, albeit, but its existence had prevailed fleetingly, nonetheless. 

“He’s breathing. That’s… That’s all I know.” Jayce mutters.

Her weakened attitude is swiftly replaced by her habitual, stiff disposition. Chest and chin held high, she continues. 

“There is no use dwelling on these matters. Not when the Under-City is potentially planning another attack.”

Exhaustion getting the better of him, Jayce scoffs at her persisting suggestions, rubbing the ache in his temple.

“Cait, I already told you. I promised Viktor. You can’t just go down there, guns-a-blazing-!” 

“And I have told you, Jayce, this is no longer up for debate. Jinx has proved herself to be an extraordinary threat. Now, we have proper reason to believe Y/N is, too. It is absolutely imperative these threats are located and neutralized.” 

Caitlyn glares daggers as she awaits his response. Jayce has been rendered speechless, however. The hopeful plans he formed for this nation a decade ago have all crashed and burned in a violent matter of seconds. He has found himself at a complete loss, no successful direction on this plane to resort to. All due to this Jinx character. Now, potentially, this beautiful stranger, as well.

Stuck within his inner turmoil, Caitlyn perceives his silence as an answer. She turns her shoulder and takes a single step toward the door.

“Let me try talking to them.” 

This grasps her attention.

“You… You wish to speak to Y/N? Why?” 

A confession of what lies in Viktor’s journal bridges on his lips, but he halts the efforts of his honest tongue. 

“I, uh…” Jayce gulps nervously, but conceals the motion with a forced cough. “I believe I can crack through them. If I can talk to them, I may be able to predict Zaun’s next attack.”

Caitlyn merely gapes at him in utter bewilderment, stammering over herself before she can properly articulate her puzzled thoughts. 

“That is vacuous! Our knowledge of Jinx is weak, yes, but Y/N is an utter stranger! A monster, at that! You’d be throwing yourself into uncharted waters, Jayce, you cannot be-”

Her expression drops from scrunched confusion to bitter offense when she realizes the intent behind his lies. He refuses to meet her eye and maintains his vision to the glossy floors. Ashamed, but he will not admit such. 

“What will Miss Medarda think of that? Hmm?”

Her tone is low and cautionary. A gentle threat, subtly jabbing at her new privileges as a respected councilor member.

“It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. The sake of Piltover is most important.” 

The thinly-veiled lie provokes a sharp, dry laugh from Caitlyn. It is her final response before she promptly takes her leave.

Another powerful figure of the Upper-City has been claimed by this all-engrossing outsider. That being one of the closest friends she has ever known. This creature will surely claim more, unfortunately, but Caitlyn will not allow them to possess her. 

She will stop at nothing to bring this devil to their feet. No matter what it takes.

Down under, thundering music and flashing lights dance around Vi. Slumped over the ragged surface of the bar, the ache of alcohol hammers her messy mind. Her pockets are heavy with the coins she earned from another win in the pit, but her senses may as well have been melted to jelly with how much intoxication she has poisoned herself with. Just another night spent resorting to whatever means necessary to forget, the bartender knows all too well.

Tonight, however, another heavy-weight worry has been tossed onto the pile of thousands. 

“Me? An enforcer?” Vi chuckles at the prospect alone. “The peanut patrol can suck it, for all I care!” 

Another mouthful of liquor burns her throat as it descends. 

“That Piltie-bitch wouldn’t know Y/N if they punched her in her dumb face, heh!” 

Her bruised, calloused hand lazily grasps hold of her cheek, the very way you did all those years ago. A glance over to the busy dance floor and her evening intentions have found success. There you are, your cloaked figure like a sore thumb among the other partygoers; a scene so out of place, it is almost comical.

“Y/N…” 

With liquid courage working its wonders, she has an unbearable urge to shuffle over to you, collapse against your form, and pour her heart from her ribcage straight into your palms. The confession would be drunken and disgusting, stained in inky reverence and muddy worship. Yet, perhaps you’ll be so moved by this passionate declaration, you’ll let her drag you back to her room and-

“Sheesh, kid. Back at it again?” 

She’d let out a groan if her body had the energy to do so. 

Loris, a regular in the audience, sits himself beside her. Or, ‘Wannabe-Vander’, as she has jokingly titled him after one too many shots. 

“What’s ‘yer diagnosis this time, ‘ey? That ‘Y/N’ ‘yer still caught up on?” 

Her languid arm attempts to shove him away in her drunken state. Maybe sock him in the face for speaking of you so passively while she’s at it.

“Shut up… Dick…” 

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get ‘ye home.” 

His arms lock under hers and lift, bringing Vi to her wobbly legs. Reluctantly, she follows his guide. Her eyes are locked to the fuzzy hallucination of you with every step out of the bar.

The sight of the flags with the enforcers insignia threaded into the fabric is a brutal reminder of life without you present. 

“Enforcer… Fucking joke…” 

The thought alone puts a nauseating taste on her tongue. Do Top-Siders really think they can cast out their own people, only to return and take their pick of the litter? Despite all the inevitable disappointment their behavior elicits, Vi still finds herself in the same insufferable fits of rage with every action they take. Every damn day it seems they test her patience. Now, they’ve taken one step too far, from military stomps to an all-too aggressive, annoying intrusion.

Vi splats face-first into the firm plush of her mattress. Loris speaks, most likely a farewell, but the rampant ringing in her aching head fails to discern his words. The door closes with a clunky click and just like every other night, Vi is all alone. The air may be hollow and heavy, but her mind is alive with the softness she only touched once. 

“Y/N…” 

If it is true, if you are really out there somewhere and not just a pretty figment of a teenager's wild imagination, she cannot decide how to feel. She is at an odd juxtaposition between an ecstatic light and a lonely darkness. All those isolated nights, drunken ramblings, and savage bar fights — why weren’t you there to stop her again? All she has known her entire life is pain, why can’t you mend it the way you did all those years ago?

Even after all this buzzing noise, those words still echo in perfect precision. 

“You may have a good heart, but you must not let it blind you.” 

And to this day, she hasn’t a clue how this adheres to her life. 

‘Good heart’ this, ‘good heart’ that. It is what the most imperative figures in her life have told her. You, however, were different. You were a warning, a feather-touched glimpse into the brutality of her future. Swarming in like a steel crane, bludgeoning the walls she’s spent her entire life forging brick-by-brick.

A strangled gasp dances into the silence when the revelation hits. 

These walls have blinded her. That is why you are not here beside her! You must have attempted plenty of times, but the sheer girth of these walls has drowned out any call of her name. Vi was far-too engrossed in maintaining a tough, take-no-shit disposition and neglecting her need for gentler things. Neglecting her need for you, wherever you may reside beyond these thick layers. And this epiphany is shattering.

The Enforcer badge abandoned in the corner of the room calls out to her. A symbol of power and privilege, just beyond her touch. What was once something that churned her stomach by just a mere thought has now transformed into a golden, glimmering opportunity.

That navy-haired Commander, whatever her name was, seemed to know you extensively. Far more than Vi is comfortable with. Maybe if she bites her tongue and wears the badge, she’ll know just as much. Maybe if she leaves this pit, she'll know more than anyone ever has. Maybe if she crosses the bridge, she’ll obtain the proper resources to track down the love of her life.

Maybe, if she joins the Enforcers, she can leave the pigs a breadcrumb trail away from you. Then, just maybe, she can return some of that softness you gave her.

If one thing is abundantly clear, blue and gold are not Vi’s colors. 

That is a coherent understatement Vi is acutely aware of now, standing beside the Piltie’s who destroyed her life as their equal. Here, they utilize what they call ‘The Grey’ as a weapon against the people of the Under-City. Green puffs of poison perfusing from every possible angle, the place she has titled home is now reminiscent of a battlefield. 

Every building drowns in the gas, mere figments of shapes beneath its thick haze. ‘WANTED’ posters of this ‘Jinx’ character are engulfed in this matter, too. Respected members of the Chem-Barons are now left in languid messes of bodies, some dead while others gag and cling to life. The people of the underground deserve to breathe, until one of them is a bomb-wielding maniac. 

“We’ll begin in the Lanes then down to the Slums. Remember: if there is a clear shot, you may open fire, but it is I who will deliver the final blow. No matter Jinx or Y/N. Understood?” 

A series of “Yes, Commander”’s are mere squeaks against the booming authority of Caitlyn Kiramman. With a Hextech-powered gun in hand, she confidently guides several Enforcers through the quiet city.

Vi, amongst the several, feverishly scrutinizes through the green gas for even a prick of you. She is no longer blind; the mask has finally been torn from her face. As she concluded, it is surely only a matter of time before you come barreling out of the smog and into her embrace, there to never part again.

It is when their team passes an alleyway that her attention is garnered. 

The space is overwhelmed in green fog, but through the silent murk is a noise. It is a quiet sound, like skittering paws. Restrained coughing, almost. That sound is not foreign to the Under-City, an expanse overwhelmed with disease and infection. For reasons Vi cannot decipher, though, this is different. Familiar, she could further detail. 

The others have continued countless paces forward as she stands and studies the intricacies of the sound. Classic Topsiders leaving the Zaunite in their dust, once again. Vi does not take the rare moment of Enforcer eyes off of her for granted, however, and ventures into the alleyway. 

The sounds that once allured her have now been overwhelmed by her own rampant breaths, intensified within the barriers of her gas mask. Hope has consistently preceded betrayal over the course of her life, so she does not dare let your name touch her tongue. It still resides in her chest, however, where you have always lived. Calling out for you with every thundering beat of her heart.

When Vi rounds a corner, something juts out through the poisonous clouds. Anxiety thrashes inside of her, but she does not dare to halt her efforts now. When she takes a single step closer, her entire world plummets. 

Hidden behind an array of old barrels is no other than you. 

And just like that, the war is over.

Guns stretching into red-painted arrows mending broken hearts. Gunpoint threats overcome with strong declarations of devotion. Gunpowder residue building to form dust bunnies of a home well-loved. Gunshots easing to soft breaths of tranquility on a gloomy morning. Gunmen’s savage hands healing through bandages to fur-soft touches. 

Salvation has found its way directly to her doorstep, wrapped in pretty bows of purple and blue. The war is finally over and Vi can barely tolerate the rush of rapture now pumping through her bloodstream. 

You’re huddled into a ball, nearly nude and nothing short of terrified. Puffs of purple and blue spark from your palms in your effort of summoning your powers, but the sudden surge in strength from before has now run dry. Your attempts at shielding your coughing fit is futile, as well, evident in the second presence now towering over you. And it takes every fibre inside her to restrain herself from tackling you like some feral, emaciated animal. 

It is fate, purely. A few chapters late, albeit, but finally inked down in all of its beautiful, annihilating colors. You gifted her wisdom many years ago. Now, it is her turn to utilize her own wisdom to protect your precious life.

“Oh, Sweetheart…” 

Vi is swift in ridding herself of her gas mask to place it over your head instead. The relief in your expression is immediate when you are finally granted a gasp of clean air. 

It does not go unnoticed by Vi, either. She hadn’t realized she had placed a hand on your bare shoulder, but feeling your muscles ease beneath her touch has her releasing a shaky breath she wasn’t aware she was choking on. As though this was normal; as though neither of you had spent a single day apart from each other's side. Partners until the end of time, she muses, your paths and hands woven together with the universe’ needle and thread. 

Her lover. The thought alone sends a hot tickle up her spine. Lovers. 

Vi suppresses the gags induced by the gas in her elbow, while her other hand caresses the skin she has only dreamt of touching. Any turmoil hurled her way is now a cake-walk with your touch beneath hers. 

So engrossed in the whorls of you, in fact, it is only now does she take further notice of other fractions of your physicality. Some vibrant smudges are written on your forehead. “KISS ME, JINX!” is drawn in a blaring demand. Beneath the beautiful face, now covered in a thick mask, is an adornment around your neck. “Property of JINX!”, a warning threatening others off claimed territory.

It is a revolting collage of obsession, one that informs her without words how Jinx is the only threat present here. It could never be you, the pinnacle of tranquility. Too perfect to ever force harm. This Jinx, however, is a different story.

The memories then strike like cold water. 

Powder’s insistence of “the stranger” being taken alongside Vander, despite Vi’s assurances that they are nothing more than a fictional fantasy (a territorial motive on her end, she’ll admit). The relentless collision of blue magic that took the lives of almost everyone she held close. The quiet hope that somehow, you’d persevere through the wreckage and mend the impossible wounds.

Then, there was the red-hot rage ensnaring around her every action. Violent hands that swore to never touch family have done exactly so. “You’re a jinx!” erupting from her throat before she can measure the consequences. The enraged paces away, abandoning the only family she had left in ash. Stumbling upon the pit, where Loris took her under his wing. The place she has resided in for an entire decade.

“Please…” 

And then, there was you. The essence of her wistful dreams; the only light present to protect her from the monsters under her bed. Now, plunging your hands into her chest and claiming her soul as yours, once and for all.

“Do not hurt me…” 

You may as well have clutched her heart in the process, too. The thick, gooey chunks of the red organ stuffed beneath your fingernails.

Placing harm on you will never be a possibility. Like an ocean without water, a galaxy without stars, a pair of hands without touch. It is a prospect that simply does not exist. And it kills her that you think it does.

“You think I wanna hurt you, baby?” 

As though she were approaching a feeble, wounded animal, Vi slowly shuffles closer to where you sit. Her arm slithers around your shoulder, your touch igniting a flurry of goosebumps down her flesh. 

The puny strength your body conjured to plead for your life is soon snuffed out. Your heavy vision droops and you fall unconscious, coincidentally landing against the chest of Vi. And of course, in typical Vi fashion, her mind reaches the conclusion of you doing such from the comfort you find in her embrace. Not a second more is wasted before she is scooping you into her strong arms. 

“Sweet thing… Nothing’s gonna hurt you…” 

She presses a kiss to your temple. Electric, warm bolts tickle her lips upon contact. 

“’Never gonna let you out of my sight again…” 

Bringing herself to her feet, Vi adjusts your position in her arms and sets off into the night. Eager to embark on this new chapter where she indulges in the sweetest blessing she’s ever received.

The twists and churns of your stomach is what welcomes you when you first awaken. Voices dance in an echoing synchronization, impossible to discern in your weakened state. Specks of your vision return in short spurts which reveal nothing more than swaying purple lights through a maze of darkness. 

“Aww, shucks, birdie! Just can’t stay away, can’t ‘ya?” 

The familiar tones have you thrashing about in a new state of adrenaline-induced clarity. You frantically search for those blue braids you know too well, but find no sign of the criminal mastermind. What you do find, however, is another figure rushing to your side. 

“Easy, Sweets. Just you and me here.” 

Violet sits beside where you lay and her hands are on you in record speed. The Enforcer uniform she has draped around your form does not protect you from her greedy touch, with her caressing any fraction of you she can clutch in an attempt at comfort.

“What a mess you have become, child. What would your father think seeing you in such disarray?” 

The sudden perfusion of a voice you have not heard in centuries yanks a sob from your chest. It is met with even more loving affections from the persistent presence beside you. 

“Why did you abandon me…?”

Vi gapes at you in response. Tears prick at her eyes and her bottom lip begins to wobble — sensations that have become strangers over the past several years. She doesn’t grant herself a moment to even consider what this “abandonment” is before she’s adorning you in fervent reassurances. 

“I…” She stammers. “I would never leave you behind! You’re the only reason I’ve stayed in this fucked-up city in the first place. I promise you, sweetheart, I’m not blind anymore.” 

The intensifying ache in your stomach drowns out her remaining words. It is then you realize this sudden illness poisoning your body must be at fault for the excessive blood intake during your stay in Jinx’s lair. It is surely the reason behind such painful visions, too.

Rest is an imperative necessity now, but you will not ease until you have returned to the safety of your sanctuary. And you will certainly not rest in the arms of the girl you have not thought of once in an entire decade. 

You can’t even grasp how you are supposed to confess how the “blindness” you spoke of was in relation to her father, not yourself. On the rare instances you leave the expanse of your sanctuary, you reserve a fraction of time to help outside citizens. Young Violet amidst her Piltover heist were among those citizens. It is only now do you realize the consequences of your kind actions.

The hushed pitter-patter of boots outside are soon met with the intrusion of a smooth tone. 

“Retreating down to the Slums? Makes sense for someone of your kind.” 

Vi’s immediate acknowledgment and panic tell you this is not another cruel trick your brain is forcing onto you. She then parts from your side, concealing a half-broken bottle behind her back before she faces the unwelcome visitors. Her figure passing through the crooked threshold is the last thing you see before you doze off, once again.

“Does it matter? I’m following orders, Commander, am I not?” 

A stable lie has always come easy to Vi. This is a tool she swiftly abuses in the heat of the moment, a skill that is more imperative now than ever before.

“Without your badge, I see?” The Kiramman fires back. 

“Heh, this is the problem with you Topsiders. You only look at shit from a surface level. Never had to dig your hands in the dirt like the rest of us.” 

Caitlyn’s fingers tighten around the gun swung over her shoulder. 

“Is that so?” She further challenges. 

“’The fuck else would it mean?” 

The Commander allows a silence to settle, stalking the nervous tics and twitches within the newest Enforcer. Soon to be former, but Caitlyn doesn’t mind allowing this mutt to run around in circles. 

Always straight-faced, Commander Kiramman sends out her next demand. 

“Search the grounds.” 

The panic that ignites in Vi’s eyes is nothing short of delicious. If it weren’t for the purpose of maintaining her image, Caitlyn would allow herself to smile in response to the all-mighty pit fighter’s horror.

The bottle she successfully hidden then barrels through the air, puncturing into the skull of one of the several Enforcers. Their death came as quick as the bottle was thrown, landing on the ground with a harsh thump. 

A flurry of gunshots ensue, all of which Vi manages to dodge. All she has to defend herself is her fists, which has been the weapon she has used for as long as she has lived. With ease, she is able to disarm the surrounding Enforcers and beat them into bloody pulps. Never has Vi been one to bend over easily. And that is certainly the case now with her forearms drenched in warm blood, blue-and-gold dressed corpses littering her path.

However, there is one missing. Through the enraged chaos, Vi cannot find the Commander amongst the mess of bodies. With the door to her childhood home wide open, she feels her stomach cave into itself. She clumsily scrambles to her feet and rushes into the dilapidated building, eyes wide and crazed as she enters.

The Kiramman is nowhere to be seen, and horrifyingly so, neither are you. All that is left of you now is the Enforcer jacket she blanketed you in.

A roaring scream bruises Vi’s throat raw as she collapses to the dirt. Tears mend with the mess, seeping down her face like they never have before. There is no torture like being so close to having everything, then having it torn from your hands in the matter of seconds. That is a reality Vi will do anything to destroy.

Never in the thousands of years you have been alive did you ever consider the possibility of being arrested. 

One of the most powerful creatures in Runeterra has now been locked in a cage. You would laugh at the prospect alone if your body weren’t so weak. The stiff, cold surface of the cell bed you’ve been thrown upon does not aid this sickness, either. Neither does the boisterous complaints of other inmates and clanking metal bars. 

Despite the rampant pounding using your brain as its drum, you’re insistent on staying conscious. No matter how torturous reality may be. Soon, you assure, you’ll be back beneath the warm blankets of your sanctuary, a steaming bowl of soup and cup of tea greeting you first thing. This adventure will be nothing more than a silly story to tell your beloved villagers.

It is when you glance out of your cell do your thoughts come to a halt. 

Through the thick bars of the cell before yours, you find doe-like, honey-gold eyes staring at you in complete wonder. Her gaze is almost shielded beneath the messy mop of chestnut-brown locks atop her head. The fearful tears glimmering in the corner of those eyes prick at your heart, as well as the chubby cheeks already stained of her cries.

A little girl, in a place like this? What measures has Runeterra resorted to while you were sitting cozy in your palace? 

“Oh… Hello there, little one…” 

Your coo is quiet amongst the calamity of the prison, but the young girl latches to your words, nonetheless. 

“Would you like to see something magical, perhaps?” 

Her attention, already captured, is now thoroughly piqued as she eagerly nods her head. Her tiny fingers grasp the rusted metal of the cell bars, impatiently awaiting your next move. 

Normally, in a healthier state, you’ll entertain the children of your village by forging shapes from these clouds. From cranes and flowers to blimps and dinosaurs, it never fails to put them in a state of awe. With your stomach still swaying with blood, the best you can muster is a few fireworks that lazily dance from your palms.

Despite the (in your opinion) pathetic performance, the little girl brightens with excitement, her hands clasped around her cheeks in amazed shock. For the first time in weeks, just about, you smile with her. Raw and real, just the way it is back in your sanctuary.

Like clockwork, that happiness is robbed from you when a certain somebody makes their presence known. The sight of the little girl is blocked by the bulky figure of Vi, who stares down at you in your cell as though you were served as the main course at tonight’s feast. 

“Don’t get too excited, sugar.” She muses, tone slow and greedy. A timbre you know all too well. 

A few metal clanks and twists of her hand, the cell slides open and grants this lovesick monster full access to you. Her gaze is predatory as she locks the cell shut behind her, unblinking eyes never parting from yours. An evident fire burning inside her that not even the most violent of oceans could extinguish.

“You think that stupid Kiramman is gonna be enough to keep me away?” She laughs mockingly at the idea alone. “Took some pathetic groveling to get back here, but I have a few ideas of how you can make it up to me.”

You curl into yourself, knees pressed to your chest as though it could conceal you from the hungry mouth drooling to sink its sharp teeth into you. This effort is merely futile as Vi wastes no time in sitting down beside you, calloused hand beginning to massage the juts of your knee. 

“Violet…” 

A warmth blooms in her chest at the sound of you cooing her name; the only noise she’d ever want to hear first thing in the morning, replacing the hangover-buzz diluting the demands to prepare herself for another fight. 

“I worry for my people. Please, I insist! I must return home-!” 

A finger pressed to your lips and you’re silenced. 

The sly grin slithering onto her face is impossible to avoid, as well. Evidently giddy over the concept of having such control over you. You also do not fail to notice the way she subtly nudges that finger against her mouth. A sloppy indirect kiss, you presume. Even though he was such an ephemeral figure in your life, it might as well have been Viktor sitting beside you with such teenage-like antics. 

“You don’t need to worry about all that right now, sugar. No monster is gonna get you while I’m here.” 

A hand to your shoulder and you are swiftly tugged into her embrace, the same way a python ensnares itself against defenseless prey. Your body feels like that of a stranger when the action causes lethargy to perfuse through your whole body.

With your head on her chest, one thought remains persistent as you drift to sleep for the umpteenth time.

This is really getting irritating.

“Well… It all went to shit.” Jinx admits in defeat. “Didn’t it, Birdie?” 

The nightlife has now overwhelmed all of Zaun, but Jinx remains on the outskirts in complete isolation. She passes the countless posters adorning her face in favor of treading mindlessly. She has no intended path in particular. Anything to keep her moving; anything that will outrun the demons that lurk in her path. 

Her hair drags through the sand as she walks the edge of the lakeshore, feet bare to the jagged litter and broken glass shards. The water is frigid, to a painful degree, but she cannot find it within herself to pay any mind to the matter. Not with you gone, no. Nothing matters with you far from her side. 

Footsteps drum from behind her, but she does not dare to turn. She is perfectly aware of what prowls in the darkness. 

Mylo, in his state of a decomposed, neon-adorned apparition, breaks through the thick silence. 

“What did I say? Like always, you find a way to jinx everything. Jinx.” 

His teasing remarks do exactly as they intended: sink deep beneath her skin. Almost, she turns to snap back at his insult, but she manages to halt herself. After all, none of it is real, and surely you do not wish to date someone whose sanity is several blows away from shattering beyond repair. 

It is when Claggor joins the party does she nearly crack. 

“Did you really think they’d settle for someone like you? Come on, you knew it was a bad idea from the start.” 

Her nails dig into her hair, attempting to shield her ears from the rampant abuse. You wouldn’t settle, you’re not like that! No, you’d love her, you were so close to learning how to! It was those stupid Topsiders who rid two innocent lovebirds of that chance! And that scientist, that bones-y creep! Couldn’t get it up for you and had to snag you away for a round two! 

“Y/N, hoo! That’s a catch you don’t find too often. Don’t think it’s somethin’ you can hook, kid.” 

Vander’s thick accent seeps deep into her bones. Jinx’s clenched fists pound against her skull as she tries to stop the thoughts from rattling around. She has torn Zaun asunder trying to find you, it was those Piltie scums who sunk their hook into you! It was them! Their fault, not hers! 

Vi’s voice perfuses next. 

“Time to cut your losses, Pow-Pow. They’d do better with someone like me-” 

“Shut up!” 

A bullet pierces through the wind when Jinx whips around to blow her sister's brains out. When the silence settles, deep and lonely, she registers her sanity has finally received its final blow. Now, there is nothing but the chunks of her persistent failure that remain. She is a jinx and that fact prevails like it never has before.

A single step sinks into the wet sand of the beach’s shoreline. Another sinks deeper, then another, and another. Her frail body begins to shiver from the ice-cold contact, but still, she does not cease her efforts. 

Floating on her back, Jinx sways along with the gentle waves, a juxtaposition to the pandemonium within her mind. It is a strange peace the sensation earns her. Nothing reminiscent of your all-consuming tranquility, but the resemblance is puny, nonetheless. Serving as her only comfort through all of this noise. 

With the flap of her hands, she descends her body further into the waves. The water gladly consumes her whole, gleefully robbing her of any oxygen. It clutches at her lungs with no hope of ease and indulges in the thrashing fight. Through the chaotic wasteland of her mind, however, Jinx can only find you. 

Instead of the violent calamity she is so familiar with, the images stamped in her thoughts are inked in your happiness. Her eyes close and she revels in the picture-perfect scenery of what her life could have been. 

Vibrant paint splattered amongst each other, a playful fight in the midst of the renovation of yours and (now) Jinx’s palace. Toying with gadgetry and inventions, forging utensils to better the lives of your villagers (and maybe the bedroom, as well). Cheesy, romantic music perfusing from the gramophone as you both clasp onto each other in an intimate dance. Cherries-on-top present themselves through kisses on cheeks, flustered giggles, and warm nuzzles. The very definition of a perfect life, that is how Jinx would describe these fantasies. 

They continue to play as her lungs grow tighter and tighter and tighter. Though, there is no pain with your smile shining behind her eyes. 

Then, with one final gasp of your name, there is nothing.

Across the bridge, you’ve now found yourself in an irritating routine of succumbing to your body’s incessant need for rest. Asleep for years, it feels like, only to be granted mere minutes of energy. Every time you stir awake, without fail, Violet is the one you wake up against. How a prison guard has not raised the question of why one of their Enforcers is cuddling an inmate, you haven’t a single clue. 

What you do know is that she is currently in a deep slumber. Testing the waters, you lightly nudge the thick muscles of her arm. With no rousing in sight, you take advantage of her unconscious state and your sudden burst of energy.

With slowness that would put a snail to shame, you lift Vi’s arm from its permanent residence around your waist. Just before you can slither out of the new space for escape, that arm locks around your form, its sudden tightness forcing a gasp from your throat. 

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” 

Her leg is then brought into that equation, too, now latched around your hips. Nuzzling her face into the nape of your neck, you try to ignore the possessive affections and instead, measure the weight of your possible choices from here.

Simply walking out of this cell is not a clear option here. There is also the matter of being patient for your powers to return, but the waiting game is not something you wish to play. A repeat of what that blue-haired mastermind put you through is nothing short of a nightmare. With only one feasible option on the horizon, you take a deep breath of preparation. 

Evidently, this girl has a weakness. And that very weakness is heavy-eyed and lethargic, locked in this prison cell. Weaponizing this could result in your escape, sure, but it could also lead you into a… Sticky situation, if you will. Even if you read thousands of books on the skill of romance, you would still be oblivious in any effort to navigate that world. In the centuries of your life, you have never cared for such, either. 

The people within your village have always been of utmost importance. Tending to them has been the path you have happily tread down for years. Never a kiss, never an embrace, never even holding hands with a special someone — your interest in these pursuits has never been piqued. 

Sure, Viktor and Jinx are not the first to piece together your runes and find their way to your sanctuary, greeting you with lovelorn declarations of devotion that would take the trophies of the most talented of poets. None of their romantic pursuits ever compelled you to indulge them, though. Until the feelings are mutual will you ever consider the choice.

With that being said, this does happen to be the first time their reverence has pushed you and your magic outside of your sanctuary. Locked tight in a prison cell, no less.

From here, you bite the bullet and put on your best award-winning performance. 

Before Vi’s grasp can tighten once more, you swiftly slip out of her greedy hold. She reaches for you like a child parting from their teddy-bear, but another demand of your return gets lodged in her throat when you straddle her.

Fake smile plastered on your face, you take her face into your hands and simply stare. A few well-measured caresses of your thumbs and she’s entirely at your will, evident in the exasperated breaths and powder-grey eyes sparkling like a puppy-dog with a juicy bone. Vi’s hands clutch around your thigh, jagged nails digging into the flesh as a desperate means to not let them travel further. This attempt at self-control is weak, however.

“Fuck. C’mere-” 

Her lips just barely graze yours before you interrupt her intentions. 

“I was so frightened before. Not a soul could fathom the weight of my fears.” 

Paired with a gentle pout and nervous tone, any disappointment surrounding not having your lips on hers is replaced with genuine, unbreakable interest. 

“Jinx was so, so cruel, Violet.” 

The name of her sister should never sit on your tongue, only hers. It causes her to tense beneath you, a stirring pit of rage forming from the frail tones in your voice. The sight of tears building in your eyes does not assuage these feelings, either. No, it adds even more fuel to the fire.

“Even my cries were not enough to stop her vicious hands. Extraordinary violence, she always treated me with.” 

It is faux innocence; a sloppy attempt, at best. Still, your efforts work marvelously with the anger you’ve managed to ignite. The fact she has not thrown you back onto the cell bed, stormed out of the prison, and returned with a pair of blue braids on a silver platter is nothing short of a miracle. 

“You…” 

Your finger traces the jut of her collarbone, eliciting a chill with every centimeter your nail treads.

“You are simply different. A softness I did not deem myself worthy of, crashing into my world like the catalyst you are.”

Accentuated with laughter, Vi falls even deeper into your magic spell. It is only now do you realize a mere caress would have done enough damage, why hadn’t you utilized this skill sooner? You did not expect such antics to work so obnoxiously well. So much so, you fear you may have abused this tool a pace too far.

“Let me make you feel good, ‘Sug. ‘Promise it’ll be nothing you’ve ever felt before.” 

Her arm then ensnares around your waist once again, the other clasping your jaw to prevent another escape. The gasp it pulls from you is misinterpreted as something sensual, of which she gobbles right up. 

“Tastes like candy, I bet.” 

Vi’s lips find your neck before you can merely react to the sudden movement. Lapping and sucking onto any stretch of skin she can claim — a heaven she has only dreamt of clutching. 

You twitch uncomfortably from the affection, which she, once again, mistakes as an act of passion. If her mouth weren’t occupied with the best meal she’s ever tasted, she’d reassure you of how there is no need to rut against her for more of her touch. If she were to speak of such, your act may falter from the disgusting insinuations behind the filthy words. 

“Violet…” 

Your attempt at grasping her attention is perceived as one of pleasure, evident in the satisfied groan it pulls from her. Brows curling upwards and all. 

“Allow me to kiss you. Please.” 

The words are so foreign, they feel equivalent to vomit crawling from your mouth. Anything to remove this blood-hungry vampire from your innocent neck. 

Vi obliges in an almost whiplash-inducing speed and her eyes flutter shut as she leans in. With a prayer to no one, you enact on a power you did not ever believe you’d wield in such circumstances. 

Two fingers pressed to her closed eyes, you whisper your next action. 

“Sleep…” 

And just like that, it was like the humiliating scene had never occurred in the first place. Violet is out like a light, sinking down onto the concrete-surfaced prison bed. This mechanism has only been explored in more light-hearted scenarios. It was normally exercised to lull fussy babies. Now, it is used to pacify the animalistic exertions of this dark-haired street fighter.

With your weakened state, you cannot accurately anticipate how long Violet will be asleep for, nor can you measure how much time is left before you’re forced into a state of unconsciousness, once again. You yank the dangling keys from Violet’s hip and fiddle with them clumsily, before the correct one finally unlocks your cell with a click. Centuries spent applying your powers to any barrier makes for an awkward runaway, you surmise.

Scanning the long aisle of cells for any lingering guards, you dash to the cell directly before yours. Another graceless scrambling of clanking keys ensues before you finally hear that melodious click. Upon entering, frantic and horrified that you had possibly let a child witness such a fiasco, you release a pent-up sigh of relief when you find her fast asleep. And, most imperatively, safe. 

With another paranoid glance over your shoulder, you bend to her level at the edge of the prison bed. You inspect the skin not covered in rugged scraps for any wounds, of which you thankfully find none. The people beneath this roof are prone to aggressive violence. Forcing such hands onto a child is an act you deem unforgivable, and frankly, impossible to understand. It is an overwhelming gratitude you are met with when you find they spared the girl of such. 

The adorable coos of gentle snores almost prompt a spike of guilt in you, but you insist on nudging her awake before this rare window closes.

Golden eyes peer around in confusion as she rouses from her sleep. Upon discerning the sight of you, the girl practically throws herself into your arms. You stumble back upon the surprising act, but do not hesitate in returning the affection. What kind of monster would deny a child the necessity of comfort, after all? The heart-shattering cries muffled into your shoulder only strengthen this belief furthermore.

“Oh, Rabbit… I will not let them harm us. I promise you.” 

When she retreats from your hold, you clasp her face in your hand and stroke her chubby face.

“I know of a place I am positive you’ll adore. Somewhere you will never be hurt again.” 

Her eyes are hopeful as they stare into yours, sobs having eased to hiccuping sniffles. A smile, just a hint of one, stretches on her scarred lips.

Shifting your gaze a little to the left, you find a rusted helmet with cracked goggles had been left underneath the bed. Possibly belonging to an old miner, it appears. You place the hat atop her messy locks, pretending you were crowning royalty. 

“You will need your best armor, soldier. Only the strongest can embark on such a journey.” 

That earns you a giggle, of which you revel in the success of. 

“Remind me, soldier, what is your name?” 

The girl seems to consider your question thoroughly, measuring how exactly she should inform you of such. Several motions of her hand spell out her name in sign language, of which you read in perfect coherence. 

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Isha.”

Meanwhile, Violet remains limp in the neighboring cell. A peaceful, blissful slumber that is oblivious to what is happening just several feet away. And in this slumber is where she revels in the exhilaration of a love she’ll cling to for the remainder of her days.

Like the triumph of a curtain call, Violet’s dreams have come true: to feel the touch of gentle warmth. After an entire lifetime, she is finally soft. Here, beneath the light of you, everything melts. 

Now, her dreams have shifted. Violet will keep a tight clasp on this feather-touch. 

No matter what it takes.

⁺ 🎧 , 🪷 you are currently listening to . . . ⁺ 🪺 , 🎵 ꪆ

❝ YOU REALLY GOT A HOLD ON ME,

SO THIS ISN'T JUST PUPPY LOVE . . . ❞

gif creds.

tag list: @honey-beeuwu @mrprettycom @makangelo @thelonelyme @solavily @eldritch-bunny @decaffeinatedclodbagelweasel @orbitingmarswithp @frickidyfrog @phantomdomi @mermaidm0tel6 @numbu5 @applepinsss @anon34570 @biohazardousbunny @vogelaqwry @lorely788 @mellowangeltree @myathegoat @alix-37 @lavandercinnamon @vrnicky @mellowfishauthoreggs

[am-i-interrupting]

Can I request some pure stupid comedy fluff?

I feel we need more silly and stupid moments with Viktor, like laughing with reader to the point of crying for some dumb thing

I think Viktor would have that silent histerical laugh, he would lift his hand to his face to try and maintain some composure but the tears in his eyes betray him as he cant stop laughing

Late Laughter

It was late or rather extremely early. The sun was beginning to rise through the clouds and above the horizon.

You honestly could not remember when you had come in today or yesterday. It had been early then too. Viktor had already been in the lab. Jayce came in for a respectable eight hours and then left making the two of you promise to actually sleep tonight and well, that promise had been broken.

Your eyes were starting to hurt and water as you looked down at the equations in front of you. All the numbers were beginning to blur together to form a singular gigantic blob.

Viktor had been staring at the chalkboard with the chalk leaving a white powdered line beneath his lower lip from where he kept tapping it. He put the chalk down with a sigh and walked over to the chair beside your own.

It dragged against the floor making a loud noise in the otherwise silent building. His cane twirled in his hand as he looked over your shoulder.

He moved it back and forth from one hand to the other. It bumped against your arm as he failed to catch it.

“You need to keep that in your hands,” you said, “before your cane becomes our cane.”

There was silence for one beat and then two. Then Viktor began to chuckle. It was a deep, rumbling noise from his chest.

You looked over and saw a smile stretch across his face. His teeth were visible. His eyes crinkled ever so slightly.

“What?” you asked.

His laughter spilled from his lips as it rushed from his chest to his throat. He leaned against the table.

“Our cane,” he repeated. “It’ll become our cane?”

Your brows furrowed as you continued to stare at him, completely and utterly bemused.

“Arcane, magic, hextech,” he elaborated.

“Oh!” you exclaimed as it clicked in your head.

That’s when you began to join in on his laughter. It shouldn’t be funny. It was a stupid joke, one that wasn’t even particularly clever or even intended.

Your head hurt already and the lack of oxygen only furthered that.

“I think we should call it a night,” you said through your own laughter and giggles. “I can’t even remember how to do math.”

“I can’t either. I’ve been staring at the chalkboard trying to figure out what 13x5 is. I should know it, but I can’t remember,” he admitted.

The two of you sobered up for a mere moment. Then you looked one another in the eyes and your eyes began watering for a reason that wasn’t your exhaustion.

[bones4thecats]

hello i would like to make a request for the first years where your friends are liking your younger brother/sister please ex: Ace's sister is going to visit and the rest of the first years develop a crush

Ace's Sibling Attracts The Other 1st Years

Characters: Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Epel Felmier, Jack Howl, and Sebek Zigvolt Requester: @marinahavik A/N: For this, the Reader is Ace's younger twin. It just makes more sense to me since I don't want them to get a crush on someone in like middle school😵 And I know that my limit if 3-4 characters, but hear me out! The first piece (Ace's) is more background information than anything else! Anyways, I hope y'all have fun reading this! ⚠️ Spoilers/Trigger Warnings for: Protective older siblings ig ⚠️

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Ace Trappola ═══════════════════════════╝

🪅 When you and Ace were young, he would keep all of the guys away from you. You were his younger sibling, not theirs. And he did not share affection very well

🪅 But, as you two grew up, you went separate ways. He went to college at Night Raven, and you went to a straight job with you oldest brother

🪅 Ace didn't like to, but he had to admit that he missed you a lot. You were his partner in crime growing up. From throwing wet toilet paper onto other students or teachers you disliked to even going so far as to 'hiding' the teacher's notes. And by hide I mean by pass them to each other through your up-and-coming unique spell

🪅 Anyways. One day you realized that, because of some incidents at your workplace, you had around a couple weeks off. So, you called up your brother's Headmaster and asked if you could swing by for a couple days to hang around with your brother

🪅 The irresponsible man just laughed and gave you permission before rambling about how kind he was. What a strange man...

🪅 Grabbing your bag as you stepped out of the carriage, you smiled joyfully before sneaking into Heartslabyul and hiding your bag underneath the spare room's bed. Of course, Trey and Riddle knew that you were coming by, they are the Vice and lead Housewarden, so they knew everything when it came to their dorm

🪅 You adjusted the sleeves on your long white with red accents cardigan and began to sneak up behind your brother, who was walking backwards like the moron he was

🪅 Hunkering down before anyone could see you, you jumped up and pulled your brother down to the ground, making him squeal and land roughly, an annoyed expression laid on his face until he saw the familiar look of his younger twin

"Y/N?! What are you doing here, you little chameleon?"

"To keep it short and sweet, big bro. My work got a little screwed up and I have two weeks paid vacay while they fix it. I just decided to swing by and spend a few days here with you. Because, well, why the hell not?"

🪅 Ace grumbled as you began to screw around with his hair in a noogie. You had done this almost every time you saw him at school with your oldest brother. He understood now why being the middle child sucked so much in other's eyes

"Ace... who's this?"

🪅 The orange-haired male looked up at Deuce and smirked, a sense of pride washing over him as you used your unique magic to transport a floating chalkboard in front of the group of boys that Ace seemed close to. The sound of chalk rubbing on the board echoed until a single name was left

"This is... Y/N TRAPPOLA. My dearest younger twin."

"By only four minutes."

"Still older."

"Still far less mature."

"You wanna say that to my face, you little twerp?"

"Come at me, Ace Crappola!"

"Why you!-"

Over the course of the next couple weeks, you hung around Ace's group of friends, getting to know them all. Unaware of the secret they were all hiding from not only one another, but from Ace especially...

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Deuce Spade ═══════════════════════════╝

♠️ Deuce was Ace's best friend, so you would get photos sent by your brother or messages of posts of the two of them on his Magicam account

♠️ When you looked at the other males, you smiled and immediately walked up to the former delinquent, a smile forming quickly as you wrapped your arms around his neck and made him hunch over slightly due to the force

"You must be Deuce! I've heard so much about you from my brother! By the way, what a fun change in your life." You said, teleporting a dual-sided card in your hand.

"Going from the tough eight of spades with dominance and ruthlessness only known. To the youthful three of spades with the love of teamwork and a special kind of playfulness, you really are the definition of a dual-sided card, Prince of Spades~"

♠️ As you twirled the card around and handed him it back, this time the King's face being replaced with his own. His face erupted in blush as you patted his head and wished him luck on his long journey to his view of perfection for his family

♠️ As you moved on to the others, Deuce couldn't help but look at the card and see a little note below with the words you just said to him there. His heart began to thump faster and harder within his chest, his face beginning to heat up with embarrassment. He was never like this with others... why were you so different...?

♠️ Oh Great Seven, Ace may just have his head

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Jack Howl ═════════════════════════════╝

🐺 As Jack watched you step away from the spade-marked first year, he wondered what kind of trick you were going to try pulling on him. Were you going to do the same with a card, or maybe something new?

"Now, you I don't know much of. Though, by your adorable little ears, I'm guessing your Jack Howl. As I don't know as much about you, you give me more of a 'let the outcome tell' vibe. You also give me more of a... how do I put this." You began, grabbing a deck of cards out of your pocket as you shuffled it constantly as all listened to you speak.

🐺 Straightening out the cards, you smiled and handed him a random group cards, having him pick one out of it. He noticed one had a black dot, so he avoided that and picked the one next to it

🐺 Taking the cards back and reshuffling them, you pulled one out and he noticed quickly that it had no black dot. You had to have screwed the trick up

"You give me a eight of hearts vibe! How iconic, yes? This also tells me you care for your family and friends dearly and you have goals that you want to meet. I believe you shall meet this very easily and without any issues besides maybe a few corrupt souls. Have fun on that journey of strength, Jackie."

"H-how did you know that I..."

🐺 A smile appeared on your face as you spun back around and looked into the eyes of the beastman. You chuckled lightly and began to twirl his tail between your fingers, the soft fur bushes upwards before calming down and wrapping around his leg in embarrassment similar to Deuce's

"Had that card? I was taught magic growing up, I work in mysterious ways~"

🐺 Jack saw how you flung the card back at him, but the back was completely changed, a print of a snowy mountain surrounded by forests with a nice house laying in the front with a pack of wolves out front. It was like his family was at their home miles away in the Shaftlands

🐺 You were far more interesting than Jack initially thought. Maybe having a second Ace around would be entertaining for the new couple weeks...

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Epel Felmier ════════════════════════════╝

🍎 Epel was shocked after seeing how you tricked Jack with the black dot on the card. You must've had the best eyes he had ever seen, maybe even better than Rook's! And he literally stalks students just because he wants to 'admire them'

🍎 God that guy's creepy sometimes...

🍎 The sound of your footsteps made the Pomefiore first year look up and see you put the deck of cards away and pull out multiple dice

"What are these for?"

"Well, to put it simple, pretty boy. If you roll these dice, you'll either see your biggest fear or your biggest want. What that is is completely up to your own psyche. Now, go ahead and pick a dice, or use 'em all."

🍎 Epel narrowed his eyes at you and looked over the dice, a sense of skepticism running through his mind. There was no way that a puny dice would be able to tell what his biggest fear and his biggest want was by him rolling it!

🍎 The male took one dice and scrambled it inside of his hands and rolled it onto the ground, thinking of his biggest want in life. He then took the second one and did the same thing, only thinking of his biggest fear this time

🍎 You smiled and tapped onto the ground ten times, throwing one hand down before clapping together over and over again before clapping down at the ground and summoning two holograms of his fear and want

🍎 The sight of Epel being a manly-man, carrying many barrels of hay around his family's farm shocked him enough, but seeing the other dice project a scene of him dining like a little princess with a posh accent made him jump and hide behind his hands, a hint of blush showing between his fingers

🍎 You chuckled and apologized for embarrassing the young man, pulling the two dices and scrambling them together before you opened them again and showed a single dice with special carvings on it. From trees of apples to the single fruit to even a little farmhouse, Epel looked at the object with stars in his eyes

"Thank you! This is so cool lookin'!"

"No problem! By the way, tell your grandmother that your family's apple juice recipe better not change! That stuff is the shit to drink when I have a break at work. Have fun attempting to reach your goal of being a manlier man, Felmier."

╔══════════════════════════════════════════╗

╚═════ Sebek Zigvolt ═══════════════════════════╝

⚡ As you went through the multiple first years, Sebek watched and was getting very annoyed. You were obviously informed by Ace of their likes and dislikes and their lives all together. There was no way you just knew all of this!

⚡ You smiled and walked in front of Sebek, pulling out a vile of gambling chips. The edges were stripped with the same green as Sebek's hair with highlights of black and white

⚡ Handing the half-fae a single chip, you began to rant about how his family life was affecting him, much to his surprise. He never told anybody of it, and thankfully, you were sneaky enough to speak of this while the others spoke a few feet away

⚡ Sebek watched you carefully as you tossed him another chip, revealing a carving of his parents meeting

"You're parents are a fae and human, a female for the first and male for the second. Over time, you began to see your human side as weak." A third chip, then fourth, and over and over again.

"H-how do you know this..."

"Magic, Sebek. Magic."

⚡ Stepping closer to Sebek, you noticed how your information had slightly made him sad. So, in an action of sympathy, you laid your hand on his cheek and moved his face to make him look into your eyes

⚡ Opening his hands and trading the chips for a bracelet with dice charms and multiple extra ones attached, you gave him a light hug with your extra arm and told him to stay positive

"You're a human. What could you know about a fae's family and staying positive with a veteran for a grandfather?"

"More than you think. Just remember this whenever you feel bad of yourself. You were made this way for a reason. You're a half-human, half-fae for the sake of your life. Don't think wrongly of yourself. You're great the way you are... well, minus the yelling at least."

⚡ You let Sebek's face go and yelled at Ace to quit being an idiot. And as you scolded your sibling for his idiocy, the green-haired male looked at the bracelet, noticing the charms had dragons, swords, lightning, and a few cards and dices here and there, the most obvious one being a four of spades. He smiled gently as his cheeks heated up

⚡ You really were different than your brother, weren't you?

[tac-the-unseen]

Howdy!

I was going through your master list for all of your questions and notice you had something down for sleep demon?

I don't know what that is but I'm sold! So can you make a creepy fluff for whatever it is?

Please and thank you'

Love,

Anon <3

Of course! I had an old draft of this so I just only needed to finish it lol

Sleep Demon x reader

(Creepy Fluff) 

You lay in bed with your hands over your eyes. You really need to sleep but your mind won't stop. You can feel a dull drum behind your eyes, pounding away like you don't have an early shift tomorrow. 

Your brows furrow tightly hoping the painkillers you took 10 minutes ago start working their magic soon. You toss yourself over to look at the time in your charging phone.

 1:20 AM

You're screwed. 

Your shift starts at 5:00, Your alarm is set for 4:30. Even if you fall asleep now you'll only get three hours in. A small panic settles into your stomach and you let out a pitiful groan. 

“Shhhhhh…” 

You freeze, But only for a moment. You quickly whip your hands off of your face to look for whatever made that noise.

Your search doesn't even last 2 seconds before you see…it?

The slender human-like creature stands by your doorway. Its  face is white with black holes where the eyes should be. It has No nose and no mouth. It's wearing the darkest shade of black you've ever seen and a pair of matching gloves. You don't know what tells you it isn't human, But your mind immediately removes humanity from the situation. 

The creature presses its gloved hand against where its mouth should be and makes another “Shhhhhh…” it creeps closer to you and moves delicately across your floors. 

You try and sit up but are met with the most resistant pull backwards. You try to lurch forward again but your muscles won't comply. To your absolute horror you realize you're stuck. Frozen in place. Your breathing starts to get sporadic and uneven. 

“Shhhhhh….” It shushes you again. 

Finally the thing is looming over you. It softly taps your nightstand and rubs his gloves together. “Shh..shh..shhhh.” it whispers to you. Just out of your field of vision it reaches down to its side. Your mind runs wild. Will it pull a knife? A gun? But no, it reaches down and pulls out a chalkboard and a packet of chalk. 

It taps the board gently above you and makes light whooshing sounds. “Shhhhhh…..” it whispers again. It's attention turns to the board and it takes a piece of chalk and begins to slowly drag it across the board. 

After a few seconds it turns the board to face you. ‘Hello.’ was all that it had written. It looks around slowly and slowly rubs away tears you didn't know you were shedding. It looks back at the board, wipes away the previous message and begins to work on a new one.

When it turns the board towards you it reads ‘Be patient…’ It sets the board back down and starts writing again. ‘...With me.’ is the new message. 

So far this thing has greeted you and told you to quit your bitching In all of 5 minutes. It begins to write again ‘You belong here…’ and again ‘Let me fix you.’ 

You have no fucking clue what that mean. Fix you? Fix? What is there to fix? What does it think needs fixing? 

The creature sets the board aside and rubs away the chalk from its fingertips. Slowly its hand brushes your cheek and rubs its thumb over your temple. The gloves are soft yet cold, the leather is smooth and well taken care of. 

The creature lets in a deep breath and uses it's other hand to press onto your sternum. It gently taps your chest and uses it other hand you make you look at it. It takes another deep breath and breaths out. 

This thing is telling you to take a deep breaths. This thing is telling you to control your breathing. You take a deep breath and shakily exhale. It taps your cheek softly like It's praising you. 

Both its hands slide up your body and reaches your head. It softly begins massaging your temples and using its thumb to gently pet your eyebrows. “Shhh…” it whispers again. Its fingers delicately worked into your hair and over your aches. Slowly you began to feel your headache disappear. 

Oh…That's what this thing meant. It's not fixing you, it's fixing your headache. 

You're a little relieved now that its intentions seem slightly more pure than you thought. It clicks its tongue at you soothingly and lightly pressed into your temple. Quickly it's like a weight is lifted off of you. The pressure on your head is slowly lifted. The throb in your temples dissipates as if its fingers just pulls it from your skull. 

Your body lets out an involuntary groan of pleasure. It lets out a noise akin to a chuckle and slowly its hands slowly leaves your head. You let out another groan of disapproval, it again lets out that strange chuckle noise. 

Its hand slowly reaches back for the place you know its clipboard rests. You hear the tapping and scraping of chalk and once again the chalkboard is put back into your field of vision.

‘Are you doing okay?’ it slowly taps on the board and a makes a gentle whistling sound. It's lowers the board, erases it's previous message, and taps away to write a new one. When it's finished it lifts the board back up ‘I know this is a bit much…’ 

Again it writes a new message, this time it's quick. ‘but…’ And then it's on to the next. It dips its head down and works just out of your sight. When it comes back up  ‘I know you can do it.’ This thing is encouraging you. 

You're not sure if it's the moment, The relief, or an odd version of Stockholm syndrome, but it’s message strikes a cord deep within your heart. Your mind starts to reflect on your relationships with people. 

Why is it that this thing with no face is saying everything you've been wanting your loved ones to say? Why is it that this monster who broke into your house is nicer to you than your family is? I'm most importantly, Why have you oh so suddenly want to develop a deep connection with this thing? 

While reflecting on all these questions and genuinely considering a psych ward visit, it's able to pull an object from it's pocket. 

A comb.

It carefully begins to comb your hair. The gentle scratching of your scalp is damn near intoxicating. If you could move your foot would be thumping on the bed like a dog. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and your body lets out another groan. 

Seeing as you clearly like the combing, it keeps brushing for 9 minutes. The whole time it shushes and clicks at you soothingly. Your eyes closed as you enjoyed the feeling. When the sensation of your hair being brushed abruptly stops your eyes open. It reaches down and begins to write again.

 While it's writes, you try to shift into a more comfortable position, as the spot You've been laying in for a while just isn't doing it for you anymore. 

You mentally call yourself stupid, knowing that you're paralyzed, but You still managed to turn your head. And then your fingers…And then your arms…. Your legs…. You're no longer paralyzed…It dawns on you that you've just been letting everything happen and that you've had the ability to move for a little bit now. 

With that realization you do shift into a more comfortable position. That seems to startle the being, and it stares at you for a couple seconds. It quickly erases whatever it originally said and starts furiously scribbling down something. For a moment you're scared of what it will say And when it holds up its chalkboard you're almost too scared to look. 

But curiosity killed the cat and you looked back at its message ‘Won't you stay?’ It's asking…not telling….

It's asking….

It erases the message and writes something else ‘evolve with me’ It flips over the board ‘You are worth it!’ 

Besides your better judgment, You're able to mutter out words before hashing it together in your brain. “You can come back tomorrow night…We can see each other then…” 

It looks a little sad at your response, it erases its board and starts writing again. Even though it's been quiet this whole time, the room seems even quieter. It's a different quiet…But you're not given too much time to think about that before it has its final message. 

‘Goodbye….see you again….’ It softly puts the board down and gently nods at you. It caresses the side of your face before finally putting you to sleep. And after all it's hard work you're put into darkness and sleep well the rest of the night. 

Thanks for reading <3

This fic is based off of an ASMRist I found called Sleep Demon. In fact it's based off of his first video!

I think that they're really cool and have some pretty sweet scenarios.

Link to Video

If you're into ASMR and creepy little guys, you really need to check them out! (Yes that gif is of the Actual channel!)

(also I didn't know what pronouns to use so I used it/its/it's)

[mahiiimahiiii]

office hours

a/n: rizzard in his happily married middle aged glory, God dropped this plot in my head. finally posted, sorry for all the teasing. '

Cw: fear of voyeurism (and kind of like threatening it??), named tav, dw the door is locked, off-hours fantasy, gale is a bit chunkier, rizzard in his middle aged glory, notes on tav still looking young, (not similar life spans), lunch, notes on tav being a brown person, worship, uncomfortable (yet satiating) sex, sloppy as hell sex, breeding, notes of pain from cervix, squirting, ear play, vers gale, spit for lube (and the soreness that ensues), gale wears glasses, he also wears sock garters, I have a vision ok…….., whispering & dirty talk.

(Tav is a teifling with brown skin and some vitiligo pigmentation, she has curly hair that forms a little halo around her head, bangs with side pieces that fall longer than her typical length of hair. She is a bard!)

read here, or under the cut!

The halls of Blackstaff were magnificent as always, perfectly so. Decorated with filigree and the faint shimmer of enchantment. The halls were harder to navigate, ever turning, and ever changing.

This made delivering lunch weekly on your day off mostly difficult. Your husband, the wonderous gale of Waterdeep- or perhaps now, just professor Dekarios. he had said ‘just will the path into existence’, which you earnestly thought was stupid.

You had always been practical with magic, being a bard helps with that. But you stressed slightly, how many hours, perhaps minutes did he have left to eat and relax. And how many minutes would you have left for chores, and dinner prep.

Busy, busy, busy. Never a dull moment.

A sigh of relief left your mouth as you found his lecture door, his soothing voice echoing out in waves from the crack. Still in lecture! You gingerly slipped through the door, careful not to let the hinges creak behind you. Chalk tapped against the chalkboard as he sipped gently at a mug of tea and cleared his throat continuing with his speech. His hair was thrown back into a loose half up and down messy bun, staticky hair poking and prodding out like new spring buds. He wore a new suit vest, a stripped pattern with an argyle tie, and a light blue button down, paired with the same-colored magenta slacks. His tie pin was one of a crescent moon, (he had been on a theming kick recently). Today was on magic in other areas, written on the board were a

couple pooled questions by the students. Does music automatically equal magic? How do paladin oaths work? Is It possible for magic to be innate?

He finished off his mug tapping at pages to read on the board, waving off the students and their cloaks that looked way too large for them. A stream of bobbing heads, ears and horns followed out the door. You had to maneuver around the groups of students, slowly moving their way out, a few stragglers lounging around the professor’s desk.

“I hope I’m not too late- “you approach him, setting the tin of food wrapped in a handkerchief onto his desk.

He beamed when he laid eyes on you, cheeks flushed a rosy hue. “you’re right on time, I’ll see you in the office, I just need to help a student with a spell pronunciation- then I’ll be with you.” He caught a finger under your chin, kissing your brow. His breath smelt of an earthy green tea, sweetened with honey, and the zeal of lemon juice that followed. He turned his back to you, helping the student to write it out phonetically. You heard his bright praise as the thick office door closed behind you.

The office- you remembered dearly, you helped assemble. A room with high ceilings, decorated with diagrams of spells and sheet music. One wall was clad with photos of his family, a portrait of both of you front and center. Small linocuts of your companions sat on a bookshelf nearby, as well as tomes discussing your previous acts, which he so proudly showed off. He had asked for a new cupboard to house all sorts of dried teas, which he unhinged the doors of and installed onto the walls, framing them with delicate laces. It mirrored a little alchemical shop. The walls were a cozy and warm purple with white and brown accents. He had a little hearth and big windows facing the bay, a window ajar, the new tressym kitten may have gone out exploring. Tara the second, Gale called her.

The door creaked open as you admired the wall of portraits, you jumped within your shoes, tail swishing in a slight panic.

“I’m sorry little love, have I frightened you?” he kissed your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your waist and swaying gently. His lips found their way up to the shell of your ear, nipping it gently. He spun you around, taking in your new sundress, yellow with pops of white blooms, a pair of lacy socks and brown kitten heels to match.

“You look positively divine- are you sure there wasn’t other intentions behind this?” he cocked a brow, the settled in features of his face creasing with mirth.

You’ll be completely honest with your feelings, jobs, children, life in general has led you two apart. Intimately it seems-

This you had no problems with, as gale had all the love in the world for you. He made sure to show his affections readily and often- with you in turn.

To this- you sheepishly nodded, tucking a curl behind your ear. “Perhaps there was motive… if you’ll oblige me of course.”

Something new swirled into his eyes, a fiery spark of desire. He cracked a grin turning heel to the door. “Shame lunch will be spoiled then; I do have an appetite for something else in mind. And I wouldn’t be a smart man to waste an opportunity like this.” With a quick flit of his fingers a secure spell of arcane lock was cast. His lashes dropped in amusement, striding over and draping himself over a dark velvet fainting couch near the small hearth of the room.

You bent down, unlacing the leather straps around your ankles and stepping out of the heels, setting them down beside his desk. He mirrored you, taking off his tanned loafers and crystalline spectacles.

“You look rather dashing today, I had meant to tell you before you left for work.” You glided over to him, tail wagging as he made space for you to settle into his lap. You clambered over him, your limbs not as refined and delicate in their actions as they once were. You settled into his lap, conscious of the warm throb in his pants. You quirked a brow, as he ground up against you his hands cupping and fondling your ass.

“Already my love?”

“Already…” his words were feather light, a wonky smile plastered on his place. “I am always ready for you.”

You bent over cupping his chin, thumbs and fingers running over the rim of his ears. He groaned gently into your mouth, his lashes fluttering. His hands wove into your hair pulling you close, one leg bouncing against the floor. You hummed, rocking your hips in time with him, the sensation felt delicious on your neglected clit. You ran your tongue against his lip, he bucked his hips in response- mouth falling open sightly. You ran a hand through his messy hair gripping the base of his waves eliciting a whine from his lips. You connected panting mouths again, warm groans spilling into your mouth as you found a rhythm of pressure. His hands settled and gripped your thighs, pressing your warmth onto him for stimulation. You ran a tongue along the indents of his teeth and the ridges of his mouth, the kiss became sloppy as you gently sucked on his tongue.  He broke away, hands shuffling to unbuckle his taught pants. He paused, watching you remove the flowing dress revealing the lacy blue set of underwear, completed with pink ribbons near the ruffles.

He sighed, shoving down his pants and taking off his sweater. He bemusedly slowed down catching your eyes as he slowly undid his button-down shirt.

A whine caught in your throat, crawling towards him- shuffling his hands away to undo his buttons. Once partially removed your ran a hair through the swirling patterns of hair on his chest.  You fit yourself into his neck, kissing the shell of his ears, nibbling and biting at his lobe. He shuddered, his hands going back to busying themselves to filling with your form. You kissed down his chest biting at him with your sharpened teeth, he squirmed under your touch- his hand gripped the back of your curls.

You glanced up catching his eyes, he nodded. You unlaced his boxers which crackled at your touch, tugging them off his legs and tossing them somewhere. You exhaled, tail thumping against the cushions in slight excitement. Gale pursed his lips and averted his eyes, pink warming his already rosy cheeks. You kissed down the happy trail that lined his soft stomach, inhaling the scent of him contained by his skin. Rose water, oak, pine and musk, he smelt wonderfully fresh.

He was slightly self-conscious of this newer version of him, a body softened by age like a ripe peach. You thought it fitting- the softness of course- he aged well. You cupped his sides, squeezing them gently. “Have I ever told you how gorgeous you are?” you ask softly.

“Many times-why do you ask?” he quirked a brow.

You shrug, lifting his thighs around your hips, giving them a firm squeeze again. “Thought I’d remind you.” You mold to his body, thighs rubbing together adding pressure to his already neglected member. Your lips mark their place down his neck, staining his skin a soft pink from your lip balm.  You made your way down again, making sure your lips marked every surface of his skin. His hips strained for movement but found none to meet it.

You marred his inner thigh with bite patterns, his skin breaking into patterns of pink and red. Your tongue ran its way up his perineum sending flames to his stomach, a squeeze to his heavy sack had him tensing beneath you.

Your nose buried in his happy trail once more- you let out a contented sigh.

His hips bucked slightly his cock tapping your chin. “My dear- be kind please- “

You grinned “gale, I don’t intend to be kind- perhaps I’m trying to enable your behavior for later.”

He let out a strained moan, his lids scrunching shut. “God id like that so much- please- “

“Like what now gale?” you teased pinching the head of his pink cock, rolling the skin up and down.

His hips strained again, a low hiss through his teeth. “Gods, you know- I don’t want to spell it out, hells.”

You stopped your slow steady strokes to kitten lick the head of his member, his fists began to clench and unclench. “I’d like to hear what you’d like, professor Dekarios. Lecture me- if you will.”

He swore under his breath one open, “you-!” his chest heaved, trying to buck his hips up from under your heavy hand. “Fuck- fine- I want to be in you- I want you to bloat with my seed. Gods-! Want everyone to know your mine- so help me- going to fuck you over my desk-.” His breathing was labored, his thighs clenching under you. His eyes went wide as he covered his mouth, poor gale was surprised by even his own vulgarity.

“you’d like to try for another child Mr. Dekarios?” you squeezed his balls sucking gently on his inner thigh.

“By the weave-! Yes-!” he sounded exasperated, his lip quivering.

“Very well, you’ve been good. I suppose you’ve earned your treat” you lowered your mouth onto him, a groan rolling through his throat. You dragged your tongue against his skin, the salt refreshing to your taste. You found the small spot on his head and rolled your tongue against it. His hands shoved down your head, burying your head into the patch of curls framing his cock. He shuffled his hands moving to your horns squeezing and fondling the base ridges. Your moan reverberated around him, he lifted his hips, the garters that held his socks squeezing the meat of his thighs.

You tapped his hip, the wizard’s grip loosening from your roots. The air around you smelt like him, you sputtered a little coming up for air. His face was flush, lips gently parted in gasps for air, curls clinging to the sides of his face. Gale’s eyes, taken over by the darkness of his pupils, held only desire and need.

You cupped his ass, a growing grin on your face as your lips found his length again. He rolled his hips up, thighs snapping like a steel trap around your head. Youd hope that perhaps you’d die this way, buried in your lovers’ thighs. A heel to your back cuts off some oxygen making your head spin. You glance up at him, his eyes pressed shut in focus. You hollowed out your cheeks, taking him further into your mouth, feeling the muscle in his thighs tense at the sensation.

“li’ia- “he gasped “my darling- I’m certainly close- I’d feel bad if you didn’t have your fun as well.”

You let out a muffled acknowledgement.

His legs loosened around you, his hand gently rubbing at the sore part of your scalp. Your lips leave with a soft pop, lip balm well and truly smeared against his skin. He hissed at the cold, maneuvering around you to stand up.

“Desk.” His voice slightly roughed as he commanded. He followed you, catching small kisses on the back of your spine. He sighed happily as you bent over the desk, almost like a planned muscle memory. Gale’s knees popped as he knelt, tugging down the delicate lace of your underwear. He maneuvered to rest in the space between your hips and the desk. The professor tapped a leg to push up on the desk, giving access for him to be nestled into the wetness of your cunt. His tongue lapped a stripe between your folds, he shifted one hand on your thigh the other groping needily at his cock. You watched him work, hand steadying yourself on his desk. A framed page of your journal that you gave him of the two of you rocked gently against the desk.

Gale hummed, his lips buzzing around your clit, nipping at the bud carefully. His tongue dipped inside of you, laying it flat against your core to rock at an easy pace. He nipped the inside of your thigh, signaling his contentment. you lifted your leg out of its slowly cramping position, setting it on the floor. The wizard made his way up your body, hands squeezing and fondling anything it could touch, his lips placing gentle kisses up your stomach.

“Come- sit upon your bone throne.” He chuckled at his own bad joke, sharing a cheeky grin with you. You tucked a stray strand of hair behind his ear, kissing the tip of his nose.

“Someone with a lovely pair of thighs must sit for that feat to be achievable.” You pressed against him; his member throbbed in the small amount of space between your stomachs. The pads of his fingers trailed over your skin as he walked past. Seating himself with legs spread for better access to him.

You settled on his thighs, spitting a couple of times into the palm of your hand. The mixture of slick and spit in your palm coated his twitching member, running and cupping your hand against his length, he let out a low warble. Carefully, and as delicately as you possibly can manage, you lifted your hips and guided his tip to your awaiting entrance. He held his gaze in your eyes, both of his hands supporting your hips.

You lowered.

A brilliant flare of fireworks went off inside your head, the heavens parted for some foggy clarity of how neglected you were. Your walls stung and clenched protectively at the stretch; gales hips quickly snapped upwards out of reflex adding to the tinge of pain at your core.

You held a hand on his chest and tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, “hurts- hurts.” Your tail strained behind you, every part of your muscles tensing.

“Come here- “he wrapped an arm around you, sheltering you with his arms, your nose found the notch in his neck and pressed small weepy kisses into it. His thighs flexed under you, impatient, but concerned at the hurt that he may have caused. He kissed the crown of your head, rubbing at your back in slow motions. “Let me remove this off of you” he whispered; words filled with reverence. You rocked your hips back, a pressure shifting to nestle itself under your bladder and against your cervix. Gale hooked his thumbs underneath the hemline of your cotton bralette.

“I like these- where did you get them? Lovely color too, suits such pretty brown skin. Then again, my star, you look delicious in any color.”

“I do find that reds make me look too red though.”  She hummed thoughtfully, “in Mephistopheles, it is better to wear blue. Within infernal societies we tend to note our heritage by the color of our skin. I often get mistaken for a teifling from Avernus if I wear red.”

“Blue doesn’t look as lively on your pretty face.”

“Oh shush. The recommendation was from a lovely spawn, who recently moved to the underdark.”

“He didn’t move until now? It’s been ten years!”

“He had to convince his partner, my love. Halsin doesn’t want to live without sun so easily. He sent me an assortment of things, new fabrics he said.”

“Perhaps I have let him in too much on my fashion tastes. Never again will I gossip with Astarion.”

“A wise decision, that one.” You chuckled.

He tentatively rolled his hips as a retort, hands finding the swell of your breasts. His head nestled in the crest of your chest, hands cupping your chest, fingers nimbly pinching your nipples. Your thighs tensed again, another, but thankfully smaller ping of pain emanating through your lower abs. “Would this be more preferable?” the pads of his fingers brushed against your throbbing clit, sending little electric sparks to your toes. Your exhale told him all he needed. He curled an arm around your waist, throbbing inside in tandem of your clenching walls. He pinched and massaged the mound, your tail beginning to wag. Your core warmed to him, the stretch and pain completely vanishing. He slowly rocked his hips, a hand cupping your ass,

reclining against his chair, his eyes all but rolling into the back of his head. “Gods…” he whispered. “Oh, how I long for you… oh how much I wanted this.” Words burbled from his lips, slightly incoherent. “Gods, if any of my colleges caught me like this- I would be fired for sure-! Oh, but they would truly witness what a goddess looked like.”

“I can’t grant you powers gale.” You chided, though secretly flattered. “I would gladly worship you instead of Mystra…my devotion- its eternally, irrevocably- only yours. God if they could watch, only to witness your own glory.”

“it’s a good thing I offer my light to you, beloved.”

“Oh, it’s such a good thing indeed. A little part of me wants to show those who would witness us what it looks to worship- what it means to be- utterly devoted.”

“My dearest gale- you are babbling nonsense; may Cyril bless you with the wit and constitution to say something meaningful.” You tease, adding a playful roll of the hip.

He rolls his eyes, aiding the lift of your hips up and down his length. “With you I forget myself, we are a one connected entity. You are my lifeblood.”

“You say such sweet things” you capture his chapped lips in a kiss, the rolls of your hips and the slick pooling at the cleave of his ass wrecking an echoed cacophony in the padded room. He pants into your open mouth, his hips pacing varying from quick snaps to slow languid thrusts into your warm and waiting walls.  The wizards’ fingers rubbed against your clit in circles, pressing the rest of his fingers into your lower abdomen to stabilize his wrist.  His fingers buzzed with a slight enchantment that he rasped into your mouth in-between nibbles and kisses.

You kissed his crows’ feet that crinkled around his eyes, the furrows of his brow from focus, and the mismatched dimples in his cheeks. The curl that settled itself in the middle of his forehead bobbed gently.

“Do you want me to-?” he stammered, biting down on his lip. He was close, his hips jumping at the chance to be fully sheathed inside of you. “I wanted to- if you’d like- I know we’re getting older, but I don’t think just a cat- would be my desire... to propagate- “he continued to babble. “My mother would- greatly appreciate, a child- from her only son.”

“She isn’t satisfied with a cat?” you pretend to be against between hearty sighs.

He bit his lip again, his eyes closing, overstimulated by the sensation of how tight you were around him. You braced his shoulders for better leverage, his head hit the back of the chair, gasping out for release. You felt the knot in your stomach tighten, bumping your hips into his vibrating fingers.

“Hells- yes- id love that- Gale I’d love to be a parent with you. There is nothing that would make me happier- “he cut you off, shoving your hips into him, fully sheathed he could finally combust within you. His lips found yours for a feverish kiss, wrapping his arms around you. You ran white hot in your core, a series of fire rockets blasting off in your loins, sending dizzying signals into your head. It was like he cast cloud of mist into your head. He rocked his hips a couple of times, your walks milking him of cum. Ropes of cum spent directly into your awaiting womb. Another flash of heat, you felt a deep pressure release onto his hips below.

You press your foreheads together, exhaustion seeping into your bones.

“Can you take the day off- “you murmur into his skin, a soft sinking feeling inside of you as he went soft. His seed within you dripped out and mixed with the rest of the liquids pooled in the seat.

He snuggled himself into your shoulder, watching your tail wag idly. He finally sighs, “I have classes in thirty minutes or less…but! You are welcome to stay in my office until you feel better.” He chuckled softly “earnestly, I’m not entirely sure I want to get up. My hips hurt.”

“You poor thing…” you kissed the crown of his head, scratching small circles into the back of his head. “Let’s get you cleaned up then- I’m certain we made a destructive mess.”

“No mess can withstand the realms of magic.” He puffed his chest out with pride.

You glared at him slightly, though you gave in and finally patted his cheek. “Fine, do your magic.”

He pumped the air summoning things to help clean up. With you, he took the utmost care.

[sheslikealionimagines]

Ash and Aether ~ Epilogue 

Pairings: Gale Dekarios x Fem!OC 

Rating: G

Genre: Slow burn romance 

Words: 837

Summary: Aryn, a self-taught mage with wild, instinctive magic, crosses paths with Gale, a brilliant but burdened wizard whose life is tethered to a volatile arcane secret. What begins as an uneasy alliance deepens into a partnership of intellect, trust, and unspoken yearning as they challenge each other’s beliefs—and slowly unravel the walls around their hearts. Together, they discover that the most powerful magic isn’t found in tomes or incantations, but in the quiet understanding between two souls brave enough to truly see one another. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It had been years.

Years of chalk dust in their sleeves, of late nights arguing about curriculum by candlelight, of patching scorch marks off the walls and warding staircases that refused to stay in place. Years of learning how to build something not from ambition or survival, but from choice. From hope.

The tower had changed again.

Not in its crooked silhouette or the way it loomed like an old man trying to look intimidating—those were permanent features—but in how it felt.

Once a monument to solitude, haunted by wards and weighted silence, it now hummed. With footsteps. With spellwork. With the faint shriek of someone somewhere setting off a glyph they definitely weren’t supposed to touch.

It had become a school.

A slightly scorched, occasionally shifting, deeply magical school.

Outside, spring crept in wherever it could—through the cracks in the flagstones, around the stubborn moss that refused to be cleaned off the walls, and up the side of the tower where ivy now grew with something suspiciously close to intent. The perimeter wards glowed faintly at dusk, not with menace, but like lanterns lit to guide people home.

Inside, the chaos was somehow comforting. Chairs scooted. Pages turned. A chalkboard insulted someone’s handwriting (politely). And from somewhere on the second floor came a loud pop and a shout of, “It was supposed to be a rabbit!”

Gale didn’t look up.

He sat in what had once been a war room—now buried in lesson plans, enchanted inkpots, and a small herd of rune stones that were supposed to organize documents by topic but currently believed everything fell under “Mildly Concerning Evocation.” One was trying to eat a quill.

His robe was ink-stained. His hair—longer now, often tied back, sometimes not—had half-fallen from its ribbon. And he looked absurdly content.

Focused. Worn in. Like a man who’d finally learned that being needed didn’t have to mean being consumed.

The door creaked.

He looked up.

And there she was.

Aryn breezed in like she belonged—which she did—her cloak sliding half off her shoulder, braid wind-mussed from the walk across campus. She carried a stack of books under one arm and what looked suspiciously like a confiscated wand in the other.

“You let them enchant the broom closet again,” she said, not looking up as she dropped the books onto the table.

Gale blinked innocently. “They were exploring spatial threshold theory.”

“It was a closet, Gale.”

“A very effective one. The mop now leads to a beach in Luskan.”

She walked over, stood behind him, and leaned down until her cheek brushed his temple. “And when the next student tries to retrieve a bucket and ends up sunburnt in a different timezone?”

He made a thoughtful sound. “We call it a field trip. With a strong practical component.”

She groaned against him but didn’t pull away—arms looping around his shoulders, her weight settling gently across his back. “I missed you today.”

He smiled, quiet and sure. “Missed you, too.”

They stayed like that for a while—no words, just warmth. The kind of stillness earned after surviving the worst parts of yourself and still finding someone beside you.

Eventually, she spoke again, her voice quieter. “I passed the west corridor earlier. That little half-elf boy—the one who wouldn’t speak?”

Gale stilled, breath catching.

“He was practicing telepathy with the others. Laughing so hard he nearly fell over.”

Gale exhaled. Pressed his hand over hers. “Good.”

“This place,” she said softly, “it’s actually working. We’re doing it.”

He turned to face her fully then, fingers curling at her waist, eyes shining not with grandeur but with the simple, impossible relief of being here. Still here.

“We are,” he said.

She kissed him—slow and real and completely without performance. The kind of kiss that didn’t need to prove anything. When they parted, their foreheads stayed together, like neither of them quite wanted to lose the contact.

“I used to think survival was the end of the story,” she murmured. “That if I just lived through it, that would be enough.”

He stroked his thumb along her cheek, gaze steady. “And now?”

“Now,” she said, “I know I want more than just surviving. I want this. Us. The mops to other realms. The chalkboard with an attitude. All of it.”

He chuckled, low and warm. “So… you’re saying you like my closet-based curriculum.”

“I’m saying,” she said, kissing the corner of his mouth, “you’d better not retire before I do.”

Outside, the sun dropped below the skyline, casting the tower in gold and shadow. From the upper windows, Baldur’s Gate spread out like a memory—familiar, but not heavy anymore.

Inside, the hearth crackled. Somewhere below, a student shouted, “It has tentacles!” and someone else replied, “You said you wanted a familiar!”

Neither of them moved.

The tower would hold. The students would be fine.

They had time. They had each other.

And they had a beginning—not clean or quiet or easy, but better.

Because it was��theirs.

And finally, that was enough.

[youknowwho-mustnotbenamed]

November 20 - Transfiguration Classroom | word count: 562 | @wolfstarmicrofic

Today, we are going to be talking about animagi.” Professor McGonagall announces from the front of the classroom. It’s amazing how much power she wields. She doesn’t even have to call for silence, she simply speaks, and everybody stops and listens. It’s the kind of power his mother would both admire and despise. Sirius loves it. “Who can tell me anything about it?”

A moment of silence before Lily is raising her hand. “An animagus is a witch or wizard with the ability to transform into an animal at will.” As Lily speaks, the chalk—which had previously been hovering in the air before the chalkboard—starts writing almost verbatim of what Lily said.

“Thank you, Miss Evans. It should also be noted that becoming an animagus is a difficult task that very few magical folk accomplish. It requires both a depth of magic, as well as the precision to wield it as you need. Can anybody think of a wizard who is a known animagus?” She hardly waits before continuing. “You cannot. Because even should they accomplish animagus status, they chose to keep such talents hidden. You might very well come across an animagus in your lifetime, and never know it.

Now, if everybody can please break into groups and discuss the properties of an animagus, and how it both differs and relates to traditional transfiguration. Hopefully everybody has done the reading.” The last sentence, is directed toward their corner of the room.

James and Peter spin their chairs around to face Remus and him, eyes bright as they talk about the prospects of being an animagus and pranking. James is already coming up with plans as though they will become animagus tomorrow. They are hardly fourteen so they hardly have access, let alone control, of their magic. Besides, Sirius has seen books about this before, the process is long and arduous, it takes months if not years to be able to transform successfully.

Speaking of which, the last time he had thought of becoming an animagus, he was six, maybe seven, barely understanding the scope of magic. He had mentioned wanting to become a bird and fly to the stars he was named after. Mother had scolded him and refused him dinner that night. Apparently, it wasn’t ‘dignified’ to ‘consort with animals’.

Years later, he brought up the wishful thinking with Reggie. Where they both turned into birds and flew away from Grimmauld. The fantasy was enough to comfort them for the long and lonely nights spent apart, but soon fell flat as their relationship began to strain.

Now, he thinks about it again. But not becoming a bird this time. No, this time he will be a wolf. He will be a wolf and he and Remus will play under the full moon. He knows from his research that werewolves aren’t set off by animals, so if he were to effectively become an animal, Remus wouldn’t be blood thirsty. Wouldn’t that be wonderful? Both of them running through the Forbidden Forest, free as the wolves, no fear to burden them. And even better, Remus wouldn’t have to hurt himself anymore.

All he has to do is find the book that he knows is in his father’s study. It details the whole process, everything he needs to be closer to Remus. Everything he needs to become part of his pack.

[truziey]

Jayvik Mini Fic

this is kinda my first dabble in ff fyi

Im not sure how to put intros for stuff like this so enjoy my mini fic I originally made for twt (NOT ON AO3)

It was no secret that Viktor often overworked himself. He would stay in the lab until he physically couldn’t stay up any longer, and most of the time, Jayce couldn’t convince him otherwise. Sometimes, Jayce would stay late and watch over him until they ran out of ideas, and he would accompany Viktor home. Occasionally, though, it would be Jayce who stayed late to finish up some extra ideas. 

Jayce ran an exhausted hand through his hair, and exclaimed loudly, chucking a pencil towards the lab doorway. The sickly boy who stood where the pencil was thrown stepped cautiously out of the way and chuckled under his breath, “Late night, huh?” Jayce turned towards him with a shocked expression and blinked, before sighing. He walked over to pick up the stained coffee cup on the desk nearby. Jayce had been there for what seemed like days, and he still wasn't satisfied with his work. “Viktor, I thought you’d gone home. What are you still doing here?” Viktor wobbled over towards Jayce, who stood leaning against the blackboard scrawled with barely eligible ideas and thoughts. He stopped to grab the matching stained coffee cup beside Jayce before walking to the blackboard beside him. Viktor didn’t look at Jayce and simply picked up a piece of chalk to draw. A couple of moments went by in silence when Jayce impatiently spoke up. “Viktor. What are you doing?” Viktor turned to him with a sly smile on his face and handed him the chalk.  

They had always had a comfortable dynamic. It was almost more than just lab partners, they were like family, in a closer more intimate way. Jayce was used to silently catering to Viktor’s overworking tendencies and Viktor was used to Jayce’s sporadic ideas. So reasonably, moments like these weren’t all that unusual. Normally, however, their roles were reversed. Jayce would softly scold Viktor for overworking and that would be that. This time was indeed a bit different. 

Jayce grabbed the chalk from Viktor cautiously, letting his touch linger for a moment too long. Viktor nodded towards the chalkboard and Jayce turned to finally look at what was written on it. To his surprise, every sporadic idea and half-assed theory Jayce had written was erased and written over with a phrase that read, “Creating magic cannot, and must not, be done alone.” Viktor smiled softly and walked around Jayce, to a desk across the room. He laid his cane against the side and sat softly on a chair facing Jayce. Jayce hadn’t moved yet, or spoke at all, so much so that for a moment Viktor couldn’t tell if he was even awake; eventually, he scribbled something on the board and turned to Viktor with an exhausted expression. “Sorry, I just uh… I got a bit carried away I guess.” Viktor nodded, sipping the cold coffee in his matching stained mug. He smiled wistfully and spoke carefully. “Jayce, no need for apologies. I do hope you’ll allow me to assist you next time.” Jayce let out a soft chuckle and walked over to where Viktor was sitting. He watched him silently for a moment, letting his hand rest on Viktor’s shoulder affectionately. Jayce was exhausted, but for that singular moment, he thought clearly. He thought about how grateful he was for Viktor, and how if he could stop time to stay in one moment, it would probably be this one. Jayce eventually snapped out of his daze and cleared his throat, his exhaustion returning to him. “We should find a place still open and grab a bite. Then… preferably get some sleep and work more tomorrow… partner.” Viktor smiled, putting his cane under his arm to stand up, and walked past Jayce, stopping to return the affectionate touch by placing his hand on Jayce’s shoulder. “Sure, partner.”

[flusteredfools]

Chapter 21: Planning Out the Pain

Summary:

Over the next few days you’ve gained a bit more of a solid plan for your Fae terrarium. You’ll have small berry bushes and a simple garden that, with the help of earth magic Fae, will grow new produce every few hours once plucked from stems. Fresh water will be provided by the means of condensation with enchanted glass and stones, fire magic on the stones and ice on the glass; the condensation can then collect into a waterfall like fountain after passing through some natural filters. You plan on carving some small wooden fans, embedded with glass designs with wind magic to provide fresh airflow, and with the help from your duo will make what will basically become dimmable light bulbs to provide a comfortable selection of light; with a few options of controlling them so they can be turned on or off at will or provide a shifting amount of light over time to more accurately represent the passing of a day. You’ll add some chalkboards and enchanted chalk, a swing and a few wooden sets of bars to provide some engaging entertainment and means of exercise; probably not ideal but it would be better than nothing you’re sure.

[shostakobitchh]

Chapter 69 sneak peek

This is a VERY VERY VERY rough draft

Miss Evans worked her jaw — the sharpness made Severus’ chest constrict again before she reached for the chalk, stalling as she wrote, slower this time. 

What if it’s me?

Severus massaged his temples, his patience wearing thin. "Miss Evans, we have been over this. There was a — unseen reaction with the potion. I will find the cause, and I will remedy it. In the meantime, you are meant to rest.”

She shook her head vehemently, auburn hair flying, and began scribbling on the chalkboard again. The words were jagged and sharp, like the expression on her face.

That doesn’t answer my question. 

Severus clenched his jaw, his black eyes boring into hers. "You are not broken." 

Miss Evans let out a huff through her nose, shaking her head again in frustration. She swiped the eraser across the board and started writing once more.

I almost died. I can't talk. I can't do magic. What else would you call it?

"Healing." Severus stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the stone floor. He moved to stand before her, looming over her hunched form, putting his hands on either side of her as he leaned onto the mattress. "You are healing, Miss Evans. It is a process, not a permanent state. You need to exercise patience — patience which you seem determined to eschew in favor of petulance."

Miss Evans stared up at him, her black eyes swirling. She jabbed the chalk against the board, her hand shaking.

I don’t believe you. 

Severus exhaled sharply through his nose. He could feel the heat of her magic simmering beneath her skin, begging to be released. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

"You must give it time," he forced through gritted teeth. "I know patience is not your strong suit, but in this case, you have no choice."

She glared at him, a muscle ticking in her jaw. Then she shoved the chalkboard into his chest and pushed past him, stalking away and into the loo. Severus caught the board before it could clatter to the floor, his eyes following her rigid back until she disappeared through the door, slamming it shut behind her.

He looked down at her last message, the words seared into the slate.

Liar. 

Severus closed his eyes, his head falling back. He understood her frustration, her feelings of helplessness, more than she could possibly know.

Was he lying to her? Or was Severus lying to himself, thinking he could fix this, fix her? The weight of his failure pressed down on his chest, making it hard to breathe. He looked towards her closed door, imagining her on the other side, hunched over the sink, drowning in despair. He had done this to her — and now he had no idea how to undo it. 

Severus let out a shuddering breath and waited. He stared at her closed door, the silence pressing in on him from all sides. This couldn't go on. It was becoming a nightly occurrence, spurned by Pomfrey’s visits that always ended with a resigned shake of her head and Miss Evans looking crestfallen. 

After several minutes the girl returned, slipping back into the infirmary bed with her back to him. He moved to the opposite side and sat down on the edge after a while, the mattress dipping under his weight. Miss Evans didn't stir, but he knew she was awake. He could feel the tension radiating off her rigid form, could see the white-knuckled grip she had on the sheets.

Severus sat there in the darkness, listening to her shallow breaths, unsure of what to say. He was not equipped for this — for comforting a teenage girl, especially not one he had nearly killed — his own daughter. He’d always been rubbish at comfort. He’d tried very hard not to make Lily cry, and even when she’d come to him for support, it had only ever ended with her becoming more frustrated. The only person they’d ever really been able to commiserate over — that Severus had made her feel better about when he’d bothered her — had been Potter. Severus had made her laugh so hard she’d cry, a reaction that had waned over the years until it had disappeared completely. At one point, everything he’d said to her had been wrong. 

He’d made countless mistakes with their daughter. He’d made the girl cry — he’d tried hard to make her hate him — but this — this one act of something besides cold disdain and utter terror in the face of the unimaginable — of her being his — was teetering dangerously close to Severus’ breaking point. 

He needed her to understand that it was he who was flawed. She was — she was — 

"Your current state is my fault." Severus’ voice cut through the heavy silence. "I brewed the potion. I made an error that I cannot yet identify, and you are suffering the consequences."

He paused, his dark eyes fixed on her still form. She did not turn to face him. 

"Wallowing in self-pity will not change anything," he continued, his tone sharp. “But you must understand that this — this is not your fault.” 

At this, Miss Evans finally rolled over to glare at him, her obsidian eyes flashing in the dim light. She opened her mouth as if to retort, then snapped it shut again, her lips pressing into a thin, angry line.

Severus met her furious gaze, unflinching. "You cannot speak, and your heart is weak, which means your magic is unstable. You cannot risk straining yourself and risk damaging it further. These are facts, not judgments. Railing against reality will not alter it."

Miss Evans sat up abruptly, the sheets pooling around her waist and reached for the blasted chalkboard once more. 

The Patronus potion is pure Light magic. 

He looked up at Miss Evans, his black eyes hard. "Yes, it is. And your point?"

She snatched the board back, erasing the words with a furious swipe of her sleeve before scribbling again, the chalk scraping harshly against the slate.

So why did it almost kill me?

Severus exhaled sharply through his nose. "I've told you, there was an unseen interaction —” 

Miss Evans slammed the chalkboard down on the bed between them, cutting him off. She jabbed a finger at her previous question, her meaning clear.

"I don't know," Severus snapped, his frustration boiling over. "Is that what you want to hear?  I — don’t — know. I've been analyzing it for days, trying to determine what went wrong, where I made a mistake, and I've found nothing. Not a single bloody thing."

Then it's not the potion. It's me.

"Don't be absurd. You are not inherently incompatible with Light magic. If anything, you have a natural affinity for it."

She shook her head vehemently, auburn hair flying.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply. "You are not incompatible with Light magic.” he repeated. “The very notion is ludicrous and beneath you."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he held up a hand, silencing her. "No. You will let me finish. Your magical core is not tainted, or broken, or whatever other nonsense you've concocted in that overwrought mind of yours. You are a witch, and an adequate one at that. This setback does not change that fundamental truth."

Miss Evans stared at him, her obsidian eyes swirling with a maelstrom of emotions — frustration, despair, a flicker of tentative hope. She picked up the chalk with trembling fingers.

Then why can't I cast a Patronus? Even before the potion?

Severus leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his dark gaze boring into hers. "Because, Miss Evans, the Patronus charm requires a depth of emotion that, quite frankly, you do not know how to wield. It has nothing to do with your magical ability and everything to do with your emotional immaturity."

Her nostrils flared. 

That’s not fair. 

"You think your suffering makes you unique?" he snapped. "That your pain gives you some special insight the rest of us mere mortals cannot possibly comprehend?"

She erased her previous message with a violent swipe.

That’s not what I mean and you know it. 

"I know you better than you know yourself," Severus sneered. "A petulant child, so wrapped up in your own misery that you cannot see beyond the end of your nose.”

She recoiled as if he'd slapped her. For a moment, hurt flashed across her sharp features before it was replaced by a mask of icy fury.

You’re a foul git. 

Severus' lip curled. "And you are an insolent brat. But by all means, continue to wallow in self-pity. It's clearly serving you so well."

She wiped the board clean with a vicious swipe of her palm and wrote again, the chalk shrieking against the slate.

You have no idea what this is like. To feel empty. Powerless. Like a part of me is MISSING.

Severus met her furious gaze evenly. "You're right. I don't know precisely what you are experiencing, but I do intimately understand what it means to feel powerless in the face of circumstances beyond your control."

She blinked rapidly, thrown off balance by his sudden shift in tone. The chalk hovered over the board for a long moment before she slowly wrote out:

How?

He looked away, jaw clenching. Memories flashed through his mind unbidden — 

Cowering before his father's raised fist, the sickening crack of bone — 

— his mother's vacant stare as she lay unmoving on the kitchen floor — 

— Lily's cold dismissal, the finality in her green eyes as she turned her back on him — 

— a windy hilltop under a starless sky — 

Severus stood abruptly, his dark robes swirling around him. He strode over to the window, resting his palms on the stone sill as he gazed out into the inky blackness of the night. The moon hung low and full, casting a sickly yellow glow over the Forest's skeletal tree line. An icy breeze whistled through the cracks in the ancient panes, raising goosebumps on his skin.

He exhaled slowly, watching his breath fog the glass. The memories receded like a dark tide, leaving behind only a hollow ache in his chest. He could feel Miss Evans' eyes boring into his back, her unspoken questions hanging heavy in the air between them. But he would not - could not - give her the answers she sought. Those scars ran too deep, the wounds still raw and festering after all these years.

"Come here," he said finally, his voice a low rumble in the stillness.

There was a long pause, then the soft shuffling of footsteps as she crossed the room to stand beside him. Severus kept his gaze fixed on the shadowy grounds, studiously avoiding her searching eyes.

Miss Evans stood silently at his side, the chalkboard clutched to her chest. She shifted restlessly, her fingers tapping an anxious rhythm against the slate.

After a long moment, she reached up and touched his sleeve, the barest brush of fingertips against wool. Severus stiffened but did not pull away. Her hand hovered there, tentative, seeking permission. When he made no move to stop her, she slowly slid her palm down his forearm until her fingers curled around his wrist.

He looked down at her then, at the slim, pale hand resting against the black fabric. Her skin was startlingly white in the moonlight, the blue veins visible beneath the translucent surface.

She lifted the chalkboard to him. 

I’m not angry with you.

He felt the sudden urge to laugh, a bitter, broken sound that lodged in his throat. Of course she wasn't angry with him.

Severus forced himself to meet her gaze. Her obsidian eyes were luminous in the moonlight, filled with a swirling mix of emotions he couldn't begin to untangle. Despair, frustration, a desperate plea for understanding. For a fleeting moment, he saw another pair of dark eyes superimposed over hers — eyes that had once looked back at him with the same raw vulnerability, wishing to make it all — better. 

His chest constricted painfully. He tore his gaze away, fixing it once more on the night-shrouded grounds. "You should be," he said hollowly. "I am the reason you're in this state."

Miss Evans shook her head, erasing the chalkboard with quick, jerky movements. She began writing again, the chalk scratching harshly against the slate.

It was an accident. You were trying to help me.

Severus let out a sharp exhale through his nose. "My intentions are irrelevant. The outcome remains the same."

She underlined the word "accident" several times, the chalk squeaking. Then she turned the board to face him again.

I don't blame you. 

He stared at the words, his jaw clenched tight. The sincerity in them made something twist painfully in his gut. She had every right to rage at him, to curse his name and wish him a thousand painful deaths. Instead, she offered him absolution he did not deserve.

"Your forgiveness is misplaced," he ground out. "I am unworthy of it."

Miss Evans made a frustrated noise in the back of her throat. She wiped the board clean with an impatient swipe of her sleeve.

It's not about worthiness. I'm telling you how I feel.

Severus finally turned to face her fully, his black eyes boring into hers. "And I'm telling you that your feelings are misguided. You are young and naive, with no concept of the magnitude of my failings."

Miss Evans glared at him, two spots of angry color appearing on her pale cheeks. She jabbed the chalk at the board.

I'm not a child. Stop treating me like one.

"Then stop behaving like one," he snapped. "Wallowing in self-pity, lashing out in petulant fits, refusing to heed the instructions of those trying to aid your recovery — these are the tantrums of a spoiled brat, not a rational adult."

Her mouth fell open in indignation, obsidian eyes flashing with hurt and fury. For a moment Severus thought she might hurl the chalkboard at his head. He braced himself for an eruption, for the board to go flying, to feel the sting of her palm against his cheek.

But it never came. Instead, she closed her eyes, her brow furrowed in concentration as if wrestling some internal demon into submission. When she opened them again, the fire had dimmed, replaced by a cold, steely resolve.

She lifted the chalk to the board and wrote with slow, deliberate strokes.

I forgive you, you great git. You promised you’d let me. 

"You impossible, infuriating girl," he muttered. 

Miss Evans' lips twitched, a ghost of a smile. She tapped the board with the chalk.

You forgot brilliant and charming.

“I’d say delusional.” 

Runs in the family.

[justforbooks]

Ed McLachlan

Cartoonist whose work appeared in Punch, Private Eye, the Spectator and the Oldie in a 60-year career

The cartoons of Ed McLachlan, who has died aged 84, were at once as deliciously dark and twisted as Charles Addams, as imaginative as William Heath Robinson, as surreal as John Glashan and as quintessentially British as the Punch cartoonist Pont.

Ed’s immediately recognisable pen line, and cast of buck-toothed, big-nosed protagonists, entertained, shocked and outraged from the pages of Punch, Private Eye, the Oldie and Spectator, among many others. Often set in traditional gag cartoon settings, from date nights and office boardrooms to middle-class front rooms and Stannah stairlifts, his cartoons took the mundane and delivered the hilariously absurd.

Giant creatures were often present, creating destruction in otherwise quaintly British scenes. For Private Eye’s 10th anniversary edition in 1971, Ed drew a monstrous hedgehog rushing across a busy road, pulverising an unfortunate car and its occupants as it goes. In another cartoon, an enormous dinosaur rampages through a city past an ongoing cricket match, while an exasperated commentator complains that “once again we have interruption of play caused by movement behind the bowler’s arm”.

Ed combined his vivid imagination with a relentless work ethic, his work also appearing in magazines as various as the New Statesman, the Big Issue, Reader’s Digest, the New Yorker and Playboy.

Initially he had not considered a career in cartoons, despite contributing a number to his college magazine. However, in 1961, while working at a printing company designing posters, he was persuaded by colleagues (by way of a £5 bet) to submit a scrapbook of cartoons to Punch. To his surprise, the magazine bought one for seven guineas, more for an hour’s work than he was earning in a week at the printing office. Within weeks they had bought several more, thus beginning a regular contribution to the magazine that would last until it ceased production in 2002.

Born in Humberstone, Leicestershire, to Edward McLachlan, a structural engineer, and his wife, Josephine, a secretary, Ed went to Wyggeston grammar school, then studied graphic design at Leicester College of Art (now DeMontfort University), graduating in 1959.

Following his success with Punch, in 1965 he went freelance, resolving to establish a career by “making myself a nuisance banging on agencies’ doors”. The following year, he began drawing a series of political cartoons for the Sunday Mirror, under the title McLachlan’s View. In 1967, he started to contribute cartoons to Private Eye, and in 1970 left the Sunday Mirror for the Evening Standard as its new political cartoonist. Between 1972 and 1974, he produced a series of pocket cartoons titled Insiders for the Daily Mirror.

Apart from a brief return to Leicester College of Art as a part-time lecturer in graphics (1967-70), Ed thereon focused on his cartoon and illustration work, which also encompassed children’s books, TV series and advertising campaigns.

In 1969, he wrote and illustrated his first children’s book, Simon in the Land of Chalk Drawings. This was the first of four books about a little boy who owns a magic chalkboard, upon which everything he draws becomes real. The books were made into an animated television series, which first aired in Canada before appearing on British television on ITV in 1976, running for 24 episodes. The series was directed by Ivor Wood, best known for shows such as The Magic Roundabout and The Wombles, and narrated by Bernard Cribbins. It remained popular in Canada, where it was remade in 2002.

Ed also wrote and illustrated the children’s books Claude Makes a Change (1979), Magnus in the Land of Lost Property (1985) and The Dragon Who Could Only Breathe Smoke (1985), and illustrated more than 80 books in the Bangers and Mash educational reading series by Paul Groves, which were made into a children’s ITV series in 1989. Nonfiction books include Bill Beaumont’s Bedside Rugby (1986) and John Walker’s Chess for Tomorrow’s Champions (1994), as well as many of the For Dummies instructional series.

Over the years Ed was also in demand for advertising campaigns for brands such as Dunlop, Renault, Alka Seltzer, Dewar’s Whisky and Walkers. Most recently, his cartoons were used for a series of London Underground posters for Timothy Taylor’s Brewery.

He received many awards, including illustrative cartoonist of the year (1980) and advertising cartoonist of the year (1982) from the Cartoonists’ Club of Great Britain, and gag cartoonist of the year twice (1982 and 1997) from the Cartoon Art Trust, which also presented him with a lifetime achievement award in 2011. In 2016, he was given an honorary doctorate from the University of Leicester.

Across the span of his 60-year career, Ed’s style of drawing, a confident ink line and a monochrome wash on artist’s board, remained remarkably consistent. Later in his career, he began to add colour, working skilfully in watercolour on a scale much larger than his cartoons would be reproduced in print. While much of the detail would be lost when the cartoons were shrunk down for reproduction in magazines, when the originals began to be exhibited in a gallery setting – and in the Chris Beetles gallery, of which I am director, from 2001 – his expertise in these mediums could be truly appreciated.

Ed continued to draw cartoons up until his death. In one of his final cartoons, for Private Eye, taste testers at a crisp factory lament their new range of extra crispy snacks, which are so crunchy they have caused one of their colleagues to explode.

He is survived by his wife, Shirley (nee Gerrard), whom he married in 1964, their daughters, Danielle, Joelle and Aimee, and son, Alex, and by four grandchildren.

🔔 Edward Rolland McLachlan, cartoonist, author and illustrator, born 22 April 1940; died 29 September 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[2ratzwriting]

Untitled Secret Project (3)

Here lies our Dramione fanfiction.

Summary

Teachers at Hogwarts (7 years after the war)

In Hermione Granger's third year teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, Draco Malfoy enters his first year teaching Potions. They squabble and can't get along, alerting the attention of Minerva McGonagall. To help restore peace and order in the castle, she insists they work together and get to know each other. As a play to improve his reputation and assure wary students, Malfoy is enlisted to co-sponsor Hermione’s Muggle Studies club.

Chapter Three: Proceeding Reputations

Hermione felt a buzz in her veins as she approached the front of the classroom. The drone of chitter chatter quieted down with every row of tables she passed. Turning on her heel smoothly, she stood at the chalkboard and let her eyes scan over the attentive faces in the room. All eyes were locked on her.

She took a steady breath in and allowed a small smile to break through her face, her hands smoothing down the fabric of her fitted black robes as she turned back to the board.

A thrill went up her spine as she felt the chalk between her fingers for the first time this term. She brought up her hand to write one phrase on the board in a precise script: 

“Has anyone here heard this famous quote before?” Hermione addressed the first year class. She was met with blank faces, aside from a few muggle borns with their hands in the air. 

“This is a ubiquitous phrase in the muggle world. It is usually attributed to the Spider-Man comic books, a popular series of a muggle turned superhero, who learns the importance of using his power for the good of his city,” Hermione explained.

A Slytherin spoke up from the back of the room, “What exactly does a muggle story have to do with this class?” The sharp, aristocratic tone reminded her of a certain schoolmate recently brought out of her past. 

She suppressed an eye roll, willing her voice to come out professionally. Now I get why my professors so disliked me when I spoke out of term all those years, she thought to herself with a bout of irony.

“Well, Unlike a fictional superhero, our powers are real,” she paused to look around and ensure she had each student’s attention, so her message set into everyone in the room. “Each witch and wizard has a great responsibility to use their powers for the light and to defend against the dark. I ask you to remember this responsibility as you grow your powers in this school. I would also advise you to be open to wisdom from unlikely sources, Mr. Parkinson.” 

The Slytherin blushed from the medley of giggles around him. 

When Hermione came to Hogwarts as a first year, she was shocked to learn how isolated the magical world was from the muggle world. She quickly realized talking about her favorite muggle pop-culture references was not an effective way to make friends in her new school. Unfortunately, learning how to make friends the right way did not come so quick, she remembered. 

The traditional pureblood families have always detested muggle culture and avoided it at all costs. They only saw their preconceived notion of uncivilized savagery. The levels of artistic and technological marvels were seemingly invisible to them. She made a point when she started teaching to correct this reputation. The tragedies of her youth taught her that the most crucial factor in defending against the dark arts is tolerance for everyone. 

Hermione was ecstatic when she convinced Minerva to let her start a muggle studies club at Hogwarts. She had a suspicion that Minerva had only agreed as a personal favor to her in respect of their history, and to get Hermione’s persistent pitches off her agenda. To her surprise, and Hermione’s delight, several students showed interest in joining. Some joined in the spirit of learning, others as a rebellion against their pureblood parents, and some as muggle-borns looking for a piece of home in the magical school.

As much as she loved teaching, her club was a bright spot of pride in her life. She felt like she was finally making progress in correcting a history of wrongs, and making a real impact on their future. This was the power she had dreamed of having in her bed in the Gryffindor tower, crying over Malfoy calling her a Mudblood. 

Meanwhile, it was like 1991 all over again in the dark and dingy potions classroom, with a billowing figure in flowing black robes whizzing past the first years towards the front. 

With a sharp turn, Draco Malfoy faced the pale and shaken eleven and twelve-year-olds for the first time as their professor, staring them down with an icy glare one could only learn from years of experience. Without saying a word, Draco turned his attention to the chalkboard placed at the front of the classroom, his back towards the students. 

He could not help but notice a slight spike in his heart rate and a dryness in his mouth. 

Pull yourself together Draco. I am a powerful wizard, a no-hesitation duelist, a bloody member of a group of the most lethal dark wizards. I will not be intimidated by a bunch of 12-year-old snots, he thought to himself. He almost scoffed. 

Straightening his back, pulling his chin high, and taking a deep breath, he began writing on the chalkboard. Well, he didn’t technically write on it himself, being the all-great and powerful wizard that he is. No, he chose to show off and use wandless magic to write on his chalkboard. With a swift turn and a swirl of his cape, he turned back to the class revealing a message written on the board behind him in elegant cursive: 

“...any questions?” Draco drawled out, staring blank-faced at the widening eyes of the ever more frightened first years. 

Yes, yes, fear and respect baby, he thought smugly. He stood, not a muscle in his body moving besides his eyes scanning the classroom. Not a soul dared to raise their hand. He smirked. The students almost didn't catch it at first, but that was most definitely what he was doing. Sickening. He brought his hands clasped behind his back and began to address his classroom formally for the first time.

“Since none of you have found the courage to speak up when you obviously have something to say, I suppose I will say it for you. I am Draco Malfoy, your new Potions Professor. You will address me only as Professor Malfoy. I was a student just like you, sitting in this very classroom once, with a brilliant teacher who taught me everything I needed to know and more. I hope to instill the same vigor for learning as my predecessor did.” He paused and swallowed deeply, pushing emotions back into the different cabinets of his mind. 

“With that being said, I was also a Death Eater…”, he said quickly as he brought the left sleeve of his robe up his arm; faint gasps echoed around the dungeon as the dark mark was revealed. “...with that came morals and values I am not proud to have upheld. I have done some bad things in my life. However, I have been given a second chance, and I will not allow a mark on my skin or gawking looks from twelve-year-olds deter me from finding security in my life, as I have reformed. Now, if there are no more questions or comments, please open your book to page three hundred and ninety-four.” He turned, billowing to his desk with a slight smirk. 

As Malfoy dismissed class an hour later he felt a rare glimmer of hope break into his thoughts. It took him years to land this job, but he was here now, and he was ready to dig his heels into his new life. No judgment of his history will get in his way. 

With a rejuvenated pep to his stride, he turned to exit the room. Suddenly, he was stopped right in his tracks only one step out of the door by a strong collision to his chest. Something was in his way.  

With the quick instincts that Aunt Bella trained him to have, he immediately caught his footing and turned his attention to the threat, arms darting out to catch his attacker from falling to the floor, pushing them harshly into the wall beside them. It was only after he knew he had successfully disarmed his target that he thought to look at who it was. He felt bushy hair tickling his nose and his alarm immediately shifted to anger. 

“Get your filthy hands off me, Granger,” he snarled as he flew away from her form against the wall. 

Hermione huffed out a sarcastic laugh. “As if I would ever touch you, Malfoy,” she replied, trying to reign in her shocked expression. 

“Well, you just did.” 

“Only because you can’t watch where you’re going!”

“You are the one barrelling through the halls like a troll!”

“Well, you–!” Hermione was interrupted by someone clearing their throat behind them. 

Both professors whipped around to face Minerva standing at the end of the corridor, arms crossed over her maroon robes. She stared at the two of them like a disappointed mother. They stared back at her like guilty statues, afraid that one move out of line would get them in more trouble. 

“Having a nice first day of class, are we professors?” she asked calmly. 

“Yes, Headmistress,” they replied in unison. This harmony caused an annoyed twitch in Draco’s eye. 

“Excellent. I trust you will make haste to your next classes,” Minerva told them sternly, keeping a lingering eye on them as she turned to leave. 

Draco stalked off without another glance in Hermione’s direction. 

Hermione scanned the floor for her book, so graciously thrown to the side by Malfoy’s unnecessary attack. She found it just past the door frame of his classroom. As she bent to pick it up, already mentally cursing him for a scuff on the cover, she peeked into the room she had not seen since being Snape’s tortured student. 

She felt a similar shock to the one she felt upon impact with Malfoy moments ago when she saw what was written across the chalkboard. 

Seriously? This is what he chooses to do with his second chance at being a respected member of society? Boasting and bragging about his evil past? I thought Minerva said he was going to improve his reputation, not further drive it into the ground. It’s almost like he wants to be chased out of the school with pitchforks. I’ll have to remember where I put mine, Hermione stews to herself as she snatches her book off the floor and heads to her next class. 

Authors Note

His groove! She threw off his groove! (kuzco!draco)

[sup3rsp0r3]

So yknow how I just said I would do writing dumps? Yeah well uh

It was weird really. Everyone saw it, but no one ever commented. Why would they? He was obviously not from here, he wasn't used to the customs of Teyvat.

It made Albedo 𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 curious. He needed to know what it was that made this man tick. Why he never spoke unless he had too, why he was so set on helping everyone, even if they hurt him, why he was so good natured no matter what people did to him. It was driving the chalk-man insane.

He had to know. He had to know why that pretty blonde would swat at the air around his head when nothing was there, why he would act like he could see things others couldn't, why in the name of the 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘴, was he able to summon stars at his will? He didn't do anything with them, he just looked at them. He stared so longingly at them, like he yearned to be near them. Like he was familiar with them.

It was always the same pattern of stars. The same little constellation. Sure, he looked at it from different angles, but it was always the same set. Why were these little stars so important to him? Why did he smile so fondly looking at them one moment only to look away from them with glossy eyes the next? He held such an obvious connection to these stars, but why? They really didn't look like anything in particular. It was just a small set, some simple stars that really weren't anything special.

This guy would drive him mad.

This traveler from another world, the Honorary Knight of Favonius, The Hero of Liyue, The Enemy of Eternity, Captain of Swordfish II, The First Sage of Buer, he was renowned and loved all around Teyvat, he had impossible strength for a human, he had the prettiest of eyes- What in the world? What kind of thought was that? Albedo felt mad. He must've been. He had to be.

Oh Archons, not right now. A familiar high pitched voice rang through his cold lab, and in sauntered the man of the hour. The traveler himself. He always had such 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵 timing, didn't he?

"What can I do for you, traveler?" Albedo asked, scanning his eyes over the man. Of course, Paimon spoke for him. "Well, Sucrose had said you might need help with something! We haven't spoken in a while anyways, so the traveler decided to stop by!" Her voice was like nails on a chalkboard. It was loud, piercing, how in the world did the traveler spend so much time with her? Another mystery of the man. His ridiculous tolerance for all things agitating.

The man in question stepped closer, running his hand along one of the book cases. When he spoke, his voice was comforting, calming, like honey in tea, like an experiment going perfectly. "Well, that and, Lisa says you borrowed a book a while back and haven't returned it. Is there a reason for that?" Of course, playing errand boy again. Albedo turned, skimming over a pile before picking up a book with a red cover. "It's this one." He said, smoothing his thumbs over the top. The traveler took the book, securely sliding it into his bag. "Well, thank you! Now miss Lisa won't come knocking at your door! Er... Uh, cave... wall?" Paimon said, settling a hand near her face. She floated around the traveler, reminiscent of a rather annoying fly. Although, Albedo did wonder how she flew so easily. It didn't make sense, she didn't have a glider, she didn't have wings, she didn't have any obvious magic, so... How did she do it? A mystery for another time he supposed.

"Have you eaten yet? It's getting late." Albedo said, surprising even himself with the proposal. Paimon's eyes lit up at the idea of food. She was quick to volunteer the traveler to hang around for a while.

Albedo whipped up some quick food, something hot. Pain in finished hers, then ate at least half of the travelers. He decided not to comment on the two's weird dynamic. Albedo's eyes caught on the traveler, the way his eyes were suddenly a bit dull, like he wasn't all there. Was he zoning out? The little episode didn't last long, only about three full seconds. As soon as the man snapped out of it, he pressed his hand to his neck, seemingly making sure there wasn't anything there. "Are you alright?" Albedo asked, hoping the man wasn't reacting poorly to the food. The man in question nodded, finishing his plate and setting it on the stack with Paimon's and Albedo's. That was... Odd.

After some idle chatter and a few thanks, he was gone. He looked so pretty, sitting there, eating the food Albedo had made him. It was a nice change of pace to the man's usual feist.

Where did these thoughts keep coming from?

He never got to run his experiment.

[katiethxrne]

Katie was frantically cleaning the living room, or at least what passed for a living room these days. Unlike her laboratory, and more like her office, it was strewn with papers - tacked to the walls, between couch cushions, and lying flat on the coffee table. Though she kept them clear of the non-functioning fireplace that Chickadee used for a den as the salamander had a tendency to spray ashes over her work papers. Ashworth used to reem her for the grey-tinged folders, not fondly either; the woman abhorred dirt and grime outside of a crime scene. Katie lived with everything carefully coordinated, even if it seemed as if a hurricane had blown through. Her housemates used to threaten to curse Katie during Exam Season, with her corner of the Tower pasted with parchment and their mini fridge (courtesy of Katie and Fiona's charmwork) filled with neatly labeled vials. Now, there were labeled vials in Max's fridge, her laboratory, and dusting the interior of the mini-fridge that Katie had hauled out of the Seventh Year dorms while Maeko flung popcorn at her while she waddled it down the steps.

The Auror brushed the final folders into a rarely-used file cabinet just as the doorbell rang, more like buzzed. The ice cream shop Katie lived above had a separate entrance for the apartments abovehead, down a side alley that also functioned as a discrete Appiriton point with a shed that the magical could pop in and out. The shop being owned by the squib side of the Fortesqeue Family - kind, generous, Hufflepuff-like family who were not above yelling at Katie for her explosions - and thus kept muggles clear from the side alley and upper property.

Katie grabbed at the intercom, slamming on the red button that creaked under the force of her palm, "I'm buzzing you up darlin', top floor 4C--"

A cheery laugh and distinct accent came through the intercom that made Katie's toes curl, confirming the room and commenting that she'd also bought ice cream. The auror practically tripped into her bedroom throwing on a lacey bra and cropped tee proclaiming Terminal Review and shoved her skinny scarred legs through loose jeans with more tears than fabric, each inch of said denim clung to the muscle of her body.

As Katie shoved her combat boots on a knock came. Tossing her messy shag out from her eyes, she slid to the door, opening it with a bright grin.

"Rue, welcome to mi casa!" The Spanish fell clunky off her tongue, not in the least sexy, but most folks liked Katie at her silliest and grinning. "Come on in," Katie waved her palm, letting the wards in her house flex, noting and allowing Rue's magical signature to be added to the Yes Fly List. But even that shard of magic sent a spasm of pain up her arm, "It's a bit of a mess, but I tried to clean up, and I set up some stuff..." There was a chalkboard, chalk in various colors, her alchemy kit set up, and a bottle of whiskey, which she gestured to with wide arms, "Everything we need to plan a murder," she clapped her hands together with a grin, "and you bought us ice cream, even better, I always work best on a sugar rush!"

@ftbhedges

[sl-newsie]

Spelled (Carlos de Vil x Sanderson Daughter)- Ch. 11: Chemistry in Chemistry

Later on I go back to my locker to get my chemistry book, and am visited by Tiffany, who’s carrying a platter of lemon tarts.

“Oh, sugar! You have got to try these! Mom sent me the recipe, and I swear it’s like tasting Heaven!” She beams and pops a tart in my mouth before I can respond.

She’s right- they’re delicious! 

“Golly, Tiffany. These are wonderful! They melt in your mouth, they’re the perfect blend of tart and sweet! It’s like you’re baking with magic!”

She shakes her head with a distant smile. “Oh, no. I leave all that magic stuff to you witches and sorceress gals. The only magic I use is a dash of chemistry, a hint of nostalgia, and a good heaping of love!”

I close my locker and give a nod. “Speaking of chemistry, I’ve gotta get going to class. Wonderful treats as usual! Keep up the good work!” We both wave goodbye and I start to walk off to class-

“Those kids are trouble,” Chad points to Evie and Mal as they chat by their lockers.

Him, Audrey, and Ben are standing a few feet away from the new students, and it makes me upset to see them already gossiping about them.

“C’mon Chad, give them a chance.” Ben attempts to act positive.

“No offense Bennie Boo, but you’re just too trusting!” Audrey remarks with a laugh.

“Shut up, princess entitled,” I say smugly as I head off for chemistry. I drag myself into the classroom like a depressed zombie and flop down next to Doug, who (no surprise) is reading.

“Doug, why must we torture ourselves through this dull class?”

He doesn’t even look up from his textbook. “What’s the difference between this and your potions class?”

I groan. “Because that class actually involves stuff I’m going to use in life! Stuff I’m actually good at! This? This is all about atoms and equations I will never think twice of after this class.”

“All knowledge is useful at some point,” Doug says in an unamused tone.

I roll my eyes. “Easy for you to say! You’ve never gotten anything below a B+ in your life!”

“Hey, um could you maybe sit across from me today?” Doug asks with a hopeful voice as he puts down his book.

“Why?” I ask as I move to sit down on the opposite side.

He looks around, then says: “I don’t think there are any other open seats, and Evie’s new to class-”

“So you want me to move so Evie can sit next to you?” I finish with a smirk.

Doug gives me a begging look. “Please! I might have a chance with her if I play my cards right.”

“I donno, Doug. Last I heard she was dead-set on finding a prince. Just wait until she meets Chad.” I gag.

Just then, the prince of egos himself strides into the room and sits at his spot up front. Teacher’s pet. Soon after Evie comes in, looks around, and walks over to sit at our table. Doug gives me a thumbs up and a giddy smile. Oh brother.

Sadly though his attempts to make conversation are interrupted by Evie’s new obsession with Chad.

“Any chance he’s in line for a throne?” Evie asks as she dreamily stares at the blonde royal pain.

I shoot Doug an ‘I told you so’ look.

“Chad Prince Charming Jr, Cinderella’s son?” Chad clarifies, which makes Evie’s eyes go wider.

“Not the shiniest crown in the chest, if you get my drift,” I mutter.

Evie goes on to ramble about Chad, but is interrupted by the teacher.

“So, what is the atomic weight of silver?”

“Um… I mean not very much, it’s an atom, right?” She tries to joke, but the teacher motions for her to step up to the chalkboard.

See, Evie? Life isn’t all about crushes and heartthrobs.

“How do I find the atomic weight of silver?” Evie asks openly as she picks up a chalk piece. Out of the corner of my eye I see a faint glare, and then spot a small hand mirror in Evie’s hand- the same enchanted one she was using last night!

Evie starts writing the answer, and across the desk I can see Doug doing the math in his head with an impressed look. Can’t anyone see she’s cheating?

I guess the teacher doesn’t, because he’s got a surprised look on his face and is all flustered when Evie finishes the equation.

“I forgot, always a mistake to underestimate-”

“A villain?” Evie smiles gleefully. “Don’t make it again.”

While I must applaud her moxy, cheating is never the best way! If there’s one thing I agree with Aunt Winnie it’s that true power and brains will always conquer liars and cheats.

I see Chad exchange a note with Evie, who looks at him with even more hearts in her eyes. Doug and I try to look at each other without smirking. Oh Evie, you’re in for a big surprise.

The rest of the class goes slower than molasses, and when class is dismissed Evie jumps up and follows Chad out the door. I see Doug’s shoulders slump, so I try to cheer him up.

I push Doug’s shoulder. “Gee, Doug. Guess the atomic weight lesson wasn’t the only chemistry going on today.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Shut up. She doesn’t want anything to do with me. She just wants Prince Chad,” he says in a mocking preppy tone.

“Doug, Evie just wants a prince to impress her mother. She thinks that finding a prince is the only way to get what she wants in life. Just give her some time to see how big of a jerk Chad is and she’ll wake up and see just how much she’s missing out on.”

Doug attempts to smile. “You think so? Or did you just cast a positivity spell?”

I hold my head back and laugh. “Gosh, no! I’m just speaking the truth!”

We both gather our school supplies and head out into the hallway.

“Enough with the love talk. I’m gonna go meet up with Ben for Carlos’ tourney training.”

Doug frowns. “I thought you hated sports. Remember, we talked about starting a sports haters club?”

I try to shrug it off. “Yeah, but… Carlos needs all the help he can get and-”

“Oh! I see how it is!” Doug smirks. “You just wanna spend time with Carlos.”

“No, no! I do not. I’m just trying to help the VKs fit in.” I deny as I put my books back in my locker.

“Uh-huh.” Doug gives me a teasing look. “Seems you got a special soft spot for a certain VK with freckles.”

“No, I do not! Now if you’ll excuse me I gotta go-”

“Oh! Did I hear that right? Magica likes someone?” I hear Rosaline gush behind me.

“Who is it?” Fiona asks excitedly.

I give them a stern look. “I do not ‘like’ anyone, so just drop it. I will not belittle myself even further by allowing my personal life to become your entertainment.”

“Oh, please! You gotta tell us!” Tiffany begs. “I’ll make you some cherry-chocolate muffins?”

Grr. As much as I love her muffins, I must put my foot down.

“No!”

“What’s going on?”

No. No. NO!

“Not a good time, Audrey,” I try to say politely, but now the drama queen herself has zoned in on me.

“I hear you’ve got a crush. Spill it, freak.”

I squint and give her a warning glare. “And why should I tell you anything, Audrey?”

She gets a wicked smirk on her face. “Because if you don’t I’ll tell Fairy Godmother you’ve been keeping secrets.”

Wait- no. No, no! Why is this happening to me? I’ve become the victim of gossip!

Suddenly I point down the hall. “Look! There’s a sign for a shoe boutique sale!”

While they go scurrying off to find nothing, I escape the crowd of giggling girls by turning a corner and slipping into the bathroom. I lock the door to make sure no one comes in, and walk over to the sinks just as my head starts spinning.

“Mirror mirror, I need help. Please now show me my true self.” I sprinkle some pixie powder mixed with moondust specs. My happy reflection melts away, and when I see myself in the mirror again it’s a face that shows all-out fear with pink flames engulfing everything. God, why am I getting so wrapped around this whole love thing? I’m letting everyone’s teasing send me into overthinking, and that only makes me dangerous.

I poke my head out the door to make sure no one’s around, and think I’m in the clear-

“Hey, Magica!”

I give a silent prayer for more patience.

“Perfect timing, Ben. You have no idea-”

“Sparks! I need you to write down some ideas for the next family day.” Ben smiles.

Is he joking?

I gape at him. “You think you’re stressed out? My emotions are dialed to 100 and I feel like I’m going to set my textbooks on fire! Sometimes I feel like I want to melt into the background and be a nobody again! People keep talking about my hair, asking for favors, and teasing my feelings- which are confused and unstable enough as it is!”

 At this point I’ve cornered Ben against the wall, and I’m surprised he doesn’t look scared. Just pitiful. Which makes me even more mad.

“I’m sorry, Magica. But this is what happens when you don’t go by normal standards. Pink hair’s definitely a giveaway, and, um…”

I sneer at him. “What?”

“Your, um, your temper doesn’t really help either,” Ben says with a cautious voice.

“Temper? Temper? I can’t help it that I inherited my aunt’s temper, and I can’t help it that nearly every whiny stuck-up here is driving me up the wall!”

Ben tries to talk back. “Not everyone’s that bad, Sparks. Just take a bit to calm down, and then… maybe write-?” He starts to ask hopefully.

I wave my hand. “I know, I know. Write up some family day ideas. Blah blah blah.” Starting to get a handle on my emotions, I give Ben a scared expression. “I’m serious, Ben. When I get like this things never go right, and I don’t want to hurt someone. Just let me cool off and I’ll get you your list.”

“Or, better yet, you can still come with me to help Carlos with tourney training. Might help take your mind off of it.”

Believe me, Ben, seeing Carlos definitely will not get my mind off of it!

“Fine. But don’t expect me to be all smiley sunshine and rainbows,” I say in a dull voice as I let Ben move away from the wall.

Then again… Carlos always seems to cheer me up.

“Alright! Let’s go see what this kid can do,” Ben rubs his hands together and starts walking towards the tourney field. “Standing by for any positivity spells, right?”

“Um, yeah.”

Is that why I’m going, or is it just an excuse to see Carlos?