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A fun little piece of Kelia and Amita showcasing their cultural dance and wear.✨

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Chapter 17 of TSW is finally out!

AO3 Wattpad

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Saw this little trend on TikTok and decided to hop on.✨

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I haven't had the energy to draw for months, but here I am again! with my MC - Enova. <3 just a night sketch on Hogwarts Legacy.:з

несколько месяцев у меня не было сил рисовать, но вот я снова здесь! с моей MC - Еновой.<3 просто ночной скетчик по хогвартс легаси.:з намодничала на ночь глядя.хд

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY DES @espressoristretto-patronum ♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️♥️

I hope you’ve had a wonderful day, I love you (and Tori!!) so much♥️

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I just want to take a moment to appreciate Poppy's little sideways glance 💛

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Prince of Snakes

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this will be the only post i make about this issue. apologies if it sounds aggressive.

if you're part of the LGBT+ side of the fandom, don't give up. i know receiving hate on the internet is hard, i know seeing people criticizing you and calling you names is hard, i know seeing people calling you a bigot and a bad person sucks.

but you cannot give up because of that. our side of the fandom is already unfairly small. posts with a LGBT+ MC struggle to get more then 50 notes. and that's for the more popular blogs. this fandom is full of straight people shipping their MC with Sebastian or Ominis. and not a lot of these people care about the LGBT+ side of the fandom, unfortunately. most people who care about LGBT+ MC are those who have a LGBT+ MC themselves. and we're a minority.

so what? we're gonna let the LGBT+ side of the fandom die because of some morons, of some keyboards activists, who are probably in majority kids or chronically online adults who never go outside and never took the time to grow a brain, of some bastards who already forgot us?

i know what they did suck but. they literally don't matter. they're not worth it. they think they're some kind of heroes with great morals but they're literally just pathetic beings. i assure you that if they saw one of you IRL with a "Hogwarts Legacy Pride Week" t-shirt or something they wouldn't dare to say anything. you're all worth way more than these idiots.

i've seen some people deactivate, some people stop engaging with the fandom, some people who haven't been active for some days or who have been way less active than usual because of that shit. and it saddens me.

genuinely, your LGBT+ MCs and content is literally so amazing and important. you cannot let some lifeless arrogant little shits ruin everything.

that's it for me. going to re write and re post my pinned cause i accidentally deleted it lol

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HOGWARTS LEGACY PRIDE WEEK - DAY 7

Prompt: Introspection

Thinking about her fifth year and processing everything might take some time...

I don't know why my mind chose that this had to be an animated illustration. That's why I couldn't finish it in time. 😅

Thank you, @hogwartslegacyprideweek for hosting this Pride Week and for these great prompts! ✨💛

If you'd like to take a look at the still frames, I put them under the cut. 👇🏻

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Hogwarts Legacy Modern AU - Part 2

first part here ☆

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Thank you everyone! 🏳️‍🌈

As HLPW comes to a close, we just want to thank everyone who showed interest, promoted, interacted and participated! We’re extremely happy with the turnout of queer works for the fandom. Thank you so much!

We’re very surprised, disappointed and hurt by the unnecessary vitriol brought forth, and we understand it may have impacted many of you as well. Thank you to everyone who stood up for the event and pushed back against the hate. And if you decided you needed to step away because of it, you are valid and we support you taking care of your mental health first.

Our inbox is open for anyone that wants to talk, vent, chat, or even make suggestions for another event. We ask that if yours is open to support this incredible community, please reblog and let everyone know. 🏳️‍🌈💕🥹

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"She pulled him towards a wooden bridge and he almost lost his equilibrium as he stepped onto it feeling the planks ripple and flex underfoot as if alive. His heart quickened, but he knew Darling would never lead him into danger, so he willed himself not to look down and focus instead on her. Grounding himself by focussing solely on the adventure of finding out where it was she was leading him. 

They passed through a twisted wood arch, and suddenly he realised where they were. Even under the potions effects there was no mistaking the imposing silhouette of the castle, set starkly against the night sky, the shimmering surface of the black lake laid out below. They were on the Road to Hogsmeade." From Legacy Disowned Book 2

Mods: French Chemise Dress by Sweetlife, Bunny Ears by Kilsworthss, Sebastian's "Play Coy if You Like" outifit is by me.

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Let’s address!!

Let’s get something straight. Right now.

If you don’t like this fandom, why the hell are you here?

Stop harassing people. Do not harass the artists, the writers, or anyone in this community. If you have some problem with Pride Month, with queer ships, with people expressing themselves through their art—then do everyone a favor and leave. No one is forcing you to stay. No one is asking for your hateful commentary.

This community is built on love, creativity, and support. But some of you are so determined to tear people down for what? Validation? Control? Cruel amusement? You’ve already chased someone away with your constant harassment. That’s not “critique.” That’s bullying.

It’s Pride Month. Let people celebrate. Let people love. Let people create.

And if that offends you? Then go somewhere else. I mean it. Go. Somewhere. Else.

Why are you here if all you’re going to do is spread hate? This space isn’t for you. This space is for kindness and passion and joy—not whatever bitterness you’re bringing in just to make yourself feel big.

It’s disgusting. And frankly, I’m done staying quiet. I’m usually peaceful and keep to myself, but enough is enough. Quit harassing the people I follow. Quit targeting people who are just trying to exist. Grow up. Get off your high horse. And get out of this community if you can’t respect it.

We’re not tolerating this anymore. Period.

┈┉✱┈┉✱┈┉✱┈┉✱┈┉✱┈┉✱┈┉✱

Let’s get one thing straight. Again Right now.

If you don’t like this fandom—then go the fuck away.

No one is forcing you to be here. No one invited you. You’re not contributing anything but hate and harassment, and honestly? What the hell is wrong with you?

This is supposed to be a safe, loving, creative community. But some of you? You live for cruelty. You live to make others feel small. And for what? A cheap win? To feel powerful? You get some sick joy from watching someone leave because of your harassment—and that’s disgusting.

You literally drove Celestial out. You harassed them so badly they’re gone. You did that. You should be ashamed. But instead, you stick around, acting like you’re entitled to everything.

Well, newsflash: you’re not.

Nobody asked for your negativity.

Nobody asked for your unwanted opinions.

And nobody asked you to bring your toxic bullshit into this space.

This community is filled with kindness, passion, and heart. We uplift each other. We support one another. And what do you bring? Hate, nastiness, and unprovoked cruelty.

So let me say it clearly:

Fuck you.

If you’re here to hurt others, tear down artists, or mock people for loving something—get out.

Seriously. Get. Out.

We’re done tolerating you.

┈┉✱┈┉✱┈┉✱┈┉✱┈┉✱┈┉✱┈┉✱

It’s Pride Month. Love is love. People can love their queer ships. So again—who the hell sent you here? Are you that bored that you had to harass Celestial off Tumblr?

Whoever did that—you, or the group of you—you’re disgusting. You should be ashamed. That’s all. I’m keeping this short because I’m tired. This fandom is well-loved. People love their MCs, queer or not. And you? You’re just cruel.

Think about what you did. If you can’t, then you don’t have a conscience.

To everyone in the Hogwarts Legacy community—I love you all. Especially the queer creators, the collabs, the support, the joy—I’m proud to be part of that.

If you ever get harassed, block, report, and don’t let them get to you.

And finally…

To the haters?

Go fuck yourselves!

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HL Pride week: Day 7 Future

Im a bit sad I wasnt able to fully do the whole week (rl had me kept busy), but I wanted to start and end it with my first shared mcxmc ship 🥹 It still has the nr 1 spot of my top three roman empires of all ships I have/ am part of.

And this ship really brought me an amazing person into my life and blessed me with ideas for both writing and art. OnyStair is love, OnyStair is life 💛💙

Onyx belongs to @buevitokun

Prompt list by @hogwartslegacyprideweek

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✨Based off an event from a server I’m apart of.✨

Prompt: Midsummer.

~~~~~~~

Did Otis give everyone scream faces? Yes.

Did my game finally crash from adjusting the scream faces? Yes.

But, did I get one decent screenshot in? Also, yes.

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🍃🌼 Tender the Wilderness

Fluffy, pensive Imelda Reyes x Poppy Sweeting [G-rated, 2.8k]

All this time, Imelda thought her as fragile as her namesake, yielding to the tiniest breeze. The reality is she is the whole, the flower, root and stem, compassionate and delicate, yes, but strong, unaware of the power she carries within. She thrives in soil as she does in stone, growing and adapting in the way a garden overcomes any cage. The wilderness is her heart, and with a tender hand, she blooms.

Imelda is asked to teach Poppy to fly, and discovers there's more to her than it seems.

Tags: fluff/ romance/ friendship, sapphic romance, tutor x tutee, flying together, touching, introspection, Imelda grows a heart.

A/N: I've been so busy these last few days but I still wanted to contribute to @hogwartslegacyprideweek, so please pardon the light theme relevance. Poppelda is my favourite HL sapphic ship, so I wrote them something short and fluffy, can be interpreted as romantic or friendship but I like to think they be kissing after this heheh. Please enjoy, and have a happy and safe pride month <3 🏳️‍🌈

Imelda Reyes has always been a leader. Never a teacher.

Kogawa’s whistle draws her attention from her airborne perch, commanding the Slytherin Quidditch team drills on a humid September evening. Sweat collects in the small of her back, staining her uniform dark. Hastily she scrubs an arm across her forehead.

“Take five!” she barks to the team, and begins her descent.

Kogawa’s face gives nothing away. Imelda has always been a favourite of the stoic teacher, but that doesn’t mean she understands her moods. She plants her boots onto the ground and rights her broom.

“Something wrong, Professor?”

“I’d like you to do something for me.” Kogawa’s face still gives nothing away. “I have a student in Hufflepuff, your year. Do you know Poppy Sweeting?”

Peculiar Poppy. They’ve never spoken, although she often overhears some of her Slytherin and Gryffindor classmates making fun of her for one reason or another. Her affinity for animals, specifically magical creatures, is known throughout the school.

“Not well.”

“That’s all right.” Kogawa gives a firm nod. “I want you to help her learn to fly.”

Imelda makes a face. What an odd request. It’s not like they haven’t already had years of compulsory Flying classes, and if she hasn’t got the hang of it now, there’s really no helping her. Imelda is good, but not a miracle-maker.

“Respectfully, ma’am… isn’t that your job?”

Kogawa’s stony façade cracks with a smile. “It is,” she says, “and I have been helping her, but half the issue is not that she can’t fly. She can, and very well, might I add. It is that she lacks confidence.”

“And that’s my problem because…?”

“Have some heart, Miss Reyes. What comes to you naturally takes great pains for Miss Sweeting. A young woman her age giving her a confidence boost may be the push she needs.”

Imelda agrees, not because she wants to, but because it seems like she has no choice. Not only does Kogawa instruct all Flying lessons, but she also manages every aspect of the Quidditch season. Tournament matches are her primary purview, including sending invitations to the national team scouts to watch for certain players. It won’t hurt to do this one favour if it secures her an audience with, say, the Montrose Magpies. What’s a few afternoons teaching a peculiar girl to fly?

She meets Poppy at the entrance to the pitch that next day. Poppy is early, stooped under the arch with her arms wrapped around herself to stave a nipping chill. It’s cool today, pinking the end of her nose. She’s not wearing an outfit appropriate for flying, just her uniform, her robes, blazer and waistcoat, with a plaid yellow skirt that cuts to her ankle.

“Where’s your broom?”

Poppy flings her head up as Imelda makes her way up the hill. “Er—”

“How’d’you expect to fly without a broom? You’re not borrowing mine.”

She doesn’t answer, but her cheeks rosy nonetheless. Imelda stops a foot away, rolling her lips in scrutiny. With that baby face, Poppy looks like she’ll topple if a broom so much as dusts her pinkie.

“I’ll get one,” she mumbles; head bowed, she hurries back across the lawn to the broom cupboard.

Imelda takes stock of the conditions. Cloudy, unsurprisingly, but not foggy, so the air is relatively clear. Rainfall early this morning has made the ground mulchy, and Imelda’s boots sink. At least landing won’t be painful. Much. By the time Poppy returns, with one of the school brooms, shorn from years of wear and tear, Imelda has circled the pitch airborne twice.

She sits on her broom, watching Poppy clutch the shaft and look anywhere but her.

“You’ve done enough Flying classes to know how to mount the broom, Sweeting.”

The militaristic use of her surname comes out naturally, like she’s talking to one of her teammates. Poppy’s brow scrunches, at its use, or at the task, Imelda doesn’t know, but she awkwardly slips the broom between her legs, made ten times more difficult with the long skirt.

“So what about this is hard?” she asks; after a moment, Poppy glances at her. “What’re you afraid of?”

“This is fine,” she says at last. “Just anything higher…”

“Just anything higher, what?”

She makes a face. “I think the broom will wobble or go too fast, and I’ll fall…”

Imelda tuts and nudges her broom closer. “That’s the issue. You control it, not the other way around. Do you want to fall?”

“No…”

“Then you won’t.”

“It’s not that simple,” Poppy says; the pushback surprises Imelda.

“T’is.” She slips off her broom and comes to correct Poppy’s stance, one hand on her stomach. “Sit back. Bum on broom. Aye, that’s it. Eyes up. Eyes up, Sweeting.”

Poppy looks up. They’re close. Her lips are plump and glossy, and Imelda can see her face reflected in her eyes.

“You’re flying up, not down. Stop looking at your hands.”

Poppy maintains eye contact for another second before looking away – but, crucially, not down. “Okay.”

“We’ll try some laps around the pitch first.”

Poppy accustoms to it quickly. She’s small but swift, able to change directions on whim. Imelda guides her first, flying backwards to lead from in front, before pivoting around to keep pace at her side. Poppy says not a word throughout, unnerving Imelda; the pitch is always loud and full of cheer, not quiet, nor thoughtful, nor… tender.

“Not bad,” Imelda says, once they stop near the entrance. “How high will you go, doing that?”

They get, at most, a handful of yards off the ground. At the height barely tall enough to scale a small tree, Poppy starts to look more at her hands, clutching the broom in a white-knuckled grip, than Imelda coaxing her forwards.

“Stop looking at your hands!” she scolds.

When Poppy flings her head up, she loses balance and teeters left. Her grip falters. A second later she hits the ground, feet first, the impact bringing her to her knees and the mud. Cursing, Imelda flies down and dismounts.

“Didn’t hurt yourself, did you?”

Poppy gets up, wincing. Mud cakes her skirt and hands, clumps in the windswept strands of her bobbed cut of hair. It’s a contrast. Peculiar Poppy, once unassuming, now stained with the wilderness, its vessel.

“I’m fine.”

“You looked down.”

“I know…”

“Are you afraid of heights?”

Poppy tilts her head. Her hair falls in an even sweep, like a waterfall. “No…”

“Flying?”

“No…”

“So what’s the issue?”

“I don’t know.”

She knows. Imelda knows she does. She may not be a teacher, not with the gentleness of someone like Garlick, or even with the patience of Kogawa, but as a leader, she has always sensed when her teammates aren’t playing their best. She knows, like a scent on the wind, when something is amiss. But for Poppy, she can’t demand the truth. She doesn’t know her well enough. Not yet, at least.

So she doesn’t push, instead deciding to approach her learning differently as she does the team. Requests, not demands. A hand on the back, not a push down the slope.

“Then this will be your lesson,” she says, and she takes Poppy’s chin, tilting her to face her. Poppy’s eyes blow wide. “You look at me every time you’re on a broom. Got it?”

“Yes,” she croaks. Her cheeks pink to match her nose.

Imelda smirks, satisfied she made such a reaction. “I’ll make a flyer of you yet.”

“Why do you want to learn to fly?”

It seems silly to ask, after a five weeks of these sessions together, standing outside the broom cupboard as night descends, a frigid claw down Imelda’s back. Outside of instructions, they don’t talk much; Poppy is insular, but her face is easy to read, and sometimes it’s easier to let her process things in her own time. But the harder truth to admit is Imelda simply didn’t care. Poppy was no one to her, not teammate nor dormmate nor friend, and teaching her to fly was done out of obligation, not concern.

She isn’t sure when that flipped on its head. After it became clear Poppy was doing this not because Kogawa asked, but also because she wanted it, the odd curiosity evolved to a question of great interest. No one tries to conquer their fears just so. Is it for something? Someone? Imelda conjures theories even as Poppy’s lips flatten to a soft line.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t interested.”

Poppy hesitates. It goes for a beat long enough to feel like she has inadvertently stepped across some invisible line. Then, without saying a word, Poppy takes Imelda’s hand, intertwining their fingers.

“Come with me.”

Despite the clear insistence with which she tugs Imelda along, Imelda’s face burns at the contact. Not so long ago, these hands were strangling the broom shaft, a bid of low confidence in her abilities. Now they hold her with resolve, a poise that leads yet remains tender still. Poppy guides her further up the hill and into the wood, where the cover of the trees casts moon-limned shadows over her face.

She lets Imelda go and turns to her, rising up.

“Promise you won’t scream.”

Imelda snorts. “You just took me to a perfect spot for a murder, Sweeting, I’m not agreeing to that.”

Poppy smiles. “It’s a nice surprise, really.” She cups her lips and whistles three flat tones, calling for something.

“Oh, aye,” Imelda says, scanning the undergrowth, “you have a little army of Bowtruckles hiding around here somewhere or—?”

The canopy bursts open as a winged creature swoops down over Imelda’s head. Imelda shrieks, falling on her backside as it circles around, cawing in hello. Hippogriff. It’s a damn hippogriff.

“Gads,” Imelda barks, scrambling to her feet. “Sweeting, watch out—”

It lands at a light jog at Poppy’s side. She doesn’t bow – just runs up to give it a hug, and the hippogriff snuffles its cream-white feathers into her neck. None of that prideful attitude anywhere to be seen. Poppy’s hands run laps through her down.

“This is Highwing,” she says, like she’s describing a cat and not an enormous beast. “My hippogriff friend.”

“Gathered.” Imelda stays rooted to the spot. It’s been a while since her last Beasts lesson but she knows the rules about getting too close. “What’s it doing here?”

“She,” Poppy corrects. “She’s free, but… she likes me, I suppose.”

Highwing lets out an approving noise, which makes Poppy’s smile grow. Beasts are to Poppy what the Slytherin players are to Imelda: a team, forged through something that transcends friendship. The trees rustle. It’s another side to her, another facet that proves the wilderness grows not in the roaring thunder, but amidst the tender silence.

“So… why are you showing her to me?”

Poppy’s radiance dims. “For as long as I’ve known her, Highwing has wanted me to fly on her back…”

Oh. But fear of flying. The lack of confidence….

“It seals a bond, and if I continue to reject her, I will offend her,” she continues. Highwing paws the ground, head canting. “But I worry… I will ruin it somehow.”

So it’s more than to overcome a personal obstacle. Imelda should’ve known Poppy wouldn’t have cared so much if it wasn’t important to someone, something, else. Her compassion glows gold.

“You should have more faith in yourself, Sweeting,” Imelda says, as soft as she is capable. “Like I do.”

The hippogriff stands tall and proud, in a way Imelda likes to interpret as agreement. Poppy rakes her hands through her down, looking away but failing to hide the blush that sweeps across her face.

“You’re right, of course,” she murmurs. “Would you like to pet her?”

“And have her nip off my fingers?” Imelda scoffs. “I think not.”

“Where’s your faith in me now?” She makes a teasing face. “She won’t bite, will you, Highwing? Imelda’s fingers don’t look very tasty.”

It trills a high note that makes her shine, like the first glimpse of a barley moon behind a thick turf of cloud. Something shifts in Imelda’s stomach, but she refuses to acknowledge it as anything other than nerves. Steeling herself, she bows to the hippogriff, and after a few moments, Highwing bows back.

“See? She likes you.” Poppy takes Imelda’s hand again, sharing her affection as easily as the wild daisy grows. “You must pet her! She loves being stroked.”

She leads Imelda’s hand into the feathers. Highwing purrs softly, and when Imelda experimentally digs her hand in for a proper scratch, the creature leans into it.

“You’re a natural.”

Imelda frowns. “I’m not really an animal person,” she confesses. “Most don’t really like me. I’m too… intense.”

Too much a leader. No compassion, no joy. Focused on the goal rather than the journey.

Poppy’s hand rests over hers. Imelda’s eyes dart to her; as the girl’s smile curves upwards with an adorable bashfulness, she speaks without breaking eye contact.

“I like your intensity.” Neither treatise nor confession, it is simply Poppy’s truth. “It gives me courage.”

Warmth blossoms in Imelda’s belly.

“All right then,” she says, enjoying the feel of it, “as long as you have faith in me.”

One month becomes two, two months become three. Winter comes, not at a marching pace, but a slow crawl, one crystal at a time, each a delicate teardrop on every leaf and tree, the wood its bedazzled canvas. Imelda isn’t sure when she stopped dreading the sessions and started looking forward to them, sometimes more than her Quidditch training, a truth she wouldn’t admit with a knife to her throat. She squeezes every moment of her time with Poppy, knowing, once Poppy overcomes her fears and takes to Highwing’s back, their time together will come to an end, and Imelda will return once more to her previous ventures.

Back to being the leader, and never the teacher.

“Ready to go, Sweeting?” she asks, as the sun dips on fresh snow.

In a woollen jumper and tight-fitting breeches, Poppy climbs onto her broom and pushes off, shooting ten feet into the air in a matter of seconds. “Keep up!” she sings back, on the tide of the wind.

They coast the grounds to start. Poppy’s laughter is her ensign of battle, a pulse that carries the mark of her advent. Imelda leans forwards, keeping pace. Confidence looks good on her companion. She wears it not with conceit, but with a blitheness that lets her to enjoy all life has to offer. The air is her stage, the sunset her oyster. When she falls, she gets back up, eager to learn, and as self-worth is no longer a trouble, she never looks down anymore. Her focus is only on the skies. Only on Imelda.

They bank right and ascend over the wood, and when they come to land by Highwing’s resting spot, the creature lifts her head, sensing a shift in mood. With her head high and eyes sharp, both Poppy and Imelda bow, a show of reverence for the moment. Highwing dips in return, and Poppy glides her fingers across her beautiful wings.

“This is it.”

“Aye.” Imelda gives her a rare, genuine smile. “Go on. You worked hard for it.”

With a shallow breath, Poppy climbs onto Highwing’s back. The wings extend, and she caws her battle cry, stamping the snow, the drumbeat of the bond. The image is brilliant, and mighty, and Imelda will never forget it. Never forget how she helped Poppy to get here, embrace the strength of her gentle soul.

All this time, Imelda thought her as fragile as her namesake, yielding to the tiniest breeze. The reality is she is the whole, the flower, root and stem, compassionate and delicate, yes, but strong, unaware of the power she carries within. She thrives in soil as she does in stone, growing and adapting in the way a garden overcomes any cage. The wilderness is her heart, and with a tender hand, she blooms.

“What are you waiting for?” Imelda says, as Poppy watches her beneath a furrowed brow. “You said the flight seals your bond. Don’t waste time, fly!”

But Poppy reaches out her hand.

“Come with us.”

“What?”

“You must,” she says, with a smile that thaws the cold. “How can I keep my eyes on you if you’re not with me?”

A flame ignites in Imelda’s chest, the place she thought she’d lost her heart long ago. With a welcome trill from Highwing, she takes Poppy’s hand and climbs onto the creature’s back, unsure of what to expect. Flying is in her blood, but even though she feels untethered without a broom, she trusts Poppy with her life. Her hands, once still, tremble as they slip around Poppy’s waist, and Poppy strokes her briefly, a calming gesture before she grasps Highwing’s fur.

“Let’s go!”

Highwing runs, beating her wings. Imelda relinquishes control of the beast, pressing snugly to Poppy’s back as they gain lift, peeling from the canopy into the star-speckled sky. Poppy’s hair tickles Imelda’s face. It smells like rain and pine and the breath of the earth.

Imelda holds tightly. “Not bad, Sweeting,” she mumbles, resting her head on her shoulder. “Not bad at all.”

Poppy leans into the touch, smiling.

“I had a good teacher.”

Thanks so much for reading! Like, reblog or comment if you enjoyed, or check out my other work here. <3

Divider credit

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Hogwarts Legacy Pride Week! Day Seven

Prompt: The Future

Summary: "I like shiny things, but I'll marry you with paper rings."

Word Count: 704 words

A/N: First of all, I want to express a very heartfelt thank you to @hogwartslegacyprideweek for hosting such a beautiful event! This was my first official Tumblr event that I've participated in, and I've loved seeing the community come together to make something so inclusive and welcoming for everyone. Can't wait to see what we have next year!

All my short drabbles will be posted on AO3 and Wattpad sometime this week!

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“What will happen to us?”

Anne looked down at the gorgeous girl laying comfortably in her arms. The pair had decided to spend their first free Saturday in the Highlands with a packed picnic and laying lazily under a tree. They were so far away from the castle that Anne felt truly at peace. 

That was until Aurelia voiced her concern. “What do you mean?” Anne asked her. 

Aurelia shrugged. “We’re graduating in a few weeks. I’ll be training with the Harpies and you’ll be in London at St. Mungo’s.”

“I thought we had discussed this,” Anne said. “You said you were okay with doing the long distance for a while, and I’ll travel to Ireland every weekend to see you–”

“But what happens if it’s too much?” Aurelia looked up at Anne with her bright blue eyes showing their unwavering concern. “I’m worried that we’ll get too busy for each other and….”

Anne gently nudged her to keep going. 

“What if you decide you don’t want me anymore?”

At this, Anne couldn’t help but laugh as she removed Aurelia from her arms so she could move to lay down on the blanket next to her. “What makes you think that I would decide such a silly thing like that?”

Aurelia shrugged. “I just hope that you don’t grow tired of me. I don’t want to lose you.”

Anne thought this through for a moment. She honestly had never thought of ever growing tired of Aurelia. Losing her, sure, but only because she had lost so many in her life already. But growing bored of her? “Have I given you a reason to think these things of me?” Anne asked, nearly afraid of the answer. 

“No, of course not,” Aurelia said instantly. “I think it’s just my anxieties talking. I think I’m just afraid of going forward in our futures alone.”

Anne pulled her closer to her. This she understood completely. “A few years ago, I also thought that I would have to face the future alone,” she said. “When I thought I would lose Sebastian… but ever since you came into my life, I’m no longer worried or afraid.”

Aurelia sighed. “I wish we could stay like this forever.”

An idea hit Anne then. “Why can’t we?”

“Hmm?”

“Stay together forever?”

Anne watched as the idea landed in Aurelia’s mind. Her face went from worried to hopeful in a matter of seconds, and then she was looking back up at Anne. “What do you mean?”

“Wait here.” Anne sat up and drew her wand from her bag. She then grabbed a dandelion from the grass next to her and with a simple flick of her wand, she transfigured the flower into a piece of parchment. “Sabrina taught me this.”

Aurelia sat up and began to watch her girlfriends’ fingers as she first tore the parchment in half. She then began to fold the parchment carefully, smaller and smaller until the small paper was a few centimeters wide. Then, Anne folded the parchment and tucked the two ends together to form a ring. She quickly did the same thing with the other half of the parchment. 

“Stand up,” Anne instructed as she did just that. Aurelia was on her feet a few seconds later, and when her red hair got caught in the gentle breeze and the sunlight hit her gorgeous skin and eyes, Anne thought she never looked prettier. “You’re beautiful.”

Aurelia blushed. 

Anne held up one of the paper rings before she then knelt on one knee. Her heart was racing with excitement and anticipation, but Anne knew without a doubt that she absolutely could not wait a minute longer. This felt right and perfect. “Aurelia Melodia Keene de la Luz Martinez, will you marry me?”

The use of her full name made Aurelia cry and laugh, but she nodded. “Only if you, Annabeth Alice Sallow, will marry me in return.”

The rings were exchanged, slipping perfectly onto each girls’ left ring fingers, and only then did Anne stand up to embrace Aurelia happily. They stood like that for a moment before pulling away to wrap their arms around each others’ waist to delve into a deep passionate kiss.

It was perfect. 

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A/N: Comments are love! Thankyou for reading!