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miktoast · 2 months

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Requiem Bit?

alrighty, so if you havent read my pinned post, you dont really need to. This is a bit titled "His Interlude" which basically just explains some lore. but first, I guess I should give you a synopsis of the first chapter just so you can understand a little bit of whats going on in the interlude.

Harry walks into the Forbidden Forest to meet Voldemort and sacrifice herself in an effort to destroy the horcrux that inhabits her. The Deathly Hallows are very reactive to her, and portray a level of sentience. She speaks with her parents and gains some measure of closure and her acceptance of her fate becomes more solidified. She meets Voldemort with peace in her heart, the Deathly Hallows refusing to leave her and her parents promising that they would be there, too. The Avada Kedavra to her heart feels like coming home.

She opens her eyes after what feels like a refreshing sleep, only to find herself standing on a bridge over a stream. She turns her head to find a man with liquid gold for eyes, hair darker than pitch. Harry can’t place his age, but he seems to be around her own age. She feels calm, and content, and relishes in his presence even as confusion scrambles her thoughts. He explains that she isn’t dead, that she isn’t the Master of Death, even, but Death itself, and that he is Life and that they were two halves of a coin. She had become so heartbroken about Voldemort’s use of so many horcruxes that he felt the only solution was to cast her down without any memories so that hopefully she’d be able to harden her heart in the future, except he hadn’t known about the war or prophecy.

He tells her that her “job” is performed mostly passively due to an entity that Harry will come to name Wisp, so that if she wished, she could move on and ascend, or go back and continue her mortal life. When she hesitates, he provides another option, “I could send you back to a time most opportune?” And when she continues to hesitate, he adds, “And I can give you those most loyal?” He loves her as a part of himself, and he knows how much her human life mattered to her, but also how much this new duty would cause her conflict because which duty was more important? She eventually accepts after spending a while worrying about dragging people back with her unwillingly, until the man tells her that those most loyal would probably try to physically fight her if she went back alone. She closes her eyes, and when she opens them, she is standing in the door of a train compartment, several inches shorter, with a new trunk almost as tall as her, lacking any of the wear and tear of the last several years, and an equally as new golden bird cage. She is eleven years old again.

His Interlude

(2691 words)

One day, after a very long time, the Universe became lonely. She had spent her life making millions upon billions of beautiful things, filling her space with planets and stars, but there was no one there to admire them. She was getting old, and she wanted desperately for something to love what she had made. With this thought in mind, she allowed herself to sleep, drawing away from every other thing in her existence so that she may gather energy to make something extraordinary.

As she slept, she dreamed of what would one day call itself a man and make others in his image. With a breath, she gathered up stardust, and with an exhale came her first child. Then, she continued to dream.

The man found himself lying in a patch of vibrant grass, surrounded by dozens and dozens of wildflowers in every colour, and he thought to himself, “This is beautiful. This is something worth loving.” And so he spent ages wandering this planet which he would name “Earth,” learning of his mother through the things she had created, and he loved her.

But she continued to sleep, and like his mother before him, he grew lonely and old. So he began filling the world with his own creations. The first thing he created was the dragons, crafting them after his own nature, gifting them wings so that they may join him in surveying his mother’s world, and fire breath so that they may police it. Next he created snakes, who would work directly below the dragons and speak the same noble tongue. They crawled upon the ground with fangs to snap at the heels of those doing wrong. Next he filled the world with all other animals. The final thing he created were men, which were to rule over all other creatures.

For a time after their creation, he continued to walk among his mother’s world, interacting with all that she had created and all that he had added as well, but still he felt alone. The world around him was stagnant, with all of the creatures he made never ageing or changing. All of the things he made treated him as a god, bowing to him as he walked past, never speaking without being spoken to, never stepping out of line, and they were all content with this.

‘Why,’ he thought to himself, ‘I have dragons to warm me, snakes to adorn me, and men for me to talk to. Why do I still feel alone?’

He pulled away from his mother’s world, hiding in the space between the sky and the stars so that he may think. For a very long time, he hid, thinking only of himself, his mother, and his loneliness, and the world beneath him continued unchanging. Until, finally, he realised, he had made multiple of each of his creations so that they may have something to sympathise with, because his mother had filled the world with hundreds of the same plants and he thought that was the standard. But he was the only “him,” even if he had fashioned men and dragons after himself.

With this thought in mind, he fled from his hiding place to call out to his mother, but she remained asleep. He pleaded to her still form, asking for another of his kind, and listened for any response. All he heard was her slow breathing as the universe expanded and contracted, and the thud of her heart. And then, images of someone began appearing in his head as his mother began to dream. Whatever they were, they looked remarkably similar to him, with a torso, two legs, two arms, ten fingers and toes. They had dark hair, darker than ebony, darker than his mother’s void, the same darkness as his own hair, and the same sort of power for creation that exuded from their body in tendrils of gold.

They were beautiful, and he wanted them desperately, but he could tell that if he had her, his mother would perhaps never wake again.

In a fit of heartbreak, still tuning in to the visions of black and gold, he fashioned what he named women in their image, crafting one perfect counterpart for each man he made, and commanded that each man and woman shall become perfect partners and serve each other for the rest of their days. Then, he did the same for each dragon, and each snake, and each other creature he had made.

Finally, he looked at the dragons after his nature, and immersed himself into visions of them, of “Her” he decided, so that he may capture her essence into a creature that would forever reside by Her side. It is in this way that he made what he would call the phoenix, with beautiful plumage of fire and gold, and the ability to return from any injury or slight with no signs to show for it other than a strength that would continue to grow with each burn, and pearlescent tears that could heal all ailments.

Once more, he fled to the space between the stars and the sky in an effort to hide from his hurt, but the introduction of women ensured that things would not remain unchanged. Populations began to grow and advance, and the world became crowded. Plants began to grow sparse as creatures ate them or treaded on them, space for living decreased as more and more children were born and settlements had to expand, fighting became a plague as resources became few, and the creatures of Earth began to cry out in anger and despair for the god that had left them.

It was this that finally woke the Mother, and her heart ached at what had become of her world. She listened to the prayers of her son’s creations, and to the thoughts that her son tried to reconcile, the want for another of his kind versus the love of his mother, and she decided to fix every issue at once.

She gathered her energy, cradling it to her heart, imbuing it with her love, and time seemed to freeze as every other being listened to the slowing thud, thud, thud.

He, who had continued to agonise in his hiding place, immediately understood and left to seek his mother at once. He got there just in time to hear the final thud of her heart, and from that beat came Her, cradled close to their mother’s bosom even as she dissolved into stardust. And he knew Her purpose. She was to gather up the stardust of those who had lived their time and return it to him so that it could be used to create other things, and their energy, which She would later name souls, would settle in Her embrace and be joined into Her so that they may be connected to all other things in the way that their mother used to be until they were ready to be reborn.

But She was young, their mother did not have enough energy to create Her fully matured the way she had done for him with all of the children being born, so he took Her into his arms and carried Her down to Earth, and he told the creatures that this was his counterpart in the way that women were counterparts to men, and he named her Death and he named himself Life. Then, he commanded that all creatures would have a lifespan and would age, and that at the end of their lifespan they would die.

The creatures of Earth were ecstatic that their god now had his own perfect half, but they didn’t understand.

“What does it mean to die?” They asked, and he told them, “To die means to go home. All of you are made of the stardust of the universe, with the energy of the universe. My mother, the Universe, has been split into two, Life and Death. When you die, your stardust returns to me so that I could make something new, like children, and your energy, the culmination of your being, will be cared for by Death until you are ready to live again.”

And the people were awed. “Our goddess will care for us!?” they cried out with joy. And suddenly, dying became the highest honour.

“The Mother Universe is gone, and Death and I are to take her place,” said Life. “Death is to be the greatest gift our Mother Universe will ever give us, and She is to be known as Mother Death and I am to be known as Father Life. In the end, you are all of our children, and we will both care for you.”

And so Life began separating creatures based on their eldest individual, the first of each kind which he had instructed to guide those that came after. He asked each leader how long they wanted their lifespans to be, but they were conflicted.

“I want to return to Mother Death,” said the dragon, “but I do not want to forsake my Father Life’s gift.”

“You don’t need to worry about keeping Death waiting,” said Life, “She will not be well for some time yet, and she will need to gather plenty of energy before she could care for you to the best of her abilities.”

The dragon hummed in consideration, his whole great body rumbling with it, “I would not want to burden her. Would six-hundred summers be too early? Should I ask for more?”

Life considered this. “Six-hundred is very few,” he replied agreeably, slightly shocked and more than a little pleased that the creature had spoken out of turn, and asked something of him, no less! It seemed that the arrival of his counterpart and subsequent declaration of their roles and titles had opened up his creations to a level of familiarity that they had dared not touch before. He felt his affection for Death rise in turn.

The dragon nodded his great head, “Better double it, then? Twelve-hundred summers seems respectable?”

“Indeed,” said Life. “Then I command it that the noble race of dragons shall live no longer than twelve-hundred summers from this point forth.”

And then he moved on to the snake, who had overheard the dragon. “I think I would like to live for one-thousand summers.”

“Only one-thousand?” asked Life. “The dragons will live for twelve-hundred, you know.”

“Aye,” said the snake, “but we are not so noble, and we crave the comfort of our Lady Mother. We spend our life crawling upon our bellies and the other creatures have called us pathetic and vermin during the dark times. We do not wish to burden the Mother, but we are eager to meet her.”

“I apologise,” said Life with sombre eyes, “But you are not pathetic or vermin, and you crawl upon your bellies so that you may ambush your prey and scold those that do wrong. There is nothing wrong with the way that I have made you, and I bid them to remember your duties.” He patted the head of the leader of the snakes and named him Basilisk. “I command it that the noble race of snakes shall live no longer than one-thousand summers, and that the sight of them may forever instil fear into the hearts of those right to fear them.”

And then he moved onto men and women. “We would like to live for two-hundred summers,” they said together, and the snakes and dragons were aghast.

“Only two-hundred?” Life said, similarly confused.

“We cannot bear to be apart from our Mother for so long, and I imagine that she would be happy to see her children often. You said she needs energy, yes? Then let us be her energy.”

Life felt his heart soften for the children that look so much like himself and Her, and so he allowed it. “Alright. Then I command that men and women shall live no longer than two-hundred summers.”

And then Life continued with all other creatures, their lifespans decreasing more and more as he went along, until he came to the phoenixes.

“I wish to never leave our Lady Mother,” he said. “I wish to die every sun cycle.”

And all other creatures burst into an uproar. “That’s not fair!” they cried out. “What about our Father Life!?” and “We want to never leave our Mother Death!” and “What about the burden you’ll put on Her!?” But Life hushed them.

“I understand your longing,” he said to the phoenix, “After all, you were made to be by her side. But I cannot allow you to die every sun cycle.” The phoenix drooped and began crying in despair. “However,” said Life, causing the phoenix to perk up, “I can make you immortal so that you can burn whenever you wish to see her without causing her any strain. Everytime you burn, your energy will travel to visit her until your stardust regathers itself and you emerge from the ashes. In this way, you may see her every sun cycle, or not for a thousand years.”

The phoenix began to sing with joy, his lovely trills and coos filling the space around them and calming all those it reached, and Life could not stop the affection from blooming. “You are the essence of my Death, and you will be her sworn companion,” he proclaimed, and then he christened the leader of the phoenixes Fawkes. “I command that Phoenixes shall have no natural lifespan, and that they may burn and be reborn at their own leisure.”

With that, all creatures had been given their lifespans, and the world returned to balance. For many years, dying was as honourable as living, but as humans advanced and ruled the world, and the original creatures passed on, they began to forget the care of their Lady Mother, who found Herself maturing to prayers of fear and hatred.

She began to grow depressed, so Life created a new race of humans which he named Wix, a race which was supposed to spread the knowledge of Life and Death’s kindness and care for all that they had made together. One family in particular became Her line of prophets, the Perevells, after She had grown fond of three brothers. They had spent their lives playing games with Her, toeing the line between Herself and Her counterpart, even creating a branch of “magic” after the concept of phoenixes which they called necromancy.

As time went on, however, even Wix began to forget Her true nature, and so She began to get worse. Creatures of Earth began ageing quicker with Life’s anger, and Death’s depression meant that She delayed in reaping souls, so they spent longer in their unfit bodies than should be right, which secretly delighted Life as he had grown wrathful in his children’s rejection of their Mother.

There came a point in time that some Wix became so afraid of dying that they utilised every tool in their arsenal to create something truly vile, something they named “horcruxes.” It wasn’t until a Wix was born by the name of Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr. that Death truly broke, however, a boy who hated and feared Her so greatly that he would split his soul, seven times.

Life couldn’t stand to see Her so torn asunder, and so he devised a plan. He would cast her down to Earth to be reborn as a Wix, and hopefully her time as a human would overwrite any memories that she had had as a goddess when she ascended. Additionally, he hoped that, maybe, if she experienced the cruelty of their children herself, she would not be so quick to care for them the next time they begin to hurt her.

But he was not aware that the Wix were in war, as he had stopped caring for their children when they stopped caring for their Mother (and subsequently stopped watching over them), and he was not aware that a prophecy had been made about the very child he would cast Her down as. By the time he had learned, it was already too late.

#requiem #mod harry potter #fem harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter

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miktoast · 4 months

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nother photo of toothless cause its been a while

#toothless the cat #i love him #he's so clingy lol #black cat #cat

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miktoast · 4 months

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anya, my new hyper fixation

#anya forger #spy x family #still a WIP but #also she's lik c!age 17 in this ig?#do yall subscribe to the theory that shes a year or two younger?#bc i do lol

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miktoast · 4 months

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so i was just re-reading my reference sheet for Miraculous Ladybug AU's when i found this bit that i'm absolutely in love with. for some context, i was explaining the various nicknames characters have for each other and how they came about. also, please note that this is an AU where Stoneheart took place on the first day of their second year of lycee. Also note, in this AU, Ladybug goes by Coccinette.

Adrien's Nicknames for Marinette and Ladybug:

—Ma Cherinette (as in "my dear [cherie] Marinette" after Nino's short film, where Adrien makes an inside joke of pretending to act like their old roles but with their own names) [Adrien to Marinette]

"Agent Dupain-Cheng! Ah, how I've missed you, ma Cherinette!" Adrien swooned, draping one arm around Marinette's shoulders while the other clutched at his chest. He could feel her tense momentarily and hunch into herself before drawing on the confidence that made her a worthy Madame President when M. D'Argencourt got akumatized, and worthy Buginette when Coccinette was out of town and Marinette had to face Evillustrator herself.

Her spine straightened as she rose to her full height under the weight of Adrien leaning against her, and as every time before that they had done this little bit of improv, his admiration for his friend resurged with vigor.

"Oh, Officer Agreste, mon cœur, I have burned every second we've been apart. The next mission, won't you ask me to stay?" She turned to him, causing his arm to slip from her shoulders until his hand caught on her hip. She grab his hand from his chest and held it delicately between her own before turning her face upward so he could meet her eyes.

Her eyes… They were shining so blue, so filled with love and heartache, that Adrien himself began to feel an ache in his chest, as if he had just learned to breathe and had only ever been suffocating before.

"You know I'd follow you anywhere, if only you'd ask. Even if you wish to wander only in this little town." She closed her eyes, and the spell should have been broken, but still he found himself captivated as she pressed her cheek against his knuckles, as if they were his lips giving her tender kisses. Her words burned him deeply, echoing with his own sentiments towards a girl, and surely it must be the girl in front of him that he is so attached to, for surely no other could set his chest ablaze with as much ferocity as she.

He exhaled softly, and thought that he must be blowing smoke into her hair as the blaze burned higher. "Cherie… you are a brilliant phoenix, and I would never think to cage you at my side. You set my heart on fire, and the embers burn even when we are apart. Let us feed the flames now, so that when you must fly, I will still feel your warmth."

His hand, which had been gripping bruises into her hip, rose to the back of her head. He pulled her forward until her forehead came to rest on his collarbone, and he buried his nose in her hair, thoughts only on how his knuckles pressed into the supple flesh of her cheek, how his fingers dug into the base of her hairline, how his lips brushed her scalp, and how certainly she would remember him, if only by the watercolor marks on her hip.

It was only after several minutes that he seemed to remember that he wasn't some detective who finally returned to his distant lover when he heard giggling and the shutter-click of a smartphone camera. It was several extended seconds more when he finally brought himself to raise his head, dreading to break the scene and have Marinette leave his arms. Alya met his eyes over black hair, a sly grin on her face while she waved her phone screen from only a meter away.

He couldn't stop the glare as he reluctantly pulled away.

“Oh, drop the look, ‘mon coeur,’ you know Nino would never forgive either of us if someone didn’t get this on camera for him to use later,” Alya snorted, stepping towards the pair.

Adrien simply huffed in reply, finally letting his arms drop. His skin immediately began to feel too hot without Marinette’s soothing coolness to sap the extra heat. He noticed, with no small amount of smug, that Marinette shivered, and goosebumps raised on the back of her arms once his heat no longer blanketed her. Even better, it took her several more moments to pull his hand from her cheek, and even more after that to actually drop his hand. Once her grip relaxed, he allowed himself to squeeze her fingers before finally letting go.

All the while, Alya continued to watch, thankfully not recording this time. These soft moments with Marinette, where he allowed himself to dip into his bursting stores of love and get a little out of his system, he wanted to keep only for himself and Marinette. He wanted to keep Marinette’s soft moments only for himself. He wanted no one else to get to see how Marinette acts when indulging in affection, however unrealistic that possessive want may be; after all, Marinette was full of affection and gave it freely.

But this affection?

These embraces, these kisses of the knuckles against her cheek like a cat, this “burning” devotion (however pretend), this affection which Marinette only seemed to give to him? He wanted it all. He didn’t want to see Marinette get a partner and give these affections to them. He didn’t want others to leech off of these affections with their seeing and their hearing when they indulged in these morning rituals. He wanted it to be only Marinette’s and his, he wanted them to be done for him alone, for the rest of time.

#miraculous ladybug #adrienette #fake dating #? i guess #denial #lmao adrien is still blind #it was just lovesick musings bc how could he possibly love Two people so deeply #adrien agreste #pov adrien #marinette dupain cheng #bief cameo of #alya cesaire #mentions of #nino lahiffe #apologies for typos #its 5am and im editing/rewriting as i read #also im on a galaxy tablet with a stylus actualy handwriting at a 90 degree angle in bed #T-T

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miktoast · 4 months

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anya, my new hyper fixation

#anya forger #spy x family

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miktoast · 7 months

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this is an old, unfinished drawing of Harry when she learns she's a witch, am gonna redraw it soon

Requiem

this is a bit (only 2,810 words) from the first chapter of a fem!harry potter, time travel fix-it au which i named "Requiem". please ignore any typos, it is very early in the morning. notes on aspects of my writing will be included at the end to clarify some things that might not be immediately apparent. sorry for any formatting issues, literally just copied this from word lol

Chapter One

Sacrifice and the Day of Judgement

Leaves and bramble crunched under foot as Harry trudged into the Forbidden Forest, everything shrouded in the deep, cool grey of early morning, just before the dawn of May second. Solemnity settled around her like the trusty cloak she had yet to don; the air was unnaturally still, as if magic and time itself hung suspended, watching, waiting. Pluto, looking like little more than a dim star [1], was at the edge of the horizon, glittering at her — like tears under moonlight — with a heavy heart but an un-staying hand, and, as it slipped below the forest canopy, Harry knew: this is the night that she would die.

Her steps did not falter even as reality sank into her bones, polluting their spongy marrow with dread and acceptance. Where they once felt as light and hollow as the fragile bone of the falcon, now they seemed as leaden as any other man. And that's what Harry was.

A human, made from blood and meat and bone.

Mortal.

And she would die.

Still, yet, she marched on in the face of Death, a faithful soldier — ever the mortal human with a cause to die for.

And her courage was steel in her veins, her golden heart iron plated. Her jaw was set, even as her feet caught over tree roots in her weariness, and her chin did not dip and her crown of thorns did not fall. But, however determined she was, however resigned in that she would not bid this cup pass from her unto another, she was still afraid. Harry, after a childhood of war, was battle weary and drained of her fight. She knew not if she could walk honourably, finding only cowardice in her exhausted stumbling, but she did know that the fate of Hogwarts, and the children within her walls, layed only on her shoulders.

If she was to be grateful for anything, she presumed, at least it did not take much effort to die.

Sirius certainly slipped away easily enough.

At the thought of her long-passed godfather, in her clammy palm the Hallowed Stone of Resurrection tingled, and it was then that Harry was struck with startling, electrifying, utterly brilliant clarity. So impotent was she from this sudden idea that she stopped dead mid-step, heel frozen just before it could touch the forest floor. It was only thanks to her years filled with experiences of life-or-death that her body could go ridged as the petrified in such an awkward position despite being so weary.

The stone, drawing her attention from where it had wandered, and in the same hand as her shivering wand, seemed to grow warm, the tingling becoming a pleasant buzz almost as if it was trembling separately from her hand. On the edge of her perception, something whispered from the shadows of the trees, yesyesyes wehelp wehelp thechilde, eagerly brushing the back of her hand where he gripped the Hallowed Cloak of Invisibility and running down her arm to embrace her other hand, flittering around holly wood and dirt-stained flesh.

Though she could not see these apparitions, they seemed to reach out to her, through her magic, sending impressions of children: innocent, anxious to please, possessive.

Unbidden, a thought brushed against her pitiful occlumency shields, somehow seemingly still her own, This is the Cloak, the Stone; they want me to do something. It did not take a Ravenclaw to figure out what. Despite this, a fire of eagerness and anxiety began brewing in her gut, staving off the cold and apathy that her looming death had bred.

Hesitantly, awkwardly, and only after several moments of staring, she draped the Cloak around her shoulders, trying not to jab it with her wand or let it touch the muck of the Forbidden Forest by her feet, though her own clothes and skin were not much better. It took some manoeuvring, but the second it settled into place, it seemed to embrace her in a manner unlike any time before: it shortened to just above her heels and the folds behind her neck mysteriously became a tailored hood, which she flipped over her unkempt hair; even without wind or movement of her own, the Cloak shifted to brush against the bare skin of her arms and calves every so often; and, finally, she realised with a jolt that the fabric wasn’t invisible despite being worn as she stared at sentient ripples and creases — though it still boasted its iridescent shimmer, the Cloak was now a deep black, darker than pitch or the night sky. It looked, for all the world, as if Harry had been swallowed by the Abyss, writhing around her silhouette like it could pull her into its own eldritch form.

After several moments of observing her altered cloak in muted horror and not-so-muted fascination, the Stone, lying forgotten in her palm, stung lightly, insistently. “Bloody hell,” she murmured to herself, staring intensely at the Stone as she transferred it to her left hand but coming up short on the energy needed to baulk at her newfound freak-show attraction — or even become mildly bothered at its apparent feelings, “you’re a persistent bugger, aren’t you?” Slightly doused by her drifting thoughts, the fire in her gut began anew, rapidly consuming more and more of her insides as her mind returned to thoughts about finally meeting her parents.

Oddly enough, Harry seemed to feel a surge of anticipation at the edge of her awareness, as if the self-important rock was saying, "I, too, am very excited to be used!"

“...Right. What did the story say again? Turn it over or something?” Faux-dispassionately — as if convincing it of her lack of faith would prompt it to put more effort into her family's summoning — Harry rolled the Stone over her knuckles, letting her thumb brush against it all the way. With each pass of her thumb over the stone, each gentle scrape of her bitten nail on one of its faces, a new person appeared — first her mother, next her father, and then Sirius.

Directly in front of her stood Lily Potter on her husband’s arm, presumably gripping the appendage hard enough to make the undead man next to her wince and struggle lightly where they were joined. The fire seemed to come to a peak, an inferno warming her limbs from where they connected to her body and out.

“...Mum?” She called hesitantly after a moment of drinking her remarkably healthy appearance in — she was not living, but at least seemingly-breathing and there, with a delicate flush to her cheeks and clumpy eyelashes that dripped with tears, and the analysis caused her internal hearth to crackle and roar.

“Oh, Harry! My baby!” Their words seemed to have broken whatever immobulus had taken hold of them as Lily almost threw her husband aside in her rush to meet her daughter and Harry found herself sinking to her knees. Lily threw her arms around her shoulders, and they went down together. Her hands frantically patted down her hair, her face, dipping down every now and then to feel her heart thrum or chest swell with breath. Harry, or perhaps one of her companionate apparitions, seemed to consider, could she feel her blazing warmth, her roaring joy, a lion making a den for itself in her chest out of her hope and love?

Quietly, almost silent after years of practice, Harry wept into her shoulder. The Cloak fluttered around her, flustered somehow, and again her mind wandered, could her tears, so potent with joy, rival Fawkes?

Another distant thought, again not quite her own, had her acknowledging that, despite her translucence, Lily’s hug was as solid and warm as Hermione’s had been just half an hour before. She did not question her corporeality, and instead consciously chose to bask in her embrace, the first from her mother that she would ever remember.

Eventually, her tears slowed, less like rushing river rapids and more like hot molasses on her face. Delicate pale hands drifted from their places on the back of her head and shoulder to her face, brushing away tears like she brushed dew from delicate tulip petals. Her own hands rose to her wrists, curling loosely around them as if to keep her from pulling away too soon. Her wand lay forgotten by her thigh, but the Stone stayed stubbornly in place as if it were embedded in her palm.

"We're proud of you, Lovely," Lily started, after a moment of staring kindly into her eyes, so like her own. "No matter what my horrid sister says, we were always proud of you." She leaned forward, one hand leaving her face to brush away her fringe, exposing the highest point of her scar which just met her hairline. Gently, sweetly, she pressed her lips there, and Harry nearly started crying again.

“I love you, Mum,” she choked. “I love you so much. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, my Heart [2] , I love you, too. I just wish I could have told you sooner.”

“I’m sorry,” she cried, the fire curling up to her chest, burning hotter, hurting.

“It’s not your fault, baby. Don’t ever apologise for living. Yes?”

“Yes, ma’am… Mum?”

“Yes, darling?”

She took a deep breath, then, quickly, quietly, as if expecting to be rejected or reprimanded, “I missed you.”

Oh darling, her eyes seemed to say, plagued with great sorrow as she stared into the broken soul of her life’s magnum opus, “My heart has ached every day for the moment I would see you again. Harry?”

"Yes?”

“Be good.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Delicately, one more kiss was pressed to her brow, then, with tremendous effort, Lily separated herself from her daughter and got to her feet. Two pale hands were held out to Harry, and, with great hesitation, she let her grasp her own in a firm grip. With surprising strength, Lily hauled her to her feet and Harry was left staring at their joined hands, admiring the contrast of her pallor to her tanned brown, not quite the darkness of her father but certainly not the lightness of her mother.

Lily leaned forward to brace her forehead against Harry’s own bowed head and whispered softly, “You are stronger than you could ever imagine. Be great.”

Before Harry could gather herself enough to respond, she stepped away to rejoin her husband, only for her — and Sirius, falling into step behind her — to step away. James paused just in front of her, and, with a careful look into her eyes, bent down to pick up her precious holly wand, never breaking eye contact. Hesitantly, he took Harry’s right hand and pressed it into her palm, curling small fingers around it before laying both his hands on Harry's shoulders, somehow able to impart warmth where he touched despite the visage of his ghostly apparition, just like Lily. "Hey, bud," he began, staring searchingly into Harry's eyes.

"…Hey, Dad." That one word seemed to choke Harry as it came out, and it was all she could do to keep the tears from restarting. Of its own volition, again the hand with the Stone raised to grip her dad's wrist, as if to keep her from pulling away like it did with her mother. And, miraculously, for the second time, her hand did not phase through and she clutched at the warm, brown skin of her father's forearm.

That seemed all the permission he needed as James quickly pulled Harry into a tight embrace thereafter, burying his nose in his girl's messy, Potter-inherited hair. She smelled of dirt and the sweet rot of leaves, of magic_[3] and life. Harry found herself leaning into her father's arms, letting her forehead thunk onto his solid shoulder even as her arms fell limp at her sides.

James, like his wife before her, pulled away only far enough to cup Harry's face in his hands. "Merlin, Harry," he whispered, "you've grown up so much!"

Harry gave her a weak smile, "Not more than you."[4]

James cracked his own charming, lopsided grin. "No, you'll only ever be a little Prongslet, to me."[5]

Harry couldn't help the wet giggle falling from her mouth, and James couldn't help but plant a kiss on her hair after his adorable daughter made such a darling sound.

"I love you, Dad," Harry whispered into the hollow of James' throat as he pressed his nose into Harry's hair again.

"I love you too, Bint [6]. If only we could spend the rest of eternity like this, I would be content,” James’ voice was soft, bitter, and more than a touch heartbroken himself. Somewhere in the background, Harry could hear the soft murmur of her mother’s voice, echoing her father’s sentiment.

“You won’t have to wait much longer, now, in any case,” her voice was grim and wry, and her hands tightened on James’ wrists. The air was much heavier after her words as reality settled around them: this reunion would not be temporary.

"Guess it’s my turn, then?" Sirius asked, faux-lightly from behind James. Behind him, Lily called his name in a low, warning tone. "Right, sorry, carry on then."

“No, no, it’s fine. Get over here, Padfoot,” with a lighter air around them, James pulled away, letting his hands linger on Harry’s shoulders for a moment longer as he gazed into the mirror of his flower’s eyes. “You’ll do fine. Don’t worry, we’ll be there to greet you.”

Slowly, unwillingly, James backed away, eyes never leaving his daughter’s, and no sooner had his hands left Harry was Sirius barrelling into her, scooping her in a big bear hug. The Cloak pulsed with warmth and seemed to wiggle and shiver with joy at the affectionate touch, even if said touch was not directed at it specifically.

“Prongslet…!”

“Padfoot.”

“I’ve missed you, Pup. It’s been a while, yeah?”

“I missed you, too, Snuffles,” Harry leaned into the hug despite her limited manoeuvrability, gladly suffocated by her godfather’s wild black mane.

“Hey now, that ain’t cool, kid.” Sirius released one arm from around Harry to bury it in her hair and ruffle the bird’s nest there.

“‘Pup’ isn’t very cool either, is it?” Harry shot back, raising her now-free arm to bury it in Sirius’ own veritable bird’s nest and tug lightly for each pass through her hair that Sirius’ hand ventured. The Stone stung lightly in her palm, presumably for being in the hand currently void of use.

In moments, Sirius stayed his violent assault in favour of carding his fingers through curls and knots, deceptively gentle despite his earlier ministrations, and Harry allowed her hand to relax its grip on Sirius' mane, sliding down to find purchase on the nape of his neck as Harry leaned into the affection, going near-limp into Sirius' left arm still curled around her back.

"I called for you, I screamed your name into the veil," Harry whispered into the space where Sirius' shoulder met his neck.

"I know, pup," he answered, whispering just as softly.

“But… you didn’t come…”

“I’m so sorry, pup, I tried so hard,” Sirius said, the explanation falling like acid from his lips, burning a path to Harry’s heart.

"We were going to get a little cottage near the beach. You were going to give me a room just for me, and a perch just for Hedwig, and a room to honour Mum and Dad. We were going to have a home. We were going to be a family."

"We are," Sirius said, guiding Harry's face back with light, but firm tugs on her hair. "You have to know, Harry, a house doesn’t make a family. Just because we didn’t live together doesn’t make us not family. You are my daughter. You have to know," his words were insistent, and the gravel in his voice belied his despair.

Harry, moved by his conviction, could only nod.

"As long as you know." Sirius began petting Harry's hair again, allowing her to once more brace her forehead against his shoulder.

"Yeah, Pads. I know."

"I love you, kiddo. You're my world."

"I love you too.” Quiter, now, “…I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, and I don’t blame you. You’re a child. Don’t forget that.”

With a final soothing pass of his hand over ink-black hair, Sirius completely relinquished Harry from his embrace and stepped away.

“Is it time…?” Harry asked, once Sirius had rejoined her parents. Lily offered her a sad smile, and James’ eyes held a definitive sheen.

“Yeah, Habibti [8] , it’s time. Be brave. We’ll see you on the other side.”

And, like a soft breeze, all three of her parents were gone, leaving only the impression of their love on her skin. After several moments, the Cloak and the Stone began to pulse again with gentle warmth and impressions of comfort-we-arehere brushed her mind.

[1]Pluto isn't actually visible to the naked eye

[2] "My heart" is used as a term of endearment here, like Arabic "inti rouhi" (my soul) or Hindi "jaanu" (my life)

[3] no oxford comma because magic and life are supposed to be read as one scent, magic and life are essentially the same thing but magic is a far more present and potent manifestation of it. life is just written to emphasize james' relief that his daughter managed to continue living, even despite the harsh conditions.

[4]harry is remarking on the fact that both she and her parents died far too young.

[5] james believes harry was talking about not growing taller than himself

[6] Arabic for daughter

[7] Arabic for beloved one

this is titles "Requiem" because Harry devotes her second life to righting the wrongs of her first, so she lives her entire second life in remembrance of her first. additionally, she is haunted by the trauma of her first life, plagued with battle instincts and anxiety and other forms of ptsd. finally, as the master of death, harry functions both as the god being worshipped, the temple being worshiped in, and the offering being devoted in catholic requiems.

#requiem #fem harry potter #master of death #mod harry potter #harry potter fanart #hp fanart #fanart

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miktoast · 7 months

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eye dump, the credits to the vid that inspired me are at the bottom of "thesues"

#eyes #drawing #fanart

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miktoast · 7 months

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Requiem

Chapter One

Sacrifice and the Day of Judgement

A human, made from blood and meat and bone.

Mortal.

And she would die.

Still, yet, she marched on in the face of Death, a faithful soldier — ever the mortal human with a cause to die for.

If she was to be grateful for anything, she presumed, at least it did not take much effort to die.

Sirius certainly slipped away easily enough.

Though she could not see these apparitions, they seemed to reach out to her, through her magic, sending impressions of children: innocent, anxious to please, possessive.

Oddly enough, Harry seemed to feel a surge of anticipation at the edge of her awareness, as if the self-important rock was saying, "I, too, am very excited to be used!"

“I love you, Mum,” she choked. “I love you so much. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh, my Heart [2] , I love you, too. I just wish I could have told you sooner.”

“I’m sorry,” she cried, the fire curling up to her chest, burning hotter, hurting.

“It’s not your fault, baby. Don’t ever apologise for living. Yes?”

“Yes, ma’am… Mum?”

“Yes, darling?”

She took a deep breath, then, quickly, quietly, as if expecting to be rejected or reprimanded, “I missed you.”

"Yes?”

“Be good.”

Lily leaned forward to brace her forehead against Harry’s own bowed head and whispered softly, “You are stronger than you could ever imagine. Be great.”

James, like his wife before her, pulled away only far enough to cup Harry's face in his hands. "Merlin, Harry," he whispered, "you've grown up so much!"

Harry gave her a weak smile, "Not more than you."[4]

James cracked his own charming, lopsided grin. "No, you'll only ever be a little Prongslet, to me."[5]

Harry couldn't help the wet giggle falling from her mouth, and James couldn't help but plant a kiss on her hair after his adorable daughter made such a darling sound.

"I love you, Dad," Harry whispered into the hollow of James' throat as he pressed his nose into Harry's hair again.

"Guess it’s my turn, then?" Sirius asked, faux-lightly from behind James. Behind him, Lily called his name in a low, warning tone. "Right, sorry, carry on then."

“Prongslet…!”

“Padfoot.”

“I’ve missed you, Pup. It’s been a while, yeah?”

“I missed you, too, Snuffles,” Harry leaned into the hug despite her limited manoeuvrability, gladly suffocated by her godfather’s wild black mane.

“Hey now, that ain’t cool, kid.” Sirius released one arm from around Harry to bury it in her hair and ruffle the bird’s nest there.

"I called for you, I screamed your name into the veil," Harry whispered into the space where Sirius' shoulder met his neck.

"I know, pup," he answered, whispering just as softly.

“But… you didn’t come…”

“I’m so sorry, pup, I tried so hard,” Sirius said, the explanation falling like acid from his lips, burning a path to Harry’s heart.

Harry, moved by his conviction, could only nod.

"As long as you know." Sirius began petting Harry's hair again, allowing her to once more brace her forehead against his shoulder.

"Yeah, Pads. I know."

"I love you, kiddo. You're my world."

"I love you too.” Quiter, now, “…I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, and I don’t blame you. You’re a child. Don’t forget that.”

With a final soothing pass of his hand over ink-black hair, Sirius completely relinquished Harry from his embrace and stepped away.

“Is it time…?” Harry asked, once Sirius had rejoined her parents. Lily offered her a sad smile, and James’ eyes held a definitive sheen.

“Yeah, Habibti [8] , it’s time. Be brave. We’ll see you on the other side.”

[1]Pluto isn't actually visible to the naked eye

[2] "My heart" is used as a term of endearment here, like Arabic "inti rouhi" (my soul) or Hindi "jaanu" (my life)

[4]harry is remarking on the fact that both she and her parents died far too young.

[5] james believes harry was talking about not growing taller than himself

[6] Arabic for daughter

[7] Arabic for beloved one

#requiem #fem harry potter #master of death #mod harry potter #fanfiction #harry potter fanfiction

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