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puffleyia · 5 months

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Dear Diary || Cedric Diggory

Cedric Diggory x fem!reader || 5.2k words, fluff-ish, banter and awkward confessions !

Reader and Ced are both seventh years and Ced is head boy!

Warnings: slow and sappy smut, unprotected p-in-v, clothed sex , first times !!!

Summary: Cedric finds your diary, what's the worst that could happen?

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Cedric was idly perusing the shelves of the library on one fine afternoon, if the wads of homework given and expected to be completed by the end of the Easter holidays were not taken into account. He sought for some books that he could use as reference for his essay in History of Magic, a particularly tricky one, on famous and historical duels.

Though, his initial intentions were long forgotten as he noticed something. His attention was drawn to a small, forgotten notebook left on one of the study tables. He looked around to see if any sign of the owner was around. Once the coast was clear, he took it as a go-signal. Carefully, he picked it up with curiosity as he examined the notebook.

The cover was brown, its material being that of leather. It had a few tears, but it looked okay enough to be passed as a choice of style. It is decorated with intricate golden patterns on it, engraved with small jewels for design. The bottom was labelled with your name handwritten on, and the pages seemed to be slightly tarnished. He assumed you had kept it for a couple years or so.

But what was most intriguing was that it had been padlocked shut. He figured out that it was no ordinary notebook, probably a diary of sorts, piquing his interest.

As much as he knows not to stick his nose in things he is not supposed to, he couldn’t help but feel interested in what was not supposed to be of his concern. He was not going to tell anyone what’s inside, nor was he going to judge— it is not like you would know either if he did look through it.

But, he supposed a little peak would not hurt, right? He is going to give it back the next time he sees you, anyway.

Though, it was locked… It is nothing a simple alohomora charm could not fix. He pulled out his wand and pointed it towards the lock. He gave it a flick, chanting the spell out quietly. The padlock fell on the floor with a dull thud. He picked it up and stuffed it in his pocket, to seal it up afterwards to conceal any trace of him ever snooping around.

He flipped through the pages, becoming increasingly fascinated with what he read, some even dating back to seven years. Family issues, random stuff about life at Hogwarts, such as rants about homework, housemates and whatnot. The first thirty pages was about you mainly figuring out things back then as a first year, and a bunch of things you were astonished to discover.

It was really what your typical teenage girl would write; little things such as that cat you tried to pet in the first year that turned out to be Professor McGonagall, hallway crushes, that time you snuck in the restricted area of the library, so on— and the mundaneness of everyday life. It was pretty much a bunch of stuff about what goes on during your days.

When he got to the fourth year, he started seeing his name being brought up occasionally— he of course, stopped on those pages to read them— interested in what your perspective on him was. He started with the first page mentioning him:

DEAR DIARY,

I met this guy named Cedric Diggory. He’s popular, tall and good-looking too..

He helped me out with my herbology homework. I was really struggling, good thing he stepped in. Though, maybe I was too busy staring at him to really pay attention to what he was teaching me. (Well, who can blame me???)

I know so many girls who would kill to have that happen to them. Wonder what got me so lucky today, maybe those Lumos Lucksweets I ate last night that I got from Honeydukes during Halloween.

I always thought he was cute, though I always felt too intimidated to approach him. Hopefully we can become friends.

He felt a bit surprised, a faint blush tainting his cheeks as he smiled softly. He would be oblivious if he didn’t know he was sought after by both women and men, albeit it still doesn’t make him any less flustered. You were one of his friends, yes, but he had never stopped to think that you thought of him in that way. You didn’t make it obvious either.

He mostly skimmed through its pages, but stopped to read whenever he saw his name brought up– about how you talked about each of your interactions; “Cedric helped me with…” “Cedric and I went out to…” “I think I like him..” Cedric this, Cedric that.

You like him. Or liked him. It only clicked with him now, though he would have to keep reading if he wanted to know if you still felt the same. (Because he definitely did.) Be that as it may, he still definitely had no idea on how to confess. Plus, it was too late to turn back any time now. He continued to leaf through its contents.

But it was not until he got to last year’s pages that some things really stuck out. At first it was about wanting to kiss him on the cheek as you sat beside him in the library whilst you two studied for your transfiguration exam. Then the next time you talked about it being on the lips.

You even went into detail how you thought his lips would feel, then it was about how you so badly wanted to make out with him after you watched him after his quidditch practice because in your words, not his–

He looked so hot.

The more he read through, the material written within progressively escalated. Soon, it was about how you felt guilty by using the thought of him as a means to get off.

Now I feel guilty. Yes, I know– it is wrong of me to finger myself at the thought of my really really really hot friend who I also happen to have a crush on, no I’m not being sarcastic, yes, it was just once. Just this ONCE, I got carried away… Oh Merlin, I’m so sorry, Cedric.

He actually found it quite adorable how you were apologising in a diary. He was also extremely flustered at this point, a little bit horny and at the same time, confused. He nonetheless continued, reading several entries about how you admitted to having several fantasies of you being fucked by Cedric, what you think he would be like in bed, yada yada yada.

You admit throughout several logs that what was supposed to be a one-time thing, turned into nightly endeavours filled with a big ounce of shame afterwards.

Once he felt content, he got the padlock and clicked it back in place as if nothing ever happened, and took it with him as he went on his way. He figured it was best that he give it back the next time he ran into you.

Aside from that, his day passed by quite like any ordinary one, though he hadn’t seen you at all. On his way down to the Great Hall, he caught a glimpse of you walking whilst talking to some of your friends– though you quickly disappeared into the crowd of students flocking towards the hall for dinner.

Afterwards, most students are headed towards the library or their respective common rooms, Cedric ought to do the same.

Meanwhile you were searching every nook and cranny of everywhere you had been within the entire day, searching for that damned diary since the afternoon. You had traced back your steps to the beginning of the day, starting off with the common rooms, the great hall, then you had snuck into the several classrooms you were in earlier. In the potions dungeon, you were almost caught by Snape, you hid in time (you pride yourself on being an absolute pro at hide and seek) and just by the skin of your teeth.

You would stop at nothing until you actually find it, the thought of someone else getting your diary sends shivers down your spine. You just hope if someone did, they’d have enough of a sense of privacy and decency not to look through it. If this keeps up, You would have to be looking throughout the entire night and without being caught at that.

You doubt any of the staff would actually care about finding it if you had simply asked. You had tried that once when you lost one of your textbooks, you managed to find it, no thanks to anyone but yourself. And you would think if you would ask any of your professors, they’d probably say (the textbook) was miles more important than some journal with sentimental value.

Before you knew it, you were definitely up past curfew hours. Currently in the library, you were looking everywhere– on and under each of the chairs and tables, the shelves, you were seriously considering going to check the restricted section if you were not able to find it here. Perhaps the librarian thought it was a book, too. You froze in your place as you heard footsteps other than yours echoing as someone entered the library.

–

Cedric was doing his rounds and surprisingly, tonight was not that half-bad. No pesky students loitering around, so far that is. Currently surveying the corridors, classrooms– he is now heading towards the library, hearing faint shuffling noises coming from the sound of it. So it was not a quiet night after all, he thought. He placed his bets on who he thought it was this time, and the lot of students who regularly snuck out was not much to choose from anyway.

Though, he was completely wrong this time. It was you. He flashes you a grin, nearly forgetting his duties as Head Boy to supposedly escort you back to your dorm since it was late hour. He could also give your diary back while he was at it, he was getting tired of having to cling on to it just at the chance he would run into you. But he had thought to strike up a conversation first, because why not?

“Hey,” Cedric greeted you, approaching you slowly. “Hi,” you gulped and said awkwardly. You interrupt him before he could even say a word, “I-I know what this looks like,” you stammer, figuring out the right words to say as you try reasoning with him. “It sounds like a ridiculous thing to ask of you, I know– but don’t tell anyone,” as you speak, you’re also in plenty of disbelief that the literal head boy of all people would give you leeway for sneaking out like thi. Even if he is your friend, and even if it were just once.

“And why shouldn’t I?” He said so casually, as if you two were having a normal conversation; as if he were not on patrol at all and he hadn’t caught you outside your dormitory past the given curfew. He also knew damn well why, it was just fun eliciting a reaction from you. He was of course going to eventually give it back. “It’s so late, you should at least be in your common room around this time, you know?” He points out as well.

“Well, for one, I’ve been a good student this year, this is the only time I snuck out.. And, I have a reason for sneaking out–! It’s not for anything bad, I promise, it’s just I’ve been looking for my damn diary the entire day.. I must’ve lost it somewhere– look, I swear I’ll go back to the dorms right now if you please, please, don’t tell me out to anybody.”

You begged him, clasping your hands together for dramatic effect as you gave him those puppy eyes you use whenever you wanted something from him. (Such as when you begged him to buy whatever you wanted when you two went to Zonko’s that one time. P.S. It worked.)

“You mean this thing?” he said slyly. As he pulled out your diary, he gave a look of mischievousness. He watched as your eyebrows raise up, a look of relief plastered on your face as you sigh. You walk towards him, extending out your arms as you make grabby hands. “Oh, yes! Yes, that’s the one, now if you could just give it back–” then, that’s when you get cut off.

“Ah, ah, now wait just a moment,” he said, raising the arm with your diary in his hand so you couldn’t reach it. “I’ll let you off, and I’ll give it back if,” taking a deep breath before he spoke again, wondering if he should really be doing this. It was now or never. “You give me a kiss.”

He found it really amusing as a blush formed on your face, completely flustered as your eyes widened in a look with a mix of shock and disbelief. You had stopped grabbing for your diary, as you opened your mouth to say something, but you were rendered completely speechless. Was this just a dream? Surely it was, it was too good to be true…

“Ha, ha. Very funny, Cedric,” you fake-laugh, your tone being fully sarcastic. Seeing if he is just playing around with you. “No way in hell I would,” you add, just in case he really was joking. (Maybe you have slight trust issues.) “Just give it back.” Despite that, he looked dead serious. He stared you down, not breaking eye contact, making you gulp nervously. “Please?”

“Oh, come on,” he says as his voice drops, sounding more sultry. “I’m not gonna do anything unless you let me, but I know you want to.” His eyes observe your lips. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t touch you at all since you hadn’t given your consent yet. He kept his hands to himself, letting his body language do the talking.

“Now what makes you say that?” You squint your eyes as you give a questioning look at him, acting, or trying to at least, unaffected. You still had your guard up, because seriously, what was up with this guy today?

“Now, why’re you acting like you don’t want it? Hmm?” He smirked, “Could make all those fantasies of yours in that little book come true, you know.”

You looked mortified, as if you had seen a ghost. The last bits of your dignity withered away, long gone at this point. You wanted to shrivel up and sob in a corner out of pure humiliation. He read your diary. “No way, you read it!?” You slap his arm as you cover your face in sheer embarrassment. “Privacy exists, you know–!” Cedric let out a guttural laugh, unable consistently to keep up his flirty demeanour. “Hey, better me than anyone else, right? Besides,” he leaned on one of the bookshelves.

“I like you.”

If you thought you couldn’t get any redder, you were awfully wrong. You didn’t know what to say, as you practically threw yourself at him in an embrace. “I like you too…” you said, your voice muffled as your face was buried in his chest. “This is so embarrassing.”

He wasted no time in hugging you back, his arms wrapped around you. It was like you put on a warm blanket. You two stayed like that for a while, enjoying eachothers company. The moment of silence was interrupted as he said, “I should probably ask properly.” You look up at him, waiting for what he has to say. “Will you be my girlfriend?” He finally says.

“What do you think?” A rhetorical question.

“I need a yes or no, not a ‘what do you think’.”

“If you actually read my diary, you already have your answer.”

“Well then, it’s official,” he smiles. “Can I get that kiss now?” He says impatiently. You waste no time, tipping on your toes as you press your lips against his, placing your hands on his broad shoulders. He wraps his hands around your waist, pushing you softly against a bookcase. It was chaste and passionate, as your lips intertwined as you two kissed in a slow rhythm.

You pull away, catching your breath. “By the way, this doesn’t mean I forgive you for reading my diary,” you blurt out, Cedric chuckling at that.

Before you knew it, he was grabbing your wrist and leading you to his dorm room. It was clear to the both of you where this situation was going. As you walked together, your heart raced in anticipation, a mix of excitement and nervousness flooded your senses. You both stopped in your tracks as you reached a portrait, that of Helena Ravenclaw’s. He mumbled the password and the portrait swung open, walking in whilst ducking his head over the small entrance and motioning you to come in as well.

You assumed this was the heads’ common room, it was circular and decorated quite lavishly. If it were not for Cedric, you would have taken more time to admire the interior. It was definitely plenty grand compared to the regular ones. Though, you quickly were grounded back into the situation as he led you to his dorm– Head Boy’s–completely away from prying eyes. Oh, bless Cedric for being head boy and whoever decided that heads should have their own room.

He slams the door shut behind you two, pinning you to it. Tension flooded the room, it was practically suffocating. He wastes no time, cupping your chin as he tilts your head slightly upward to make you look at him. He leaned in for a second kiss, your lips puzzle together once more. His hand interlocked with yours tightly as he held it up against the door panel, keeping you in place.

It was not as innocent as it was the first time, in fact quite the opposite– amorous. It was far from perfect, given both of you were not experienced. All your knowledge came from things such as muggle films, you think.

You remembered how they opened their mouths slightly, imitating what you saw in fiction. You slowly gaped open your mouth, Cedric immediately getting the hint as he slid his tongue inside. You both attempted to swirl each other's tongues together, yet it was more clashing your tongues together with no rhythm whatsoever, in hoping something just works. Though it didn't make it any less hot, if anything, it was more.

It was awfully sappier than one would might like, but you two were both (not-so hopeless anymore) romantics. Perhaps it was the entire three years of obliviousness and pining for each other being poured into this moment. Though, given what you two are about to do, it is a bit fast for an official relationship. Well, yeah, as much as you just got together.. You both couldn’t help it nor wait anymore, not wanting to waste any more time, not after so many years with your feelings going unsaid.

He took heavier breaths, grabbing ahold of your waist as he pressed himself closer against you. You both flushed, a bit embarrassed and nervousness surging through your veins as you gasped when his half-chubbed dick pressed against just above your groin. You couldn’t deny– you felt scared, a bit hesitant but you knew you wanted this more than anything.

While you still kissed, you both toed off your shoes and made a beeline for the bed (a sad attempt). Because your senses of navigation clearly dwindled, not a care in the world but each other. You two accidentally bumped into one of the small tables, knocking down some of the books that lay on them. “Oops,” Cedric said lightheartedly. Pulling the both of you out of the moment momentarily, you two laughed and just chalked it up to fixing it later.

Finally reaching the four-poster (which was a lot bigger than the regular ones), even if it were a few feet away from where you two initially were, it was quite the journey. Cedric, who was the one leading out of the two of you, practically tripped you both into bed as he rested atop you. “Ced!” You squealed, “you’re crushing me!” light-heartedly, you say, as you jab at his chest playfully, in an attempt to push him off.

“Well..not my problem, princess,” he laughed as he buried his face into your neck. Sucking and nipping at the flesh, leaving red marks on you as he placed a kiss on each one to seal them afterwards. “May I…?” He says, his hand trailing up to grab onto the hem of your tie, ready to pull it off. You give him a small, silent nod. He takes his time with you, as if he were unwrapping a huge present.

He begins by pulling off your tie, discarding the article of clothing to a random corner of the room. The same goes for your robes, sweater, dress shirt…all long gone and forgotten. You were merely left with your undergarments and skirt on, as well as your socks. He stops dead in his tracks, taking a step back as he takes the sight of you in.

“I forgot to tell you how beautiful you are.” He says each word clear as day– you’ve never heard anyone more confident in your life. You blush profusely, hands covering your face to conceal it. “I’ll die from those compliments before you actually start doing anything, you know?” You babble, too florid to think of words to form.

He trails his hand, leading it down to your underwear, tugging down at the hem of it as to pull them off. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, though not a hint of apology in his voice. You mutter something about him not being forgiven, ouch, so now he has two things he is yet to be forgiven for. He just smiles innocently back at you, lips all pouty as you pretend to sulk about it. (Obviously jokingly) When in fact, you wallow in the praise.

He leans into your ear as his hands now teasing at your folds, you let out a soft moan at his touch. “Guess I’ll have to make it up to you, huh?” He says in a low, gravelly voice. Which had absolutely no right to sound that hot. “Please, Ced,” you say, trying not to sound like you were begging for it. “Wait,” he stops, getting up and begins to rummage through his drawer, looking for something. You look at him quizzically, wondering what he is doing and looking slightly disappointed at the loss of sensation.

After a few more seconds, he pulls out a small vial of a clear flaxen liquid and examines it before walking back to you. “Um, I’m really sorry, d’you think this’ll do?” He shows you the vial, which you had assumed to be a natural oil of sorts. “I, er, don’t have any lube.” He says awkwardly. “I mean, if you’re not comfortable we don’t have to–” You cut him off immediately, quickly divulging that, “No, no, we– we can. I’m fine with it.” Okay, you definitely sounded a bit desperate. He nods, uncorking the vial as he coats his fingers with a fair amount.

“I’ve never done this before,” he says, prodding two fingers at your pussy. “Just– just tell me if it hurts, okay? Tap my shoulder two times if you can’t speak.” You nod, and with that, he eases in slowly his fingers, your breath hitching as you feel his fingers slip inside you. It feels uncomfortable, causing you to shift in your position slightly. Cedric quickly stops inching his fingers inside as he asks if you’re okay. You tell him that you’re fine and to keep going, assuring yourself and him that it is normal. Hopefully you’ll get used to the feeling.

He continues, eventually now fully inside you. “Let me know when, um, I can move them, okay?” He says caringly, not an inch of attention wavering away from you. After a bit, you give him the go-signal to move and he starts dragging his fingers out of you, albeit slowly, and pushing them back inside. He watches you attentively, carefully studying your expressions, your body language– His erection was straining against his pants at this point, begging to be freed, but of course he wanted to make sure you were thoroughly prepared.

“Ah, Ced, mhh, maybe if you curl your fingers a–ah bit–” you moan, still feeling a slight discomfort and pain, though pleasure slowly seeps through. “Like this?” He says, as he curls his fingers inside you, moving in and out with languid strokes. You let out a particular wince, though you nodded in approval. “Yes, just like that– ah,”

It was not anything you were not used to, though you always felt guilty whenever you did such things to yourself. Especially if your only barrier to privacy is the curtains on your four-poster. Though it took a bit of adjusting, because Cedric’s fingers were no doubt bigger than yours. You feel your stomach curling, the feeling of release catching on to you. Cedric must have had a sixth sense, or really good observational skills (perhaps all that astronomy paid off.) because he pulled his fingers out of you the moment you were about to. You whine instinctively in response.

Before you knew it, he was getting rid of his sweater, taking off his tie and unbuttoning his dress shirt, tossing the apparel in the same corner where your clothes went, though leaving his unbuttoned shirt on. You watched his every movement intently, feeling yourself getting wet at the sight of him undressing. He is tall, lean, and burly– has a good build from all that quidditch. Amen for that.

Your eyes begin to linger down to his trousers, and a very obvious bulge that you can’t help but stare at. He continues by unzipping his fly, though not pulling down his pants. He tugged at his grey boxers just enough to release his cock from its confines, coating it with a light layer of the oil he had used earlier. You could not help but stare, your pupils dilated, clouding your eyes darkly with arousal. He crawls in between your legs as he now hovers atop you. He aligned his cock, tip pressing into the folds of your pussy.

“M’nervous,” you mumble, almost nonsensically, though Cedric understood what you had tried to say. He leans in, placing a kiss on your forehead as he gently caresses your cheek, “If you’re feeling pressured, we don’t have to, y’know. We can just… Stop here, we can continue another time if you’d like, when you’re ready.” He says softly, warmth naturally oozing through his voice like honey, sweet and assuring.

“No,” you say, quiet but firmly. “I want to.”

“Then we will, just tell me when you’re ready. I’ll be gentle.” He says, and his words make all your worries slowly ebb away. You feel safe with Cedric. You press your hips down onto his dick ever so slightly, letting the tip slide in. You gasp at the foreign feeling, nervous to fully take it all in. He notices, and as well lets out a soft moan, asking if he has permission to continue. You breathily say a yes, and that’s when he unhurriedly starts to push inside you.

It feels completely new, slightly painful with a twinge of pleasure. You shut your eyes, wincing at the sensation. Cedric examines your expressions as he inches in, checking for any signs of discomfort. He stops for a moment to ask if you’re okay, noticing your brows knitting together with your eyes shut. You assure him you’re fine, and tell him to keep going.

Eventually, he bottoms out inside you, though he doesn’t move immediately. You two just sit there for a good minute or two, kissing softly as your lips move in unison. Pulling away, panting as you say, “m-move, please,”

And who is Cedric to deny you of that? He began moving his hips slowly and shallowly, not wanting you to take too much at once. You also started getting a bit used to the feeling, though it was still mostly new to you. It didn’t feel as painful as it did, moaning in pleasure as he moved his hips.

He then pulled out his cock, teasing you, and easing back in steadily, causing you to moan wantonly out loud. His thrusts still slow, but begin to get deeper as he holds your legs open. He was vocal too, nothing short of chanting your name and praising you in a gravelly voice, groaning and grunting ruggedly as he fucked his cock far into you.

“You’re such a good girl f’me,” he pants, both of you moaning as he rocked his dick back into you with a particularly deep thrust. While the discomfort still remained, you grew more accustomed to the feeling of gratification that grew increasingly.“Ha– ah, harder, Ced,” you say, gasping in between your words. He did nothing shy of it, but not anything that he felt like would be too much for you.

“Merlin, y’feel so good,” he says huskily, moving his hips rhythmically slow, hard and deep as you’re reduced into a moaning mess. Your arms flail to the side of your head, grasping on the sheets as you arch your back. You were mumbling nonsensically, and Cedric laughed breathily as he told you how cute you were. He could only barely make out what seemed to be an I love you. “I love you too, princess,” he groans as he leans in and leaves a few more marks on your collarbone and neck.

You splay your hands onto his back. Digging your nails into his skin, leaving marks of your own though unintentionally. You drag your nails down his broad back, grabbing onto him as he knocks the wind out of you with each thrust.

You feel a fire pooling low in your abdomen, as well as the heightening sense of arousal as Cedric kept thrusting inside you. You feel your pussy tighten around him, “Mmh, Ced, I think I’m gonna–!” You squeal, Cedric grabs your hips and quickened his pace by a bit. “Go on, sweetheart.” He says low, letting his breath into your ear, moving down to kiss your neck. Reaching your limit, you feel your orgasm ripple through you.

Cedric kept going, though you could tell he was close, too– his thrusts growing sloppy as the echo of skin to skin and moans from the both of you filled the room. His hips jerked a few more times as he finally sheathed fully and deep into you, as you two let out a long, drawn out moan as he was spilling his load inside your pussy.

Clenching around his cock greedily, it’s as if you were going to wring him dry. You feel the way his cock pulses as he cums in you, a white ring pooling around the base of his cock with your mixed juices as it trickles down your folds.

He collapses atop you, letting his head rest between your breasts as he’s still inside you. You two lay like that for a while, basking in the silence of the afterglow. You suddenly interrupt as you say, “Okay, maybe I forgive you..”

He smiles and scoffs at that. Eventually, he pulls out and lays beside you, cuddling you from behind as you two exchange ‘I love you’s’ as you two drift off into sleep.

#cedric diggory smut #cedric diggory x reader #harry potter #cedric diggory #cedric diggory x you #cedric x reader #hp smut #cedric diggory x reader smut #cedric diggory x female reader #cedric diggory imagine #cedric diggory oneshot #harry potter universe #smut #female reader #harry potter fanfiction

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atamascolily · 1 month

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I'm not the first person to observe that magical girls are literally a brighter and more vibrant version of their ordinary selves, but I like this particular Memoria from Magia Record, "Girl's Boundary" ("That Which Divides" in the North American server) not only because it shows this juxtaposition directly, but because it also makes the subtext explicitly text:

There is a vast gap between ordinary girls and Magical Girls. An invisible but tremendous gap. However, armed with their "feelings" and "wishes" they can cross that gap in a single step.

There's a tendency to focus on the downsides of contracting--and for good reason--but I think that it's also important to focus on the very real appeal (especially for adolescents) of stepping out of your boring everyday life and becoming an idealized and powerful version of yourself, complete with ruffles and sparkles. (The sparkles in this drawing indicate that this is 2-star Memoria, and probably were not meant to be Magical Girl Madoka is sparkling, but wow, does it sure look like it at first glance.) It's such a powerful fantasy, and this card does such a great job of depicting that, and showing what it's like for it to come true.

The use of "boundary," 境界 (kyoukai) here is interesting to me in contrast to the kekkai, 結界, or magical barrier created by witches (translated as "labyrinth" in the official English version). Becoming a witch is literally being bounded, circumscribed, limited in possibilities; instead of being able to transform back and forth, they are fundamentally stuck in a monstrous and inhuman form for eternity. A witch is neither a magical nor an ordinary girl but a secret third thing, reviled and trapped in their own personal hell, existing in a liminal space that is anathema to the world around it (represented by the change in animation). Magical girls, however, have the freedom to cross over at will because their feeling and wishes give them strength and power to do so.

This card's text also reinforces the idea that magical girls literally exist in a different world that ordinary people cannot experience. In the original series, this gap serves to isolate and alienate them from their previous existence and ensure there is no turning back (and Madoka and Sayaka do not even have to contract to experience this for themselves; just being introduced to that world is enough).

However, the act of becoming a magical girl--both the original contract and the transformation--is, like electrons, fundamentally quantum in nature: it allows them to instantly* jump from world to world without passing through any points in between. Which makes sense in a weird sort of way, since "feelings" and "wishes" are literally energy, and the transformation of soul gem to grief seed comes with a powerful explosion reminiscent of nuclear fission.

(*Many arguments have been made about how long magical girl transformations actually take in-universe and whether the slow montages are experienced by the girls and/or observers or are only a representation for the audience; YMMV, but on several occasions we see magical girls in PMMM transform instantly without an extended sequence, which makes the latter seem more likely.)

Speaking of transformation sequences, this card evokes Madoka's in the opening of the PMMM, where she dances with her double. More poignantly, it also speaks to Madoka's profound self-worth issues, where she feels she is useless in her ordinary life and can only find fulfillment as a magical girl.

Finally, I have a lot of questions about that magic circle design in the upper right corner, and I wish more of it was visible in the background.

#puella magi madoka magica #magia record #pmmm analysis #madoka kaname

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jellycaustic · 8 months

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So, I love The Hobbit, and Lord of the Rings, but I haven't read them since I was a kid. Obviously, a reread is in order, and that's how I'm getting myself out of my months-long non-reading rut. To increase my absorption and retention, I'm also doing a book journal! And at my dear bestie @hartmannyoukaigirl's suggestion 💖, I'm posting a bit of it here.

This will just be some noteworthy quotes and a bit of my thoughts on them. If something I mentioned seems obvious, it's because it's been such a long time. If I don't mention something, it might be because I've already seen it discussed around here frequently or otherwise that it's obvious, or that I've noted the quote for myself but don't have anything to say about it.

The Hobbit, Chapter 1 - "An Unexpected Party"

There is little or no magic about them, except the ordinary everyday sort which helps them to disappear quietly and quickly when large stupid folk like you and me come blundering along, making a noise like elephants which they can hear a mile off. one morning long ago in the quiet of the world, when there was less noise and more green, and the hobbits were still numerous and prosperous

These quotes make it sound like The Hobbit would have taken place on Earth, not Middle Earth, like a more usual fairy tale with imps and brownies and the implication that if you believe hard enough maybe you can still see them. Placing it in Middle Earth makes it sound like inter-racial relations declined some time after the events of LotR. Sad to imagine :(

It was often said (in other families) that long ago one of the Took ancestors must have taken a fairy wife. That was, of course, absurd, but certainly there was still something not entirely hobbitlike about them, and once in a while members of the Took-clan would go and have adventures.

Of course this quote has been discussed endlessly, but I'm just going to say that given that a fairy wife is clearly absurd, and yet the Tooks are certainly unhobbitlike, I have to wonder what the true reason is for their proclivities. And is the absurdity of a fairy wife the existence of fairies or the willingness of a hobbit to marry one?

"Not the Gandalf who was responsible for so many quiet lads and lasses going off into the Blue for mad adventures? Anything from climbing trees to visiting elves--or sailing in ships, sailing to other shores! Bless me, life used to be quite inter--I mean, you used to upset things badly in these parts once upon a time."

Even climbing a tree is an adventure. What occasion did Gandalf have to cause a hobbit to climb a tree? Was that even intended as an adventure or was it just so bizarre that it stuck in Bilbo's memory? Hobbits have visited elves, perhaps as recently as within the last 50 years. Were these "quiet" hobbits the aforementioned Tooks, or genuinely respectable and supposedly entirely unadventurous hobbits? And Bilbo is clearly more adventurous then he'd like to believe; is that just his Tookishness or is that common to even ordinary hobbits?

"Dwalin and Balin here already, I see," said Kili. "Some four, I should say by the sound," said Fili. "Besides, we saw them coming along behind us in the distance."

I'm not quoting it all, but the dwarves all come in separate small groups, and though travelling close together, aren't coordinated. A measure to avoid the unlucky thirteen?

On silver necklaces they strung The flowering stars, on crowns they hung The dragon-fire, in twisted wire They meshed the light of moon and sun

The Silmarils?

As they sang the hobbit felt the love of beautiful things made by hands and by cunning and by magic moving through him, a fierce and a jealous love, the desire of the hearts of dwarves. Then something Tookish woke up inside him, and he wished to go and see the great mountains, and hear the pine-trees and the waterfalls, and explore the caves, and wear a sword instead of a walking-stick.

The dwarven song is explicitly magical.

they were all looking at him with eyes shining in the dark. "We like the dark," said all the dwarves.

Dwarves have reflective eyes, perhaps night vision.

"Where are you going?" said Thorin, in a tone that seemed to show that he guessed both halves of the hobbit's mind.

Given his smoke ring games with Gandalf, Thorin definitely has magic about him. I'm sure Bilbo is easy to read, but it's also possible that this is better than a guess.

"may the hair on his toes never fall out!"

Is that a genuine hobbitish blessing, or is Thorin guessing? He could be assuming an analogy with dwarvish beards. Bilbo doesn't comment on it.

"If I say he is a Burglar, a Burglar he is, or will be when the time comes. There is a lot more in him than you guess, and a deal more than he has any idea of himself. You may (possibly) all live to thank me yet." "That would be no good," said the wizard, "not without a mighty Warrior, even a Hero. I tried to find one; but warriors are busy fighting one another in distant lands, and in this neighborhood heroes are scarce, or simply not to be found." "That is why I settled on burglary--especially when I remembered the existence of a Side-door."

Gandalf clearly appreciates the importance of Roles. I suspect this passage had a great influence on Terry Pratchett.

"From what it says on the map I should guess there is a closed door which has been made to look exactly like the side of the Mountain. That is the usual dwarves' method-- I think that is right, isn't it?"

Gandalf sounds like he's unsure... but he's been around enough that I'm surprised by that. I think that, actually, he may be explicitly giving Thorin the opportunity to confirm him so as not to be speaking over a very important dwarf about a matter of dwarvish culture.

#btw I'm reading a newer edition with the changes to Riddles in the Dark and that #jelly journal #<- tagging so I can find it easily

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lake-archive · 11 months

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Track 2

Fandom: Hypnosis Mic

Series: Three CATZ In The Bag

Characters: Ole (OC), Ann Wolff (OC), Original Male Character by @watersofcamelot)

AO3 Link

Track 1 - Track List - Track 3

“Little Miss, it’s da—”

“Little Miss!? Miss!? I’m not a Miss y’know!”

It was the same, always the same. No matter where they went and who they were talking to. It was always ‘Miss’. ‘Miss here, Miss there, Miss everywhere’. Miss, a simple Miss. It was enough to get under Ann’s skin, even if they knew that their current appearance did them no favors. Because in actuality, who could blame anyone? When someone with a female body was walking around in a skirt… Well, it was more than the skirt. it was their chest, their very own bosom which they were always unable to hide. It was a curse, really, meaning that these things would happen for as long as they lived. And they hated it. ‘Get rid of it’, easier said than done to be honest. They weren’t someone who could magically transform their body into whatever they desired. And besides, they weren’t rich either. They couldn’t afford such a luxury and it was unlikely that they ever would. Too much of a hassle anyway. So they were stuck with this chest. This massive, unbearable chest, being the root of all their problems. That alone could be reason enough for these mistakes. And while it was something they sort of hated about their very own body, it was something they had to live with all the same. It was more than an annoyance and they wished it was smaller, preferably barely visible, yet that’s that… A wish. Nothing else.

However, it would not be so bad if others would not insist as a result. Because even when they had gotten louder and turned around they would spot the guy staring at them a little, observing their features closely, from head to toe. They knew that face and it annoyed them to the brim. First they were soaked wet for days now, then this. They were not in the mood, not in such a state while debating what to do and where to go. Who wouldn’t be annoyed by something like this?

“Don’t look! I’m not a Miss and that’s that!” They interrupted quickly, avoiding where this might be going. Or rather, wanting to avoid it. They would just get a confused look from that guy, as if he had just heard the weirdest thing imaginable. Well, it was not something one would hear everyday, sure, but it should usually be a one and done deal. That would be the perfect outcome. And yet, reaching the perfect outcome seemed impossible at that point…

“Right… Yeah, you’re clearly not a—”

“Because I’m not! Now leave me alone!”

Before they could even hear another word they turned right back around and dashed off, their feet carrying them as quickly as possible. All while they could hear soft tapping sounds next to them. Ah right, Ole was there as well, and it looks like he had not left their side ever since. It was a surprise yet they were not complaining… Even if they questioned why he was not inside the cozy home, a place where he would be secured food and warmth. After all, pets had none of those worries nor these thoughts… Then again, even they understood that Ole was nothing but ordinary. Especially not when he had dragged a Hypnosis Mic home on his own. No, not just one, but two. Yet they did not know where he got that from, they were not certain. So maybe there was more going on than one can imagine, it was a mere gut feeling.

But back to the present as this would not get both of them anywhere, neither of the two, Then again, sitting on the cold ground when having managed to leave that guy behind and sulking around was not helping it either. But it was something they automatically did while trying to think about having a place to stay. Being homeless like this… No, they didn’t want that exactly. Not to mention that they were missing their lectures due to these circumstances. So they had to hurry. And yet, their mind would always drift to the side as well…

Ann, a name usually associated with a female. Long hair… Not exclusive to females yet favored… And also a pain to take care off, thus their own brown hair ending up in a mess usually during the day. A skirt, a dead giveaway. Yet not as much of a giveaway as someone’s chest. It was just… Ugh, Ann hated thinking about it. Why does it have to be like this? It felt weird, they may as well be uncomfortable in their own skin. Yet said skin favored them in current society. Why? Because of their body? What they had been assigned at birth? That… Didn’t sound right. Or rather, that didn’t sit right with them. The value on this alone, and not on your deeds or how good or bad of a person you are… Besides, such a mindset may as well make Ann themself invisible to everyone. Hah, it was all just frustrating to them, they didn’t know any better at that point. Was it all society or were it other things?

No matter, they were completely disconnected from society, to the point there was no connection left between them and their own mother even. All because they did not want to support and work for the current law, let alone enforce it. It just felt wrong. How does one stand behind something they can’t? And yet, she had yelled at their own child, calling them a ‘brat’ and throwing them out from one moment to the next. A true believer in the Party of Words, the purest of devotees. Ann’s mother had always been an advocate for women’s rights, fighting against what she likes to call ‘the patriarchy’. So hearing the promises the Party Of Words made must have been a 7th heaven for her. Of course she would be on board no matter what, because it was ‘for the greater good, women’s voices will finally matter.’

And maybe at first they kind of understood when hearing what its leader’s aim was – ‘Give women a voice and feel more represented’, or that was what it had come off for them at first, the interviews they saw in hindsight. That was a good thing. No, that is a good thing! Certainly! The concept itself was something they could stand behind, agreeing to it. But when they started to reflect and question things so much just felt… Off. Was this really the society one should aim for? Was Tohoten’s ideal society the society one shall

Not to mention that they had always felt disconnected. No sympathizing with the issues men face nor enjoying the benefits women get. Is it cold to think like this? Maybe, they would deny it. And yet, they could not get themself to feel one way or the other. Being overlooked like this… Being ignored for who they are… Not many knew nor cared. All they see is ‘a woman’, someone they are not. But that’s it. A woman… That’s all. And it was not really flattering. In fa—

“Ann?” A voice pushed them out of their thoughts, making them lift their head up. For how long had they been sitting on the ground actually and just enduring the rain? And not just that but for how long had Ole sought out shelter beneath their skirt, trying to try off? Luckily it was that big so he could just sneak right in there and take shelter, thus a cat peeking out from beneath it, right next to their legs. It was probably warmer than the wind itself.

Regardless, they stared right up… Spotting a tall, raven short–haired male staring right down at them. His clothes were simple, a blue, messy hoodie and torn apart jeans. Not to mention that he had a cigarette in his mouth and yet he was dry compared to the other two, or at least compared to Ann. Ole was probably drier compared to them most likely. Maybe thanks to the umbrella he had been carrying, protecting him from this rain.Oh how lucky. And even then, they couldn't answer. They didn’t have to. Instead, he continued, asking as he had already realized it most likely, given how hunched up and dirty they looked alongside their cat.

“Something happened, didn’t it?”

And all they could do at first was nod… They will have to explain themself, won’t they?

Track 1 - Masterlist - Track 3

#Nimue's Lake #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #male original character #orginal character #original male character #hypnosis mic oc #hypmic oc #hypnosis mic #hypmic

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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 1 year

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Consecrated: A Malevolent Fanfic

It’s time to obey. Arthur has healed enough, and it’s time to mark the damn human.

Hastur does not want to do it, but has one advantage: he remembers The Wood. John doesn’t. At the very least, he can make it all hurt.

Hastur’s never done this to someone… occupied before. What difference could that possibly make, anyway?

(Takes place in the Surrogate series, after The Night Before.)

Written by me and @sepiabandensis

AO3

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There was no crackle of magic or slamming of doors. There was only a change in pressure as the King in Yellow arrived like a thunderstorm rolling over a city and drenching it in icy rains.

John had time to think, he was right—this is weird, before Hastur billowed into the room like a terrible omen.

Arthur stood from the piano and hung his head, face turned down.

For one moment—one ordinary, everyday, horrible moment—they merely existed at each other, mutual hate sickening the air like burnt sugar.

"You're awake," the god rumbled, surveying him, and plucked at Arthur's robe with a tentacle. "And you seem to have healed adequately. That is…" He paused and made a sound like he’d bitten into some sort of bitter fruit. "Good.”

John wielded his left hand and swatted the appendage away. Fuck off, Hastur.

"I suppose, since you're healed, there can be no further delay," the King said, reaching to adjust the robe again, his voice clear and calm despite the deep, mechanical growl permeating the room. "Thus, as we previously discussed, he will be marked tonight."

Arthur stepped slightly back, pulling his robe from Hastur’s grasp. “Marked?”

John made the strangest noise. Choked. Sort of hit.

“Yes, of course,” Hastur said easily. “You remember, Piece. We agreed to wait until he was well enough to avoid potential… complications.”

Arthur’s brow knit. He remembered no such thing—but then, he’d lost pieces of time ever since that horrible, wonderful day when Faroe came back, so this did not shake him.

John, on the other hand, was shook. You wouldn’t dare.

“Dare?” Hastur sounded incredulous. “Piece, we agreed. It is the only way to keep him safe. Surely, you didn’t forget.”

And for reasons Arthur could not fathom, John promptly went off. FUCK YOU, YOU COCKSUCKING, ROT-BRAINED, CUCKOLDING, SLIME-EATING, SON OF A DEFLATED WAR-WHALE! YOU WILL NOT!

Arthur gasped, hunching. It had hurt. That bellow hurt. “Wh… what… John?”

HOW DARE YOU! HOW DARE—

“What’s this?” said Hastur as though in the face of social blunder, sweeping away the bellowing like sand in wind. “You aren’t prepared? I’ve given you weeks!”

Arthur swallowed. “What’s… John, what’s he talking about?”

YOU WILL NOT TOUCH HIM! NOT LIKE THAT!

Arthur staggered again. “John,” he whispered.

“What is this sudden recalcitrance? Is this a delaying tactic? Why, next you’re going to say you haven’t had time to tell him, or you need more time to discuss it. Piece… do you really think such machinations will change anything?”

NEVER! NOT YOURS! WE NEVER DISCUSSED ANYTHING!

Arthur reached up and gripped the side of his head. “John, please, it hurts,” he whispered.

John stopped, puffing like a bellows.

Hastur sighed—a long-suffering and poisonously condescending sound—and began to pace. “I knew you’d be a problem. Piece, we discussed this.” A weighted pause. “You do want to protect him, don’t you?”

Bullshit! This would do the opposite of protecting him!

“John,” Arthur said again, very quietly.

Arthur, shut up. You don’t know what this is. You don’t know what he’s threatening. He has no right to do this to you!

A pregnant pause. “You really don’t remember, do you?” Hastur said, sounding far too pleased.

And there was just enough of an answering pause to indicate… doubt. I would have remembered that, you coward, you thief, you piece of thumbsucking garbage.

Hastur laughed. “Thief? Fine words from one who rides a thief like a donkey.”

BASTARD!

Arthur flinched.

“Piece, this is hardly my idea.” Hastur flowed across the floor like liquid, getting right in their face, backing them against the bench. “The Great Mother has forced my hand. Personally, I would rather chew a dozen arms off than touch your disgusting host, but it has been commanded.”

This is bullshit. You are full of bullshit. You are lying!

Hastur’s sigh carried weight. “We spoke on it at length in her realm, you and I. I tried to argue with her, and so did you—she called you a ‘bold little thing.’” Hastur spoke with the confidence of honesty—or of a damn good liar. “She threatened to take Faroe, Piece. And Arthur, as much as I despise you, I will not allow that to happen, so if this is the price, we will pay it together.”

“Faroe?”

Because of course, John thought, of course the asshole would use her name like he used her life, to hit, and hurt, and cut, and ruin, and— Bullshit!

“What about Faroe?” Arthur had the scent now, and could not be shaken loose.

“I was…” Another pause, a growl, like the words were dragged from him by force. “I made an error when my negligence allowed my sister to slip past my wards.”

You mean when she fucking skinned him and you let her do it?

Hastur addressed Arthur now, as if John were no longer part of the discussion. “The Great Mother believes that I put her child in danger by not keeping track of threats toward you, and that if I did not rectify this, she would retrieve her child… and take her child’s darling new friend with her.”

“She’d take Faroe?”

That was a yell.

Arthur used to yell a lot. He hasn’t yelled since… since it happened. But that was a yell.

For her.

Arthur was so focused that John could just shake him. John explodes. No! You may not mark him! I forbid it!

Hastur’s laugh was dark and deep, a forest of lies and mockery. “You forbid?”

There is no fucking way the Lord of the Wood told you to mark a human!

Hastur scoffed. “You think I’d lie about this?” His tentacles lashed the air as if he wanted to rend something. “Very well, Piece. Since you refuse to believe me, I will show you.”

The memory hit like a brick.

The Wood, which neither of them can recall, which even in recollection makes Arthur cry out, crouch down, cover his head with both arms.

The Presence, all around, of the Great Mother goddess, too much for even John to comprehend, even in this brief and eclipsed view.

And on the ground, Arthur.

And in his blood, Arthur.

And looking like some kind of ill-used anatomy model, Arthur, barely breathing, barely living, so much worse from Hastur’s point of view than John had ever imagined.

BOLD LITTLE THING, came the voice in memory, shaking their minds like heavy boots on flimsy boards. BUT THIS IS NOT FOR YOU. HASTUR, I WOULD LIKE TO REST, AND DO NOT ENJOY BEING WOKEN IN THE NIGHT BY MY OFFSPRING’S DISTRESS, SO LET’S MAKE THIS… SIMPLE? FIRST, YOU WILL MARK HIM.

“I will not,” Hastur cried.

IF YOU DO NOT, I WILL JUDGE YOU AN UNFIT FATHER, H’AAZTRE.

Hastur’s voice trembled in horror. “What?”

NIBBLES LIKES HER. I AM NOT PARTICULARLY CONCERNED WHO GETS THE TITLE OF ‘PET’ IN THIS CIRCUMSTANCE—BUT IF I HAVE TO TAKE FAROE FROM YOU, SHE WILL NOT BE RAISED… THE SAME WAY.

Stop! Stop! It was killing them, the voice was killing them—

It stopped.

“I could continue, of course,” Hastur said, pacing again like a patient teacher. “Perhaps I ought—as you do not seem to recall the discussion which followed.”

The confidence of honesty, or a damn good liar. Or maybe something in between.

John hadn’t pulled it together yet. Damn y…. Damn the… n… no. No. Hastur, no. There’s another way. No!

“Do it,” whispered Arthur.

Fucking hell, Arthur! No!

Shaking, panting, Arthur looked up. His nose bled. He wiped at it with his right hand, seeing nothing, speaking in Hastur’s general direction. “Do it.”

No!

“I won’t let her be taken, John!” Arthur snapped, voice ragged. “I won’t allow that! A pet? Faroe? I don’t care what it costs!”

It will cost you! John cried, voice cracking.

Hastur suddenly stiffened. “She’s back.”

And it was as though intermission fell, and behind the curtain, they all scrambled for their new places, resetting props, adjusting costumes.

Faroe danced in singing a song of her own creation, horrible goat-god-kid right on her heels. And as she handed them flowers, and told them the story she made up to go with each (fairly nonsensical, but she told them with passion), the welling grief and rage and smugness seemed to thicken the air until Arthur’s breath grew ragged.

“Goodnight, sweetheart,” he managed.

“Goodnight, Uncle Arthur, Mister John. Goodnight, daddy! I love you!” And Hastur got a hug.

She skipped off, telling her goat the same stories she’d told them, and they waited until her door closed before returning to the issue at hand.

Don’t, John said, and it was a sob.

“Now, Piece,” said Hastur, soothing, rumbling, pleased, because he knew he’d won. “Why would it cost him ? It won’t. He will be safer. You two could continue your ridiculous night-time meanderings without fear. You could leave the palace and collect my daughter’s favorite flowers, all without concern. My mark will protect him. You know this.”

And John wailed.

He could not know it was the same sound Hastur had made that night in the Wood, made upon the threat that Faroe would be taken.

“John!” said Arthur.

We can’t do this!

“Will it… remove you?” said Arthur, sounding slightly afraid.

“Why don’t you tell him what it will do, Piece?” rumbled Hastur. “You have three hours to… prepare yourselves in whatever way you see fit. I will have your outfit brought. Tonight, Composer and Piece. Tonight, this will be settled, and the Mother Goddess appeased.” And he left in a cloud of cruelty, while John’s metaphorical breath hitched and chugged, and Arthur sat back on his bench, aching and confused.

“John?”

It marks you, he said.

“I… sort of assumed that, what with it being called ‘marking,’” Arthur said slowly. “I don’t understand. Why does this matter?”

Because it’s permanent. Your soul will retain his fucking brand even after death. I can’t… it… fuck. Arthur, no. We can’t do this. No.

“She’ll take Faroe if we don’t,” Arthur said, still soft, still lost. “What does it matter, anyway? I’m here either way. It’s not like I was going to run. It doesn’t matter, John.”

It matters!

“Why?”

Because you’re mine!

Arthur fell silent.

John’s weeping was a terrible thing, deep like his laugh, frightening, weak.

Helpless.

“Your…” Arthur ventured at last. “Your what?”

This will make you his. He’ll always be able to find you. To feel you. You’ll never escape him.

“I wasn’t… planning on escaping, anyway, John,” Arthur murmurs.

I know! That isn’t the point! You’re mine! Not his! Not… not his.

Arthur played a middle C.

Held it. Let it ring. Let it sing while John’s snuffling slowed.

He moved into a simple, soft chord progression in a-minor, pulsing and slow.

“And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,” Arthur recited. “No longer blown hither and thither; The last lone aster is gone; The flowers of the witch-hazel wither; The heart is still aching to seek, But the feet question 'Whither?'

Ah, when to the heart of man Was it ever less than a treason To go with the drift of things, To yield with a grace to reason, And bow and accept the end Of a love or a season?”

Wh… what? John said as the final chord faded.

“It’s a poem about what to do in the face of the unavoidable,” said Arthur, ponderously, as if pulling memories from a deep well. “The winter cannot be stopped. You come to the mighty oak, its leaves all gone. The flowers are dead, and nothing will bring those specific flowers back. But… you still… move on. You choose how to continue. You push through the winter, because… to give in would betray the very heart of what it is to be human. And because, if you press on long enough, John, Spring will come again.”

John’s voice dropped, awed, as always, by Arthur’s human mind. But you’ll still be his.

“I don’t know if I know what that means, John, but I think no matter what happens, I’m yours. And I think, no matter what happens, you’re mine. I think if he had the power to change that, he would have done it already.”

And that was a good point, and John wanted Arthur to feel so good about this, this first foray back into poetry, this first attempt he’d made at his old way of thinking before everything went so wrong.

But John couldn’t think of anything to say. He couldn’t think of how to tell Arthur you’d be his in a way you can never be mine.

So instead, he said, Play Clair de Lune for me?

Arthur did, and Schumann’s Träumerei after that, and then Liszt’s Consolation No. 3, and then the Dancers arrived, and it was time to get dressed for the last night John would ever have Arthur to himself.

It wasn’t the same as his court composer outfit.

This one was light. The shirt was open at the throat and secured only by the wide, silky sash, which captured it in a vee at his waist. Skirted, pleated, distinctly swishy, this outfit was apparently standard for the one being marked, and Arthur was confused at the way it made him feel.

It moved when he walked. He wasn’t used to clothes that moved when he walked.

You… it works on you, John admitted, miserable. It’s just white and red, all of it; the white top and bottom will be stained with your blood, which the sash symbolizes for now.

“My blood? Fuck. Faroe won’t see this, will she?”

Always Faroe. Always fucking Faroe. I don’t know, Arthur. That’s his problem.

Arthur spun, puzzled. It felt nice, if weirdly exposed—which it wasn’t, because the damn thing brushed the tops of his feet. He had not been given shoes, and the flaring, fraying edges of material tickled his toes.

“How am I going to bleed? What’s he going to do, bite me?”

No. The way this normally works is he gives a great big fucking speech about how great he is for having found you—since you only matter in the way you make him look good—but in your case, I have a hard time believing he’s going to use it to build you up. It’ll probably be some kind of… shame-speech, where he has to do this because of how awful you are.

“You didn’t really answer me, John.”

John sighed. I… he’s not going to bite you. He’s going to stab you through the heart.

“He… he’s what? He’s what?”

It’s magic. All right? He’s going to do the incantation, and then he’s going to pierce through your heart with his arm. It’s going to hurt. It’s… also… John mumbled. Going to feel like bliss. Both at once. Some people vomit. Everybody passes out.

“I’m going to what?”

While emotion was nice to hear in Arthur’s voice, John wasn’t sure he wanted to encourage this particular panic. You’ll be fine. He… I… the whole point is he has to get inside you. Where… where I am.

“Fuck. Are you going to be hurt?”

I don’t know. I never did it to anyone who had someone inside them before. I don’t know what the fuck is going to happen.

Arthur’s fists clenched. “If he hurts you with this, I swear…”

I’m sure he won’t. He still thinks we’re going to reunite someday. He needs me.

“Right. Right.” Arthur frowned. “So he’s… going to gut me. Then what?”

While he’s doing that, he can touch your soul. I don’t know why it happens this way. It just fucking does. He’ll say the words, and… and you’ll be marked. You’ll resonate. You’ll… you’ll feel it. Then he pulls his arm out, you’re miraculously unharmed in spite of there being blood fucking everywhere, you pass out—because everybody passes out—and then they party around your unconscious but honored form. Or they usually do. For all I know, he’s going to have everyone take turns scraping off their boots in your hair.

“Fabulous image.” Arthur rubbed his chest, wincing at still-unhappy nerves, wondering just how much pain he had to take in the course of all of this before his body stopped feeling it already. “Is that all?”

Pretty much. Normally, there’s a smaller, second party when you wake up, as your cronies or whoever celebrate you as being favored by the king.

“Well, I’m not favored.”

Right. So. I don’t know how this will go.

Arthur sighed. “As long as Faroe isn’t part of this horror, I don’t care. And… as long as he doesn’t hurt you. I swear, John, if this harms you…”

It won’t. He didn’t know that. He was lying. He had to lie, for this. For him. I’ll be fine. But I can’t… you can only get marked once. I… I won’t ever…

“Please don’t tell me you’ve had fantasies of stabbing me through the heart and yelling nonsense in my face while I pass out and vomit,” said Arthur.

John laughed, and it almost didn’t sound like sobs. You’re getting good at these jokes lately.

“I’m just rediscovering sarcasm. Not sure that counts as humor.” Arthur sighed and sat down, rubbing his face. “I just want it to be over.”

He didn’t seem to notice that John hadn’t answered his question.

John was absolutely not going to bring it back up. It will be soon enough. I’ve got you, Arthur. I’ve got you.

They both felt Hastur coming, whatever mood he was in souring the air and sparking tiny electric arcs through the floor, along the walls, between Arthur’s teeth.

“Here we go,” Arthur muttered, and stood.

Hastur definitely had not planned this like an ordinary marking ceremony.

It wasn’t in the usual room—the Cathedral, with central altar high above the spiraling seats, with stalactites and stalagmites painted and glowing simply for aesthetics and awe.

Neither was it in the Great Field—a mysterious place where the soil hummed with power, where anything that grew did so with so much magic that it, alone, could fund a kingdom, and which Hastur had fought quite hard to own and punished trespassers with fire and pain.

This was just a room. A large room; Hastur had to be comfortable, of course, as did several of his larger sycophants, so it was high-ceilinged, politely whitewashed, with mullioned windows along one wall looking down upon a plain granite floor.

It was a classroom, for those rare seasons when Hastur’s people produced offspring that actually grew. Right now, it was unused—and he had not bothered to have his servants clean the cobwebs from the corners.

The student area was packed with important people who were, in a word, unused to being packed anywhere.

Especially into seats with attached desks, clearly not designed for adult creatures.

Sconces filled the room with a clean, white light, dull and academic. The seats creaked; the beings murmured. There was a pleasant smell from somewhere as of food cooking, but there’d been no mention of a feast after whatever this was, and no one dared presume they were invited to what was most likely Hastur’s dinner.

The whole thing was weird.

It was about to get weirder. The front of the classroom was empty. Then it was not.

There was no procession of Dancers. No servants swirling in half-naked, tossing flower petals hither and thither and yon. There was simply Hastur, with such suddenness that the air he displaced blasted back fur and ruffled clothes.

In his grip was Arthur. The court composer, standing there, dwarfed by the enormous hands on his shoulders, looking absolutely exhausted, afraid, pale, scrawny, weak—

All words they’d been taught to associate with him, as Hastur used them before every single one of Arthur’s performances. (Which were always excellent, which only made them confusing, but no one was going to argue, so—)

“It’s come to my attention that some of you have not, in fact, paid attention,” said Hastur, abandoning Arthur to walk slowly back and forth before the child-chairs, and though he didn’t actually reach out to touch anyone, his power buffeted, keeping fur back and capes slightly billowed.

Arthur shifted his weight, looked at nothing (he never looked at anything), and gripped his right hand with his left.

“This foul piece of flesh is my court composer. His name—when I care to use it—is Arthur.” Hastur reached the other side of the classroom, turned, and reversed his menacing stroll. “He belongs to me. I have chosen him; the reason, perhaps, does not matter now—though it was hardly for any praiseworthy thing he did.” Hastur chuckled.

That wasn’t funny, but he got a few toadying laughs.

“It was to my surprise that he had any talent, nay, even one that could bless my court with a thing of need: music. And it is true. I will grant that. My jubilees are beautiful things, almost fitting accompaniment to the glory of my kingdom.”

The weird spirit-thing in Arthur made a very quiet snore.

That had to be an accident.

Nobody knew what that thing was, anyway. Heavily warded, hidden from sight, it evidently spoke to Arthur (everyone had heard him talking to it), but Hastur never mentioned it at all, so it must be beneath notice—and surely it wouldn’t have actually made a rude noise.

Arthur’s lips twitched.

Hastur went still for only a moment, then resumed his terrible gallows walk. No lightning struck, so clearly, it had been an accident.

“Nevertheless, what do I hear? What do I learn, as I come home to my city, to my people, to the empire in whose very veins my permission to live flows like blood and wine? I come home… to learn about plots.”

Ah. Well, yes. Everyone knew someone who knew someone who knew someone who had been making plans to use Arthur in some way to curry favor. And until Pers showed up and paid the price, it had seemed a perfectly reasonable course of action.

Hastur stopped behind Arthur, dwarfing him. Broader, taller, his every exhalation more powerful than the entirety of Arthur’s life, he stood behind his musician, grabbed his wrists in two thick tentacles, and angrily stretched him out as far as he would go.

Arthur cried out. But he did not struggle. His head stayed down. He trembled.

“Do you see this?” said Hastur, dripping contempt with every syllable. Another tentacle emerged from his cloak to touch under Arthur’s chin, forcing him to lift his face. “Do. You. See. This.” And anger now trembled under the floor like a passing train, made the child-chairs rattle in place, made the glass in the windows creak. “This. Is. Mine.”

On that final word, three of the sconces blew off the wall; most attendees jumped. A few cried out.

“And,” said Hastur, “if anyone is going to rip this creature limb from limb—if anyone is going to tear his skin to shreds, or keep him alive as his bloodied screams light the night, or spread his guts around my home like festive garlands, that someone will be me.”

There was a noise from the thing in Arthur’s head. The mystery-spirit, perhaps in pain because Arthur was.

Hastur was bellowing now, paining eardrums, rippling flesh with the force of his anger. “Do we all understand?”

Arthur’s head was down again, and his every breath was shuddering terror, rapid anticipation of whatever was to come.

And no one expected what was to come (even with that outfit), because it was obvious Hastur hated this guy, and the last thing anyone would want to do with someone they hated was—

Hastur turned Arthur to face him, gripped his neck to stretch his head and arch his back, and plunged a tentacle right into his chest.

John knew pain.

He had experienced pain in death and pain in tearing. Pain in flesh—Arthur had bitten the tip of their pinky finger off John’s hand. John had felt every shredded nerve as the red-hot metal of Arthur’s belt buckle seared the bleeding. He knew the pain of the soul, too, the anguish of loss as Arthur, was broken before his eyes.

This was entirely different.

This was every sensation coming to screaming life and crackling through him like lightning, every sensation fighting for dominance as he was pinned like an insect being mounted for display.

And in that moment of the perfect agony he and Arthur shared, John pinpointed that tangled weave where he and Arthur blurred together inside him.

Something wasn’t right.

Vaguely, he could hear Hastur bellow, the words becoming meaning in the space they shared.

I command you

Yes…

I take your name

Yes!

I burn myself into your soul

He thought, for a brief moment, of how lovely a sound Arthur’s name was.

And John reacted, screaming from effort, singing words he did not know he still knew, rippling with meaning and intent and power, resonating with Hastur (all that John was and all that he would someday be), and sharing this terrible, violational spell.

But John… made it beautiful.

“Y' ymg' ulnah!” Hastur roared, vowing, bespelling, loathing every syllable that exited his throat. “Y' ymg' mggoka yaah! Y' fm'latgh ymg' orr'e!”

And Arthur’s soul (that hideous substance) did what it was supposed to, and began to conform to Hastur’s intrusion.

But something wasn’t right.

Something was—

“Ph'nglui n'gha!” Echoing?

In death!

“Ph'nglui lw'nafh!” Reflecting?

In life!

“Syha'h ymg' ah ya yaor!” He was not speaking these words alone.

Always…

The power was weird, filling the cavern of untapped potential in this disgusting man.

(Hastur was panicking.)

“Syha'h ymg' ah ya yaori!” Three times, he had to say it three times.

Always you are—

Hastur felt…

(Hastur was afraid.)

Hastur was…

John was…

“Syha'h ymg' ah ya yaor!”

Always, you are my own!

(Hastur was whole.)

(John was whole.)

He looked with Hastur’s eyes upon Arthur’s face, his lovely Arthur, covered with scars of their shared experiences, and in the eternity of that moment memorized every line worn into his skin, every lash that framed his sightless eyes, and felt that heart—so fragile, yet so strong—beat within their chest.

He wanted to tell him… Everything.

Instead, he spoke, voice low and heavy with so many unsaid words.

“Mine.”

And John fell back into Arthur’s head, spinning as if to never find ground.

Hastur was done.

It was finished.

He pulled his arm out of Arthur in a spray of hideous blood and gore—leaving Arthur’s chest without injury at all, what a magic trick, huzzah.

It had all gone right. He felt the things he’d expected to feel—a knee-jerk closeness to the one he’d marked, an affection born of lies, which would pass in a few hours. But that was not all.

Not all, at all.

He’d felt whole.

For a moment, just a moment, dual-casting a thing that could not be dual-cast, he’d been whole again, and relief from the pain (constant, aching, burning) of fragmentation was so strong that he—

Hastur discovered that if he spoke right now, he might sob.

It had felt so—

It had felt.

He made a noise. One low, small one, fighting the urge to wrap Arthur up in his limbs like Faroe, fighting the urge to squeeze him like jelly in desperation to get John back, fighting all the urges because none of them were sane and he’d known they wouldn’t be and that was fine this was fine it would all be okay.

Loss. Because he’d been whole. For one magnificent instant.

And then, he became aware his couriers were murmuring.

“How? How did he—”

“He must have really meant those warnings.”

“But I didn’t know he could—”

“Why didn’t he do that, then, to someone he liked, like—”

Hastur was on the edge of… everything. Arousal. Grief. Sorrow. Anger. Possessiveness. Pain.

How dare Arthur have somehow made him feel whole, only to take it away? How dare he? Hastur should smash him for this. Break both his legs. Crush his ribs.

But the thought of harming Arthur sent a pang of horror straight through his own echoing soul—sore now, as if it had been stretched, extended, overused.

Tomorrow. He could be reasonable about hurting Arthur tomorrow. He had to handle his courtiers now. “Do we have an understanding?” he said, aiming for intimidation.

Well, that hadn’t worked. It came out smooth. Chocolatey, pleased. Relaxed. Which was normal for after a marking, but he didn’t want it to be.

What the fuck were they all talking about, anyway? They’d all seen this before. It was just a—

Hastur peered.

Hastur lifted Arthur’s limp form, stained now with blood from a vanished wound, and peered more closely.

There were two marks on his soul.

John did not have lungs to be panting like this, but he was doing it anyway.

He also did not have eyes, but he knew what burned before him—brilliant, orange, like filaments in an overheated bulb.

Hastur’s mark, yes, but no: this was the King in Yellow’s mark.

And John recalled his own words, long ago, still true: I am the King in Yellow.

Two. Two marks, identical, just slightly offset so as to be discrete. This was not a possible thing. This could not happen. This had never happened in the history of anything. This—

(He’d been whole.)

That was John’s mark on there. Arthur had not been taken from him.

(He had. Been. Whole.)

John had marked Arthur, somehow, at the same time as Hastur. Maybe how didn’t matter. Maybe it was a gift. Maybe Shub-Niggurath had—

No. This was not anyone’s gift but his own.

John sobbed. He couldn’t stop.

(He’d been whole.)

Arthur was his, for true, for life, even after death.

(He’d been, he’d felt, he had been whole and—)

He would never lose him now. Not even the Dark World could prevent John from finding him.

It was a gift. It was a blessing. It was…

It was because I am the King in Yellow, he thought, which (whole whole he had been whole) hurts in some indefinable way, because how many years had he spent distancing himself from this, and no, he hadn’t thought he was human, but his essence truly hadn’t changed, he was what he was, he was a god, he hadn’t lost it all, he hadn’t lost everything in his nature or his power or his mind, he—

He had been whole with Hastur for one wild, beautiful moment, and while having Arthur for good felt better, that had been…

John would not allow himself to say right.

He would never join Hastur again. No matter how it had felt. But it…

It had been beautiful, in that moment.

John wasn’t sobbing only with relief. There was loss, too.

It could be both. It was both.

He still controlled Arthur’s left hand, and reached up to hug the limp mans’ body, clutching, tight.

Being whole had felt so good.

John was afraid.

Arthur Lester had a very different experience from the gods in the room.

He was used to Hastur’s nonsense by now. That did not, of course, mean it didn’t still hurt.

He’d never minded being looked at; musicians required an audience, and being a P.I. meant getting talked to and stared at and perused all the time.

He hated the humiliation. Hated the insults. The constant barrage of worthless and gross and viscerally disgusting.

Hated that Hastur’s lickspittles accepted it without question, adopting his attitude to the point that they never even knew what to do when he gave them beautiful sounds.

(And he did give them beautiful sounds, damn it. His music was flowing better than it ever had in his life, and he didn’t know why; maybe because he had so little ego left to get in the way.)

(Maybe that was the key to art, after all: crack open until you can bleed on the page, then burn your self down.)

These were dark thoughts. Arthur felt dark. Everyone was staring, smug, so superior.

He hadn’t expected to be manhandled. He hadn’t expected it to hurt before it was going to hurt.

He didn’t want to be hurt. He didn’t want to be stabbed. He didn't want—

The first second of impalement felt like a punch, then nothing.

Then everything, and it was horror.

It was worse than getting knifed by Kellan.

It was worse than getting shot.

It was worse than the frog-thing that chewed into his gut underneath that island, trying to suck out his blood.

It was worse than anything, ever, and he could not breathe.

John! he cried inside, aware he was choking blood, unable to gasp around the shape in his chest. John, I’m afraid, I—

And Hastur began to shout.

Arthur knew nothing of R'Lyehian other than the rhythms Hastur demanded in his music. Arthur couldn’t speak it. Couldn’t understand it. But these shouts were different from the self-praise Hastur regularly made him put to song.

This was…

Meaning.

Arthur got the strangest image—of Hastur reaching into a barrel of water and closing his hand around a grape.

And then it wasn’t hurting anymore.

It was still too much. Far too much, and getting mucher, but it wasn’t pain the way he’d known. Not burning, not stretching, not tearing, but somehow all of those and not, and each word Hastur shouted was being—

Echoed?

John.

John was shouting, too.

Had that been part of the program? Had he always been going to—

It became more than much. It became muchest, and then it got even worse.

Filled his veins and jangled his nerves, sizzled every branch of every biological system in his body, but only on the way to something else, because this was touching a part of him he’d spent most of his life believing didn’t even exist.

Hastur was there, too, yes, yes.

John was there. Yes. Yes!

It was still getting mucher, too much, over the top. Overstimulation, he thought, dredging the word from some crooked case-file, but that was all he could do. It felt like there was a fist in his mind, expanding, maybe damaging, maybe crushing, maybe—

John was… singing?

Singing the words?

Arthur’s thoughts spiraled. Oh, of course, his soul was a harp string, and they both plucked a tune.

That made sense, and he visualized that, the vibrations too fast to see, the resonance tickling strings nearby to create overtones and harmony, the—

Something was happening.

It was sight. He would never have sight. It was better than sight.

John.

Behind John, Hastur, like a ballooned-up version of his friend, his person, his—

John, and then Hastur, and they were the same, the same being, the same thing, or kind of thing, or—

John.

Hastur didn’t matter.

(Hastur was inside.)

Hastur didn’t matter.

John.

It wasn’t sight, but it was; John, golden—all ablaze, a smile of terrifying heat turned upon him as he sang the terrible words.

(Forever and my own slipped through, and Arthur wasn’t sure if he’d made that up or not.)

Sight that made John blaze like the sun and dimmed all the rest (and Hastur was there, too), and Arthur raised his face toward that sun like a flower come to bloom.

It wasn’t hurting.

It was hurting.

It was the worst pain he’d ever felt in his life.

It was the best pain, the best thing, the most marvelous too much, and he wanted to scream all the way through until it killed him dead with the ecstasy and agony of vibrating strings.

He caught a thought that he was lit up like a filament in a light bulb, which wasn’t his thought, but John's, and wasn’t that wonderful?

Mine they said, they promised, they sang, and he heard them.

“John!” Arthur said-cried-screamed-sighed, and then he crested that hill, fell over that edge, tipped backward and upside down and fell into the sky toward John (and Hastur was there, too) and then, in mercy, he finally passed out.

“Get out.” Hastur knew that wasn’t strong enough, and he had to play it up as if that were on purpose. “Or do I need to actually act out my ire on anyone I suspect of treason?”

Thank fuck that got them moving. They all stared at Arthur a moment more (and he couldn’t blame them; this was a situation), and then left—bowing, praising Hastur, proclaiming loudly to one another how clever he was. All things he normally enjoyed at the end of performances like this.

Hastur could barely stand, but he managed. Willpower and thousands of years of practice, wielded like a pro, kept him upright: he waited, and stood, until the last monster left, until the classroom door was closed.

Then Hastur locked it with magic, sealing it right the fuck up, and sat down hard.

He’d picked Arthur up at some point. Hadn’t remembered doing that. Didn’t really want to keep holding the man, but… fuck. Arthur was a mess. Maybe they hadn’t waited long enough before doing this?

Arthur had bled more than he was supposed to, and choked on some of it, too, so it was all down his front and all over his face and ugh. Could he be more gross?

(Beautiful.)

No. This was gross. That was the mark talking.

Hastur knew how to mitigate that until those feelings went away. He had bigger fish to fry. John was… crying?

Son of a bitch. “What. Did you. Do.” (Now that was a snarl.)

John stopped his bullshit long enough to reply. He’s mine. You can’t take him from me now.

“I asked you a question, Piece. What did you do?”

Fuck if I know. Aren’t you the god of this place? You tell me.

Hastur growled.

John hissed like a lizard.

Neither of those sounds were… meant.

I miss you is what Hastur would say, if he were some weak, pathetic thing, mortal, or young, or in any way silly and vulnerable and stupid. Happily, the Piece was just as proud, and so there would be no—

Fuck. I miss you. All right? I miss you. I felt it, too. Fuck you, go to hell, I miss… I miss you. But I’m never coming back.

He wasn’t supposed to say it. “Piece,” Hastur warned.

I felt it. That’s all. I’m saying it so you don’t have to, you arrogant chunk of a worm’s backside.

Hastur sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Piece. This is not—“

He’s mine, anyway. Mine. Pretty sure my mark is under yours, closer to him. To his. To. A pause. What was I saying?

And it occurred to Hastur right about then that all that power had been enough to knock him on his ass… and the Piece was, ah. Less than that.

“Well,” said Hastur. “You are magic-drunk. I wonder what we should do with you in this state.”

Nothing, the piece groused, and Arthur’s left hand rose and began petting his hair.

It was a sloppy motion. Clumsily affectionate.

Hastur laughed at him.

Shut up. Mine.

“I should really take advantage of this,” said Hastur (who had not put Arthur down, but it meant nothing, it was just the damned mark doing its thing, and it would bloody well pass).

No, you should go away and let me take advantage of him. And John proceeded to crack up. See what I … hahaha! I made a dirty joke! Hahaha! Arthur could put it in a song and make everybody happy! Hahaha!

Hastur stared. “What are you talking about?”

John continued giggling, repeating his bizarre quip.

Right. “We are finished here. The Mother will be satisfied. Her damned goat baby can see this and verify I did my duty. We’re done.”

I’ll do her duty, said John.

“That made no sense, Piece.”

I know! Wait, what?

Hastur sighed. Stood.

Wobbled. And to wobble with as many tentacles as he had for balance was… a feat.

Whatever this was, it had departed from marking into new and strange territory. He’d have to study it. There could be new magic here. Something more he could utilize to… to…

He had no idea what he’d do with magic like this. It didn’t seem to have a purpose. It was just… an accident.

Poor baby Arthur, John said, pushing one finger into his soft cheek. Too skinny. Must feed.

“John, you’re embarrassing yourself.”

You’re embarrassing yourself.

“Right.” Deeply grateful he could use portals and did not have to walk through the halls in this condition, Hastur stepped through to Arthur’s room.

It was blessedly cool in there, a breeze from the window licking the sweat from Arthur’s skin, the sheen from Hastur’s hide. He stood in front of the balcony, waiting for sanity to return along with regulated temperature.

By rights, he should drop Arthur onto the floor and leave.

Hey, said John. Do you think if we got a pony and we fell down, you’d feel the bruise?

“What?” said Hastur. “What are you… you’re still inebriated.”

Haha! Uh. Maybe? I don’t know.

(Hastur wanted to hold Arthur.)

(Hastur wanted to take care of Arthur.)

(Hastur wanted to clean him up and tuck him into bed and make him eat some porridge, or whatever he was supposed to be eating, and stay there and be there when he woke.)

Right. None of that. He’d be sane by morning.

The euphoria wasn’t enough to erase the ache, anyway. He’d been whole.

Hastur walked out onto Arthur’s balcony and stared down at the garden.

He was right; it did have less color than it had when he was whole.

He was right; it did smell less lovely than it had when he was whole.

He had been right; right to tear through the worlds trying to find a solution. Right to torture beings who kept potential leads from him. Right to do everything in his power to force the Piece out of fucking Arthur Lester and back into him.

He’d been right. And in the midst of all this mayhem, he’d forgotten that was the entire reason any of this was happening at all.

“Tomorrow, Piece,” Hastur said slowly. “Tomorrow, we need to talk.”

You need to talk.

“Yes, I—that didn’t even make any sense.”

John sounded deeply pleased with himself. You don’t make any sense.

Hastur sighed. “Good luck cleaning him up in the morning. I’m sure he’ll thank you for waking up in this mess.” Such a mess. Bodily fluids everywhere. Just… ugh.

You’re a… what… oh, hi! Like he’d forgotten Hastur was there. Hey. Put us in the bath.

“He will drown because he is unconscious and you are an idiot.”

No he won’t. I’ve got him.

“I’m sure. While that would be a deeply amusing way to solve my conundrum, I can’t risk it. Faroe—”

Don’t you fucking use that name right now!

Hastur sighed and rubbed his forehead again. “She isn’t your enemy.”

Like hell! She… she hurt him. She could hurt him again!

“She’s healing him, you moron.”

For whatever reason, that landed. John went quiet.

Arthur’s breathing was deep and steady.

“You really want him in the bath?”

Sullen: Yes.

“Fine. On your head be it. Hardly my fault if you murder your idiot mule.” But he was more gentle than he’d admit as he carried Arthur in there and ran the water.

The affection would pass.

The grief would not.

The fondness would pass.

The pain would not.

He’d lost sight, in the middle of everything, of what mattered. Though he didn’t regret Faroe. He would never regret her; by the gods, by the time he was done, she would be…

She would make every other goddess in all the worlds jealous.

But he had lost sight of his purpose.

He peered down.

Arthur looked… good. Happy. He’d lost that pinched expression that twisted his face even when sleeping. Blood was still everywhere, though. “Good luck with this mess.”

Oh, he’ll wake up soon, said John happily. I need him to play for me. Play those happy drunk songs.

Hastur had no idea what he was talking about. “John. He’s just been marked. He’s going to sleep for a day and a half, probably.”

Nooooo… John’s left arm splashed the water, petulant.

Hastur sighed. “You don’t even—”

“What happened?” said Arthur, and Hastur jumped.

Arthur! Arthur, Arthur, Arthur… Hey! Arthur, Arthur, Arthur—

“Hmmm?” said Arthur. Then he fell asleep again.

That should… not have happened.

But he’d done that in The Wood, too, hadn’t he? Woken up when the Great Mother herself had put him under. He had.

“What the fuck are you?” Hastur wondered, finally wondered, finally fucking admitted out loud.

Because it was so much easier to just lump him into the worst of humanity, to see him like some horrible drug, something that addicted the Piece, destroying him even as it sucked him further in. But perhaps…

Perhaps ignoring the possibility of more had done more harm than good. Perhaps, if he did not finally get to the bottom of what the fuck Arthur Lester had going on, he was never going to get the Piece to come home.

(And had to find out if whatever it was was in Faroe. And if it would harm her.)

Nooooo… John protested as Hastur gave Arthur the quickest bath of his life.

“I’m not leaving you here. He’s going to drown, or wake up in icy cold water and get fucking pneumonia.”

But I wanted to… I… uh.

“What, Piece?”

There is a bizarre blank moment. I don’t remember.

“Exactly.”

He tried to toss Arthur onto the bed.

He laid him down instead, and tucked him in, to boot. Then sighed at himself.

“Piece,” said Hastur. “I don’t know what happened tonight. You may not even remember this, but out of respect for what you are—truly what you are, not this pantomime you’ve created—I will warn you: it is time we got to the bottom of what this human is. And when we have done that, you are going to come home.”

John didn’t answer. He didn’t seem to have registered anything Hastur said. He was busy playing with Arthur’s lips, one finger sort of batting them up and down, amused at their elasticity.

Hastur shook his head. “Tomorrow, it changes. We’re done with this game. Goodnight.” He turned. Stopped. And facing the garden, facing the sky, facing the edge of the world, too quiet, he said, “I miss you, too.” And he left.

Arthur stirred. “Stobbit,” he said, pushing John’s hand from his face, and then fell under again.

Mine, said John, who could not sleep, but felt like he might fall into some kind of doze, anyway. It’s good now. It’s safe. I’ll keep you safe. Um. Like a… what’s a hidden gun called? Is there a word for that?

Arthur just breathed. It was good breathing, though. Deep. Steady.

John hugged him tight. Let’s do this again sometime, he said, and fell into a sweetly thoughtless daze.

Arthur slept well, without bad dreams. Instead, he dreamed of light bulb souls, and John-shaped suns, and flying through the stars. And all night long, Faroe’s smile guided him home.

-----------

NOTES

The music Arthur played to Robert Frost’s Reluctance was something similar to this.

Schumann’s Träumerei.

Liszt’s Consolation no. 3.

#malevolent #malevolent fic #malevolent podcast #malevolent fanfic #kiy malevolent #king hastur #john malevolent #arthur lester #surrogate series

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late-to-the-fandom · 2 years

Note

🌹 Who's the flirty one and who gets shy and flustered?

🥣 Who is more skilled in the kitchen?

✅️ Who cares more about being right and winning the argument?

🦋 Who looks for magic in the everyday and ordinary and who needs it pointed out to then?

🎇 Who is more impulsive and who is more careful? Does the careful one help keep the impulsive one grounded?

🌸 Who is more likely to make the decisions in a high pressure situation? Does the other one like to follow their leadership?

Thank you for these (and I apologise it’s so long 😅)

🌹 Who's the flirty one and who gets shy and flustered?Renathal is definitely more flirty, and he’s good at it, and he knows it. He has more practice, and he enjoys flirty banter as a game in itself. The Maw Walker can hold her own for a bit, but when she’s up against a master and one she actually likes (Renathal) she does get flustered first (and fast).

🥣 Who is more skilled in the kitchen?

Renathal again because an entirely baseless headcanon I have is that cooking would be one of his various hobbies he’s picked up in his long existence. So he doesn’t cook on the regular, but he has certain dishes he can make and very well. The Maw Walker’s own rather privileged upbringing shows here because she’s used to other people cooking for her so she cannot cook anything and never bothered to learn because she doesn’t like food anyway.

✅️ Who cares more about being right and winning the argument? 🦋 Who looks for magic in the everyday and ordinary and who needs it pointed out to then?

I actually answered both of these here

🎇 Who is more impulsive and who is more careful? Does the careful one help keep the impulsive one grounded?

Renathal is more regularly impulsive, although he wouldn’t like to hear that and he tries not to be. He’s the one more likely to make an emotional decision and more likely to run with that decision even if it’s not well thought out. The Maw Walker’s impulsiveness is more whimsical. If she feels safe enough, and is around someone she likes, she might impulsively do some sort of impressive or entertaining magic that she wouldn’t otherwise.

🌸 Who is more likely to make the decisions in a high pressure situation? Does the other one like to follow their leadership?

Alright I went off on this and I apologise but I adore this question and the reason why is because a recurring complaint I’ve received (from an alpha reader with whom I’ve now parted ways)is that I’ve written the Maw Walker as too passive and submissive in her daily life because she generally follows Rebathal’s lead and doesn’t mind letting him be in charge. I have many reasons why I see the Maw Walker this way (not the least of which being that it’s a video game in which the character you play routinely just does whatever the hell everybody else tells them to do and that’s half the story), but this question gives me an opportunity to highlight the fact that that is just a default for them both (Renathal’s very used to issuing orders, the Maw Walker is used to going with the flow).

In high pressure situations that is not the case for either of them, which I’ve also written out several times. When it’s “life or death” (so to speak), the Maw Walker is the one most likely to take charge, and what’s more, Renathal is more than happy to let her. He likes being in control, but he’s also very used to having someone else (Denathrius) who is ultimately the final decision maker and on whom he can fall back when situations become high-stakes. Lacking that, when in a high pressure sitch and out of ideas, Renathal will gladly hand over the reins to the Maw Walker who is very good at thinking under pressure and handles those sorts of situations with aplomb. And she is equally happy to give them back to him when things are more stable because she doesn’t want to have to bother with day to day decisions because it stresses her and she doesn’t care

#ask games #writing games #my writing #renathal x maw walker #headcanons

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dhampurgreenofficial · 3 months

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Why Dhampur Green's Grenadine Syrup is Your Secret Weapon for Delicious Mocktails

Syrup grenadine might conjure up images of classic cocktails, but what if we told you it can be the key to delightful and refreshing mocktails too? Dhampur Green's Grenadine Mocktail Syrup is a game-changer for anyone who wants to create exciting non-alcoholic drinks that are bursting with flavour.

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#GrenadineSyrup #MocktailMagic #DhampurGreen #PomegranateFlavour #RefreshingDrinks

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carica-ficus · 2 years

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Review: A Town Called River

Author: Igor Rendić

Date: 15/02/2023

Rating: ⭐⭐⭐

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I finally got the chance to go to the library and pick out some books from Croatian authors I've been wanting to read. "A Town Called River" has been on my radar for a while and I finally decided to pick it up this month.

It is an urban fantasy that focuses on Slavic mythology as its main source of creatures, magic and plot. The story follows a young man, Paul, who comes back to his hometown, Rijeka, after his grandmother died. Little does he know she has left him somewhat more than her earthly belongings - the responsibility of a krsnik, a sort of magical protector of the region.

Before he becomes engulfed in the supernatural world around him, Paul's everyday life and errands invoke a comforting feeling of nostalgia. The author's love of the small cultural parts of Croatian and local life come into light through Paul's appreciation of the cuisine, his surroundings, and the people. Rendić also perfectly illustrated Paul's grief. There is a certain type of sorrow a person feels over the loss of a grandparent they were close to, and Paul's loss was indisputably tangible.

What stuck out to me is that, even though Paul's grandma has already passed before the story of the book started, her character is very well made. She is given a core personality based on care, protection and understanding, but she is brought to life through her background, reputation and work. She is not glorified, but is spoken about with respect. Not a lot of books feature a departed character who's personality has been reflected so authentically through the memories of other characters.

Unfortunately, I found the introduction to the main story somewhat too long. Paul is basically thrown into a role he never knew existed, let alone prepared for, so the beginning is filled with his anxious thoughts, self-doubt and fear. Katrina, his childhood friend, tries to help him through his feelings, but their discussions and arguments are quite repetitive and end up in seemingly endless cycles. The plot seems to stand still as Paul desperately tries to figure out what to do - fly back to America or stay in Rijeka and fulfill his obligation.

As Paul finally makes his decision, he discovers his powers and decides to use them, which makes the second half of the book filled with action, angry opponents, fights, hasty decisions and high stakes. The creatures Paul runs into are anything, but ordinary, and their designs are almost straight out of a horror. I was pleasantly surprised to find out how gory this story actually was, featuring many bloody, painful mutilations. The main villains actually get introduced almost at the very end of the book and their backgrounds and motives imply a much wider story that is yet to unfold.

"A Town Called River" is only the first book of the series, and while I expected a bit more from it, I am curious to see what happens next. There's a lot of things to love about this book, especially the characters and the fantastic elements. It is worth giving a chance to, but the book didn't really appeal to me as much as I would've liked. There's great potential behind it, but it falls short in some aspects. I feel I would've liked it a lot more if I read it when I was a younger.

#a town called river #igor rendić #croatia #croatian author #rijeka #urban fantasy #reading #review #reading challenge #book review #moja recenzija #recenzija #rc2023 #2023 #book #books

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formicaindia4 · 2 years

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THE FENIX CLEANING TIPS

At home, you may get stains in your kitchen surfaces or somewhere else by coincidence, mainly if you are in a rush. However there’s no want to fear considering the fact that you've got us. We've a obvious solution that gets rid of any floor stain or mark. Permit’s begin. Cleaning & upkeep we've got some easy however vital policies for properly worrying for a fenix surface. In case you examine fenix via a microscope, you will see the shape that causes mild to mirror at numerous angles. This is liable for what we realise as a matt appearance. An vital step to smooth the shape is often rinsing it with water as it avoids some thing that stays in the back of it. Everyday cleansing

cleaning fenix way cleaning its structure. You could do that with heat water. As fenix is a strong material, you can use any household cleanser – even solvents like acetone if wished. However, to avoid destructive the structure, don’t scrub it with abrasive cream, a scouring pad, or a hard brush; within the long time, this might lead to a sleek spot for your matt floor. As an alternative, you can use a melamine sponge – additionally referred to as a magic sponge. As a very last step, to avoid whatever staying behind inside the structure – whether dust or residue out of your cleaner – continually rinse afterward with warm water and wipe dry with a clean fabric. The dos & don’ts of fenix cleansing:

dos

use any family cleaner or simply heat water continually quit via rinsing with warm water dry with a smooth cloth to avoid limescale residue don’ts

don’t use abrasive cream don’t use a scouring pad or hard brush (you can use a melamine sponge) cleaning your fenix floor in this way helps you experience it for years and years. A way to get rid of stains inside the ordinary use of fenix, the fabric is in contact with extraordinary materials that can leave stains. Below you may discover suggestions to dispose of the most commonplace ones. Coffee stains sugar syrups stains oil stains wine stains sauce stains repairing superficial micro-scratches when implemented to micro-scratches, thermal recuperation can regenerate your fenix surface. Now and again the floor may be broken by minor scratches, and in a few cases, this could result in permanent discoloration or damage at the surface. Even as many surfaces include a guarantee overlaying some or all of these issues, it’s still viable to restore small troubles your self. Tt right here are a few techniques you could appoint to repair micro-scratches on your fenix, depending at the severity of the scratch. If the scratch is distinctly small, you can use a family detergent and water mixture to clean the place and apply a clean sealant. This may protect the underlying layer from future damage and help to heal the scratch. If the scratch is larger or deeper, you'll want to update the entire floor of your device. Irrespective of the sort of scratch, thermal restoration is an powerful manner to regenerate your fenix’s surface. This system uses warmness and strain to break down the existing scratches and rebuild them in a brand new pattern. The use of thermal restoration, you may return your floor to look new again without resorting to costly repairs or replacements. This newsletter is informative and offers insight into the way to clean the fenix surface. You could get further details about the fenix cleansing tips by following the hyperlink underneath.

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byronbayloveoils · 2 years

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Black Seed Oil - Essential Purposes and Advantages of Black Seed

Black Seed Oil is a medicinal balm that treats a large number of sicknesses productively, as it is wealthy in numerous assortments of supplements. It ought to continuously be really important to claim a fit body. Displaying great wellbeing is a feeling of satisfaction, fulfillment, and harmony. The Black Seed Oil is explicitly valuable in many circumstances, bringing about an improvement of your wellbeing. The article examines a few focuses more or less.

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Resource: https://byronbayloveoil.wordpress.com/2022/12/09/black-seed-oil-essential-purposes-and-advantages-of-black-seed/

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reddy-reads · 2 years

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Solstice Wood, Patricia A McKillip

Okay I finished the book!

Thoughts (and spoilers) under the jump

1. I wasn’t sure I was going to finish it. I bought it months ago, possibly even a year ago, and it sat about 1/3 read on my nightstand for months--that usually bodes ill. Then, of course, I decided to make it the November book so that, one way or another, it’d be taken care of by the end of this month.

2. I picked this book up more-or-less at random after seeing it discussed in a thread about “books that have a magic system that hinges on something ordinary/everyday rather than Great and Obscure Spells” (a la Tamora Pierce’s Circle of Magic books). In this case, the magic is worked through needlework and threadcraft--the witches’ coven in the book is the local Fiber Arts Guild. They work their magic through sewing, quilting, crochet, knitting, macrame... and they use it to maintain and defend the boundaries between the mundane world and the Fair Folk.

3. The magic system is awesome! What we see of it. It’s not explained much, but it does get some description, and I loved that. The plot is... okay? Like I said, I plowed through a little less than half of it and then didn’t feel the need to finish it. Normally my favorite books get their momentum up before then. But more on this in a second.

The chapters are have varying character POVs, but it’s not really used to a super amazing extent (for the most part). If it wasn’t for the chapter headings like “Chapter 2: Steve” I’m not sure I could have told you who was narrating which chapters? Not to toot my own horn but I think even I have stretched myself a lot re: having the narration be really flavored by the POV character, and I think the characters’ voices could have been more deeply developed.

3b: Plot: having damned with faint praise re: plot and pacing just now, I will say that when I did pick the book back up again, the book did start to snap along pretty well. When the changeling appears, things really get moving. I think I said something like “oh man I hopped off too early this is actually kinda good,” so if you can get over that hump, it’s easy to finish. That said, I really don’t think authors generally intend for their books to sag in the early-middle.

4: Philosophically speaking, I did like the conclusion. Instead of ending in a big battle or dramatic sacrifice or big violent orgy, the book wraps with the matriarch of the family (and the head of the Fiber Arts Guild)... changing her mind. She has a perspective change, and she changes her previous stance of “the Fae must be kept out at any cost, they can never never never be allowed in our world” to “maybe we can see what happens if we stop reinforcing our spells. Maybe we can see if they’re as dangerous as we always believed, or if they’re only as dangerous as human people.” She doesn’t do a full 180 and suddenly embrace Them, but she does realize that maybe, in keeping out what she is afraid of, she is also keeping out too much. (Also, a great number of people she cares about turn out to be either part-fae or in love with a fay, so she changes her mind largely for them because she doesn’t want to drive them away any farther than she already has.) And I do love a book that has that sort of shift at its heart.

5: In conclusion: I’m glad I read the book, I’m glad I stuck with it and finished it. It definitely has some good points, and I think they largely outweigh the so-so things about it. But I’m not keeping the book, and I’m not sure I’d recommend it. It feels like a “if this seems like your kind of story, go for it. But if you’re not quite sold on it, maybe just see if you can get a library copy.”

And that’s November’s book: Solstice Wood, Patricia A McKillip.

#solstice wood #book #book of the month #november book

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oceantantramassagevalencia · 2 years

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The Best Tantra Massage Valencia for Women

Try Tantra Massage in Valencia and we ensure that you will get the utmost pleasure. A Tantra Massage with expert and stunning masseuses is an extraordinary experience. The best part is they are friendly, polite, and well-educated. Feel the lovely hands of masseuses that will show special tantra massage practices.

Experience the whole new Tantra Massage in Valencia-

It is all about transforming your lives at all levels. This is beyond just a normal massage that will give you a great experience. Tantra Massage is a kind of sensual experience for men, woman, and couples. This pleasant and beautiful practice is performed by highly trained and friendly masseuses. These methods will stimulate all erogenous zones of the body.

The Tantra Massage vitalizes, enlivens and relaxes body, mind and soul. This sensual experience is soothing and an invitation to relax body and soul deeply. This helps discover oneself as well as open up new spaces into entrenched relationships.

Usually, there are many partners are not really satisfied and they don’t talk about it openly. This is where this massage plays a key role to change. You can pop out of your ordinary state of realization and into a magical space. It enables you to get in contact with your heart and experience of your deeper nature through conscious sensual touch, observing your essence as an ecstatic and limitless being.

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The woman is stimulated and supported by Tantra massages to recognize her needs and to develop her sexual experience freely. With this massage, women generally don’t need the influence of their partner, but they can get to know their body better. They can experience deep relaxation and satisfaction on the physical, energetic and emotional levels.

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#Tantra Massage Valencia

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atamascolily · 1 month

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TBF S4 Speculation: We Could Be Immortal

Urobuchi has said in interviews that Thunderbolt Fantasy Season 4 is going to dig into Shang and Lin's backstories. I'm of two minds on this--on the one hand, I live for juicy details about my faves, gimme all ya got. On the other hand, one thing I genuinely like about TBF is how much remains mysterious and open into interpretation. Character backstories can be challenging, and up until this point, they haven't been necessary for the narrative--I think Urobuchi is a talented enough writer to pull off a satisfying reveal that ties into everything else, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little nervous... and curious.

Because I love speculating, and because there's still a month and a half before S4 starts airing, I'm going to write out my thoughts for the hell of it.

I first came across the "Shang is a fallen god" theory from @jafndaegur's fic "Just A Guy With A Sword" and it's intrigued me ever since. A past history as a martial god of some sort would not only explain Shang's unique skill set, it would also explain why collecting magical swords and preventing misuse of them is so uniquely personal--as a way of atoning for the suffering and destruction he's undoubtedly been privy to in that kind of privileged position. Not to mention that Shang's decision to reject his destiny/role and do his own thing as a (mostly) ordinary human being feels so in-character for him.

I like this idea because it makes Shang, and his emphasis on appreciating everyday life becomes even more poignant and meaningful as a result. It fits into the series' larger themes of the responsible use of power and an emphasis on free will and choice over destiny and fate. Plus, it would delightfully recontextualize the entire series, from Lin Xue Ya's wry comment at their first meeting that Shang has no respect for the divine to Shang's conversation with Bai Lian, an ordinary person who was mistaken for an immortal. Not to mention a contrast with whatever Huo Shi Ming Huang has planned--unknown for now, but almost certainly related to acquiring cosmic power(s). Up to this point, we've only had humans and demons, but there's no reason why Urobuchi couldn't up the stakes even more by introducing beings with entirely new power levels, just like he did with the introduction of the Sorcerous Sword Index at the end of S1.

(Also, as a bonus, this would be a backstory for Shang that wouldn't involve fridging his family or anyone else he cared about; we've had quite enough of that already, thank you very much.)

On a meta level, becoming an all-powerful divinity has been a running theme throughout Urobuchi's prior works, so the idea of someone starting out as a god and then giving it up seems like a logical evolution of the idea, as well as a fun twist. I could totally see him doing it here.

I've suspected for a long time that Lin Xue Ya might not be fully human--his lack of canonical birthday (when even the immortal demons have them!), his incredible genre-savviness, etc, etc, all point to someone who isn't what he seems to be, on top of his general sketchiness. (Depending on how seriously you take the epilogue to Bewitching Melody of the West, it also seems like he has knowledge that he shouldn't otherwise have, again pointing to him as a meta-narrator and authorial stand-in.) As a trickster figure, he echoes the kitsune of Japanese legend (who can take on human form in many stories), and the main Pili series has a bunch of dragons with human forms. [A recent social media post for this year's Dragon Boat Festival also put Lin Xue Ya in the role of Bai Suzhen, the famous "White Snake" of legend who took on human form and fell in love, so, uh, there's that.] Lin Xue Ya's backstory also involves him giving up and turning away from the path of the sword, which in turn could mean that he also gave up on other things as well when he became a wandering thief and rogue whose sole purpose in life is his own personal amusement.

Previously, my one stumbling block with this theory was that Lin and Shang are both opposites and equals in every sense of the word. This is, for instance, the reason why Lin also has to be a Secret Sword Master at the end of Season 1, because Shang is one. In order for them to contrast each other most effectively, they have to be on the same level. Thus, if Lin Xue Ya isn't or wasn't human, then Shang also has to be the same level of being in order for this symmetry to be maintained. Having Shang be a fallen god would satisfy this requirement and then some.

Given that the ending of the series is most likely Shang and Lin walking off into the sunset together as their journey continues, this backstory would also mean they were and have always been timeless and archetypal, with no beginning or end, and the symmetry is also pleasing to me.

Is this where the story is actually going? I have no idea, but this is certainly plausible and I look forward to finding out!

#thunderbolt fantasy #wuxia fantasy puppet epic

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secretmellowblog · 5 years

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The Hobbit Comic Chapter 1: Tooks and Bagginses! (i hope this is somewhat legible lol)

Previous/Next

New Tumblr Blog for Full Comic/Webtoons/Ao3/Instagram

In the book Bilbo says that Gandalf “was responsible for so many quiet lads and lasses going off into the Blue for mad adventures.” The book goes on to imply that Gandalf was Adventure Buddies with Bilbo’s grandfather. But since Gandalf took “lasses” on adventures too, I added that Gandalf was ALSO Adventure Buddies with Belladonna. because why not!

Also: the idea behind the comic is that it’s being written/drawn by Bilbo as a bedtime story for a younger Frodo (who he’s either babysitting or has already adopted, take your pick!) This means that all the drawing mistakes are actually Bilbo making drawing mistakes. I am struggling to draw in order to be faithful to the fact that Bilbo is struggling to draw. Don’t worry, Bilbo will get better at drawing if he continues to make these comics

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xenya1111 · 2 years

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Season of the witch 🕷

Ever wondered how the dorm leaders would react to a witch S/O?

Readers name is: Y/N

This is in 3rd persons P.O.V but reader is female.

Warnings: There are some very minor chapter 6 spoilers in Idia’s scenario and Vil’s as well. Also, I know there’s different things in each practice, I’m simply using the examples that come to mind. (For Leona’s I know some people do different rituals, I’m just doing a ritual that I personally am familiar with.) Also I did decide to do Jamil instead of Kalim for this one as well, apologies. Likes and shares are appreciated!

Riddle Rosehearts

It was simply an ordinary day, Riddle had planned on paying a visit to Ramshackle dorm, mainly wanting to see you and perhaps talk over a cup of tea. He actually had a free day today, having finished all of his work earlier than usual. It was rare for Riddle to actually have time to spare, so instead of doing more work, he decided to spend it with you.

In the beginning of the relationship, Riddle had noticed a few odd things about you. He noticed how you weren’t too frightened by the fact that you’d traveled to another world, not to mention a world that was full of magic. But you weren’t really scared, no. Instead, you were fascinated by this world. Riddle had always wondered why you weren’t terrified, but, unbeknownst to him? He would soon find out.

As soon as Riddle opened the door to Ramshackle dorm, he was greeted by the smell of burning rosemary incense, as well as the faint smell of lavender & roses. He walked into the living room area, where he first saw it. A circle of salt surrounding you, and you sitting in a meditative position. You were whispering something under your breath, unaware of your lovers presence.

Riddle, for a few moments, was unsure of what to do. He recognized it to be some sort of practice, he wasn’t dumb. It was sort of obvious that you were a type of human witch. Riddle wasn’t sure if he should interrupt you or leave you be. As he looked around the room, he noticed certain symbols etched onto candles, herbs scattered across the floor, tarot cards on the table, and other things he couldn’t name. Suddenly, you giggled and faced him, having felt his presence long ago, but simply let him look around. He jumped a bit after hearing you giggle.

“Sorry Riddle. I was meditating. I wasn’t expecting you to come by my place, with how busy you always are.” You exited your salt circle and walked over to him. Embracing him, you kissed him. Kissing you back, he pulled back slightly afterwards to speak,

“I wasn’t sure what to do, I thought it would’ve been rude if I’d interrupted you. Are you a human witch by any chance?” He questioned. You silently nodded at him.

“Well that does explain why you weren’t too scared of everyone here. You were already familiar with the world of magic.” He stroked your hair and kissed your forehead. You smiled and looked down.

“Its sort of difficult to explain, but only up until recently have I been way more in tune with my abilities. I wasn’t actually sure if I should tell you or not, mainly because I was sort of scared of what you’d say. Initially, I thought you’d just find me weird.” You mumbled. Riddle grabbed your cheeks and made you look at him.

“Love, I find the fact that you’re a witch fascinating. To me, at first, it was a bit odd, seeing you in a salt circle on the floor, but I realized this must’ve been one of your personal practices. So instead of finding it weird, I find it beautiful, just like you. It seems everyday I learn different things about you, my dear.” Riddle smiled and closed the distance with you.

“Thank you Riddle.” You smiled and hugged your lover. If you had him appreciate you like this, what more could you ask for?

Leona Kingscholar

Leona decided one day to go over to ramshackle dorm, mainly since you were his favorite pillow and he couldn’t really sleep well without you. It was late, the moon started to pop out, and you hadn’t shown up to Savanaclaw yet, so he went looking for you, normally he’d just nap without a care in the world, but until you stepped into his life, he’s gotten used to you being by his side. After arriving at your house his nostrils flared, the smell of something burning caught his attention.

Running past the gates, him worried something was happening, he noticed that it wasn’t your place on fire. As a matter of fact, your place looked completely fine. His brow twitched, wondering where the scent of something burning was coming from. After going in and checking Ramshackle dorm, he found that you weren’t there.

One thing he did find, however, were books. Tons of them, filled with a different language he didn’t understand, handwritten from the looks of it, top it off the pages were also filled with symbols he hadn’t seen before. He smelled the faint scent of jasmine incense and sage. Looking around your room, he saw a multitude of crystals adorning your night stand.

Leona, being a smart guy, already guessed that you were most likely a human witch. He wasn’t stupid, he knew what witchcraft was. Thing is, he still couldn’t find you, and you were more important than that for now. He’d ask you later of course. After walking out of your room, the three ghosts appeared in front of him.

“If you’re looking for Y/N, she’s in the woods.” Ghost A explained.

“Yeah, tee hee, she’s doing a ritual.” Ghost B said. Leona’s ears perked up at the word ritual.

“N’ what type of ritual is she doin’?” Leona asked the ghosts. Walking past them to go look for you, he heard the third ghost say,

“She’s praising the full moon or something like that, hehehe! You’ll find her easily, she’s making a bonfire so you should be able to find her from the smoke.” Ghost C said, Leona having already exited the front door, but he heard him loud and clear. Looking around, he soon spotted an area from which smoke was rising, deep in the woods.

“Alright, my little witch. Where are ya?” Leona said, smirking to himself, soon afterwards walking towards the smoke. As Leona walked through the woods, he heard the faint beat of a drum. It was a primal beat, and it sent a shiver down Leona’s spine. It almost made him pause to listen to the beat, but he figured he’d enjoy it more once he got to you.

Once he arrived at the bonfire, not only did the smell of smoke welcome him, but your enchanting singing also lured him in. The smell of sage burning as well as the very faint smell of mint, mingled wonderfully with the drum beats that echoed throughout the forest. He looked over at you sitting in a circle, with a star in the middle, creating a pentagram. A few crystals surrounded you, as well as the drum that sat in front of you.

Leona slowly walked up to you, but he hesitated once he got near you. He wasn’t sure if he should interrupt you or let you be since this was your ritual and he didn’t want to interrupt. But he did want to be there with you, even if you were in your own little world. He decided to simply call our your name.

“Oi, YN.” He called out, waiting for a response. You flinched, then turned around to see your boyfriend. Your eyes widened and you got up.

“Crap, I didn’t know you would be looking for me. What are you doing here?” You asked meekly. Leona raised an eyebrow at you.

“You know, with all of the things your doing right now, I should probably be askin’ you that. But I won’t, since I know that this is your practice is it not?” You nodded at him. You walked over to him and embraced him. He buried his face into your hair and inhaled. He felt instantly relaxed with you back in his arms.

“If it’s not obvious enough, as you can see from the bonfire and everything, I’m a witch. I wasn’t exactly sure how to bring it up, since I originally thought you wouldn’t really care. But I never thought you’d walk in on one of my rituals.” You buried your face in his chest, feeling a tad bit embarrassed. He chuckled and lovingly stroked your hair, placing a kiss on your temple.

“It’s kinda thrilling knowin’ that your girlfriends a witch. I suppose that’s why you weren’t too scared when you arrived here. I find it fascinating knowing that my herbivore practices stuff like this.” He smirked at your pout.

“Y’know, I’ve always been one, a witch. Ever since I was little I would always see stuff that I shouldn’t have been seeing. I’ve only recently come to accept that I’ll always see stuff like that.” You lifted your hands and fondled with his braids. He locked eyes with you and smirked.

“Ya think i can join in on your little ritual?” Your eyes widened before you laughed.

“Of course Leona.” You dragged him over to your drum, sat back down with him and started to make beats with it. Leona found himself placing your head on his shoulder and relaxing with you. It’s things like this he would look forward to with you in the future, he looked forward to being with you in general, but hearing your beautiful voice and the primal beats of the drum, was also a nice addition to the mix, he also didn’t admit it but he felt very energized now that he had joined you. He felt, alive, in a way. It called to something primal in him, and he liked it. He definitely wouldn’t mind joining you once in a while.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul surprisingly, had free time today, it was closing hours at the mostro lounge, yet you hadn’t popped up like you usually do. Azul found himself getting a bit antsy, since you usually popped up right after the lounge was about to close.

The twins soon finished closing the lounge, having escorted the last customer out, then walked over to your boyfriend, who was still pondering over what he should do since you weren’t there with him.

“Hey Azul, Where’s shrimpy?” Floyd said, his bored look complimenting his bored tone. Floyd liked hanging around you since you were just so squishy to him, he also found you fascinating. He and Jade had a feeling you were something else, from the moment you started dating both of them had time to observe you. They still hadn’t figured out what you were but there was something they knew was different about you, they just weren’t sure what you were. Jade soon said,

“I do suppose it’s odd, since Y/N usually shows up after closing hours. Perhaps you should go and look for her. We’ll take care of things here, Azul.” Jade said.

“Alright then, I’ll drop by ramshackle dorm.” Azul said, soon after leaving the lounge to go look for you. After arriving at your place, he quietly entered, not knowing if you were asleep or if you were busy. He had only been to ramshackle once, and even then he wasn’t really used to being in your home all the time.

It’s times like these that remind him of how grateful he is to have you by his side. He wasn’t sure what you saw in him but he loved the fact that you appreciated him and loved him for who he was. You didn’t care about his faults, you forgave him so lovingly. You had always been so kind to him, heck, when he even showed you his mer form for the first time, you were actually gushing about how cool and adorable he looked.

He did notice a few things when starting out a relationship with you, on certain days you would carry different crystals, always stuffing them into your pockets, making sure no one noticed. He did notice of course, he was always curious as to why you’d carry crystals around. He was into shiny things after all. So he figured one day he’d go right out and ask you. Although, he never exactly got the chance to, since the two idiots you hang around with came and stole all of your attention.

After entering your place, he was greeting with the lovely scent of citrus incense burning, as well hints of coconut. He followed the scent into the living room, to where he found you sitting in a salt circle meditating, with what looked like a pendulum in your right hand. He looked around your living room, instead of feeling shocked, he found it fascinating, it was like walking into a cute little trinket shop. It looked different from the last time he came in here. After all the last time he came in here was when he swindled you into that deal and took ramshackle dorm from you.

Ultimately, he regretted doing those things to you, even though he apologized consistently, and you constantly told him it was fine, he still couldn’t help but feel really guilty about throwing you out of the only thing you considered a home. He didn’t really remember much detail to it before now, since you hadn’t bothered decorating it before, but now, as he looked around he saw the wonders of your newly decorated home, he found himself utterly fascinated by it.

Skulls, incense, feathers, crystals, books that were filled with mysterious writing and symbols, tarot cards sprawled out onto your coffee table, other things he couldn’t name. He honestly fell in love with all your little Knick knacks and all of your crystals. He wasn’t exactly sure what you were but he figured you must have been some sort of human witch if you collected stuff like this. You reminded him of that mermaid he heard of countless times, the one who constantly collected different things from the surface.

He hadn’t said anything to you yet, and you must have been in a deep meditation since you hadn’t notice your lover standing there yet. He wasn’t entirely sure if he should bother you or not, since you really were deeply meditating, but he missed you dearly, and the selfish part of him said to call out your name.

“Y/N?” He called out, waiting for you to reply. You flinched and turned around, dropping your pendulum but paying no mind to it, eyes growing wide as you saw your boyfriend standing there for who knows how long. You cleared your throat and asked him,

“Azul? I didn’t think you’d be dropping by! I’m sorry I didn’t notice you I was just-“ you looked around, your face beginning to feel hot. He chuckled and approached you, stopping right outside your salt circle.

“Angelfish, are you by any chance, a human witch?” He asked you, lifting your chin with his fingers, making you look at him. You nodded shyly and he smiled at you.

“Truly, I would have never imagined you were a witch, but that would explain why you carried different crystals on different days. It seems I’m learning new things about you everyday, my dear.” He soon embraced you and you gladly hugged him back.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I was just afraid of what you would think. I wasn’t sure if you’d accept me or if you’d think it was weird-“ Azul interrupted you by placing a kiss on your lips, silencing you. Pulling away for a moment, he said,

“Angelfish, please don’t say such things like that. I truly appreciate you, you know? I would never think your practice is weird, as a matter of fact, I find it fascinating! Especially with all the little trinkets I saw when I walked in, like your crystals and your skulls and all of your other little Knick knacks, I love all of it. Including you.” He held your face once again and softly kissed you. You giggled, then pressed your forehead against his.

“Thank you Azul, I love you.” He smiled and told you the same. After picking up your pendulum, you two then went off into your room after you’d cleaned up the rest of your area, him asking you questions about all of your little trinkets and your crystals along with their different meanings. You found it adorable, with the way he seemed to take an interest in witchcraft. If he loved you this way, by appreciating you and your practice, then you definitely knew in your heart he was a keeper.

Jamil Viper

It’s extremely rare for Jamil to have time off, but seeing how he hasn’t hung out with you in some time now, and seeing how he missed you dearly, he decided to finish all of his cooking and cleaning earlier than usual. He left Scarabia in the hands of the students he trusted most, and rushed to find you.

It’s times like this when he remembers how he became so infatuated with you. He initially thought you didn’t like him, especially with how he lied to you. He felt such shame when he snapped out of his overblot, he waited for you to be mad at him and leave him. But instead you cried and asked if he was okay, tending to his injuries and making sure he got proper rest.

~Let’s go on a trip down memory lane~

“Jamil, why are you cleaning again? I thought I told you I’d be helping you for now. Please, you need rest.” You ushered him back to his bed after seeing him break into a fever after cleaning, he was pushing himself too hard. He let you push him into bed, him not having the heart and strength to tell you no. Even Kalim had noticed his fever and ordered him to rest.

Seeing how you genuinely wanted him to get better, if he knew any better, he’d listen to you. But he wasn’t used to having people care after him, not to mention look after him with such love and affection before. With the fate that was handed to him, he was used to taking care of others all the time. He was not used to having you on his case, telling him about how he should be in bed, or how he should be taking better care of himself. As you put a cold, damp rag on his forehead and his neck, he asked you quietly,

“Why do this for me? Don’t you hate me? After I lied to you? That person wasn’t the real me you know. You should have distanced yourself from me, and yet here you are, taking care of me.” Jamil said quietly. Your lips trembled and your voice cracked a bit.

“You know you are right. I will admit that. I should be mad at you, but I’m not. How could I be mad at you, when you’ve felt this way for so long, and you weren’t able to do anything about it? Jamil, that would be selfish of me. It’s okay to feel this way. It’s okay to feel angry about your fate, but that doesn’t mean you can continue with pushing yourself like this. It’s okay to let people in sometimes, it’s okay to take a break sometimes, and it’s okay to let others help you once in a while. I’m here with you, because I fell in love with that same boy that I met at that assembly. I’m still in love with you now, and I don’t plan on leaving you anytime soon. So stop being stubborn and let me take care of you. This is the least I can do.”

You wiped his neck with the cold towel, wiping off his sweat. You secretly whispered a spell to heal him over the rag you had in your hand, then placed it over his head once more. He frowned upon hearing your words, not hearing the small spell you whispered,

“But what if I don’t want your help? What then?” He asked you, looking at you for a reaction, your eyes softened,

“Even if you don’t want my help, I’ll still be here cheering you on and making sure you’re well enough to stand up on your own two feet. Jamil, I love you…I’ll say it again if I have to, I love you, so much, and I want you to get better. I’ll be here on the sidelines, until you’re ready to be with me properly.” You kissed him on his forehead, then whispered a sleep spell after you’d backed off. Once again, he hadn’t heard you, since he was dozing off, and was too tired to even bother listening to you. But the words you had said before, had stuck to his heart like glue.

“You…you are one troublesome girl. But I suppose…that’s why I fell for you…”Jamil dozed off, then fell asleep. Your heart swelled, then you kissed his forehead once more.

“Sweet dreams Jamil. I love you.” You then fell asleep on his bed, too tired from your day to move.

~Back to the present~

As Jamil walked down the road to ramshackle dorm, he couldn’t help but reminisce on that memory. You were willing to stand by him on the sidelines, waiting for him to finally accept your feelings. You cheered him on, despite him deceiving you.

Jamil honestly felt like he truly didn’t deserve you sometimes, he felt like you were too good for someone like him. You were there to help him with whatever he needed, be it cleaning, doing laundry, or cooking. He felt as if he hit the jackpot when he first realized his feelings for you.

He could never understand why you wanted him of all people. There were so many other guys out there for you, especially in NRC, so many other guys who had money, and fame. Yet you had chosen him, a servant. You were so patient with him, willingly helping him anytime he needed it. He had been standing alone in the darkness for all his life, and yet, you were the only one who walked into his life and brought light to his world. And not to mention, you would always gush about how talented he was, how smart he was, even going on about how handsome he was. He felt himself blush a bit, thinking back on those memories with you. He could never get tired of you, he looked forward to seeing you each day, despite how busy he was all the time. Seeing you at the end of each day, always made his worries escape his mind. He was honestly so grateful for you, you truly had no idea.

As he opened the gates to ramshackle dorm, he smelled something so mouthwateringly delicious he had to know what you were making. He walked up to ramshackle dorm and entered. He was hit with a mixture of scents, the smell of burning sage and beach rose incense, and the smell of your mouth watering cooking. Jamil walked over to your living room, where he soon found all of your craft items.

Initially, Jamil wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking at. He hadn’t been to ramshackle dorm in a while, before he’d complain to you about how dusty ramshackle dorm was, now he was glad the place wasn’t filled with dust as it used to be, assuming you fixed the place and cleaned it. But with your items everywhere it certainly looked like you hadn’t cleaned up your area.

However, when Jamil looked closer at your stuff, he noticed that there were odd items he’d never really noticed before. He gently picked up one of your open books, finding pages filled with an oddly written language he couldn’t understand, as he continuously flipped through the pages he found odd symbols that he had never seen before.

Putting your book down, he looked around once more to see what was an incense stick burning, next to it, burning sage and an obsidian skull, along with a variety of crystals. Other little Knick knacks adorned your living room, but what caught his eye was the crystal ball in the corner of the room, as well as a mirror that was covered.

Jamil didn’t really know what to do with all of this information, but as soon as he saw your tarot cards on your coffee table, as well as that crystal ball, he could only really think of one thing. It didn’t take him forever to figure out, Jamil was a smart guy, after all. He figured you were a witch. He just didn’t understand why you didn’t tell him sooner. Were you not that comfortable with him yet? Did you not trust him that much yet?

He decided to go and ask you himself. Walking up to your kitchen door, he opened it and saw you jump. You relaxed once you noticed it was your lover. Placing your utensils down, you ran up to him, hugged him and kissed him.

“Jamil!! What are you doing here, weren’t you supposed to start preparing Kalims food for tomorrow?” You asked.

“Yes, but I finished all of my tasks early so I could spend some time with you.” He stroked your hair and you smiled up at him. Leaning down, he kissed you. Soon after, he pulled away slightly so he could ask you,

“Y/N. Tell me, are you a witch by any chance?” You backed away a bit but soon hung your head in shame.

“I figured you’d find out, with all of my stuff everywhere. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner Jamil, I just thought you’d find it weird or you’d find me- wha-“ He interrupted you by pulling you close and embracing you.

“I was a bit scared that you didn’t trust me enough with this. I initially thought you weren’t comfortable with me yet, but I never imagined it was because you thought I’d think you were weird. You’re so silly sometimes, Y/N.” He laughed and buried his face in the nape of your neck. You laughed at the ticklish sensation and pulled away to face him.

“Of course I trust you hun, I just thought that you’d find it odd. That was all Jamil, I’m sorry.” You exhaled as you felt him move back to the nape of your neck and adorn your neck with light kisses, then you tightened your grip around him, he following suite.

“Why would I ever find you odd? I always knew there was something different about you, I just couldn’t place my finger on what it was. Knowing that you’re a witch, I honestly find it cute. You know you can trust me right?” He pulled away to look you in the eye.

“I do trust you Jamil. Thank you for being so accepting.” You kissed his cheek and walked back over to the stove, where the soup you were making was bubbling over.

“I think it should be done! You’ll love it I promise, it’s one of my culture’s recipes!!” You exclaimed happily, Jamil smiled at you and walked over to you.

“It looks delicious, what’s it called?” He asked you, eyeing the soup.

“It’s called (insert dish name)! You’ll love it I promise!” You grabbed a spoon from the tuber-wear and tasted the soup, soon after dipping it back it to give your lover a taste. He smiled.

“It’s delicious, y/n.”

“Told you.” You giggled as you waited for it to finish cooking. As you waited, you felt his arms wrap around you and you leaned into him.

“Thank you for being mine, my zahra.” He tightened his arms around you and you leaned into his touch, smiling.

“Of course Jamil. I love you.”

The both of you waited until the soup was fully ready. You had waited for him once, and now he had opened up to you once more. You were glad he appreciated your love, and you were happy that he loved you and your craft. You couldn’t ask for anything more than this. After all, being by his side was enough.

Vil Schoenheit

(I’ll be basing Vil’s at the end of chapter 6, since that’s when they pitch in and decide to fix ramshackle dorm after they get back.)

Vil has always been a busy man, with his acting career, his modeling career, and as a full fledged student. That much was obvious, before he met you, he never really thought about anyone else but himself. He was in his own little circle, where he could watch everyone and everyone else was watching him.

So, initially, he was a bit jealous of you when you first arrived at NRC. You seemed to pull everyone in, and even though you were magicless, it seemed that you were magically luring everyone in. Himself included, but Vil being, well, Vil, of course he didn’t admit it at first. After a while of being stubborn, he eventually started finding you very beautiful, you just had this natural aura to you that was so enchanting, so beautiful. You were also so kind to him, even when you had seen the worst sides him. That was when he truly fell for you.

Shockingly, when he confessed to you, him going all out of course, he wasn’t taking any chances lmao, you said you harbored feelings for him as well, and then the both of you started dating. He truly couldn’t have been more ecstatic. You truly did love him, and he did truly love you. But there were some things he just didn’t know about you yet.

Vil never particularly liked going to ramshackle dorm, mainly since it was filled with dust, but after the whole ordeal with S.T.Y.X, he decided to help you fix it and mainly everyone including him pitched in, since he never had gotten to since the both of you were, well, you weren’t even on the island not to mention your house was in shambles. The moment you both had gotten back, he fixed the dorm, and it no longer had cracks in the walls, it no longer had that huge hole in the wall and roof, and it had electricity, heat and water. It had better plumbing systems that connected with the school. It was a funny moment to him after everything was finished, seeing you cry about how kind he was to you and you went on about how much you loved him for it and how grateful you were to him.

He also decorated the inside of course, he had to make sure it was nice after all, he even changed the wallpaper and curtains and rugs, of course this was before he knew your secret, so he never saw any of your craft materials. (You had actually put your things away in a separate room no one went in, since you didn’t want to risk anyone seeing your things.)

Vil did believe you were hiding some things from him. Especially when he saw you putting crystals in your pockets one time, and another time when you two were cooking together he saw you throw salt over your shoulder. He wasn’t exactly sure why you didn’t want to tell him your secrets, but he was soon going to find out for himself.

One evening, Vil surprisingly got off one of his modeling gigs early and they told him he could go home. With how busy he was after school, it’s only natural he’d want to see his sweet potato after not spending some time with you in a while. He did feel guilty about it, he missed you dearly after all, but you assured him over the phone once that it was fine and you didn’t want to get in the way of his job because you knew it was important to him. Quality time was his show of affection after all, so soon enough he found himself outside ramshackle dorm.

He was honestly so proud of the work you and him had done to the place, even as he pestered you to just move into Pomefiore with him, you insisted on staying in the dorm. He couldn’t exactly blame you, since it was the one thing you had closest to a home in this world. As he walked up the new porch he had built for you, enjoying the way his heels clacked against the fresh wood, he inhaled deeply as he smelled cinnamon incense burning.

After opening the door to ramshackle, he was greeted by the mingling scents of Eucalyptus, cinnamon, and the faint smell of wax. He walked over to the living room when he suddenly stopped in his tracks. There, he found you sitting on the floor with what looked like tarot cards sprawled out in front of you, an incense stick burning in front of you, different candles lit across the room, and newly place items were around the room as well, items he’d never seen in your place before. Surprisingly, you hadn’t heard the clacking of his heels when he’d walked in.

As he looked around the living room, the shock of seeing you like this still had his mouth agape in awe, he found himself looking at all of your books that were spewed out onto your coffee table. He wasn’t able to read the language it was in, but Vil was smart, he knew it must have been your spell book. He knew what witchcraft was and he could easily tell what was a spell book and what was a normal book. He confirmed his thoughts when he saw different symbols, ones he hadn’t seen before, etched onto the sides of the candles across the room.

Vil didn’t really understand why you didn’t tell him you were a witch. He found the craft fascinating. Did you not trust him enough? As he looked around he saw your crystals, some animal bones, black skulls, a covered mirror and a crystal ball. All of those things simply confirmed his thoughts. He looked over at you, and instead of being angry at you for not telling him your craft, he felt pride instead. You were his beautiful potato, who had such beautiful practices. He felt his heart swell with love for you, he was genuinely so excited at the fact that you practiced witchcraft, maybe you could even teach him a few witchy tricks.

He approached you soon after, his clacking heels startling you, Vil paused and said,

“Oh dear. I’m sorry if I scared you my love. I didn’t mean to frighten you, I assure you. You must have been in deep concentration, since you didn’t notice my heels when I walked in.” Vil told you. You giggled a bit, relaxing. Soon after, the reality dawned on you, he now knew everything, and your face reddened a bit.

“Well, the cats out of the bag I suppose. I guess I can’t hide things from you forever. I didn’t mean to deceive you, Vil, I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure if you were going to accept my practice or not I- Vil what are you doing??” You suddenly asked, raising your voice a bit after Vil suddenly joined you on the floor next to you. You knew he was wearing one of his favorite outfits and you knew the floor wasn’t exactly the cleanest place, not to mention Vil wasn’t one for kneeling. He chuckled, seeming to know what was on your mind, all the time.

“My outfit is fine dear, I’ll get it dry cleaned later, right now I want to be next to you. Oh, and let me tell you something, I would never consider you weird, especially your craft. As a matter of fact, once I confirmed you were a witch, I honestly felt so proud of you. Not only are you insanely beautiful, but you also practice something I’ve always been curious about.” Vil leaned over to you and kissed you, you leaning into him afterwards and feeling the tension leave your shoulders. Vil pulled away from you slightly to ask you,

“Would you be interested in teaching me a few things? I’d love to learn from you, my sweet potato.” You smiled at him and giggled,

“Of course Vil! I’d love to teach you, anyone can learn. I love you, Vil….Thank you for accepting my craft.” You hugged him and he embraced you back.

“I love you too my dear, now, where do we start?” You got up with him and led him to your room after putting the deck away, knowing there were a few books there he could learn from. You were honestly so thankful for him, especially when he didn’t think you were weird, he accepted you for who you were, and he made sure that you knew he loved you. If he accepted you in such a loving way, you knew that if all things considered, he’d always accept you, and you couldn’t really ask for more than this wonderful outcome.

Idia shroud

(I’ll be basing his right after chapter 6 happens to give it a bit more depth, no major spoilers but it mentions how Idia and ortho put the reader though some things in chapter 6, and frankly, chapter 6 is HELL.)

Idia already knew there was something up with you. From the start of the relationship he didn’t truly understand why you chose him of all people. Especially with the hell he and Ortho put you through at S.T.Y.X, and having to deal with both of their overblots as well, it was only natural you should hate him. I mean, come on, you had a lot of options to pick from, so why a weeb like him?

Idia didn’t get it, you were such a gorgeous girl. You could pull anyone! You had a reverse harem going on and you didn’t even realize it! Heck, you could have picked a smoking hot prince from the savanna, a soon to be king of briar valley, a popular actor and model, so many other students who were more handsomer than him, and had famous names. Sure he might’ve been infamous due to his family name, but nobody really knew about his family name. But seriously though, him? Out of all your options? He just didn’t get it.

If Idia had to pick one good decision he’s ever made in his entire life, he’d say going to that one dorm leader meeting in person was the best decision he’s ever made in his life. He found you so alluring, so beautiful. You were truly so gorgeous and you had no idea. It was like time had just stopped around you two when you’d first met.

Everyone at NRC just seemed to love you, you were just naturally good at making people love to be around you. You were so charming, he always felt so grateful to have you.

As Idia walked over to your dorm, the night was still young, well to him at least, it was around 11-12:00am, the usual. You two stayed up late playing games sometimes and today was one of those days. He wanted to play games with you and after asking online you said he could come over. While walking to your dorm it gave him the chance to look back on how the both of you first met.

~Time skip down memory lane~

When Idia first met you, he couldn’t truly believe you were talking to him. He just got so nervous and ended up bolting, leaving you to deal with your confusion. It was a while back, your paths crossing through a dorm leader meeting that he actually showed up to in person and not over a tablet. Crowley had forced him to go, same thing with you even though you didn’t technically have dorm students to take care of he still made you go none the less.

You were walking towards the meeting room, you hadn’t noticed the flaming haired boy in front of you before it was too late. The both of you bumped into each other. Since he was a bit taller than you, you ended up bumping to his chest.

Cue Idia getting a gushing nosebleed like those scenes in the animes he watches. The boy was RED. The tips of his hair were red his ears and face were red, he couldn’t believe that he was even holding you of all people in his arms. You broke the silence with your beautiful voice, snapping him back to reality.

“Oh, sorry about that hun! I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going. Your Idia shroud right? It’s nice to meet you!” You flashed him that beautiful smile of yours, and he felt his heart melt. Idia had hoped you weren’t able to hear his heartbeat with how close you were to him.

“I-I-It’s…n-n-nice to meet you…” that was all Idia managed to blurt our before he took off running, not even caring about the meeting anymore, he can always attend the meeting on a tablet. He left you in the dust wondering what had happened and what you did to make him bolt like that.

~Back to the present~

Looking back on that fond memory, he couldn’t help but feel embarrassed about the way he bolted right after meeting you. He felt a slight blush creep up on his pale cheeks but he pushed those memories aside when he finally approached ramshackle dorm.

When Idia walked into your dorm however, your place was pitch black. He could barely see in front of him, his hair only lit up the small area surround him, it couldn’t really get him that far, so he took out his phone and turned his flashlight on, wondering why your place was so dark when you said you were going to be waiting for him.

As Idia walked into your living room, he lifted his phone to look for you when he suddenly felt his heart stop. His eyes widened as he looked around your living room, noticing all the new details that hadn’t been there when he was last here at your place. Black skulls, animal skulls, tarot cards, a large mirror with an odd symbol carved onto the top, candles adorned with what looked like runes,, herbs, and much more.

Idia was familiar with the world of witchcraft, having seen it online and from the games he plays, but he never expected you to be a witch, as a matter of fact he thought you were just an ordinary magicless human. But when he approached your coffee table he saw a multitude of books, written in a language he hadn’t seen before. Those books had runes that looked familiar to him, but he couldn’t place his finger on where he’d seen them. But it only confirmed his suspicions.

Idia knew what witchcraft was, he wasn’t stupid, he just didn’t understand why you didn’t tell him you were a witch. He felt himself grow more insecure as his thoughts hastily raced across his mind. Did you not trust him?

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard a door open in the hallway, spooking him. He decided to just go and find you since waiting here was getting nowhere, and he figured he’d just ask you about your craft instead of waiting for answers. As he walked through the hallway he smelled wax and a hint of orange as well as hints of vanilla.

After arriving to your room, he opened your door, only to find you on your bed in a meditative position with candles lit around the room. A pendulum was in your hand and you were whispering under your breath. Even though he already knew what you were, this basically confirmed all of his thoughts. For now though, he’d just simply confirm it with you, he wanted to hear it from your mouth.

Idia didn’t really understand why you didn’t tell him, but, even then he only felt his love for you grow. Ever since walking into your home, gaming had completely slipped his mind. He became curious about human witches and what they were like. Approaching your bed and sitting himself on your bed he quietly called out,

“Y/n?”

You flinched and dropped your pendulum, looking up to see your boyfriend sat on your bed. You felt your face grow hot as the both of you sat in silence.

“I didn’t think you would come this early. The cats out of the bag now I suppose.” You blushed even more and you squirmed in your spot when he made eye contact with you. He hesitated, before he spoke.

“W-Why didn’t you tell me you were a witch? Do you…do you not trust me enough?” He frowned and you crawled over to him, hugging him.

“No Idia of course not, I love you, and I trust you, I initially thought you would find my craft weird-“ Idia laughed, pulling away from you.

“Pfft, weird? I don’t think your weird y/n, you’re a real life witch! I find that so cool, you…you’ve always been so beautiful to me and this would never make me think your weird. Y/n I’m so lucky to have you with me, you could’ve easily picked somebody else, and yet you decided to be with me.” Idia kissed your lips and you leaned into his embrace. With you he could feel at ease, with you, he could be bold. Something he was almost never able to do by himself.

“I honestly still don’t know why you picked an otaku like me, but one things for sure is this just makes you 10x cooler in my opinion.” You laughed and went to blow out all of the candles, then placed your pendulum on your nightstand. Afterwards, you lied down on the bed with him, plopping yourself onto his chest.

“Do you still want to play games?” You asked, playing with his hair.

“Nah. I want to sleep.” You gasped dramatically.

“The famous Idia shroud doesn’t want to play games?! I’ll take it let’s sleep.” Giggling at his pout, the both of you slipped under the sheets. “Night Idia.” You laughed as you felt him pull you close, then kiss your forehead. You played with his hair for a little bit, finding it to be soothing, then dozed off. Stroking your hair, he lulled you to sleep faster, unbeknownst to him.

“Night. Love you.” He felt himself doze off with you soon after. The both of you weren’t even aware of how much you two appreciated each other, but with Idia’s reaction to your craft, you felt yourself relax a lot more. You hoped it would stay this way with him, for as long as possible.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus definitely knew there was something magical about you from the moment he met you. He could sense magic a mile away, and no matter how hard you tried to hide it from him, he still knew you were hiding something from him. He simply didn’t understand why. Did you really think you could hide something from him?

Malleus comes from a land filled with magic, so it was no wonder he sensed something when he first met you. Not to mention there was always a certain, “energy”, with you always. You always carried crystals with you, stuffing them into your pockets before you left with him on a date. Ramshackle dorm always smelled like dragons blood incense and juniper. He already knew there was something up with you from the moment he met you, but he couldn’t exactly put his finger on what it was.

But when the both of you first met, Malleus fell for you hard. For him it was basically love at first sight. You never seemed to mind how intimidating he was, you called him a silly nickname and you were so loving to him. You were the first human to have ever made him feel this way. He knew his time with you was short, as human lives were fleeting. So he always made sure to spend all his time with you. He just felt his heart ache a bit when he remembers that you were hiding something from him. But of course, you couldn’t hide things from him forever, he always finds out.

Malleus was attending yet another boring dorm leader meeting, of course, having showed up on his free will since no one had bothered inviting him. He was starting to regret coming since he could have gone to your house instead, and yet here he was, attending a dull and boring meeting. To his relief, Crowley suddenly dragged him out of his thoughts.

“And that concludes our meeting for today.” Malleus sighed, and walked away. He figured he would pay you a visit since he knew you must have been home by now. Teleporting to ramshackle dorm, he was greeted by the familiar scent of dragons blood incense and juniper. He loved the way your home smelled, it put his mind at ease and he always found himself wanting to stay over with you.

As he teleported in your living room, Malleus was greeted with quite the sight. He was greeted by the sight of you sitting on the floor with a candle in front of you, you were lighting the candle on and off, with nothing at all. From the looks of it, you were using psychic abilities to light the candle aflame.

Malleus felt his eyes widen when he looked around your home. The last time he was in your home it was destroyed after the incident with S.T.Y.X. But your place had been fixed by the donations of the VDC members, and the holes and damages were repaired. You also, had added your own touch.

As malleus looked around with wide eyes, he saw candles with runes etched onto them, he saw that oh so familiar dragons blood incense stick burning, he saw animal skulls, black obsidian skulls, crystals, large pointed crystals, and many more items. Malleus immediately figured out what you were, it wasn’t hard to guess after all. You were a human witch.

He felt himself smiling, becoming filled with pride and love for you. He was ever the curious one, picking up one of your books and reading one, but was unable to understand the language since it was written in a tongue he couldn’t understand. He placed the book down and slowly walked over to you. Walking up to you, he silently called out to you.

“Child of man.” You jumped at the sound of your name, then recognizing it to be your boyfriend. You felt your shoulders relax as he knelt in front of you. You looked down at the floor as his green eyes made contact with you.

“You know, I’ve always told you this, and I think I’ll continue to say this to you. But you always never cease to surprise me. You know you wouldn’t have been able to hide this from me forever.” You nodded at him shyly. He cupped your cheek and lifted your face so he could look at you properly.

“Im not mad my dear. I’ve always known there was something magical about the way you move. From the way you approached me with not a care in the world, to the way you practice human witchcraft. But there’s one thing I do not understand. Why did you not tell me right away?” You noticed a frown starting to creep up onto his face and you reached out to embrace him.

“Malleus, I’m sorry I never told you sooner. I’ve had a few…bad experiences with people in the past, when they figured out I practiced witchcraft, due to their own petty religions. So, I originally though you’d find it weird. I now know that was silly of me-“ you looked down, feeling ashamed as well as embarrassed but you soon felt his large body embrace yours.

“My dear, I would never find your craft weird. You do remember I practically live and breath magic, right? I would never find the world of witchcraft weird. As a matter of fact, I find it utterly thrilling, knowing my child of man is a witch. You truly never cease to surprise me.” You giggle as he takes your face in his hands and kisses you. Breaking away from him, you lifted yourself up. You watched as Malleus curiously looked at your animal skulls.

“You seem interested in them. Maybe I should teach you about all the things I use! Sam had basically everything I needed, it was kind of scary actually but let me go show you more stuff!” You excitedly dragged your lover to your bedroom, him chucking behind you. Malleus felt excited to learn more about you, his darling child of man. You never considered him weird, you approached him without fear. All the time. You embraced the future ruler of Briar valley without fear, you loved him without a care in the world as to who he was. So why would he find you weird? He loved every single part of you, and from now on, he’d continue to show you, just how much he loved you.

🕷

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