#Insidious Gaunt

[shingodzilla98]

20yr old Sebastian Sallow

I don’t know why I didn’t do these sooner! Enjoy!

I had him with my 20yr old MC, Insidious Gaunt, in a couple of pics.

💚🖤🐍🖤💚

[therealvinelle]

dumb question: why is secret fic secret?

(Anon is referring to me and @theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin admitting to no longer publishing all our works. One in particular, the eponymous Secret Fic, has consumed much of our time for almost a year now and has been a subject of follower fascination.)

It's not a stupid question, anon. There are a few reasons why not:

Greater editing freedom. Muffin and I can edit, retroactively change, even take down chapters if something isn't up to snuff. Secret Fic being the length it is, continuity becomes a whole different ballgame than it is for a 60k or even 150k fic.

Odds of reader influence are zero. Publishing as you go means readers will engage with your story, and you will receive feedback. Muffin and I don't typically court public opinion as we have very set thoughts on how a given fic should play out, but we'll sometimes have characters clarify things readers were unsure about, or add entire chapters we otherwise wouldn't (The Alice chapter in The Less Than Immaculate Conception, or chapter explaining Morgan Gaunt in Muffin's Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus). More insidiously, though, readers or anticipated reader reception can impact plot decisions. There is no such consideration made with Secret Fic, however, Secret Fic is gloriously unfiltered.

It's peaceful We love comments, but there's something so very relaxing about receiving none of them, knowing nobody is reading, it's just us and the stoy. It's zen, it's peace.

Ownership There is the thought that Secret Fic might be able to stand on its own as an original story. While this is an unlikely venue it's nice to have the total peace of mind and time to think things through before we do anything with it either way. (To be clear: this is unlikely, and wasn't a reason why we hid it in the first place, but as the fic has turned into a beast and the idea has occurred to us, it's just a benefit that it's unpublished.)

Secret fic is published only when it's complete, when we feel it's right, and when we have made the conscious decision to do so.

[vii-is-free]

Parseltongue or Snoring

Summary: A moment between Natty and Sebastian that she often thinks about.

---

"Phew." Natty sighed. Another long day at the library complete.

She carefully tread up the stairs, as to keep from dropping the stack of books in her arms, pushing the door open with her shoulder. The extra homework Professor Weasley assigned was killing her social life, as was that dreadful field guide. She welcomed the bright ambiance of Central Hall, eager to spend the afternoon with her dorm mates.

As she approached the top of the stairs, Natty noticed Garreth Weasley, waving at her. Next to him was Leander Prewett, whose attention was focused at something near the doors to the greenhouse.

“Hello Natty,” said Garreth, “would you like a bit of help with that?”

“Ah thank you!” She said, offering the stack of books his way. Garreth ran his fingers down two, no, three book spines, leaving Natty with only her field guide to carry.

“I hope my Aunt Matilda's assignments aren’t driving you too bonkers.”

“Of course not,” Natty lied. She glanced at Leander, who was chuckling to himself. "What are you two doing?"

“Just watching our dear Slytherin classmate across the way.” Leander pointed at a small figure crouched against the corner of a wall. Natty was surprised to see it was Ominis Gaunt of all people. His head was dropped down, eyes closed, and Natty noticed the rhythmic rise and fall of his shoulders.

Was he...sleeping?

“Is he okay?” Natty asked.

“Ominis does this quite a bit,” Leander said, “Sleeping outside. Not sure I blame him, considering he dorms with Sallow of all people.”

Natty was only four months into her first year at Hogwarts. She kept to herself mostly, as the considerable amount of schoolwork made her too busy to do much else. Of course, it did not help that she was constantly under her mother's watchful eye. She was grateful to be in Gryffindor, as her housemates always went out of their way to make her feel included. As a consequence, however, she did not have much experience with students outside of her house.

She didn’t know Ominis, but she knew his connections with dark wizards. He seemed friendly enough. But Natsai knew many wolves in sheep’s clothing, and to gain her trust wasn’t easy. She preferred to keep a healthy distance between the two.

“Isn’t he from a wealthy family?” Natty said, leaning against the banister of the stairs.

“Not just any wealthy family,” Garreth said, “The Gaunts. Direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin.”

“They’re so obsessed with their bloodline,” Leander said, “they’ve taken to marrying their own siblings.”

Natty frowned. “He's going to marry his sibling?”

“Doubt that,” Garrett said, “He hates his sisters."

Natty found something endearing about watching a supposed rich kid from a pure blood family sleep on the floor like that. Perhaps she was wrong about him?

Was he a wolf in sheep’s clothing? Or just another lamb up for slaughter by his own family of dark wizards? Natty couldn't be sure.

"Anyways," Garreth said as he leaned the stack of books against the railing. "Do you hear that?"

Natty leaned forward, focusing her attention on Ominis. Through the sounds of the students’ chatter and papers flying in the air from magical books, she heard a soft rumbling coming from his direction.

"Is he...snoring?" Natty chuckled.

"Perhaps!" Garreth said, "Or is it Parseltongue? Leander and I are waging a bet."

“Snoring,” Leander murmured, “Not that I've ever actually heard Parseltongue. I imagine it’s just a bunch of hissing.”

“Me neither, but....I’m gonna say-"

“Levioso!”

Natty's stack of books fell to the ground, and she jumped at the sight of Garrett and Leander being swept off their feet. She turned her head to see a chuckling Sebastian approaching them.

“Garreth! Prewett! Nice to see you this afternoon."

"You as well," Garreth said shakily, glancing quickly between his feet and Sebastian. "It's just a bit of fun between Leander and I, nothing insidious!"

"Put us down!" Leander demanded, his arms flailing about.

"Funny I should catch you here, Garreth," Sebastian said with a smirk, “I found something interesting in Madam Scrivner’s desk!” He effortlessly kept the wand steadily pointed at them as he used his free hand to pull a stack of looseleaf papers from his robe.

“On hand detention notices for one, Garreth Weasley,” Sebastian waved the notes in front of Garreth's face. “I considered selling them back to you but, I think I have other plans in mind.”

“Oh, Sebastian!” Garrett laughed nervously, “Come on now!”

Sebastian smirked, a flick of the wrist released the levitation spell, sending Leander and Garrett crashing to the floor. He placed the papers back in his robe pocket and started walking towards the stairs. He stopped in front of Natty, and looked in her eyes.

“He’s snoring, by the way.” Sebastian said. The playfulness on his face evaporated at like one of Garreth’s failed potions.

“Ominis never speaks in Parseltongue.”

[kikidoesfanfic]

Spectre in the dark

KikiDoesFanfic on ao3

Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, The Witcher (TV) Canon-Typical Violence, Horror, Panic Attacks, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Witcher Contract Gone Wrong (The Witcher) Rating: T No Archive Warnings Apply Words: 801 Chapters: 1/1 On Ao3

Summary:

Jaskier is hopelessly lost, forest barely lit by the moon, hindered by clouds lazily drifting in it's path. He walks onward, eyes straining in the dark.

Geralt had told him to run, planted himself between Jaskier and the macabre figures that could have once been men. Jaskier hadn't, of course he hadn't, until one had broken off from the hoarde to make a meal of him, and he hastily scurried off deeper into the woods.

Now he can do nothing but hope Geralt catches up to him before the creature does.

Fic below the cut

Jaskier's breath hangs in the air like spectral clouds while he pants, dissipating into the frigid night air as he desperately tries to regulate his breathing.

He's hopelessly lost, forest barely lit by the moon, hindered by clouds lazily drifting in it's path. He walks onward, eyes straining in the dark.

Geralt had told him to run, planted himself between Jaskier and the macabre figures that could have once been men. Jaskier hadn't, of course he hadn't, until one had broken off from the hoarde to make a meal of him, and he hastily scurried off deeper into the woods.

He shivers, unsure if it's from the ever dropping temperature or the memory of the gasped breaths of the creature dogging his heels so little time ago, gaunt eyeless thing still unerringly chasing him down until he'd somehow managed to lose it over a ridge.

Jaskier scans the forest surrounding him, darkness cloying as it closes in, and hopes Geralt will be able to find him. 'If Geralt's even okay,' an insidious whisper in his mind, Jaskier could be alone out here now, Geralt overwhelmed and struck down by the hoarde bleeding out himself and Jaskier had run, left him-

No, Geralt is fine, he chastises. He has to be.

He stumbles, boot glancing the edge of a tree root thicker than his own thigh, catching himself against it's trunk with a stuttering exhale, he looks up into the tree. Perhaps he should hunker down up there for the night and in daylight he could...

His thoughts trail to a halt, head swiveling not at a particular sound, but the complete lack of it, a weighted stillness prickling along his nerves and raising the hair on his neck.

The forest has been mostly silent at night, cold as it is, but never this oppressively so. This unnervingly so.

He hears it before he's able to make out any foreign shapes in the inky black surrounding him, the rasping breaths he's sure will haunt his nightmares should he find his way out of this.

Jaskier freezes, pressing back against the tree as he slowly edges his way around it, placing his feet gingerly atop roots to stay silent as possible.

It's close now, close enough that Jaskier can hear it scenting the air on the opposite side of the tree between airy rattling breaths. He ducks, groping blindly in the darkness until he finds a rock, a paltry defence against such a creature but at least it's something, and clutches it to his chest, waiting for the inevitable moment the creature is upon him.

It moves past the tree, claws scraping against bark as it pulls itself along. Jaskier's breath is trapped in his lungs as he lifts the rock in shaking hands, ready to strike, but frowns when creature passes a tilt to it's head as it sniffs the air once more.

On an impulse that is either brilliant or idiotic he swiftly tosses the rock with all of his strength, off into the distant undergrowth with a tumbling crash.

The creature darts after the noise, letting out a wheezing shriek that's piercing in Jaskier's ears, wincing at the sound he carefully picks his way around the tree again, readying himself to sprint or climb or something, anything, as the creature begins it's search again.

And then he hears it, a call of his name, salvation in the form of a no doubt gore soaked Witcher rushing through the trees.

Jaskier's knees weaken in relief watching the shape of the creature race toward the sound, the way it pries itself around obstacles with clawed hands almost fascinating now that the danger has passed.

His heart thunders inside his ribcage, Geralt easily running the creature through, but he doesn't call out, words strangled deep in his chest after the necessity of holding every sound at at bay. He slides down the tree to sit amongst it's roots, adrenaline finally leaving him.

Geralt finds him anyway, of course, kneeling down over Jaskier and checking him over for any obvious injuries.

His hand settles on Jaskier's neck when he's done, satisfied he's alright, but not pushing him to move just yet, and that's, it's kind.

He let's himself focus on the way Geralt's thumb is sweeping minutely back and forth behind his ear, hand a balm of warmth, let's it calm him until he's able to pull himself together.

"Back to town?" He whispers, Geralt's eyes staring into his own a moment longer before nodding and helping haul him to his feet.

If Geralt is bothered by the way Jaskier's practically stepping on his heels for the long walk back to town, he never shows it, just keeps a hand on Jaskier's arm as he leads the way guiding him safely through the dark.

On Ao3

[antebunny]

So there's a subgenre of fics in the Harry Potter fandom wherein a person conceived while one of their parents is under the influence of a love potion will become aroace at birth. The origin, afaik, are two insidiously awful decisions of JKR combining: 1) she reinvented date rape drugs/roofies aka love potions, without realizing it I guess, and 2) she said that Voldemort was asexual, because she's never seen a marginalized identity she didn't spit on.

Since Merope Gaunt (Voldemort's mother) used a love potion on Tom Riddle Sr. (Voldemort's dad) I guess people got the idea that what if love potions caused asexuality? And asexuality + aromanticism, of course, meant evil. Here's an excerpt from one of those fics in which Bill Weasley explains being aro/ace to Hermione:

[Image ID]

"No. I just dated because that was what you did. I never really felt anything for them. A few kisses, plenty of hand-holding. I made out in a few broom closets, and had one very uncomfortable make-out session up the top of the Astronomy Tower that I eventually ended by pretending I heard Filch coming past on a patrol. I even tried making out with a guy once in case that was it–nothing. I never told mum about that, of course. Good wizards don't shame their families like that."

"There's nothing wrong with being gay, you know."

He shrugged. "It doesn't apply to me anyway. I'm not gay. I wasn't anything, and I was trying to accept that and be content with it. It was good enough. Until I met Fleur." His eyes lit up with joy as he spoke about her.

[Second Image ID]

"Look, the point is with her allure from being part-Veela, I love her. Like I can never love anyone else. I don't want to lose that. You don't understand what it's like to go through life feeling nothing for anyone else. I've dated people I said I cared for, but I wouldn't have died for them. Well, out of logical choice I might risk my life, but not from love. But I would die for Fleur. Do you understand? She makes me a better person. I would do anything to make her happy. I'm not alone in the world anymore."

She nodded slowly. "I see." It wasn't so much him manipulating Fleur, as him permitting her to manipulate him. Into feeling. "I didn't realise it could be that bad." She still thought he should confess, but it didn't sound like he was hurting Fleur–he really did love her.

[End Image ID]

I read this fic years ago, and at the time I genuinely had not thought about my sexuality at all. I would've never called myself aro or ace. Still, reading this felt like being repeatedly punched in the face. I kept on waiting for Hermione to say something similar to what she said after Bill made a homophobic comment. After all, she went out of her way the first time, didn't she. Instead, what I got was essentially:

Bill: I don't usually feel romantic or sexual attraction. So there's something wrong with me.

Hermione: Yeah lmao. But there's nothing wrong with being gay!

I've been (reading) on Ao3 since 2016, and in all that time I've seen plenty of subtle racism, sexism, etc. But I've never seen anything as plainly stated as this. To this day I have yet to hear any aro/ace people describe the experience of being aro/ace in any of the following ways: "How could I forgive myself if we brought a child into the world to suffer the emptiness I lived with my whole existence[?]" /"You should be unable to love." / "You don't understand what it's like to go through life feeling nothing for anyone else."

I could not understand why Bill described it as "emptiness" or "feeling nothing." I still cannot find a single aro/ace person who would describe themselves as empty. The most I have ever heard is: "I wish I was normal" (meaning I wish I fit in, I wish to be accepted by other people). Historically, many aro/ace people married and had kids, conforming to societal norms, and I am sure many believed there was something wrong with them or hoped to grow out of it. I was one of them. On a very personal note, I suspect that my father is too. I am certain that he's never heard the terms asexual or aromantic in his life. But if you think I'll ever discuss his sexuality with him, you're out of your damn mind.

Now, I know it's really easy to find this fic from these quotes. I chose to include them anyways because I think it's important to show how blatant it was. My Tumblr blog isn't exactly a platform, but for the five people reading this: please, please do not go after the author. I truly believe that they had no ill-intent. In the comments of this fic, a few people bring up variations of "it sounds like Bill is just aro/ace" and the author is consistently understanding. Here are some of the author's comment on that fic:

[Image ID]

I very much understand what you're saying. It's a tricky thing for me to address, however. For the core idea I'm playing with is basically the evilness of "love potions". And part of that is exploring JKR's idea that Voldemort, being unable to love due to his mother using a love potion on his father, was a *monster* because of that. Perhaps that doesn't come across very clearly (there's a little bit more of it in the prequel), that it's one of the assumptions I'm trying to undermine. ("Love potions are funny/romantic", "Voldemort is a monster because he could not love", "Harry's power was that he could love - he's not a monster like Voldemort", "There's nothing wrong with selling love potions to teens/adults because it's not 'real' love".)

I feel like I'm already poking at the inherent problem of framing "people who cannot love" as "monsters/psychopaths" by showing Bill and Harry's struggles with self acceptance, and Bill finding a way to love (though do note he'd been making peace with the idea he wasn't attracted to anyone, prior to meeting Fleur). I really don't like the canonical take on love-redeems/love-is-the-best-power/the-loveless-are-monsters, so I'm messing with it a bit. Exploring other people than Voldemort, ones we admire, who are also dealing with being unable to love. Does that make sense? Now, that doesn't mean I'm doing a perfect job at it, but I'm trying my best to explore that theme around the edges of my Dramione story.

[End Image ID]

The author's intention was to show how other characters, made aro/ace via love potion like Voldemort, were not evil or sociopaths. I don't know why all the characters were so aro/acephobic, but sometimes fics get away from you and you don't address everything you wanted to. I don't know why the aro/ace characters had so much internalized shame and hatred when the term bachelor has been in use for centuries, but we fanfic authors love writing self-esteem issues and I would be a hypocrite to say otherwise. I don't know why the author never tagged acephobia or internalized acephobia, but no one HAS to tag anything.

I don't know if the author ended up writing that fic where Harry comes to accept his aro/asexuality. It's totally understable if they didn't; I have failed to write many fics that I really did want to write. Sometimes it's just like that. I really, truly believe that the author had the best of intentions and is not aro/acephobic, just severely misled on what that experience is like.

My beef is not with this author. I used their words to highlight a reoccurring and popular sentiment that I hate. My real beef is that this fic is popular. This is an entire subgenre of Harry Potter fics. I actually decided to write this post because some random person on the internet said, a few days ago, something along the lines of: "Remember when JKR invented a date rape drug that turned people into sociopaths? Yeah…" (And also because I was up until 3 am last night writing a dumb trash angst one-shot about it).

I'd wager that the vast, vast majority of people who write or read those fics don't feel the same way. But the condescension is baked into the very premise of that trope. "Oh poor you, it must be so hard, so lonely going through life without ever loving another person. You must feel so empty inside."

It's actually people who say similar things that make me feel isolated. Most of the time I feel free, like I've cracked this secret code, like I'm able to see things clearly that people so hung up over sex and romance can't. Other times I feel so left out I wish I was "normal." Mostly, being aro/ace is lonely, annoying, exhausting, and liberating.

It wasn't until last year that a friend told me that some people actually do have trouble speaking to someone they've never met before, just because they find that someone attractive. I thought that only happened in stories. But I don't want to get nervous meeting new people based on their looks, I don't want to treat people differently based on how much I want to have sex with them. I wish my friends in high school had never pressured me to come out as bisexual. I wish all the other similarly liberal, queer communities I've found since didn't insist on associating sex and dating with emotional comfort. I wish I could magically stop my parents from expecting me to ever get married and have kids.

But I can't.

Anyways, that's it for today. I'm not sure what the point of writing this was. I really don't want anyone to get hurt or attacked because of it. This is not a callout, or a hate brigade, or any sort of call-to-action. I don't want people to get up-in-arms about this. I'm just tired. I suppose I just wanted to put my feelings out there, and well, this is my Tumblr.

[shadow-of-the-eclipse]

what do you mean I have limited characters in a google keep note I want to write more in that format

is this a new story or is it just random ideas who knows, anyway role swap tomarry where tom is the only one who can see the dark lord who got stuck on the wrong side of the veil when trying to steal the gaunt ring when tom was a baby, now tom's the boy who defeated a dark lord and harry is absolutely not haunting a teenager

_____________________________

"You're not real," Tom says.

And like a switch being flicked fury flashes across the man's face. His green eyes have a sheen to them, almost silvery, like someone has spilled liquid mercery across the green. And Tom--

Tom can feel the magic in the air. Like an oncoming storm, like emotions made real and physical, he can feel the man's anger take a physical impression. His chest feels heavy and the air feels thin. "Oh," he croons, voice deceptively light, hiding a raging tornado, "I'm very real."

And like snow flakes falling onto his skin, the hint of cold before it melts, Tom can feel the fingerprints of the man before they fade. Not quite real. But definitely not a hallucination. Definitely not a ghost.

"You won't hurt me," he bluffs, "Nobody else can see you. You hurt me you're stuck. Forever."

The man draws back, fury still lining every muscle. "You are not that important, baby Slytherin," he snaps, but does not move to lay a hand on Tom. "I will find my way out of this cursed plane of existence and back to physicality without or without the help of an teenage boy."

_____________________

"Maybe you should kill them," Harry says. He's sitting perched on the stairs, hands clasped together, green eyed watching Tom and his irritating year mates.

"I can't just kill people," Tom says.

"Not in public," the wraith purrs. The insidious thought is too appealing to consider so Tom turns away from Harry.

"Oh don't ignore me. Tom. To-om."

[billystoilet]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences.

Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence. Major Character Death.

Categories: M/M. F/M. Other.

Fandoms: Saw (Movies). Insidious (Movies).

Relationships: Adam Faulkner-Stanheight/Lawrence Gordon.

Characters: Adam Faulkner-Stanheight. Lawrence Gordon. Diana Gordon. Alison Gordon. Amanda Young. Mark Hoffman. Allison Kerry. David (Saw 0.5). Specs (Insidious). Scott Tibbs. Original Characters.

Language: English

Words: 5,015

**

“I-I wouldn’t lie to you.”

The words repeated over and over in Adam's head, stinging his aching heart as bile rose and settled in his throat. Ricocheting off the walls, echoing louder and louder even though they were only in his mind. He could feel his chest wavering while he tried to catch his breath through the fever, but not even the sound of his ragged breath could subdue Lawrence's voice. Adam was losing track of time and how long he'd been stuck in place as the pitch black swallowed everything around him, but the ticking clock kept going. Synchronizing and pulsing with his heartbeat, which only made his head spin more.

He felt as if his eyes were going to pop out of their sockets as they strained to overlook the darkness, growing a headache that he could feel in the deep depths of his whole cranium. He leaned his head back against the tile, resting the side of his head against what he could only assume was a pipe and squeezed his eyes shut.

He needed to get out of there.

The pressure in his stomach quivered dangerously and it took all of his strength to swallow the tension down, chin shivering through the need to vomit. In fact, his whole body was shivering; tears streaming down his face, knees shaking where they were pressed against his chest and teeth chattering to the point his jaw ached. Adam knew he was losing blood fast, but his focus on the ghost of Lawrence's voice couldn't cease as it was the only thing from making him truly lose his mind.

Or he had already lost his mind.

The glow-in-the-dark paint on the wall had been Adam's only source of light in the couple of hours after the door closed, but it wasn't long before it completely faded and the room had been just as dark as it was when he first woke up. Because of the lack of sight, Adam found his other senses to refine too quickly than he would've wanted and his suffering only heightened. The air's corpse smell only worsened, the blood on his hands and the dirt under his nails felt thicker, the void of silence could only throb louder.

He really needed to get out of there.

The rough metal of the shackle bit into Adam's ankle every time he tried to pull on the chain, a bruised ache forming around his gaunt bones. Rationally, he knew if he kept pulling on it then he could injure himself further, but it was that he wasn't rationally thinking. All he knew was that he wanted the chain off. Soon, there was a warm substance of what could only be blood start to build around his ankle and roll down his foot that made him stop short for a moment. He thought it was a good idea at first, pull on the chain until something happened, but he only stopped when a loud crack echoed in the room and his legs folded under him. Punching the floor, he angrily screamed until he could barely catch his breath, but only ended up crying, curled as tightly as he could on his side.

That fucking sucked.

Sitting now in silence besides his erratic breathing, Adam thought about the time he went to the beach as a kid. He wasn't sure why it came to mind so suddenly, but the memory seemed so vivid. He remembers how his family didn't normally have opportunities to do fun things like going to the beach together—his dad always either too busy getting drunk or too busy at work or just plain right too uninterested—but it was a day he couldn't forget. He was only six years old, straying from his brothers as he was so confident that he was old enough to be out on his own. Walking out in the shore a piece of seaweed had wrapped around his ankle just in time before a wave came and knocked him down. All he could think of was how cold the water was.

Maybe that's why the memory resurfaced so clearly. The way his fingers were trembling, the hairs on his arms standing straight up, his teeth chattering and his lungs growing tight like he was drowning. In his daze, he found it hard telling apart the memory from what he's seeing right in front of him—if he could see at all, at least. The shackle around his ankle shifted from the cold, sturdy feeling to soft and slimy with the likeness of seaweed.

Read more on AO3. (free to guests)

[cursedonyx]

The below is an extract from the most recent chapter of my fic; Hogwarts Legacy: The Price of Power, in which Sebastian and Ominis discover they're both enamoured with the same woman. Neither are particularly pleased with this turn of events, and they fight.

Read the full thing on Ao3 or Wattpad for context.

Warnings: Violence, blood.

Sebastian kicked open the door to the Dark Arts Tower, not caring that students were staring, not caring that they might see where he was headed, not caring that their sacred refuge from everything might become known. He lashed the clock with his wand and shouldered through, flinging the iron gate up with a screeching bang.

Ominis was already there, and he whirled at the sound, a light frown creasing his brow.

“Sebastian? I got your note, what’s-”

He yelped as Sebastian seized the front of his robes and slammed him into the pillar, snarling in his face.

“You fucking bastard,” he spat.

“What the hell!?” Ominis grabbed his wrists, open shock written across his features. “Sebastian! I told you what happened, I couldn’t stop them!”

“This isn’t about your fucking parents,” he snarled. “You insidious little shit, you think I wouldn’t find out?”

Ominis struggled, shoving at him, reaching for his wand. Sebastian knocked it from his hand.

“What’s wrong with you?” Ominis gasped. “I haven’t done-”

“LIAR!” Sebastian yelled. “I know! I heard them in Hogsmeade! You’ve been trying to take Dracaena from me!”

Ominis stopped struggling, confusion rising to his face, before a flicker of understanding lit behind his eyes, followed by a flash of fear. All of that was gone in a moment, though, as he reared up, his lips curling back.

“Take her from you?” he snarled. “Don’t be preposterous, you’ve been trying to take her from me! I’ve heard the way you paw at her, groping at her, dragging her around like a puppet!”

“As if she’d ever want to be with someone like you,” Sebastian growled, his fists wound tight in his robes. “A fucking Gaunt!”

Ominis slapped him across the face, hard enough to make him stagger.

“If only you knew,” he said, his voice low, an uncharacteristically cruel smirk playing about his mouth. “What could she possibly want with you?”

Sebastian laughed, the sound dangerous. “All of me, apparently.”

Ominis’ smirk slid into open disgust and fury.

“Don’t you dare imply what I think you are.”

He laughed again, forcing it out.

“Why, you worried you can’t compete? As if you could. You’re pathetic.”

Ominis’ lips curved into a venomous grin. “Keep telling yourself that, Sallow. Everything was perfect before you came back and ruined everything. She’d never want a murderer.”

To Sebastian, in this moment, Ominis wasn’t worthy of his duelling skill. He raised his fist and cracked it across his best friend’s face, and Ominis fell with a shout. His fingers groped over the stone for his wand, but Sebastian hauled him up by the collar, slamming him back into the pillar, and Ominis snarled, blood pouring from a cut on his cheek. He raised his own sharp fist, and Sebastian didn’t even try to duck.

The punch connected with his temple, and he saw stars, something hot and sticky flowing down the side of his head, releasing Ominis as he stumbled to the side. He rose, turning slowly, seeing Ominis before him, his teeth bared, his fists clenched, and saw an imagined flash of him touching Dracaena, his Dracaena, his spiderlike hands crawling over her perfect form.

The last of his restraint snapped.

With a roar, Sebastian hurled himself at Ominis, and the pair crashed to the floor, punching, kicking and slapping every inch of the other they could reach, rolling over and over, each trying to gain purchase. He grabbed Ominis by the face, raising his fist, and Ominis bit him, his sharp teeth sinking into his hand. Sebastian yelped, rearing back, receiving a punch to the ribs for his trouble as Ominis tried to wriggle away, sliding along the cold stone floor to where his wand was flashing a rapid red.

Sebastian caught him by the ankle and dragged him back, snarling wordlessly as Ominis pummelled his jaw, flinging a fist down and cracking it against his shoulder.

“Get off me!” Ominis roared, scratching and biting between vicious jabs to his ribs and face.

“You think you’re so great,” Sebastian spat, hurling him across the chamber and springing after him. “You were right, it’s your fault she was hurt! If she never knew you, this wouldn’t have happened! Letting your family torture her! And you’ve got the gall to try and claim her! What the fuck would she want with an inbred little cunt like you?”

“She’s not a possession!” Ominis snarled, landing a vicious punch directly between his eyes. Sebastian wrenched back with a yelp as he felt his nose crack. “Listen to yourself, acting like you deserve her after all you’ve done! She’d never want you, all you do is manipulate your friends, put people in danger and murder your own family! She’d never be safe with you!"

Sebastian bared his teeth, a red mist descending over his vision, his hands finding Ominis’ throat. Murderer, was he? He’d show him. He’d show them all what that truly meant, for no spell used in the heat of the moment really compared to squeezing the life from the bastard that was trying to snatch his Dracaena away from him.

He tightened his grip, breathing hard, all sense fled. If he could remove this obstacle, he could be with Dracaena with no further issue, there wouldn’t be any more hesitation, no more of her whispering about loving both of them, no more trouble, no more strife. Everything would be alright if he just… if he just…

Ominis’ face coloured as he gasped for air, his nails scrabbling at the back of Sebastian’s hands, wrenching uselessly against his superior strength. His grip on his wrists began to weaken as he fought for breath, wrenching against his grasp, his head tilting back as Sebastian tightened his hands, maddened beyond all reason.

_.-~*~-._

Read more on Wattpad or Ao3, as linked above.

[kingscyrus]

Cyrus clung to his mother's frail hand as she lay in her bed, her breaths shallow and labored. Beads of sweat rolled down her pale, gaunt face, dark circles framing her once-vibrant eyes. Her beautiful caramel tresses, now damp, clung to her skin, emphasizing her fragile state. She had been battling an insidious disease for months, one that gnawed at her muscles and bones, leaving her a shadow of her former self. Her memory, once sharp and vivid, now faded like a distant echo.

"The time is nigh... my dear boy..." Her voice, barely more than a whisper, trembled with each word, pain lacing every syllable. Like Cyrus's, her teal eyes were clouded with exhaustion and suffering. In contrast, Cyrus's eyes brimmed with a mixture of melancholy, worry, and an overwhelming sense of despair.

"It's... it's alright, my sweet mother... I'll... I'll be alright..." Cyrus's attempt at a strong, reassuring tone faltered, his voice betraying him with a tremor. His eyebrows knitted together as he struggled to maintain his composure, his bottom lip quivering despite his efforts to hold it still. The lump in his throat was a constant, painful reminder of the impending loss. He was about to lose his only kin, the woman who had been the sun in his life, his guiding light. She was the reason he had worked so hard to become a knight, hoping to provide them with a semblance of comfort and security. Now, she lay before him, mere inches from death, and he felt powerless.

As he sat by her side, memories flooded his mind: her laughter filling their tiny home, her gentle hands tending to his scrapes and bruises, her voice a soothing balm during their darkest times. She had been his rock, his source of strength, and the thought of facing the world without her was unbearable. He squeezed her hand tighter as if trying to hold on to her spirit, to keep her with him a little longer. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat almost choking him. "Mother, you have to hold on. Just a little longer. Please..." His voice broke, and he could no longer hold back the sobs that wracked his body. He buried his face in the bedclothes, his tears soaking the fabric.

His mother reached out with her other hand, weakly brushing her fingers through his hair. "My dear Cyrus... you must be strong. Life... life will go on. You have a brave heart... and a noble spirit. Promise me... you will continue... to live... to fight..." Cyrus nodded, unable to speak, his heart breaking with each passing moment. She smiled faintly, a ghost of her former self, and with a final, shuddering breath, she slipped away. The room grew still, the weight of her absence pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. 

He lifted his head, gazing at her peaceful face, his own tears blurring his vision. He knew he had to honor her last wish, to continue living and fighting as she had taught him. But at that moment, all he could feel was the crushing grief of a son who had just lost his mother, the woman who had been his everything.

[impenitentrp]

Here is a preview of our plotline ! Please note that this will be serving as a starting basis to an ongoing plotline furthered by events. Impenitent will also be operating as an AU site, presenting a variety of opportunities for the originality of the site as well as to inspire character creativity.

1955.  A  decade  has  passed  since  the  conclusion  of  the  Second  World  War,  yet  while  the  Muggle  World  has  managed  to  develop  in  great  strides  throughout  those  ten  years,  the  Wizarding  World  has  been  further  plunged  into  an  all  consuming  darkness.  1945  marked  the  defeat  of  the  intercontinental  dark  wizard,  Gellert  Grindelwald,  and  for  a  brief  moment,  the  fog  of  terror  had  dissipated  from  the  atmosphere  across  Western  Europe,  parting  the  haze  of  a  warring  theatre  and  permitting  Muggleborns,  Half  Bloods  and  those  with  creature  blood  to  cast  hopeful  glances  upon  a  future  that  might  bear  witness  more  of  their  cardinal  rights  recognized  and  upheld  by  the  Ministry  of  Magic.  But  while  the  great  evil  that  had  been  Grindelwald  now  rotted  in  a  prison  cell  in  Nurmengard,  his  sympathizers  and  sycophants  remained  unbroken  and  unbridled,  free  in  the  world  to  spread  sinful  beliefs  to  their  children  and  to  sow  dissent  in  the  ministries  of  magic  to  further  curtail  the  liberties  of  those  that  were  deemed  lesser.  Like  many  followers,  however,  these  Purists  had  achieved  very  little  until  an  unassuming  shopboy  from  the  gutters  of  Knockturn  Alley  charmed  his  way  through  schoolmates,  professors  and  politicians  alike,  harboring  what  many  would  one  day  consider  immoral  and  wicked  intent.

An  orphan  boy  from  London,  Tom  Riddle  had  always  shown  an  inclination  for  the  clandestine,  even  before  his  magic  had  manifested  in  ways  that  terrorized  his  fellow  foundlings  and  caretakers.  So  when  Albus  Dumbledore  appeared  at  the  steps  of  Wool’s  Orphanage  to  personally  present  an  invitation  to  a  school  in  Scotland,  the  matron  and  children  did  not  bar  his  leave.  Hogwarts  failed  to  educate  him  in  the  art  of  restraint,  instead  feeding  the  starving  stray  his  first  tastes  of  what  power  could  be  if  properly  honed.  Loathe  to  return  to  the  orphanage  during  the  height  of  the  war  —  perhaps  igniting  the  catalyst  of  his  fear  of  death  —  caused  the  youth  to  trace  back  his  lineage  to  the  ancient  House  of  Gaunt,  descendants  of  Salazar  Slytherin.  Eager  to  learn  of  his  ancestry,  the  boy  had  visited  his  uncle,  Morfin  Gaunt,  unearthing  truths  behind  his  conception,  the  result  of  which  led  him  to  murder  his  Muggle  father  and  grandfather,  and  abscond  with  a  priceless  family  heirloom.  Using  the  deaths  of  his  family  to  harness  insidious  wizardry,  he  created  his  first  Horcrux,  embedding  the  trauma  of  their  demise  alongside  a  piece  of  his  soul  into  Marvolo  Gaunt’s  ring.  It  does  not  take  long  for  him  to  fabricate  a  second,  the  energy  exuding  pervading  his  aura  attracting  fellow  Purists  and  power - seekers  through  his  reckless  abandon.  Wielding  the  gifts  he  had  gained  from  Salazar  Slytherin  to  bring  grand  loss  of  life,  he  marches  forth,  eliminating  Myrtle  Warren  and  imparting  a  subsequent  piece  of  himself  within  a  diary,  his  mind  littered  with  ideations  of  a  glorious  world  where  he  would  reign  supreme  and  everlasting.

Spurned  by  Albus  Dumbledore  and  faculty  refusal  in  which  would  obstruct  his  motion  to  claim  a  professor’s  post,  Tom  Riddle  consigns  himself  to  a  brief  stint  at  Borgin  and  Burkes,  where  as  he  labors,  salt  permeates  and  festers  an  infectious  wound.  It  is  here  that  he  is  greeted  by  Madam  Hepzibah  Smith,  avid  patron  and  self  proclaimed  descendant  of  Helga  Hufflepuff.  A  woman  seemingly  gluttoned  with  affluence,  she  boasts  of  priceless  possessions,  unwittingly  securing  her  unfortunate  fate  throughout  a  barrage  of  gloating  conversement  where  Tom’s  attentive  temperament  lies  coiled  —  a  serpent  lying  in  wait,  fangs  poised  to  strike.  A  potent  toxin  will  soon  pass  her  lips,  its  venom  stilling  the  thrum  of  her  heart  so  that  her  corpse  can  be  thieved  of  both  Hufflepuff’s  cup  and  Slytherin’s  locket.  Framing  yet  another  innocent,  isolated  being,  the  third  Horcrux  is  molded  by  his  ceaseless  corruption,  and  he  vanishes  to  further  hunt  artefacts  to  defile,  leaving  in  his  treacherous  wake  virulent  acolytes  to  carry  on  his  bidding.

Now,  Tom  Riddle  methodically  maneuvers  taut  strings,  operating  from  the  shadows  as  he  begins  to  petrify  the  Wizarding  World,  his  sinister  plots  to  execute  all  who  oppose  him  in  pursuit  of  blood  purification  and  wizarding  rule  helmed  by  his  most  trusted  circle  —  The  Knights  of  Walpurgis  —  alongside  his  lethal  militia  of  Death  Eaters.  As  the  skies  are  cast  ever  darker  across  Great  Britain,  The  Ministry  remains  ignorant  to  the  rise  of  malignant  forces,  instead  fixating  on  their  own  preferred  transgressions  as  rumors  of  both  Creature  and  Muggle  intolerance  mark  them  unfavorable.  Those  of  creature  blood  —  most  notably,  Werewolves  —  are  now  the  bias  targets  of  harsh  injustice,  their  existence  perceived  as  a  threat  to  the  welfare  of  wizarding  communities  due  to  what  is  deemed  as  beastly  nature.  Met  with  this  imbalance,  leaders  of  these  respective  species  are  presented  with  two  options:  sign  a  registry  to  document  their  so  called  afflictions,  or  revolt  and  face  imprisonment  —  or  worse.  In  light  of  The  Ministry’s  shortcomings  in  regard  to  the  threat  of  an  ascending  Dark  Lord  and  impending  insurgence,  Albus  Dumbledore  forges  a  regime  of  talented  individuals  known  as  The  Ordinem  in  an  effort  to  better  combat  the  telltale  signs  of  the  war  to  come  where  the  wizarding  government  would  not  act.  Lines  have  begun  to  be  drawn,  both  morality  and  neutrality  blurred  as  justice  is  taken  into  the  grasps  of  opposing  views,  all  sides  contending  for  control  as  the  Wizarding  World  is  propelled  toward  ruination.

[devil-doll13]

File No. 613

EXTERMINATED

(Tw: Death, Vague Descriptions of Child Abuse, Dog Attacks)

- - -

Alias(es): M*********, ‘Abigail Williams,’ ‘The Kanewich Child,’

Location(s): Kanewich; Massachusetts, Abelton; Ohio

Classification: Demonic, Witch, Humanoid Abomination

- - -

Description:

Subject took the form of a teenaged female human at time of extermination, though It was later confirmed to have also appear as a infant, toddler and child, (200x) mimicking the life cycle of a human. Eye witness (Judith Bell, 20xx) had difficulty recalling exact facial features of subject at this time.

It presented a gaunt, white face and corpselike appearance, similar to an undead or ghoul, as well as black hair and eyes the colour green, described by relations as ‘soulless.’ (200x) Its ability to blend in with the human population allowed It to remain undetected for years as It infiltrated the Williams family and continued Its insidious attacks while posing as an innocent. It was fortunately discovered by our agent Nathaniel Hopkins, (died 31st October, 20xx) and was subsequently destroyed before It could act on plans of ***** ***********

Sightings:

Abelton Report (WIP)

Notes:

Subject was responsible for the Abelton Town massacre on 31st of October, 20xx, an incident known to the public as ‘The Harvest Storm.’

Believed to be the offspring of 013, or ******* and the witch Lucina Williams. Other theories suggest that subject was a fully grown homunculus, (Zuri) changeling, (Oisín) or a demon taking the form of a child. (Margarethe & Johann)

Confirmed to be the subject of a case in ********, Illinois, in which an exorcist, James Connagher, was called in on the 1st of July, 20xx in order to remove a supernatural presence from a sick child who was later reported to be ‘Abigail Williams.’ Urielle Preston (née Williams) attempted to use the method of ************ ***** in order to exorcise the demon herself but was unsuccessful, and is believed to have been attacked by the subject’s black magick, forcing her to fall down the stairs where she broke her neck. Connagher was later found to have died from a heart attack, possibly also caused by subject.

Several animals showed hostility or fear when confronted by the subject, including: dogs, cows, sheep, rabbits and deer. (20xx) Instances of multiple dog attacks including a report found dating back to 200x in which a border collie supposedly broke lead to chase subject into a tree.

Recovered several items after exterminating subject, including The ***********, a sickle and silver knife, a box of ***** and herbs emitting a foul odour, and a collection of disturbing artworks and symbols. These items were suspected to be used for black magick and witchcraft, as well as to communicate with *******, and were therefore destroyed by agent Zachariah Johnson.

CAUTION: DISPLAYS ANOMALOUS BEHAVIOUR A ‘ragdoll’ was later found in subject’s surviving belongings, found to be skewered with various pins and needles. It was unable to be destroyed, see Item 613-1 in storage.

CAUTION: POISONOUS Procured sample of the ‘black ooze’ on October xx, 20xx, see Item 613-2 attached.

Subject did not show up correctly on camera footage or film, but rather appeared to be ‘distorted’ or otherwise malformed, see Item 613-3 attached.

IMPORTANT: The subject had caused irreparable damage to the landscape via reality warping, in future agents must be stationed at these places to ensure civilian safety. The forest area has further claimed the lives of ** ‘missing’ cases. We are currently undergoing investigation of the Abelton cornfields, mines and bogs still riddled with ‘black ooze.’ Corpse cleanup operations are likewise still ongoing, as we continue to extract the dead from ***** protrusions. If you are on site when the sky begins to turn green, you must evacuate everyone in the area immediately.

Assigned investigative agent: Nathaniel Hopkins

Exterminated by: Judith Bell

- - -

Date: November 18th, 20xx

Signed: Zachariah Johnson

[shingodzilla98]

Some amazing pics I took of our Slytherin boys!

I also added in my MC, who is Insidious Gaunt. (Ominis' brother in my story). Insidious Gaunt also has a backstory! Check it out on Wattpad!

Finally decided to go through my thousands of pics and I'll start posting my favorite ones.

[floydig]

Fic: Walk Right Through Me

Harry/Draco, M, 1.9k || Psychological Horror, Unreliable Narrator, Polyjuice Use, Down and Out Harry Potter, Repressed Memories, Twist Ending

“Harry was tired of being seen. The Polyjuice started as a therapeutic exercise that we thought would help him, but it spiralled into something insidious.”

Every day, Harry drinks Polyjuice to disguise himself as he lives on the streets. Today, he observes a gaunt, shirtless Draco Malfoy walking around Knockturn Alley and is immediately drawn to him.

However, sometimes the truth is much darker than what the mind perceives.

Read on ao3

[thiscrimsonsoul]

What Have I Become? || open

{Warning: Potential Multiverse of Madness spoiler concepts ahead! Trigger warnings ahead for nightmares and mental illness}

This starter is open to any muse who knows Wanda in some way and who would be someone she might go to for help. 

Whatever it takes. If I have to kill, then I will. I don’t even care who I have to kill, just as long as I’m able to get my boys back...

Wanda’s eyes opened and she gasped, sitting up in bed as her astral spirit returned to her body. She had been studying the Darkhold, as she had for many nights, almost every single one, since she’d taken down the Hex and lost her husband and children. This time, she had been forced to admit that it felt different. Heavier. Oppressive. Or had it been building this whole time and she was only noticing it now? Did I just have thoughts of killing anyone to get what I wanted... and not caring who? That was shocking to her. When did that level of violence and immorality become acceptable to her? The thoughts that had entered her mind seemed as natural as her own, but... darker, more insidiously suggestive of evil that should have been off limits to her. Wasn’t it?

Wanda glanced down at her fingers, seeing their tips stained back. Her breath quickened and her heart pounded as she tried to wipe off the stain, to no avail. Shaking her hands, she quickly cast a spell to make them look normal. She just... couldn’t look at that stain anymore. It frightened her, the way it grew each day, little by little, creeping across her skin like a purulent disease. Pulling her knees to her chest, she started idly rocking herself, trying to fend off the unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach.

It was some time before she got up to head to the bathroom. Splashing some cold water on her face, she looked in the mirror and was taken aback by what she saw. Her skin was pale, almost gray. There were smoky halos around her eyes. She looked gaunt, her cheekbones much more prominent than she’d remembered. How long have I been studying? Casting another simple spell to make herself look healthier, Wanda went out into her cabin’s living room and paced, back and forth, for the better part of an hour.

She wanted her boys. She needed them. But Wanda knew it was wrong to be willing to kill anyone to have them back. Why was she having these thoughts? That wasn’t what she wanted at all. There had to be an easier way... A kinder way... Wanda couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very wrong. Even as she thought this, though, she heard whispering in her ear... A voice calling her back to her studies... to that book...

She ran from the cabin, out into the cold night air, gasping partly from the exertion and partly from panic. No, no, no! Something was wrong! She didn’t feel like herself, and she was hearing voices. Was she losing her mind? That had always been a fear of Wanda’s, ever since her mother had told her that mental illness ran in her family as a little girl. With shaking hands she desperately reached out to someone she trusted, or at least thought she might be able to trust, making a portal to travel quickly to them. Stepping through it, she nearly tripped as she ran to the door and pounded on it, with no thought for the time of day or night it might be where they were. The moment it opened, she began frantically sobbing.

“Help me! Help me, please! I don’t know what’s happening to me! I need help!” she cried as she wrapped her arms around the other, shaking while she held onto them as if they were her only port in this raging storm she’d created for herself...

[hp-fearfest]

To help you get inspired as you prep for the All Hallows Challenge, we’ll be sharing a few existing horror fanworks every Friday! This week, we recommend:

👻 Walk Right Through Me by @floydig (Fic | 1.9k | M)

“Harry was tired of being seen. The Polyjuice started as a therapeutic exercise that we thought would help him, but it spiralled into something insidious.” Every day, Harry drinks Polyjuice to disguise himself as he lives on the streets. Today, he observes a gaunt, shirtless Draco Malfoy walking around Knockturn Alley and is immediately drawn to him. However, sometimes the truth is much darker than what the mind perceives.

👻 Corset Doll by ClumsyDreamer (Fic | 16k | E)

While searching for a wedding gift for their occult loving friend Ginny, Luna and Hermione come across Malfoy Manor- an occult store run by the mysterious Narcissa Malfoy. It's clear that many of the objects are the run of the mill gag gifts, but all is not normal in this little shop. From potion bottles with no active ingredients to suspiciously wet books with mouths- Hermione thinks there's something off about the store she walked into. But it's not til she leaves with a porcelain doll named Bellatrix does she realize how right her suspicions were...

👻 Your Move by procoffeinating (Art | T)

If you're going to make me a piece in your game, don't be surprised if I decide to play.

Send us your favorite, existing HP horror works so we can share (self-recs encouraged)!

[save-the-spiral]

Wiztober Day Thirteen: Magical Romance

Welcome to day thirteen of wiztober2020! Spoilers up to Azteca. Content warnings for blood, war, post traumatic stress disorder, death, implied starvation, sickness, implied suicidal ideation, grief.

(link to prompt list)

Love drips from your lips as sweet as honey, as frequent as the blood you taste day after day, battle after battle. You are their Young Wizard. You fight every day and have never spent one moment truly learning in the academy you represent.

They stare at you when you’re in Wizard city. They see a hero. You are a hero. You’ve done so much, sacrificed everything for them, your childhood, your innocence, your health, your safety. Yet you do not fight for them. For all the students who you couldn’t name, for the teachers who have taught you spells and nothing more, for the Headmaster who smiles as you regale him with the worst things you have ever seen in your life.

You haven’t been fighting for the Spiral for a long, long time now.

You fight for the rest of your own life, now. You fight every day, to get out of bed, to eat food, to breathe, just for one more moment because that one moment promises a full life. It promises so much.

As the cold, empty nights of Marleybone chill your bones and you stare into the eyes of gaunt begging children while a museum curator demands you fix their gang problem. As the soft petals of cherry blossom trees flutter on the wind and you save a dying emperor and world from its insidious corruption.

These things remind you of the impermanence of life. Of how precious it is.

You bring your quest reward back and wander the alleys of Marleybone, giving out gold that you don’t need. You spend extra hours learning about the spirits in Mooshu.

In Dragonspyre, you are too angry to do anything but choke on the sulfurous air and keep running the path of vengeance on this dead hunk of rock they call a world. You internally question why a young savior was not sent to this doomed world, why it was left to fester until its corruption broke into war, and the war broke into apocalypse, and now you stare at murdered ghosts and tears evaporate in the heat before they fall, lava curdling with spilled blood.

There is nothing in Celestia you care for. Ruined worlds, ancient civilizations, it doesn’t matter. The cold water and dark grottoes are nothing, not when your skin still burns and throat still aches from breathing in ash. Worlds pass, people are saved, others are not, and you keep moving, following orders.

It isn’t until Azteca that you find hope again for a better world. Here things are different, but it is colorful. It is a place you could love and one you could live in once things are over and your quest is done. You could fight for a world like this. People here make beautiful things, and you stare up at the stars with a group of young people and they tell you of their constellations. Your gaze gravitates to the comet, the prophecised end of this world, and wonder if this is your Dragonspyre, but unlike some unknown failure, you could succeed and find a life here.

Your quest is never done. You cannot save everyone.

Even as you scream, as you plead to bring people to Ravenwood and to save as many artifacts as you can, to just let you help them, the ones who mentored you can only embrace you and sadly smile as they tell you this must have been fate.

You are a husk of yourself after that, left to recover as you become unresponsive, empty. Your throat carries the same raw ache after Dragonspyre, but now it is from screaming in your sleep, waking your dorm mates in the middle of the night as you thrash and say things in a language only you can speak in now.

No one in Wizard City knows the languages of Azteca. It’s the only one you manage to speak, on the days you can muster up words.

You understand Cyrus Drake, now. Your eyes are a haunted reflection of his, without the personal loss, just the loss of a world that was a home.

Secretly you resent him, hate him. You, with all of your anger and grief, would never allow yourself to become a teacher, to be in a position of authority. To potentially cause any more harm, especially to children.

Your dorm mates complain of you breaking mirrors as well as screaming in the night.

You get your own house, a gift. It is in the rebuilt and repopulated Unicorn Way, right by the park. The meadow is soft and smells sweet, and you spend your days unable to get out of bed, and your nights lying in the grass. You stare up at the sky and try to trace constellations that aren’t there, the ancient signs of Celestia, the ones you were told of in Azteca, but the stars aren’t there, and don’t line up right. You’ve never learned the constellations for Wizard City.

Magic pulses from you when you doze off, in soft dull colors of your magical schools, especially any astral schools you’ve picked up along the way. The dull grey-silver of moonlight, the twinkle of stardust, the flare of sun, it reflects on your eyes, luminous and refracting infinitely in the uneven surface of tears.

Everything is soft and quiet here, and it feels as if you could fall infinitely into the void of space, as if stuck to the ceiling above nothing. You stare and breathe and tears fall awkwardly to the sides of your face, pooling strangely in your ears or passing that and dripping off of your jaw.

Maybe you could still find a life. Your mind has always been split, categorizing things into before you came here, your simple life on Earth, then your quest, and then a big, empty void of ‘after’ that must come. For a moment, your ‘after’, the rest of your life, had been sitting on the steps of ancient pyramids and joking alongside young warriors and wizards in Azteca, eating fruits and learning the language and racing through the jungle.

Now, months of nothing after that, you wonder if you could muster up that hope again. Your heart aches with the thought of putting so much trust in a place again, or in a person.

But maybe you just couldn’t give that life after questing to a place, or an ideal. Maybe you had to keep it, selfishly, and look after yourself.

Morganthe was still out there, seeking to rewrite the Song of Creation and make the Spiral in her image.

You hadn’t been questing for the Spiral’s sake for a long time now.

But you wanted to live. To simply find somewhere soft and safe and warm forever, where you could be happy and never have the weight of a universe on your shoulders again. So you would have to take that happiness. You have gained nothing by waiting for an ‘after’ to come. You will fight. You will keep fighting until the war is over, and you will find a life worth fighting for after that.

For no one but yourself. And that is selfish, yes, but every love is. Every love is selfish because you secretly think there was no greater feat of love than Malistaire trying to change the laws of the Spiral to bring back one woman.

There is a you out there that you love. If time is a flat circle, than that you is you right now. You are the child, missing baby teeth and innocent. You are the soldier, obedient and bleeding and screaming. You are the after. You are the happiness that must come, what you deserve.

That, you think, you could love.

Tears still fall as you stare up at a sky you barely recognize, though the black lightens to indigo as the sun begins to rise. You gasp wetly when you breathe in, and a hand falls to your lips, a lazy brush of calloused palm that likely leaves you just as tear stained and wretched as before. You sit up, a sob caught in your chest next to a broken heart, and you sit at the base of the unicorn statue in the park.

A small declaration of love was made that night, and you sealed it by watching the sunrise and promising a life to yourself.