#Keeper of Fire and Shadows and Blood and Darkness

[astra-ravana]

Working With Hekate

Goddess Of The Threshold

Other titles: Keeper of the Gates, The Triple Goddess, Bringer of Light, Night Wanderer, and many more

Colors: Black, silver, gold, red, white

Herbs: Asphodel, trillium, ebony, fly agaric, garlic, aconite, yew, datura, cypress, belladonna, saffron, foxglove, mandrake, willow, black poplar, dandelion, mugwort, henbane, mandrake, yarrow, myyrh, lavender, oak, mullien, thornapple, bittersweet, poppy, wormwood, sage, rue, fumitory, dragon's blood, rowan, black copal

Crystals: Moonstone (especially black), labradorite, mother of pearl, black tourmaline, obsidian, black/smokey quartz, lodestone, nuummite, serpentine, auralite, abalone, corundum, zicron, hematite, jet, lapis lazuli, pyrite

Element: Earth/water/darkness

Planet: The Moon, Saturn, Pluto

Zodiac: Scorpio (Aquarius)

Metal: Silver, copper, bronze

Tarot: The Moon, The High Priestess

Direction: All

Date: November 16th, the Night of Hekate

Day: Any

Animals: Goats, wolves, dogs, owls, snakes, horses, crows, bulls, sheep, skunks, lizards, dragons

Domains: Thresholds/liminal spaces/boundaries, crossroads, witchcraft and sorcery, the Moon, herbalism, the poison path, necromancy, nocturnal magick, truth, secrets, hedge-riding, shadow work and integration of shadow-self, baneful magick, protection, knot magick, foraging, divination, creatures of the night, the Underworld, the Otherworld

Offerings: Keys, hair of a black dog, any of her sacred plants, representations of any of her animals, divination tools, black mirrors, wands, athames, bolines, blades, things in sets of 3, fruit, wine, blood, rituals/magick in her honor/name, feathers, fossils, shells, bones

Symbols: Blades, fire, keys, crossroads, gateways, doors, entrances, moons, torches, wands/sceptres, whips, the number 3

[gweelczz]

“Paula”

Bo Chow x OC (Rosetta)

Genre: angst, hurt and comfort, happy ending

Warnings: vampiric turning process, Rosetta shoots a gun

Summary: Rosetta has a traumatic experience and Bo steps up as a husband

The shotgun blast echoed like judgment through the backwoods. Smoke curled through the trees and settled like a veil over Rosetta’s face, over her soul. The air went still. Even the frogs fell silent.

Paula’s body hit the ground with a thud too soft for the weight of what just happened. Her friend. Her sister in spirit. Her prayer partner. Her keeper of secrets on long Sunday walks.

Now gone.

And worse than gone—turned.

It had all happened so fast.

Rosetta and Paula had stepped outside the juke joint for air. The heat had been thick as stew and the music inside loud enough to rattle ribs. Rosetta had laughed at something Paula said, head thrown back, eyes catching moonlight. It was just like old times—until it wasn’t.

That’s when Stack came staggering out of the shadows, eyes wild, shirt torn, blood trailing from his mouth.

“Stack?” Paula had asked, brows furrowed.

But it wasn’t Stack anymore. Not really.

He lunged.

Rosetta screamed, tried to pull Paula back—but he was too fast. His teeth sank into Paula’s neck before she could even raise a hand.

The sound Paula made — a wet, gurgling cry — would haunt Rosetta ’til her dying day.

Rosetta had fired once, hitting Stack in the shoulder. He hissed and vanished into the dark like a demon scorned. But it was already too late.

Paula turned.

Her eyes changed first — no longer soft brown but milky, hungry, wrong. Her mouth dripped blood, her movements jerky and too fast. Rosetta backed up, hand trembling on the shotgun.

“Paula… baby, it’s me… it’s Rose…” she pleaded.

But Paula growled low in her throat and charged, hands clawed, teeth bared.

Rosetta screamed.

And pulled the trigger.

The blast knocked Paula backward into the dirt. She lay still, a trickle of blood running from her lips. The air filled with gunpowder and grief.

Rosetta stood frozen at the doorway of the juke joint, her shotgun still hot in her hands. The blood on her skirt wasn’t hers. The tears streaming down her cheeks weren’t new. But this grief—this pain—felt ancient. Felt like something her ancestors had cried over before her.

She leaned back hard against the door, let the wood hold her up, and the dam inside her finally broke.

Her sobs came loud and raw, torn from somewhere so deep it made her knees buckle.

That’s when Bo came.

He didn’t ask no questions.

Didn’t need to.

He saw the blood. He saw the gun on the floor. He saw the way Rosetta’s hands shook and how her gold eyes were drowning.

He moved fast, like a man made of stone and fire.

“Rosie—” he breathed, catching her just as she collapsed.

She reached for him like she was drownin’. And he was the only thing keepin’ her above water.

Bo caught her in one arm—just one, strong and sure—and lifted her clean off the floor like she weighed nothing at all. Cradled her bridal-style, like a man holdin’ somethin’ sacred. She pressed her face into his chest, sobs shakin’ her whole body.

“I had to, Bo… she was gone… she was gone, baby,” she wailed into his shirt.

“I know, baby,” he said low, his voice thick. “You did what you had to.”

He carried her past the dim tables and half-spent candles of the juke joint. Past the door where the blues still buzzed low and lazy. Into the back room, quiet and warm, where the world couldn’t reach them.

He sat down slow in the old chair nestled by the window, still holdin’ her in his lap like a child.

Rosetta curled against him, fists full of his shirt, tears soaking through the fabric like rain on dry earth.

Bo wrapped both arms around her now, rockin’ her gentle, one hand slid up into that big curly afro of hers, cradlin’ her scalp like he was prayin’ through her pain.

“I’m right here,” he murmured. “Ain’t lettin’ go. You hear me, Rosie? You safe. You with me.”

He kissed her temple. Her forehead. Her cheek.

Each kiss like a promise.

Her sobs slowed, but didn’t stop. She was still tremblin’. Still grieving. Still fightin’ ghosts.

Bo didn’t try to hush her.

He let her cry. Held her tighter. Let her fall apart in his arms so he could piece her back together.

Because that’s what he did.

That’s what love did.

———

The morning came slow, like honey poured from a cold jar.

Sunlight pushed gently through the cracks in the juke joint’s walls, cutting soft gold lines across the dusty wooden floor. The blues had long faded into silence. Folks had gone home, and the air was heavy with the memory of the night before.

Bo was still asleep in the chair, head tilted back, his arms slack but warm around Rosetta, who hadn’t moved in hours.

She stirred first.

Her eyes opened, red-rimmed but steady now. The weight of the night still sat on her chest like a stone, but underneath it—like roots pushin’ through hard ground—there was something stronger.

Purpose.

She rose slow, careful not to wake him.

He mumbled in his sleep, brows furrowed. Rosetta kissed the corner of his mouth and whispered, “I ain’t goin’ far, baby.”

She moved through the back room barefoot, her long nightdress brushing the floor like a whisper. Her hands found her satchel, the one she never traveled without, full of things passed down through the women in her bloodline—blessed herbs, scraps of cloth, red thread, bones wrapped in linen, river stones, and oil pressed from roots she’d dug herself.

She laid them out on the table one by one, like she was settin’ a place for God.

First, she lit a white candle. Let the flame rise clean and bright.

Then she pulled a sprig of dried rosemary and crushed it between her fingers. For remembrance and clarity.

A few drops of oil on the cloth—clove, for protection. Patchouli, for strength. Myrrh, for the dead.

Then, she reached up and unhooked one of her gold earrings—a small hoop that had once belonged to her mama. The metal was warm from her skin, still pulsing with her spirit. She kissed it, placed it gently at the center of the cloth.

So he always carries a piece of me close.

Then, without hesitation, she reached into the folds of Bo’s shirt—still draped over the chair where he’d laid it—and took the button closest to his heart. The thread snapped with a tug. She kissed it before pressing it into the bundle.

She worked in silence, murmuring low prayers in Gullah, in Creole, in the deep Southern tongue of the women who came before her. Words not meant for ears, only spirit.

When the bundle was tied tight with red thread, she held it in both hands and breathed into it—slow, deep, powerful. Her tears fell on the cloth, baptizin’ it.

She pressed it to her heart.

Then walked back to him.

Bo stirred as she kneeled beside the chair, reaching up to cup his jaw with one warm hand.

“Baby,” she whispered, voice thick but sure, “I made somethin’ for you.”

His eyes blinked open slow, soft with sleep and love. “What’s that, Rosie?”

She placed the little mojo bundle in his palm and closed his fingers around it. “Somethin’ to keep you safe. Somethin’ to keep you close.”

Bo looked down at the cloth bundle like it was holy. “You always watchin’ over me,” he murmured.

Rosetta nodded, gold eyes gleamin’ in the sun. “Ain’t gon’ stop now.”

She kissed his forehead and pressed her own against it, their foreheads touchin’, breath minglin’.

And as he pulled her into his lap again, arms wrapped tight around her, she prayed—not out loud this time, not for the dead or the darkness—but a silent prayer, just for them.

Let him always come home.

Let him always know I love him.

Let this charm hold what my heart cannot say when I’m too afraid to lose him.

And in that morning hush, with the blues sleepin’ in the walls and her spirit curled around his, Rosetta held Bo close.

Because love in Clarksdale was never gentle.

But it was real.

And that was more than enough.

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🌈 Queer Books Coming Out in August 2024 🌈

🌈 Good afternoon, my bookish bats! Here are a FEW of the stunning, diverse queer books you can add to your TBR before the year is over. Happy reading!

[ Text list below ⤵ ]

❓What was the last queer book you read?

[ Release dates may have changed. ]

❤️ Failure to Comply - Sarah Cavar 🧡 I Spit On Your Celluloid - Heidi Honeycutt 💛 You're Embarrassing Yourself - Desiree Akhavan 💚 Death of the Hero - Briona Johnson 💙 Between Dragons and Their Wrath - Devin Madson 💜 The Crimson Crown - Heather Walter ❤️ Sacrificial Animals - Kailee Pedersen 🧡 Oath of Fire - K. Arsenault Rivera 💛 The Palace of Eros - Caro De Robertis 💙 This Ravenous Fate - Hayley Dennings 💜 Mistress of Lies - K.M. Enright 🌈 Wolf Bite - T.J. Nichols

❤️ In the Valley, A Shadow - Samantha Tano 🧡 Follow My Lead - Adrian J. Smith 💛 The Last Woman I Kissed - Venetia Di Pierro 💚 Full Shift - Jennifer Dugan & Kristen Seaton 💙 Hers for the Weekend - Helena Greer 💜 Come Out, Come Out - Natalie C. Parker ❤️ Rules for Ghosting - Shelly Jay Shore 🧡 How to Leave the House - Nathan Newman 💛 Plot Twist - Carmen Sereno 💙 On the Far Side of a Crescendo - Kalyn Hazel 💜 Tiny Oblivions and Mutual Self Destructions - Maxwell I. Gold 🌈 Daylan and the River of Secrets - Edd Tello

❤️ The Italy Letters - Vi Khi Nao 🧡 The Gender Binary Is a Big Lie - Lee Wind 💚 The House Where Death Lives - Alex Brown 💙 Ash's Cabin - Jen Wang 💜 The Avian Hourglass - Lindsey Drager ❤️ The Heart Wants - Krystina Rivers 🧡 A Grand Love - Janna Barkin 💛 You Can't Go Home Again - Jeanette Bears 💜 Libertad - Bessie Flores Zaldivar 🌈 Her Golden Coast - Anat Deracine

❤️ Mighty Millie Novak - Elizabeth Holden 💛 Rise and Divine - Lana Harper 💚 Dying for You - L Flowers 💙 I'll Have What He's Having - Adib Khorram 💜 Changing Her Tune - Amanda Kabak ❤️ Monogamy? In this Economy? - Laura Boyle 🧡 The Rainbow Age of Television - Sayna Maci Warner 💛 Medusa of the Roses - Navid Sinaki 💙 Confounding Oaths - Alexis Hall 💜 Idol Lives - K.T. Salvo 🌈 Brother's Keeper - Quinn Cameron

❤️ Key Lime Sky - Al Hess 🧡 Crushing It - Erin Becker 💛 The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Rou Bao Bu Chi Rou 💚 Not for the Faint of Heart - Lex Croucher 💙 Tasting Temptation - JJ Arias 💜 Ami - S. Jae-Jones ❤️ You're the Problem, It's You - Emma R. Alban 🧡 Cubs & Campfires - Dylan Drakes 💛 The Dark We Know - Wen-yi Lee 💙 Practical Rules for Cursed Witches - Kayla Cottingham 💜 Riyati Rebirth - Kalani Shimizu 🌈 The Brujos of Borderland High - Gume Laurel III

❤️ A Bánh Mì for Two - Trinity Nguyen 🧡 Dance of the Starlit Sea - Kiana Krystle 💛 Scattered Snows, to the North - Carl Phillips 💚 Beyond a World Apart - Caitlin Myers 💙 Don't Let It Break Your Heart - Maggie Horne 💜 Nothing Heals Me Like You Do - Harper Bliss ❤️ How It All Ends - Emma Hunsinger 🧡 How Do I Sexy? - Mx. Nillin Lore 💛 The Palace of Eros - Caro De Robertis 💙 Prince of the Palisades - Julian Winters 💜 Better Left Buried - Mary E. Roach 🌈 Back to Back - Jo Fletcher

❤️ DITCHLAPSE / [REALLY AFRAID] - Tommy Wyatt 🧡 The Love Archives: Bonus Scenes & Excerpts for Palestine - Various 💛 Guardian: Zhen Hun - Ying Priest 💚 The Sunforge - Sascha Stronach 💙 Queering Reproductive Justice - Candace Bond-Theriault 💜 Gender Explained - Diane Ehrensaft & Michelle Jurkiewicz ❤️ The Unlikely Pair - Jax Calder 🧡 In Universes - Emet North 💛 We Love the Nightlife - Rachel Koller Croft 💙 Lessons from Cruising - Martin Goodman 💜 Wild Ginger in the Rhubarb - Eule Grey 🌈 Not My Circus - Delicia Niami

❤️ Asunder - Kerstin Hall 🧡 The Phoenix Keeper - S.A. MacLean 💛 Encounters with James Baldwin - Various 💚 Verity's Game - Jennifer Giacalone 💙 Hunt Me! I Crave the Chase - Fae Quin 💜 The Audacity Omnibus - Carmen Loup ❤️ Haunted to Death - Frank Anthony Polito 🧡 Blood Orange - Paige Grunewald 💛 The Bad Things We Did - Chris Archeske 💙 Dark Restraint - Katee Robert 💜 Worth the Wait - Kenna White 🌈 The Maid and the Crocodile - Jordan Ifueko

❤️ Loving Corrections - Adrienne Maree Brown 🧡 The Last Witch in Edinburgh - Marielle Thompson 💛 The Duchess of Kokora - Nikhil Prabala 💚 The Scales of Seduction - Rien Gray 💙 Survival Is a Promise - Alexis Pauline Gumbs 💜 Loka - S.B. Divya ❤️ The Every Body Book of Consent - Rachel E Simon 🧡 Southern Lights - Liz Arncliffe 💛 Then Things Went Dark - Bea Fitzgerald 💙 Death at Morning House - Maureen Johnson 💜 The Last Doorbell - William Parker 🌈 The Pairing - Casey McQuiston

[snakeflower-cottage]

The Three Faces of the Folk Devil: Red, Green, Black

The old stories say that a girl once went to the house of a witch. Through the window, she saw three figures. One red, one green, one black. When she finally stepped inside, she was cast into the fire…

This is no simple fairytale warning. The three faces are glimpses of something older, something that stands behind the hedge, at the edge of the hunt, at the mouth of the grave. They are the masks of the one who walks the hidden roads, the spirit who teaches witches their craft. They are the omens of what waits beyond the liminal threshold.

The Red Devil: The Hunter, The Lord of Sacrifice

Red is the Devil of the chase, the hunt, and the bloodied altar. He is the stag-horned pursuer, the one who runs through the woods with hounds at his heels, whose breath is the mist on the fens. Red is the rhythm of hoofbeats on frozen ground, the blade that takes life to feed another. He is the one who teaches that power must be paid for in kind—what is given is given, and what is taken is taken. He is found in the blood-warm earth, in the breaking of bone, in the fire that devours and makes anew. This is the Devil of the hunted and the hunter alike, the one who sets the price and collects it.

The Green Devil: The Wild God, The Forest-King

Green is the Devil of the deep woods, of moss-covered stones and tangled roots. He is the one that the solitary witch meets in the forest, a lord of beasts and the uncanny undergrowth. This is the Devil who grants knowledge of herbs, poisons, and the hidden ways of flora and fauna. He is the hooved one who leads the Wild Hunt, the spirit who walks on the edges of human law. Green is not a devil of words but of instinct—he teaches through the wind, the trees, and the language of animals.

The Black Devil: The Shadow, The Grave-Keeper

Black is the Devil of the unknown, of midnight and burial mounds. He is the one met at the gallows, in the crossroads at dusk, or in the whisper of the dead. This is the Devil of necromancy, divination, and the unseen world. He is not just a spirit of death but of initiation—those who walk into the dark with him may return with sight sharper than before. Black is the Devil of secrets, of silence, of the final step into the Otherworld. Sign his book and know his artes.

This leads up to~ The Witch in True Form

The girl in Frau Trude peers into the house and sees the three faces, but when she steps inside, she is consumed by fire. This is the final revelation—not of the Devil, but of the witch made whole.

The true witch walks with the Hunt, speaks with the trees, and listens to the voices of the dead. They have seen the faces in the spilled blood, the greenwood, and the gallows. They have followed hoofprints into the dark and returned with new eyes. And when they stand in their own power, they do so as flame incarnate—the witch-fire made flesh.

A head of fire, a body of wood, and a soul transformed. This is what it means to step into the dark and come out alight.

So… will you walk into the house?

[ravenclair]

In the Shadow of You | Hogwarts Legacy

☆ Summary | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

☆ Available on Wattpad

Chapter 20: The Repository

(Word count: 2,750)

Emrys Potter.

You didn't recognize the family name Marvolo had used, but you recalled Andrew's words. Some haughty pure-blood lineage...

But why? Why was he here? Why was he working with Marvolo Gaunt?

How could he...?

And then, it all made sense. His sudden interest in you once he found out who you were. His visit to the Restricted Section. His invisibility cloak—was that how Marvolo had been sneaking around the school? It had to be.

As the pieces clicked together, you felt like a complete fool.

"I'm sorry," was all Emrys said, reading the hurt in your eyes. "I never meant to—I didn't want to hurt anyone."

"Save it, Emrys," Sebastian said coldly. He took a protective step forward, coming closer to you. "I knew you weren't to be trusted."

"You have to understand, I did this to save my mother!" He lashed out, hand gripping the fabric over his chest, as if he was in pain. "He promised me—"

"Enough!" Marvolo cut in, shooting Emrys a deadly glare. "I spent the last month scouring the fallen mines for Bragbor's journals when I realized I was wasting my time with you. They revealed to me the location of the final repository." He smirked wickedly at you. "I recruited Emrys, here, to fetch the Keepers' Wand for me."

Your gaze flicked back to him, the words like a stab wound. So Emrys had also been following you as well, acting as Marvolo's spy. Gathering information for him whenever he couldn't be there himself. It's how Marvolo found you at the quidditch pitch, in classes. How he knew of your plan to go to London.

Emrys' green eyes fell to the ground, suddenly refusing to meet yours.

"You told me you were my friend, but you're a liar," you said to him furiously, hands clenched in fists at your sides.

"And now, after all my hard work, I finally get to reap the rewards," Marvolo continued, ignoring you.

"Stop, Marvolo!" Ominis demanded as he surged forward, his wand pointed squarely at his brother. "I won't let you get away with this."

Marvolo barked a laugh. "Little brother, please. Need I remind you of all the fun we used to have as children?"

Ominis' face was set in grim determination. "I'm not afraid of you."

"We shall see." Marvolo, quick as a whip, wordlessly cast a spell at his brother, red sparks exploding out of his wand. Then Anne was there, in front of Ominis, a Protego shield cast just in time to protect them both.

Pure, burning anger flooded through you. You lashed out, putting Hecat's non-verbal spell casting to the test. Emrys, guarding Marvolo, stepped in to counter your spell. But Sebastian was at your side, firing off a cast of his own, almost knocking Emrys off his feet.

And so, the battle ensued.

You and Sebastian faced off against Emrys, who you unfortunately found to be quite the adversary. He was quick, skilled, and knew more intricate spells, courtesy of his being a seventh year. Anne and Ominis held their own against Marvolo, but he was grinning madly—as if he were merely toying with them.

Your locket burned hot against your skin, its protective enchantments aiding greatly in your defensive spells. You wanted desperately to use your ancient magic, but held back. The power was still too unstable, and you'd broken more than enough furniture in the Room during your private practice to know what might happen if you summoned it.

You couldn't risk hurting your friends.

The Repository gleamed above you, the deep cracks along one side of its shell more evident up close, barely encasing all of the dark magic Isidora had stolen. The magic Professor Fig had given his life to help you protect.

One more hit and it would burst.

"I grow tired of this!" Marvolo shouted, his frustration evident. With a powerful flick of his wand, he managed to get past Ominis' defenses and sent him soaring backward. He hit the stone floor with a groan.

"Ominis!" Anne cried, tearing her eyes from Marvolo just for a moment. But in that moment, he managed to apparate behind her and grab hold of her shoulders, before disapparating the both of them.

Her wand clattered to the ground where she once stood.

⋆｡°✩

Emrys grunted as he dealt another wave of spells at you and Sebastian. You defended against them while Sebastian prepared to counter attack. He had already begun a cast when Anne suddenly appeared a few feet front of Emrys. Disoriented and defenseless.

Right in the line of fire.

Sebastian's eyes widened in horror, but it was too late. The lightning spell had begun to arch from Sebastian's wand, a purple blast of pure electricity. In a desperate attempt to save Anne, you lunged at Sebastian, shoving his arm upward to redirect the spell from its original course.

The lightning curved...

And hit the Repository.

You all froze, looking up at the glowing ball of power with bated breath. The ground began shaking. Within seconds, the cracks spider-webbed across the entire shell, like glass does just before it shatters.

There was a bright, blinding light. A deafening explosion.

When you managed to open your eyes—seconds, minutes, hours later, you weren't certain—it was as if you were back in fifth year, in that final battle with Ranrok. The dark magic was freely flowing in a violent storm around the cavern, the wind billowing your hair wildly around your face. There was a fresh, aching pain all across your body and a high-pitched ringing in your ears.

You'd all been thrown to the ground by the blast. Through your blurry vision, you saw Marvolo—who appeared to still be unconscious. Moving your head to look in the opposite direction, your vision steadily focusing, you saw Emrys and your friends in the same state. As you slowly attempted to lift yourself to your knees, your hand came in contact with something that clinked against the rock flooring.

Marvolo's ring.

Closing a fist around it, you gingerly pushed yourself to your feet and took deep, steadying breaths. Your shoulder was throbbing with sharp pain from where you had landed on it after the blast, and something warm was slipping down the side of your face.

Blood.

You fought back your arising panic as you surveyed the chaotic scene around you, your unmoving friends. You had to get them out of here. You wouldn't make the same mistakes as before. This time would be different.

This time, you knew what you had to do.

You'd seen it in a nightmare. A premonition. You'd seen that the only way to make sure no one else could steal this power...was to take it for yourself.

As if it had sensed your thoughts, a tendril of the dark magic crept closer. It swirled its form around you, a predator circling its prey, before more of the magic joined in. The locket was swaying in the wind, flickered between red and blue yet again.

And you realized, then, what it meant.

It was the magic, calling to you. That's what you'd experienced during your first attack, that first night back at Hogwarts...not Marvolo's legilimency. That's why your nightmares had seemed so much more vivid here, where the magic was trying to reach you. It had been here all along.

Waiting.

Fear began building in your stomach as you recalled the nightmare. This magic had driven Isidora mad with power. Drove Ranrok to the brink of insanity. Had taken away Professor Fig.

What would it do to you?

The dark magic had almost completely enveloped you now, like a swirling tornado. You had no choice but to breathe it in, its power surging into your soul, sinking into your skin. But it was too much, too quick, and it began to hurt. There was a sharp, firey pain behind your eyes, and you slumped to your hands and knees as you cried out.

As more of the magic overtook you, your whole body began to feel as if it were on fire.

You heard a voice faintly calling your name. You could just barely make out a figure slowly moving toward you, an arm raised against the force of the harsh wind around you. Your burning eyes widened.

"Sebastian, stop! Don't...don't come any closer!"

But he didn't listen, and suddenly he was through the storm. He looked battered and bruised, the forceful gale whipping his hair wildly. Then he was kneeling in front of you, your knees almost touching. He gripped your forearms to help steady himself, steady you, as if he were the only thing keeping you anchored to this world.

"I'm scared..." you admitted, voice breaking. Tears began to fill your eyes–eyes that you knew were now glowing red. Even with the immense power it gave you, the darkness threatened to rip you apart. "What if I'm not strong enough?"

He lifted a hand to cup your cheek, thumb gently wiping away the single tear that had spilled down your face. "You're stronger than you know."

The exact words Fig had spoken to you before, the memory making more tears fall. His hand fell to the back of your neck, bringing you in closer until your foreheads were touching. "I've never doubted you, not for a second. You can control it. Trust yourself."

When it comes to magic, it isn't the spell that's necessarily bad. It's the caster, what they intend to do with it...

This magic didn't belong to Isidora.

Didn't belong to Ranrok.

It was yours.

You would use this power for good, to help others. To protect them. To protect your friends. It was the same as your ancient magic—a part of you, an extension of your being. There was no need to balk away from its power, no need to fear it. Your ancient magic would help you wield this darkness into something that was entirely your own.

Something deep and old and familiar stirred within you, awakened and stretched, like one does after a long, long slumber.

Finally, it seemed to say. Finally.

With newfound resolve, you closed your eyes and let go—let go of the fear surrounding your ancient magic. It had kept your power locked up for far too long.

A radiant blue light began emanating from your chest. The darkness poured into it, as if being absorbed, the storm diminishing bit by bit. Sebastian's grip on you never faltered.

Now realizing it was being trapped within you, the magic became restless. It surged to the surface in waves, desperate for an outlet. Sweat dripped down your forehead as you concentrated on keeping it contained in a new kind of repository:

Your body.

⋆｡°✩

Sebastian stared in awe as you sealed the dark magic within yourself, the faint blue glow from your chest illuminating his features.

His grip on your forearms tightened, scared that if it loosened for even a second, you would disappear forever. You would succeed in this. You had to. There was too much life ahead of you. Too many things left unsaid.

You were fighting desperately to keep control over the power, your fist clenched tightly, eyebrows drawn in concentration. Sebastian whispered the same words over and over like an incantation. Like a prayer.

"You'll be alright. I'm here. I'll always be here, with you."

As the last of the magic seeped into your chest, he saw the light start to fade and your tightly-shut eyes begin to relax. With the storm now gone, there was an almost eerie stillness in the cavern. Nothing but the sound of your intertwined breaths.

Slowly, you opened your eyes. What once was fierce, burning red was now back to its normal coloring.

As you tried to stand, Sebastian helped you to your feet, pulling most of your weight. Some of the others had begun to stir as well. Anne was now holding Ominis' head in her lap, the young wizard still unconscious. His twin was staring at the two of you in wide-eyed wonder.

"How...how do you feel?" Sebastian asked you cautiously. He was hesitant to let you go, concerned about the blood that was beginning to dry on the side of your face. When he released his hold on your arms to let you stand on your own, he had to fight the urge to gently wipe it away with his sleeve.

"I feel..." you started, still trying to catch your breath.

"You..." a cruel voice sneered. Sebastian's head whirled in the direction of it to find Marvolo—robe tattered and hair disheveled—with a look of pure rage in his eyes. "You stole it from me!"

Sebastian watched as you summoned the strength to square your shoulders and match his hateful glare with one of your own. "That power was never yours to take."

"It's over, Marvolo," Sebastian said, "you lost."

Marvolo Gaunt's eyes met Sebastian's. Something sinister was brewing there, and it made the hair on Sebastian's neck stand straight up. Then, his rage melted into an eerily calm smile.

"You're right, Mr. Sallow, I must admit defeat. But I would've taken that power if you hadn't prematurely destroyed the Repository with your pitiful display of magic. My loss is on your hands...and for that, you will pay the price."

What followed the threat couldn't have been more than seconds. But time always seems to slow in the moments that rip you apart.

Marvolo's wand quickly aimed at Sebastian's chest, giving him no time to react before green sparks expelled from it. Sebastian knew exactly what spell was heading for him, even without the incantation. He saw it in his nightmares, almost every time he closed his eyes.

Sebastian Sallow knew he was going to die.

Perhaps this would be a poetic end for him. He deserved it, after all.

Anne cried out, yelling his name. He hated that she'd see what was left of her family die the same way, hated that she'd be alone.

Not alone. She'd still have Ominis. And you.

Oh Merlin, you. Why had he been so stupid? Why had he wasted so much time?

He was content to let his last thoughts be of you. Of your scent, the same one he'd smelled in his Amortentia. Of the way his hand felt in yours. Of all the shared glances between you, the longing looks. Your face.

Your face?

Suddenly it was all he could see in his path, taking the place of Death, which had been mere inches away.

No. No no no no no—

You had thrown yourself in front of him, shielding him, bringing your arms up as if to wrap around his neck in a hug. One last goodbye.

But they never made it.

The Killing Curse struck your back and your body went limp against him, his arms barely catching you in time before you hit the ground. He sank to his knees, holding you close.

Someone began screaming.

And Sebastian had the horrible realization that it was him.

⋆｡°✩

Death was cold. And quiet. And...bright?

You squinted against the whiteness, blinking furiously as your eyes adjusted.

You were...aware. Not quite conscious, but not quite as dead as you thought you'd feel. It was a relief, though, to be in this place. It means you'd made it in time. You'd saved him.

You knew what Marvolo had planned to do with that last threat, realizing it a second sooner than Sebastian. It was an instinct to throw yourself in the spell's path. You knew he'd never forgive you for it, but you would've never forgiven yourself if you lost him.

As your vision cleared, you saw that the whiteness began to vaguely shape into a familiar space: Vault 12.

Confused, you found that you were able to walk around the white-blanketed room. Just as in the real vault, the first Pensieve was resting idly in the middle of the floor. Then, you noticed the strange orb hovering above the bowl. Red and blue swirls of magic danced around each other in a calm, rotating pattern.

You cautiously approached the Pensieve bowl, studying it. It looked awfully similar to...

"Your ancient magic," a wise voice you never thought you'd hear again said. You froze, eyes wide. And when you slowly turned toward its owner, you couldn't stop the tears that flowed.

"Professor Fig?"

[dark-corner-cunning]

🔥The Quickening Flame: A Cunning Celebration of the Spring Equinox🔥

Spring Equinox Blessings!

The Equinox dawns, and the Eastern Road flares open. The first light cuts through the pines, spilling like fire over the ridges and hollows. The hills breathe, the creeks sing, and the land shudders awake. Day and night stand in fleeting balance, but the dark begins to slip—pulled back by the rising heat of the sun, by the stirring of old things beneath root and stone. The astrological new year begins as Aries, bold and burning, takes its first breath.

This is the road of the Red Serpent, the Fire that sleeps in the belly of the land. It coils in the iron-rich clay, in the veins of quartz that cut through the mountains, in the hidden caves and still places where few dare to tread. The Serpent stirs now, winding up from the gut of the hills, from the bones of the land, from the places where fire has long been buried. Those who walk the Cunning Path know—this is not a gentle turning of the wheel. This is ignition.

Old Mother Red-Cap walks these hills, lantern swinging, her fire burning bright against the shadows. She does not wait. She does not ask. She strikes the spark, watches it catch, and lets it burn away. She is the whisper in the fire, the heat in your blood, the lesson learned through trial and iron will. She calls the Cunning Ones to rise with the dawn, to claim their own fire, to walk forward with purpose.

On this day, we wake. We stand in the growing light, knowing that fire is not only warmth, but trial, but change, but power. The land crackles awake with strength.

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🔥Ideas for The Spring Equinox:🔥

🔥 Candle & Flame Rites – Burn a candle. Speak your will into the flame. 🔥 Serpent’s Path Walking – Walk the land, through the woods, along the creeks, or across the old roads. Stir the Red Serpent. Feel it beneath your feet, let it rise in your blood. 🔥 Gathering the Land’s Awakening Power – Sit where the sun's light touches—in the grass, at the bend of the river, where the wind speaks low through the trees. Breathe it in. Let it quicken you. 🔥 Protection & Purification – Burn cleansing & protection herbs—pine, cedar, rosemary, or dragon's blood—to cleanse and fortify your home and self. Walk your land, lay down wards, set the boundaries strong. 🔥 Forge & Feast – Make snacks, drink some tea, and eat with intent. Let the land’s fire fill your bones.

“To the Red Spirits of the East, Keepers of the Fire, and the Red Serpent’s Cunning and Will. Hear our Call, Awaken, and Arise.” 🔥🐍🌄

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Related Reads: Explore More to This Season

The Red Serpent: Embracing The Power of The Land

Communing With Fire & Eastern Road: "Fire on the Mountain Protection Oil

The Enduring Power of the Oil Lamp

[faerieyoongles]

The Keepers 003

Hello, Keeper #0054. Welcome to your first assignment. Jeon Jungkook is the son of the wealthiest arms dealer in South Korea, and your job is to ensure his safety at all costs except one, he cannot know of your existence. In fact, nobody can know of our Society's existence. We have rules we must follow and a timeline to protect. Do your job and do it well... we're counting on you.

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Chapter Select My Masterlist Questions?

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warnings: death, gun violence, blood

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Chapter 003

“Get behind the car!” Jungkook shouts. “Now!”

The four men sprint to behind the expensive black car. Just a few seconds after, gun shots can be heard wailing in every possible direction, putting dents and slashes into the shiny black metal. I can hear the sound of the front windshield breaking, then the side windows, then the back. Within minutes, there isn’t one part of the car that’s left unscathed. I move my body and neck to look towards the back of the car, and I can see three sets of shoes. Seokjin had fallen beside the car, so close to the rear. Jungkook moves slightly towards the side where Seokjin is and drags him to safety. It looked like he was shot in his back right thigh. Shit. I had to do something or Jungkook could die on my very first day. What would that say about my abilities as a Keeper? I was already thrust into action far sooner than anyone else in my quadrant. I had to prove myself, and if I lost Jungkook on day one I’d never get this chance again. I pull out my gun from the holster strapped to my belt. If I scoot forwards towards the front of the car, I could probably take out a few gunmen from my current position. I reach the very edge of the front, though still concealed in the shadows underneath. One gunman dropped down, a bullet wound plastering his forehead, but I hadn’t even taken a shot yet. I looked back towards the end of the car, and one man was squatting near the side. He’d take a shot, then turn back to cover himself, then move to take another shot again. It was Jungkook, I was certain. By now, I recognized his well-worn brown boots. Jimin was the one with the shiny new leather boots, Namjoon had black converse sneakers, and Seokjin was still the classy dark brown polished shoes.

Jungkook had taken down three of the gunmen on his own. I’ll admit, I was quite impressed. From his position of disadvantage, it was something even a Keeper would struggle with. However, there were still many more gunmen left, and despite his impressive aim, Jungkook would never be able to take all of them down by himself. I can’t go gawking over the arms dealer's impressive shooting skills now, we’re in the middle of a free fire. I raise my pistol and aim it towards the head of one of the gun men. I pull the trigger, and the bullet is between the man’s eyes in less than a second, his body falling limp to the floor. Then I move to the next. I miss the first two shots, then he’s finally down on the third.

“Shields!” Shouts one of the gunmen. The men pull a shield out from behind their backs and raise it to cover their faces, then proceed to open fire once again. I needed to think of something more creative. If I couldn’t take down all the gunmen, then I at least needed to get the four men behind the car out of here, or just Jungkook. I couldn’t move from my position, there was nowhere to hide in this garage and the fluorescent lights allowed for little to no shadows for me to move in. Maybe that was it, if I took out the lights, I could move around the room without being seen. The garage didn’t seem to have any windows, if I took out the lights, the room would be completely dark. I change my aim from the forehead of a gunman to the lights shining above me. Luckily, there were only three. I could reach two of them from my current position, but I’d have to move to the side of the car to reach the third. I took out the first two, both lights sparking and flickering before dying out. Then, I move to the side to take out the third. The room was drowned in shadows.

“Halt!” Said the gunman, and the sounds of gunshots ceased. I shimmy my way out from underneath the car, still unable to see anything. Once I’m out, I squat next to the car and reach into my sack strapped to my belt. I took out a small box and prayed it was the right box I needed. My night vision goggles. They folded up neatly into a smaller box which made it convenient for carrying. I took the goggles out of the box and put them to my eyes, hooking them around my ears. There was a clasp in the back that snapped the two ends of the goggles together, so they wouldn't fall off during combat. Turning the goggles on, I could see the room again. “Rierson, where is your light?” Shouted the head gunman. I needed to figure out which one was Rierson before he took a light out and shined it on me. I looked to see which gunman moved first, only one of them reached behind him towards his back pocket. I moved quickly, pulling my gun out and putting a bullet in his neck, then in his head for good measure. My aim was much better now that I could stand in front of them. One by one, I plucked each man off, leaving only five men left before I looked behind me and saw a small light emulating from behind the car. Shit, Jungkook or one of his friends must have had a flashlight on them, or maybe it was just their phone. I locked eyes with the five gunmen left standing in front of me, all of which were staring at me like they’ve seen a ghost. Horror yet confusion dawned upon their faces. “Who the fuck are you?” one of them asked. I killed him within the next two seconds. Shit. Shit. Shit. Why is it that everything is going so poorly on my very first day? I trained for exact situations like these, yet I was doing such a dreadful job. The Honors would be so disappointed in me. The last gunmen all come onto me at once. Four barrels of four guns all pointed at me. The minute the bullets left their chambers I moved as fast as my legs could. I slid under the legs of one of the gunmen. Once behind him, I kicked the back of his knee, sending him falling to the ground. When he was flat on his stomach, I shot the back of his head. Blood splattered along the floor. I looked back up, and noticed another gunman had fallen. Then another. Behind me, Jungkook had moved from his position at the back of the car and was taking down the rest of the gunmen.

Fuck.

This was it. I was going to be executed by the House of Honors for exposing myself and all our people to humankind. I might as well just shoot myself right here, right now. All that training was for nothing. I’ve failed my mission and my purpose.

The last gunman changes his gunpoint from me to Jungkook. He shoots, but not before Jungkook and I both fire our guns at him simultaneously. Jungkook hits the man in the jaw, while I hit him straight on the side of his head. Jungkook makes a rather loud groan and holds his arm. He’s been shot, the last gunman’s bullet must have been lodged in his shoulder. Jungkook and I stare at each other for what feels like forever. I don’t have any explanations I can give him. I’m sure he doesn’t even know what questions to ask.

“You need to wrap that, quickly” I say finally, pointing to his shoulder. “It isn’t fatal but you could still go into shock if you don’t stop the bleeding quickly.” Jungkook just stands there huffing in pain, staring straight into me.

“Kook!” Namjoon shouts from behind the car. “We’ve gotta get out of here. Seokjin’s bleeding, like a lot, and this rag isn’t helping!” Jungkook adverts his gaze from me to where Seokjin was laid behind the car. He runs back over to the rear.

“Shit.” Jungkook curses. He looks back at me. “Any idea what to do about a gunshot to the chest?” The chest? I thought it was just his thigh. Maybe I couldn’t see as much as I thought I could when underneath that car. I moved to the back of the car where the men were and took off my night vision goggles. The light from Jimin’s phone would only blind me with them on anyways. Seokjin’s white dress shirt was soaked in a deep red. Namjoon and Jimin stare at me in confusion, but quickly bring their concern back to their dying friend.

“Nothing we can do here.” I say. “He needs a hospital, or at least the best trained medical professional you can get him to.”

“We can’t take him to a hospital, last time we did that the nurse called the cops on us because none of us could get our story straight.” Jimin says.

“We’ll figure it out when we get there.” Namjoon says. “He’s gonna bleed out if we don’t take him.”

“We won’t be able to take him anywhere unless we get this fucking door open.” Jungkook sneers, kicking the garage door that remains idle behind the car.

“The control room…” Seokjin squeezes out in shallow breaths. “It’s right outside that door,” he wheezes deeply “there's a button that opens the door.” Jungkook looked over to the door Yoongi had previously walked out of, one that I definitely heard lock tightly right before the gunmen opened fire. I remembered I had a cutting laser in my sack. It was small but it could cut through the metal, so long as the door was shallow enough. I reach into the sack while I make my way over towards the door, stepping over the bodies of the gunmen still laid about the garage.

“Where are you going?” Jungkook projects his voice across the room towards me.

“Opening the door.” I say back. I take my laser to the door handle. My idea was to cut around the handle where the lock was, which would allow me to kick open the rest of the door and pass through. I’m about halfway done with the incision when I hear a voice to my left, standing right beside me.

“Well that’s handy.” Jungook says, startling me. “Where’d you get that?” He asks. I don’t respond. I don’t have an answer I can tell him. I look up at him from my crouched position. He’s still holding his shoulder where his wound is.

“I told you to wrap that.” I tell him.

“I don’t take orders from you.” He states back. I stand up from my position, pausing my work on cutting the lock off from the door.

“Wrap it or I won’t help.” I say, looking him directly in the eyes. I can’t see his face completely clearly. It’s still dark in the garage, but Jimin’s phone light gives enough that I can see most of the outlines of his face, a privilege I wasn’t given when I was on top of the warehouse building staring down at him. Of course, I knew exactly what he looked like from the photos of him in my files, but seeing him up close in person was another thing.

“Excuse me?” Jungkook says, bewildered. “He’s dying!” He shouts, gesturing to Seokjin behind the car.

“That’s not really my problem.” I say back, expressionless. “Either you wrap your shoulder or he dies. Pick.” Jungkook was my number one priority. Even if I broke the biggest rule amongst Keepers, I was damned if I still wasn’t gonna make sure Jungkook got out of this alive. The wound looks like it hit some major tenants in his shoulder, and the metal in the bullet can cause a serious infection if he continues to move his arm around so much.

Jungkook sighs, defeated. “I don’t have anything to wrap it with. We used any cloth we had on Seokjin.” I reach into my sack again and pull out a thick gauze wrap. “God damn, you really got everything in there.”

“Give me.” I say, motioning towards his injured shoulder.

“No, give me.” He says trying to reach for the gauze in my hand.

“You can’t wrap your shoulder by yourself, you need both hands.” I say.

“Yeah, well I don’t trust you.” Jungkook says back. I tilt my head, sizing him up like an opponent.

“I just saved your ass and you haven't so much as said ‘thank you’.” I narrowed my eyes on him. If he was willing to let his friend die on the floor because he’s so insistent on fighting with me, then fine. Seokjin isn’t my mission.

“Thank you.” Jungkook states with little to no thanks in his tone. “But don’t act like I didn’t save your ass too.”

I huff. “You did not, I was handling myself just fine.”

“Having four guns all pointed straight at your head doesn’t seem like ‘fine’ to me.” He retorts. A sly smirk inches its way along his lips. “You have to say ‘thank you’ too.”

“What?” This is nonsense. We’re wasting time.

“Say ‘thank you’ and I’ll let you wrap my shoulder.” He says.

“Hello! Still losing blood over here!” Namjoon shouts from the other side of the room. I sigh heavily.

“Fine. Thank you. Now give me your shoulder.” Jungkook lets out a small laugh. His friend is bleeding out and he’s decided now is a fun time to play a game? He moves so his shoulder is facing towards me. I take the gauze and wrap it around and under his shoulder, securing his joints and tendons in place so they shouldn’t move around so much. I also double checked that the gauze added enough pressure to at least minimize the bleeding. Once the gauze was in place, I tucked the end of it under one of the straps, securing its hold. I move back to the locked door and continued cutting through it with my laser.

“What are- uh, how did...” Jungkook starts to the left of me as I’m finishing up on the lock. “Where the hell did you even come from?” He asks. “I swear you weren’t in the room earlier, and there’s no other entrances.” The lock finally gives and the door swings open. I stand and look at Jungkook. The light from the next room behind the door illuminates his face. It was the first time I could actually get a glimpse of all the details in his skin. There was a scar on his left cheek that I hadn’t noticed before in the pictures. I don’t answer his question, instead I walk through the door to find the control room. Jungkook follows after me.

“No.” I stop him. “You stay here.”

“I don’t take orders from you.” He reminds me.

“There will likely be more men with guns, and you are in no condition to fight.” I retort back.

“I decide what condition I’m in.” He says back, walking right by me into the hallway.

“Hey!” I hear from our left. “Where do you think you’re going?” Asks a man in a black uniform, much like the ones the gunmen who lay dead in the garage wore. Jungkook fumbles for his gun, but without his other hand to steady his hold, the gun slips from his grasp and falls to the floor. The gunman raises his own gun and points it at Jungkook. Before the man can shoot, I put a bullet through his skull and the man falls limply to the floor. Jungkook stares back at me with wide eyes.

“I won’t make you say thank you this time.” He can’t see it because of my mask, but I have the filthiest smirk upon my lips. “I’ll just say ‘you’re welcome’.” I stride past him to the door labeled ‘control room’. I can hear Jungkook scoff behind me as I walk away from him. The control room wasn’t locked, thank god. I open the door slowly, gun already pointed towards whatever danger lays in the room before me. It’s empty, I lower my gun back down and look around for any indication of how to open the garage door. I hear a loud buzz come from behind me, I turn around to find Jungkook had pressed a large button on the control panel. “Don’t just go pressing things.” I scolded him. I hear the squeaking sound of the garage door from the other room. Jungkook shoots me a condescending look and strides out of the control room back to the garage. I follow.

“Take him to a hospital.” Jungkook says to the men still squatting behind the black car. “I need to go look for something.” 

Namjoon shoots Jungkook a knowing look and his eyes widen in horror. “Kook, no. Absolutely not!”

“What?” Jimin questions, quickly pinging his gaze from Namjoon to Jungkook. “What’s he doing?” He asks Namjoon.

“He needs… the copy..” Seokjin heavily pants while Namjoon helps him to his feet. “The copy.. Of the deal Yoongi proposed.” Each of his arms are hung around the shoulder of the two men by his sides, the only thing that’s keeping him upright at the moment.

“I thought you said we could do this without that!” Jimin shouts at Jungkook.

“Yeah, well I lied.” He admits. “Besides, I thought Yoongi would’ve been more open minded to reopening the deal since his business is about to go bankrupt.” Namjoon and Jimin have moved Seokjin to the side of the car, Jungkook opens the back door and the two side him in, laying him down in the back seat. “Had Yoongi agreed, I wouldn’t need to steal it. So technically I didn’t lie, I just didn’t tell you everything.”

Jimin is shooting daggers at Jungkook right now. “If Seokjin lives, I’m going to kill you.” He says, pointer finger aimed at Jungkook’s chest. “What else have you kept from me?”

“Nothing else, I swear.” He pleads.

“Really,” Jimin says, unconvinced. “Then who’s she?” He points to me. I’ve just been standing to the side listening in. I should be slipping out as fast as possible, hiding back into the shadows. Yet, my feet are planted out in the open, the sunlight from beyond the garage illuminating my black sleek uniform. I’ll admit, it was so nice to not only see the sun but stand in it, even if it was just a peak of sunlight. It was nice to talk to someone, a real person. No, this was all bad. I should run, get out of here. If I go now, maybe the Honors will be merciful and only give me solitary confinement and a reassignment. “You never said anything about bringing back up.”

“She’s not with me.” Jungkook says.

“We’ll worry about this later.” Namjoon says, moving towards the driver's side of the car. He moves his gaze towards Jimin. “Sit in the back with him and keep the pressure on his chest. And you,” He points to Jungkook. “Do not die. I swear to god, Kook.” He gets in the car and starts the engine. With Jimin finally getting into the back with Seokjin, the three take off hastily. The car engine makes a revving sound as it descends down the driveway and onto the road.

I step closer to the garage door. Closer to the outside, and daylight. The training grounds where I was kept was always so dark and dreary, even on its nicest days. I badly wanted to strip myself of my constricting black cat suit and bath in the sunlight. My skin tingled at the idea of warmth and heat. Being able to lay in the grass and look above me at the clouds. What does grass feel like on human skin? The building we were at had a beautiful well kept lawn in front of it. I bet it felt like velvet. I bet sunlight felt like water on naked skin. I bet wind left like gentle kisses--

Before I’m able to finish my thoughts, I’m pulled back into the garage, away from my beloved sunlight. I hit the ground and there’s weight upon my chest. Jungkook was holding me down using his good arm. His wrapped one held a gun to my head.

“Let's try this again..." He sneered, far more threating than the first time he asked by the door. "Who are you and how did you get here?” His sharp intense eyes meet mine, staring straight into my soul.

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Author's note: Hey guys! Thanks for all the support on 'The Keepers'! I just wanted to let y'all know that updates might get a little bit slow. I do plan on updating regularly, but I've been struggling with an ear infection for the past month, and it's made me extremely dizzy. I've already had the first three chapters pre-written, which is how I was able to put them out so fast. I'm already struggling a bit to keep up with my uni assignments and I do (unfortunately) have to put my schoolwork above my hobbies :(

Don't stress too much though! I've been really enjoying writing and fully plan to keep the series going. My original plan was to update on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, but with how my life has been going recently, I'm going to try and aim for updating once a week AT LEAST.

Again, thanks for your interest in my work! I've been thinking of also uploading this to Wattpad and/or AO3, so if anybody's interested in that, let me know!

[aylen-san]

Twins of Middle-earth: Two Faces of One Fate

(Notes of the Dark Lord, who watched them being born, dying, vanishing… and yet never ceased to be astonished by their strange duality.)

Have you ever wondered why there are so many twins among Elves and Men?

I have. And I do not like the answer.

Twins are always a sign of division. Two sides of the same coin, two paths that can lead either to greatness or to oblivion. They reflect the very nature of Middle-earth—light and darkness, loyalty and betrayal, order and chaos.

I, Sauron, the All-Seeing Eye, understand duality well. I was Gorthaur, a Maia of Aulë, then I became Morgoth’s shadow, then the great Teacher of Celebrimbor, then the Dark Lord… But I was always alone.

These four pairs of twins, however, were bound from birth. And all of them, in the end, faced the power of fate—fate that does not tolerate duplication.

One must always disappear.

🔥 Amrod and Amras – The Twins Consumed by Fire

Oh, these two.

Sons of Fëanor.

Doomed from the moment they were born.

When their father swore his oath to hunt the Silmarils, he did not ask their opinion. When their brothers slaughtered Elves in Alqualondë, Doriath, and at the Mouths of Sirion, they did not refuse to take part. When their fate was already sealed, they tried to run from it.

And what came of it?

Amrod burned alive on one of the ships Fëanor set aflame at Losgar. A fire that was meant to be a triumph, but turned into a sacrifice.

And Amras… He remained. Lived. Lived long enough to see the last battle of the Fëanorians and perished.

Without glory.

Without legacy.

Such is the fate of twins. Born together, yet one vanished almost immediately, while the other lingered long enough to witness the end of his line.

The Oath of Fëanor suffered no weakness.

🌲 Eluréd and Elurín – Shadows Dissolved in the Forest

No one remembers their faces.

Their fate is but a whisper in the dark.

Sons of Dior, grandsons of Lúthien. Their blood carried the strength of the Immortals, yet their lives were decided the moment their home became the target of the Fëanorians.

They were not warriors.

They did not wield swords.

They were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

They did not die in battle—they were not executed, not crucified, not sacrificed. They were simply abandoned in the woods. Two children. Two twins.

Some say they perished, freezing in the night.

Some say the beasts took them in.

Some say they still wander the forests, turned into spirits of vengeance.

I, Sauron, know the truth.

But I prefer to remain silent.

Because their story is more terrifying than anything I could have devised.

⚖ Elrond and Elros – The Blood of Men, The Blood of Elves, Two Paths

They could have been like Eluréd and Elurín—dead, forgotten, abandoned.

But they were needed.

The Fëanorians slew their mother and ravaged their home. But these twins were not killed. Even Maedhros and Maglor had grown weary of the endless bloodshed. Maglor, poor fool, took them in, raised them, sang them songs—only to later see them become the very ones who would bring about the downfall of his house.

Elrond chose the path of the Elves—he became a sage, a healer, one who knew war but sought to avoid it. He became the Lord of Rivendell, the keeper of ancient knowledge, one who lived through the ages.

Elros chose the path of Men—he became a king, laid the foundations of Númenor, brought his line to power… and died.

Twins cannot walk the same road.

One remains.

One vanishes.

And Elrond still carries that knowledge in his heart—he watched his brother age and die, and he understood that separation was inevitable.

⚔ Elladan and Elrohir – The Eternal Warriors

If you think Elrond, having endured the horrors of the First and Second Ages, gave his children a peaceful life…

You do not understand the fate of twins.

Elladan and Elrohir are a reflection of the First Age in the Third. They are not builders, not sages, not prophets.

They are killers.

Warriors.

They do not fight for glory.

They fight for vengeance.

Their mother, Celebrían, was captured and tormented by orcs before she was rescued. But her spirit was already broken. And her sons knew who was to blame.

All of Mordor felt their hatred.

They tracked orcs as Nazgûl hunted the Ring.

They killed without hesitation.

But once more—the fate of twins.

Elrond sails west.

Elladan and Elrohir remain.

They choose neither Men nor Elves.

They choose war.

Forever.

Two Shadows, Two Fates

Each of them—two halves of the same story.

But history does not tolerate duplicates.

One burns, the other perishes later.

Some vanish, their fate a mystery.

One remains immortal, the other becomes mortal.

Two survive, but in eternal war.

Twins are a curse.

They are born together, yet their fates diverge.

They are bound by blood, yet torn apart by choice.

They must always choose.

And one must always disappear.

Such is the will of fate.

Or… someone else’s game?

I, Sauron, know the answer.

But I shall keep it to myself.

[aquinnix]

Hermit-a-Day May Day 18 - Favourite Build

A cold air hung in the Citadel. It shifted, constantly, even in its deepest belly, despite the fact there was no where it could have come from. No matter if there were no windows, or no doors, it kept moving, this slight icy breeze.

It was bright, in a way that spoke of the lack of sunlight. Cool fire glow and moonlight. But many a shadow still crept in, hugging each corner and crevice, clawing to hide all but the greatest details.

There was a warmth in spirit, despite its coldness in heart.

Winter knocked at the doors and rested on the windowsills, snow always sweeping in, footprints always melting into the stone floor. No matter the sun in the rest of the world, it found its place just outside the walls, many a time within it.

A place to rest, never quite a home.

Except for one.

Because these empty corridors held monsters. And monsters need a keeper.

This dungeon needs a master.

Someone needs to keep this frozen stone fed. And blood alone does not seem to satisfy. Brimstone too hot, ice too cold.

And still this air shifts, even in the dark, even at the surface of standing pools and the walls of caverns.

Always moving.

Always breathing.

Ice melts, just enough to make one slip, to create hopeful puddles. To trick the mind into believing there is something else here beside the chill, for even the breath of beasts is frozen.

Laughter alone does to seem to satisfy.

Nothing in isolation. This dark castle stands alone, its master to himself. Yet still, it houses many hearts, many dreams, many stories that will never make the page.

In these cold, cold, corridors.

In the Deep Frost Citadel.

[mooniedust]

Aemond targaryen prompt

Plot: Aemond, driven by a burning ambition to solidify his place in the war, seeks out Alys Rivers, hoping to secure a pact that will tip the scales in his favor. However, as the shadows of their encounter deepen, he begins to realize that the witch before him may not be the ally he anticipated—or perhaps, she is exactly who she is meant to be.

Credits and Considerations: The seed of this idea was planted by my fascination with the bot from @dragonismo, "The Prince and his witch" on Character ai. All credit for the initial structure of this story belongs to her, and I encourage everyone to explore and appreciate her work. I haven't read it Fire & Blood yet, so I apologize for any creative liberties taken, my imagination tends to run wild, especially on sleepless nights. English is not my first language, sorry :')

With all my heart,

Moon Dust.

The decrepit halls of Harrenhal, scarred by the passage of relentless time, were steeped in a palpable atmosphere of desolation, where silence was broken only by the insistent crackle of rain, striking mercilessly against the ruins of what had once been a feared and indomitable fortress. The sound of Prince Regent Aemond Targaryen’s leather boots echoed through the void, reverberating like a dark omen with every step. His every movement, firm and deliberate, exuded a grim elegance, like a shadow passing through the twilight.

Rumors, whispers laced with curses, danced on the lips of courtiers, carried by the cold winds that haunted the decaying fortress. They spoke of a witch who dwelled in that accursed place, a creature of darkness who, in exchange for infamous pacts, fulfilled the darkest desires of men. Aemond, with his icy gaze and mind sharp as a killer’s blade, did not easily succumb to folly, but the murmurs of "Alys Rivers" and her cunning had reached him in a moment of desperation, and even the pride of a dragon could bow to necessity. One does not win a war with honor; one wins with blood and fire.

As he entered the main hall, one of the few chambers still preserved in the rotten heart of Harrenhal, Aemond was enveloped by a heavy, unnerving aroma, a mix of burnt herbs and incense that seemed to poison the air. The prince wrinkled his nose but remained steadfast, his good eye scanning every shadowy corner of the room before he raised his voice, a command that sliced through the air like a blade.

"I’ve come to negotiate, witch."

For a moment, silence reigned once more, filled only with the wind's laments and the distant growl of Vhagar, the old dragon patiently waiting at the entrance, ever ready for battle. But the silence did not last. A feminine laugh, laden with malice and provocation, echoed through the corridors, mocking the prince’s proposition.

Aemond glimpsed a figure slinking through the shadows, too quick to be caught, but not quick enough to go unnoticed. He understood swiftly: he was being hunted, but not by an ordinary prey. What unfolded before him was a cruel game, orchestrated by a twisted mind. The image of Daemon Targaryen emerged first, but soon other familiar faces followed from the darkness: Helaena, with wide eyes and trembling lips, murmuring about an inevitable death; Aegon, consumed by flames; Alicent, gazing at Aemond as if he were a monster she herself had created; even the brothel keeper of the Silk Street had not been spared. The witch, cunning and relentless, toyed with his memories, with his deepest pains, forging illusions that assaulted his mind. But Aemond was a Targaryen, forged in fire and steel, and he would not be defeated by cheap tricks.

"Enough games, Alys," his voice thundered through the room as he advanced towards the hooded figure he had cornered, his gaze as sharp as a blade poised to deliver the final blow. With a swift motion, he spun her around to face him, but what he saw was not the witch.

Lucerys.

The illusion, quick and painful as a blade through his chest, dissolved before he could react, leaving only the empty hood at his feet.

"Not amusing, is it? Invading my home and demanding my services. I’m sorry to disappoint, but I’m not Alys either." The voice, dripping with sarcasm, came from behind him. "She’s gone, but I’m here." When Aemond turned, he found himself facing the true witch, a figure who, despite her fragile appearance, exuded a dark and unshakeable power.

He stepped forward, his presence dominating the space between them. "You too grant men their deepest desires, don’t you? I’ve come here to test the limits of your power." His voice, cold and as sharp as winter, filled the room with an unquestionable authority.

Even standing before her, imposing, Aemond kept his distance, for to touch her would be to lower himself—and foolish, given the unknown extent of her powers. His good eye, intense and penetrating, studied every detail of the woman before him, trying to unravel her intentions. She could easily be mistaken for a demure court lady, small as a rat, and he, a prince ravenous for power, had no qualms about crushing a few rats.

"It should be me on the throne," he murmured, as if the words were obvious and needed no further context, as though they were uttered by the gods themselves.

The witch’s response was a low laugh, a sound that crackled like a spark in the darkness. "And it will be, it can be permanent," she said, with a softness that pricked the soul. "But understand, war is not the ideal path, and to plot against the life of your king? A bit treacherous, don’t you think?"

Aemond leaned over her, his arms rigidly crossed behind his back, the tension in his body evident, his eyes burning with fierce determination. "I cannot stand by and watch my brother destroy our house’s legacy. He is not worthy. The throne is mine. What do you suggest, witch?"

For a moment, time seemed to stop. Only the sound of her nails scraping against the wooden table broke the silence. Then, the witch sighed, adjusting her silk dress with calculated indifference, as if the weight of the words she was about to speak could not touch her.

"Your brother is practically dead, a breath of wind would topple him. Your sister, the poor girl, lost to madness, unable to recover after the loss of her son. And then there’s only you, prince regent—or should I call you… my king?"

"My king." The words, dripping with venom and promise, ignited a flame of fury in Aemond’s eyes.

"And what do you gain from this, witch?" He stepped closer, rage pulsing in his veins, his eyes locked on hers, daring her to flinch.

"I am a simple woman," she said, her voice as soft as it was treacherous. "All I desire is safety, the assurance that my life will be preserved. And, of course, a slightly bolder request: I want a seat at the small council during your reign."

A seat at the small council. The demand, bold and provocative, inflamed Aemond’s mind, each word a strike against his honor. A woman, on the small council? His expression hardened, his hands fell heavily on the table, as if he could crush the affront before him.

"And what use would you have on the small council? Perhaps as my cupbearer during war councils," Aemond’s tone was pure derision, a challenge thrown at her feet.

"My price is low," she cut him off with a sour expression, her words laced with disdain that almost made him laugh. "I’m not asking for riches, titles, or lands. Just a seat at the table. I’m merely ensuring that the king I place on the throne remains there, and I doubt those weak, pathetic men could keep you there alone. Not when all they offer is flattery and incompetence. Let me remind you, I’m accomplishing in one afternoon what they haven’t managed in years. Pathetic."

Aemond’s eyes narrowed, darkening further as he scrutinized every detail of her face, searching for any sign of weakness, any hint of doubt.

"You are a witch. I know the power your magic carries," he said, his voice deep and laced with threat. "But you will never, ever, use that power against me. That means no deceiving me, no enchanting me, no forcing me to say, do, or feel anything I do not desire. My mind and my body are my own. The only power I grant you is the right to whisper advice in my ear—occasionally."

The woman waved her hands dismissively, showing little interest in the prince’s words, gesturing towards her well-organized desk, with only a few scrolls and quills that seemed untouched at that moment.

"Your body and mind will be yours, my words and counsel will be delivered solely to the king. But do not be mistaken. I will not hold my tongue if I see something wrong. I am not giving you the title of prince regent; I am making you the damn king. Still, I will have the decorum not to embarrass you in front of others. Now, now, how shall we seal this contract, hmm?" She blinked her large eyes with a glint of mischief at the prince, awaiting a reaction beyond his usual scowl.

[julibellule]

Nest at the End of the World

Aziraphale ♡ Crowley • 25k • Rated.T

Crowley cannot look away. He has seen armies march. He has seen angels descend like flame and fury. He has seen worlds end. But this—this—still surprises him. Every time. The kind of power humans can wield.

Because this is power—not the kind he was taught to fear. Not the kind Hell uses—bloody, cruel, and hollow. Not the kind Heaven demands—sterile, distant, absolute. This is Earth-power. Root-deep. Moon-steeped. Soft as breath. Fierce as blood.

The kind that births gods, and carries grief in her bones without breaking. The power of choice, of intention, of the sacredness of emotions.

He’s used this power before—twisted it. For Hell’s gain. He’s whispered into the minds of would-be healers, slid runes of damnation beneath their prayers, turned their yearning into hunger, their magic into poison. Made them open portals with blood and violence, warped circles meant for connection into traps for suffering.

He knows—knows—how thin the line is between light and shadow in a human soul. How easily love turns to power, and power to ruin. But tonight…

Tonight, he isn’t working for Hell. He is here to watch. To protect. To make sure this power—this sacred, trembling thing—isn’t corrupted. Isn’t lost. He will not let them fall. Not these women, standing in the dark with light in their hands. Not this circle. Not them.

Tonight, he is not the serpent in the garden.

Tonight, he is the keeper of Earth's fire.

-Chap.13 - Stronger Than We Know-

Read on my AO3

[seramilla]

DRAGON BLOOD CURSE AU, Pt of ask

Odette and Clara seem a bit sad as they notice Sera's expression. Clara gets a bit closer taking Sera hand in her own, Odette following suit. Clara continues, "Sooooo... What is Fae realm like?"

Sera smiles softly. The children show curiousity of a real Fae. "It's quite beautiful. The biggest realm present on Earth. Quite full of various Fae folk and extravagant flora and fauna. Blooming meadows filled with wild bright flowers. Enchanting and misterious forests, in which many secrets are hidden. Brisk streams floeing through, seemingly never beginning or ending. It is quite idilyc snd lush realm. I used to sit on nearby hills to my home, admiring the majestic sight. Fae live in houses built into nature, to make us feel closer to it. It is all created out of Fae magic and..."

Odette stopped her, "We are Fae too, right? Since you are one. why can't we use Fae magic?"

Carmilla gives them the answer, "It's the curse honey. Nothing we can do about that..."

Odette huffs alongside Clara. Clara icomplains for both of them, "But we can only breath fire and that's booooring."

Sera chuchles. the little ones are quite intriuging. Then the soft fussing started from Emily making girl's attention on her.

The girl gave eack other a look before their eyes finally fell onto a buddle in Carmilla's arms. They looked at the small cloth covered baby. Odette asked the question, "Is Emily that small thing? Why is she so small?"

Clara continued, "She can fit into one of your arms mama. We weren't that small, were we?"

Carmilly chuckles, "I'm actually not sure...."

Sera panicked, "What do you mean not sure?!?! Was the birth that difficult?"

Carmilla was a bit nervous, "Not er say... I could even say it was easier... I was in my dragon form when they decided to come out... Small naked baby dragons."

The dark figure that has been observing everything finally aproached. He chuckled, "T'was the strangest looking little ones I hath seen."

Clara and Odette went red with emberassment, "Uncle Zi! Have you met our other mom? She got bug wings! And bird feet!"

Sera is on edge. She is bristling up in his pressence. Lich are natural enemies of Fae, and her insticts are acting up. She feels no ill intend coming from him, but still... She eyes him up. What is he to Carmilla?

Carmilla immediatelly eases up her worries, " Sera. This is Zestial. He has been a dear friend of mine since before I came upon the Fae realm. He was known as the Grand Mage of Darkness. Lately, he is known as the Keeper of Shadows and Secrets."

Zestial bows to Sera, gaining a bit of respect in her eyes, "Tis an honour to meet the previous High Fae of Seelie Court. Thou hath produced such spritelly children". He wiggles his fingers affectionatelly at Emily, who in turn giggles and tries to grab them. "Children are such a wonderful thing. Would thee and Carmilla like to get reacquanted? I can watch the children, help them adjust to each other."

Carmilla gives him a diabolical fae-like smile. "That would be lovely Zestial, thank you."

Part 1 | Part 2

Zestial leaves with the girls, Odette and Clara hot on the lich's heels, as he cradles a giggling Emily in his dark claws. He practically glides out the door on the very shadows themselves, leaving Carmilla and Sera in a moment of quiet contemplation in Carmilla's room. Silence permeates the air for a moment, and then Sera starts to get woozy on her feet. She steps back over to the bed, leaning on it to keep from falling over.

Carmilla is moving and standing next to her in the blink of an eye, holding her shoulder as the taller Fae looks like she might upchuck right then and there. Thankfully, she doesn't, but she tells Carmilla, "I think I need to lie back down for a moment. Everything still...hurts. I've had about all the excitement I can handle for one day."

Carmilla nods, helping her lie on her side on the cool sheets. She brings over a rag and a bucket from the wash basin in the corner, patting Sera's sweaty forehead and cheeks with the rag. Sera's ears twitch and flit about a bit at the light attention Carmilla is giving to her face. The fae cranes her head back up to look at her love, and smiles warmly.

"You've done such a fine job with the children, Carmilla," Sera says, greeting Carmilla's gaze with so much love and tender affection, Carmilla feels her heart may burst from the intensity of it. "I worried so much about you handling them by yourself, what with the...the curse, and all. They seem very healthy and happy. And...well-adjusted, given the circumstances."

Carmilla smiles. "I can't take all the credit. Zestial helped quite a bit...especially during the birthing process. I won't even mention how awkward that was. But they are far stronger and smarter than I could have hoped for. Odette has quite the brain on her...I assume she got that from you. And Clara is tough and stubborn, and doesn't know the meaning of the word "no"...I do accept responsibility for that part."

Sera laughs. She appears as if she wants to say more, but just lies in somber silence again. Carmilla continues to cool Sera's heated skin with the cloth and bucket. She frowns slightly, disappointed in herself that she didn't check to see whether Sera was running a fever. Her claws against Sera's forehead feel hot and clammy, but not sickly so. Perhaps the fae is just tired. She's undoubtedly been through a lot that day.

Which begs the question...

"How did you escape?" The words are out of Carmilla's mouth before she can think better of it. Sera's eyes widen slightly. She really looks like she wishes Carmilla hadn't asked that question of her so soon. But Carmilla is impatient. She's no fool to think that Sera hadn't put her and Emily's lives in danger by escaping...but Carmilla also knows that Sera is smart, and had undoubtedly weighed the risks, and made the attempt anyway.

Sera sighs. She curls up tighter into the fetal position, unable to look at Carmilla directly. Carmilla takes the fae's much smaller hand in hers, making sure her appearance looks as neutral and nonjudgmental as possible.

"I won't be angry. No matter what. I promise," Carmilla assures her.

Sera sighs.

"The Seelie kept close watch over me at all times, after you were banished. I had to regain their trust slowly and stealthily. Prove my loyalty, by recanting my feelings for you, and in the eyes of the council, renew my devotion to the court and to our people. I couldn't go anywhere without an escort for several weeks...months. Eventually, I was allowed unsupervised time in my workshop...to concoct spells. To hide my...to keep Emily hidden from them. I worked magic, and they never suspected a thing. Never knew I was pregnant. Never knew I gave birth. I learned the guard routes, memorized their rotations, and then just last night, made our escape. They tried to stop us ...almost did...but we got away."

Carmilla knows she promised not to be angry or pass judgement, but she can't help but get one little jab in for good measure: "You didn't come away unscathed."

Sera's face does get a little stern, then. "I was protecting our child, Carmilla! I had to wait until she was born. I couldn't move swiftly enough with her in my womb. They came after us, and I fought them off! I put enchanted robes, and my own body, over hers to keep her safe. She was all that mattered...even if I perished trying to get her to you, she was all that mattered to me! I'm sorry if that's difficult for you to hear."

Carmilla is looming over her now. Her face is full of so much sorrow, anxiety, and regret, Sera can practically see all three emotions swimming together behind her large, reptilian eyes. These eyes come out sometimes, when Carmilla's emotions are running high, or during the middle of an adrenaline rush. Both are probably true now. Carmilla leans down to cup Sera's face, the taller woman's chin looking so small and frail in the palm of her infernal dragon's claws.

"Listen to me, and hear me well. I can't imagine what you went through to come to me. I can only think of how much courage and strength it must have taken to whisk both of yourselves away from there, knowing the risk and doing it anyway. I am not angry at you, mi amor. As far as you and Emily are concerned, those feelings are not even possible. What you accomplished today is a triumph. And I love and admire you all the more, for it."

Sera doesn't have time to respond. Carmilla's lips meet hers, and in one fell swoop, all those years of waiting and longing to feel her touch again come crashing down all around them like a torrential downpour. Sera clutches Carmilla's shoulders, hands scrabbling against her long hair, her horns, and the smooth scales of her bare skin for better purchase.

Carmilla just sits with Sera there for a while, returning the kiss, and taking in the almost-forgotten taste and scent of her lost love. She doesn't let go for a long time, until the need for oxygen finally forces them both to pull away. Carmilla thanks her lucky stars the fates had mercy, and brought them together again.

[yrluvjane]

ƦƠԼԼƖƝƓ ƬӇЄ ƊƖƇЄ ƛƝƊ ƑԼƖƤƤƖƝƓ ƬӇЄ ƤƛƓЄ (Part 2)

Part 1

The fire crackled in the library of Grimmauld Place, casting long shadows over the shelves of ancient tomes. You sat curled in the armchair, fingers tracing the spine of a book you hadn’t truly been reading for the past hour. The weight of the evening pressed against your ribs like a physical thing—thirteen years of grief, of anger, of waking up to an empty bed and pretending it didn’t shatter you all over again.

And now he was here.

Sirius Black, alive and breathing and right downstairs, laughing with Harry as if no time had passed at all.

You took a shaky sip of wine, the glass trembling in your hand.

The door creaked open.

You didn’t look up.

"Most of those books are cursed, y’know."

His voice—Godric, his voice—was rougher than you remembered, worn at the edges like an old record. But it still sent a familiar shiver down your spine.

You forced your fingers to steady as you turned the page. "Most dark books are. Though the curses can be avoided if opened correctly." A whisper of magic, a soft click as the locks released.

Sirius exhaled sharply, and you could feel his gaze on you—heavy, searching. Like he was trying to memorize every detail before you vanished again.

"Won’t you sit?" you asked, finally looking up.

He looked older. The sharp angles of his face were more pronounced, shadows lingering beneath his eyes. But his hair was still that same wild tumble of black, his grin still crooked in that way that used to make your stomach flip.

Now it just made your chest ache.

Sirius sank into the chair opposite you, his fingers drumming restlessly against his knee. The silence stretched, thick with everything unsaid.

Then—

"I’m sorry."

The words were raw, ripped from somewhere deep. You blinked.

"Sorry?"

"For everything." His hands clenched. "For leaving you. For breaking my vows. For—fuck, for letting you think I was a murderer for thirteen years—"

"Sirius." You cut him off, voice sharper than intended. "You didn’t let me think anything. You were framed. By a man we both called a friend."

"But if I hadn’t—if I’d just thought for one damn second—"

"Then what?" You leaned forward, your wine forgotten. "You think changing the Secret Keeper would’ve saved them? That Peter wouldn’t have found another way to betray us? That Voldemort wouldn’t have hunted them down regardless?" Your voice cracked. "You can’t rewrite history by blaming yourself."

Sirius flinched.

The fire popped between you.

Then, quieter—

"You waited for me."

It wasn’t a question. His eyes dropped to your left hand, to the wedding ring you’d never taken off.

You swallowed. "I did."

"Why?" The word was barely a whisper. "After everything—after Azkaban—how could you still—"

"Because I knew you." You met his gaze, unwavering. "Even when the whole world called you a monster, I knew. And I fought for you, Sirius. Every damn day."

His breath hitched.

You continued, softer now. "Remus helped. When the Ministry barred me from visiting you, he smuggled in letters. When they tried to seize our assets, he fought them in court. We—Merlin, we tried."

Sirius’s hands were shaking. "You never gave up on me."

"Never."

A beat. Then—

"There’s something else."

Your fingers tightened around the stem of your glass. Here it comes.

Sirius frowned. "What is it?"

You took a deep breath. "We have a daughter."

The firelight flickered across Sirius's hollowed cheeks as he stared at you, his grey eyes wide and wounded. The moment the words left your lips—we have a daughter—you watched the color drain from his face.

His wine glass slipped from his fingers.

It shattered against the hardwood, ruby liquid splattering like blood across the floor. Neither of you moved to clean it.

"A... daughter?" His voice was barely audible, cracked at the edges like broken porcelain.

You nodded, your throat suddenly too tight.

Sirius swayed on his feet. His hands—those beautiful, aristocratic hands that had once cradled your face so tenderly—curled into fists at his sides, knuckles white.

"Fourteen years old," he whispered. The math was simple. Brutal. "Merlin. She was—you were—"

"Three months along when they took you." Your fingers twisted in your lap. "I didn't know yet. Not until after."

The confession hung between you, suffocating.

Sirius made a sound like a dying man. He staggered back, collapsing into the armchair as if his legs could no longer hold him. His breath came in ragged gasps, his fingers digging into the armrests hard enough to tear the fabric.

"You raised her," he choked out. "Alone. While I—while I rotted in that fucking cell—"

"Sirius—"

"Does she—" He swallowed convulsively. "Does she hate me?"

The question shattered you.

You were on your knees before him in an instant, your hands hovering over his—wanting to touch, needing to comfort, but terrified he'd recoil.

"She could never," you whispered fiercely. "I told her everything. About your bravery. Your loyalty. How you'd have moved heaven and earth to be there if you'd known."

Sirius's entire body trembled. A single tear tracked through the grime still clinging to his face from the run across Europe.

"What if I'm not—" His voice broke. "What if I'm not enough for her now?"

You finally dared to touch him, cradling his face between your hands. His skin was cold beneath your palms.

"Look at me," you pleaded. When his glassy eyes met yours, you pressed your forehead to his. "You are her father. That's all that's ever mattered."

Sirius crumpled.

He dragged you against him with a sob so raw it ripped through your chest, his face buried in your neck as he shook. You clung to him just as desperately, your fingers tangling in his hair as thirteen years of grief poured out between you.

"I'm sorry," he gasped against your skin. "I'm so sorry—"

"Shhh." You pressed a kiss to his temple, tasting salt and smoke. "You're home now."

The Reunion

The next morning, sunlight streamed through the curtains of Grimmauld Place, painting the dusty halls in gold. You stood at the top of the stairs, your hand gripping Sirius's so tightly it hurt.

"She's just through here," you murmured, nodding toward the sitting room where Elara waited.

Sirius's breath hitched. His palm was slick with sweat against yours.

"You don't have to do this now," you said softly, squeezing his fingers. "We can wait—"

"No." His voice was rough but steady. "I've waited thirteen years."

You pushed the door open.

Elara sat curled in the window seat, her dark curls—his curls—tumbling over her shoulders as she flipped through a book. At the sound of the door, she glanced up, and Sirius stopped breathing.

Her eyes—his eyes, stormy grey and sharp—widened.

For a moment, no one moved.

Then—

Elara slid off the window seat, her book forgotten on the cushion. She took a hesitant step forward, her fingers twisting in the hem of her sweater.

"Hi," she whispered.

Sirius made a wounded noise in the back of his throat. He took a shaky step toward her, then another, until he was close enough to see the freckles dusting her nose—your freckles—and the way her bottom lip trembled just like yours did when you were trying not to cry.

"Hi," he rasped.

Elara stared up at him, her eyes searching his face—memorizing it. Then, so quietly you almost missed it—

"I kept your records. Mum said you'd want them someday."

Sirius's knees buckled.

He caught himself on the arm of the sofa, his free hand pressed over his mouth as a sob tore through him. Elara didn't hesitate—she crossed the distance between them in two quick strides and threw her arms around his waist.

Sirius froze.

Then, with a broken cry, he wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair as his shoulders shook.

"I'm here," he whispered against her curls. "I'm here now."

You pressed a hand to your mouth, tears streaming down your face as you watched your husband cradle your daughter for the first time.

Outside, the wind howled against the windows of Grimmauld Place. But here, in this ruined house, with your daughter's quiet sobs muffled against Sirius's chest and his whispered promises in her hair—

For the first time in thirteen years, the world felt whole again.

2 years late but i still did it!

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🌈 Queer Books Coming Out in August 2024 🌈

🌈 Good afternoon, my bookish bats! Here are a FEW of the stunning, diverse queer books you can add to your TBR before the year is over. Happy reading!

❓What was the last queer book you read?

[ Release dates may have changed. ]

❤️ Failure to Comply - Sarah Cavar 🧡 I Spit On Your Celluloid - Heidi Honeycutt 💛 You're Embarrassing Yourself - Desiree Akhavan 💚 Death of the Hero - Briona Johnson 💙 Between Dragons and Their Wrath - Devin Madson 💜 The Crimson Crown - Heather Walter ❤️ Sacrificial Animals - Kailee Pedersen 🧡 Oath of Fire - K. Arsenault Rivera 💛 The Palace of Eros - Caro De Robertis 💙 This Ravenous Fate - Hayley Dennings 💜 Mistress of Lies - K.M. Enright 🌈 Wolf Bite - T.J. Nichols

❤️ In the Valley, A Shadow - Samantha Tano 🧡 Follow My Lead - Adrian J. Smith 💛 The Last Woman I Kissed - Venetia Di Pierro 💚 Full Shift - Jennifer Dugan & Kristen Seaton 💙 Hers for the Weekend - Helena Greer 💜 Come Out, Come Out - Natalie C. Parker ❤️ Rules for Ghosting - Shelly Jay Shore 🧡 How to Leave the House - Nathan Newman 💛 Plot Twist - Carmen Sereno 💙 On the Far Side of a Crescendo - Kalyn Hazel 💜 Tiny Oblivions and Mutual Self Destructions - Maxwell I. Gold 🌈 Daylan and the River of Secrets - Edd Tello

❤️ The Italy Letters - Vi Khi Nao 🧡 The Gender Binary Is a Big Lie - Lee Wind 💚 The House Where Death Lives - Alex Brown 💙 Ash's Cabin - Jen Wang 💜 The Avian Hourglass - Lindsey Drager ❤️ The Heart Wants - Krystina Rivers 🧡 A Grand Love - Janna Barkin 💛 You Can't Go Home Again - Jeanette Bears 💜 Libertad - Bessie Flores Zaldivar 🌈 Her Golden Coast - Anat Deracine

❤️ Mighty Millie Novak - Elizabeth Holden 💛 Rise and Divine - Lana Harper 💚 Dying for You - L Flowers 💙 I'll Have What He's Having - Adib Khorram 💜 Changing Her Tune - Amanda Kabak ❤️ Monogamy? In this Economy? - Laura Boyle 🧡 The Rainbow Age of Television - Sayna Maci Warner 💛 Medusa of the Roses - Navid Sinaki 💙 Confounding Oaths - Alexis Hall 💜 Idol Lives - K.T. Salvo 🌈 Brother's Keeper - Quinn Cameron

❤️ Key Lime Sky - Al Hess 🧡 Crushing It - Erin Becker 💛 The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Rou Bao Bu Chi Rou 💚 Not for the Faint of Heart - Lex Croucher 💙 Tasting Temptation - JJ Arias 💜 Ami - S. Jae-Jones ❤️ You're the Problem, It's You - Emma R. Alban 🧡 Cubs & Campfires - Dylan Drakes 💛 The Dark We Know - Wen-yi Lee 💙 Practical Rules for Cursed Witches - Kayla Cottingham 💜 Riyati Rebirth - Kalani Shimizu 🌈 The Brujos of Borderland High - Gume Laurel III

❤️ A Bánh Mì for Two - Trinity Nguyen 🧡 Dance of the Starlit Sea - Kiana Krystle 💛 Scattered Snows, to the North - Carl Phillips 💚 Beyond a World Apart - Caitlin Myers 💙 Don't Let It Break Your Heart - Maggie Horne 💜 Nothing Heals Me Like You Do - Harper Bliss ❤️ How It All Ends - Emma Hunsinger 🧡 How Do I Sexy? - Mx. Nillin Lore 💛 The Palace of Eros - Caro De Robertis 💙 Prince of the Palisades - Julian Winters 💜 Better Left Buried - Mary E. Roach 🌈 Back to Back - Jo Fletcher

❤️ DITCHLAPSE / [REALLY AFRAID] - Tommy Wyatt 🧡 The Love Archives: Bonus Scenes & Excerpts for Palestine - Various 💛 Guardian: Zhen Hun - Ying Priest 💚 The Sunforge - Sascha Stronach 💙 Queering Reproductive Justice - Candace Bond-Theriault 💜 Gender Explained - Diane Ehrensaft & Michelle Jurkiewicz ❤️ The Unlikely Pair - Jax Calder 🧡 In Universes - Emet North 💛 We Love the Nightlife - Rachel Koller Croft 💙 Lessons from Cruising - Martin Goodman 💜 Wild Ginger in the Rhubarb - Eule Grey 🌈 Not My Circus - Delicia Niami

❤️ Asunder - Kerstin Hall 🧡 The Phoenix Keeper - S.A. MacLean 💛 Encounters with James Baldwin - Various 💚 Verity's Game - Jennifer Giacalone 💙 Hunt Me! I Crave the Chase - Fae Quin 💜 The Audacity Omnibus - Carmen Loup ❤️ Haunted to Death - Frank Anthony Polito 🧡 Blood Orange - Paige Grunewald 💛 The Bad Things We Did - Chris Archeske 💙 Dark Restraint - Katee Robert 💜 Worth the Wait - Kenna White 🌈 The Maid and the Crocodile - Jordan Ifueko

❤️ Loving Corrections - Adrienne Maree Brown 🧡 The Last Witch in Edinburgh - Marielle Thompson 💛 The Duchess of Kokora - Nikhil Prabala 💚 The Scales of Seduction - Rien Gray 💙 Survival Is a Promise - Alexis Pauline Gumbs 💜 Loka - S.B. Divya ❤️ The Every Body Book of Consent - Rachel E Simon 🧡 Southern Lights - Liz Arncliffe 💛 Then Things Went Dark - Bea Fitzgerald 💙 Death at Morning House - Maureen Johnson 💜 The Last Doorbell - William Parker 🌈 The Pairing - Casey McQuiston

[lasudio]

VeronaHills, Round Twelve: Tricou (City)

"Lady Jennicor - I am so sorry."

Rainelle delivered her apology in great heaves, with her shoulders at her ears and fingers crushed into fists. One week and change after the undercroft was invaded by an oaf and an overlord (and she'd let it happen), the coffin lid swung open from the inside and Lady Jennicor Tricou rose from its plush interior. She was awake.

The increase in bat chitterings from the shadows had let Rainelle know the family were discussing something - likely, how much they trusted her to take care of the House of Fallen Trees, and when to come back and fire her - but the decision was ultimately Lady Jennicor's. Her hibernation was taken in classic (and comfortable) coffin form, citing her bat wings not being as strong as they were in youth. Rainelle, hearing the coffin creak, had thrown down her polishing cloth and ran to fetch the black lace-embroidered dress Jennicor had set aside to change into. She easily slipped off her nightgown as if she'd just had a single good night's sleep instead of hundreds.

"Have a seat by the pool, Miss Neengia." The order was delivered with upturned mouth corners - she'd noticed the rocks and water turning a portion of the space into a spring. Rainelle couldn't be sure in the moment whether this was a nice surprise or not. Maybe it just the cherry on top of the incident. In the end, Rainelle couldn't remain seated, so hot was her blood with shame, so she stood, her limbs scrunched up as if she a ball of paper ready to be thrown away.

The hand was cool when it slipped around her knuckles. "Rainelle." Her given name drifted across her, soothing aloe vera. "I'm proud of you."

She was Miss Neengia, the heiress of responsibility to serve the Tricou family and preserve their home in hibernation, keeper of the wine cellar, duster of the bunnies. She was also Rainelle, horror film-avoidant twenty-something, still holding on to her grandmother describing her as an ingénue. She fell to her knees and sobbed in Jennicor's lap. As the Lady applied her cooling embrace, bats joined them. One by one, in puffs of purple-tinged smoke, the daughters, husbands, and grandchildren appeared, surrounding Rainelle in a swath of greyish-green skin and gothic fashion from decades past.

Rainelle knew the family tree well from her grandmother cracking open the family photobook and introducing her. She didn't expect the daughters to immediately divorce their husbands on returning to human form but they had their reasons (after a long time to think, Nylissit realised she was a lesbian, and Jennail felt the spark was gone). The grandson was warmer than the granddaughter but there was still time to earn trust.

For Lady Jennicor's part, she seemed happy to be back. Rainelle, producing generous pours of dark wine, spotted her idly running a finger down one of her fangs, her eyes crinkling and sparkling.

It was an honour to retain the role of Miss Neengia.

[is-the-battlemech-cool-or-not]

Ryūga - A WHISPER OF FIRE AND SHADOW

A Letter from Gunji-no-Kanrei Ryūga Kurita to Coordinator Yori Kurita, penned late September 3153:

To Yori, the Keeper of the Dragon Throne, To Yori, whose name lingers upon my lips like an unsung prayer, To Yori, whose shadow has never left my side, though duty cast it far beyond my reach. I have burned your letter. Not out of anger, nor defiance, nor denial. But because it was too precious a thing for this world. Too soft to survive in halls of steel and whispered knives. Too real to be left in the hands of fate. Too much like you—written in fire and ink, in love and regret, in words that should never have had to be written at all. And yet, I have memorized them. Each stroke, each syllable, carved into the marrow of my bones, seared into the beating heart of me. You wrote to me not as Coordinator, but as Yori. So now I answer, not as Kanrei, but as Ryūga. You say that you love me. But, Yori, I have always known. I saw it in the way your eyes sought mine in the quiet between battles. I heard it in the silence you never let break. I felt it in the places where your touch should have been, but never was. I have known, and I have never spoken, for what use is love beneath the Dragon’s weight? What place is there for longing in a world where duty devours all? You speak of what could have been. A world where our names were not chains. A world where our blood was not a battlefield. A world where you would have placed the throne in my hands and walked beside me, unburdened, unafraid. Yori—no such world exists. But if it did, I would have burned the heavens to reach it. I would have carried you away from gilded cages and bloodstained walls. I would have freed us both from the ghosts of our forebears. I would have let love reign where war now stands. But we are not born in such a world. And the Dragon does not dream of peace. Instead, you ask me to live. You place your shadows at my side—not to watch me, not to bind me, but to guard me. You tell me the Black Dragons rise again. That they whisper in dark corridors, plotting against the throne you have bled to hold. That they call you a pretender and call me a blight upon the bloodline. That they wish to see us both cast into the void, nameless and forgotten, our legacies erased. I do not fear them, Yori. I do not fear death, nor treachery, nor the knives in the dark. But I fear what this means. I fear that the war we fought to break them was not enough. I fear that the wounds of the Combine have festered beneath the surface, unseen, unhealed. I fear that if they have regained strength enough to challenge both of us, then the Dragon itself teeters on the edge of ruin. They wish for a ruler they can control. They will have neither of us. You have placed your shadows around me. I place my sword beside you. I will not fall to them. And neither will you. We do not stand as rivals in this, Yori. We do not stand as enemies. We stand as the last two who still remember the dream of the Dragon. The last two who still bear its fire in our hearts. The last two who understand what it means to be Kurita in a world that will never allow us to be anything else. So long as your eyes are upon me, I will never fall. So long as your hands move unseen, I will never be alone. You are not my enemy. You are not my rival. You are my other half, the shadow to my fire, the fire to my shadow. You asked me to live. So I will. And when the Black Dragons strike, I will answer not with silence, not with hesitation— But with fire and steel. For you. For the Combine. For the Dragon that will never kneel. With honor, with duty, and with all that I am,

- Ryūga