#but for now have my rambling thoughts on ghoul found-family comfort

[cheerycherrycandy-resurrected]

Ash @rainsbasspick wanted some comfort ghoul/ghoulette/papa thoughts so here, have a few of my thoughts on era 4 ghouls, copia, and found family from the notes pile! Hope these distract you a little bit 🖤

I like to think that despite the various upsets in their lives before, they have each other as pack now, and will go to hell and back to protect it.

Below the cut bc I got a bit carried away (no surprise there then):

I think Copia worked really hard when he took over to make his little band of ghouls and ghoulettes feel safe, and just as important, permanent. He had felt temporary, like a replacement for the popular Papa III, and I think he saw that reflected in his ghouls at first. I imagine he took advantage of his takeover to enact some changes around the ministry to make the ghouls feel more equal, everyday things like having the Abbey ghouls and Siblings work together rather than in separate teams. Obviously the new masks helped too, turns out people aren't as afraid of ghouls when they can see their expressions.

With the band, I see him working to set up some kind of "retirement plan" for lack of a better word, so the ghouls no longer in the band could stay together in their pack. Copia finds a way for them to work behind the scenes for the band, rather than having to pick between the Abbey jobs no human wants to do, or returning to their old lives in the pit.

Meanwhile I think the ghouls, especially Dew, see Copia as one of their own, someone who was pulled into everything whether he wanted to be or not, and is trying to make the best of it. He is pack. I always see Dew and Copia as having this special kinship, they've both experienced this feeling of otherness that no one else understands quite the same, especially after Dew's elemental transition and Copia's remolding into Papa IV. I also see them both as quite shy with people outside of their pack, although they hide it in different ways.

I imagine they ran into each other many times in the chapel late at night, seeking affirmations from below that they were doing the right thing. The Dark One may have stayed silent, but I think they got talking, and learned to feel the acceptance they needed from each other.

I see Copia reassuring Dew that his talents were what brought on the Ministry's demand that he play lead guitar, and not to do with him or his elemental capabilities. He helps Dew feel valued as the ghoul he is, and as a friend too, not just for the faceless musical talent the Clergy may have seen him as. Likewise, Dew sees all the same insecurities in Copia and makes sure he knows that despite the whispers and Nihil's comments, he is more than deserving as his place at the head of the church. Dew is adamant that despite any talk of him being weak, this perceived weakness just shows he has a heart. Him being too influenced by his feelings is a strength, that all the ghouls and congregation appreciate his humanity and the feeling of home he creates.

They're both probably quite nervous heading out on their first era-4 tour: new ghouls, new outfits, no Papa. But I see the pair of them huddled together over a phone on the tour bus, watching the videos of them in awe and disbelief at first, at later with pride at how well they're received. I'm sure Dew takes great pleasure in showing Copia all the thirsty (so, so, thirsty...) videos their congregation make of him, teasing him slightly in a way only Dew is allowed to. Likewise I imagine Copia returning the favour, laughing at how everyone seems to think Dew is as angry as his on-stage persona when really it's all bravado and a projected stage confidence. It doesn't stop Dew from smirking and snapping his fingers to make a small flame dance on them, raising an eyebrow as he waves them a bit too close to Copia's moustache in retaliation.

I think the rest of the pack feel the kinship with Copia too, but maybe in different ways. For Rain for example, as one of the ghouls summoned by Copia, I think he seems him as more of a guardian or father-figure. Older, wiser, a protector of the pack from any more human problems the Clergy may throw their way (but better believe Rain has any more physical threats covered perfectly fine by himself though..!). Aether and Mountain maybe took a bit longer to feel the pack connection - at first he was just their new boss, but after they saw how much he helped Dew, they quickly grew to respect him for the loyal friend he is.

I don’t think Swiss has had many thoughts on the matter. Dude got pulled outta the pits by a guy with cool facepaint and handed a pretty guitar. Neat!

The ghoulettes loved Copia from the second they were summoned - they adore their goofy rat man! I imagine both of them can often be found in his office, sprawled across various surfaces trying to coax him into taking a break, making him tea, and rubbing his stiff neck when he doesn’t take one.

Opposite to Rain, I don’t think they see him as their Protector, I think they more want to protect him - real big sister vibes y’know? Like Rain, they have no doubts in their physical prowess against a threat, but unlike Rain they don’t doubt their ability in a mental fight either. Sister Imperator is genuinely confused how Copia manages to work in that office, every time she enters it’s almost unnaturally cold, and there’s always a strange low rumbling sound… Very disconcerting. She makes a point not to go in there too often. Mission success! Cirrus will bring the temperature back to normal, and Cumulus will stop growling, and they’ll cackle to themselves as Copia rolls his eyes and tries not to look too encouraging of their behaviour. He adores them too, they act like the older siblings he always wished he had growing up.

All in all, I think the older ghouls, Papa, and the newer summons are a real little family, even if they’re a bit on an unconventional one! <3

[dirty-brainrot]

(Ghostly Visitor)

GAH This one is kinda short and bad my head has been empty, no think

Pairing: [Dead Man’s Question] Kira Yoshikage x Reader

Knock! Knock!

That must be the delivery man! You put the knife aside, temporarily abandoning making lunch to check the door. "I'll be there in a moment!" You shouted, quickly washing your hand and wiping them on your apron.

Dashing through the hallway, you opened the door without thinking. "Sorry for making you w- Gah!" But upon opening it, you felt a strong gust of wind hit your face making you cover your eyes with your sleeve out of reflex. After the gust of wind relaxed, your eyes wandered around looking for the person who knocked. "Jesus Christ... Where did the wind learn to knock?" You shook your head and closed the door thinking it was just the neighbor's kid pranking you. But as you turn around, you were met with a chest. You didn't bump into it, rather, you walked through it.

Absolutely spooked out, you screamed and stumbled backward giving you a whole view of the thing you walked through. It was a man with patterned holes(?) in his clothes, a cool bowler hat, and short blonde hair. He was just as surprised as you, although you were more scared than anything. "Who are you?!" You screamed at the man and threw a slipper at him. The slipper hit him and took him out of his daze.

"You-you can see me?" The mysterious bowler hat man stammered, still shocked. You grabbed the other slipper and threw it at him while yelling, "Yes! I can!-" Running out of items to throw, you panicked and dashed to the kitchen with him following you. Grabbing the knife you pointed it at him. "Why are you here?! More importantly- How did I phase through you?" He avoids the edge of the knife but you kept on pointing it at him. "Please don't point your knife at me. It's rude." You stared at him like he was some idiot. Confused and infuriated, you approached him with your knife.

"YOU BROKE INTO MY HOUSE!"

He stood his ground and responded. "You opened your door and let me in." You stop in your tracks. Well, he does have a point... in some way.. "I- fuck!" Frustrated, you slammed the knife back on the counter. You ruffle your hair and ask him. "H-How does that even work? How- What even you?" He looks around your kitchen before answering. "I ask myself that often too but as of now, I am a ghost." You squint your eyes at him, not believing his words at first.'Well, if time travelers and aliens are real then ghosts would be real too... And explains how I went through him.'

Sighing deeply, you crossed your arms leaning on the kitchen counter. There's still plenty of questions you needed answers to and you asked. "So, why are you here?" You questioned, seemingly too calm after some stranger entered your home. "I am looking for a home. Mostly a home where no one would bother me." He replies, looking at the pictures and magnets stuck on your fridge."Huh, weird..." You mumbled while rubbing your chin in thought. "Don't ghosts have places they're bound to?"

"You're oddly calm. Completely the opposite of earlier." He ignores your question, not wanting to answer some of your silly topics. You sat down on one of the dining chairs and motioned for him to sit down too. "It's a long story." He accepts the invitation and sits down too. "I have time." You chuckle and mumble "Of course you do." Getting comfortable in your seat, you asked him if he wanted tea first but shook his head "no". Makes sense since he can't drink living tea.

And so, you rambled to your ghost companion the bizarre months that had been happening to you, the lunch you were making were quickly forgotten.

He would sometimes add a comment or made a humming noise to indicate he was listening. "-he spat out the sandwich! Would you believe that?!" Taking in a deep breath, you huffed. Finally finishing your rant but then you realized something. You haven't even gotten his name yet! "A-ah... I... I got so caught up in the moment that I forgot to introduce myself." He also realizes this and nods, urging you to go first.

"Y/N L/N." You outstretched your hand to him to shake. "Kira Yoshikage. And I can't shake your hand." Realizing this mistake, you hesitantly answered back. "Just shake it..." He complies. The ghost puts out his hand, aligning it with yours, and shaking it with the same rhythm as yours. You grinned.

"You said earlier you needed a place to stay right? Well, I won't mind." He was taken aback by your sudden trust in him. "Would you really trust a random ghoul that you just met?" You shrugged your shoulders in response. "Yeah. Why not?" Kira couldn't figure you out. Earlier you were freaking out badly and now you were so trusting of a man you just met, a ghostly man even.

"There has to be an exchange for this." 'An assassination in exchange perhaps?' He thoughts while he looks at you very warily while you sat on your chair, hand cupping your cheeks. You scoff and stifle a laugh. "No, I just need you to babysit for me. You can have the empty room upstairs if you agree."

"Does a family member live with you?" You shook your head left to right. "I live alone with a couple of roommates." This was a tough choice. Kira would get a room of his own that you were kind enough to give and not to mention, you also won't bug him by freaking out that there's a ghost in the house (Although your roommates could be a problem). Thinking about the pros and cons, he agrees. "I'll stay here for the meantime until I found a place." You beamed at him and stood up from your seat. "Then that settles it! Welcome to the bizarre household, Mr. Kira."

You made jazz hands while he stared at you in thought. 'What an odd human. I think I may just like them.'

JoFoes in your home series: Kars, Diavolo

[yukina-otome]

Ikevamp pregnancy and family headcanon pt.3

I am back ! This time with Isaac and jean ! I hope you enjoy ! Please encourage me and let me know what you think !

@ginshoujo​ @bierunderdbeeren​ @fun-ghoul-neela​ @loverofmanyrandomthings​

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 

-Isaac: A daughter

-He spent most of his life alone so the idea of one day being a father was foreign and impossible for him. -When you came into his room one day being all nervous and refusing to look him in the eyes he thought you were there to dump him. -The last thing he expected you to say was that you were pregnant. -Isaac was so shocked he kept silent as you started rambling in nervousness. -After few minutes of Isaac staying silent and you rambling on how you want to keep the baby because it is the product of your love, Isaac  finally spoke: -"P-Pregnant....as in....B-Baby? Mine ? Wait....no that's no what i should be saying in this situation...ah wait a minute.....So there is a baby made of my sperm and your ovule in your uterus ??" -"Yes Isaac that's exactly what pregnant mean....are you not happy ?" -"NO ! I am very happy ! It's just that i never had a father, and I'm so awkward and clumsy I don't know if i can be a good father to our child" -The word "Our child" felt so foreign to him yet the second he said his heart felt so full. -After that you spent long hours reassuring him before you both fell asleep dreaming of your future together with your baby. -Few days later both of you guys decided to announce it to the whole mansion during dinner and as soon as the word "I am pregnant" left your mouth the whole dinner room fell silent. -The silence was broken by Arthur who said "Congratulation Newt you old chap, I can already suggest a pretty good name for your child! What about Apple if its a girl ! And if its a boy Applo !" -Isaac started arguing with Arthur and Dazai who also suggested naming your child Ringo. The rest of the resident all congratulated you and Sebastian banned you from doing house chores. -Your pregnancy was very peaceful. You would visit Isaac at the university almost every day and all his students treated you as if you were made of glass. The dean would always ask you about how you were doing and when you were in your 8th month, all the students and the dean gave you presents for the baby. -You were in university attending one of Isaac's class when your water broke. You started groaning and screaming in pain and the whole classroom started panicking. -Isaac was at your side by the second and quickly carrying you out of the class and toward the hospital (the students followed you) -And so you were in the delivery room while Isaac, 80 university students and the mansion's resident were waiting outside. -Napoleon was by Isaac's side trying to calm him down while Arthur Theo Dazai leo and le compte were making bets about the baby's gender. -After what felt like hours, the doctor came out of the delivery room and looked at the huge crowd in amazement before saying "Who is the father ?" -Isaac raised his hand and the doctor invited him in the delivery room. -You gave birth to a beautiful baby girl with light brown hair and pink eyes. -After much consideration you named her Cherry (As in cherry blossom) -Cherry was a very innocent and shy child. -She was also a huge crybaby. -One time when she was around 5 Arthur teased her and the second her eyes filled with tears and she started sniffing the whole mansion looked at arthur like he had just committed murder. From that day on she started avoiding him (it broke his hearth) -From when she was very young Isaac often took her to his classes where his student would gush over her and one day when she was 8 she corrected the student who was sitting next to her as he made a mistake in his formula. -That's how you knew she was a genius, her IQ was extremely high. But you guys never forced anything on her as she was more interested in cultures and languages than math's and physics. -By the age of 12 she was fluent in all the languages that were spoke in the mansion, English, French, Japanese and Dutch and of course Latin (her father taught her). -She would spend long hours having a debate about history with Sebastian. -You guys would go on stroll in the city and Isaac would smile as you and cherry would start nerding about some monument and the history behind it. He would thank all the stars and it would not be enough because he knew that he would never feel lonely ever again.

-Jean : A daughter and a son

-Jean didn't want children at all. -He was a monster. He was dirty. what kind of child would come from his genes. -But then he met you and slowly but surely he started loving himself a bit more. -You were his everything. For him you were the most beautiful and pure person. -Nevertheless you two never spoke of having a family. But you dreamed of having a big family. -So one day as you were resting in jean's embrace you decide to try and see what he thinks about it. -"Jean have you ever thought of having a family ?" -Jean thought for few minutes before saying "I never thought i deserved to have a family....but if its with you...." -You started crying and squeezed him in your arms. -And so from that point on the two of you started trying. -Few months later after a visit to your doctor you came in the mansion looking for jean only to find him sparing with napoleon in the training room. -Both of them stopped sparing to look at you as you screamed "I'm pregnant". Jean dropped his rapier and picked you up in a hug. -Both you and napoleon heard a laugh that sounded like it came straight out of an angel's mouth. Jean was laughing. -After that jean became your personal bodyguard. When he was busy he made napoleon keep an eye on you of all time. -Not that you needed any more protection as the whole mansion babied you. -"Guys i am not ill. I'm pregnant" -"But then why did you vomit this morning?" Mozart said -"It's just morning sickness !" you answered back -"Sickness....that mean you're ill. I'm taking you to the doctor right now" jean said as he carried you in his arms. -Anyways days passed and when you were in your 9th month jean had to take a job as a bodyguard with napoleon. Mozart had a concert to prepare for, Isaac was busy with his job as a professor, Sebastian was too busy, Leo Vincent and Theo were away on business, and no way he would leave you to Dazai or Arthur. -Which led him to ask the one and only person who was not busy that day.....Le compte. Truthfully he didn't want to owe him anything but he would throw away his pride for your safety any day. -That day you spend time with le compte drinking Tea and eating cake when your water broke. -Le compte took care of everything and took you to the hospital. He also sent a messenger for jean. -When jean got the message he was few hours away from the city. Napoleon assured him he would take care of the rest and jean took off as fast as he could. -When he arrived you had already given birth and you were sleeping. As he came into the room he saw you with your eyes closed and panicked. He checked your breathing and pulse and relaxed when he saw you were just sleeping. Then he heard the tiniest sound. -He looked toward the direction the sound came from and he saw a crib. He peaked inside the crib and saw the most beautiful dark blue eyes. His baby girl looked at him in curiosity before giving him a smile that reminded him so much of yours. -Now he had one more person who loved him, one more person to protect. -His daughter Louise was shy and timid. She didn't speak much. -She loved her uncle Napoleon the most and admired her uncle Mozart. -She would always listen to Mozart as he played the piano. At first he was awkward with her because he didn't know how to behave with kids but one day when she was 3 he found her sitting on the floor outside his piano room and asked "what are you doing?" -She looked at him with her big eyes and said "music" -From that day on she always came to listen to him playing. She would sit on the sofa in the piano room (it wasn't there before, he bought it just for her) and listen for hours. -When Louise was 6 you got pregnant again. This time Jean refused to leave you for even a second. He wanted to be with you when you gave birth. -"Jean its only the 5th month...I'm not going to give birth any time soon." "I don't care I'm not leaving you". -You would be chilling in Jean's room (that was redecorated to look more homey and less like a prison cell) and both Louise and Jean would have their ears on your tummy trying to hear what was happening inside. -After few hours of listening Louis said "It's a boy". "How can you be so sure darling ?" "I just know. He told me just now." -And she was right. Few months later you gave birth (with jean by your side this time) to a boy who looked like a mini jean. -His name was Orlean. -From his cold deadpan expression, to his androgynous features, to his dark sense of humor  he was a copy of jean. -He was so mature for his age and often took care of his bigger sister. -Orlean and Jean looked liked they were awkward when they were together because none of them would say much, but in fact the silence between them was always comfortable. They would understand each other with a single look. -Jean taught Orlean how to use a sword but Orlean preferred reading. He always spent time in the Library with his uncle Leo who would teach him all kind of subjects. -You, Louise and Orlean would come watch jean spare with napoleon and would cheer for him like crazy. -Jean never thought he would have anyone who loved him let alone a family. He would always be thankful to you who showed him love and gave him happiness. You, Louise and Orlean were his treasures.

[kalimagik]

You Are My Home

Ron Weasley x Reader

Word Count: 3.8k

Warnings: Abusive father, alcoholism 

A/N: This lil fic was requested by @obsessedwithrandomthings <3 Congrats on 300 love! The prompts were “kiss me” and “you make me feel safe.” My requests are OPEN! and there is a prompt list somewhere on my dash if you’d like to request something. I was planning on posting this 2 hours ago, but tumblr got annoying and deleted it from my queue. So reblog, comment, like, all that fun stuff pleasssse! Feedback always welcome! Happy reading! 

Not my GIF - credit to owner

Summers at the Burrow were always crazy, but relaxing at the same time. Molly gave her children chores each day, but there was plenty of time for playing quidditch, pranking, and roaming around the muggle village nearby.

While Hogwarts brought excitement and adventure, the Burrow brought time for rejuvenation, well that was when the twins weren’t picking on Ron. But, it was home. It was where he felt the most comfortable, especially when Harry and Hermione were around. Yep, summers at the Burrow were the best place for a kid to grow up.

*Knock, knock, knock*

Being the last one awake, Ron slid off the couch and crept to the door. Ron glanced at the real clock on his way through the kitchen, which read 11:30. Who could be knocking this late at night?

Ron swung the door open to come face to face with Y/N L/N. She was definitely more Ginny’s friend than his, but she was always kind to him and vice versa. And, if he was being honest, he always did have a crush on her. She was so full of life and brightened the lives of everyone who knew her.

“Uhhh, hi. I’m sorry. I was hoping to catch Ginny. But now that I’m realizing what time it is, I realize that that was a silly notion.”

Y/N wouldn’t meet Ron’s eyes, but he could hear the shakiness and uneven vibrato in her voice. When she sniffled, he knew that she had been crying.

“I should go,” she whispered, turning from Ron.

“No, wait. Why don’t you come in. It’s late. I don’t even know how you got here, but it probably wasn’t easy.”

Y/N just nodded and stepped through the doorway. She stood in the kitchen, looking like she didn’t really know what to do, but Ron watched as she timidly wiped her eyes. He knew she was trying to hide whatever she was feeling.

“Are you okay?” Ron blurted out. He couldn’t stand seeing her hear like this.

“I don’t want to bother you with it. Would it be okay if I just waited down here for Ginny? You don’t have to wait up with me, I can just sleep on the couch.”

“No, you can sleep in my room. I’ll sleep on the couch.” If she didn’t want to talk to him, that was fine, but there was no way that he was letting her sleep on that lumpy couch in the living room.

“I don’t want to put you out.” This was not her, not at all.

“You won’t be. I’m sure of it. You may just have to mind the ghoul in the attic,” Ron warned with an airy chuckle. “I’m the room on the top floor. You can’t go any further. Go ahead up. There are t-shirts in the top drawer, you can use one of those for bed.”

Y/N just nodded before turning to walk up the stairs. Before she could get out of Ron’s sight, she paused and looked back at him. “Thank you, Ron,” she said quietly. Even though there weren’t many words, Ron knew that his actions meant the world to her, he could just feel it.

Once he was sure that Y/N was in bed, Ron got comfortable on the couch or as comfortable as he could. He stared at the ceiling wondering why Y/N had just shown up like that. Molly would have no problem with her being there, but it was still strange.

Ron woke up to Ginny, Fred, and George standing over him.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Fred grinned.

“Fall asleep dreaming about a mermaid?” George teased.

“Shove off,” Ron groaned as he rolled over.

“Why are you down here anyways?” Ginny questioned.

At that, Ron shot up, Y/N. “Gin, I think you might want to go up to my room.”

“I’m NOT dealing with the Ghoul again, Ronald.”

“No, no, no. I didn’t sleep down here because of a ghoul. Y/N showed up late last night. She seemed upset. I told her to sleep in my room.” Ginny was out of the room before Ron could even finish his sentence. Her footsteps pounded loudly on the steps. If anyone was still sleeping in the house, they weren’t anymore.

“What do you think that was about?” George wondered out loud.

“Girls are strange beings…” Fred followed, shaking his head.

Ron followed the twins into the kitchen for breakfast, constantly looking at the stairs for Ginny and Y/N’s feet. Breakfast was filled with jokes from the twins and Percy telling them off.

“MUUUUM!” Ginny called from up the stairs, maybe about halfway up.

Ron watched intently for any sign as Molly rushed up the stairs. She didn’t even question it. She had to know that Y/N was in the house by now. Why was he feeling so uneasy about this? Playing with his eggs until Molly emerged again.

“Well dears, it seems that we will be having a guest for the next few weeks,” Molly smiled as she pulled out another plate and set of utensils. “Ronald, you could have woken me up when she arrived last night,” Molly informed him.

“Sorry. You went up so long before she got here,” Ron tried to explain.

“Wittle Ronnikins gave his room up to the pretty girl,” Fred mocked.

“She needed it. You don’t get it.” Ron spat back at him. Ron didn’t know why, but he felt the need to protect her. He needed to pave the path for everything to be alright with her.

“Good morning again,” Ginny said, announcing her re-arrival downstairs.

Ron whipped around fast enough to see Y/N coming down the stairs behind Ginny, smiling timidly at the family she knew so well. This just so wasn’t like her.

“How’d you sleep?” he found himself asking in spite of himself. Maybe he should have just kept quiet.

“Well, thank you. But you can have your bed back. I’m going to stay in with Ginny.” She smiled at him, well what seemed like a genuine smile. Maybe last night was just a fluke and she would be her normal self by this afternoon.

“Y/N, dear. Have some breakfast. I will send an owl to Arthur and tell him to pick up your things.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.” Something still seemed off about her. Ron looked up slightly, but not enough for his brothers to catch him. He watched her slowly eat the food placed in front of her. He watched the twinge of pain shoot across her face when she turned too quickly to respond to something Percy said. He watched her.

He watched and noticed things in the weeks following the night of her arrival too. She was happier each day, growing more comfortable and relaxed in a way that someone could only do at the Burrow. Ron started spending more time with her too. She would offer to help them all with their chores and some days Ron got lucky. She’d help him all day. She was her playful self. Spraying water at him while they tended to the garden, keeping the clippers out of his reach. It was all the Y/N he was used too.

Ron even got to spend some late nights talking to her. Like him, she was a night owl. She’d stay up until she was practically falling asleep next to him on the couch or outside on the grass. She was at her cutest when she was tired, giggling and trying to keep her eyes open for as long as possible. Ron just adored it.

It was another one of those nights when just Ron and Y/N were still awake with everyone else asleep. Ron sat with his back against the couch and bum on the floor. Y/N had been sitting next to him until she became more tired. She slid towards the floor and laid her head on Ron’s lap, looking up at him.

“You’re beautiful,” he blurted out before he knew what had possessed him. It was just those eyes…Those sleepy, sparkling, beautiful eyes.

“Thank you, Ronald,” Y/N smiled, not really processing what he said.

“Can I ask you something?” Ron continued, not minding that she hadn’t said anything more.

“If you want to ask if you can have a rematch on the quidditch pitch tomorrow, the answer is yes,” she giggled.

“I will take you up on that,” Ron grinned, “but that wasn’t what I was going to ask.”

“Okay, shoot,” Y/N responded as she adjusted on his lap.

“I’ve been wondering this for a while, but when you came here a month or so ago, you were crying. You weren’t yourself. I don’t want to pry or push you, but what was wrong?” Ron felt the confidence leave him as he asked the question. Maybe he should let the reason stay her secret.

Y/N tensed, he could feel it. She was thinking and then sat up, criss cross applesauce, now facing Ron. “I guess I do owe you an explanation, you were so kind to not push me then. I would still be wondering too if I was you.” She rambled. She was still beautiful when she rambled.

“I knew that the Burrow was a safe place. Ginny has always been like a sister to me. I couldn’t be at home anymore. M-my, my dad, he- he drinks…a lot. It’s just me and him at home usually. Mum died when I was little, but I-I think you knew that. Anyways, that’s too much information.”

Y/N took a deep breath before she continued. “So, he drinks. And it just got out of hand that night. I hide it well, bu-but he can hurt me. He doesn’t always use his hands. Sometimes it's with magic, but I was hiding in my room that night. I swear he loves me. He’s my father. I just remind him of mum and it sets him off- I guess? I don’t know. I shouldn’t defend him.” She shook her head as she looked at her hands in her lap.

Ron just took in her words and the grace that she had while telling him her story. How could she be so calm? He felt the rage begin to rise in his chest. No one- No One, should ever want to do anything to harm Y/N. His fists clenched against his sides, but he tried to hide it, even though it could be read clearly across his face.

“But, I managed to get away and grabbed a broom and this is the first place I thought of. Before I knew it, I was at your door and knocking.”

Ron nodded to show he understood and was listening, but he was boiling over.

“I told Ginny the next morning and insisted I tell your mum, even though I didn’t want to. When your mum found out the basis of my situation, she essentially ordered me to stay with you all. I couldn’t say no, but I’m happy she did. This has been one of the best summer holidays I have ever had.” A smile crossed her lips as she thought of the weeks that she had spent in the Burrow.

“You can stay here as long as you want.” Ron told her, straight faced. He didn’t want that man coming anywhere near her again, whether or not he was her father.

“Thanks, Ron. Your mum said the same thing. I like it here…a lot.”

“You can stay here forever even. All school holidays, summer holidays, all of them.”

“I have to go back at some point, Ron.”

“No you don’t,” Ron argued. “You never have too.”

“Okay.” Her words didn’t seem like an agreement, but an understanding. “I’m going to go to bed now, okay? Thank you for listening.” As she stood up, she leaned down to kiss Ron’s cheek. “Good night,” she said softly as she made her way upstairs to Ginny’s room.

Ron sat in the stillness of the living room. He slowly lifted his hand to his cheek. It burned with the blush left from her kiss.

Growing used to the routine with Y/N at the house, Ron adjusted his own to spend even more time with her. Some would even argue that she was starting to spend more time with Ron than with Ginny. They were growing closer and closer and Ron felt like he may combust if his feelings for her grew any larger. He was falling, falling harder than he could ever imagine. His crush was so much more than a crush on the happy, free-spirited girl that was friends with Ginny. He loved that version of her, but also the her he got to know in the evenings and the her that could let loose like no one was watching. He loved all of her.

Then, one morning he woke up later than usual. He’d been kept awake by the soft explosions from the twins’ room and the thoughts about Y/N swirling in his head. When he came down the stairs, Y/N’s bags were all packed at the door.

“What’s going on? Are we going somewhere?” Ron asked as he rubbed his eyes.

“Y/N’s going home.” Ginny replied with a straight face and angry eyes watching the front door closely.

“She’s what? Where is she?”

“Her dad showed up early this morning demanding to see her.” Ginny spit out. Ron could tell she was infuriated.

“Where is she?”

“Outside. He wanted to talk to her.”

“Did anything seem off about him?” Ron’s mind began racing. What if he did something to her? Ron had to be there to protect her.

He flew through the door that Ginny had been watching so intently. He ignored his sister as she called saying that Y/N’s father said not to follow. He tore through the garden that he had tended to so many times with her and past the Weasley’s makeshift quidditch pitch. He ran all the way to the edge of the trees on the property. The moment Y/N spoke, he could pick her voice out of the normal outside noises.

“No. I want to stay here, Dad. Please!”

“You’re coming home. I need your help around the house. You cannot just skirt your responsibilities.” He growled at her.

“I don’t understand. You don’t have to worry about me when I’m here. They’ll take care of me…” she tried to explain.

“I can take care of you just fine. You don’t need to be playing make believe here.”

“Dad. No.” She was standing her ground and Ron was proud of her, he thought maybe he could just watch from a distance just in case. But when he looked at Y/N’s father, something seemed off. He was staggering and stumbling at only 11 o’clock in the morning.

“You are coming home with me, Y/N.” Her dad grabbed her arm harshly.

“Okay, fine, fine,” she conceded. Even from a distance, Ron could see the confidence fade in her eyes just to be replaced by fear. “Just let me go get my stuff.”  

“No, we are going now. You humiliated me by having Arthur Weasley show up at MY house to collect your things.”

“Please, dad. My school things are in there. I need them to do my summer work.” Her words became more urgent as though she was trying to calm him down and be reasonable.

“WE ARE GOING NOW!” Y/N tried to pull away, but his grasp was too tight on her wrist. Ron couldn’t take it anymore.

“Let her go!” he yelled.

“This doesn’t concern you,” Y/N’s dad spat in Ron’s direction.

“Ron, it’s really okay,” Y/N said, but her eyes pleaded for help.

“I said, let her go.” Ron repeated, closing the distance between him and Y/N.

“She’s my daughter, under the age of 17, and I can do with her as I please.”

Ron’s eyes flickered to where Y/N’s father held her arm. It seemed to be getting tighter. His nails were practically breaking her flesh.

“Dad, that hurts,” she spoke softly to him, but his grip didn’t loosen. Ron could see the pain emanating in her eyes.

“She said she wants to stay here.” Ron gritted through his teeth, losing his cool.

“Let’s go, Y/N.” Her father yanked her arm so hard that Ron was sure her arm would pop out of her socket.

The tears swelled up in her eyes as she held back her audible cries. “Let her go.” Ron was giving her dad one last chance before…

Once Ron spoke, Y/N’s dad only pulled harder. Ron leaped forward, fist aimed at the man holding onto Y/N. He hit him square in the jaw. When Y/N’s dad recoiled, he lost his grip on Y/N, allowing her to break free.

“Are you okay?” he asked, rushing to her side.

“Yeah, just a little sore,” she lied. Ron stood up beside her to face her dad. The man stood a few inches shorter than Ron, so he had to look up to meet Ron’s fiery stare.

“You need to leave now.” Ron spoke as calmly as he could.

By this point, the commotion had drawn the attention of his family inside. Fred, George, and Arthur Weasley were all running to where Ron stood, Ginny running next to Y/N, helping her up.

“Take Y/N back inside, Gin.” Ron said, not breaking eye contact with her father.

“You can’t just hide my daughter from me.” He dared to speak.

“I’m not hiding her. I’m keeping her safe from you now.” Ron was determined to win this one.

“Mr. L/N. Please leave our property,” Mr. Weasley spoke sternly.

Realizing he was outnumbered, Y/N’s father apparated on the spot. Ron turned instantly to go back to the house and check on her. She had been hurt and he just knew it.

“Gin? Ginny?!” Ron called once he was in the house.  

He could hear her soft sniffles and Ginny calmly repeating that she would be okay. He turned into the living room to see Y/N on the couch with Ginny holding her arm and his mum fussing over her. As annoying as her fussing could be to him sometimes, he was never more grateful to have her here taking care of Y/N.

Ron could see the silent tears streaming down her face. His heart ached at the sight, she should never ever cry.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” Ron kept his distance, wanting to be respectful of the people buzzing around her.

“She will be alright,” Molly smiled at the girl, standing up. “Just needs some rest, that’s all.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley,” Y/N whispered, not really making eye contact with anyone around her. Ron could tell that she was embarrassed by the whole situation even though she didn’t need to be.

“Why don’t you come rest in my room,” Ginny offered, being the type of friend that knew Y/N wouldn’t want to be the center of attention all day because of this.

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

Ron couldn’t stop pacing around the ground floor. Not even the twins could bring themselves to tease him over his concern, they were concerned too. Y/N took her meals in Ginny’s room with Ginny and Arthur watched the yard, making sure that her father didn’t return.

The family went up to bed with an uneasiness in the air. Ron walked so slowly past Ginny’s room, hoping to maybe catch Y/N going to the bathroom or something, but he didn’t. So, now he lied awake in his bed, listening to the ghoul make a ruckus in the attic.

When the soft knock echoed off his door, Ron flew to answer it. Y/N stood there, small and shivering. “Can I come in?” she asked quietly.

“Yes, yes, of course.” Ron opened the door wider when he realized she hadn’t been up here since the first night she arrived. Y/N stood in the middle of the room, looking utterly unsure about what to do now.

“You want to sit down?” Ron asked motioning to his bed as he took a seat on the floor.

“I don’t want to put you out.” How was she still so polite and thoughtful?

“Sit, Y/N.” Ron offered softly, not wanting to push too hard.

“I just wanted to thank you, for coming out earlier to help me.”

Ron couldn’t stop himself as he grabbed her hand to reassure her that he was there. “You don’t have to go home ever again…”

“I’ve been home, Ron. For months. A home is a place where you are supposed to feel safe and loved and warm.” She looked up from the floor to look at him for the first time since she entered the room. Oh, how beautiful she was. “You make me feel safe, you are my home. And somehow when I was out there today, I just knew you would come…”

She sank onto the floor next to him and all Ron wanted to do was close the space, but he wanted to make sure that she was comfortable above all else. “The Burrow was a safe haven for me,” she continued, “but you, you made every second here amazing. And it may be silly, but I’ve had this crush on you forever.” Y/N broke eye contact as she spoke the words, slightly embarrassed to be telling him this way, but nevertheless she kept going. She wasn’t going to be scared of this anymore. “But, I can’t help but feel like it’s become more than a crush. I-I think I love you, Ron and I just have this feeling that you might feel that same way?”

The words evaded him. How could he express just how much she meant to him?

“Kiss me” was all he managed. The most beautiful smile he had ever seen spread across her face as she leaned forward into him. Ron couldn’t stop himself from pulling her lips to his to close the space faster. He swore he felt sparks as the kiss deepened and became more passionate. This was it. Ron knew that she was it for him.

When they finally pulled apart for air, he studied her beautiful face so closely that he could see every freckle, every line, and every blemish, but even those were beautiful. “I can be your home as long as you need me too,” he spoke against her lips.

“How does forever sound?” she whispered, closing the gap one more time.

-

Y/N never did have to go back to her father, Ron made sure of that. Ginny was more than happy to let her best friend share her room and keep her things there, but really she snuck up to Ron’s room almost every time they were back at the Burrow.

Forever can seem like an awfully long time, but whenever Ron held her in his arms, forever felt like something he could definitely do, especially for her.

[swimyghost]

I SAW YOUR REBLOG THANK YOU PLEASE TELL ME ABOUT YOUR OCS TOO -SELF INSERT NONSENSE

I love you @self-insert-nonsense and your OCS!

I have a couple of OCs that aren’t bound to any fandoms (though I occasionally plop them into certain universes when I want). Here are some of them, plus my Invader Zim OCs:

(Also, heads up, I have the drawing ability of an armless baby so no pictures, sadly) (UNEDITED)

Crow Romana:

Crow one of the oldest OCs in my catalog. As a 443-year-old vampire (43 in regular human years), he’s seen his fair share of the horrors the world holds and the suffering it brings.

The most common reason he gives when discussing why he has a semi-nihilistic world view is the fact he had to raise his daughter, Starling, alone due to his wife’s death.

When Crow was a young vampire studying to become a politician in the Vampiric government, The Blood Rose Court, he stumbled across a higher noble above his social ranking. Her name was Raven Corax and she too was to become apart of the Court, just in a very different way.

Raven was to marry Vladislav Montague, a noble in a popular and regal family who already had a high seat in the Court’s inner circle, and with Raven’s Blood Magic (an ability that all vampires have, but some are much better at it than others), the two would make one of the most dominant couples in Vampiric Society

However, Raven had no real attachment to the narcissistic and womanizing Vlad and found comfort in a quiet, yet thoughtful Crow. 

The two’s relationship blossomed into a careful dance to not expose their love affair. When the day of Raven’s wedding and Crow’s interview with the Court arrived, Crow couldn’t take it anymore.

With a heart full of both love and bravado, the young vampire sunk into the Montague estate where the wedding was to be held and discovered his long ebony-haired love trying to jump out a window with a suitcase in hand.

The two ended up eloping that night after sneaking out of the estate with the Montagues none the wiser. The new couple took up residence in Crow’s old family manor that had been abandoned for over two centuries. Instead of succumbing to their misery at their ghoulish new home, they were overjoyed to have a project to work on together... As a family. Soon, after the renovation, Raven became pregnant and, nine months later, gave birth to their daughter, Starling Romana.

Life couldn’t be more perfect for the Romana trio. But, as they say, all good things come to an end.

Only two weeks after celebrating Starling’s first birthday, Montague and his gang of loyal followers stormed the Romana household with the intent to kill everyone inside. Crow tried to defend his wife, but Raven, realizing that Montague was only here because he was snubbed on their supposed wedding day and wanted revenge.

Using the last amount of her magic, Raven cast a spell that blocked her husband and child from the invaders while she dealt with Montague. Crow was able to escape with a terrified Starling, not before watching Montague brutally stab his wife in the back and demanded his followers to light the house ablaze.

Now, 167 years later, Crow lives with the guilt and shame of not being able to save his family from Montague’s attack and forcing his daughter to live such a loner lifestyle.

Starling Romana:

Unlike her seemingly joyless father, Starling loves life and everyone in it. 

Due to her lack of knowledge on her mother and not really remembering her, Starling grew up a spoiled daddy’s girl who doted on her every need, even if the need was more of a want. 

Like her mother, Starling is a fantastic user of Blood Magic, which comes in handy when she and her father have to hunt the vampire’s mortal enemy: ghouls (vampires who turned into cannibalistic and light fearing creatures who prey on anything that moves). However, her skills are lacking since there isn’t really anyone who can teach her due to her family’s damaged reputation.

But a little bad press never stopped Starling from having fun. Despite the sun being one of the vampires most lethal weaknesses, Starling looks forward to being out on a warm summer day or just being in light in general (in this universe, the sun works like a flame boiling the vampire’s blood from the inside out, which kills them slowly). She also loves to flirt and tease anyone she deems worthy enough to become her friend (leading to many awkward situations revolving her father and new love interest).

Because of her age (168 years old), Starling is considered a teenager both by human and vampire standards, meaning the young girl often tries to foolishly get the adults to respect her by doing wild and crazy stunts.

While Crow, Raven, and Starling aren’t Invader Zim OCs, I sometimes put them in the universe just because I find the idea of Dib not believing Starling is a vampire because “she just... loves the sun. Vampires don’t love the sun!” Plus, Professor Membrane would totally make Crow his new vessel for dumbing all his science info onto.

Obi and Ren

My Invader Zim OCs! (Obi’s name is pronounced Oh-Bee)

Obi is an Irken invader that is really obsessed with the Tallest, claiming to be their “#1 Fan!”.

Because she wanted to prove her loyalty and devotion to the Tallest, Obi decided to steal an Invader ship and a defective SIR unit and travel to Earth to defeat the Tallest’s greatest enemy: Zim.

After a six month period of nothing but singing, napping, and fixing her SIR unit, Obi landed on Earth with the newly functioning SIR unit she swiftly named Ren after seeing the name on a poser with large-eyed humans covering it. Posers similar to the one Obi got Ren’s name from were also the inspiration for her human disguise.

In her Irken form, she has light reddish-pink eyes were curled antennas; in her human form, Obi looks like a young Japanese-American preteen (around Dib and Gaz’s age) with short light brown hair in two small pigtails. She wears a standard Invader-Outfit in her Irken form while in her human form, she wears a sparkly pink skirt with white leggings and burgundy sneakers, plus a white T-shirt with an angry cartoon bunny head on the front with a soft light pink highschool jacket.

Obi, after landing on Earth and claiming to be Zim’s worst enemy, doesn’t really try to take over Earth. She doesn’t see a need and, plus, she really likes Earth!

She loves the almost indefinite amount of pink things she can buy, the way trees change color, zoos, cotton candy, movies, cute animals... Practically everything is new and exciting for her. Plus, she really likes anime (especially the magical girl kind) and video games (though she isn’t good at it) and visual novels.

Unlike Obi, Ren is very interested in ending Zim and conquering Earth; however, since he was a defective SIR unit, he has some trouble accomplishing this goal.

For starters, Ren has a very obvious stutter that gets more pronounced the more he becomes enraged. His head has to be bolted to his neck in order to keep it from falling (Frankenstein’s Monster style) and he is quite shorter than most SIR units. His shortened height actually does help him when he is disguised as a black mitt colored ferret with bright amber eyes. 

Ren is also very neat and tidy dissimilar to Obi, who frequently leaves trash and her games scattered all over the place. Although he attempts to keep their house clean, it always ends up a mess either due to Obi or Ren accidentally setting himself on fire (a more common occurrence then you’d think).

In the end, Ren does care for Obi and thanks her constantly for saving his life, even though he wishes she’d just clean up for once in her life.

I ship Obi with Gaz because I like to think that Gaz would totally try to help her “git gud” at video games after watching her fail at Mario Kart eight times in a row. Obi would try to help Gaz become more tolerable to people and Gaz would help Obi toughen up since the Irken Invader, surprisingly, isn’t good at defending herself. Gaz would try to hide her feelings while Obi would just be completely obvious. The only one who can tell Gaz likes Obi is Ren since Dib would believe Gaz is under some type of Irken mind control and Zim would think that Obi is trying to steal his spot as ruler of Earth.

I can add some more later, but for now, I’m really tired :/

Thanks for listening to me ramble.

[under-jailbreak]

[1920s AU, Copia’s backstory]

...So, for the Ghost AU set in the late 1920s-early1930s that I will never get around writing (...actually more like a collection of random scenes heavily influenced by the fact my first exposure to Ghost was the Square Hammer video and the aesthetic hit me hard), here is a bit about Copia's (angsty) backstory, and his first encounter with III. (warning for deaths, and illness)

(...this is still a work in progress, I’m pretty much rambling on... ^^; )

(a note about names: in this AU Copia is actually the future cardinal's shortened surname. He's the last of his family, and he gave up his first name when he took the unholy vows. I'm still not one-hundred percent sure of III's name before he took the Papa title, but I feel like Nihil might have actually named his sons Primus, Secundus, and Tertius...)

Copia's family were farmers, living in a small hamlet (more like four scattered farmhouses) in the area of the Apennine Mountains (Appennino Pistoiese, to be more precise). He was the younger boy, and he was sent to study with the Salesian priests in Florence, where he was expected to become a priest too eventually. However after his brothers were drafted for the war and died on the battlefield, he went back home to help his family.

In the winter of 1918, when Copia was seventeen, the Spanish fever reached his village. The few families would gather together to spend the cold evenings in the bigger farmhouse, and in such conditions soon the fever spread and killed almost everybody. Copia was the last survivor, but he was infected as well, waiting to die like the rest. Furious at God for the fate of his family, yet resigned to share it.

Papa Emeritus I was traveling through Tuscany towards a Satanist abbey hidden in the mountains, escorted by Ghouls and accompanied by his youngest brother. A snowstorm struck, and III and a ghoul (a fire ghoul, very unhappy and very weakened because of the weather) got separated by the others and lost in the woods. After some wandering they arrived at the hamlet where Copia was the last person alive. Copia saw the lost strangers and immediately lit a lantern and went out in the snowstorm, as sick as he was, to call them and guide them to his home. When, once inside the house, he saw III's face, and the ghoul's mask, he thought those were demons come for his soul, damned after all his cursing God. Then one of the strangers, who except for the marks on his face looked like a kid around his age, started shaking and asking for something warm to drink, or a blanket at least, and the other curled up in front of the fire and dozed off, and Copia decided those two were probably not there to drag him to hell, so he fetched III a change of clothes and some soup.

They spent the rest of the day and following night in the farm, talking, while the storm raged on. Once he was out of danger of freezing to death, III was back to his usual chatty self. At first he replied to Copia's questions, but then, realizing how ill the other was he started rambling on, about himself, his brothers, his travels, the Ghouls, everything really... trying his best to distract Copia and keep him awake. And Copia, as weak and feverish as he now was, was comforted by this weird kid's presence. When he eventually wasn't able to keep his eyes open anymore he mumbled he wished he could keep on listening to him.

Seeing Copia losing consciousness, III started to panic. He had found a friend, and didn't want to lose him so soon. So, he did the one sensible thing he could think of. He called the Ghoul, and proceeded to attempt a ritual to give Copia the strength to overcome the sickness. Which involved giving him some of his demonic blood, by means of a magical transfusion.

The ritual worked, staving off the deadly fever, but among its side-effects, it mystically turned the Spanish fever symptoms into those of the plague, leaving Copia's body scarred by it. Copia even hallucinated walking in the street of a medieval city wrecked by the plague, among corpses, rats scuttling around.

The other side effect was his left eye changing color.  

In the morning, the storm calmed down, and Copia was sleeping peacefully, when ghouls searching for III arrived. Not wanting his brothers to find out what he did with the ritual, III decided it was better to leave immediately. He left his grucifix in Copia's hand, and went away. When Copia woke up, the fever but a memory, he found it, and remembered III's voice saying good-bye, like a memory in a dream.

He abandoned the farm, where nothing for him remained, went back to the school and the seminar, and threw himself into finding a connection to the Unholy Church. He had lost his faith in God, and that seemed to be the only way to meet III, the one who saved him, again. A couple of years later he moved to Turin, where after much searching and investigating he found an antiquarian bookshop whose owner was a Lucifer worshipper, and eventually she introduced him to others, and he took the vows. Through talent and hard work, Copia quickly made a career, rising to the rank of Cardinal, and eventually attracting the attention of Sister Imperator herself, who arranged to take him under her wing... as a potential paw in the rising conflict between Papa II and Papa Nihil.

So, when Copia and III, yet to be nominated Papa, finally met again in 1928 in New York, little did they know unseen powers were working to pit them against each other...

[spookyspaghettisundae]

Portrait of Emptiness, Part 1

So easy to die in this day and age, yet so difficult to take that final leap.

Magdalene stared over the edge of the roof. Four stories of height should do it. The cobblestones looked so tiny from up here. The people in the gray streets of Crimsonport went about their business, oblivious of the girl of fourteen winters and garbed in a dress that suggested a well-off upbringing. Then again, she paid little attention to them either. They would be shocked, and there would be a mess to clean. Her suicide would be one of many among those whose hearts had been claimed by melancholy, and life would move on without her.

And the things in the dark would continue on. With nobody left to stand in their way.

Her thoughts ran in circles. Everything seemed so hopeless. Johnn Von Brandt had been missing for a year now. For months, Nora Morrissey had been caged in a prison cell where she rotted away from all daylight and human contact. And shortly after Nora’s incarceration, good witch Agnes Letterford had been run out of town, her home and library burnt to the ground by an angry mob. Everybody else in this wretched city plodded along, oblivious of the creatures of the night, of the things that fed and feasted on their supple flesh and souls; ignorant of the wicked warlocks and sorcerers who preyed on the weak and the willing, sacrificing their blood in sinister rituals and conjuring ghosts and demons; helpless against the monsters in human form who enforced the law with an iron fist of tyranny or eroded society from the fringes.

The Red Coast drowned in its own blood as evil forces encroached on it from every side. Winters had grown longer every year, the mists more thick and stifling by the end of every season, and the nights darker with each cycle of the moon.

And while the land’s unsung heroes vanished into the night, one by one, here stood Magdalene, on the edge of the roof. Night after night of desperation—wanting for a sign from the heavens, praying for a miracle to empower her in a way that she may pick up where the others had left off.

This girl knew of fates worse than death. Transformations into bestial were-creatures, becoming a thrall or ghoul under the control of the ancient dead, insanity borne by tomes of sorcery dedicated to elder gods, or almost being bled dry or flayed while kept alive in the rituals of some lunatic. If one of the evils lurking out there claimed her, she would become what she feared and hated. But if she took control, took the leap—took her life—

But what if she found a way to fight them?

No amount of powder could conceal the black rings under her eyes, contrasted by her almost anemically pale face. Magdalene now almost looked like the animated porcelain doll that had tried to kill her a year prior. Not just sounds of scratching at her windowsills robbed her of sleep, but the way that doubt and fear and hopelessness clouded her every thought made her head spin even when she tried to lay down for the night.

She found no rest. Even after bouts of sleep that came after excessive amounts of exhaustion, she felt tired and sought the solitude of her own bed. Although still desperately holding onto that final glimmer of hope, the prospect of a final rest—one that she would author herself—grew more attractive every day that died, every bell that rang, every breath she took.

Church bells resounded in the distance as they announced evening arriving soon. Magdalene’s thoughts turned one shade darker as she sighed. She moved her right shoe till it hovered over the edge.

“No! Wait,” spoke a man behind her, sounding frantic.

Standing on one leg, turning her head, and seeing the city from this dizzying height all happened within the same split second. A second that was long enough to throw her off balance and send her careening over the edge of the roof.

She only glimpsed a head of tangled hair and raggedy clothing. A grimy hand covered in dark red spots reached out and grabbed her by the skirt of her dress. It tore loudly as her other foot slipped and she tumbled over the edge, but his other hand latched onto her forearm and gripped it like a vice until it hurt. The friction of the fabric between their skin burned with a new painful sensation.

He groaned and held onto Magdalene with all his might. He grabbed onto her arm with both hands. The fear of death enveloped her. She pawed at his arms and held onto him for her dear life.

She had not been ready to go this way, after all.

The man huffed and turned red in the face as he mustered all the strength in his gaunt frame. In one sudden rush of movement, he had braced against the window’s frame and dragged her back up onto the inclined rooftop. They fell back inside the confines of the hallway she had exited on the roof from. He groaned under her weight. She rolled off of him.

Once they had both regained their bearings, the conversation that followed took hours. Night fell, and they sat in the servant quarters until the overseer shouted at them and sent them running out of the house that neither of them belonged in.

Magdalene’s strange savior, Marcel, was a painter. The artist scraped by on meager earnings but managed to eke out a living with his trade. Being an eccentric orphan, he had no friends or family to fall back on when times got tough. However, he could afford some food, tools, and scraps to mend his clothing, and even something that passed as medicine if you believed in it enough. His entire appearance and choice of words suggested a difficult life on the edge. When he had seen her from the streets, he knew exactly what she was doing. Where she was—he had been there before.

In that same spot. In that exact same state of mind.

Both in the house they did not belong in, as well as in his humble abode on the edge of the docks and warehouse district, they spent hours that flew by. Time filled with laughter and mutual understanding.

Although Magdalene figured Marcel to be as oblivious as the rest of Crimsonport’s population about the creatures of the night and dark magick, his woes had led him to the same brink she had been teetering on for the past few months.

She sipped weak tea from a cup that could use better cleaning, but something about it comforted her. The combination of the heat warming her hands wrapped around it, the simplicity of Marcel’s spartan home that reminded her of Nora’s hut in the forest, and how she could relate to the young man and his plight of feeling alone and hopeless in the world, with few lights on the horizon to guide him.

Between sips, Magdalene asked him, “May I ask if I may spend the night here? The nights are terrifying in the streets. Unless you want to risk your life escorting me home.”

Ignoring her question and rambling even though she had spoken clear, he asked, “May I paint your portrait?”

Magdalene blinked and blushed.

“Yes. I mean, If you want to. Why would you want to paint my portrait?”

His gaze turned intense as he said, “There is a profound emptiness in your countenance.”

“Emptiness? That’s not exactly—flattering,” she replied and let the thought trail off after she had found the right word.

“I see myself in it. I see everyone in it. I see a natural beauty in your stoic face that rivals the still lifes of the greatest masters, and the end of all life when the pale rider takes all of creation in his icy grasp,” he said, passion ramping up in his voice with each beat.

A shiver ran down her spine. His choice of words betrayed knowledge not gained normally in a life like his.

He escorted her home before it got too late and earned her a scolding from her mother about keeping the company of such a “rat-boy” after Magdalene made brief introductions and he had left and disappeared into the foggy streets. She ignored her mother’s condescending words and worried about him, though the glimmer of hope in her heart told her that this would not be the last she saw of him.

The next days turned into a blur. She spent several of them in his shack, sitting on a simple stool with her hands folded and resting on her lap. He instructed her to stare out the window, and rays of sunlight shone in from there. As hours went by, her back would begin to ache and watching the motes of dust dance in the faint light before her left her to her thoughts.

She enjoyed Marcel’s company and their talks. He would tell her tales of a life that had no connection to the unnatural things out there. Of thefts, rumors, and crude jokes that she enjoyed a lot more than she cared to admit. She could tell how there was more to his life’s story than he would speak about, questions he would deflect with questions of his own, or by changing the subject. Marcel fascinated her.

But the silence between those conversations, when he sat down and he painted her portrait with a fierce, primal intensity she had only seen in one other person, her mind wandered to other places. Other worlds. Other realities, where she fantasized about how she might find Johnn, or a way to break Nora out of Crimsonport’s awful prison. She spent plenty of time contemplating if she should have Marcel accompany her and look out for her while she explored the ruins of Agnes’ home to see if any of the good witch’s spell-books had survived the fire.

As the week came to a close, she had contemplated every scenario in which she might obtain mystical power to overcome the weaknesses of the frail body she was born into and take the fight to the evils that ruled the Red Coast in secret.

All the while, Marcel never allowed her to see the portrait.

“Only when it is finished,” he promised. “You may only see the final piece. It has to rival your perfection.”

His flattery came not frequently but it always caught her off-guard. He was always earnest and passionate about it. When the week ended, his work outdid his words. When he showed her the painting, her heart stopped for a moment. Blood rushed into her head and the awe that filled her heart rendered her speechless. His portrait of her was beautiful. Every stroke, down to where she could see how single hairs of a brush rounded out the image; the entire composition was breathtaking and lifelike. She had never seen herself this way, in how he had somehow managed to capture the sadness that quieted her demeanor, yet with that spark of life and hope in the tiny reflection in her eyes. She looked empty in the portrait, like a canvas upon which anyone could project their own thoughts and melancholy, yet as serene and beautiful as the sun shining brightly on a bleak horizon.

Marcel sighed and misread her stunned silence, which he proved when he asked, “You hate it, do you not?”

Before she could respond, he made ready to grab the painting like someone prepared to throw trash out the window. She spent the next minutes assuring him that, on the contrary, the portrait amazed her. It was among some of the best artwork she had ever seen, and her mother had taken her to a few gallery displays before.

Her words convinced him to keep it—and not throw it out. Magdalene then spent the next days assuring him that he should share it with the world. Perhaps even sell it. She perceived the quality as so outstanding that he might fetch a fair amount of coin and recognition for it. Marcel’s stubborn refusals of just the thought of selling it impressed her even more, but their walks and talks that filled the next days lightened both their moods and turned him around.

The days grew longer and summer approached. Magdalene felt the sunshine more intensely than ever before. She could practically smell the life that rode along with it, and all the darkness and creatures that she knew of, directly or not, grew more distant with each and every day and night since she had met Marcel. Until they felt more like a distant, unpleasant dream.

He showed the portrait around. The painting impressed all the common folk, stunning and awing them alike. He gave it a name.

The Portrait of Emptiness.

Then he showed it to a wealthy aristocrat, and he offered Marcel a modest pouch of good coin to put it on display in an upcoming gallery. The gallery owner, Benjamin Narbrige, assured Marcel that this might be the opportunity of a lifetime. That, even should he refuse to sell his piece, he might find employment by some of the rich folk that beheld it.

Magdalene got Marcel to lend his painting to Mister Narbrige.

The gallery exposition was a resounding success. The Portrait of Emptiness garnered immense praise.

It also received harsh criticism, especially from Sir Leonard Styles. Marcel did not take well to the word of that when Mister Narbrige shared the response. He turned despondent, staring off into empty corners and was lost in his own thoughts. Magdalene spent a full day consoling Marcel and said that Styles must be a fool or jealous. Indeed, word had it that Styles was a failed artist turned critic. But none of these words mattered to Marcel.

“Portrait of Emptiness? Rather it be called Portrait of Blandness. The artist spent far too long obsessing over the presentation of a tired, uninspired motif we have seen four scores over. Hackneyed, pale imitations of Raynsford’s techniques and no substance, no soul to it,” were just some of the select words of Sir Styles’ scathing critique.

Marcel became reclusive and locked himself in his shack, not responding to Magdalene’s knocking for a full day. When he opened up the door to her the next day, she then saw herself in the mirror of his eyes—that same hollow, dying hope, that same desolation and despair, that same death wish she had carried in her soul right before they had met.

It scared her to see him like this.

He let her in and made her the same weak tea he often did, re-using the same leaves for days on end. Although she tried her best to cheer him up, even cracking a crude joke she had overheard from sailors laughing about on the way over, Marcel’s responses came out clipped and ended abruptly. Her attempts at making conversation with him were interrupted when Constable Vaughn Todd and two soldiers came knocking on Marcel’s door. According to the officer, Sir Styles had been found dead in his own home. In a locked room. Murdered under mysterious, inexplicable circumstances.

Any hope that Magdalene had built in these past weeks, any glimmer of hope that she might lead a semblance of a normal life, that the darkness might stay away—it died in that moment.

She had no control after all. She could feel it. While Constable Todd posed sternly-worded, probing questions to Marcel and one of the soldiers eyed Magdalene suspiciously during the interrogation, she knew that it had caught up to her. Her fingertips tingled and a strange numbness spread in her body, like she was beside herself.

The darkness walked with her. Always right beside her. Staring back into her soul whenever she looked into that dark abyss.

When Marcel said that he knew nothing of Sir Styles’ death and had had nothing to do with it, he furrowed his brow and locked eyes with the Constable. Just like whenever he changed the subject in his conversations with her or tried to belittle the difficulties in his past. She knew that expression by now.

She knew—Marcel was lying.

—Submitted by Wratts

[yatorihell]

In the Darkness Chapter 9 - The Library

Words: 4,838

Summary: Hiyori struggles with an assignment deadline as Christmas break draws to a close. Yato's unorthodox method of helping reveals the makings of a plot which will affect the entire school.

Previous chapter | First chapter

Thank you to @scarfblogs for beta-ing me!

Read on AO3

The holidays meant one thing for Hiyori: the library. Decked out in dusty tomes and darkened bookshelves, it was her favourite place to be. The golden lamplight and hidden corners of the library with their old scratched desks and worn chairs were a comfort. More recently, the small comfort it brought was overshadowed by her stress as she pawed over stacks of textbooks and parchment rolls.

Christmas break was nearly over, and amongst the practical classes and lazy days she had taken, she had completely forgotten about her ‘History of Magic’ homework. Being muggleborn, Hiyori certainly didn’t have the homefield advantage that the majority of her classmates had, years of knowledge ingrained into the lives of witches and wizards. Aimi and Yama weren’t around to offer support, their families taking breaks away for the holidays right up to the start of term. The castle ran as usual despite the lack of students, though most days the library would shut early and kick out the few students like her who were cramming late work.

Hiyori let out a huff of air, glancing out of the window. The sun had set hours ago. Any minute now, the librarian would come along and shoo her out of the library. She was barely anywhere close to finishing the assignment, let alone finding anything useful in the books she had pulled off the shelves. She hoped to interrogate Yukine about magic, but he always seemed reluctant and found some way to excuse himself.

I wonder if he’s actually done the homework, Hiyori thought bemusedly, letting the hardback cover of the book slam shut. Struggling under the weight, she lugged the books back to their section of the library and watched in fascination as each book floated out of her hand and slotted back into its place. Simple things like these were something she would never get used to.

Hiyori navigated through the maze of shelves, bidding goodnight to the librarian who had begun snuffing out the candlewicks and packing away misplaced scrolls. The quiet of the empty hallway sent a chill through Hiyori, the darkness uninviting and ominous. The ghosts of the castle were friendly, but who knew what other unknown creatures existed in this school?

Her footsteps echoed in the cavernous space, accompanied by nothing but silence. A few torches remained lit to light the way for students before curfew began; the moonlight hidden by grey clouds gave no illumination to her surroundings. The crevices and archways seemed more suspicious, as if harbouring ghouls or demons who silently crept after her only to melt back into the shadows the moment she looked around.

Hiyori could feel eyes on her. She knew it, but she hardly dared to look around. A quick motion ahead made her attention snap to the dim pathway ahead, alert and slightly terrified. Stock still, her eyes combed the shadows looking for some kind of sign of life – or death. Squinting, she was sure she could make out a figure lurking on the corner of the corridor, fast pressed into the darkness. Watching her.

Hiyori took a tentative step backwards, not wanting to flee too fast that it might entice whatever was waiting for her to give chase.

“What are you doing up past curfew?” A deep voice behind her made Hiyori shriek out loud, nearly jumping out of her skin. The presence she felt behind her told her that some sort of phantom – or teacher – had caught her out and about. Surely it wasn’t curfew already?! was the first thought that popped into Hiyori’s head rather than her possibly impending doom.

Hiyori spun around, fists raised in preparation for a fight with whatever was going to attack her next in this holiday break. Chocolate mice, chocolate frogs, what next, a chocolate demon?

Rather than anything sweet, she found Yato’s sour expression as he looked at her small clenched fists and underwhelming fierceness.

“Are you going to punch me or what?” His voice was somewhat impatient seeing as he hadn’t received an answer for his previous question. Hiyori blinked at him before a rush of breath she hadn’t realised she was holding escaped her.

“Oh my god, Yato,” Hiyori said, her fists relaxing as they dropped to her sides. “Don’t creep up on people like that!”

Yato looked stricken, his hands risen to his chest as if personally offended by the remark.

“Me? Creeping? That’s absurd!” he leisurely shoved his hands in his pockets with a grin, Hiyori’s agitated expression not changing. “I’m just taking a stroll on this fine evening.”

Hiyori ignored his protests, turning away for a second to looking further down the hall to check the shadow. Gone. Yato craned his neck over to peer over the top of her head, nosing at what she was searching for before she turned back around.

“Whaccha doin’?” he asked casually.

“Going back to the dorm,” Hiyori replied, shifting restlessly as curfew was approaching. “so, bye.”

Hiyori began walking down the corridor, wary of the area where she had seen… whatever she had seen. Yato followed after her, a small reassurance that she wasn’t alone even if it meant she had to put up with his natter until she got back to the tower.

“I’m surprised you aren’t already taking another nap,” Yato teased, bringing back the embarrassing memory from a few days ago that Hiyori had tried to forget. Waking up on the floor, a pillow tucked under her head as if she had been put to bed like a child (even if she was one). Yato and Yukine were practically asleep on each other, curled up on the sofa as sunlight seeped into the room. Hiyori teased them for it, calling them ‘cute’ and ‘adorable when they slept,’ much to both of their annoyance. But with a wicked exchange of grins the pair had seemed to have come up with a retaliation.

‘You drooled.’ Yukine had admitted, feigning embarrassment on her part.

‘I’ve never heard anyone snore as loud as you,” Yato had chimed in, faking a yawn as if he had barely gotten a wink of sleep, ‘or sleep talk. Who’s Jerome?”

Hiyori had tried to debunk their ‘revelations’ but they only talked louder, smirking as they made up more and more ridiculous facts about her sleeping habits.

Thinking back on their taunts, Hiyori kept a frosty silence which made Yato grin, knowing he had succeeded in winding her up. It was kinda funny the way she would try to ignore him, her paces trying to outmatch his.

“Where are you coming back from?” he asked, changing the topic for the sake of keeping the conversation alive.

“Library.”

“Why bother doing work when it’s the holidays?” Yato asked. He certainly didn’t work during holidays.

“Unlike you, some of us care about our grades,” was Hiyori’s short reply. She turned left at the end of the corridor, hoping that Yato was going in the other direction. He wasn’t.

Yato scrunched his nose. She really was annoyed at him. Oh well, no point stopping now.

“And in all this free time you haven’t finished it?” he asked. It was nearly January now, so they’d been on break for a few weeks. “What subject?”

“…History of Magic.”

“That’s easy!” Yato proclaimed but was quickly shot down by an icy look from Hiyori.

“Have you forgotten that I only started believing in magic a few months ago?”

Yato hmm-ed, tilting his head to the side as if to say: ‘Fair point’.

“Pretty much everyone grew up with magic in their lives but me, so they know all about these people we’re learning about.” Hiyori continued, her paces had slowed down a bit as she decided to vent her frustration about the seemingly unfair assignment.

“I know nothing about magic history. My friends aren’t here to help and Yukine won’t tell me.”

Yato gave her a sidelong long, finding her attention had wandered off as she began to stress over her predicament again.

“You haven’t asked me for help.” He said pointedly.

“You hardly do your own work; I found that out when Kazuma had a go at you back in November,” Hiyori replied, a wry smile playing on her lips as she remembered the comical exchange between the two of them. “If you don’t do your own work then why would you help me.”

Yato looked wounded. “You don’t know that!”

Hiyori shook her head slightly, the smile fading from her mouth. “Besides, the library has a whole section on history.”

Yato nodded once, contemplating the benefits. The factual content of the library was unparalleled to what he could provide. Hiyori rambled on, the resounding of their footsteps faintly heard over her voice.

“But there’s too much to read, and the library keeps shutting earlier and earlier because no one uses it.”

“Well, just borrow the books.” Yato said - the obvious answer, as it was a library. Hiyori shook her head once again.

“They’re library bound; I can’t take them out of their section.”

“Wel-l-l-l,” Yato weighed up the remaining options: copy someone else, flunk the work, or…

“Sneak in.”

Hiyori scoffed at the suggestion, but Yato was completely serious, waiting for her response.

“Firstly, that’s not allowed, and secondly,” Hiyori stopped short. They had reached the staircase which led to Gryffindor Tower, meaning Yato would have to vanish downstairs to the dungeons where Slytherin quarters were. If he actually stayed there, Hiyori thought briefly, recalling the cosy space of the study area which served as a hidey-hole before finishing her question. “How would I?”

Yato smirked.

“Firstly, it’s ok if no one knows, and secondly,” Yato paused for dramatic effect before jabbing his thumb at his own chest. “I’ll break you in.”

Hiyori raised an eyebrow at his confident declaration. “And how do you propose to do that?”

Yato waved his hand, dismissing the question to leave an air of mystery. “Just meet me at midnight at One-Eyed Carl.”

“One-Eyed what?”

“One-Eyed Carl. Gargoyle. Lovely fellow. First floor corridor before the library corridor.”

“Yato, I can’t just –” Hiyori began to protest the ridiculous idea. There was no way she could make it to the library unnoticed. Yato shushed her but it sounded more like a hiss with the intensity of it.

“You want to do your work, correct?”

“Yes but –” Hiyori tried to argue but was quieted once again by Yato’s interjection.

“I will help you with your work. One time offer.” Yato’s voice was low, as if someone were listening into their conversation. What a travesty it would be if someone heard that Yato was going to actually study, even more so that it wasn’t for himself. “Call it a Christmas present.”

Yato turned and began walking away, leaving Hiyori at the bottom of the staircase. Raising a hand in farewell, Yato called out before Hiyori could cancel the plan.

“Midnight.”

~

Luckily for Hiyori, the Fat Lady was not guarding the portrait hole when she crept out at 11:53PM to rendezvous with Yato. A quick glance at the other portraits told her that she wasn’t being watched as the majority of paintings were sleeping or missing. The knight, who could often be heard berating students for being out so late, was also missing from his frame. For a moment, Hiyori entertained the idea that he and the Fat Lady had snuck off somewhere more private.

Only when she had let the door shut quietly did she realise that she had no idea how she would get back in without the guard. Even if the Fat Lady had returned by the time she was finished, she would be reprimanded for breaking the rules. With nothing else to do, Hiyori had no choice but to shoulder her satchel and follow through with this outrageous plan.

Her steps were catlike as she trotted down the staircase, her fluffy socks masking any giveaway that she was breaking curfew. Although curfew remained enforced, the nightly patrols of teachers had temporarily ceased due to the lack of students, making it much more unlikely for her to be collared by a professor for being out so late. Still, Hiyori dared not walk in the centre of the hallways, choosing to keep to the shadows in case she would have to conceal herself quickly from someone.

The familiar yet distorted first floor corridor came into sight, the effigies on the wall glaring at her accusingly as if they knew she was going to do something wrong. Of these statues was a gargoyle with one cycloptic eye, perched on the corner of the first-floor corridor and the library which remained dark and quiet.

Hiyori looked around. There was no sign of Yato yet, so Hiyori stood patiently under One-Eyed Carl.

One minute.

Two minutes.

Five minutes.

Hiyori dug her nails into her palms worriedly, anxiety kicking in as she stood alone in the gloomy archway. Was he playing a trick? Make her come all the way here and get in trouble when she tried to go home? Hiyori glanced at her watch. Stepping out into the dim light, she slowly turned on her heel and looked in both directions.

The halls remained empty, but she could hear footsteps even though there were no shadowy figures thrown across the walls to tell her that someone was coming. Her imagination? Her ears pricked slightly, listening but unable to pinpoint the source drawing closer and closer. Hiyori’s head snapped from one side to the other, not knowing where to look or if something indeed was coming for her this time round.

A low, agonising groan rippled through the air on Hiyori’s right. She squeaked and spun around, hand clutching the strap of her bag tightly and eyes wide. Nothing's there, Hiyori reasoned with herself, it’s an old castle, it’s just the wind. It’s just Nearly Headless Nick complaining about the Headless Hunt again. It’s nothing, it’s nothing, it’s –.

“BOO!” a sharp voice came from behind her as two hands seized her shoulders and pulled her backwards. Hiyori tried to scream but her voice escaped her, her throat tightening in fear.

The grip loosened on her shoulders, leaving Hiyori to stumble forward and whirl around to see what phantom was about to pounce. The space in front of her was momentarily vacant until, from nowhere, a tuft of black hair emerged, followed by blue eyes and a Cheshire-cat-like grin. Yato.

Hiyori opened and closed her mouth, completely speechless at the head floating right in front of her. If Yato hadn’t shifted his – blanket? – to reveal the rest of his body, Hiyori might’ve fainted from the sight of the seemingly levitating severed head.

“How did you do that?!” was the only thing that popped out of Hiyori’s mouth, too amazed to berate him for his prank. Yato shifted the cloth, holding it over his arm to display the swirled pattern of the fabric.

“Invisibility cloak,” he said proudly, “a trusted way to get around unnoticed.”

Hiyori gazed at the cloak in admiration. Invisibility, Hiyori marvelled, that’s handy…

“Get under.” Yato’s abrupt instruction snapped her back to reality. He wrapped the cloak around himself, holding it open so that there would be space for her to join him. Hiyori looked at him doubtfully, a hint of hesitation clouding her expression. Yato sighed.

“Do you want to do this or not?”

Hiyori certainly wasn’t going to turn back after all of this – her stubbornness was not going to allow Yato to get the better of her. After all, he was helping her. Hiyori ducked under the cloak, taking a side of it to hold up before they both fell into a steady walking pace. The material felt like water under her fingers, translucent and making her feel as if she weren’t completely part of the real world.

The window of the library’s oak door was dark, showing that the librarian and students had left long ago. Yato pulled his wand from his pocket, tapping it on the lock before chanting ‘Alohomora’. With a gentle click the mechanism unlocked. Yato turned the doorknob, pushing the door open with a creak.

They fumbled through the darkness, Hiyori leading them in the general direction of where she had been studying earlier that day. The previously dark corner was now washed with moonlight, spilling onto the desk and gently lighting the surroundings.

Yato pulled the cloak off them before tossing it onto one of the chairs. Hiyori began unpacking her bag as Yato walked a short distance away, searching for something to give them more light. Hiyori shuddered, wishing she had at least worn a jacket as she padded over to the bookcases and pulled her usual textbooks off the shelf.

When she returned with an armful of books, Yato was lighting a candelabra with his wand as if it were a matchstick. Yato looked over his shoulder at her before turning back to the wicks.

“Got enough?”

“Yeah.” Hiyori dropped the books on the desktop, nearly knocking the candles over and possibly causing the greatest loss of knowledge by fire.

Sitting opposite each other, they hefted a book each in front of them and began flicking through them. Yato scowled at the index, scanning the contents.

“What are you studying anyway?” Yato asked, already losing interest as he propped his chin up with his hand.

“The last thing is the Werewolf Code of Conduct,” Hiyori murmured, not looking up as she jotted something down, “and the founding of Hogwarts.”

Yato hmm-ed, dragging his finger down the page thoughtfully. Nothing about it here. He shoved the book to the side, picking up another and repeating the process. Two, three, four books. Seated in studious silence, the pair scanned their books, offering the occasional comment on information they had found and sharp scratched of quill on parchment. After an hour, Hiyori set her quill down and began reading what she had scribbled down.

“The Werewolf Code of Conduct was a set of rules created by the British Ministry of Magic in 1637. It outlined the responsibilities of werewolves, which suggested that they would lock themselves away on the full moon to prevent themselves from attacking. This Code was a failure as no one registered due to the stigma surrounding those who were werewolves.”

Yato had closed his eyes and rested his head back, but gave a definite nod at the work. Hiyori set down the paper and yawned, stretching her arms over her head. The moon had shifted, its light blocked out by the turrets of the castle, but the candles still gave a warm glow as wax melted down and began to drip on the table top.

Hiyori gathered the books, returning them to their designated shelves before returning with even more: a collection of books about Hogwarts. The slam of books being dropped made Yato’s eyes fly open, his near-sleep stupor vanishing as he blinked at the books.

“Seriously?” he whined, flipping the cover of the top book open with a finger as if it were dangerous. “You don’t need these books. Don’t you have ‘Hogwarts: A History’ on your first-year check list?”

Hiyori had already begun taking notes from one of the scrolls she had stacked up beside her. With one word, she justified her choice of books: “Muggleborn.”

Yato arched an eyebrow. “Wizard.”

Hiyori glanced up at him, puzzled at what he was trying to say.

“All wizards are taught about Hogwarts before they go. We spend our lives knowing about the history and classes; friends and family who’ve attended, the Daily Prophet and their usual slander about the Headmasters.”

Hiyori leant back in her chair, looking at him with a critical gaze. She couldn’t say he was lying, because truthfully, she didn’t know if he was. He knew much more about magic than her, so it would only be natural for him to know about the school.

“So,” Yato leaned forward on his elbows, arms crossed on the table as his plan to get out of more reading was slowly working. “Ask a wizard.”

Hiyori tapped her fingers on the desk and chewed her lip. It would be much quicker to ask someone than search for answers herself. No harm in testing his knowledge.

“Ok,” Hiyori said, dipping her quill into her inkpot, “When was Hogwarts founded?”

“Around about the 10th century; no one knows for sure,” Yato shot back confidently.

“Why was Hogwarts founded?”

“For children with magical abilities to enrol.”

“Who founded it?”

Yato smirked, the answer glaringly obvious. “You should at least know that.”

Hiyori looked at him, slightly annoyed that he wanted her to ask him and now he had changed his mind. She frowned at the page, trying to recall what she already knew.

“Godric Gryffindor, Helga Hufflepuff…” Hiyori muttered under her breath before jotting the names down. She brought the tip of the feathered quill to her lip. Ravenclaw… Rowan? Rowanna? Rowena! She added the name to the list. One more. Slytherin.

Hiyori glanced at Yato who had cupped his chin with his hand, watching her struggle.

“Ssss-Saaalad Slytherin?” she said hopefully. Yato snorted, his face breaking into a grin which he couldn’t mask.

“The famous Salad Slytherin, son of Iceberg and Beetroot Slytherin.”

“Don’t mock me! I nearly had it!” Hiyori protested between laughs which rang out in the quiet of the library. “Ok, what’s his name.”

“Salad.”

“Yato!”

“No, it’s Salad.” Yato grinned a bit more before giving her a proper answer, lest he be hexed.

“Salazar.”

“What did these founders value in their students?”

“You should know what your values are.” Yato said lazily, losing interest in the mundane questions which were simple to him, yet new to Hiyori. Hiyori’s face was devoid of any annoyance or amusement, clearly done with the Slytherin’s smart replies to her questions.

“Gryffindor is courage and bravery,” she started, her confidence diminishing as she tried to think about the qualities of the people she had met from other houses. “Hufflepuff is… hard-working?”

Yato nodded once, “Patience and loyalty, too.”

Hiyori noted the comment. “Ravenclaw is intelligence.”

“Obviously.”

“Slytherin is…” Hiyori paused. Whatever she said would give Yato an idea of what she thought of him. Cunning? Rudeness? Sarcasm? He certainly had all of these traits. Instead, Hiyori played dumb.

“There’s too many, I don’t know which one Salizard valued.”

“Salazar,” Yato corrected her, “he valued pure…”

Yato shut his mouth quickly. This was not a good topic to get onto, especially considering how she screamed at him for not being accepted by certain purebloods in his own house. Hiyori noticed the change in his demeanour as he avoided answering, the silence drawing out.

“Pure…?” Hiyori echoed, wanting to hear the rest of the sentence. Yato looked away, crossing his arms over his chest before quietly answering.

“He only wanted pureblood students. Non-muggleborn.”

The silence that followed was even worse than any they had before. Yato tried to lighten the situation as Hiyori softly scratched the words onto her parchment.

“That was years ago. Attitudes have changed,” he said in a somewhat reassuring voice, but Hiyori’s low response caught him off-guard.

“Not all of them.”

Yato looked back at her, her hair masking her expression as she hunched over writing that she wasn’t wanted by the founder of the school. The incident with the bullies after the stunt he pulled with the arm sling was freshly re-lived in his mind for a second.

“Has anything happened since… y’know…” he asked awkwardly. He’d never checked if they continued after his threat. Hiyori finished writing, raising her head and meeting his eyes levelly.

“No.”

Yato nodded.

“Good.”

A brief silence followed. Yato looked out the window once more, the sky showing no signs of lightening yet as Hiyori asked her final question.

“What is Hogwarts’ motto and its meaning?”

“Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus,” Yato replied.

Hiyori gave him a questioning look. How the hell was she meant to know what it means, let alone spell it? Sensing this, Yato plucked the quill from her hand and scribbled the words down for her on a scrap of paper.

Hiyori stared it for a moment, letting the phrase soak in as she tried to decipher it with her rudimentary knowledge of Latin.

“Dragon…” Hiyori let the word draw out, hoping Yato would step in and enlighten her as he usually did.

“Never tickle a sleeping dragon,” Yato said, shuffling in his seat restlessly. He’d had enough of the library, and History of Magic was the most mundane subject he could think of.

Hiyori quickly noted it down before saying, “That’s a weird phrase. Muggle schools tell us to ‘persevere’ or ‘aim higher’.”

“It’s practical,” Yato shrugged as he justified the quote. “Basically ‘let sleeping dogs lie’.”

Hiyori hummed, accepting the odd but true phrase before tapping the nib of her quill on the edge of her inkpot. With a blow on the paper to dry the ink, she leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms high above her head.

“All done.”

“About time.”

Yato pushed his chair out and stood idly, letting Hiyori pack her things and put the books away. He draped the invisibility cloak over his shoulders and contemplated whether it was worth scaring Hiyori again. Better not, he thought. We’re actually getting along like friends now.

Yato waited, the quiet footsteps from a few shelves away telling him Hiyori was on her way and ready to go. He would have to walk her back to her dorm under the cloak; the Fat Lady wouldn’t know it was Hiyori who was out so late. Hiyori rounded the corner, nearly jumping at the half-formed body in front of her until Yato held it open once again. She slipped in next to him, allowing him to drape it over their whole bodies and began walking at an even pace through the aisles.

Whispers.

Yato noticed the whispers first, but it was too late as they both rounded the borderline close to the restricted area. Two figures – teachers – were huddled in the shadows and dust of the books, a single lamp casting shadows on their sharp features. Takemikazuchi – the potions master who seemed to have a particular spite for Yato, and Kuguha – who seemed to take joy in treating Hiyori with a particular malice.

Hiyori nearly squeaked at the sudden appearance of these intruders in the library (despite being one herself) but she stopped short. Yato’s hand gripped her arm, silently telling her to stop walking as the pair before them both turned at the sound of their footsteps.

Hiyori dared not breathe as Kuguha’s eyes narrowed, as if he knew they were there and were searching for some kind of chink in their invisible armour. Apparently he didn’t find one, as Takemikazuchi grabbed his sleeve and forced him to look back at him.

“The vault heist went as planned –”

Hiyori felt a chill run down her spine as if something menacing were behind her. She quietly turned her head to look over her shoulder. Through the filmy mesh she could see shadows, but the smallest, half tucked in the columns, caught her attention. Almost human-like.

Though it might have been a trick of the dark, Hiyori felt uneasy.

“That stone is –”

Yato was still listening intently to the conversation between the two men, paying no attention to Hiyori’s urgently shaking his arm. He raised his hand in a motion for silence.

“Nicolas Flamel is –”

“Yato…!” she hissed, instantly regretting it as her anxiety had projected her voice more than she intended.

Yato quickly clamped his hand her mouth, half-dragging her closer to him as both men turned in their direction. He tucked themselves around the corner of the bookshelves out of sight – despite the invisibility cloak already doing that for them – Hiyori still pressed close to his side.

Yato intently tried to listen to what Kuguha had continued to say, but Hiyori's angry mumbling threatened to expose them before he could find out what was in that vault. Yato leant close to her ear, a hushed whisper escaping his lips as he gently removed his hand from her mouth and turned back to where Kuguha and Takemikazuchi were talking.

“… in the Chamber.”

Whatever Takemikazuchi had been saying was lost to Yato thanks to Hiyori’s interruption. Their meeting seemed to have adjourned, and Takemikazuchi swept past them, dark robes billowing as his footsteps rang throughout the vast emptiness of the library. Kuguha, however, was heading into the restricted section and vanished out of sight within moments.

Hiyori released a shaky breath.

“What was that about?” she asked, but Yato wasn’t listening. The cogs in his mind had begun to turn.

Gringotts. Vault 717. Nicolas Flamel. A stone. His stone? A chamber. What chamber? Not that Chamber. Truth, myth, it blurred into one thought, one idea, one plan. But what was it?

After a moment Yato shook his head. Best not to tell Hiyori about what he was thinking, or what he knew.

“No idea.”

[sole-lily]

Sole Survivor Fanfiction #5 - After the Memories

Lily sighed, her breath tinged with the scent of bourbon as it rolled from her lips. It had been but a few hours prior, when she and Nick had delved into the memories of the mercenary Kellogg. She had learned far more about her husband’s killer, and her child’s kidnapper, than she ever thought she would. More than she was comfortable with, really. Now she and Nick sat in The Third Rail, contemplating their next move. They had to head to the Glowing Sea... It was quite the deadly task ahead of them. So for tonight, they drank. They had earned it, after all. 

Nick sipped from a small glass of bourbon, occasionally taking drafts from a cigarette. Lily was beginning to become accustomed to the smell of smoke and found that it actually brought her a slight sense of comfort. It was something she felt whenever she was in the synth’s presence, which lately, had been a constant. Something she certainly wasn’t complaining about. Yet tonight, her mind felt far heavier than it had been before. She had witnessed the death of her husband all over again, and learned that Kellogg was not exactly the heartless monster she so desperately wanted him to be. Her owlish, grey eyes fell on Nick, and she gazed at him while swimming through her thoughts, without fully realizing that she was staring off into space. 

It was inevitable, then, that Nick should meet her gaze. His brow quirked, and he pulled his cigarette from his lips, “What? What’s on your mind?” He asked, which snapped the woman from her trance. 

“Just... a long day.” She replied, shaking her head as if trying to clear it. A hopeless effort, really.

“I know...” He murmured, with a sigh. His glass clinked on the bar as he set it down, and turned to face her better. “Do you want to talk about what we saw?” Nick asked, with a gentle tone. 

Lily hesitated. Part of her felt it was easier just to brush it off, bottle it up... But she knew that wouldn’t make things hurt any less, and talking... talking might. Nick simply had that way about him, where he could pull words from people’s throats, and make them confess to anything. “Well..” She sighed, and turned on her stool as well, to look directly at him. 

“It’s just... I want to hate him. I do hate him. But I wanted to hate him blindly. I never wanted to know that he’d had a family, gone through what I had. That he actually had some redeeming qualities about him, however small they were in comparison to his crimes. When I was in there... And I saw his daughter...” She paused, her voice having crackled somewhat.

“When I saw his daughter...” She tried again, her voice steadier this time. “I felt... bitterness, anger, jealousy... guilt, pity, sympathy. Just a complete trainwreck of emotions. He had lost his child... I know that having gone through that first hand, I’d never wish to inflict that upon anyone. But he obviously didn’t feel the same, when he tore Shaun from my husband’s arms... And yet, he still knew how it felt, even if it didn’t change his actions. He understood love and loss...” 

Lily rambled and then shook her head. She couldn’t make sense of her thoughts. It seemed to her as though she was grabbing random words from the mess in her brain, and attempting to stitch them all together. 

“I understand...” Nick murmured, his voice just low enough for only Lily to hear over the din of the bar, and Magnolia’s singing. “Confronting the person who caused you so much pain, who was your introduction into the Commonwealth... Your introduction into this post-war wasteland... I wouldn’t blame you if anger is what’s been keeping you going. That, and your need to find your son, of course.” 

Lily nodded her head, but no more words came. In that moment, she looked smaller and more defeated than Nick had ever seen her. Exhausted. A look many people these days wore, but it was different on her. Her reality had been completely altered into a radiation fueled hellscape. A hellscape where she had to fight to survive, often kill to keep her life. She looked at the world with disappointment in her eyes, the kind of disappointment that only Nick and any pre-war ghouls could really recognize. The disappointment of knowing what the world was, and that it would never be that way, again. 

He leaned forward and placed his good hand on her shoulder. “We’re going to find him. It’ll be okay.” He assured her. 

Lily nodded her head and eventually met his glowing yellow eyes with her own pale ones. For the first time in a few days, she offered him a smile. It was small, but genuine. “Hey, Nick... You got a light?” She asked him quietly, as she dug in her pocket for a cigarette of her own. 

“Of course.” Nick laughed, with warmth in his voice. With one hand still on her shoulder, he dug in his trenchcoat pocket with the other and leaned forward to light the cigarette which was now balanced between the former-vault dweller’s lips.