#cat: magical cordial

[lurking-lilibeth]

Samantha Weir's (nee Cordial) family is next, starting the rotation before the sun is up.

A brief recap:

Samantha is a neutral witch and a doctor, and she is married to Connor Weir, a somewhat unlucky (but not enough to get the "unlucky" trait) architect.

Their daughter Liara is a long-awaited, much beloved child. She takes mostly after her father in her appearance and personality, being pretty grumpy and clumsy. Liara is very attached to the family's-

-witch housekeeper, Clara Simons.

The family has two cats: Magical (ginger) and Hatter (brown and gray).

The money is tight, so everyone who is able to work, does. Even Clara took on extra work outside of the house.

Stats:

Samantha: knowledge / family aries: 5/3/6/7/7 charismatic, mooch, night owl, animal lover, hopeless romantic LTW: have 20 simultaneous best friends +cooking skill, +creativity skill, -zombiism OTH: tinkering career: medicine supernatural creature: neutral witch partner: Connor Weir

Connor: family / knowledge cancer: 5/5/3/8/4 vehicle enthusiast, grumpy, schmoozer, heavy sleeper, coward LTW: have 6 grandchildren +jewelry, +black hair, -chubby OTH: games career: architecture partner: Samantha Weir

Liara: sagittarius: 5/5/9/8/1 grumpy, light sleeper, clumsy OTH: sports

Clara: wealth / grilled cheese gemini: 4/7/8/3/3 mooch, never nude, light sleeper, angler, schmoozer LTW: own 5 top-level businesses +swimwear, +logic skill, -brown hair OTH: sports career: adventure; live-in housekeeper

Hatter: cat male hooman: Samantha personality: 1/2/1/1/3 career: service

Magical: cat female hooman: Samantha personality: 1/2/3/1/2 career: show biz

[bluesylveon2]

LOVE (Ace Trappola x Yuu/Reader)

Summary: Four instances in Ace's life where he starts to view Yuu/Reader more than a friend

Note: Inspired by "L O V E" by Michael Buble, set in canon, mention of another magic school, the first years teasing Ace, and fluff. This all happened because I saw some aceyuu posts

Edit: made some minor edits!

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: fem Yuu/reader, not beta read, some cursing, cringey teenage boy stuff, and possible ooc characters

Masterlist: here

L is for the way you look at me

Chaos. 

All around Ace was chaos. 

Riddle's cackle resonated throughout the rose garden; other Heartslabyul members threw spells left and right, and blot was everywhere. Everyone's eyes were set on the Heartslabyul housewarden. However, Ace had something else in mind. 

"Look out!" Was all Yuu heard before a familiar figure tackled her to the ground. The stray spell that would have hit her landed on a rosebush instead. 

Ace protectively held Yuu as they tumbled in the dirt. The redhead pivoted his body so he protected Yuu from the ground. 

"Are you okay?" Ace frantically asked, letting his hands wander to search for any injuries. 

"I'm fine," Yuu coughed and got off of Ace. "You need to go and stop Riddle. I'll find Grim and-"

"Are you insane?!" Ace yelled. "I am not letting you fend for yourself, and Grim is still new to magic. I'm your best bet here."

"Ace…" Yuu said in a warning tone. She started to move but was stopped by someone grabbing her wrist. She yelped as Ace pulled her towards him and held her protectively. 

"We are getting out of this together, whether you like it or not. Stay behind me, and don't lose me," Ace said, looking into Yuu's eyes with determination. To this day, Ace still could not explain what happened to him. All he knew was that he wanted to protect Yuu. 

A few seconds of silence passed until Yuu let out a sigh. "Fine but don't let me die."

Ace grabbed Yuu's and squeezed it.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Yuu."

O is for the only one I see

The cafeteria was loud with chatter as the students discussed the female student representatives of an all-girls academy coming to visit NRC because of Crowley's way to "strengthen relations with other institutions." It was no secret that a school full of boys would not talk about it. Especially when the only female on campus was the local school therapist, lived in a worn down dorm, and had a cat monster. 

"Did anyone get a glimpse of the girls visiting today?" Epel asked as he cut his apple. It was lunchtime, and the first-year group ate at their unofficial but official table. 

"Yeah, Big Brother was so nervous during his part of the tour that I ended up leading it for him," Ortho sighed with a downward look on his face. 

"I'm surprised by how cordial Leona was with them," Jack admitted. "I understand Leona's kingdom respects ladies, but seeing him do a 180 is weird."

"Speaking of, has anyone seen Yuu? She needs to come down to eat," Ace took a bite out of his sandwich, his eyes scanning for the Prefect. 

"She's currently providing her portion of the tour since the Headmaster insisted Ramshackle goes after Diasomnia." Sebek's voice brought Ace back to the table. "Then she will eat there with the guests with food catered by the campus ghosts. At least that's what Waka-sama told me." 

"Good, at least the Headmaster did something right for once.” Jack nodded as he and Sebek shared an unspoken agreement. "She should save herself from these guys." His ears flickered from an unpleasant conversation he did not want to hear. 

"I'll say," Deuce joined in. "You should've seen some girls keep staring at Ace, asking him questions and stuff when I was right there!" He glared at Ace. "That was not cool, man."

"You're just jealous that you don't have the rizz to pull a girl."

"Why you!" Deuce grabbed Ace's collar. 

"Would you date one of them, though? If you got the chance?" Epel asked. Deuce froze and let go of Ace, eying him curiously. Silence filled the table, minus the background noise from the other students. 

"Me? I'm good with not dating anyone yet. 'Sides, I'm already busy looking after Yuu a lot." Ace laughed, but no one joined him. Instead, they looked at him with shock. "What? Was it something I said?"

"Well…" Epel said, his eyes flickering to anyone but Ace. "That's not what we expected."

Ace raised a brow. "What did you expect?"

The first years looked at each other, unsure how to respond, until Sebek slammed his fist against the table. "Human! You should put away this silly nonsense and eat! I cannot have a weak human beside me. It will embarrass Waka-sama!"

"Geez, I didn't even start it." Ace rolled his eyes and took another bite of his food. 

Those girls were not even his type anyway. Who needs them? He would rather spend time in Yuu's company as friends than have a repeat of his last relationship. 

At least, that's what Ace tried to tell himself. 

V is very, very extraordinary

"And so, the Ice Queen found love between her and her sister. Their sisterly love thawed the ice out of her kingdom, thus solving any crisis before it could become an eternal winter.” Professor Trein closed his textbook and eyed the class. “Does anyone have any questions?"

Ace held back a laugh as Yuu's hand went up in eagerness. Luckily for him, Deuce remained fast asleep during the lecture. 

"Yes, Yuu?"

"And what happened to the brave princess? Did she ever find her own happy ending?" 

"Yes, she did. Even though she did not have magic, the princess defeated her wicked fiance and then…" Ace ignored the rest of Professor Trein's ramblings and glanced over at Yuu, who was focused on writing a book full of notes. 

Despite being magicless and from another world, Yuu was interested in nonmagical courses such as History and Alchemy. In fact, she had a higher grade in those courses compared to ADeuce.

Ace watched as Yuu asked yet another question regarding the two sisters. An amused smile formed on his face. 

If Yuu had magic, she could be like the Ice Queen. Then again, she is more like the sister. Energetic, blunt, awkward, has a nice smile-

Wait. 

Ace shook his head and cringed. Since when did he care about her smile? What kind of guy thinks about those things? 

The bell rang as Ace battled his internal thoughts, unaware of Deuce waking up beside him. 

"Is it time to go already?" Deuce asked and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. 

Yuu walked up the steps to join the duo while holding Grim in her arms. 

"That lecture was so interesting! To think that love was the solution for a kingdom all along." Ace watched Yuu's eyes light up as she shared her thoughts about the lecture. The smile on her face reminded Ace of the sun. "Ace, what did you think about the lecture?"

"I think your smile is cringe," the redhead blurted out, causing Yuu to stop and Deuce and Grim to facepalm. 

Yuu stared at Ace in confusion. "Uhh, okay? Your smile is cringey, too, I guess?" The poor girl was lost. Since when did this become a topic?

Ace was beating himself up mentally while Yuu's attention turned to Grim, who was demanding for some tuna. 

"Way to go, dude," Deuce whispered, elbowing Ace's side. "Way to show how much rizz you got there."

"Shut up, Juice!"

E is even more than anyone that you adore

"Whoa, what happened to you?" Jack asked as Epel trudged to his seat and slammed his tray on the table. The Pomefiore boy let out a big yawn as he sat down. 

"I agree. Improper sleep will put you behind in training," Sebek said as he eyed Epel. 

Ace glanced from his messages with Yuu, who was fighting a cold back at her dorm, to the periwinkle-haired boy. "Yeah, the dudes are right. You look like shit."

"Shut yer trap you-" Epel froze and glanced over Ace's shoulder. Despite being on the other side of the cafeteria, Epel could feel chills from Vil's bombastic side-eye. "I mean. I was having trouble sleeping last night because of a certain someone." 

"Yeah, your stress levels are higher than normal. You can nap in my dorm during your break if you want." 

"Thank you, Ortho," Epel said and took a bite of his toast. 

"Who's this someone so I can teach them a lesson?" Deuce put a fist into his palm and had a murderous look in his eyes. 

"Just one of my roommates. He keeps going on and on about Yuu lately." 

Ace froze and suddenly choked on his breakfast. Luckily, Jack was there to slap his back. 

Yuu? Of all people? Sure, she is known for being around seven overblots and surviving, but her fame wasn't enough to keep someone awake. Let alone sing praises of like a lovesick prince. 

"Why is he talking about her?" Ace managed to spill out after he regained his composure. 

"He keeps praising Yuu for her kindness-" someone snorted at that, but Epel ignored it. "Looks, how perfect she is, and whatever nonsense he can go on about. He even started writing poems about her too! I swear if I hear this guy talk about how Yuu's eyes look like diamonds one more time. Aah'm 'unna put a sock in his-"

Again, Vil's glare carried despite being far from the first years. 

"I mean. Tell him to be quiet. Because that is what I can do." He said the last part through gritted teeth and glared at his housewarden. 

"What a simp," Ace commented, and everyone nodded in agreement. “I low-key feel bad for the guy. Yuu is not going to give him the time of day."

Deuce raised a brow. "And what do you mean by that?"

Ace held his hands up and shrugged. "I'm just saying. A guy who acts all princely and cute for Yuu? No. She deserves someone fun and imperfect like her. A person who she likes to be around. Someone who can help steer her away before she ends up somewhere dangerous."

"Oh really?" Sebek looked at Ace with interest. "And do you, perhaps, have someone in mind for the human?"

"Duh, dude. Me." Ace said confidently and smirked, giving himself a mental pat on the back. 

The other first years stared at him in silence. Then they all had the same shit-eating grin on their faces. Even Ortho had one despite having the lower half of his face covered.

Their looks made Ace realize what had come out of his mouth. 

Oh shit. 

The boy blushed bright red. 

"Wait! No! That is not what I meant to say! Forget all of that!" Ace exclaimed in poor defense. The other's faces remained unwavering.

Deuce had an infuriating smirk splayed on his lips. "Oh, we heard you loud and clear, right guys?" 

Jack joined in on the teasing. "Can't fool me. I heard it, too."

“You got it all wrong! I do not like Yuu like that!” Ace yelled but his red ears said otherwise.

Sebek crossed his arms and grinned, clearly enjoying the show. "Hmph, you humans should never doubt a fae's hearing. For I heard the human declare his worthiness to the Prefect." 

"Okay, now you are making things up!"  

Epel's face lit up in glee. "Well, then, that's great news! I can tell my roommate to pursue Yuu since Ace clearly does not see her that way. Sure, I am sacrificing my sleep for this, but at least Yuu will have a good guy."

"Are you saying I am not a good guy?!"

Ortho let out a sad exhale and slumped his shoulders. If Ortho could cry tears, he would've used them now. He laid a hand on Ace's shoulders in sympathy. "It's okay, Ace Trappola. I will try to convince Yuu to make you her Man of Honor."

"THAT'S IT!" Ace yelled, startling Ortho. The redhead was clearly fed up and red like Riddle’s hair from both embarrassment and anger. Ace stood up, grabbed his tray, and walked off in a random direction. 

"And where are you going?" Deuce yelled out. Ace flicked him off as he threw away his trash. 

"Anywhere away from you losers!" Ace started grumbling as he made his way out of the cafeteria to blow off some steam. 

The other first years watched silently and let Ace walk off. They did not want to anger him further, but they were also proud that Ace was somewhat honest about his feelings for Yuu. 

"Uh, isn't the Mirror Chamber that way?" Jack asked and pointed to the opposite direction from where Ace went.

Deuce smirked, his eyes following Ace's figure. "Looks like he is going to Ramshackle instead. Probably to check up on his future girlfriend." He turned to Ortho. "Did you get that all recorded?"

"Yes, I did!" Ortho grinned victoriously. "I also sent a copy to the Prefect and stored another copy in my database."

“Hmph, that will show him,” Sebek said with a proud look. 

Epel rubbed his hands together and looked at the other first years, who all had the same expression. "Perfect. I can't wait to see the look on Ace's face when he sees it."

Ace was in for a surprise when he made it to Ramshackle. He was also very embarrassed to see the recording come back at his wedding reception. 

A/N: idk if anyone could tell but I lowkey cringed at having ADeuce say "rizz" but they are teenage boys so they might as well 😂

Disclaimer: I do not own Twisted Wonderland and its characters. Those belong to Aniplex, Walt Disney Japan, and Yana Toboso.

©: This story belongs to bluesylveon2 2020-24. DO NOT modify, republish, or plagiarize my work.

[dilatorywriting]

The Prince & The Pauper Prefect

Gender Neutral Reader x Prince Stefan (Twst OC) Word Count: 5.9k

Summary: 'Dear Ramshackle Prefect, you are cordially invited to tour the Royal Sword Academy at your leisure. We hope our libraries may have something of use to aid in your journey home. And if perhaps you find our facilities to your taste, we would be more than happy to extend you a more permanent invitation.’ Clearly, nothing about this could go wrong at all.

A/N: A commission for the very lovely @thefiasco-onyourblock. I'm having so much fun with all y'alls ideas, and this is one of the few that was asked to be public, so I'm happy you all get to see it! It was a lot of fun to dive back into this himbo~

You’d just stumbled your way back onto Ramshackle’s sagging porch after your second third fourth foray into this wonderful new world of Near-Death Experiences when the letter arrived.  It popped into existence in a pleasant burst of bubbles and sparks—a scroll of soft, cream, paper stamped with a shimmering wax seal that looked like it could have been melted down out of literal gold. You waved a hand under it, over it, all around the thing in grand loop-de-loop. The letter just kept hovering in place, occasionally spitting out another bout of multicolored sparkles.

“Hello?” you tried, cautious, and the thing crinkled at the corners. Like it was trying to wave back at you.

You glared up at the grey sky for a moment, daring whatever higher power existed in this stupid world to try fucking with you yet again, before reaching out to grab the ridiculous, magic, note.

It unrolled at your touch, like a cat stretching when you scratched along its spine. And instead of some horrible prank or wayward contract, you were greeted with an opportunity.

.

.

“POACHERS!” Crowley howled.

You sighed and rested your chin in your palm. “So can I go?”

“INTERLOPERS!” he forged onwards, waving the letter back and forth like a parent raging over a bad report card. “Who do they think they are?! Trying to swipe my most precious intern—student! My most precious and beloved of students!—out from under my nose?! As if I wouldn’t be able to see through something so—so—ACK!”

“I mean,” you grumbled miserably under your breath, “it is a pretty long nose. Could hide a lot under there.”

He turned on you with a gasp, like you’d just insulted his mother. Or… whatever the Headmaster’s no doubt vaguely evil and eldritch equivalent would be. 

“It’s a mask! A mask!”

He crumpled the letter petulantly between his clawed fingers and went to hurl it to the ground, but the paper smoothed itself out with another one of those magical ‘pops!’ and floated up on an artificial breeze to land neatly in your lap. Crowley sneered at the thing like he was planning to light it on fire, and honestly, with how strange and ethereal this little letter was, you sort of wanted to see him try.

“I think it’s a perfectly reasonable opportunity,” Professor Trein shrugged, unbothered by his superior’s usual nonsense.

“It’s not as if the Royal Sword Academy is known for their treachery,” Professor Crewel added, sounding a bit like the acknowledgement had to be yanked out of his mouth with a pair of pliers. He glanced your way for a moment with those narrowed, steely, eyes of his before turning that glare back on the old crow. “And in comparison, I don’t think any of us can truthfully claim that Night Raven has provided a particularly safe learning environment for the Prefect.”

Crowley sniffed, indignant. “A sprinkling of danger is all part of the educational experience!”

Trein sighed and Crewel pinched at his brow like he was fighting the start of a migraine.

“They’re just offering to let me look through their library archives for more information on how I could find a way home,” you tried, and then leaned forward conspiratorially. “Which would mean less work for you, you know.”

For a moment you could see the calculations whirling behind those glowing, yellow, eyes—the promise of entirely unearned vacation time and accolades for tasks he’d had absolutely bupkis to do with. But then the sharp line of his mouth hardened in determination and he turned away from you with a huff.

“We’ll discuss this betrayal of yours later—when my poor, old, heart has had some time to stitch itself back together!” he harumphed and you sighed miserably. Then he snapped his fingers with a little ‘ah!’ and turned on you with a perfectly sunny smile. “And of course there’s the VDC to plan for! Do get on that, my favorite, little, busy bee!”

Afterwards you stood in the little alcove outside of Crowley’s office, the golden letter clutched tightly in your fists. The soft edges of the scroll lifted to curl around your knuckles, like a gentle reassurance. Before you could work yourself up into getting too upset about the unfairness of it all, Professor Crewel placed a hand on your shoulder with a heavy sigh.

“I’ll drop you off Monday morning.”

You fought the tremble that was doing its best to turn your mouth into a wobbling mess, and turned to launch yourself into his furs with a crushing hug. The alchemist patted your back with a great deal of aggrieved grumbling, but he didn’t bother to push you away either, so he probably didn’t mind you creasing his coat as much as he said he did.

.

.

Your assurance that this was just a jaunt through the RSA’s library had been… mostly a fib. Or at least, deceptive in the same way that the sweeping, cursive, missive was also sort of sneaky. You’d dealt with enough genuine schemers at this point to recognize subtle promises woven into the words of the well-meaning.

‘And if perhaps you find our facilities to your taste, we would be more than happy to extend you a more permanent invitation.’

You sighed and tucked the letter into your bag. It felt a bit wrong to be ducking away from your friends and your hovel of a home like a thief absconding in the night. But this was just… You were just looking. Spending a day away from the cloying, tarry, taste of pooling blot, and the endless runaround of all your little duties, and Crowley was not nearly the same as flipping your new friends the bird and fucking off into the sunset.

You repeated this to yourself ad nauseum as you pulled on your cleanest uniform, and then again throughout the entirety of the drive down the coast, and then more when Crewel waved you out of his car with a pointed look, leaving you at the RSA’s doorstep with a little shoo shoo gesture to get you moving.

Everything was so white. And not the gentle sort of lightness that came with nice things like fluffy sheep or foam off rolling ocean waves. It was sterile—so sharply bright in the morning light that it was nearly blue. The brick path beneath your feet was white, the guardrails lining the walkways were white, the walls of the looming castle, the impressive archways, the fluttering flags bearing the school’s regal coat of arms—all bone-bleached beneath the sun and shimmering like the architecture itself had literally been polished to a gleam. The only variation to be seen amidst the sea of monochromatic brilliance was the occasional pop of a cerulean spire—like some sort of awful party hat to top off the whole mess of it.

Say what you might about Night Raven’s gothic chic and whole ‘I mean, of course the cobwebs in the halls are Intentional’ aesthetic, but at least walking around the drab buildings there didn’t leave you feeling like someone had just set off a camera flash in your face. You felt like you were dirtying the roads by just existing near them. How did anything ever get done here without everyone having to constantly stop just to sweep up their footprints behind them?!

But such was the way of this dumb world apparently. Everything had to operate in extremes—nothing could just be normal. Real. It was all some fairytale recreation, varying only in if it fell hard on one side of the spectrum or the other.

You pulled out the letter with a sigh, and began roving over the contents yet again to see where exactly you were supposed to be headed. This whole fieldtrip turning into a miserable confirmation of your unintended loyalty to Night Raven or otherwise, at least you might be able to get some information out of these promised libraries.

You managed to cross a sweeping stone bridge, descend three separate flights of stairs, and follow nearly half a dozen signs with little, circled, stars on them before realizing you were probably only making things worse for yourself. You were still on one of those glistening, pearlescent, pathways, but now there were trees everywhere. It was a far cry from the twisting, black, forests smattered throughout Night Raven’s estate. Light filtered down pleasantly through the lush trees and the air was so nicely scented with flowers and pine that it was almost like someone had gone through with a bottle of Perfume de Forest and personally spritzed each and every plant. Which—ugh. Even the birds seemed to singing in tempo to some pre-orchestrated song. It was trippy.

But speaking of trippy—

You were so busy glaring suspiciously at a tree with a literal smiley face twisted into its bark that you didn’t notice the drop-off until it was too late. To be fair, it was still all very lovely—an overhang leading to a crystalline lake that bubbled gently under the roar of nearby waterfall. No jagged rocks at the bottom or anything. You probably wouldn’t even have to tumble all the way into the water, just into the little ditch about ten feet down. But of course, all that didn’t stop you from ‘eeping’ inelegantly in a panic as you stepped over the edge and started to fall.

And then you jerked back with a wheeze when something caught you around the collar of your uniform and tugged. You flailed wildly as you were hauled back up and into the air, and something behind you made a high-pitched, nervous, whinnying noise.

“Woah, woah, woah! Easy! Easy! You’re going to send all three of us over, you big baby!”

The huffing, angry, noises just got worse and you were dropped unceremoniously back on the pathway you’d wandered off from just in time to see a pair of hooves come crashing down precariously close to where you’d been dumped. You scurried back in a hurry, because you’d survived too much nonsense at this point to get taken out from something as mundane as a kick to the head.

The horse eventually got its singular braincell working well enough to realize it had to back away from the ledge, and you were finally able to look upon your savior without being too worried about taking a hoof to the face.  

He was clearly an RSA student, what with the garishly bleached uniform and impeccably put together everything. There was a crimson cloak tossed over one of his shoulders though, which did more to break the monotony of colorless brightness than any other architecture in the entire campus, so well done him you supposed. There was a sort of effortless attractiveness to everyone in this stupid world, but your new acquaintance in particular seemed to fall hard into that ‘windswept, accidental model’ sort of look, with loose brown hair falling in a neat fringe over his forehead, and wide, warm, hazel eyes. He looked a bit like the sort of person that a school might slather on all their recruitment posters to be like ‘see! We have jocks that know how to shower and brush their hair! Look how put together we are!’

“Are you alright?” He asked, looking down at you with a canted head—curious. “You don’t look a student here.”

“I’m not,” you sighed, making your way to your feet with a sore grumble. “I have an invitation. I’m just trying to find the Headmaster’s Office,” you said, holding out the letter like a hall pass.

“Oh!” He chirped, brightening. “I can show you the way,” He offered. “Not that I’m in trouble enough to know the way there by heart or anything, but I guess just enough that there isn’t too much of a chance that I’ll get the both of us lost,” he winked and you narrowed your eyes suspiciously. Normally this sort of overly familiar banter meant you were about to get dragged into all sorts of Shenanigans.

Before you could decide whether to take the chance or politely decline, his stupid, too big, horse reared its head back with a frustrated huff. Mister Red Cloak took the mini-tantrum in stride, despite the fact that the thing had nearly just clocked him right in the face with a head that looked as solid as a boulder.

“Oh, come now,” he sighed, patting the beast’s neck. “We can finish the course later. Don’t be a baby.”

The horse made some sort of unpleasant shrieking noise like some nightmare creature from just beyond the gates of Hell that had you flinching back to avoid being Murdered, but its rider simply rolled his eyes and tugged sharply at the reins.

“What do you think, huh? Just this once?” he asked, leaning forward over the withers to talk to the raging horse in its face. Like a lunatic. “For an extra bucket of oats? And maybe, just a few—” cue an absolutely horrendous eyebrow waggle, “carrots?”

And then the horse tossed its head back with a whinny that should absolutely not have sounded anything like a ‘hell yeah! Whatever you say, dude!’ before turning and prancing around you in tight, bouncy, circles. You scrunched in on yourself, because the thing was still probably a thousand pounds of muscle and flailing limbs. Even if it wasn’t actively huffing at you anymore, now it was just getting closer faster.

“You really don’t have to,” you tried. “Just point me in the right direction and I can find my own way.”

“Nonsense!” he chirped, dropping down from the saddle to land before you in the grass with a heavy thud. He brushed at his trousers, as if he wasn’t expecting his hands to come back completely clean. There wasn’t a speck of dirt on him. “What sort of savior would I be if I let you get lost in the wild and wonderful woods of this grand institution?”

“I can see the castle,” you griped, pointing to the blue peaks over the trees.

“Last I checked, you can see it from the entrance too,” he smiled and gestured to the forested path around you, chuffing a bit like he was laughing under his breath. “Must’ve been quite a turnaround, to wind up here anyways.”

Instantly you felt your hackles rising and a familiar, prickly, heat work its way up into your cheeks.

“Thank you, for your concern,” you grit out and swiveled on your heel. “But I guess even I should be able to find my way eventually.”

The pleasantly amused expression on the brunette’s face instantly fell and he darted back in front of you with a grimace.

“Sorry—that was. Sorry. I guess I put my foot in my mouth,” he rushed out. A gloved hand came up to rub awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You snorted and glared off into the trees.

“Now you really have to let me show you the way,” he laughed, stilted and bordering on too polite. “For making an ass out of myself like that. It’s the least I can do.”

You glared at him sourly for a moment before sighing and glancing back at the looming Andalusian still prancing along the tree line. “Will… that be coming with us?”

“Helios?” he asked, like you had any concept of what a ‘Helios’ was supposed to be. Probably the horse. “Oh, no, no, no,” he said, waving you off. “He can find his way back to the stables on his own. Right, boy?”

The horse made another one of those high-pitched, blustery, noises and you forcefully reminded yourself that you had faced inky goop monsters that were personifications of your classmates’ literal demons, and also kidnapping plots involving another of said classmates diving into your brain to rewire it like you were his own personal puppet. And in comparison to all those trials, Sentient Animals should not be creepy.

“Fine,” you huffed. “It’s fine. Just—let’s just get going.”

“Right!” he beamed, instantly bouncing back to his earlier enthusiasm. “I’m Stefan, by the way.”

You offered your own name in return, if only to be polite, and he smiled like the fact that you’d managed to grit out those familiar syllables was a gift in and of itself and not just, you know, generic introduction protocol.

“You have a lovely name,” he chirped, falling into step at your side.

You snorted, still a bit too bitter and sore. “You don’t have to try so hard to be nice, you know. To make up for saying something you feel bad about, I mean. It’s fine.”

His blinked his wide, hazel, eyes at you in way that looked a bit like you’d managed to surprise him. His eyelashes were long and soft, and they brushed against his cheeks with each shutter. Never trust people with nice eyelashes, you thought a bit petulantly. You’d known you were right to be cautious.

“You think I’m just saying that because I feel guilty?” he asked, not sounding particularly incredulous or insulted so much as genuinely curious. He tilted his head at you and some of his fringe slipped in front of his eyes, softening the sharp lines of his face. “Do people normally do that?”

You didn’t quite frown at him, but it was a close thing. You could feel your brow pinch.

“…I guess,” you huffed after a long moment, turning to stare back at the path ahead.

“Huh,” he mused, thoughtful. “Well, I really did mean it. And it’s a lot better than my name by far. I mean, really, Stefan? A bit on the nose, don’t you think? ‘Crown?’ Come on. Couldn’t my parents have been anymore original?”

You glanced over at him, a bit lost. “What does that mean?”

“Stefan?” he repeated with another one of those eyelash-sweeping blinks. “It means ‘crown.’”

“No,” you sighed, long suffering. “As in, how is that unoriginal? It’s a nice name.”

“Well, it’s because I—” he trailed off, gaze lingering in open astonishment. After a long moment of gaping at you like he’d just been clobbered across the back of the head with a baseball bat, he finally cleared his throat and looked back off into the trees with a tight shrug. “Nothing. It doesn’t mean anything I guess. Don’t worry about it.” He seemed to chew on that train of thought for a moment or two longer before turning back to face you with a wide grin that was just on the right side of smug. “You think it’s a nice name?”

“Whatever,” you huffed, cheeks starting to heat with something other than bitter chagrin. “Just please get me out of this forest before I fall over another cliff.”

.

.

Headmaster Ambrose the 63rd (the sixty-third! What in the nepo-nonsense was that?!) looked like a wizard straight out of some homey after-school-special, with silver spectacles perched on his rounded nose and a soft, pointed, cap atop his head that flopped endearingly at the tip. He was an antithesis to Crowley in every sense of the word—flowing robes replacing tight vests and formal wear, faded white accents rather than sharp black, and not a single bit of Sparkling Flair to be seen. Like everything else, as nice as he seemed, it was such a stark jump into the opposite direction that it had your hackles raised in caution.

“Our libraries are some of the most extensive in the country,” he smiled, warm and fond. It made the corners of his eyes crinkle behind the rims of his glasses. “I hope you’ll be able to find something that may be of some help to your situation.”

“Thank you, sir,” you said, fighting the insane storybook urge to do something like curtsy.

He waved you off with a gentle shake of the head. “None of that ‘sir’ nonsense. You’re a guest a here! I hope my students have been treating you well?”

Stefan rubbed at the back of his neck and shot his headmaster a sheepish smile that was entirely, unfairly, handsome.

“Doing my best, sir.”

“Good lad,” he hummed, something nearly mischievous sparking in those blue-grey eyes of his. But you were hesitant to label it anything of the sort now that you’d seen what real sneaky nonsense looked like. This was more like… Children’s Program Mischief. That kind that usually involved an adult thinking themselves very clever for being able to sneak some vegetables into an afternoon snack. He turned back on you with that shining smile. “Allow me to find you an escort for the afternoon, and then we can get off to the library.”

“I’d be happy to show them around!” Stefan piped in.

“Is that so,” Ambrose mused, that same little grin playing over his mouth. “I thought you were meant to be in Equestrian Studies at the moment, hmm?”

“Well, I mean,” he spluttered, before collecting his argument and squaring his shoulders with another one of those blindingly bright smiles, “how could I possibly have left someone in need to fend for themselves, sir? I would have brought shame down on this entire institution! Heroes are meant to be made not born, after all!” He boomed, like someone cheering a school’s motto at a sports game.

All of this sounded like the largest crock of self-aggrandizing bullshit you’d ever heard, and by the time you’d had a whole internal debate with yourself over the merits of NRC’s outright nastiness versus this… whatever it was supposed to be, Ambrose was gesturing between the pair of you and saying something that you probably ought to be being paying attention to.

“Thank you, sir!” Stefan grinned, and Ambrose waved him off in that same pleasant way he had you earlier.

“You’re in excellent hands, Prefect,” the Headmaster assured as you were rushed out the door by the guy who was clearly going to be your newest Problem. “Take care! And please let me know if there’s anything at all that we can help you with.”

And then you were back out in the hallway, with Stefan already steering you towards who knew what. The archives, you hoped. But knowing your luck, probably not.

“You must be hungry, right?” he asked, perfectly polite. “Why don’t I take you to the cafeteria before we head over to the library?”

“I’m fine,” you said, just as your stomach gurgled a very loud complaint. You patted at your traitor of an abdomen in a silent reprimand and sighed, “You can just show me the way. I don’t want you to feel like you have to babysit me the whole day.”

“Nonsense,” he beamed, intertwining his arm with yours and tugging you off down another hallway before you could protest. He was so tall, and it should have been hard to keep up with his longer stride, but it wasn’t. “I like spending time with you.”

“What?” you blinked, thrown. Because maybe you’d hit your head or something, but you were pretty sure the last half hour had consisted of very little other than you being grumpy and unpleasant.

He canted his head to look down at you and the corners of his eyes crinkled in a smile.

“You’re nice to talk to,” he said. “Honest, I think. Would be the best way I could describe it. Genuine.” His hazel eyes went a bit distant, wistful. “There aren’t many people here like that. It’s different. Good different,” he promised, the corners of his smile tugging into something a bit teasing.

Your gaze tracked down to the brilliantly blue carpet beneath your feet and then around to the perfectly white walls. Other students filtered by in their starched uniforms and shiny, black, dress shoes—all impeccably groomed and all chattering idle nothings about the weather, about classes, exams. You could see the muddy imprints from your boots trailing along the floor and a few errant bits of grass fell in clumps from where they were still tangled up in your shoelaces. Something tight in you eased a bit at the mess, and you turned back to your companion with a sigh that was bordering far too close on ‘begrudgingly fond’ rather than the properly ‘put upon’ you were aiming for.

“If you say so.”

You hadn’t thought it was possible for the guy’s smile to get brighter, but somehow he managed. You squinted into the warmth of it with a strange, squirmy, feeling in your stomach that you didn’t think had much to do with being hungry.

“Come on then!” he beamed, tugging you along. “We don’t want to miss the Feast!”

“Feast?” you echoed, incredulous.

“With dancing silverware and everything,” he mock-whispered, like a secret just for the two of you.

“What the fuck,” you gaped, brain immediately latching onto the most ridiculous aspect of all of it. “How do you eat anything if it’s dancing?”

Stefan threw his head back with a roaring laugh that had you wanting to sink into your collar with your shoulders hunched up to your ears. But no one stopped to stare, or point, or snicker into their palms at his open enthusiasm. There were a few curious peepers, but once they seemed to identify the source of the noise, they all went back to wandering the halls in their perfectly pressed uniforms with nary a sly comment or sneer to be seen.

“See?” he beamed, tilting sideways to knock his shoulder against yours. “Honest. Now come on—we don’t want to miss out on all the grey stuff. It tastes way better than it sounds, promise.”

.

.

The pair of you entered the cafeteria right at the start of things, with dishes and forks just beginning to fly overhead in waves of strange, blinking, lights and motes of golden sparks. More than a few people waved at Stefan as he walked in, and he returned the greetings with polite, buoyant, ones of his own before herding you to an empty table off to the side.

“You don’t want to sit with your friends?” you asked, brow pinching in confusion.

“Hmm?” he mumbled around a spoonful of something already shoved in his mouth. There wasn’t any kind of plate in front of him, so he must have snatched it right out of the air. He swallowed and reached up to grab another. “Oh, no. That’s fine. Here! Try this!”

You leaned away from the spoon he held up to your lips with a huff and some obligatory complaints about how ‘you could feed yourself just fine, thank you very much.’ You plucked the bit of silverware from his fingers with a wary frown and very tactfully ignored that lingering, fluttering, warmth in your gut that you still hadn’t managed to completely snuff out.

“Is this… grey stuff?”

“Right on the money,” he winked, leaning forward to snatch up another flying fork. “My family’s not usually a fan of more ‘modern’ cuisine, so it’s always a treat to be able to try all the different foods at the Feasts here.”

You looked hesitantly at the goopy mess of monochromatic paste smeared across the spoon, and then back up at Stefan who was casually digging into his own floating mountain of toxic waste with an absolutely enraptured hum of satisfaction.

“Remind me to buy you a grilled cheese or something…” you muttered under your breath, before bravely swallowing the entire spoonful of sludge. And—huh. That was actually… pretty delicious. How weird.

You spent the rest of the luncheon event picking at random bits of floating foods as they danced by. Occasionally Stefan would lean forward to point out his favorites and give recommendations. He was surprisingly observant, despite whatever initial impressions his jock’s jawline and guileless grins may have led you to believe otherwise—taking easy note of the things you pushed aside and the ones you nibbled at more enthusiastically.

“Oh—you missed the desserts,” he lamented as the last remnants of a picked apart pie flew over your head.

“That’s fine,” you said, but he only shook his head and began to drag you off again with another of those brilliant grins.

And so began a weird sort of pseudo treasure hunt, where Stefan would take your hand and haul you off to some random corner of the castle with promises of whatever seemed to strike his fancy, or more accurately you supposed, whatever he seemed to think you might fancy.

“No one really uses this vending machine anymore, but somehow it always restocks and it has the best ice cream bars I’ve ever had. It’s wild! I’m sure you’ll love it!—“

“Oh, it is pretty cold down here, right? I didn’t even think about that. But… hmm… Here! I know the best place to grab a hot chocolate! It’s just over this way a bit—“

“These walls are kind of a drab view, yeah? Here! If we go down this way there’s a great little area to sit where you can see the whole bay—“

By the end of things, somehow you ended up back at the stables with that terror of a horse of his. And despite the runaround and the vaguely exhausting fact that Stefan’s social battery never seemed to wear itself out ever, it wasn’t… it wasn’t that bad, actually. Sometimes people would wave him down to talk, and he always introduced you and left the proverbial door open for you to join the conversation, but never asked you to participate, which was nice. You’d taken to just sort of slouching against his side in a food coma like a lizard on a rock as he answered whatever mundane questions all the other students asked of him. But otherwise, it was just the pair of you bopping around all over the campus.

Helios saw his master and whinnied merrily, and Stefan made an odd sort of chuffing noise in return that had you laughing into your palm.

“What?” He complained good-naturedly. “You’ve never barked at a dog before? It’s the same thing!”

“Of course it is,” you droned, lips twitching up at the corners.

The next destination was someplace on the coast that he was insisting was the absolute best place in the world to sit and think. Which if you wanted to do research, naturally you needed to get your head together about where to start, right? The only problem was that it was a solid hour hike away, but Stefan assured you that on horseback it was a much shorter journey.

You leaned forward on your tiptoes to get a look down the sprawling corridor of stalls, each larger and grander than the last. And each of their occupants following that exact same trend. There even looked like there was a horse with wings, which was—ah. Not helping the intimidation factor, to say the least.

“You can ride with me,” he offered. “If you’re uncomfortable, I mean. Sometimes it helps to feel like there’s someone more adept at the reins.”

You blinked, a bit taken aback that he’d picked up on your discomfort so easily. But then then you focused on the rest of that offer and you and the horse shared a Look. And wasn’t that a trippy thing to notice. You immediately forced yourself not to think about it.

“I don’t know if that’s fair to Helios,” you pointed out.

“Nonsense!” Stefan waved you off, and Helios pinned his ears indignantly. “He’s an Andalusian. They’re war horses, you know? Built to be as sturdy and strong as any horse can be.” He said the last part with a sickly-sweet uptick to his voice, and leaned up against the beast’s flank like they were sharing an inside joke. “They say Prince Phillip’s legendary steed was an Andalusian, and they rode into battle against a dragon together.”

Helios’s grey muzzle twitched prissily and eventually the horse lowered his great head to thump against Stefan’s side with a gusty ‘harumph’ that had the man stumbling forward with a pleasant laugh.

“There you are, you big baby. I knew you had it in you.”

After giving the horse a firm pat pat on his rump, Stefan turned and offered you a hand.

“It’s easier if I help you up first,” he explained.

“Isn’t there like… a ladder, or something?” You tried, and Stefan grinned sneakily before ducking behind you and hauling you up on Helios’s back all in one go. You absolutely, positively, did not squeak, or anything else ridiculous like that. It was a—a squawk! The most indignant and put upon of noises!

Stefan laughed and waved off whatever terrible sounds you were making with a bemused ‘Sorry! Sorry!’ that was the absolute least apologetic thing you’d ever heard. And then he was swinging himself up near effortlessly into the saddle behind you and looping an arm around your waist.

“Sometimes it’s better to just get it over with,” he explained in your ear, like your brain hadn’t just absolutely Blue Screened at the new weight along your hips. “Like ripping off a bandaid. I know it can all be sort of intimidating for people who aren’t used to being around horses.”

When you didn’t respond, because you were still trying to sort cognizant thoughts of the mess of ‘!!!’ that was hard at work blotting out the rest of your brain, you felt him start to shift a bit behind you. His hands flexed a bit tighter, as if the idea of you not being secure enough in the saddle was in anyway the problem here. After another moment of your continued silence, Stefan leaned forward carefully to hook his chin over your shoulder and spoke in that same carefully polite way he had when he’d worried he’d insulted you all those hours ago in the forest.

“If you’re still uncomfortable I can get you down if you want,” he offered, voice dipping low in something that sounded like hesitance. “I know I—I mean, you don’t have to go riding with me, if you don’t want to. I just thought it’d be…” He cleared his throat, and you must have been going delirious because out of the corner of your eyes you swore you could see the tips of his ears turning pink. “I can… I can just take you to the library now, if you want,” he said. “I know I’ve already been pretty selfish with your time today.”

Helios shifted to stamp his feet and you twisted your fingers nervously into his mane. You really didn’t feel entirely great about being so high, on something so wild and big. And honestly, you had wasted a lot of time sightseeing with your impromptu tour guide. If you were being in anyway rational, you should demand Stefan dismount and take you to the library like he promised. But all the same… Today had been—all of it had been…

“Just don’t let me fall,” you huffed, fighting the urge to duck your chin down into your collar to hide the rising heat in your cheeks.

“Of course not!” Stefan beamed, straightening himself back up so suddenly that he nearly tipped the both of you from the saddle. You sent him a glare over your shoulder and he laughed, loud and boisterous. “Sorry, sorry. From here out starts the ‘of course not.’ That was just a test run.”

“Whatever,” you sighed, letting him maneuver your hands to better hold the reins alongside his.

Naturally, by the time you got halfway to the beach, Stefan remembered that the library closed early on Mondays, and that you’d well and truly missed your opportunity as you’d been off gallivanting with him and his ridiculousness all day.

But you know what? It was fine. You’d just come back tomorrow. And maybe the next day too.

.

.

[pocketjoong]

❥𓂃𓏧PRECIOUS

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (SYNOPSIS) As a nature witch, you always wanted your own familiar ever since you were a kid, however, fate seemed to have different plans for you.

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (PAIRING) cat boy!hongjoong x fem!reader

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (WARNINGS) Hongjoong is a cat. mentions of food and drinking. a little bit of violence. mentions of getting injured. questionable editing. lmk if I am missing something

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (WORD COUNT) 8.9k

ꕥ𓂃𓏧 (NOTES) My entry for the stuck in summer collab hosted by @a1sh1teruu. This was mainly inspired by cat boy!hwa fic written by @hwaightme! I always enjoy feedback, reviews, and asks so don't hesitate to comment/send an ask!

Humming to yourself, you lock the door to your quaint little cottage nestled in the heart of the woods. Your basket, which is brimming with aromatic herbs and meticulously crafted potions, dangles from your arm as you set toward the nearby town. There’s a spring in your step that reflects the life thriving in the flora around you. As a nature witch, you prefer to live in your element; hence, your chosen abode rests at the forest’s edge, a mere mile from the bustling town you call home.

This distance necessitates a journey by foot, a mile-long expedition riddled with untamed trails and serpentine streams. The unpaved path is untouched by humanity, offering no comfort of a well-trodden road, but in its midst—intertwined with the symphony of rustling leaves, bubbling brooks, and the whispered secrets of the trees—you feel at home.

As you amble past the outskirts of the town, a voice pierces through the tranquil air of the early morning. You falter at the unexpected call of your name and gaze past a waist-high fence to witness Miyeon—the daughter of a fellow witch and cherished friend—hurrying down her front yard with a bundle of fur resting in her arms.

“Y/N! Look! I found my very own familiar,” she says, words brimming with pride and joy. 

Your smile broadens as you congratulate her on her newfound magical connection. As you fuss over the young girl, your friend arrives, scolding her daughter for leaving her breakfast unfinished on the table. After exchanging cordial greetings and a gossip-laden exchange, you bid them adieu, recommencing your journey to Wooyoung’s shop.

As you leave behind the jovial mother-daughter duo, your once-beaming smile begins to wane, usurped by the pang in your chest. The yearning for a familiar casts a shadow upon your heart. Your dreams and visions of such a bond had been nurtured by tales of your parents’ harmonious connection with their own familiars and a childhood fantasy that stemmed from watching and re-watching Kiki’s Delivery Service. Usually, you can easily ward off these dark thoughts, allowing them to be no more than a passing whisper. But today, the loneliness of being a witch without a familiar resurfaces with a melancholic tenacity that defies dismissal.

“Why the long face?” 

Your response to the unexpected voice is a startled screech before you realise that it’s only Wooyoung who is standing at the window of his shop. The playful curve of his lips and the fond glint in his eyes prompt you to mutter a curse under your breath—more in playful annoyance than actual resentment.

You met Jung Wooyoung right after you found yourself in Alusia when you were a bright-eyed young witch, fresh out of the academy. He owned an antique shop inherited from his grandparents and was new in the town too, having arrived only a week prior. In his willingness to find a friend, Wooyoung offered you shelter under his roof when you needed it most—a gesture that solidified the foundations of an unbreakable friendship. Soon, the two of you converted the antique shop into an apothecary—a venture carved from your joint dreams and driven by your unique talents. Wooyoung, with his inherent charm (or, as your mutual friend San teasingly referred to it as Wooyoung being a loudmouth), engaged with clients while you prepared the elixirs and potions that graced the shop’s shelves.

“You are such a menace, Woo,” you tease, rolling your eyes playfully in mock exasperation as you step into the shop, extending the basket to him. He lifts the lid carefully to reveal its contents, his enthusiasm palpable as he thoroughly inspects your offerings. “You are an angel, you know that?! I was running low on most of these and—oh?” In a burst of affection, he engulfs you in an unexpected hug, “You've finished Mrs Kim's potion already? You truly are a wonder, Y/N.”

By the time you step out of the shop to return home, it’s past noon, and the sun is high in the sky, casting a glow that makes you squint against its brilliance. But you smile despite the temporary discomfort because the warmth of the summer sun serves as a reminder of your cherished garden. The thought of the flourishing herbs and thriving plants in your backyard makes you smile.

Skipping lightly across the worn, flat stones that act as a bridge over the clear stream, you revel in the prospect of returning home after an exhausting week. The last few days were a flurry of ceaseless activity—the sheer number of concoctions to prepare left you without a moment to catch your breath. So, the mere idea of spending the rest of the day simply resting without worrying about tasks and obligations sounds heavenly. With each step that leads you closer to your home, a sense of serenity unfurls within you, anticipation blossoming like the flowers that line both sides of your path.

On your way, you come across another stream, its gurgling rhythm a soothing undercurrent to your thoughts. Just as you approach it, however, a soft rustling pierces the air, causing you to halt in your tracks. Your brows furrow and your gaze sweeps the landscape for the source of the sound. Nothing seems amiss, yet the sight of a fawn preoccupied with a hidden something beneath the swaying grass causes you to move closer.

A gasp, involuntary and hushed, escapes your lips as your eyes land on a jet-black cat, its form huddled against the earth, a stark contrast against the vibrant backdrop of nature. However, it’s not the feline’s presence that startles you, but its pitiable state. Laboured breaths escape the creature, and the emerald blades beneath it are smeared in crimson blood. Without much thought, you scoop the injured feline into your arms. Careful of its wounds, you break into a brisk pace, your heart beating in tandem with your desperate urgency.

Foregoing the cottage, you bring the cat to the outhouse that doubles as your workspace. There, you tenderly set it upon a generously sized cushion at the far table. Despite the anxiety riddling your thoughts, your hands are steady as you collect the required ingredients to heal him. Gratitude unfurls within you for the foresight that ensured your own provisions remained well-stocked, even as you had taken most of the supplies to the apothecary.

Once you’re armed with everything you will need, you fuss over the wounded feline. As you carefully begin healing the cat, a whispered prayer escapes your lips—an offering of gratitude to the nature spirits that guided you to the cat for if you had been even a few minutes late, he would not have survived whatever ordeal had led to his pitiful condition. As you work, the sun dips beneath the horizon, casting hues of purple and orange in the sky. The cat’s exhausted form eventually surrenders to peaceful slumber, and though relieved, you still find yourself unable to depart for the comforts of your cottage.

Fetching the futon that you use when the making of a potion demands vigilant oversight, you nestle into its warmth. From the glass ceiling, you smile at the star-strewn sky that arches above you. Like this, under the watchful gaze of the constellations, you fall asleep, unknowing that your life is now intertwined with the cat’s own.

Your eyes flutter open to the soft morning sunlight piercing through the windows of the outhouse and your gaze shifts to the feline. You smile as you see the cat is doing better and leave the cat to its peaceful slumber to fix up a quick breakfast for yourself, only returning with a list of potions you must deliver to the shop the following week.

You put your phone onto your desk and begin your work, enveloped in a symphony of tranquil melodies that mirror the serenity of the forest that lies merely a few paces from where you stand. As you are immersed in your craft, the sun reaches its zenith, casting its warmth upon your workspace. As you work, a subtle shift draws your attention—a faint movement that you catch in the corner of your vision.

Turning to the source of movement, your eyes settle upon the cat, the creature finally stirring from its slumber. Wariness born from a shared unfamiliarity—yours with its nature, and its with yours—causes you to stay where you are. You wait with bated breath as the little guy brings his paws to his eyes to rub them, followed by a languid stretch. A yowl of discomfort leaves him, echoing through the space, and you can’t help but inhale sharply at his distress; he probably hears it because the very next moment, he’s on his paws and hissing at you.

You observe him with a mixture of understanding and patience, knowing that such a response comes from the fear and uncertainty of finding oneself in unfamiliar surroundings. You raise both your hands to show that you mean no harm. 

“Hey, it's okay,” your voice flows with reassurance, carrying with it an aura of compassion that you hope the cat can sense. “You're safe here, I promise. Please, just… rest some more. Moving might cause more harm than good right now, and it took me a while to treat those wounds of yours.”

The cat’s eyes narrow in distrust as his eyes rake over your form. Eventually, however, his cautious resolve gives way, and with a subdued huff, he eases back onto the cushion. You can tell that he is still wary of your presence, so you return to your task.

Stirring the potion, you softly break the silence. “You know, you’ve been out for almost a day. I was growing rather concerned, to be honest.” The cat tilts its head subtly, almost as if he’s curious, so you continue your train of thought. “Your injuries were quite severe. It’s a relief to see you awake.”

As the hours tick by, you remain absorbed in your work. Bottles and vials are filled with elixirs and put into another basket, each labelled with care and precision. While you work, you can feel the cat’s watchful gaze upon you. Once your tasks are completed, you shift your attention to your companion, who is now fast asleep. The feline, who was so cautious of you merely hours ago, now embodies a tranquillity that makes your lips quirk up at the corners. As you tidy your workspace, your heart brims with warmth, and once done, you begin preparations for lunch in your cottage.

The golden rays of the sun filter through your kitchen windows, illuminating your countertop as you cook a simple yet hearty lunch. You walk out of the kitchen, wanting to awaken the cat to give him some food, but as you enter the living room, a curious sight awaits your gaze. The cat is seated in front of the coffee table, blinking at you lazily. At his curious behaviour, your magic reaches out gently, a fleeting touch that reveals nothing out of the ordinary, causing you to hum in confusion. 

Armed with food, you step closer to your companion, emboldened by the silent affirmation that he won’t run away. “Would you mind if I turn on the TV?” Your query hangs in the air, and a melodic meow is the only answer you get before he’s diving headfirst into the meal you had prepared. Considering his response a go-ahead, you tune into Pirates of the Caribbean, the movie becoming a backdrop to your shared meal.

As the credits of the first movie start to roll, you can sense wariness in the cat’s watchful eyes, but this morning’s feral hiss has yielded to a tentative harmony. Noticing how entranced the cat is by the movie, you don’t turn it off as you clean the dishes, a gesture that you suspect he appreciates. Returning to the living room on completion of your chores, you find the once-restless creature nestled upon the sofa in cosy contentment—an image that both warms your heart and fascinates you.

You settle into the opposite end of the couch, and open your grandmother's book of remedies. The sounds from the TV fade into background noise as you read through the tome, and you can’t help but think about how oddly domestic this moment seems.

Emboldened by how relaxed your new companion looks, you decide to talk to him. “Hey, buddy, would you mind if I checked on your wound? Just to make sure it's healing the way it should?”

The feline responds with a subtle shift—a repositioning that unveils its wounded side. As you approach, your heart swells due to the delicate trust blooming between you. If you’re surprised by how quickly he is healing, you don’t let it be known. “Looks like you will be fine by the end of the week. I’d love for you to stay here with me until then, but the choice is yours.”

Your offer hangs in the air for a moment before he meows, sealing the agreement. The cat settles back into the same position in which he’d been watching the movie, so you assume that means he’s going to stay in cat-speak.

Yet, a lingering thought flits through your mind—the matter of a name. “What do we name you, though?” you ponder aloud, your voice a soft murmur. You drop random names that seem fitting for a cat. Most receive only a nonchalant disregard, save for an outright hiss at the name “minion”.

As you are at your wits’ end, an idea strikes you. “What about Captain... Jack Sparrow?” The last part is whispered, so you don’t know if he heard, but you’d shorten it to Captain anyways, so in your humble opinion, it is the perfect name.

In the wake of your suggestion, the feline’s eyes light up in affirmation, making you smile. “Okay then, Captain it is,” you declare softly, marking the beginning of a bond, one forged in the quiet moments and shared names bridging the divide between the two of you.

In a surprising twist, Captain Jack Sparrow defies your initial expectations by choosing not to leave your cottage even after his recovery. The once-wounded feline weaves his presence into the very fabric of your life in the form of a plush cat bed nestled within a spare room. Though, in hindsight, it was an unnecessary purchase as the bed remains pristine and untouched, while the cat himself stakes claim to your couches and book-laden shelves.

During the day, the uppermost shelf of your work area becomes Captain’s sanctuary, where he slumbers amidst the tomes stacked alphabetically. With time, Captain inches closer, from lower shelves to the corner of your very table—a silent testament to the trust that has bloomed between the two of you.

Then, one day, the gentle touch of a paw upon your hand breaks through your concentration. Wide-eyed, you find yourself captivated by the slumbering form of Captain. For the next hour, you don’t dare move your hand, driven by the irrational belief that any movement on your part could shatter the delicate companionship you’ve woven over months of shared moments.

The seconds stretch like an eternity, yet you remain still. When Captain awakens to find you in such a vulnerable state, his response is one that eases your fears—a gentle nudge of his nose against your hand in gratitude and acknowledgement and leaves before you can process what happened.

That night onwards, you find Captain curled up at the top of your closet during the night. The first few times, the sight of his glowing orbs startles you, but with time, you find yourself comforted by this silent guardian who watches over you as you slumber. When you tell Wooyoung about this, his response is one of gentle reassurance. “He probably watches over you to protect you as you sleep during the night.”

Speaking of Wooyoung, the first time you ask Captain to accompany the town on your visit, he seems a little sceptical. “It’s your choice, Captain. If you don’t want to, that’s perfectly alright. I just thought you would like some change of scenery,” you tell him. As you gather your belongings and secure your cottage, you expect Captain to stay back. However, as you lock the door, you find him perched upon the fence, waiting for you. And when you introduce Captain to Wooyoung, it is a new experience, to say the least. Laughter spills forth as you are unable to suppress your mirth as Captain scratches your friend’s hand in an instinctive response to Wooyoung’s attempt to lift him into his arms.

“You have adopted a devil, Y/N,” he screeches, pointing at Captain while cradling his arm protectively. Your cat, on the other hand, is sitting on his haunches while licking his paw—the picture of angelic innocence.

“Please, I would scratch you too if you tried to scare me. The only reason I don’t is because you’d whine about it for days. Captain might just be the guardian I need to keep you in check, aren’t you, bud?” The answering meow causes another round of joyous laughter to burst forth from your lips.

You’d think Captain’s initial aloofness would deter Wooyoung but, Captain's coldness only seems to fuel your friend’s determination as he tries everything he can to get Captain to like him—from treats to gentle pets to whimsical trinkets—all in an attempt to win over the feline. Yet, Captain remains steadfast, his indifference to these gestures firmly intact. And it is not as if this attitude is reserved for Wooyoung alone.

Ever since that first trip where he accompanied you, Captain follows you each time you visit Alusia. As you navigate the streets of the town, he treads his own path, a few paces away and often on higher surfaces while you go about your business. The townspeople, on learning of your feline companion, attempt to win his affection, but he doesn’t seem like people (or people touching him), so eventually, they give up trying. However, he still accepts treats from them despite you telling them not to, but the way he looks at you has you quickly going back on your words. How can you say no when he looks at you with his large eyes that seem to hold entire universes within them?

During one such trip to Alusia, a jewellery shop captures your attention for a moment, but as your mind is preoccupied with the bubbling concoction back at the outhouse, you walk past the display without lingering. In your haste, you don’t even realise that Captain has stopped in front of the big window and isn’t following you. It is only the sensation of something amiss that prompts you to retrace your steps, leading you to the forlorn figure of Captain seated before the shop—a sight that tugs at your heartstrings.

A sigh escapes your lips as you crouch beside him. “Would you like to explore what the shop has to offer?” you inquire gently, recognising the twinkle in Captain's gaze as he looks up at you.

Though your feline companion is a delight to be around, sometimes you can’t help but be sceptical of the little guy. You have often caught him reading your journals or tomes as if he understands them, prompting speculation about his understanding of human knowledge. Yet, those notions are quickly discarded when he settles onto the page with a languid yawn. “Cap’n, my books are not cushions for napping,” you always chide him in playful exasperation, only to be met with a dismissive glare and a subsequent shift into your lap. Amongst all his quirks, one stands out—his remarkable understanding of human speech. Whenever you ask him something, he answers with a meow or a hiss (it’s easy to tell which is for which), just like how he answers your question about the shop with a meow.

With a nod, you offer your arms as a welcoming perch for Captain to leap into and enter the quaint shop. The glittering array of chokers fascinates him, prompting you to lead him towards the displays. He studies each piece carefully, and at the end of this impromptu stop, Captain is adorned with a collar—which is more of a choker, really. A topaz moon and vibrant red marigold pendants grace his new accessory, shining beautifully as the sunlight hits them.

For the rest of the week, Captain's spirited headbutts and unabashed demonstrations of fondness keep you on your toes, simultaneously warming your heart and distracting you from your potion-making. His playfulness leads you to scold him gently because you are worried that he could get hurt while you work. “Cap’n, I know you love your new collar, but I need to concentrate on my work, or you could get hurt.” Despite your reprimand, his adoration remains undeterred, but he does quiet down as you work and lingers nearby, a reassuring presence amid your bustling workspace.

Weeks pass, and one night in mid-August, you are jolted from your sleep by a distressing nightmare—a rare occurrence for you as you rarely dream. Gasping for breath, your magic surges instinctively, tethering you to the calming embrace of the forest that surrounds your home.

As your panic settles and you feel calmer than before, you reach for the glass of water on your nightstand, only to be startled when a pair of glowing eyes meet your gaze from the heights of your closet. It’s a familiar sight, yet the remnants of the unsettling dream create a tremor within you.

“Captain Jack Sparrow, you nearly gave me a heart attack.” Your hand instinctively rests over your pounding heart as you chide him, the mixture of residual fear making your voice tremble.

Observing your distress, Captain gently descends from his vantage point to the expanse of your bed. A soft meow accompanies his movements, and his eyes seek yours before he nuzzles his head against your side. Sighing, you relent, succumbing to his affection. Your touch is tender and reassuring as you pet his head gently, “It’s alright, buddy. I didn't mean to scold you. I was just startled by the nightmare.”

Cocooned in the soft cotton sheets, you lay back down to go back to sleep and notice Captain curling up by your side with a gentle purr. His tail encircles your wrist in a protective gesture as if trying to ward off the shadows that threaten to disturb your sleep. From that night onwards, most nights, you awaken to find him nestled by your feet or right by your pillow—a silent guardian whose comforting aura intertwines with the magic that surrounds you. 

Time passes and one season transitions into the next, and before you know it, you’ve been living with Captain Jack Sparrow for almost a year. As yet another summer rolls around, you notice his presence has brought profound happiness to your existence. While he may not be the familiar you once yearned for, he has become a source of unwavering support, and his mere presence never fails to brighten up your days.

However, there’s an unexpected shift in Captain’s behaviour one day, he seems restless, and it only intensifies during the night. Despite your attempts to understand what’s wrong, you can’t seem to figure it out, which leaves you both perturbed and anxious. As dawn breaks, you decide professional insight is necessary and bring Captain to the town’s vet, only to be told that your cat is in perfect health. Though baffled, you’re relieved to know that Captain is not in any particular danger. On your way back home, you venture into the apothecary only to be met with a frantic San and aghast Wooyoung. 

“What's wrong?” You ask softly, only for Wooyoung to burst into sobs as he throws himself into your arms. 

Turning your gaze to San, his weary visage reflects the toll whatever ordeal he has gone through has taken on him. His voice is a blend of exhaustion and urgency as he relays the heartbreaking news to you, “Miyeon vanished in the forest. She had been working on her first test as a witch-in-training and didn’t return.” 

You know how important the test is, for it is the first step in any witch’s path towards the prestigious academy in the capital. San continues to explain that when the young girl didn’t return home, even as the stars twinkled in the rapidly darkening sky, her mother raised an alarm and the townspeople searched for her throughout the night to no avail.

“It’s as if she vanished into thin air, Y/N,” San’s voice is filled with the fatigue of fruitless searching and worry for Miyeon.

Your brows furrow, “Do you have any idea where she might have gone missing?”

San shakes his head with a sigh, “The only thing we found was her bracelet, and that was miles away from where she should’ve been—near the rocky caves close to the mountains.”

The information stirs a gasp from your lips, for the mountains lie nearly fifty miles away from Alusia’s borders. “But that's miles away. How could she have ended up there?”

Weariness is evident in every line of San’s face as he levels you with a sorrowful look, “No one knows.”

Days stretch on, heavy with a gnawing sense of uncertainty, as Miyeon’s absence continues to hang upon Alusia like a dark cloud that just won’t leave. The ominous shadows that loom over the forest deepen as more individuals vanish without a trace, their fates shrouded in a veil of mystery that defies explanation. Countless efforts have been in vain, leaving everyone in a state of collective apprehension. Venturing into the heart of the forest with San and Wooyoung, you’ve even journeyed to the rocky caves where the bracelet had been discovered. However, you find no tangible clues, and the sombre truth of your fruitless attempts sinks in.

Weirdly enough, amidst the sense of dread and uncertainty that surrounds the town and the forest, your cottage emerges as a safe haven. Whether the protective spells you’ve cast around its perimeter have deterred the sinister force or some other unknown factor is at play, whatever has been prowling in the forest doesn’t seem to approach your home. Your heart fills with relief at this, for it ensures the safety of not only yourself but also of your feline companion.

Captain has been venturing into the forest stealthily; however, you’re attuned to the subtle shifts that accompany his absence. Despite your worry, you permit him these solitary ventures as not only is your confidence in his instincts unwavering, but you also know that he wouldn’t stray too far to put himself in jeopardy. True to your belief, he returns to your side by the time you’re done with the day’s work.

However, one day when Captain doesn’t come back home by dusk, you reach out to Wooyoung, informing him that you will set out in search of your cat. Your friend’s apprehension is palpable even through the texts, and he reminds you of the prevailing danger that has claimed Miyeon and others, yet your determination overrides his caution.

Urgency propels you into the forest’s depths as the sun sets even further, washing the canopy above you in shadows that stretch like fingers reaching out to pull you into their darkness. An unsettling hush descends upon the surrounding area, a peculiar silence that leaves you both aware and wary. Your senses are on high alert as you advance deeper into the foliage and look for your cat.

As you spot a clearing in front of you that is bathed in the ethereal glow of twilight, you notice Captain Jack Sparrow in the middle, his attention fixed on an unseen presence shrouded within the trees on the other side. 

“Captain?” At the sound of your voice, his head whips around, his meow fraught with urgency. As he hurries to your side, his head nudging against your leg, you recognise his plea for you to retreat.

“I’m not leaving without you,” you tell him softly but with enough conviction in your voice that elicits a resigned meow from Captain.

He positions himself in front of you, his lithe form a protective barrier between you and the hidden danger that holds his attention. The silence seems to pulse with malevolent energy, and the hairs on your arms stand on end as you brace yourself for what awaits.

And then, from the gap between the trees, steps out a figure that you have only seen within the pages of the books you’ve read—a demon. His arrival disrupts the eerie stillness, his form emanating an aura that sends a shiver coursing down your spine. Horns, reminiscent of an infernal crown, emerge from tufts of his long hair. Intricate tattoos wind their way along his arms like serpents of darkness, and wings resembling a bat's silhouette stretch ominously, casting shadows that dance in tune with the forest’s secrets. The deep crimson glow of his eyes sears a path into your very soul, leaving you trembling beneath his gaze.

Your heart beats wildly within your chest, your senses keenly aware of the danger that emanates from this being. As the realisation that you stand before a high demon dawns upon you, you cannot help but inhale sharply.

Though fear courses through your veins, your mind functions with remarkable clarity. A plan takes shape, and your instinct for self-preservation and the well-being of those you hold dear compels you to act. Fingers trembling, you manage to send a discreet message to Wooyoung and tell him to bring a priest whose knowledge and skills would be able to banish this entity back where he belongs.

Beside you, Captain Jack Sparrow emits another series of hisses, his agitation a mirror to your own. The feline’s protectiveness seems to amuse the demon, for his lips curl into a sinister grin. “You think your feline companion is any threat to me? You’re foolish to think so, little witch.”

Your heart pounds as you face the looming demon. With your makeshift weapon—a sturdy stick—grasped firmly, you weave determination and resolve into your stance. Your gaze shifts to Captain, his eyes reflecting the trust he places in you. Kneeling before him, you utter your words in a hushed tone. “Can you distract him for me?”

Captain Jack Sparrow meets your gaze with unwavering intensity, an unspoken understanding passing between you two. His nod is resolute, a testament to his loyalty and his faith in you. Without hesitation, he catapults himself toward the demon, a feline embodiment of courage and defiance.

With a sharp breath, you drag the stick into the forest floor as you etch a devil’s trap. Each stroke in the soil forms a link in a mystical chain, a barrier that could keep the demon trapped until the priest arrives with Wooyoung. The forest seems to hold its breath, the air thick with anticipation as you carve your intentions into the earth, invoking protection and safeguarding magic into each gesture.

Just as you make the last stroke on the earth, a piercing howl of agony pierces through the silence. Panic claws at your chest as you stand, your eyes locking onto Captain, who now lies amidst the underbrush. The demon’s glee is evident, a sickening grin that sparks a fire of anger within you.

Even as your heart races with a mixture of fury and desperation, his taunting words punctuate the air, “You can’t hurt me either, little witch. You’re too weak to go up against me.”

Your voice, though laced with tremors, carries a fire born of defiance. “You underestimate me, demon. My strength lies in more than just might.”

As the tension builds, you brace yourself, a fusion of anger and resolve fuelling your next steps. For some reason, a smirk dances at the edges of your lips, the action adding to the demon’s simmering fury. His snarl of irritation is a satisfying confirmation that your audacity has hit its mark, goading him into action. Without warning, he hurtles toward you with terrifying speed, and instinct kicks in, your body moving with a fluidity born of desperation as you sidestep his oncoming assault, your heart pounding with a mixture of adrenaline and a fervent prayer for Wooyoung to be quick. He’s your anchor, your beacon of hope, a lifeline that promises light at the end of the tunnel.

Your attempt to land a punch only garners a momentary victory, a fleeting contact that sends a jolt of satisfaction through your veins before the demon's ferocity reignites. Your “fight” with the demon is more of a dance between predator and prey. The demon is tireless, his attacks relentless, and your resilience the only thing keeping you from succumbing to his power.

As you’re trying to catch your breath while also simultaneously dodging the demon’s attacks, a movement in the corner of your vision catches your attention—a graceful, stealthy approach. It’s Captain Jack Sparrow, emerging from the undergrowth despite being hurt himself. You can see the fire in his own eyes as he moves closer to the two of you.

Your focus narrows as the duel intensifies. Yet, in a split second, your world tilts on its axis. The demon’s strike finally lands its mark, and an agonising pain flares in your abdomen as his blade pierces through you. Your gasp of pain mingles with the harshness of your exhale, the world momentarily spinning as you lose your grip on reality.

Amidst the searing agony, a small hope presents itself—a diversion in the form of your cat. Captain’s launch distracts the demon, his collision with the devil turning the tide of battle. A triumphant surge courses through you as the malevolent entity stumbles ensnared within the conjured lines and symbols of the devil’s trap.

Hope blossoms anew as the demon’s growls turn to roars of rage. It’s a momentous turn of events, however, the sweet taste of victory is swiftly tempered by the urgency of your injury. Blood flows from your wound, a crimson river that threatens to drown you in its tide. 

But as darkness threatens to claim you, the forest is pierced by the sound of familiar voices. Wooyoung’s call is a lifeline, as he and the priest, followed by San, move toward the heart of the clearing. Their arrival sparks a surge of relief within you, the fervent prayers you’d cast finding their answer.

For your two friends, the demon, now in the custody of the priest, takes a backseat to the immediate urgency of your wound. Bloodied and battered, you succumb to the overwhelming sense of fatigue that washes over you, your vision flickering as you teeter on the precipice of consciousness. As the world blurs and wavers, you hear Captain’s mournful meows and Wooyoung’s desperate pleas as San works to stem the bleeding. Darkness envelops you, but not before you grasp the hands of those who are by your side, hoping to give them some comfort.

As you gradually resurface from the depths of the unconsciousness, you’re met with a hazy awareness of your surroundings. The soft rustle of leaves, a gentle breeze, and the warmth of the sun’s rays brush against your senses, weaving together a mosaic of sensations that bring you back to the world of the living.

As your eyelids flutter open, the world swims into focus, and you realise you’re laid down in the comfort of your bed. With careful and deliberate motions, you navigate meticulously to take note of any aches along your body. The pain is there, an ever-present reminder of the brutal encounter with the demon, but it’s not as overwhelming as you initially feared.

Summoning the strength to sit up, you’re acutely aware of the effort it takes. Your muscles protest the movement, a chorus of twinges and discomfort that underscore the extent of your injuries. You exhale a measured breath, grateful for the incremental progress that you’ve made in whatever number of days you’ve been unconscious. 

You wonder if Wooyoung or San are downstairs, for you hear movement and sounds drifting through the air—evidence that you're not alone. With a mixture of trepidation and anticipation, you muster the energy to call out. “Hello?”

In response, the sounds shift—a plate clatters in the sink, and footsteps echo through the corridors as they draw nearer. You await the reply with a mixture of anticipation and unease, as the door to your room creaks open, revealing an unexpected visitor who seems as surprised to find you conscious as you are to meet him. The stranger stands framed in the doorway, his presence both enigmatic and captivating. Your gaze sweeps over him, capturing the details that distinguish him from any other human.

His silver hair shimmers like moonlight swept in an artful disarray around his face. His brown eyes are warm and expressive, and his petite nose adds a touch of whimsy to his features, a charming little thing that lends him an air of approachability.

Yet, what captivates your attention most are the silver cat ears that adorn his head. They peek from behind his tousled locks, a hint of something magical, a connection to the feline that has become such a significant part of your life. And there, nestled against his throat, rests the same choker you had bought for Captain—the final object that weaves a thread of familiarity between you and this stranger.

You blink at the unexpected revelation, your mind whirling as it tries to reconcile this silver-haired stranger with the raven-furred feline companion who had been a constant presence in your life for over a year. The pieces of the puzzle rearrange themselves in your perception, forming a new and baffling image that challenges your understanding of magic and reality.

“Please don’t tell me that you’re the cat who’s been living with me for the past year,” your incredulity and confusion are woven into the words that hang in the air between you.

He blinks back at you, the innocence in his gaze casting a surreal contrast against the situation you’ve found yourself in. “Um, okay?” His response is soft, almost timid, and a pang of empathy stirs within you.

“But, you… I didn’t sense a single ounce of magic in you,” you murmur, your words imbued with a touch of bewilderment. The dichotomy between his appearance as a cat and now as a being with apparent human attributes leaves you struggling to grasp the threads of truth.

He shifts uneasily in the doorway, his cat ears betraying his discomfort as they flatten against his hair. As your brain races to piece together the implications of his transformation, Captain—your erstwhile feline friend—interjects with a soft sigh, “That’s because our magic is way different. Nature witches can rarely sense dark magic unless it’s threatening.”

“Oh… WAIT— WHAT DO YOU MEAN DARK MAGIC?” 

The elusive and sinister nature of dark magic indeed renders it undetectable to your innate senses. But to think you had been living with a creature who practised dark magic made you shudder.

“I am a mage, well—I was one until I declined a fae’s advances. They cursed me to live as a cat for the rest of my life,” he confesses, his voice carrying the weight of a burden he’s carried for far too long.

Your emotions teeter on the precipice of uncertainty. Part of you instinctively yearns to distance yourself, wary of the unpredictable nature of dark magic and its ramifications. Yet, another part—perhaps the more empathetic and compassionate side—compels you to understand.

“And how did you turn back?” you inquire gently, the words wrapped in a blanket of cautious curiosity. You observe his response closely, measuring his demeanour, and his expressions, seeking any sign of deceit or danger.

He meets your gaze squarely, his eyes carrying a mixture of vulnerability and sincerity. “I called in a favour another fae owed me. They helped me out and managed to undo some of the curse… but I was to stay a cat until I felt the heartbreak of almost losing someone precious to me,” he confides, his voice trembling with an authenticity that resonates with your intuition.

“Precious?” You echo the word.

The notion seems almost surreal, a subtle revelation that has you momentarily flustered. Your heart flutters in an unfamiliar rhythm, a dance choreographed by the unexpected emotions swirling within you. 

He observes your reaction, a gentle smile playing upon his lips as he regards you with tender familiarity. “You're precious to me, Y/N,” he admits, the words carrying an honesty that sends a shiver down your spine. His gaze is a caress, drawing you into the depths of his sentiment. For a heartbeat, the world narrows to just the two of you, and you find yourself holding your breath.

He probably senses the shift in your breathing and looks at you in concern, so you force yourself to inhale, coughing a bit as you choke. Once he sees you’re fine, he continues, his words laced with a trace of melancholy. “So… you almost losing your life changed me back. Not fully, though, never fully. I’ll still be able to turn back into a cat and then back into this form. That’s what I’ve been doing while Wooyoung and San come to check up on you.”

The notion of him resuming his dual existence as both a cat and this silver-haired individual evokes a sense of both wonder and sympathy. Your gaze lingers on him, searching for traces of the feline friend you’ve known for so long within the person before you.

“Oh…” The word slips from your lips, laden with a complexity of emotions that you struggle to articulate.

He shifts slightly, his demeanour carrying an air of uncertainty as he speaks. “Um… I can leave if you don’t want me around any—”

You interject, the words tumbling from your lips before he can finish his sentence, a resolute assertion that quashes any hint of rejection. “No! I just… I'll just need a while to… uh… yeah.” You gesture vaguely, the swirl of emotions within you manifesting in a flurry of gestures that you can’t seem to articulate into words. He nods at you, and the silence that falls over the room is punctuated only by the soft rustling of fabric as he shifts his weight.

“Would you like something to eat?” he offers, seeking to ground the situation in something familiar. “I'm not the best at cooking, but I make a nice porridge and considering you haven’t eaten in a couple of days, it's best if you have something light to eat.”

Your quick nod is accompanied by a brief departure and a swift return, a bowl of porridge cradled in his hands. When you notice that he’s about to leave you alone again, you can’t help but call out. “Wait.” As his steps pause in response, you invite him to stay with a gentle smile, the words unspoken but the sentiment clear.

Curiosity laces your words as you venture into uncharted territory. “So… can you still do magic?” The inquiry stems from a genuine desire to understand the extent of his transformation and the implications it holds.

He takes a seat beside your bed, his posture relaxed as he contemplates your question. “I haven't been able to use any magic since you got injured. The demon, he hurt me with the same knife he used to hurt you… and uh, I think whatever magic I have sort of reacted with yours…” His gaze finds yours from beneath the fall of his bangs, an unspoken query hidden within his eyes, “Do you feel any different?”

“I can't tell right now…” As silence settles between you, you sense the opportunity to delve further, to uncover a piece of the puzzle that he’s held close. “What's your name?” you ask, your voice soft yet insistent.

“Huh?” He seems momentarily taken aback as if the question isn’t something he expected.

“Your name,” you repeat.

“Kim Hongjoong.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah…” The response seems to hang in the air, a bridge between the past and the present, a marker of his identity before the curse that had transformed him.

An uncomfortable quiet follows, the weight of revelations and the unspoken understanding rendering words momentarily inadequate. Seeking a refuge in the familiarity of action, you take another spoonful of porridge, the act providing temporary solace.

Breaking through the silence, he cautiously inquires, his voice softer than before, “Is it okay?” The gaze you direct at Hongjoong carries an unspoken question, “The porridge?” he clarifies.

Your response is a nod as you offer him a tentative smile that reflects your gratitude. “It's really tasty. Thank you.”

Hongjoong’s nod is a humble acknowledgement, his gaze holding a fleeting yet meaningful connection with yours. As the seconds tick by, another awkward silence settles, but this one holds the gentle promise of the unknown.

That evening as the sunset paints the evening sky in hues of purple and orange, you find yourself in the presence of Wooyoung and San. Their eyes, suffused with the relief of your recovering strength, mirror the unspoken concern that brought them here. Nestled at your side, Hongjoong has resumed his feline form, a steadfast source of familiar comfort as Wooyoung tells you about the people who had gone missing. As the priest banished the demon, they were liberated from the captivity of the demon who was using them as a source to draw power. You are glad to know that Miyeon and the others have safely returned to their homes, and the four of you enjoy an evening filled with the warmth of companionship.

As your body completes its healing process, a newfound awareness awakens within you—an inkling that your magic has indeed undergone a transformation. Engaging Hongjoong in conversation about this, you both reach a consensus that teaching each other about your respective magic could be the key to unravelling the intricacies of your unique connection.

You start small, inviting Hongjoong to partake in nurturing the growth of herbs and other flora and having him observe the delicate craft of potion-making. With patience and thoroughness that speaks to the depth of your understanding, you slowly and meticulously introduce him to the art that has been your life’s calling.

Conversely, Hongjoong takes a more theoretical approach. Armed with the wealth of knowledge he has amassed over the years, he embarks on the journey of studying dark magic alongside you. Evenings become an intimate soiree of shared books, a merging of his wisdom and your practical expertise. The pursuit is not without its challenges, especially for him as the concepts of dark magic are both familiar and alien, a delicate dance between his past experiences and his present identity.

Slowly but surely, the awkwardness of your interactions dissipates, and you settle into a rhythm, an understanding blooming from the mutual pursuit of knowledge. Hongjoong’s presence becomes an inseparable part of your magical undertakings, his assistance serving as both catalyst and amplification. The mundane tasks of your craft transform into collaborative ventures that find their completion with newfound ease and velocity.

In this partnership, you both traverse uncharted realms, unearthing hidden gems of wisdom and forging new techniques. You discover the intricacies of advanced protective charms, the nuances of spellcasting, and the delicate balance between the ethereal and the tangible. Every conversation brings new insights as his eyes aglow with passion while he delves into explanations that light up your understanding.

Hongjoong isn’t oblivious to the subtle shifts in your demeanour either, the way your attention seems to gravitate toward his words with an almost magnetic pull. He playfully teases you when you zone out while listening to him, but beneath his banter lies a quiet satisfaction at having captured your focus.

One summer evening, almost two years after you found and healed Hongjoong, you find yourself basking in the warmth of his presence. As Hongjoong delves into the mysteries of Tarot cards, your attention wavers. Mesmerised by his words, your gaze inadvertently drifts to his lips, where the graceful dance of his explanations seems to take on a sensual rhythm of its own. Lost in the tempo of his speech, you’re barely aware of your growing fascination until the sound of his clearing throat breaks through your reverie. Flushing in embarrassment, you avert your gaze, your heart racing at having been caught by him.

Hongjoong chuckles softly, a melodious sound that carries warmth. His fingers, feather-light and tinged with confidence, slide beneath your chin, lifting it until your eyes meet his. His touch is tender, a silent reassurance that dissipates your unease, even as his eyes search yours with an intensity that ignites a flutter in your chest.

The air between you seems charged with unspoken desires, and as Hongjoong’s gaze darkens, your heart skips a beat. His presence is magnetic, his proximity an intoxicating pull that leaves you breathless. The realisation that this is a defining juncture in your connection dawns upon you, your anticipation matched only by the uncertainty of what's to come.

“May I kiss you?” Leaned in so close that his breath dances upon your lips, Hongjoong’s voice is barely a whisper as he seeks permission, his question hanging between you like a promise. His eyes, fixed on your mouth, reflect the yearning that pulses through his veins.

Your nod is almost imperceptible, a fervent agreement that is all the confirmation Hongjoong needs. His lips descend upon yours with a delicate reverence, his touch a gentle brush that sends sparks through your very being. A deep, resonant purr thrums from within his chest, the vibrations of which reverberate against you as he draws you closer to himself.

Hongjoong’s kiss unfolds with a tenderness that contrasts the unspoken longing that has been growing between the two of you. His lips move against yours in a rhythm that speaks of his own vulnerability, each touch conveying a deeper sentiment. But as you respond in earnest, his tongue glides across your lips, prompting longing to flare through your veins.

Your lips part, the connection broken only for a moment as you both draw a ragged breath. Yet, the space between you feels electric, the air pregnant with the promise of what’s to come. Giving in to desire, Hongjoong’s kisses trail along your jaw, igniting sensations that tumble forth as a soft, involuntary whimper. The velvety brush of his lips against your skin seems to write a narrative of its own as if he’s trying to make a home in your very soul.

With a husky murmur, Hongjoong guides you forward, his voice a seductive entreaty that resonates through your core. As his teeth graze beneath the collar of your shirt, a shiver courses down your spine, “That's it, love,” he exhales, his words a sultry invitation to unravel the depths of your desires. “Let me hear you.”

The fervour of your shared moment is interrupted by a sudden, urgent knock on your door. The sound jolts you both out of the cocoon of passion, and you exchange a hasty yet intense kiss as if to imprint the sensation on your soul before pulling away. Breathing heavily, you share a lingering glance before reluctantly untangling yourself from his embrace and heading to the front door, your heartbeats echoing the electricity that still courses through your veins.

As you open the door, you’re met with the sight of Wooyoung and San, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity. They look at you and Hongjoong with knowing smiles as if they can sense the transformation in the air, but they refrain from commenting. It’s a silent acknowledgement of the intimacy that has bloomed between you, and you’re grateful for their unspoken understanding.

In the days that follow, you and Hongjoong continue navigating your newfound connection. The kiss remains unspoken, yet its imprint is undeniable. The two of you seem to share a mutual agreement to explore this uncharted territory without the constraints of labels or expectations, allowing your relationship to unfurl naturally.

With Hongjoong by your side, every interaction becomes a wordless conversation, every shared glance a testament to the bond that has formed between you. The ease with which you navigate each other’s thoughts and emotions astounds you as if you’ve known each other across lifetimes.

With Hongjoong, you find solace and a rare understanding that extends beyond the realms of mere companionship. With him by your side, life seems to flow effortlessly, and even the challenges that come your way are met with a united front, the strength of your connection acting as a shield against adversity.

As time passes, you realise that what you have with Hongjoong is more profound than any bond you could have hoped for had you connected with a familiar. Yours is a love that has grown from mutual respect, shared experiences, and the unspoken promises that linger between your glances.

You might have longed for a familiar as a young witch, but now you realise that fate had something even better in store for you—a soul who understands you in ways words can never express and a heart that beats in harmony with your own. With Hongjoong by your side, you found the person who complemented your magic, someone who loved you and would go to the ends of the earth for you, and you knew that you’d do the same for him.

[missisjoker]

Warg!Cregan

In canon, Cregan and Jace made a blood pact, becoming husbands sworn blood brothers and creating the Pact of Ice and Fire.

What if that pact, that blood mixing triggered magic in Cregan? He is a Stark, he has the blood of the North in his veins, which means he can be a warg.

Now imagine him missing Jace so much he starts seeing dreams about Jace, and one day accidentally ends up warging into a cat on Dragonstone? He is horrified at first, disoriented, but seeks out comfort of the familiar and beloved smell. When he finds Jace, Jace is sleeping. Dreaming, tossing and turning in his bed, calling Cregan's name. When Jace suddenly wakes up, Cregan is thrown back into his own body.

Slowly he learns how to control the power, after reading some ancient and secret scrolls from his Stark ancestors.

He starts watching Jace from the shadows, seeing Jace touch himself and call out his name; seeing Jace being cordial but brotherly with his fiancee, watching Jace slowly getting more and more angry and anxious about the war.

And then he realizes he can use it to the Black's advantage. What if he manages to warg into something in King's Landing and spy on the Greens?

What if he learns something important, sends a raven to Jace on Dragonstone and completely alters the course of events, saving Jace from untimely death?

And, what if Jace too, has ... magical side effects from their pact?

What would they be?

How fast would those two realize their magic depends on each other and their bond?

Would Cregan be able to warg into a dragon?

[viamutationis]

OH GREY WARDEN, WE'RE REALLY IN IT NOW.

ID in alt text, notes and oc infodump under the cut! PLEASE ask me about them they're my new babygirl of the week

Yeah. Ben-Hassrath Cousland is wild, I know. This was one of those 3 am thoughts that became a beloved oc and now they're my canon protag. Basically: She was being trained to be House Cousland's left hand to spy within the noble courts and intercept threats to her family's rule, and a large part of that meant being covertly sent to Orlais to train as a bard. Buuuut the bardmaster she studied under was an undercover Hissrad, and she wound up being converted to the Qun by her. Teenage Laurentia was in a spot where, like every kid, she was questioning the Andrastian beliefs she was raised with and all the unfair things she noticed in her society, so she was very open to the Qun.

Her role once she was sent back home was basically just to send reports detailing the inner workings of the Ferelden nobility and to be aware of any Tal-Vashoth activity in the area. Pretty benign shit, and the former task is what she was doing for her family anyway. Still recruited by the Wardens the normal way, via Duncan doing his "come with me if you want to live" shtick after the fam dies. None of the Blight Crew find her out save for Leliana, because Leli knows everything. She only reveals it to Sten just as he's about to hop on a ship back home LMAOOO.

They're genuinely very compassionate and sweet. A lil whimsical. Highly loyal and protective. Very lawful good (emphasis on lawful). It's a weird sort of internal reconciling - they are genuinely kind to most people and love listening to others' issues and helping them out. It just so happens that this makes them an excellent spy, because they're exactly the sort of person people feel comfortable opening up to, and they see no issue with passing relevant information on to the powers they spy for. The kindness is genuine, but it's also a tool, if that makes sense. Their duty comes before any attachments. On that Master Coercion grindset.

No romance because they're aro, but they do have a little homoerotic espionage cat and mouse goin on with Leliana (singing campfire songs and trading stories and braiding each others' hair included). They get along with all their companions besides Morrigan and Oghren, and even Morrigan is more just.. cordial passive aggression.

They exist in the same worldstate as my Orlesian Warden-Commander Gavriel! He's a veteran warden who joins them on the road after Lothering because his ass snuck into Ferelden to help the Wardens solo, and then he'll later become the WC while they become Arlessa because they have more political experience and he has more military experience.

They generally make the nicey nice choices, albeit not where magic is concerned, and even then it's purely out of an abundance of caution. They do NOT annul the Circle, they do that secret third option where you tell Greagoir there could still be blood mages so he puts the mages into quarantine and Wynne still joins you but the game counts it as siding with the Templars. They let Isolde kill Connor, rip lil dude. (Not like they have a choice, they would rather that than the blood magic anyway, but they kill Jowan soooooo.) Besides that, all nicey choices. Bhelen on the throne, Anvil destroyed, Zathrian reconciles and everybody lives, Ashes are not tainted, Loghain recruited, Alistair and Anora rule jointly, Gavriel and Morrigan know they'd never agree to the Dark Ritual so they do it behind Laurentia's back and nobody dies lmao.

Small notes on their disabilities: Wynne was the healer that did their cleft lip surgeries as a kid!! Their last surgery was when they were 6, so they do remember her :D & their hearing aids are lyrium-infused lazurite, the runes are all enchantments that combine to make it collect and amplify sound like an actual HA does. I love bullshitting magic technology.

Their mabari is named Princess, because they got her when they were 10, okay.

[rainintheevening]

Okay, here goes.

The unicorn...

His name is Erah, or at least that's the most easily spoken version of his name

He can't talk, not human speech at least

He was born mute

He can talk horse, or the more complex dialect common among Talking Horses anyway

This is how he communicates

When they meet in Aslan’s camp, startling each other around a corner, Peter is honestly more struck by a creature who doesn't talk than he is by any of the ones that do

In all the fuss and hubbub, and with a sword hanging at his hip, Peter doesn't mind the unicorn's quiet

His eyes say plenty

Oreius translates for him

Philip also does this for Erah

Anyway Peter learns the unicorn's name, and that he thinks it would be the highest possible honour to be Peter's mount both in training and in battle

Unicorns do not let their riders fall

Except Erah does

He is horribly ashamed of this after the battle

Peter is desperately reassuring

"You got shot! You almost died! Lucy had to heal you with her magic cordial!"

Peter's never really ridden before

But on Erah's back he feels safe and strong and steady

On Erah's back he feels a lot more like the king he needs to be

When Erah first joined Aslan’s camp, along with his friend Philip the Talking Horse, he was planning to ask Aslan why he was born mute, why he'd been cursed in this way that had led to so much pain in the death of his dam and the sorrow of his sire

He wanted to ask Aslan to fix him, to make him like a normal unicorn

When Oreius brought him to Aslan, Erah could only whicker an approximation of the Lion's name, before he fell silent and trembling under the weight of that gaze, that saw every thought, and every suffering, and every way he felt inferior and broken, and... loved him.

And suddenly he didn't need to ask, he only knew that he was loved, exactly as he was, and oddly, that was quite enough of an answer

It became a blessing in one way, he later told Peter, as he would likely have left if Aslan had healed him, and then not met Peter

Peter learns him, learns every little way he communicates, the thousand different snorts and whickers and whinnies, the tilts of ears and head and back hooves, the shake of mane or swish of tail, the volumes read in his liquid dark eyes

They make their own language in a way, and Ed is fascinated by it, but can never really parse how they speak without words

So Erah the mute unicorn becomes High King Peter's battle horse

Legendary, iconic, the boy king of Narnia in his red tunic with the gold lion rampant, the silver sword called Rhindon, and the white unicorn he rides

No, riding a unicorn is not normal, but Erah doesn't care one whit, he wants to do this for Peter, his High King and his best friend, and Peter quickly comes to trust no other mount like Erah

Peter always leads the charge in battle, riding with the cavalry and the great cats

Edmund prefers fighting on foot, and often marches out with the foot soldiers

Philip is actually not fond of combat, and prefers it when Ed leaves him behind

Philip trains the girls to ride as well

Philip is also a great debating partner, and there is a running joke that Ed honed his conversation skills with his horse

Erah and Peter save each other's lives many times on the battlefield

Erah often takes Peter for a gallop when the High King is tired or discouraged or worried

Often Ed and Philip will join them, and the four are a beloved sight

Erah also likes being ridden by Lucy

She often tells him how beautiful and handsome he is until he would blush if unicorns could do that

Eventually Erah gets married to a sweet unicorn mare

Her name is Pearl

He still rides out to battle with Peter but doesn't live at the castle anymore

He doesn't want to have a whole herd like stallions normally would, one mare is enough for him, and he has to be there when Peter needs him

They've had three foals by the time the kings and queens vanish

No one knows exactly what happens

Philip is lost, uncertain, he spends days scouring the woods

Till he sees Aslan in a dream, and the Lion asks him why he mourns, asks Philip to trust, and tells him to 'be always ready for the coming of your king'

He comes home to Cair Paravel, and the worst part for him is having to tell Erah that Peter is gone

And Erah looks at him, and his eyes shine when Philip repeats Aslan’s words, because he'd heard the exact same thing in his own dream

'Be always ready for the coming of your king'

Back in England, the new school the boys get sent to has stables, and Peter is down there on the second day, talking to all the horses

He rides every chance he gets

The schoolmasters and boys who knew him before are surprised by how good he is

He's oddly regal in the saddle

Even more he often rides bareback

Ed rides too though not as much and only one particular horse

Edmund is a one horse boy

Peter gets very good with horses

They are much easier to talk to than his classmates

If anyone's having a problem with a horse, someone's gonna yell 'get Pevensie!' and more often than not, Peter can settle the animal down

But though he gets to know some of the horses quite well, nothing ever comes close to the bond he had with Erah, and as time passes and he misses Narnia more fiercely, sometimes riding is a painful reminder of what he has no longer

Now unicorns live long, and Erah lived near twice as long as most, saying farewell to many in that time, including his mare Pearl, and his beloved friend Philip, who also left many decendants behind

He never stopped waiting, never stopped looking for his king's return

Sometimes he would watch the sun set at the end of another day, and in the blaze of glory he would see Aslan’s face

He always wanted to ask 'why' but then he never did

He didn't understand why Aslan would take his beloved friend away, but he would never forget that he was loved, and Peter was loved, and they were all held between the great paws of the Lion anyway

Perhaps, he thought, near the end, King Peter had already gone ahead to Aslan’s country, and really it was Peter who was waiting for him

Erah did not see the Telmarine invasion

His great-grandsons fought in those bitter battles, and they suffered greatly in the losses

Unicorns were heavily persecuted as very obviously magical creatures and most of them fled north

North to the land that had been High King Peter's special domain

The legends of the high king and his white unicorn remained

It was a terrible blow to Peter, to return to a Narnia so changed, and to discover his old friend so long gone

Glenstorm knew the old legends, retelling several of them one night around the fire, while tears slid down Peter's cheeks, and Lucy curled close under his arm, and Caspian turned his head away, feeling like an intruder

Later, in a private moment with Aslan, Peter asked only one question: 'did he die at peace?'

Aslan said only (but very very gently), 'he waits for you still, son of Adam. Be at peace'

After they go back to England, Peter treasures his memories of Erah's friendship and loyalty, even writing a little memoir about the unicorn

He still rides whenever he can

He hopes he will see Erah again some day

In the end they are both rewarded

Erah finds he is mostly right for it seems he has no sooner arrived in Aslan’s country than there is the sound of much joy and the laughter of reunion

He sees two tall men, and he calls the blond one's name and Peter laughs, because, well, it's actually not surprising in the least that Erah should speak aloud, but it is still wonderful, and they run together

Peter wraps his arms around the warm neck, and Erah wraps his chin around Peter's back, and then Peter is up, astride him

Philip is talking next to them, and Ed is laughing and there is a whole wide open stretch of green in front of them, and the sweet smelling wind is singing their names with the Lion's breath

So they ride fast, and they ride free, and Erah and Peter are a king and a unicorn belonging to each other, and they follow the Lion wherever he goes

[agentrouka-blog]

I often see this sentiment that Ned should have told Cat the truth about Jon and it would have solved all their problems. I disagree with this? I don't think Ned was being an idiot for not telling Cat. I think there were a multitude of reasons of why he didn't tell her, and all of them held weight in his decision.

1) he didn't know or trust her when they got married

2) a secret stops being one if you tell even one person about it. He promised Lyanna he wouldn't tell anyone and that included everyone, except obviously the people already present at the tower (Howland and the wet nurse I presume)

3) there is a possibility that Cat's behavior towards Jon would have changed knowing he was not a result of Ned's affair, but her resentment towards him also provided a cover. If she treated him, say cordially, then it would have been very suspicious considering Ned was already fostering him at his own home.

4) after he came to know Cat, he would have realized that she was fiercely protective of her family, she wouldn't have thought twice before giving up Jon for her children if it came to that. A choice no sane person, including Ned, can fault her for. By not telling her, he removed that option for her, saved Jon and also saved her from the guilt that would have haunted her.

5) he was committing treason that would have endangered Cat and his children. In case it ever got out there was plausible deniability for his family that they didn't know and it might have saved them.

His actions hurt both Catelyn and Jon but it was a very complicated situation overall so I understand him too. I don't know what would have been the alternative because I don't think telling Catelyn would have solved anything. What is your opinion on this?

I don't think people generally claim it would have magically fixed "everything", but many also misunderstand how Ned is mishandling the situation. He isn't actually handling it well by himself, he isn't handling it the way he would have if Jon was actually his bastard. His inability to be "normal" about it and come up with a convincing lie created most of the avoidable problems we see, which is Catelyn's eternal insecurity about Ned's feelings for Jon (and his mother) which feeds her anxiety about her own children being usurped, plus Jon's complete trauma over knowing absolutely nothing about his mother. Both are left hanging for no logical reason from their POV, and that's an absolutely insane path for Ned to go down.

True, and then he chose to go the worst way about it and never fixed it later.

Howland knows. The Daynes know. Wylla probably knows. Benjen probably knows. Come on. And we don't know what she made him promise and it's more likely to be along the lines of protecting her son than specifically never telling anyone who could have helped him handle this better.

Catelyn being "nice" to Jon isn't even half of it. She could have advised Ned on how to handle the situation in a realistic way with the least harm done. Which is likely to foster Jon somewhere, make plans for his future instead of leaving him aimless, create a believable lie about his mother that doesn't shame him, have a harmoniously accepted situation instead of making his kids grow up with this unresolved conflict warping their emotional well-being.

What situation could realistically arise where Cat could "sell out" Jon to "save" her children that specifically depends on her knowing this and also wouldn't mean they are all already in deep trouble? It's nonsense. Also, Catelyn "Family Duty Honor" Tully would not fault Ned for wanting to save his sister's child. It's a perfectly decent choice on his part and a dilemma she could easily understand. Come on!

How is this (thin glaze) of plausible deniability not equally achieved by simply lying (and lying better than Ned can, especially)?

It's just that Ned left both Cat and Jon deeply anxious and traumatized, respectively, because his decision was to lie very badly and then refuse to answer all reasonable questions. It has repercussions for all of them. From Cat to Sansa to Jon to Robb.

Plus: Ned may have actually had an opportunity to heal from his horrific trauma if he had talked to literally anyone about it. He may have been less likely to cling to Robert as a vestige of his lost youth, blinding himself to the man's monstrous faults and sticking around to his own doom.

It would not have "fixed everything" but you can't convince me it wouldn't have fixed some things.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Oi noble bell herbivore! What's someone like you doing walking around in a place like this? I would've slept soundly by now, but the click of those shoes of yours made my ears tick. Tch, along with you muttering about judgment, blessings, and God makes it noisy. Heard things about you from Radish sprout and the others, heh. You're mad. Now I do hope you keep the flame inside you, though. *Sighs* wouldn't want my napping spot to catch Hellfire.

I would recommend reading these headcanons after this interaction ^^ I think they serve as a good follow-up to this initial encounter.

Like Fire, Hellfire.

"It's Rollo Flamme," he sternly corrected the man stalking toward him amid the flowers and foliage. The hairs on the back of Rollo's neck stood up, sensing danger. "I do not believe I owe anyone an explanation for simply roaming the school grounds. They are open to any approved visitor such as myself."

The lion beastman bore a face he had seen in various texts: a prince from a far-off land. A Kingscholar, the second-born. Indeed, despite his wayward locks and shirt that practically hung half open, he carried himself with a natural grace only befitting that of one with noble heritage.

Another horrifying mage to add to his growing list of enemies.

Rollo grasped for his safety net, his beloved handkerchief. It swiftly covered his burgeoning grimace.

"All humans are herbivores to me," the Kingscholar scoffed, “and you marched right into a lion’s den. You’re just asking for trouble.”

Trouble—that was the last thing Rollo wanted, not on this (supposedly) cordial visit. It would draw too many eyes to him, attract too much unwanted attention. He forced himself to bend into a stiff bow.

"... Your grace." When he was met with silence, Rollo cautiously lifted his head. "I do apologize if my presence and proclivities have disturbed you. I will make myself scarce on my way out."

"Hoh?" A smirk on the lion's lips, and amusement flitting in his deep voice. "Now this is rich. You're giving me a death stare, but the words you're spouting are straining to stay nice. Radish Sprout and the others were right about you—you're pretty two-faced, hmm?"

"I'm afraid that this is how I always look. It is the one and only face I was born with.”

"That's the second time I've heard someone claim that as a defense. And that other guy?" The beastman was very close to Rollo. Showing his teeth, breath nipping at his skin. "He tried usurping the throne for himself."

“Did he now.”

Rollo’s tone was neutral in spite of the anger curling in him. He was disappointed, but not surprised, at the conferred secret. Mages were doomed to ruin one way or another, seeking power when they were weak and abusing it once it was in their hands.

They will ever know true solace. His mouth pinched.

The prince’s eyes glinted—not from sunlight streaming in through glass panes, but with a lazy interest. “… I smell it on you, you know. That cloying stench of magic. You’ve got it caged up like some poor, feral animal.”

The large cat circled his prey like a shark. Each stride he took was long and effortless, slowly riling up the unease in Rollo. Toying with him.

The wet heat of the Botanical Gardens was suddenly registering in full force. The fabric of Rollo’s robes clung to him, as if it, too, wished to retreat from the wild cat in its proximity. Discomfort settled.

“Unlike you Night Raven College miscreants, I am able to resist such sinful desires. I won’t let them spiral out of my control.”

“Sooner or later, that beast will want to be freed,” the lion coyly purred, “you can’t keep it contained forever. Your mask will slip—and with it, a grip on that dark fire.”

“… My, rather presumptuous of you to make these bold, accusatory comments to a man you just met. I’m aware that lion beastmen have a keen sense of smell, but I might make a recommendation: keep your nose out of other peoples’ matters.”

He threw his head back and laughed—rumbling and resonant against their glass cage. “I’m sure we’ll have to chance to become better acquainted with one another. It’s part of a prince’s duties to host important foreign dignitaries… and I’m nothing if not the paragon of princeliness.”

The sarcasm wasn’t missed.

Rollo allowed himself to openly frown. “You certainly haven’t been playing the part of a dutiful host, let alone royalty of any sort.”

“Oh?” He feigned, a hand drawn to his chest in mock shock. “Where are my manners?”

This time, the lion bowed to Rollo.

His facade, matching. Airs put on. Two playing at the exact same game.

“Leona Kingscholar,” he declared. The name itself was palpable and weighty. “A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Sir Flamme of the Shaftlands. You simply must pay a visit to Savanaclaw during your stay on Sage’s Island. I think I speak for my entire dorm when I say we’d love to have you for dinner.”

Rollo sniffed. “As though anyone would be convinced by this flattery.”

“Yeah, sure. Act tough and see where that gets you. I know you’ve got to visit us all eventually.” Leona tapped his temple with an index finger. “Social grace and all.”

“… Tch.”

Rollo didn’t want to admit it, but the (infuriating) man was right. His grip on his staff tightened.

“… I humbly accept your kind invitation,” he grumbled through gritted teeth. “Thank you for this invaluable opportunity.”

“Heh. Don’t pop a blood vessel yet.” Leona put a hand on Rollo’s shoulder, nearly shoving him over with a firm pat. (He didn’t look sorry about it as he baked off.) “Like I said, watch yourself. Wouldn’t want to be going and accidentally causing a forest fire, would we?”

Rollo’s eyes went hard.

His next words, dangerously soft.

“No, I suppose we wouldn’t.”

[childotkw]

What was that HP AU where Harry accidently creates an island cult and becomes a "Dark Lord" on the side? Can I have more of that please? :)

His age was the first thing Voldemort noted about his would-be rival.

He had known that going in, of course. Had had a file with Harry Potter's life cleanly printed out in his hands within a day of hearing about the other's activities in and around the Mediterranean - but reading twenty in neat ink on a line was different to seeing a young, fresh-faced boy standing across from him.

"Mr. Potter," Voldemort greeted, cordial for all the way his magic writhed around him in silent warning. "How nice to finally meet you."

Potter watched him calmly, blinking slow like a cat and appearing unruffled by the ambush. He had excellent control over his emotions, Voldemort grudgingly admitted. Not a hint of fear or unease to be seen.

"Lord Voldemort," Potter returned politely. The two girls on either side of Potter - darker skinned, thin in the way that suggested long-term starvation, and both even younger than he was. It was ridiculous, was this entire operation run by children? - stiffened at his name, their expressions tightening not with fear but with frustrated caution.

It was not the reaction he was used to receiving.

"It's an honour," Potter continued, and though the words were sincere the tone was bland and uninterested. "What brings you to this little shindig?"

He gestured vaguely around them, at the glittering chandeliers and glamorous robes, seemingly ignoring the nervous way eyes shifted over their small pocket of the hall. The noise had dropped around them slightly, people pretending not to strain their ears to hear what would be said.

A server, either brave or stupid, approached them with a tray, her mouth quivering ever so lightly. Potter reached out and took a glass with murmured thanks, taking a sip as his two companions - bodyguards? Assistants? He needed more information on Potter's circle - declined.

Voldemort accepted one as well, though unlike Potter he was not foolish enough to drink. A tongue ducked out to clean away the residual champagne from his bottom lip.

Those green eyes never left him, and that quiet intent was so at odds with the air of impassivity Potter wore like a coat.

"Oh, once I heard of your attendance, I admit my curiosity demanded to be sated," he answered with a gilded smile. "I just had to see the up-and-coming Dark Lord for myself."

More than one of their audience inhaled at that, the pretence vanishing in an instant. Every eye snapped to them, wide and oozing fear.

The two girls on Potter's side sneered, righteous indignation spreading across their narrow faces.

Potter merely tilted his head. "I've never once claimed to be a Dark Lord," he said, still calm, still unbothered.

"And yet," Voldemort said, shrugging elegantly while inside he seethed.

This was supposed to be his rival? This boy that had barely scraped through Hogwarts, who had run from Britain before the ink was even dry on his graduation certificate, and now couldn't even do him the courtesy of lying well.

Potter shifted his weight and the two girls tensed, eager anticipation on one's face while resignation settled over the other's, and then the boy had the audacity to say -

"It's hardly my fault that you're doing such a poor job that people are already looking to replace you."

Off to their side, someone choked.

[squidcave]

i wanna know more about autism skulduggery

oh boy do I have some headcanons for you 😎

he doesn't like Christmas bc (iirc) of how excessive it is. Christmas is so much all the time for a month straight and it's overstimulating as hell. Instead of ever just saying that though, he'll just stick with 'i don't like Christmas'

People he's not close to call him cold/scary and say, fully believing it too, that he cares about no one but himself (and Valkyrie as others meet her) but that's just not true!! he cares about his friends a lot (first non Val example that comes to mind is him not telling anyone his theory on Saracen's magic. like he figured that out and kept it to himself until Saracen said something bc it was clearly an important secret), he just happens to have relatively few of those lmao

He's also been dressing in the same style for like,, a century there abouts? and has shown no interest in changing that any time soon, which, real as fuck

Also also, he does not give two fucks about what someone thinks of him. And if he doesn't like someone, they will know about it because why pretend otherwise? He can be cordial when necessary but like Guild? not even gonna try

Also also also, stimming!! (this is p much all entirely HC)

when he was a kid, he liked snapping his fingers (makes a sound AND an impact?? hell yeah) but, as you might imagine, the more he did elemental magic, the less he snapped until he stopped completely. Instead, he taps on things: arms, tables, steering wheel, files - pretty much whatever's in his hands at any given moment. The reason Valkyrie notices his tapping in phase one is because it's an irregular beat, when she's used to him tapping out something consistent and steady. Also, his gun. Tell me he's not using that thing as a fidget.

ok final thing, promise. He is so bad at emotions. and change. and the complicated emotions that go along with change. thinking about Lord Vile being the product of undealt with grief and anger and just that little bit of manipulation (thank you Abyssinia, slay) and how when Vile went away, those feelings did not. even in the present day, do we think he ever actually dealt with that? processed anything that's happened just in the books themselves? Mr Skulduggery 'Therapy Would Make Me Worse, Actually' Pleasant?? No, I don't think he did. Honestly I think him getting cats is the closest to therapy he's gonna get lmao

anyway, didn't mean to type up a fucking essay here but if anyone wants to hear more, I'm here forever 🫶

[lurking-lilibeth]

Liara's days. She is not the most outgoing child in general; combined with her grumpiness, it makes it hard for her to make friends. Liara either entertains herself, waiting for her parents to come home, or spends time with Clara.

[grimreapersnuisance]

Guy Needs A Nap -- Short Writing

I finished my last class of the morning section with a sigh of relief. The stress was palpable now that exam season was around the corner. I dropped my books onto my desk and loosened the top two buttons of my blouse for some comfort. I had an hour before my next class started, enough time to breathe, feed my familiar, and practice a few spells. I set to filling Robin's bowl with milk from the refectory and left some tuna on a plate for him. Just as I was about to open my textbook, there was a sharp knock at the door. I opened it to see Jasper, Guy's handler, standing there with his brow furrowed.

"Um… hi. What can I do for you, Jasper?" I ask with caution. I've never seen Jasper distressed like this before.

"Would you mind giving me a hand with Master Guy? He is… shall I say restless."

I blinked with surprise. I wasn't sure what to expect, but it wasn't that.

"Sure. Just lead the way."

I follow Jasper up to the S-Rank dorms, a familiar route to Guy's room. He opens the door cordially and lets me inside.

"Master Guy is in his room." He gestures to the closed door to my right. I nod before heading over, I can hear footsteps pacing on the other side. I knock gently on the wood.

"Guy?" I call earnestly. The pacing stops and there is a moment of silence when I believe he will simply ignore me. He doesn't. The knob turns and the door opens to reveal Guy standing there in his casual attire. His shirt is half unbuttoned, his hair is jostled, his eyes have dark circles underneath them. He looked so unlike the stern, neat, commanding prince that I had come to love. My face softened.

"Guy… what's wrong?" I ask gently.

"Nothing. Dismiss yourself." He turned away and ran a hand through his hair roughly.

"So, that's how his hair got so messy," I think to myself.

"If I was in the same state, you wouldn't leave," I respond sternly, but not aggressively. He was stubborn, but not close to my level. If stubbornness was a class, I would be S-Rank.

Guy looks at me, but doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to; it's enough of an invitation for me. I close the door behind me as I enter his bedroom. I approach him and examine him with my eyes before reaching up to cup his cheek gently. Much to my surprise, he leans in to my hand.

"Guy, please, tell me what's wrong. When was the last time you've slept? Or eaten?"

"Couple days." He mumbles the response so quietly that I barely heard it. I furrow my brows with worry.

"Why?" I try to understand what's got him in so out of character. He doesn't respond, of course. I will have to pry the answer out of him, or figure it out through investigation.

I accept that our conversation has ended and pull him towards the bed.

"What are you doing?" He doesn't fight me, but he looks displeased.

"You need rest. If you won't do it on your own, then I'll force you," I respond matter-of-factly. He frowns, but doesn't stop me from easing him down onto the bed with me. I propped myself up slightly on some pillows and rested his head against my stomach. I carded my fingers through his slightly tangled, but silky, hair and hummed some tune I remembered from the radio. Guy acted displeased, but his exhaustion won and he began to relax. His eyelids drooped and he fell asleep.

Sure, I missed the rest of my classes that day, but I could think up some excuse.  Magical food poisoning or whatnot. What mattered at the moment was Guy's soft, calm face as he slept with his head in my lap. I've never seen a sweeter sight.

Bonus: Jasper's PoV

I knock lightly on the bedroom door with a tray of food and tea, no red coffee for Master Guy today. Hearing no response, I opened it and let out a small hum of surprise when I found Master Guy and his potential paramour asleep. The prince was lying curled up against her like a cat, his head in her lap. Meanwhile the young lady was comfortably snoozing with her back against the headboard in a half-seated position, her hand settled in Master Guy's hair. I quietly closed the door and set the tray in the sitting room, assuring that I wouldn't disturb their wholesome slumber.

[jamessunderlandgf]

—OCS as OBSCURE ASSOCIATIONS, pt 8 🫶🏻

u know the drill tagging some besties @rosayoro ⚜️ @florbelles ⚜️ @gwynbleidd ⚜️ @rvchelking ⚜️ @unholymilf ⚜️ @shellibisshe ⚜️ @teamhawkeye ⚜️ @lxmbert ⚜️ @simply-jason ⚜️ @ghostfvcker ⚜️ @oc-musings ⚜️ and anyone else who wants a reason to do it 🫶🏻

ANIMAL: gossamer-wing butterfly. black cat. white arabian horse.

COLORS: electric blue. ultraviolet. amaranthine.

MONTH: july.

SONGS: ephemera, gems | summit song, nicole dollanganger | wind in the caroberta woods, martin przybyłowicz.

NUMBER: zero.

PLANTS: weeping willow. bleeding hearts. wisteria. butterfly palms. rose trellises.

SMELLS: spilled wine. perfume. sweet black musk. vetiver.

GEMSTONE: larimar.

TIME OF DAY: late afternoon, early evening.

SEASON: belletyn.

PLACES: underwater. her fully furnished isolation tower, gripping the edge of her scrying pool. anna henrietta’s quarters. palaces. the toussaint countryside. mont saint michel. under a full moon.

FOOD: black currants. honey. prosciutto. goat cheese. seafood bisque. fresh fruit. risotto.

DRINKS: cherry cordial.

ELEMENT: air.

ASTROLOGICAL SIGNS: cancer. virgo.

SEASONINGS: star anise. pink pepper.

SKY: nothing like a toussaint sunset.

WEATHER: clear as crystal. breezy.

MAGICAL POWER: telepathy.

WEAPONS: these hands.

SOCIAL MEDIA: the find my friends feature on iphones.

MAKEUP PRODUCT: deep purple eyeliner.

CANDY: hard rock candy in the shape of gemstones. strawberry flavored.

METHOD OF LONG DISTANCE TRAVEL: portals. duh.

ART STYLE: baroque.

FEAR: being perceived.

MYTHOLOGICAL CREATURE: pegasus.

PIECE OF STATIONARY: letter via messenger pigeon

THREE EMOJIS: 🦋⚜️🔮

CELESTIAL BODY: the new moon.

[desires-of-sin]

Sloth deserves to get in on the fun too. Have a cheesecake truffle, a cat shaped butter toffee, a cherry cordial, and three peanut butter chocolates. We are going to make the ultimate twink!

Magic chocolates!

Cheesecake Truffle: My muse’s body gets an hourglass figure!

Butter Toffee Chocolate: My muse gets animal ears and a tail (up to the sender)!

Cherry Cordial Chocolate: My muse’s lips plump up!

Peanut Butter Chocolate: My muse gains a cock, or add an inch to their cock length!

"Wait a second, I'm not a twi-" Sloth is interrupted as the chocolates are shoved into his mouth. He chews and swallows, before his lips pop outward. Touching his face, he yelped as his ears suddenly shifted to cat ears and a cat tail ripped out of his thickening ass. His waist shrunk down, and when he turned, the anon can see his bulge had increased in size by 3 inches.

"H-hey! I'm not gay! I like women! You start trying to shove things up my ass, and I'm going to hurt someone!" he huffed, before hissing at the anon, blushing, and then crumpling in embarrassment.

[kid-az]

Astral Chain Legion personality Hc’s

I’ve been getting very obsessed with Astral Chain recent, and really want to share my headcanon’s about the five Legion’s, even if only a few people will care. (ALSO HEAVY SPOILERS FOR THE AXE LEGION!)

Sword (Stereotypical knight pal.)

-Stereotypical knight/samurai personality, very honorable, likes a fair fight, and heavily dislikes when an opponent or the Mc acts ”dishonorable.“ (Chimera’s by them using elemental attacks, and the player when they use grenades or consumables.)

-Is extremely interested in healing and medicine, specifically because such a thing is completely foreign in the Astral Plane. Can’t heal physical injuries yet, but managed to discover how to heal red matter corruption from individuals.

-Loves tampering with technology, particularly camera’s and other surveillance tech.

-Likes dogs, and wishes the Mc would adopt them as well. Also likes playing ball, especially when nearby people think there‘s a ghost haunting.

-Gets along well with Arm and Axe, but distrusts Beast and outright hates Arrow. Is best friends with the Mc.

Arrow (Little shit)

-In contrast to Sword, Arrow is more of an unscrupulous, pragmatic individual, preferring to keep a distance and use whatever underhanded tactics they need to win. This is why they disobeyed and abandoned Akira, as they did not appreciate their more dutiful, lawful personality. Only connects with the Mc when they see how much of a rebel they are.

-Is extremely competitive, and dislikes when they lose at a shooting contest. Has an intense, one-sided rivalry with Joey Wood, and is very bitter on how they lost so many times to him.

-Loves cats, and often plays with or pets them in Max’s safehouse. Is anlso interested in big cats, and wishes they were still extant. Likes pigeons and crows too, and often silently begs to to Mc to buy seeds to feed them.

-Hates Beast, but is decently cordial with Arm and Axe. Likes pissing Sword off, and doesn’t have the same animosity towards Sword as they do for them. Feels somewhat bad for Akira, especially when they discover they have clones.

Arm (Boisterous gentle giant)

-Gentle giant to living beings. Is very careful when interacting with people or animals, and often wishes they could see them. Likes performing “magic tricks” appreciating the surprise and praise people indirectly give them over such a seemingly impossible thing. Loves every animal, and is interested in learning about them.

-Really physically affectionate to the Mc and their friends, and often hugs them.

-The complete opposite to objects and chimeras. Loves obliterating dumpsters and other metallic objects that crumble, and is very glad to smash/blast any chimera’s they find, often offering to be worn as a suit of armor to do so.

-Is very jovial, and often makes sure that the Mc or other, non-beast legions are okay or relatively uninjured. Is very interested in food and coffee, and tries their best to prepare such things with mixed results. (Though has definitely gotten better at it post-game)

-Likes classical music, and wishes that genre was more common on the ark.

-Is friends with every other legion other than the Beast legion, who they outright hate. Somewhat misses their old owner Jin, and hopes that he isn’t overworking himself.

Beast (Not at all a good boy.)

-A rabid, murderous psycho of a legion. Loves brutally mauling any chimera or human their allowed to outside of other Beast chimera’s, who they actually formed an amicable relationship with (Comparable to a gang leader) before being recaptured. Was the only one that wanted to outright kill their owner.

-Completely hates anyone they deem as “weak,” the only ones not considered that being the Mc and other Beast chimera’s. Outright prejudiced against anything else, especially Shell chimeras, which they are very, very eager in ripping apart. Begrudgingly allows the Mc to ride them out of respect.

-Is very disturbed by dog’s and how much they resemble them and other beast chimeras, often hiding away from them out of fear.

-Really likes music, and often bops to that. Especially likes heavy metal when killing chimera’s.

-Hates the other legions, and that feeling is mutual outside of Axe, who considers Beast to be funny in a demeaning way. Completely hates their former owner Alicia, though to be fair they hate her as much as they do any other human.

Axe/Max (Grumpy but kindhearted dad)

-Has the fused personality of the Axe legion and Max, who the former absorbed out of respect for their bravery and selflessness.. Is upset about no longer being able to eat human food, but doesn’t mind that as he can protect his kids and civilians better.

-Just as much of a gruff but gentle-hearted guy as before, though now has a huge love for battling chimera’s. Is very happy to see his kid is rescuing and taking care of the cat’s, and couldn’t be more proud.

-Axe legion personality before fusing with Max was a mix between Sword and Arrow, being knight-like but also being very pragmatic in their fighting style. Did consider Max to be like a father, and felt bad about killing his human body, and so decided to mix his memories with their’s. 

-Can be very overprotective, and often get’s in the way of enemy attacks to protect his kid. Felt terrible for having to kill Akira, but knew that they wanted them to do that to save humanity from Noah Prime.

-Gets along well with all the other Legions, and acts a mentor-like figure to them. Is good friends with Sword and Arm, makes sure that Beast doesn’t do anything dangerous to themself or others, and has a cordial, business business-like relationship with Arrow, as they help out in range combat. As stated previously, he is very proud and overprotective to Mc and Akira.