#flicker begonia

[ask-imaginary-dreamers]

So Begonia! How does it feel to be friends with multiple gods?

“I’ve never even been all that religious. Like, I knew they existed but never really thought about it more than that? Never would’ve imagined actually talking to any of them.”

“Casey’s honestly been the biggest lifeline here. Not really sure what I’d do without them. As for the Gods…”

[roseatedramon]

silly twitter trend

[julibellule]

Nest at the End of the World

Aziraphale ♡ Crowley • 19k • Rated.T

Béatrice tucks a strand of hair back into her flawless coiffure, her gaze assessing.

“What were you doing outside? You’ve been walking in the gardens?” she asks, calm as ever but with a flicker of real interest behind her eyes.

Crowley growls, low and with more drama than menace. She's been trying to get him to go outside for more than a week now, to get some exercise and some fresh air into him, enjoy the last days of summer. He doesn’t want to give her the pleasure.

“I wasn’t walking, Béa. I tried to climb the drainpipe outside my window,” he snaps, voice hoarse with fatigue. “The mud from the flower bed caught my fall.”

Julie gasps, one hand flying to her mouth. “You what—”

“Relax. Only bruised my pride,” he says, rolling onto his side like a man personally betrayed by gravity. “And your begonias.”

“You’re not a dragon anymore, Crowley.” Julie teases, a smirk playing on her lips. “You don’t get to ignore gravity,”

-Chap.05 - Dragon’s Hoard-

Read on my AO3

[shandoratheexplorer]

Wednesday Sneak Peak Tag-Along

Thank you for this tag @nw39!

So I've been tinkering a bit with a modern AU of my Symphony-Verse so here's a little tease of that

It's still very much in the making haha but I plan to design it as an Anthology where I follow each couple and eventually those couples touch each others lives but don't intertwine too much.

It'll depend, some couples will become more involved with the others of the universe, others won't.

Aodhán works at a REHAB facility as a caretaker and psychiatrist in training while Halsin owns a flower shop~

Aodhán stands amidst a vibrant sea of flowers, their colors blending together like a painter's palette. He shifts from foot to foot, brow furrowed in thought as he strokes his chin, eyes flickering between blooms. A gentle hum escapes his lips as he tilts his head slightly, considering each flower with quiet deliberation. "Can I help you?" Halsin's voice is warm and amused, accompanied by a soft chuckle. "You've been staring at those begonias for ten minutes now." Aodhán's freckled cheeks flush a faint pink, but he breaks into a sheepish smile. "Is it that obvious I know hardly anything about flowers?" He scratches the back of his neck. "I'm looking for something that says 'congratulations on one month sober.'" "Ah", Halsin's expression softens, his eyes glinting with understanding. "For a friend, a lover, or a family member?" He steps forward, ready to help select the perfect bouquet. "Neither, actually", Aodhán chuckles, a note of genuine warmth in his voice. "A patient with no family left. These milestones often get overlooked and I want to make sure that doesn't happen." Something flickers in Halsin's gaze, a gentle light of admiration as a tender smile spreads across his lips. "That's a very kind thing to do." Aodhán's laugh is light, the sound as easy as the summer breeze. "Ah, yes. My sisters call me soft for it." He shrugs, unbothered. "But I like doing it all the same." "You're not soft." Halsin's voice is rich with sincerity. "You're exactly the kind of person the world needs more of."

I tag @andauril @fartasticdurge @sawickibalisong

[echoes-of-elsewhere]

A Glitch in the Galaxy: The Case of the Quantum Canary

The bell above the Peculiar Pet Emporium jingled with a hesitant chime, a sound almost as uncertain as the young woman who stepped inside. Elara clutched a worn notebook, her brow furrowed in concentration. She wasn't here to adopt, not exactly. She was investigating.

It had started with the oddest of reports filtering through the local… well, not exactly police, more like the Department of Unexplained Phenomena. Objects flickering in and out of existence. Yesterday, a park bench had vanished for a full minute, only to reappear three feet to the left. The day before, Mrs. Higgins swore her prize-winning begonias had briefly turned into a flock of iridescent butterflies.

Elara had a hunch. And that hunch had feathery wings and a tendency to sing slightly out-of-sync melodies.

She found the parrot-hatted shopkeeper polishing a cage that seemed to contain nothing at all. "Good morning," she began, her voice a little too loud in the quiet shop. "I'm looking into some… unusual occurrences in Elsewhere."

The shopkeeper peered at her, his eyes twinkling like distant stars. "Unusual? My dear, everything here is unusual. It's the baseline of our existence."

"Yes, well," Elara continued, trying to maintain a professional tone, "these incidents involve things… disappearing and reappearing. Almost like a glitch."

A slow smile spread across the shopkeeper's wrinkled face. "Ah, a 'glitch,' you say? Tell me, have you by any chance encountered a small, yellow creature that hums rather than sings?"

Elara's notebook snapped shut. "You have one?"

The shopkeeper gestured to the empty cage. "Had one. Barnaby, we called him. A Quantum Canary. Sweetest little thing, chirped the most fascinating probabilistic tunes. But alas, Barnaby had a… peculiar habit. He existed in multiple states of quantum superposition. Occasionally, those states would… destabilize."

"Destabilize?" Elara echoed, a knot forming in her stomach.

"Indeed. He'd flicker. Vanish. Reappear somewhere else entirely. Usually within a few feet, mind you. But sometimes…" The shopkeeper trailed off, his gaze drifting towards the ceiling.

"Sometimes?" Elara pressed.

"Sometimes his quantum entanglement would… well, entangle with other objects. A rather unfortunate incident involving a garden gnome and a rather confused pigeon comes to mind."

Elara's eyes widened. "So, the disappearing bench… the butterfly begonias…"

"Quite possibly Barnaby's handiwork, or rather, wing-work," the shopkeeper said with a shrug. "He was a charming fellow, but prone to a bit of accidental interdimensional tomfoolery."

"Where is he now?" Elara asked, a sense of urgency creeping into her voice.

The shopkeeper sighed dramatically. "Ah, that's the million-dollar question, isn't it? Last I saw, he was attempting to harmonize with a particularly dusty lampshade. Then… poof. Gone. He could be anywhere in Elsewhere by now. Or… elsewhen."

Elara stared at the empty cage, a mixture of apprehension and fascination swirling within her. A quantum canary causing reality glitches. This was definitely a case for the Department of Unexplained Phenomena.

"Do you have any idea how to… un-glitch him?" she asked.

The shopkeeper stroked his chin, his parrot-shaped hat tilting precariously. "Well, Quantum Canaries are rather fond of paradoxes. Perhaps if you present him with a truly mind-bending conundrum, it might anchor him back to our reality."

Elara opened her notebook, a new sense of purpose sparking within her. Tracking down a dimensionally-displaced canary that enjoyed paradoxes. This was going to be an interesting case indeed. She just hoped she had enough riddles.

What do you think? Should Elara's investigation continue? Perhaps she encounters another peculiar pet during her search for Barnaby?

[scrub-slots]

Me and @tigerdog25 cooked up another au with the Imaginary Dreamers cast. This au is inspired by the PNF Second Dimension, with the idea of mad scientist dictator with killer robots and a resistance.

While no canon spoilers will be stated, I will note some character placements and stories in this AU may be a bit eyebrow raising regarding what it implies for canon. So uh… I guess warning for that?

Zeus within this AU takes the role of the world’s ruler. He’s a shiny Glameow with a love of gold and an unfortunately brilliant mind when it comes to robotics. He’s brutal and cold, running the world with an iron fist.

Zeus has nine cyborgs at his beck and call. These two, Flicker and Fade (aka Zoruborg and Houndborg) are the two closest to Zeus’ heir, practically being his bodyguards. They used to be civilians, before being captured and turned into cyborgs. No one quite knows why Zeus chooses the ones he does to become cyborgs.

These two are much more violent than their canon counterparts, especially Flicker.

(Also thank you Connor for making the designs of these guys!!)

Begonia is the leader of the Resistance. She used to be named Daisy and was childhood friends with Aster before Zeus took over the world. After Aster was taken, she started the Resistance and changed her name to Begonia. Pablo, her coworker from the coffee shop, is her second in command.

Begonia is still sassy and tough, having to harden up from the quiet demeanor she used to have as Daisy. This universe’s Begonia has a bit of a somber feeling beneath the sass though…

Casey is Zeus’ adoptive son and current heir. He primarily stays within Zeus’ penthouse and mainly socialized with the cyborgs. He’s sheltered a bit from the horrors that are happening, and fully believes the Resistance are evil. After all, they killed someone he cares about… right…?

Gwyn works for Zeus, and honestly just wants to live their life. They claim to support Zeus and his reign, but they’re fully willing to give information to the Resistance and look the other way when they catch them. They adamantly refuse to say they have any sympathy for the Resistance though, even when talking to the Resistance themself. Begonia finds them annoying, but also useful enough.

[pmdn-au]

also just because I feel bad that I have not gotten around to writing out the plot synopsis/lore for ANY series in pmdn yet on here I shall copy the bullet point list I sent Connor to describe the pmdn versions of Glorious Guild and Imaginary Dreamers…. With some exclusions, since there are some plot spoilers lmao.

Glorious Guild:

- this one is a bit hard… Right now I have it set that the human world that the pmdn world pulls from is one without pokemon. I could change it so Gloria is pulled from a different human world with pokemon, but I think I may just change it to her no longer being Gloria from SWSH.

- I think instead she may be an up and coming soccer player.

- Some species changes to align with PMDN stuff! Ruins is now a Flareon/Ursaring, Jazz is a Lucario/Zebstrika (may change this), Gloria is a Torracat, and still need to determine [REDACTED]

- Gloria is a chosen of Zamazenta, [REDACTED]

- Wishbone is one of Eternatus’ parts (I really need to figure out what the term I want to use for this are - I’m leaning towards Aspects?)

- He has been accidentally supercharging nearby Shades and Shines with his aura, Gloria was sent to stop him

- He still has some bad history with either Zacian and Zamazenta themselves, or their former Heroes

- There’s more but this is like. The main thing.

Imaginary Dreamers:

- this one is a bit more fleshed out since it is… way different than canon. but that’s part of the fun part!

- Zeus is an Aspect created by Mew and Arceus together. He is a Mewtwo/Silvally.

- He believes he should be the ultimate God of this world. He thinks he should be the *only* God of this world.

- And so, his actions are in service of that.

- Kyubey, an Aspect of Jirachi, has a system that intrigued him. The idea of creating your own threats for your Heroes to fight out of your own former Heroes. And, the huge amount of emotional energy you can reap from it.

- He tweaks it a bit. Unlike Kyubey that doesn’t bring over human heroes, Zeus decides the guaranteed strong souls are worth the effort (note: human souls are not inherently stronger - it’s just that only strong souls are even capable of being brought through dimensions in the first place)

- Zeus gives the Chosen he chooses a gift and a curse - he binds part of himself to his Chosen, and while they can draw power from him, he can also draw power from them. He also boosts their ability to turn emotions into magic, making them much stronger but also much more susceptible to corruption.

- Almost every Chosen Hero he has ends up succumbing to corruption, and are naturally drawn to the Mystery Dungeon Zeus created for them.

- Slate (Fade) and Aster (Flicker) are some of the few that actually die rather than succumb to corruption

- Slate died from [REDACTED]. Aster died from a fight within Zeus’ mystery dungeon, after she attempted to traverse it alone after the death of her fated partner, Daisy.

- Yveltal takes pity on them, one of the few legends that can see that Zeus is intentionally dooming his Chosen.

- Yveltal takes them on as Reapers, deceased souls that help Yveltal guide the dead to the afterlife.

- Begonia is still a reincarnation of Daisy, and Aster still needs to cope with the fact that Daisy is gone and grow close to Begonia as she is.

- [REDACTED]

- Casey has Ghost Sight, an advanced form of Aura Sight. Aura Sight allows people that have it to see the auras of others, and are capable to tell by sight of someone is a Light or Shadow pokemon (or corrupted). Ghost Sight has those same perks, but allows you to also see Ghosts (including Reapers).

- Gwyn is from Mysti, particularly from a town that worships Zeus.

- There’s more details I think but these are the easiest to kinda just put down. Like the basics.

[homestuck-human-generator]

Name: Sai Eris Langley Color: Princeton Orange #Ff8f00 Symbol: begonia Strife Specibus: bowkind Handle: thoroughAmateur Animal: wombat Pronouns: one/ones and le/lim/lis/limself and zi/zis/zou/zei and it/its Age: 19 Birthday: 16th day of the year Sexuality: Fond Of Everyone Interests: rughooking and weight training Dream Moon: prospit Classpect: Rogue of Space Land: Land of Flicker and Light, an old-fashioned place, with frantic Grand Canyon Rattlesnake consorts. It is a place full of shrouded valleys and bays. Adanos lurks. Instrument: shofar

[magdelanesingerin]

Session 23: Support Network

“How have you been doing? Adjusting well to medication?” Nenneke asks.

“I’ve been…good, I guess. Sleeping like shit this week. Stressed about work. This drug is way better than the last one, so far.” Geralt snorts disgustedly, lip curling. “Guess we’ll see in another four to six weeks, right?”

“I know,” she answers ruefully, “the wait to see if a particular medication will be effective can be very frustrating. It’s not unusual for people to give up during the process; I’m glad that you’re sticking with it.” He lifts one shoulder in exhausted resignation. It never occurred to him to just quit, though he would dearly like to. He started this bullshit, now he’ll see it through. 

“I’m sorry to hear that work is still so stressful,” Nenneke continues with a familiar, thoughtful tilt of her head. “Who do you talk to about work stress? Other than me, that is.” Geralt grimaces and looks down at his hands clasped in his lap. 

“Hm. I don’t.”

“Ah.” She doesn’t sound surprised. “Why not, do you think?”

He shrugs and casts about for the words to explain. She has a new plant in the corner of her office, some kind of begonia maybe? That’s a plant, right? His eyes trace over the curves of the broad leaves while he tries to string together his thoughts. They’re covered in fuzz. Looks soft. 

“I don’t know, they can’t do anything to fix it, so I guess I don’t really see the point in bitching. And it’s– my work is sometimes violent, depressing. I deal with some very unpleasant people threatening to do very unpleasant things. I don’t want to…burden them. Or have them look at me differently.”

Nenneke hums in understanding and leans back in her chair with a slow nod. 

“Alright. A few things: firstly, that’s a very thoughtful and self-aware answer, and I just want to point that out to you. You’ve come a very long way since we started working together in being able to identify and articulate your thoughts and emotions, and that’s worth taking a moment to acknowledge and celebrate.”

Ugh, he’s not a fucking child; he shouldn’t need to be praised for being able to speak about this shit in full sentences. His answering grunt is equal parts dismissive and embarrassed.

She laughs. Months ago it would have pissed him off, but now he knows she’s not being derisive.

“Well, we’ll keep working on your ability to accept praise,” she says with a smile. “Secondly, though, I want to push back on some of what you said.” She waits for him to glance her way, tearing his eyes away from the plant in the corner, the bright red underside of the leaves peeking out where they curl over each other. It’s a nice plant. Maybe he should get a plant for his apartment. See if he can keep something other than himself and Roach alive.

His gaze flickers to her, and away again; it’s the most he can do at the moment, and it must be good enough, because she goes on.

“You know, you’re allowed to talk about the things that are adding stress to your life without the goal of finding solutions.”

There’s nothing to say to that, really, so he just frowns back at her, and she sighs. 

continue on Ao3

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

From my flickr files

* * *

"I Wherever in this city, screens flicker with pornography, with science-fiction vampires, victimized hirelings bending to the lash, we also have to walk… if simply as we walk through the rainsoaked garbage, the tabloid cruelties of our own neighborhoods. We need to grasp our lives inseparable from those rancid dreams, that blurt of metal, those disgraces, and the red begonia perilously flashing from a tenement sill six stories high, or the long-legged young girls playing ball in the junior high school playground. No one has imagined us. We want to live like trees, sycamores blazing through the sulfuric air, dappled with scars, still exuberantly budding, our animal passion rooted in the city." From 21 love poems by Adrienne Rich

 (via rimeswriting)

[alive on all channels]

[ask-imaginary-dreamers]

“Uh… I… Well… You…”

“…Alright, this isn’t going anywhere. I’ll try to piece it together then.”

[roseatedramon]

pokeask blog ponies

Moon Flicker (formerly Moon Flower, also pony version of Flicker) used to be a unicorn before ascending after doing some great deed (unsure what). She dislikes being an alicorn due to the attention it brings, and this is compounded when she outlives her best friend, Daisy Bell (pony version of Daisy). Years later she meets up with Flower Bud (pony version of Begonia), an earth pony who still hasn’t earned a cutie mark despite being an adult, since she has found nothing she’s passionate about. They strike up a friendship, letting Moon Flicker come out of her shell again.

[consulaaris]

she who wears the mask

1.9k words. original short story, written in 2019 for halloween and edited slightly to post here <3

cw: brief mentions of alcohol, blood/injury, violence 

.

It begins with the setting of the sun, as red-orange hues in the sky seem to mimic the fires that will soon be lit. There is a sense of expectation in the air, a sort of nervous excitement- the missionaries with their strange symbols have branded it as Hallow’s Eve, but Fiadh knows better. Tonight is Samhain, when the boundaries between worlds grow thin and strange things walk the earth.

And tonight she will dance. 

The village has been preparing the pyres for weeks now. The people will be dressed in a myriad of costumes to celebrate the end of the harvest, dancing through the night while hiding in plain sight from the spirits and the fair folk that are suddenly free to roam. The sacrifice of small animals should appease the more bloodthirsty of them, but Fiadh isn’t particularly concerned; her mask, finely wrought in the shape of a fox, will surely hide her mortal status from those who would seek to exploit it.  

(She tries not to acknowledge the part of her that might wish otherwise.)

Fiadh steps out the front door of her cottage and breathes in the heady scent of pine and smoke that’s already begun to permeate the street. Her slippers are quiet on the cobblestone streets as she runs towards the nearest fire, loose reddish hair trailing behind her in wild waves. Already the sky is seeping into dusk and losing the vibrancy it’d held only moments before. She doesn’t mind; she enjoys the night, and Samhain is never quite the same once the sun rises. After all, only children are scared of the dark. 

There are others heading towards the bonfire like wisps on the streets. But Fiadh doesn’t call out, even to those she thinks she recognizes- it’s never quite certain who is who… or what. The sounds of flute and fiddle and drum echo through the village, and she shivers despite the relative warmth of the air. 

As she nears the fire on the outskirts of town, she sees the wizened village elder resheath a scarlet stained knife and toss some unlucky thing into the flames while the crowd of people cheers. Excitement buzzes within her from her head to the tips of her toes and the music grows ever louder as if to stay in time with the rapid pounding of her heart.

Fiadh joins in with the swirling of bodies, feet dancing to the rhythm faster than she can think.  She is young and she does not tire, only laughing and leaping with the bright crackle of flames and music as her backdrop. Her soul soars with a fierce joy that she can seldom find elsewhere but this strange night; it is here, amid this wildness of magic and ghosts of the past that she feels truly alive. Some fear Samhain; she is freed by it. 

Someone passes her a skein of wine and she takes a long gulp, savoring the taste on her lips and the warmth in her belly. She doesn’t know how much she drinks, only that the costumes of her many dance partners seem to grow more grotesque as the evening turns into true-night. Amidst the crowd it’s difficult to tell what is fake and what is not, with flashes of glowing eyes and fangs and fur and scales swaying in and out of her field of vision, illuminated only by the strange flickering of the flames. On this night the oh-so-tenuous boundary between realities is something she chooses not to think too closely about. 

Several hours have passed before Fiadh decides to try another of the bonfires, but something holds her in place as she dances her way to the edge of the crowd. When she pauses a moment she realizes why: a young woman is making her way over, red-painted lips curving into a generous smile as she draws near. Fiadh is strangely aware of the woman and unconsciously smooths her skirts as she draws near. She too wears a mask, although hers is formed of copper wire and elegant pink begonia flowers. 

With a laugh and a curtsy she reaches out her hand, and Fiadh takes it; it would be rude to refuse such an obvious proposal. They dance together for what could have been minutes or hours, lost in the swirling of skirts and quick steps to the beat of the drum, until the woman presses a finger to her lips, dark eyes alight with mischief, and hands Fiadh another skein. Without thinking she grabs it, imbibing a large quantity of whatever is within. 

The drink burns her throat almost immediately, but she doesn’t choke. She simply laughs and hands it back, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. The woman reaches out her hand once more and Fiadh takes it, expecting another dance, but instead she is led out past the other revelers. She knows she should pull away- meeting a stranger on the night of Samhain can hardly bode well- but with the sweet taste of liquor dancing across her tongue and the buzz in her mind all of her inhibitions fall to pieces. 

They dash through the edge of the woods hand in hand as though something is chasing them; for all Fiadh knows it could be. 

It’s not long before they draw up to another fire, a smaller one this time, surrounded by a ring of stones. Around it dance more young women, all with flower masks in a similar style. In the firelight the effect is eerie, enchanting, and makes Fiadh want to tremble and shout all at once. A younger girl sitting off to the side plays the large drum in front of her, and another plays the flute with a haunting melody she can’t quite place. It doesn’t stop her from swaying in place to the music. She feels almost separate from her own body; it’s as though she’s watching a scene play out before her eyes, and she can’t get over the feeling that it’s terribly important. 

The woman in the begonia mask steps forward to take her hand again, her sweet voice so hard to ignore. 

“What’s your name?” 

Fiadh responds before she can even give it a second thought. “Fiadh,” she breathes. “My name is Fiadh.” 

In that moment she knows she’s signed herself away. Her gray eyes widen, but it is too late; she has partaken of the drink of the fair folk and given them her name of her own free will, and now her life is forfeit. 

“Well, Fiadh,” the woman in the begonia mask purrs, “You may call me Maeve.” Her slender fingers reach out, slowly removing the fox mask that Fiadh had so painstakingly tied in place. She is frozen and powerless, watching as her last protection from the other worlds is removed. 

Gray eyes meet brown and Fiadh simply trembles, too frightened to be brave or defiant. Maeve smiles again, her hand reaching up to cup Fiadh’s cheek as she whispers the coup de grâce into her ear. 

“Now dance.” 

Her muscles seem to move of their own accord, Fiadh’s feet leaping in frenzied patterns and body contorting in ways she never could have imagined. She dances and dances until her shoes are torn to ribbons, until her bare feet scrape against stone and branch. Yet still she moves, unable to resist the command of the one who now controls her. 

All around her the other women continue their own strange dance as though she doesn’t exist, as though she’s not grinding herself into the ground before them. Her legs begin to burn yet still she dances and dances with no hope and no end in sight. When she sees spirits flickering at the edge of her vision and the women around her seem transparent like spectres in the night, she’s not sure if she’s hallucinating or some glamour has been lifted from her vision. It’s not like it matters, though. Fiadh won’t live to tell the tale. 

Her legs are giving out.

(Still she dances.) 

It’s getting harder to breathe, harder to see, harder to feel. 

(Still she dances.) 

Her body feels hot, as though she’s burning in the fire.

(Still she dances.) 

All she knows is heat and pain and the dance. She thinks Maeve may still be near, watching. Waiting for the end. She knows it can’t be long now. She hopes. 

Fiadh stretches her arms up to the night sky, tilting her tearstained face upwards in an attempt to get one last glimpse of the stars. But they are obscured by smoke, and she is denied even her final wish as she trips and falls to the earth with a shattered cry. 

Yet her lips curve, just barely, into one final smile before she becomes nothingness.

Her face is fixed in much the same expression when the villagers discover her body the next morning. “Poor thing,” they whisper at the unfortunate tragedy. “Fell down the ravine and broke her neck. At least she wouldn’t have felt a thing.” 

If they noticed her bloodied feet or lack of a mask they said nothing, for it’s never polite to point out the doings of the supernatural while they still reign free in your lands. 

 *.  *.  *.  *.  *.  

A tortured gasp escapes her throat as she awakes. The sensation of breathing is odd, disjointed; the action is as unfamiliar to her as her surroundings. 

Where am I? Who am I?

Try as she might, the simple fact of her own name does not come to her. 

It should be more frightening than it is.

She lays in a spot of flattened grass, realizing that she wears nothing as she climbs to her feet. The golden light filtering through the trees that encircle her lets her see well enough to get her bearings. There is a small pool of springwater not far from where she had lain, and because her throat burns like fire she walks slowly towards it, noting the feel of limbs that seem as though they haven’t been used in an age. 

The water is clear and smooth enough to act as a mirror, and a sort of morbid curiosity overtakes her as she peers at her reflection. It is a face she recognizes intimately… and yet she doesn’t. The simple details she glosses over- the bareness of her tanned skin, the jagged scar across the side of her neck, the reddish hair falling in tangles around her. 

It’s the mask that truly catches her eye. An obsidian work of art framed by black dahlia flowers, it rests upon her cheekbones and obscures the upper half of her face from view. Some part of her knows that she should be afraid, terrified even, but the only emotion she can summon up is one of faint surprise. 

Just as her fingers reach up to touch the mask she notices a disturbance in the water, and her head jerks up with almost inhuman quickness, eyes flashing. 

Across the pool kneels a woman dipping her hands into the water. Her dark curls and the blood-red slash of a mouth are both achingly familiar, but neither so much as the mask of begonias she wears. The woman smiles knowingly and presses a single finger to her lips, eyes dancing with strange promise. A blink later and she disappears once more. Nothing remains of her presence but ripples in the water.

After a moment of shock  she suddenly throws back her head and laughs and laughs, laughs until there are tears streaming down her cheeks… for at last she has realized her fate. 

(She’d always thought that Death might take the form of a beautiful woman.)

[noxtms]

DATE : 8th of may, 2023. WITH THANKS : to mozzie @ofmccnlight​, who contributed the final third ( & to who i owe my life ) ! 

I.   HERMIONE GETS OFF THE BUS AROUND THE CORNER from her parents house. it's late enough that she probably could've risked apparating, but the last time she'd thought that she'd been distracted by something at work and tripped on the landing ; her neighbour had been out watering his begonias in preparation for the 'sunny spell' in their forecast and she nearly jumped out of her skin when he straightened up behind their shared fence and called out to say good evening. it was a narrow miss, almost ruinous, and though she was resolved to never have a repeat, she wasn't confident in her ability to be altogether present following memorial weekend. too many feelings were dredged up over those hellish few days, and even the bus ride was a solemn, distracted affair - forehead pressed against cool glass and eyes pressed tightly shut, hermione let the muted hustle and bustle of the late night crowd wash over her and very nearly missed her stop.

she's disappointed but not surprised to find that the council still haven't fixed the streetlight that sits directly in front of her semi detached. she takes a moment beneath it to adjust the strap of her overnight bag one final time and stare up at the flickering bulb - briefly entertaining, not for the first time, the idea of simply using magic to do their work for them - and then shakes herself from looming reverie and sets off down the drive. magic, as mrs weasley has often chastised in her presence, is not a fix all ; a LOT of her life in the past few years has been spent accepting these things she just cannot or should not change, and the council will send someone round soon.

probably.

no sign of her neighbour, so she probably didn't have to go through the pains of catching a muggle bus from the leaky cauldron - she sighs at the thought and crouches to retrieve the spare key her parents had kept in one of those silly faux rocks, her own still with the other neighbour trusted to care for crookshanks the past few evenings. she was a nice girl, similar in age but lacking the same sort of life experience that had caused the perpetual bags beneath hermione's eyes. when she'd dropped the key over the road to her, she'd offered to get her a good deal on a sleep mask from the avon like company that she'd signed up to recently, telling her that it would 'clear them right up' ; she'd bit her tongue and told her 'thanks again', managing to rush out the door before saying anything too critical. she'd probably have to do the same when she called round the next morning, but that was definitely a problem for tomorrow and for now, hermione was happy to trust in a good nights sleep in her own bed. 

she straightened up, plastic rock in hand, and set about sliding the little compartment open as she turned to face her door and, suddenly, froze. no need for the key ; she drops the rock back to the ground, hoists her bag further up on her shoulder and pulls out her wand from her back pocket, no longer caring who sees her doing it. with just the streetlight to illuminate the front of her house, it hadn't been immediately noticeable to hermione that the door was hanging just slightly ajar and naturally, her first thought isn't that the newly minted avon girl simply forgot to pull it closed the way she'd told her. she doesn't have that luxury. 

her heartbeat pounding in her ears, hermione forces herself to take one step at a time and approach the door. it's her worst nightmare come true, the very reason that her parents still think they're living their dream in southern australia ; the idea that her muggle existence, here, her childhood home, that it's all been found out and…- she pushes it open with her foot, wand raised and ready, and then there is a FRIGHTFUL yowl and she jumps, violently, only just managing to hold out her arms to catch him as her ginger cat launches himself at her, full force. 

"oh, crookshanks-" she surveys the initial damage, the shattered glass of a hallway mirror and the contents of a drawer that have been spilled across the carpet, clutching him to her but keeping her wand high, "oh, silly boy. what happened?" 

II.   she almost misses him. wakes too late in the morning & gets stuck in the entrance hall saying her goodbyes to the wix she won't see again until the next memorial ; she never really unpacked and she's been ready to go since the remembrance ceremony wrapped up the night before, but GINNY knows how it would look if she was one of the first to go. visceral discomfort is boxed, residual anger is bottled, everlasting grief is locked away - memorial weekends are perpetually marked by the sacrifices that she has to make for the sake of her friends and family, but it never gets any easier. she's usually ready to blow, about now, but she manages to extract herself before disaster strikes and sets off down the trail before anyone tries to call her back again. so one minded is her focus on escaping the castle grounds that ginny doesn't realize that he's making the same trek alone until he's almost at the hog flanked gates. it's a split second decision - she glances behind her, quickly, establishes that there's no one to witness it, and then she breaks into a bit of a mad dash. she doesn't call out to grab draco's attention, but she does manage to reach him before he apparates or sticks out his wand arm for the knight bus with only minimal breathlessness, which she considers a win. 

quizzical, he turns at the sound of heavy footfall & ginny comes to a halt that she tries to make look natural. 

"hey," she says, lamely, "i didn't know you were here this weekend-... i didn't see you." 

he lifts a single shoulder in a lazy sort of shrug. "our circles don't overlap," he's distant, but that's to be expected. she doesn't think it's aimed at her, specifically. memorial weekend brings out a different side to all of them, really, and ginny isn't fool enough to think that he's always as open as she once found him ( nor as distrusting as she would need to be to consider it a falsehood ) but since then, it's been a lot harder for her to ignore the dark circles pressed beneath his eyes.

she's no longer sure where the initial instinct came from, and a little too willing to see it through to the end : "do you want to come back to mine?" she asks, and when she sees his next thought forming, adds, "just to… hang out. that's all. you can leave if it starts getting claustrophobic." 

his lips quirk at that, a tiny tease of the smile she's come to look for, and when she reaches out a hand - ginny knows he'll take it. 

they apparate onto her 'doorstep', though it can't really be called that. she's tried to dress it up a bit in the few years that she's been living there but there's only so much that she can do. a fresh lick of paint, a funny doormat that luna found funny but neville had gone beet red when he'd seen ( i see london, i see france… ), one potted plant that was slowly giving up on life - seven wix lived on the same floor as her and had put about the same amount of effort in, but ginny was suddenly quite conscious of how it looked to an outsiders eyes. a bit sad, probably. cheap, she thinks, and then she banishes the thought ; he knows who she is, by now, where she's come from & where she got to. she's not ashamed of either, and for all that almost fretting, all her worries about this sudden marrying between two worlds - the one where they are ill defined and this one, where he's… well, let in - he doesn't say anything except a dry, "your plants gone brown."

"yeah, well, i've been a bit busy to remember to water it-"

"for its entire lifetime, i presume…?"

"shut up," she tells him, sternly, rooting around in her bag for a moment until she finds her wand and tugs it free. she taps it against her door handle ( she can never find her key when she needs it ) and the lock gives a loud click as it moves out of place.

ginny turns her focus to him as she pushes through, keeping her wand in hand - just in case he feels the need to make any undue comments - and explains, "you might be unfamiliar with the concept, but this is a flat. they're a bit small, but they're very cosy. mine's probably a little messy, but i-" he breaks their gaze and looks over the top of her head, and it is the tiny widening of his eyes that forces ginny to turn and notice, for the first time, the elephant in the room.

this isn't her mess. the burrow, that had looked like this every once in a while, usually at the start of summer when everyone was back under the same roof and in the same state of disorganized unpacking - but she never would've been so careless. everything she owned that had once had a place had now found a new one on the floor. her mattress was shoved up against the wall ; drawers turned upside down ; the cushions on her sofa had been torn into, their down strewn across the chaos. she didn't have to peek around the corner to know that her kitchen was in much the same awful state - she could see that something had spilled on the tile, because it had crept dangerously close to the carpet in the doorway. 

she was speechless.

malfoy was not.

"merlin… do you actually live like this?" 

III.   a crack rings out through the stillness of ottery st. catchpole as LUNA LOVEGOOD stumbles into view out of nowhere . the speed in which she had thrown herself into the apparation prompts a forward momentum that continues even as the spell spits her out smack dab in the middle of her front garden , more than a few yards away from the front porch she��d been aiming for . no one is awake to witness the way she almost ends up ass over teakettle in the dirigible plums . the surrounding night is entirely silent barring the giggles that follow the blonde figure as it trips itʻs way through the garden plants , interrupting the quiet snores of the weeping flowers near the kitchen window. they shake their bell - shaped bulbs at her , tinkling softly and sleepily , in admonishment . she blows a raspberry at them . they pull back in reproach and donʻt bother trying to pass on anymore messages . it certainly wasnʻt they who raised her to have such manners . besides , they were sleepy . their night had been interrupted enough as is .

the idyllic garden life continues to sleep even as she noisily makes her way into the house , not even blinking as the front door gives way beneath her prodding hands . neither her nor xenophilius were ones to lock the door when an alohomora was a master key for anyone who really wanted it to be . besides , their home was an open one . all were welcome if they needed a place to sit and have tea with someone always willing to lend a listening ear .

she breezes through the entryway and into the kitchen , handbag landing on the floor with a thump after she aims for the coat rack and misses by a mile , nearly tripping on the various bits and bobs that are always scattered across the floor . she knocks into more than one end table or bookshelf , teeming with items that have a tendency to just spill over . the mess that she spies through her peripheral , blurry as it may be , seems par for the course .

through the doorway of the kitchen , she spies a light coming from beneath the door and goes about setting two mugs out on the counter . the teapot is an heirloom from her motherʻs grandmother and sits waiting , already full and already heated , for when she pours the two cups that have become more nightly ritual than it was originally intended . itʻs as practiced as the way she places the cover on the sugar container , more than used to the way that her father leaves things about in his forgetfulness . 

“ bit of a late night writing spree , then ? ” she calls to the light still on way later than it should be and is not surprised when she doesnʻt get an answer . this is how things go when heʻs deep into his writing binges . luna talks and talks and talks and her father resurfaces to hear her eventually . not immediately. but eventually , 

“ you know , you really arenʻt producing your best work when youʻre straining yourself by staying up so late , ” she scolds across the house , nudging loose parchments out of the way with her socked foot as she makes her way to the door and gently opens it with her hip 

“ so you might consider heading to bed after this cup — ”

the mug shatters moments after luna hastily shoves them onto the desk , uncaring as to where it is set and not even flinching when it lands too close to the edge and slips right off . 

xenophilius lies crumbled on the ground . heʻs bleeding profusely from a wound on his head .

[shandoratheexplorer]

WIP tag-along

Thank you @nw39 for tagging me!

I might be... cooking something... a modern AU of my Symphony-verse

Aodhán stood amidst a vibrant sea of flowers, their colors blending together like a painter’s palette. He shifted from foot to foot, brow furrowed in thought as he stroked his chin, eyes flickering between blooms. A gentle hum escaped his lips as he tilted his head slightly, considering each flower with quiet deliberation. “Can I help you?” Halsin’s voice was warm and amused, accompanied by a soft chuckle. “You’ve been staring at those begonias for ten minutes now.” Aodhán’s freckled cheeks flushed a faint pink, but he broke into a sheepish smile. “Is it that obvious I know hardly anything about flowers?” He scratched the back of his neck. “I’m looking for something that says ‘congratulations on one month sober.’” “Ah,” Halsin’s expression softened, his eyes glinting with understanding. “For a friend, a lover, or a family member?” He stepped forward, ready to help select the perfect bouquet. “Neither, actually,” Aodhán chuckled, a note of genuine warmth in his voice. “A patient with no family left. These milestones often get overlooked, and I want to make sure that doesn’t happen.” Something flickered in Halsin’s gaze, a gentle light of admiration as a tender smile spread across his lips. “That’s a very kind thing to do.” Aodhán’s laugh was light, the sound as easy as the summer breeze. “Ah, yes. My sisters call me soft for it.” He shrugged, unbothered. “But I like doing it all the same.” “You’re not soft.” Halsin’s voice was rich with sincerity. “You’re exactly the kind of person the world needs more of.”

no pressure tags for @dramatiquechipmunk @fartasticdurge @sawickibalisong

[scrub-slots]

gwyn: what pokemon do you guys think I will be reincarnated as? SERIOUS ANSWERS ONLY.

fade: a snom.

begonia: a snom.

flicker: a seel!

casey: a snom.

pablo: a snom.

gwyn: I think I’d be an articuno (I think so too). i would be an articuno chien-pao hybrid mix. king of the tungra- tungra but still graceful and ferocious.