#ink of void quill of gold

[littlebittyhollowbugs]

The entire time I spent writing a fic centered around these two I never posted a single drawing of them...

fixing that now.

[ros3mari3]

Inked Mess

Draco Malfoy x soulmate ! reader

Draco Malfoy was convinced he was cursed.

For as long as he could remember, ink stains and doodles had plagued his skin. He would wake up to tiny flowers trailing his wrist, swirling patterns curling up his fingers, and sometimes, entire landscapes stretching along his forearm. It was infuriating.

His father had always sneered at soulmates—said the concept was nonsense, something beneath a Malfoy. But Draco had grown up knowing somewhere out there, someone was connected to him in a way deeper than blood or magic. And that someone had a maddening habit of drawing on their skin.

It wasn’t just the ink—it was the colors.

Bright pinks, deep blues, glittering golds. Sometimes, he’d be sitting in Potions and suddenly his hand would be splashed with a wild mix of watercolours. He would glance down and see paint splatters decorating his body. Other times, he’d wake up in the middle of the night to see tiny, smiling stars scattered across his forearm. It was—

Ridiculous.

He spent years scrubbing at his skin, covering the markings with the finest robes and gloves, pretending it wasn’t real. But it never stopped. The drawings always came back, soft and warm, a quiet reminder that someone was out there. Someone who wasn't dark and cold like his world.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She had always wondered what kind of person her soulmate was. Maybe he was tall, he would have soft eyes and a kind soul. She dreamed of him almost everyday.

Every time she dipped her quill in ink, every time she traced swirling vines and blooming flowers along her arm, she imagined the person on the other end. Did they like her doodles? Did they scrub them off in frustration? Did they ever smile at them, even once?

It was a normal morning in the Great Hall. She had been idly sketching a pattern of curling ivy along the back of her hand, lost in thought, when she noticed something strange—her lines were appearing and twisting around on someone else’s hand, travelling up their wrist.

Draco Malfoy’s wrist.

Her breath hitched. Her quill slipped from her fingers, ink splattering onto her parchment.

No. It couldn’t be.

Not him.

She had dreamed of this moment for years, but she never thought it would happen like this.

She had always imagined her soulmate would be kind. Soft. Warm. Not someone who carried shadows under his eyes and a cold, unapproachable air. Not someone who spent years scrubbing away her creations as if they were a stain on his perfect world.

He was staring at her now, his silver eyes wide with realization, his jaw tightening as if he wished he could erase the ink from existence.

“You…” she whispered, unable to look away.

He looked at her, at the ink staining her skin, the small ink smudge under her beautiful eyes, and glared at the matching marks of his own. She could almost see the war inside him—the part of him that wanted to deny this, to push it away, to ignore the universe’s cruel joke.

His hand reached out by its own accord, gently wiping the ink stain. He was dazed, she was his soulmate. She was ethereal, her gentle soul giving her a glow. But within a second, his expression hardened, and he snatched back his hand, wincing as if he had been burnt.

“You shouldn’t waste ink like that,” he said coolly, voice void of emotion. And then he turned and walked away.

She sat frozen, staring at the space where he had stood. Her face tingling where he had touched her.

Her heart ached. It was as if the universe had given her something beautiful, something she had cherished for years—only to rip it away in an instant.

She glanced down at her ink-stained hands, at the drawings she had once poured so much love into. And for the first time, she wondered if she should stop drawing altogether.

But later that day, she couldn’t help herself, it had become muscle memory at this point.

In the dim light of the Hufflepuff common room, she picked up her quill and slowly traced a simple star on the back of her hand. Just one. A test. A silent question.

Minutes passed. Then an hour. She sighed, closing her book, convincing herself that he wouldn’t answer.

But that night, just before she drifted off to sleep, something new appeared on her wrist.

A single, shaky line.

It wasn’t much. Barely more than a hesitant scratch of ink. But it was there.

And then another.

A small, clumsy star. A mirror of her own.

She sat up, pressing her fingers over the mark, heart pounding. He had drawn it back.

He was still thinking about her.

And for the first time, she wondered if, maybe, he had been afraid to believe in soulmates just as much as she had.

[axonthegoat]

Time to do some profiles/talking about the chain in this au! So not all of them have art and not all of them will get art/slight redesigns, time Twilight and Wars are those three, maybe I'll draw them eventually but Times armor scares me :) so don't expect to see him on paper

this is really long so I'll cut it (I'm looking at you four)

The chain

Four// Half tiefling half gnome// 24//Artificer Battle smith Multi classx4(for each color)

Hero of men, Minish, and the Four Sword, Four can split into four different people, the colors

(each color multi class in Artificer battle smith)

Green//he/him//Monk Way of The Ascendant Dragon

Blue//He/her/they/it//Barbarian Path of the beast

Red//he/it//Wild magic sorcerer

Violet or Vio, only their brothers can call them Violet//He/they// Warlock The Archfey  Multi classes Druid Circle of Stars//Patron is Shadow

Each of these colors started out as simply apart of Fours personality, they were like pieces of a puzzle where, when merging back together, it simply went back to being Link, creating a whole picture, giving Link all of their memories. Though during their fourth adventure they began to form personalities, their own thoughts and feelings separate from Link and when they merged once more they were now the wrong pieces for the wrong puzzle, Link came back disoriented and missing his memories instead of remembering the adventure like previous splits, and for the colors they found themself in an odd space, it was like a room in the castle pristine and elegant, with a strong sense of divine magic, and when looking out the windows nothing more then a white and gold void, empty and blank for as far as the eye can see, bookshelves lined with blank books, a scattering of furniture, all soft and sturdy, ink and quills and a tea tray that never seems to run out of tea and snack's and no door to leave.

When Link split again the colors found they were pulled through a sudden doorway, and after learning how to Split and merge the colors and link decided they prefer to stay split most of the time, merging together on occasion for a variety of reasons, they also learned Link can occasionally hear them while in the odd space, Vio thinks it might be within the sacred realm, sometimes the colors are able to see what's going on outside through the windows, but most of the time are clueless and communicate with link through a notebook when split. When they were pulled on their adventure they were merged together, and already with the tension of being **Visibly** half tiefling Link, now dubbed Four (and finding he thinks he prefers that over Link) Decided to keep the colors a secret, the colors agreeing at the time, though slowly they started to disagree and after a few months of not having split things blew up eventually, quite literally leading to the rest of the chain finding out.

After finding out and being accepted Four went back to splitting regularly, though for the ease and sake of traveling in an already large group tries to stay as Four for as long as needed, though with the colors reveal it has made for some fun strategies 

So four has light grey, almost white skin that's spotted (like the real skin condition but I can't remember how to spell for the life of me) with a more human skin tone, his tail tip is ment to look like a feather stripped in the four colors, his right eye switches colors but his left stays as a muted very light lilac, his left eye also has very poor vision (not sure how that shows up yet) as a result of Vio Lossing their left eye. Each of Course earnings on his right ear are colored to match all four colors

Each of the colors outfits are similar with some adjustments and, of course, being in their signature colors,

Vio: White sleeves are Bell sleeves, is the one to wear the scarves,wears head band around arm, ear cuff, dangling earring, left ear has a clip in it, long braided hair with hair cuffs/jewelry, a few tattoos, Vio's necklace-chains are made of gold, red is Ruby, Blue is sapphire all on top/attached to black velvet

Green: doesn't wear white under tunic, pants are leggings, non split outer tunic, less belts, ties headband around belt, less jewelry, a few scales dotting his skin, like two tattoos

Blue: tunic sleeves more form fitting, outer tunic shorter, outer tunic fur lined, wears hoof protection, wears jewelry but it's all practical (cord stuff, small/won't get in the way of work/fighting) no tattoos but let's Red and Vio draw on him with ink/henna/ect

Red: tunic longer, doesn't wear under turtle neck, pants shorter, ankle/leg jewelery (sometimes steals wilds leg bands), likes to paint skin with henna nothing permanent though, wears head band around neck or waist, least amount of belts

Time// Hylian//35//Paladin Oath of the wilds//Patron is the great deku tree

A Hylian Raised by forest Fae, Time has been adventuring since he was a small child, at first just to help save the forest and those within he called family then dragged into life threatening dangers, just trying to find his Fairy friend, Eventually after Two adventures, a war and Two weird Fight ring’s in another dimension, Time had started Dating his childhood crush, moving into and working on LonLon ranch, after a few years the two got married and lived peacefully together.

Time’s peace lasted for a good few years until a strange portal showed up calling out to him, pulling at him, know he couldn’t escape this time, so packing his bags, pulling on his armor, waving off the fairies and Kissing his wife goodbye, The Hero of time walked through for another adventure.

Warriors// Half hylian half human//25//Fighter Battle master

Captain of the Royal guard and Queen Zelda’s personal guard and friend, Warriors had been through a time twisting war and when strange monsters started showing up once again, along with a strange Black and purple swirling portal in the center of the training ground, Wars knew he had another adventure afoot, when he stepped out and was Greeted by some familiar faces, she just knew that this certainly wasn’t going to be an easy adventure

Legend// Hylian(???)//22//Sorcerer Wild magic multi class Bard college of Swords

A lost prince and an extremely tired Veteran hero, Legend did everything he could to not go on another adventure, but with the portal opening up in the most inconvenient places seemingly trying to catch them off guard, and the odd pulling feeling getting stronger and stronger, Legend groaned, grabbed his things and Bid his husband and sister goodbye and made his way off on a new adventure.

When exiting the portal, one face seemed similar to one he knew when he was young, and another that he most definitely knew well, though after being pulled off to the side, he found he did know the familiar face and had a heartfelt reunion with an old brother and semi parental figure he didn’t think he’d ever see again, grateful that there was at least one, tolerable person in the group.

Legend, being a descended of Sky's has a pair of very small wings, and grows feathers, behind his ears, along his sides, and just above his elbows to just below, he hides his feathers with his clothes and says the ones behind his ears are just hair clips, his wings still show up in rabbit form, but when polymorphing they do not. His cloak was a wedding gift from Ravio, the silly Bunny knew his husband couldn't be kept in one place for a very long time so made, and gave him a cloak that's very plush, keeps well insulated in cold weather but also doesn't over heat in hot water and permanently smells like Ravio, (Ravio may or may not have also put a tracking spell on it so as to never lose track of Legend-)

Wind//Kobold//14//Fighter will be a swashbuckler

A seafaring Kobold Wind had been traveling across the sea with his old friend linbeck when the two came across a strange portal out in the middle of the sea, and feeling an odd pulling from it wind grabbed his things and bid linebeck farewell, leaving his friend excited for a new adventure before the old man could even think of stopping him, and soon finding himself delighted to see his Brother once more

So with wind! His fur on his upper half is short, almost like a mink or otter fur, and his scales are small and smooth like a fish or snake, (think sea serpent if you will) kobolds vary in design by terrain and environment, Winds horns are sensitive to the elements and can help with sensing when a storm is coming in, or changes in wind, his tail is very strong and acts almost like a opossum's, allowing not only for better balance when on unstable terrain (like a ship) but also helps prevent falls by acting like a safety rope wrapping around the mast or other solid surfaces to hold himself up, the two smaller horns under his main one's are still growing in and will get bigger in the future

Hyrule//half fairy half wood elf//18// Cleric of Life Multiclass wizard

A Traveler with no one place to settle down, Hyrule was lucky enough to be a hylian Fairy and not a Fae that has any relation to the Feywild’s, though still hunted down by those who want his Blood, Hyrule just accepted it when the portal showed up and went through, wary of the people he now travels with, though as secrets are revealed and they fight together Hyrule finds himself learning just what its like to have brothers, to have a family

I'm pretty happy how this turned out! So Hyrules wings are meant to look like leaves! And to explain better about his outer tunic, so it's all one piece over an under shirt (the long light brown sleeves) the top cloak like part of it does go all the way around and under that it's backless for Hyrules wings, but when lowered his wings just look like there apart of the cloak itself (hiding in plain sight ;) the pink fabric is a handkerchief that was gifted to them by Dawn :) (not a romantic gesture, I see Hyrule as Aroace)

Wild//Half hylian half Kenku//118(18)// Ranger Gloom stalker

Not commonly seen are half Kenku’s, Yet Wild somehow managed it. This Corvid was just minding their own business napping in a tree when they got pulled out and through the portal, they take to the new situation well, but worry for Zelda, they disappear often but the slate has helped with communication an reassuring the princess that Wild is fine, so without that reassurance Wild hopes their best friend will be alright

I'm not the happiest how this one turned out, but it was just to get an idea down on how the "half Kenku" thing worked, So wilds armor is supposed to be like a combination of the new champions tunic in totk and the old one in botw, kind of like an in-between phase into the new one, just without pants, because he technically doesn't need to where pants and he normally doesn't, but started wearing shorts to at least help make people more comfortable when first getting to know his knew brothers/it's more common to come across other travelers in other eras. He has pretty bad burn scars along side from guardian beam, not as bad in face but arm took the brunt of it, feathers stopped growing on scarred ear and on the parts of his arm that stopped the blast, hide's featherless part of arms with gloves/sleeve's. Likes to adorn self with jewelry, but for the sake of stealth and safety normally only wears minimal metal leg bands, mostly leather or cord leg bands, scrap fabric from champions tunic make up the socks he wears to help protect his talons,

Sky//Aaracocra//24//Paladin oath of the exorcist//Patron is Sun

When Hylia's people were raised to the sky over time they were Blessed to share the feathers and talons of their feathered companions, Sky was built for the well sky, but he has a deep fascination with the ground below, so when he started getting prophetic dreams again, and Zelda warned him of a portal forming, Sky prepared himself for a new adventure and promised the love’s of his life he’d come home in one piece and baring new information to use while building their new home on the surface.

Tumblr is being mean and not letting me add any more images, so I'll just add Sky's as a RB, but Sky's design did change to much with his outfit, it's uncolored because of this fact and also because I don't have the marker colors for it, his feather colors that of his loft wing in skyward sword, but along his right wing and down from his hand on his right arm he has that light blue in a lightning patter. Like Wild and four he does not have shoes just bird feet, his talons being like that of a loft wing/shoe bill stork, and like wild he has sock like fabric to wrap around his talons to help protect the softer parts of them. His two scarves were gifts from Groose and Zelda :)

Twilight//Hylian shifter/lycanthropy//23//Warlock Goo multiclass Ranger beastmaster (Epona)//Patron is Midna

Having lost contact with his best friend and Patron, Twilight lived a restless life in Ordon after his adventure, unable to find peace he’d patrol the woods for danger and dive head first into work and training to try and find the closure he needs, yet the duty of a hero never rests as a strange portal appeared during a patrol, it was late at night so with a sigh twilight had headed back to his home packed his bags, and sure Epona's summing charm was secure and made his way through

[qweirdangels]

RUNS AT YOU UMM HIIII umm bungo stray dogs chara of your choice with the in depth&misc add ons? preferably in their 20s-30s ^^

Doing extra work on this one cause you deserve it considering my headmates just forGOT about yall. 🙄🙄 -Araceli

Name: Edgar Allen Poe

Pronouns: hazel/hazels, pine/pines, cider/ciders, gold/golds, warm/warms, grim/grims, poet/poets, author/authors, quill/quills, pen/pens, ink/inks, dark/darks, null/nulls, raccoon, zig/zag, bl/blood, mid/night, ancient/ancients, maroon/maroons, kit/kits, bite/bites, climb/climbs, bite/bites, cre/creates, paint/paints, scribe/scribes, the thing/the thing's, it/its, ix/ixs, this/this, entity/entitys, cryp/cryptid, voi/void, stare/stares, spook/spooks, stalk/stalks, shadow/shadows, hy/hymn, limi/nal, static/statics, ERROR/ERRORS, beast/beasts, levia/than, phantom/phantoms, scy/scyll, scroll/scrolls, page/pages, novel/novels

Gender: Xenogenders, transmasc

Sexuality: Bisexual with a preference for men

Source: Bungo Stray Dogs

Faceclaims: @/greendy2l, @/kokoasci, @/novertiz (3,4,5), @/mothonthewall

Personality: Poe is a quiet thing. Hazel often stands off in the shadows, or in corners, or in places that others wouldn't consider enjoyable. Grim looks odd to anyone passing by, as if there's just something off about it... Something about the way ix looks, just a little too tall... With limbs just unproportionate enough to cause a sense of uncanny valley... Scyll's eyes never seem to blink, they're always staring at someone or something. He speaks like a creature mimicking human speech. Everything about him is just slightly.. wrong.. Pine struggles with social interaction and as a result stumbles through all conversations. He has memory issues and often forgets what scroll was talking/thinking about, causing ERROR to pause often. Despite writing often, phantom has bad coordination with beast's limbs, causing it to walk awkwardly. Cryp is very nervous all of the time, especially around other people, UNLESS static has been given a task. Scribe enjoys completing tasks tremendously and will even talk to people unprompted if it helps hymn finish the thing's work. When around beloved people, it mimics happy sounds from its favorite animals, whether that be cats or ravens or raccoons. It has a preference for stormy weather and gloomy atmospheres. Maroon is most at peace when either in kits safe space or when zig is in a graveyard/any adjacent place.

Likes: As stated before, poe loves dark, creepy places. Basements, empty rooms at night, abandoned buildings, gloomy weather, graveyards, haunted places, etc. He loves any place that gives people the creeps, and can often be found wandering these places. Scroll loves to take walks in the dark and often hums lullabies to stalkself while walking. Actually, ix loves to memorize traditional lullabies and songs in places/languages/cultures that interest shadow. Cryp recites these songs whenever it gets uncomfortable/nervous. ERROR has a habit of researching everything about people static finds interesting. This often results in hymn stalking their social media. But entity truly doesn't mean anything malicious!! The thing just enjoys knowing about people before/while talking to them. Limi is a big fan of vulture culture and will hoard small (shiny) objects that ERROR finds. Whenever bite finds someone ancient likes, it will give these things to that person!

Dislikes: It's easy to tell when Edgar doesn't like something. He's not very vocal about things it doesn't like.. which is how you tell! Maroon will get very nervous and avoidant, stuttering like a mess. Kit struggles with saying when cryp doesn't like something, so look at ERROR's body language. Now, as for things ix doesn't like! Ix is not a fan of bright lights or clear skies. Hy feels uncomfortably exposed with the sun shining on zag, or when it's just not in a dark place. Warm weather makes null uncomfortably hot, which is something that makes stalk feel awful. Large, minimalist rooms/areas give void really bad anxiety. People sneaking up on and scaring create makes the thing paranoid as well. Poe has very specific regulations about his name. Anyone can call gold 'Poe.' Only close friends can call cider 'Edgar.' And NO ONE. can call warm Allen.

Roles: Compulsion keeper, abandonment holder, warper, scribe, journal keeper, cartographer, census taker, archivist, technician, secret keeper, writsmith, skillsmith

Aesthetics: Dark academia, mori kei, goblincore, autumn, cabincore, campcore, chaotic academia, crowcore, cryptid academia, cryptidcore

Front Triggers: Poe often fronts when things that spook likes are brought up. Paint also fronts in order to do ancient's role(s), which usually have something to do with writing/organization. Bite also fronts when the current fronters are talking to/about people ink is close to.

Other Info: Ix age regresses occasionally, whenever life gets to be too much. During these times, levia is completely nonspeaking and prefers to use an AAC device. The thing experiences obsessive tendencies toward romantic partners, familial figures, and even just close friends. This results in nal often writing long paragraphs about how much scroll cares about those people, as writing is the main way ix gets out stalks feelings.

[glitterandmoondustofficial]

And Onto Further Stillness

Chapter 28

Notes:

Characters: Gale, Yrelia, Tara Rating: Teen Warnings: implied sex, some PTSD Notes: Part of this fic was one of the first times I wrote for Gale. I added more to it, expanded upon it, and cleaned it up since then. :3

Gale sat on the ground in his dark bedroom. The room was in complete disarray; books left open, parchment spread on the floor, his sturdy desk was cluttered and messy, with large ink stains that he had stopped caring about. There hadn’t been a fire in his hearth all season and his lamps hadn’t been lit once. His furniture was covered in strewn about books and scrolls, even his antique chaise was a victim. His nightstand had a potion to help with his pain but he knew it was useless. 

He sat on the floor, gripping his chest, breathing heavily, his blanket falling off his body. The orb thrummed, deep pain spreading throughout his chest. Sweat made his skin moist. He hadn’t taken proper care of his beard or hair in weeks. 

“Mister Dekarios,” Tara flew in from the covered window, brushing by the closed dark velvet curtains. In her mouth she held a ring with a green jewel center. She flew to him and stood in front of him. “I have found something for you.” Her whiskers twitched as she placed the ring in his shaky outstretched hand. 

He winced and took in a sharp breath as he absorbed the Weave, destroying the object. He breathed heavily for a moment, sweat rolling down his face. His hands shook, indescribable pain ripped through his body. He breathed when it was over, his body no longer shaking, no longer in searing pain, and no longer holding onto tension. 

“Thank you,” he croaked, both from recovering from the pain and from the deep heartache sinking into his soul. He longed for Mystra’s embrace, to have her Weave caress his soul, to hear that she cared for him once more. Tara frowned the only way a tressym could and walked into his lap. 

“Don’t worry, Mister Dekarios, if anyone can get through this, you can.”

Gale smoothed out her fur, not bothering to argue with her. He didn’t want to. He knew this would eventually kill him, no matter how hard they tried to research his way out of it. He would find somewhere to die, away from Tara and his family, so that he could no longer be such a burden to them. 

Suddenly the curtains opened and he squeezed his eyes shut tightly, trying to block out the light. He blinked open his eyes and looked around his room. He breathed.

It was incredibly tidy. Everything was in its proper place and void of dust and cobwebs. A warm, welcoming fire burned in the hearth, the scent of wood smoke was so comforting. His desk had been completely restored. It had been sanded and re-stained so that no more ink from a pot or quill remained on it. No books were thrown about with creased, worn, or torn pages, his bookshelves were full and organized. There was no parchment or scrolls scattered on the floor. There were trinkets around the room on display, some that were heavy with the Weave, shining brightly as if they had just been polished. 

Tara stretched and yawned the way tressyms did. Gale breathed for a moment, trying to gather himself. He was in his home? Yes, it seemed so! This was his room and his bed! Although, he didn’t recognize the emerald green down comforter that had a throw blanket with embroidered gold birds on top of it at first. 

He rubbed his face, his beard was neat and well taken care of. His skin was soft, as if he had finally given in to his sister’s demands and taken her advice. His hair was tickling his cheeks. It was longer, he could feel it on his shoulders. It didn’t feel heavy, it was light from being washed the night before. He looked at his hands, barely recognizing them. They had some callus on them now. Familiar paper cuts and an old burn were on his fingers. There was a large scar in the palm of his right hand. It reminded him of someone gently wrapping his hand with a bandage. The image of her soft smile, that had been burned into his brain, as she lectured him on being more careful. She didn’t want to lose her precious companion, afterall. 

His heart thumped as he thought of her smile and he waited for the inevitable pang of the orb. He started to grip at his chest, some futile manner of stopping the pain, but the pain never came. He pressed his fingers into his skin and let out a breath. The orb was gone. That’s right, the orb was gone. 

“Good morning,” he heard a voice sing out. He looked over to the window and relaxed instantly as he stared at the woman who had softly lectured him about being more careful.

“Miss Rosewood,” Tara yawned. “I hope you have a good reason for interrupting my cat nap.”

Yrelia laughed. She stood at the balcony windows, only wearing one of Gale’s shirts. Her long black hair hung loosely down her back and past her hips. She smiled (gods, her smile) at the two of them. Her eyes were full of affection and warmth. “Forgive me, Tara, but it’s already 9:00, and Gale gave me clear instructions to never let him sleep later than right about now,” she said with a grin and opened their curtains further. 

Gale scanned the room again. His chaise looked brand new, as if it had never been neglected. It had a blue wool blanket that seemed perfect for cuddling under. There were scented candles in artistic, colored jars spread across the room. Mosaic lamps were on his nightstand, his desk, his dresser, and hanging throughout the room. Yrelia’s bow hung over the fireplace, symbolizing her decision to make this her home. Some books and a small jewelry box were on her nightstand. Along with a lamp, a stuffed sheep plush, and a small figure of Sune. Deerskin and sheepskin rugs laid on the restored hardwood floor. This was home. This was comfort and joy. This was…

He watched Tara fly over to Yrelia. “I suppose that’s acceptable. You do know how to keep him punctual,” Tara confirmed. “But I do hope that my breakfast is already waiting for me, now that you have decided to wake us.”

Yrelia grinned. “It is,” she said. “It’s on the shelf in the window, as requested.”

“Wonderful,” Tara flew over to where she ate. “I think I’m beginning to think you’re good enough for us, Miss Rosewood.”

Yrelia rolled her eyes playfully. She walked over to Gale and sat next to him on his side of the bed. She brushed his hair away from his face and looked at him so tenderly. She leaned in and kissed him softly. He closed his eyes and breathed her in. “You look lost,” she murmured after she pulled away. 

He reached up and caressed her cheek. He leaned in and kissed her. She tasted like spearmint and her scent was her sweet honeysuckle shampoo. He let out a breath and rested his forehead on hers. “It was…a bad dream,” he breathed. Bad memory. 

She let out a soft and warm chuckle. “Well, then I don’t feel so bad about waking you from such a deep sleep.” She kissed him again. It was a sweet kiss, a good morning kiss, a “hello, sweetness, I love you and I’m happy you’re here” kiss. She loved him.  

A breathy chuckle came from his throat when they pulled away. His brows rose and knit together as he smiled. He gazed at his beloved tenderly; her soft smile, her sweet blue eyes, the many freckles on her face. She brought her fingers to his face, gently pressing them to his jaw and lips. 

“I love you,” she declared and then leaned up to kiss his forehead. 

He rubbed her elbows with his thumbs and breathed her in. “I love you, too,” he said with a smile, feeling like he meant it more and more with every day that passed. 

She grinned, a wonderfully joyous light in her eyes. “Come, my love,” she said and took his hands in hers. He brought her knuckles to his lips and kissed them, not breaking eye contact. “Let’s get dressed and make breakfast. We have a busy day ahead of us.” She started to stand up but he pulled her onto him. She laughed when he kissed her. He wrapped his arms around her, his hands caressing her back. “Gale,” she laughed as he kissed her chin, neck, and throat over and over. “Gale, we need to get ready!”

She shrieked with laughter as he laid her down on her back. He kissed her face and neck and arms and hands, loving her laugh. He heard Tara sigh and grumble about waiting for her to leave the room. She flew out of the room with a huff. 

Gale took the opportunity to kiss Yrelia deeply, her laughter quieted as she returned his kiss enthusiastically. Her fingers ran through his hair and tugged gently. She pressed her body into his, hooking one of her legs around his. “I love you,” he breathed on her lips. “I love you, I love you.”

She giggled. “I love you, too.” She nipped at his bottom lip and he stopped thinking about anything other than their naked bodies tangled together and her satisfied sighs. 

Gale hummed as he pulled on a simple shirt that was worn under his robes. It reminded him of the one he wore on the road, when there was no time or money for fine vestments. Especially when there would be blood and/or mud on the clothing at some point. 

He wrapped the shirt around his torso and began to tie it on his side. He yawned, still quite tired. He would, no doubt, be teased by his beloved about staying up too late again. She just didn’t understand! He had to! The new book on the intricacies of necromancy was a hot topic at the Academy and he needed to know the book cover to cover!

He yawned again and didn’t notice footsteps that approached. He began to summon a Mage Hand to tie the strings on his wrists but stopped when the footsteps drew closer. 

“Here, let me,” Yrelia’s soft voice said. He breathed in her words and immediately relaxed. She reached to him and started to tie the strings so casually. As if it was so obvious, so normal, that she didn’t understand the impact this small moment was. He remembered his time in his tower before he met her. When it was just him and Tara. When the call of Mystra sounded nightly. 

When he only had Mage Hand to help him tie his clothes. 

Yrelia tied the strings on his other hand in silence but with a soft smile on her face. She grinned at him when she was done. She brushed off his shoulders and then took his face in her hands. She brought him in for a kiss. It was a big, loud, and chaste kiss. The kind where you knew that the kisser really loved the kissee. “What are you thinking about?” Yrelia asked with that wide smile. 

Gale placed his hands on her hips and squeezed. “I’m thinking that I’m in love with you,” he said, “and that I’m happy that you’re here, with me.” He kissed her freckled nose. “I’m also thinking that you are adorable and,” he took her hand and spun her around, causing her to giggle, “that you are ever so tempting.”

“You’ll need to resist temptation this time, my beloved.” He hummed. “We already missed breakfast, since you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself.” 

He grinned at her. “Well, my darling, can you blame me? Do you truly think I could resist you wearing my shirt, as if you were born to wear it?” Yrelia laughed. “I don’t think you understand what power you have over me. You could make me do whatever you wish and I wouldn’t protest.”

She laughed again. She released his hand and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Oh, don’t be silly. I know how stubborn you can be.”

“That’s quite rich, coming from you.” Yrelia snorted in response. He pulled her into a tight embrace and his heart felt so warm as he did. It wasn’t a desperate embrace, and it wasn’t one where he was begging her to stay. It was an “I love you” embrace. It was a “I’m happy that you’re happy” embrace. It was a “we’re home” embrace. It was warm, it was kind, it was everything he had long forgotten he needed. 

Yrelia’s fingers ran through his hair and her breath was in his ear. Her warm skin touched that arrow earring. Oh, he loved her. How could he have gone so long without her? He pulled away and they smiled at each other. He felt young as he gazed upon her soft face. He felt invigorated, with enthusiasm for life, enthusiasm for growing alongside the woman he dedicated his everything to. 

“Now,” Yrelia started with that smile, “you better finish getting dressed, my love. We have appointments to keep.”

“My lady, it’s hard to want to get dressed when you’re only wearing your under garments.” She grinned at him and he pulled away from her. “How could I not want to gaze upon your chest?! Look at them!”

Yrelia let out a loud snort. “Feeling youthful, are we? I’d expect that out of a university student, not a professor.”

“No one is too old for breasts, Lia.”

She snorted again. 

Gale had finished dressing himself in his robe (a rather becoming robe for an archmage, thank you very much) as Yrelia was dabbing makeup on her neck. He walked up to her and kissed the back of her head. “Darling, I’m offended.”

“Oh, hush, you,” she said and rubbed the makeup on the marks he left on her skin. 

“Why must you hide them? They’re quite attractive.”

She sighed dramatically. “Because, Mister Of Waterdeep, we are going to lunch with your mother.” He wrapped his arms around her middle and squeezed her. “And we also are checking out the venue for our wedding, talking to the caterers, the florist, and the baker.” He smiled at her in the vanity mirror. “Don’t look at me like that, that’s how this happened.” She gestured to her neck. 

“As the future Missus Of Waterdeep desires. You will only see me with a frown from now on.”

She laughed. She turned in his arms. “I love you.” She adjusted his robes so they were sitting perfectly on his chest. The ties were even, the shoulders were square, and the buttons shined as if just polished (they were). “And you are looking rather dashing in these robes of yours, my love.” 

He grinned at her, his glasses raising slightly as he did. “My lady, it’s kind of you to humor this old wizard.”

She smiled. “I’m not humoring you. I do happen to think you are the most attractive man I’ve ever laid eyes upon!” She twirled his gold eyeglass chain. “Can’t say I’m not a bit smug. I get to keep you all to myself.”

“I think I know what you mean.” He nuzzled her nose. “Then again…”

Yrelia snorted. “Gale, it’s been months since that happened and he apologized!” Gale huffed and Yrelia grinned. “You’re very cute.”

“Don’t tell me that I’m cute when I am incredibly insulted and my pride has been harmed.”

“You’re adorable.”

“Ah, my love,” Gale grinned at Yrelia as she brushed aside the opening of his tent. Their tent. He held a bottle of wine in his hands, something nice he had managed to find, that he was enthusiastic to share with her. It was dark outside, the sun had nearly dipped below the horizon. A small ball of light shone in his tent, illuminating her wonderful face. 

“Beloved,” she said with a small smile. 

Gale’s heart skipped a beat as she smiled at him and excitement grew in his belly. “I have procured wine and two glasses, for us and our nightly kisses.” He said, probably too quickly, as he was just so damn happy that she was his. Her eyes softened and she stepped further into the tent. “And I can give those tense and overworked shoulders a classic and well renowned Dekarios massage,” he said with a wide grin, “and while I provide you with a relaxing massage and a glass of delicious wine, I did want to let you know that I did finish that book you had found and gifted to me and, I must admit, I’m itching to regale it to you.”

Gale, after he had come to terms that he was alive, had defied his goddess, and realized he wanted to live and live with Yrelia, was indescribably happy. He had been…oh, he’ll just come out and say it, smug. So very smug that Yrelia chose him to spend her nights with, to kiss, to make love to. It was an incredibly exhilarating experience, and it was a tad prideful. She chose him! Him! She could have chosen anyone else but she chose a middle aged wizard who wasn’t nearly as impressive as he once was. 

He, admittedly, also had a new purpose. That ever tempting crown could do so much for the both of them. It could be their salvation. He and his beloved could never be hurt again, if it could do what Gale hoped it could. He could protect her, he could give her the stars. The actual stars, not just an illusion. He could truly prove to her that she hadn’t made a mistake by choosing him. That she made the right decision because he could be everything and anything she ever wanted. 

But for now, he would drink a private glass of wine and kiss the woman he loved more than anyone else. 

“Well, that’s very sweet of you,” she said softly, her voice a bit distant. He noticed the distance immediately. Something was off with her. He opened his mouth to question her nervous demeanor but she spoke up again. “But before that, can we talk?”

Gale swallowed, his heart squeezing and his stomach dropping. Talk? About what? Well, he loved to talk. He could talk to her about anything! And he knew she enjoyed listening to him in silence, but this seemed far more…serious. 

Was she going to end this? This wonderful, beautiful relationship that was keeping him afloat. Of course she would find him less than what she deserves. He was. He had only hoped she found him charming enough that she would continue giving him the chance he so desperately wanted. He just wanted to prove to her that he wouldn’t disappoint her. 

He cleared his throat. “I see.” His grip on the wine bottle tightened. “Whatever it is you need to say, I will gladly listen. You can always speak to me about anything, Yrelia.”

She blinked. Her brows furrowed for a brief moment before relaxing. “Well, um, it’s a…little embarrassing, if I’m being honest.” Embarrassing? What could be so embarrassing that she was hesitant to tell him? “I love you,” she started again, “and I want to be with you, I hope you understand that.” 

“I…was that what you wished to say?” That sinking feeling started to slowly relax. “Is that what…is embarrassing?”

She groaned. “No, not at all. Nothing about you or our relationship is embarrassing.” She sighed. She walked up to him and took his free hand. Her lips twitched before sighing again. “Halsin…confessed to me.”

“Confessed what?” 

Her brows shot up before an amused smile grew on her lips. “You’re so cute,” Yrelia said fondly. “He told me he had feelings for me.” His eyes widened and he dropped the bottle of wine on his foot. He jumped and hissed a curse. Yrelia took a step back as he pathetically floundered. “Oh, gods, are you alright?” 

“Not particularly,” he groaned, although he wasn’t sure what was more damaging, her words or the wine bottle. 

“Gale…are…” she stopped herself and he watched a very concerned expression grow on her face. He unclenched his jaw, ignoring the dissipating pain in his foot, and then sighed. He wasn’t exactly sure what to say, which was a very rare thing. “I know this can’t be easy to hear,” she started again, “but it’s nothing to worry about.” He didn’t respond and he wasn’t sure how he felt. Was he angry? Shocked? Jealous? A combination of the above? “Your silence is quite deafening. Are you going to be alright?”

“That’s not exactly what I would call this rather upsetting situation,” he said with a bitter laugh, the dread of thinking his love was ending things was replaced with annoyance and jealousy. His insecurities were still stuck in his throat. 

Halsin was incredibly attractive and far more experienced than Gale. He knew that the druid would treat Gale’s precious partner in every way she deserved. Definitely better than some aging wizard who was hardly as powerful as he once was. An archdriud versus a former archmage with a bomb in his chest? There was absolutely no competition. 

“I gently told him that I’m not interested,” she said with a nervous smile. As if she knew exactly what was going through his head at light speed. She reached up and brushed his hair away from his forehead. “I love you, I don’t want anyone else.” He let out a breath. “I just wanted you to know about it. I didn’t want to hide this from you.” He clenched his jaw again. “I hope this won’t…cause strain.”

“It’s hardly the first time one of our companions were interested in the beauty that is you,” he said, trying to sound calm, but the bitterness in his mouth was worse than any pill that he ever had to swallow. 

Yrelia sighed. He hated that sigh. It seemed that she was as much interested in his bitterness as he was. He opened his mouth to apologize. He hadn’t meant to seem too jealous, too bitter, or too short, but he couldn’t help it. Years of hoping he was the only one on Mystra’s mind, and knowing he wasn’t…

Instead of him making some form of pathetic apology, she spoke up first. “I understand how you must be feeling,” she reasoned, “but you have nothing to worry about.”

“Forgive me,” he said after he cleared his throat, “my embarrassingly immature envy shouldn’t make itself known.”

“Gale, it doesn’t bother me that you’re jealous, it’s a normal emotion.” She brushed the bottle of wine aside with her foot. She stepped up to him so that their bodies were against each other, and wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love you,” she said for the third time during this conversation and the sixth time that day. “But let’s not let it affect the way we treat each other, yes?”

He sighed. “Yes.” He kissed her forehead. “I will do whatever it is you ask.” He sighed again. “Thank you, Lia, for taking my feelings into consideration.”

Yrelia smiled. “Gale, you’re my partner and I love you. Your feelings are at the top of my list of things I care about.” She kissed his chin. 

“Thank you,” he murmured again. “I hope that what I have to offer you is as…satisfying…as that entanglement would have been.”

“My love, you are far more than satisfying,” she laughed, “or have I not convinced you of that?” He opened his mouth but she cut in again. “Ah, perhaps you need more convincing? Well, I have just the thing that will do the trick.”

“Lia…” he smiled when she kissed him, his troubles disappearing as she so sweetly kissed them away. 

“Well, it’s all in the past,” she said with a grin. Gale huffed at her, although at this point he was just teasing her. She hummed. “Oh, I think I have just the thing for your jealousy.” He raised his brow at her and then started to laugh when she kissed him all over his face. She kissed every inch of his face, making him laugh so hard that he was breathless. She planted a very large and loud kiss on his lips. “Quit being silly.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned. He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her in closer. He brought his fingers to her chin and tilted her head up. He leaned in and kissed her. She smiled against his lips, her fingers pressing into his chest. He could just feel her relax against his body. Simply giving herself over to him. He was sure he could even convince her back into bed for a late round two if he desired. 

She pulled away and a very amused smile grew on her lips. “You’ll need to wash your face.”

“Hm? Why?” He looked behind her to the mirror and saw pink lipstick stains on his face. “I don’t know, I rather like them,” he said with a cheeky grin. “Particularly like the one on my lips. Quite the smudge, if I do say so myself.”

“Once again, I don’t think your mother would appreciate them.”

“She’ll survive.” Yrelia stared at him, both amused and expectant. Gale sighed dramatically. “Fine. I will wash away what is rightfully mine.”

“Thank you.”

Gale washed his face and cleaned his glasses. He smiled at Yrelia as she carefully repainted her lips with the soft pink lipstick Lillian had gifted her. He sighed out, thinking of when that exact spot was multiple stacks of books, discarded and trashed. A completely melted candle that hadn’t been replaced. A dark corner of his room, with no love or warmth in it. 

Yrelia blinked and turned to him. She smiled brightly at him. “Are you ready?”

“I believe so.”

She walked up to him. “Good. Now let’s go before I have a nervous breakdown because we’re late.”

“By that,” he lifted his hand and she gave him a wry smile. “Do you mean your classic “late to being early” attitude?” 

She grabbed his finger out of the air. “Don’t be rude.” She kissed his finger. “Let’s go.” She squeezed his hand and started to lead him out of their bedroom. He followed her, letting the sun shine through the windows and lighting the room in a way he never thought possible.

[ada10v3lac3]

The Gatekeeper

In dark rooms, where shadows crawl,

There sits a soul both wise and small.

Through books and screens the worlds unfold,

Notebooks scrawl both meek and bold,

Knowledge inked of iron and gold.

Never wore the tassel cap,

Nor felt the weight of parchment lap,

Yet vast the reach, like midnight’s cloak…

In words unsaid, in thoughts unspoke.

With fingers poised on keys anew,

They lift their quill—and a MacBook too.

With antique aesthetics and iPhone glow,

They pen what scholars may not know.

A coffee’s steam, a candle’s gleam,

Melds tech and myth in fever dream.

Victorian lace darken hands and face,

Time’s fractured pulse to keep the pace.

A ; here and don’t forget the………….space

Across the keys, fingertips race…

The rooms are bound by silent shelves,

Tomes gather dust like cast-off spells.

A wrist-bound watch with gears of brass,

Ticks steady as the seconds pass.

The ink—the pixels—they pool like blood,

On screens that flicker dark as mud.

As shadows rise the keystrokes hum,

Programming given rules of thumb.

They write of worlds left unexplored,

Of silent seas, a quiet fjord,

And phantoms locked in dim-lit halls,

Where secrets are dripping down the walls.

The pen, a weapon, fierce and bold,

Brings justice when the story’s told.

The hands of time may bind their flesh,

But inked in light, they’re ever fresh.

Until one night under cloak and cane,

They step outside, and down the lane.

They journey under gas-lit light,

Knowing now there is no fight.

Together, quiet as their tomb,

They walk the pools of ink and gloom.

The void ahead a boundless bloom—

A silent place to seal their doom.

With voices hushed that lead them there,

Candied whispers still fill the air,

“Nothing here left to defend”

And as they fade, their echoes blend:

Blood drips once more from the ghostly pen.

😈✒️

🩸

🩸

[stuckinthestrangecity]

Ribbons and ribbons and ribbons of ink lay empty at his feet while he writes, completely absorbed by the whirlpool of memories that aren't his. He should get up, he should get up and eat and drink and sleep. "but there's something... beautiful about all of this", the thoughts whisper. "There's something beautiful and marvelous about becoming a relay for ideas that come and go, a conduit for the echoes of inspiration long gone inside the changing nature of the city."

"Yes," he thinks, ink covering any and all deviant thoughts, assimilating and eating its way into his brain, into his mind, with the desire to overwrite, to shift him like the buildings shift around him. "It is."

His fingers shift through the keys, the typebars hammering their way into the paper, bleeding painful black blood every time they touched the white surface. Almost like a loom, the letters started tangling forming words, the words tangled into sentences, then the sentences shifted into paragraphs and so on.

Ideas come and go, screaming like children trying to catch the attention of a teacher. Ducks, gears, machines that he doesn't comprehend, worlds where shooters gain access to the dead worlds long gone, and libraries where trees leak black blood to feed their librarians. He keeps writing. His mind screams at him to fight. He keeps writing. He shouts and kicks at the ink, screaming at the void for someone, anyone that is capable of helping him.

Two ideas answer, glistening like stars in a sea of tar and petroleum. One of them, a sinuous, elegant serpent of scales akin to stones, stares at him with its eyes closed. On top of its head, on two scrawny legs, stands a mess of feathers, beaks, wings and eyes, a peculiar bird not unlike the angels he read about on the internet.

The snake hisses, a raspy sound that echoes through the nothingness. Anger. Hate. But not for him. He instinctively closes his eyes as chaos unfolds around him.

The snake- no, the basilisk- opens its eyes, and stares at the nothingness. Of course, as the saying goes, the nothingness stares back.

That was their mistake, the one that caused its downfall.

The dark streams coiling in his mind stay still, paralyzed in fear- or something akin to that, as ideas don't feel fear, but the concept of it- as their surfaces turned grey, and started to spread like vines. The greedy rock desired to consume, to assimilate its enemy until they were enveloped, like a mother embracing their child.

Feathers of coal, gold and paper soared through the air like missiles, as the angelical bird stared with its indeterminate amount of eyes at the non-existent sky overhead and cawed with its many mouths. The projectiles struck true, and they started to feed. After all, the quills that feed on ink in the distant world of paper are just the most aggressive cousins of the feathers of any bird.

The typewriter's offspring screams as it dies, ripped off the root, and slurped like a smoothie by the strange quills. The writer opened its eyes to see his, now barren, mindscape. This wasn't right. He was supposed to write and write and write and write until he couldn't anymore.

The bird cawed once again, and a single feather composed of wood struck the writer in the shoulder.

They screamed, their insides turning into a slurry, fed to the starving feather. Jay opened his eyes, scared shitless, and stared at his mindscape. Yes. This was right.

Jay focused on reality once more, sitting in his home. The writing machine, despite not having an operator, continued to churn out words. "Oh, the sound... The feeling of being one wi- NO" He censored his own mind, and took off his jacket -that, now that he thinked about it, had never shifted, and neither did his phone...- and stuffed it between the typebars and the cellulose landscape they were supposed to stain, intertwining it in-between the metal pieces until they couldn't move anymore. Then, he grabbed the lid from the side of the desk, and slammed it into the machine, muffling it.

Only then, he drew a sigh of relief. And then, he noticed the small internet router sitting on the windowsill of his studio-since when did he have a studio on the House?- and grinned, taking out his phone.

[decemebercircus]

Referring to my recent post about Malleus's grandmother... I had a most clever idea..!

Here's a one shot/ scenario where Malleus's grandmother (for now being called Maleficent II) is introduced. I apologize if anything is inaccurate.

"It has been some time since I saw my family" Queen Maleficent II remarked thoughtfully as she observed a maid assemble multiple black baccara roses into a lovely bouquet.

The maid, Bianca smiled joyfully "oh your majesty! It would be splendid to visit your grandson at this time! I'm sure he will be most happy to see you" Bianca's magic seemed to brighten up the room the red glow acting as a tell tale sign of her work. The Queen blinked like the thought hadn't occurred to her. "Go.... Visit..?" Her voice just above a whisper. "Ah yes," the black ink well marked in gold cursive letters "Visible Ink" floated up as did a peacock feather quill and a few sheets of paper. Bianca's red glow around the room ceased as she observed her queen begin a letter. At that moment a well dressed messenger approached the entrance to the room. 'Permission to enter, My Queen?" He formally requested.

Her reptilian lime green eyes stared directly at him as she said "Permission granted" he quickly walked toward her and bowed holding out a white letter sealed with the Night Raven Diasomnia dorm logo as a wax seal. "A letter, your majesty from the Prince"

"Oh? Two letters in one week? He must be having a adventurous life at school" she chuckled taking the letter a letter opener almost materialising next to it and prying the seal open. Unfolding the letter she was faced with Malleus's neat and semi cursive handwriting.

"How interesting! It appears there is a new event where all parental guardians get the chance to appear on campus for a day. I find it odd that Malleus requested me since his parental guardian is already with him but I suppose he wanted to include me as I am his grandmother. It is a sweet gesture nonetheless" she commented as the quill which had halted its writing started again when she stopped reading.

"It's in two days and I look forward to it" she smiled as her response letter seemed to seal itself and a rose red wax seal was placed on it.

"I assume Malleus sent this letter himself, likely just now finding out about the matter. As it would be strange such thing would be pulled off in such short notice. Likely all the other students knew about this at least a week in advance. But it is no matter. Perhaps I should...." she glanced at the letter a amused smile on her face "...play a little game with the assistance of Lilia and his little darlings as a sort of payment for our family's treatment."

The letter vanished in a flash of burgundy sparkles.

❦︎ ♕︎ ❦︎

"I am Maleficent it is good to be invited formally. I thank you, Malleus, for the invitation" She smiled coyly. A lot of adults and parents averted their gaze. Mostly out of fear.

"Wait you're THE---" a red haired boy with a heart shaped tattoo on his face squeaked nervously. By his red vest he belonged to that other dorm based on her old friend the Queen of Hearts.

"Yes now where is--" she began but was abruptly interrupted by Malleus and Lilia approaching her both bowing out of politeness.

"Good you're here" her gaze softened upon looking at the both of them.

"At your side your majesty" Lilia commented.

Maleficent II observed a reluctant Leona and his adorable little nephew interact with each other.

"Hey cut it out! No climbing that's what we agreed!" He groaned a little. Malleus watched with what looked like amusement, probably thinking it was all very cute. It was considering Leona's personality.

She observed as well, but the scene seemed to shift and she was looking at her late husband and their daughter playing. Her eyes misted over, "oh how nostalgic" she muttered forlornly turning away from such a warm memory even though it left a cold void in her heart.

"No father! I won this round! That means I get the last slice of pie! Right mother?" A young girls voice asked, unmistakably that of a young Illya. It was so happy only to be shocked a few seconds after when she learned that shed taken The last slice. The little child had settled on a game to see who would win the last piece of Pumpkin pie. Naturally Maleficent had solved this by eating it when they were running through the halls.

"Yay! Now all three of us have had three slices" was the next thing out of her daughter's mouth. It surprised her greatly to say the least "what a sly little dragon you are my dear" she remarked the servants clearing away dishes as she left the table.

"Grandmother are you all right?" Malleus asked grabbing her arm. Oh that was a memory. Of course it was. Both her daughter and husband were long dead she thought bitterly. I'm alright she smiled hoping it looked convincing though she doubted the smile was in her eyes. Leona had turned to face her as had Cheka. She absently wondered where he got that scar from but it was not important.

"Yes I am quite fine, shall we visit your friend?" She swiftly changed the subject. Malleus seemed to hesitate but agreed.

Yuu was at Ramshackle dorm alone. They weren't from here so their parents were... Not present. Yuu sat at the entrance observing the festivities. Grim was eating the sandwiches.

"Yuu!" Malleus called

"Ah Tsunotaro!"

W h a t.

They waved and seemed to tilt their head at the Queen in curiousity.

"This is my grandmother Queen Maleficent" Malleus said remembering to play along with the Queen's little game of pretend.

"Grandmother this is my friend Yuu"

"Cute nickname dear" she couldnt resist saying and Malleus blushed a bit. "Yuu" seemed to blush as well probably embarrassed or thinking that they embarrassed Malleus. Laughable. If his parents had been here.... They would have probably requested their own nicknames to be referred to when they had tea or played together. Illya certainly would have thought it cute.

"Ah your majesty I wish to speak with you about a certain matter." Crowley's voice came from her left and she turned to face him. "Very well. I shall return Malleus" she patted his head.

♕︎ ♕︎ ♕︎

"...It is quite the insult that you were not invited to yet another grand party, but I do hope you find the festivities well" Crowely commented nervously as he approached the cafeteria were hundreds of students and parents were already.

"As her daughter I should think it would be clear who is truly insulted" she snapped frostily. Crowley as well as many of the people present grew silent in surprise.

"Ah I see my game is over..." She put a hand on her chin and almost looked saddened. "That is quite alright I shall properly introduce myself then. I am Queen Maleficent II, daughter of your favored "Great Thorn Fairy the original Maleficent"

There were multiple loud gasps and several not so loud ones. The point that must be emphasized is that many had their mouths open in shock.

"Ah ah.... Your majesty... Forgive my error....!" Crowley started evidently nervous. Queen Maleficent II merely smiled. "Not at all. it was fun... Being my mother for a day..."

❦︎ ♕︎ ❦︎

"It is time to say my farewells" The Queen glanced at her four precious family members. Her grandson, his adoptive father and his adoptive brothers so to speak. She affectionately patted their heads "Lilia.... As you were..." Lilia grinned and bowed "of course your majesty" he smiled.

"Silver.... Please dont sleep standing up it would be dreadful for you to acquire a head injury" Silver at least tried to look awake and smiled gently. "Malleus do wonderfully and take good care of your.... friend" Malleus looked a bit surprised. "Sebek... I look forward to hearing more about you in Malleus's letters" Sebek blushed respectfully. "Yes your majesty"

Author notes: that didn't go like I wanted it to but I got lazy. I'll edit it with more info later.

[acciomalfoy]

fool’s gold (cedric diggory x reader)

summary: you’ve been best friends forever, and valentines hasn’t meant much until now

a/n: GO FOLLOW @fromashescomephoenixes THIS IS YET ANOTHER COLLAB WITH HER!!!!! FOLLOW NOW AND CHECK OUT HER FICS!!!

-

“I’m still not happy with you,” I said, and Cedric only laughed. “Stop laughing!” I scowled, and he swung an arm around me.

“The tournament is well and truly over, Y/n, and you never have to go in the Black Lake again.” He grinned at me, and I only scowled.

“You could’ve gotten killed, or worse, lost the tournament!” As a member of Slytherin, winning is absolutely everything. Maybe Ced dying was a tad worse.

“But I won.” His shit-eating grin said it all, and I whacked his shoulder. 

“Get off of your high horse.” I shook my head, and he stood up. For some reason he had taken to sitting at the Slytherin table during meals, not that I was about to complain. 

“Look’s like Sprout’s about to charge me, I’ll see you in potions?” He asked, and I nodded. Potions was definitely my favourite class, and it had nothing to do with a greasy haired git, but everything to do with the golden boy I sat next to.

“See you then.” Not a second after he left Eleanor Flint clutched my shoulder.

“You’re totally dating! When did he ask you out? Was it right after Chang dumped him, or did he wait a while? Waiting is totally more classy, but I can see Diggory not wanting to wait.” Eleanor babbled, and I stared at her.

“We aren’t dating, and nor does he want to.” I said, but as soon as the words left my mouth I knew I had made a mistake.

“But you want to.” El screeched, and I quickly covered her mouth with my hand.

“No! Cedric still likes Cho, I’m certain of it.” I said, and El pushed away my hand.

“Rumour has it she broke up with Diggory because you were in the lake and not her. If Diggory liked her more than you she would have been in the lake.” El was batshit crazy, I was positive.

“I was in the lake because I’ve been best friends with Ced since first year. I’m not listening to this, El.” I stood up quickly, and before she could continue arguing with me I speed walked my way out of the Great Hall. Good thing too, since I realised that I had left my advanced potions textbook in my dorm. 

The dungeons weren’t too far from the Great Hall, and I made it there in what I would consider record-timing. My textbook was on my desk, and it wasn’t until I was leaving did I see the note on my bed. 

I gingerly picked up the note, all too aware of how the Weasley twins had it out for the Slytherin house, and froze.

I’m like a crow on a wire, you’re the shining distraction that makes me fly.

I spun around the room, as if the writer of the notes would be standing in front of me, but the room was still, void of life aside Eleanor’s plant that was bordering death anyway.

I shook my head and stuffed the note in one of my robe pockets. I really didn’t have time to contemplate shit like this. With my potions book in my bag, I turned and left the dorm, soon entering the common room and eventually the hallways of the dungeons. I didn’t have to go far, since the potions room was only a couple corridors over. I slid into my seat seconds before Snape swept into the room, and I looked at Cedric who was already staring at me.

“What?” I whispered, and he looked at Snape before replying.

“Where were you?” He asked, and I pulled out my quill, ink pot, and finally some parchment.

My dorm, why?

You left the hall in a rush. Why’d you go to your dorm?

I forgot my potions book. Besides, El was killing me and I had to get out of there.

He nodded thoughtfully, and I decided to listen to Snape for once in my life. Anything to keep my mind occupied.

Later that afternoon, we were sat in the dark, stuffy tower for divination. The scent of lavender and peppermint was already overcoming my senses to cloud my mind and make me feel extremely sleepy. According to Trelawny peppermint was meant to sharpen seeing abilities, however I’m not sure anything can sharpen the non-existent...

Luckily, this was another class with Cedric. Merlin knows why we chose to continue it after OWLs, but I suppose that’s the Slytherin in me again: proving I can do it, and do it best.

Right as I’m preparing to drift into my sleepy daze, Ced nudges me. 

“Trelawny. Five o’clock,” he mouths, nodding his head in the direction of my left shoulder.

“Hello dears!” She springs up, slightly like a jack in a box. I entertain the thought of telling her so, but she cuts me off as I open my mouth.

“Have you seen anything in your teacups yet?” She questions, staring at us in a way that is a touch too dramatic for my taste. 

“Erm, yes.” I respond, trying to save Cedric’s skin since he just saved mine. Grabbing his emerald green tea cup, I grasp the golden yellow handle, and twist it three times. I’m not sure why... it just seemed right.

I glance at my book, but decide to wing it. 

“I see a knight- or er. Perhaps a hero?” Trelawny nods, her eyelids fluttering as she rests them close and furrows her brow. 

“No, it’s a knight in shining armour.” I nod, settling on this seeing. Cedric glances up slightly at the word ‘shining’ but shrugs it off quickly. He smirks at me,

“Oh, and what does that symbolise y/n?” His eyes flash slightly with mischief.

“It means you should keep your big mouth shut!” I glare at him, but can’t help cracking into a smile after a moment in his laughing gaze.

“Well dears,” Trelawny chirps at us, grabbing for the cup. “Indeed! I see...”

She gasps as I lazily flick my wand to float the cup off of the ground. I still wish I had remembered this trick when we were working with crystal balls...

“Oh Professor!” I groan miserably, despite the traces of thick sarcasm. “Please don’t say I’m due to die,” I throw myself back in my chair while Cedric tries to hold in a snort.

“I’m afraid you are my dear, in a most unfortunate incident involving a revolving door and a popsicle...”

—

“Charms is the worst.” Cedric groaned from beside me, and I nodded. Charms was fucking boring is what it was.

“Flitwick said it was a practical today.” I remembered, and Cedric brightened up considerably.

“About connecting minds?” He asked, and I nodded.

“I think so, partners?” I answered and asked, but I already knew what Cedric was going to say.

“Howdy.” He tipped an imaginary hat at me, and I sniggered.

“Attention seventh years! I’d like you all to get into pairs, and I will form the mind connecting spell. It will last for just one minute, and there may be minor discomfort as the minute comes to a close. Jordan and Berg, you’re first up.” Flitwick began the charm on the first Hufflepuff and Slytherin duo, and they laughed excitedly as the charm went into effect.

“Diggory and L/n, let’s get to it. Face one another and stare into each other’s eyes.” Flitwick instructed, and Ced beamed at me as we stared at each other.

“Now hold each other’s hands, please.” I felt myself growing sweaty at the thought, but Cedric took my hands with ease, and without breaking eye contact.

His grey eyes were more startling than ever, and I couldn’t help but wonder what the hell the pretty boy was thinking.

“Ut copulare,” Flitwick began murmuring until out of the corner of my eye I watched a flying wand hit the professor. “Oh!” Flitwick let out a startled cry, and Cedric and I nodded simultaneously as we broke eye contact to stare at him.

“Uh oh.” He tittered nervously, and I swallowed. The last time I heard a professor say uh oh was when Slughorn brewed a de-aging potion and it exploded on one of my classmates, rendering them to infancy for a good three weeks. Rumour had it she still used the pacifier from time to time.

“Do you feel okay?” Flitwick asked, and I nodded.

“I feel fine, Professor. In fact, I’ve never felt better.” This was a lie. I had woken up with a knot the size of a rats nest in my hair this morning, as well as having forgotten to do the potions homework last night. However, my teacher looked relieved, so I smiled at him.

“Same here.” Cedric added, and Flitwick sighed.

“Just in case the spell worked, I won’t be able to perform another one on you until at least a week from now.” Flitwick said, and with that he moved to another pair.

“Well I’d say that went well.” Cedric said, and I snickered.

“About as well as your date with Cho.” I was talking about his final date with Cho, which ended in her pouring a milkshake on his head. 

“You’re going to be the death of me.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, and I stuck my tongue out. 

—

“Salazar, what’s the reasoning for all these decorations?” I asked as we left charms. Pink and red decorations hung from ceiling to floor, and it was then that I realised it was Valentines next week.

“Every year the house elves go overboard. We should talk to them about it sometime.” Cedric wrinkled his nose, and I nodded. This was just too much.

“What’s going on over there?” I pointed to a circle that had formed, and it looked like two people were in the centre of it.

“Only one way to find out.” Cedric said, and we slowly approached it. Adrian, a fellow Slytherin, nodded at me.

“What’s going on?” I asked him, and he gestured to the pair inside the circle.

“They’re trapped until they kiss, because a rose fell from the ceiling right in front of them. It’s magically binding, so we could be here a while.” Adrian explained, and I tugged on Cedric’s arm.

“Did you hear that? It’s like mistletoe, they can’t leave til they kiss. It only happens when two people are in love.” I repeated, and Cedric nodded as we walked away from the circle.

“I barely survived the mistletoe.” Cedric said with a shiver, and I laughed as I remembered the girls that had chased Cedric down while waving mistletoe. It had been a sight for sore eyes.

“It’s okay, Ceddie. Time for lunch!”

—

“Could we maybe eat by the lake?” He asked, already having dodged three eager third years. The Great Hall was as busy as ever, and I noticed I myself was subject to several glares.

“I suppose.” I dramatically consented, grabbing two pumpkin pasties and some carrots with hummus from the nearest table. “Let’s go,” I led the charge. 

A particularly determined looking Goyle stood directly in my path, stationed by a suspicious rose. I debated how best to get around, when I felt my feet lift off of the floor altogether.

“Cedric!” I shouted as I was levitated a good ten feet across the hall towards the door. I could only hear Cedric’s laughter as he ran below me, and I ducked as I saw the doorway coming straight for my head.

“Mr. Diggory!” McGonagall was heard shouting across the hall, however we were already halfway to the lake.

Dissolving in a fit of laughter, we sank onto the bank of the lake. 

“Ah, back where it all began.” Cedric grinned towards me. I could think of a great deal of memories surrounding this lake, but I wasn’t entirely sure of any that had marked the beginning of something.

“What began?” I nudged him with my elbow and took a rather ‘unladylike’ bite of my pumpkin pasty.

Cerdric shrugged, and responded by taking a large mouthful of his own. He then grinned with a pumpkin paste covering his teeth.

“Ugh, you’re disgusting!” I threw a pebble at him gently. He simply transformed it into a golden finch. And so, another calm, sunny day was passed by the lake.

••••

After lunch, I took a quick trip to the dorms while Cedric was in quidditch practise. I needed to finish this potions essay, and only one person could save me.

“Come on, Y/n! You’re so slow.” Pansy teased as she speed-walked to the dorm, and I only huffed.

“These legs weren’t made for walking!” I shouted as she entered the portrait, and the only response was the faint echo of her laughter.

By the time I stepped through the portrait, the common-room was empty aside a few stray kids from the years below. I walked through the short hallway to our dorm, and Pansy was staring directly at me as I came in, a note in her hand. 

“I’m the first to admit that I’m reckless, I get lost in your beauty and I can’t see two feet in front of me.” Pansy read it aloud, and I froze.

“What the fuck is this?” She asked, and I shrugged.

“I don’t know. I got another one yesterday, I kinda forgot about it.” I explained, and Pansy raised an eyebrow.

“That’s sus, but whatever. Come on, let’s get to the library!”

—

“Holy Hippogriff!” I jumped as I felt a hard impact in my lower back. 

“You okay y/n?” Pansy frowned as I rubbed my back. I frowned back, puzzled by this unexplained pain.

“I think so? Something just hit me in the back,” I explained, glancing around for the remnants of a prank of some sort. None appeared. Pansy shrugged and returned to her potions work. I gathered my stuff, and debated where to head next. 

It was the end of the day, and I had completed all of my homework. So I was blessed with some nice free time. In a last second decision I veered towards the Quidditch pitch to meet Cedric after his practice. 

“Hey y/n!”  A sweet voice called out as I was about to duck out of the entrance hall.

“Hello Holly!” I spun on my heel. Holly was always quite nice to me, even though most of the Gryffindors avoided me. “How are you?” 

“Swell thanks,” she nodded. “Just wanted to say congrats to you and Diggory! You two are so cute together!” I blushed all the way up to my ears.

“No I-“ she was already speeding down the hall back towards the tower. I sighed and continued towards the pitch.

••••

“Y/n!” Cedric waved across the field towards me. I noticed him limping slightly, but didn’t think anything of it. 

“How was practice Ced?” I asked, and he only shrugged.

“Managed to take a bludger to the back, but it wasn’t too bad.” He said as he approached me. 

“Doesn’t look good if you’re limping. Want to go to Pomfrey’s?” I gestured towards the various windowsills side by side that was the infirmary, and Cedric shook his head.

“I’m fine, Hooch said it would be worn off by tomorrow. Did you get all your homework done?” He asked, and I saw his face flinch.

“That’s it. We’re going to the infirmary. Give me your arm. Besides, my back has been aching since the library. Maybe I can get it checked out.” He held his arm out curiously, and I wrapped it around my shoulder so I could help him put less pressure on his leg.

“Thanks, Y/n.” He said sheepishly, and I smiled at him.

“I got all my homework done, by the way. Pansy even helped me with the last part of the potions essay that we struggled to do, so I’ll explain it tonight or tomorrow.” I said, and Cedric nodded.

“Sounds good, let’s go.” 

—

“For some reason you’ve both bruised the exact same area in your lower back. Do you two have anything you’d like to share with me?” Pomfrey stared at us, and Cedric laughed.

“It's a complete coincidence!” He said, and I nodded, but I was mentally frowning.

There’s no such thing as coincidences.

—

“One day you’re going to spill the boiling water all over yourself.” I said as I watched Cedric in a feeble attempt to pour the water from 15 inches above into his teacup.

“I’m not the quidditch captain for nothing-ow!” Cedric yelped at the same time I hissed, and I quickly inspected my wrist.

“Some of it just landed on me!” I glared at him, and he stared blankly back.

“It landed on me, Y/n. You’re across the table it couldn’t have splashed you.” Cedric said slowly, and I realised my wrist was bone-dry.

“I swear to Godric I felt it hit me.” I said earnestly, and Cedric nodded.

“I don’t doubt it. Shall we go back to Pomfrey?” Cedric asked, and I shook my head.

“It’s probably nothing. Lighten up, Ced, we’re fine. We’ve got the lovely class of charms next, followed by Sprout’s endless herbology lectures.” I nudged Cedric with my elbow, but he still seemed upset.

“Hey, what’s up?” I leaned closer and murmured, and he leant his head on mine.

“What if it’s not nothing? What if we’ve been cursed somehow?” I wished I could erase the worry from his face.

“I highly doubt that. Hogwarts is one of the safest places ever, and if someone was going around cursing people we would definitely know about it.” I tried my best to reassure him, and he sighed.

“Okay, dipshit. I guess I trust you.”

— 

“Odds on you asking Sprout what the word sex means?” I asked, and Cedric laughed.

“Ten.” I looked at him in surprise. 

“You sure? That’s pretty low.” He nodded.

“Why wouldn’t I be sure?” He asked, and I snickered.

“No reason. Three, two, one!”

“Eight!” We both shouted, and I screeched with laughter. Ced was done for.

“No! Rematch!” He said desperately, and I tried to control my laughter.

“Nope! Go ask!” I put my hand over my mouth in an attempt to control my laughter again, and Cedric reluctantly raised his hand.

“Professor? I have a question.” Cedric called out, and Sprout turned around to face us.

“Yes dear?” She smiled at him, and I nudged Cedric’s leg.

“What’s sex?” The entirety of the Hufflepuff-Slytherin class erupted into screams, and Sprout gasped.

“Mr Diggory!” She exclaimed, and I genuinely thought I was going to piss myself.

“Well, as my head of house, I thought you would be the best teacher to ask.” He said, and I noticed his cheeks were bright red. He shot a glare at me before smiling innocently at Sprout. 

“If you stay after class I might be able to explain, however, we are currently in a herbology lesson!” She looked like she was about to cry, and I slapped Cedric’s arm as I laughed.

“You’re insane!” I said, and the smile he gave me made my breath get caught in my throat.

-

The next day I ran into Cedric just before potions. He was about to trip right over his own two feet, when I caught his hand. 

"Morning, clumsy!" I smirked slightly as he brushed off the imaginary dust he had acquired during his slip. 

"Morning, y/n," he mumbled, lacking his regular enthusiasm. After chatting for a minute or two he started to back away slowly. 

"Hey, I just have to run to the bathroom. I'll be back in time for class though!" He yelled over his shoulder now. He started to run down the stony corridor, however I realised after a moment that he was heading the wrong way. 

"Wait! Ced, you're heading towards the common rooms!" I tried to yell after him, but figured he'd learn it in a moment anyway. It's not like he hadn't learned this before either. He came to the Slytherin common room almost as much as I went to the Hufflepuff one. 

I followed his footsteps, figuring I would be able to talk to him on his way back. What I didn't expect was to see a single slip of parchment fluttering to the floor, and Cedric nowhere in sight. 

I bent down quickly to pick it up, crinkling the hard corners with my anxious movements. 

I’m like a boat on the water, you’re the raise on the waves that calm my mind.

It was in the same, scrawling writing as the other notes I had received, and the paper was exactly the same to all of the other's I had received. 

Was it Cedric? I flipped the paper over and looked at the blank back. He couldn't possibly love me. Could he? 

I smiled at the message, remembering when we met up over break once. We had taken his father’s boat sailing, and had somehow managed to capsize on three different occasions. I heard footsteps coming down the corridor, and I shoved the message in my pocket.

"Hey!" Cedric called out as he came near.

“Hi, Ced. Or should I say boat on the water?” I twirled the piece of paper around my fingers as he approached, and I watched as his face fell.

“That’s not mine.” He said quickly, and I raised my eyebrows.

“Hmm. If that’s true, then I better go search for my secret admirer.” I grinned as he took the bait and grabbed my hand, tugging me closer to him.

“How long have you known?” Ced asked, and I shrugged.

“I had my suspicions on Finch-Fletchley, but you proved me wrong with this note,” I laughed at Cedric’s reaction. “I’m joking of course, Ceddie. I had no idea who it was, but I’m glad it’s you.”

“Wait, really?” He seriously was the cutest. The way he was looking at me right now made me feel like the luckiest girl in the world; then again, I just might be.

“Of course I am. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve been trying to drop hints for four years.” Cedric laughed at my confession, and I elbowed him.

“Oi! I was only laughing because I’ve been dropping hints for five. I figured in our last year at school I may as well confess that I’m in love with you.” My breath caught in my throat, and he raised his hand to my face only to brush a piece of hair out of my eyes.

“You’re in love with me?” I asked, and he nodded.

“It’s practically impossible not to be. Now that you know it’s me, I was wondering if you wanted to be my valentine?” Cedric asked, and a rustling from above made us look up.

A red rose had just bloomed.

-

It was valentine's day. Of course, just about everywhere was packed with starry eyed couples. We had opted to stay at Hogwarts, and have a sweet picnic together. Cedric had taken care of the setting, and I had found all of the food. 

It wasn't a bad effort. In my opinion he went slightly overboard with the pink, but I did appreciate the various hints of green he had added with the plates and napkins. Plus, I had brought plenty of food from the kitchens (which Cedric had shown me in my fourth year) 

We settled down on the edge of the lake, and I took a moment to appreciate the sunny day, and the time I could finally spend with Cedric not just as friends, but as a couple. I laid down, and gently rested my head of Cedric's lap.

"We should have done this a lot sooner," I joked, but I meant it as well. Knowing I could have been dating Cedric for months before now was a little bittersweet. I tried to remember that at least we were here now together. 

I wasn't exactly sure if I believed in soulmates, but I knew that if I had a soulmate, it would be Cedric. 

"Thank goodness you found the note I was going to hide the other day," Cedric smiled.

"That's true, you're no Gryffindor," I teased. "Thank goodness!" I stuck my tongue out in mock disgust. 

And that's when things took a turn. I watched as Cho came up to us, with a nasty frown on her face. Her frown darkened our picnic almost instantly.

“Fuck.” I breathed under my voice. What in Merlin’s name could she possibly want with me and Cedric? Obviously we were about to find out.

“Ceddie, honey!” She sang sweetly as she came closer to us. Cedric shot me a look and quickly set a reassuring, soft kiss on my lips before getting up.

“Cho. What are you doing here?” He asked, sounding incredibly confused. He rubbed his hand through his hair, anxious about her mission

“I came to rescue you!” She grinned innocently. As she reached for her hand I couldn’t help myself.

“Hey! Back off!” She shot me a burning glare, and sent a stinging spell at my wrist.

“Shit,” Cedric and I spoke in unison as we both grabbed our wrists. I muttered a healing spell or two as I glared towards Cho.

“Look, Cho, go away. Okay?” Cedric tried to kindly shoo her away. “I’m perfectly happy with y/n!” I smiled softly, glad to here Cedric say that.

“It’s okay Ceddie! I realised exactly why it was her in that lake and not me!” Cho chirrped. She sounded quite proud of herself, and I was curious what on earth she had come up with.

“Yeah, it’s because I love her!” Cedric explained. Cho let out a shrill laugh, and patted his arm.

“No silly!” She smiled sweetly, as if explaining to a young child. “You THINK you love her!” She shot another laser like look towards me.

“I’m pretty sure I know who I love Cho!” Cedric’s face began to harden as he realised this wasn’t going to be easy to brush off.

“She used a love potion on you!” Cho screeched, grabbing hold of Cedric.

“I said let go of him!” I got up off the blanket and walked over.

“She’s best in our potions class, she’s loved you since we were 13, and she’s a fucking Slytherin!” Cho explained desperately! She had small, glistening tears in her eyes now. I almost felt pity for her, but I couldn’t.

I walked over slowly, deciding exactly what I should say.

“Being a Slytherin doesn’t make me evil Cho, just like you being a Ravenclaw doesn’t make you smart!” I frowned. I hated how much the stereotypes of our houses defined us. “People aren’t able to be perfectly categorised between four groups!” Cho glared and jabbed her wand at me.

Before I realised what was happening, Cedric jumped between me and the flash of white light, but it couldn't stop the spell for some reason. I doubled over in excruciating pain that hit right around my belly button. It was as if my stomach had turned inside out and began to burn the surrounding flesh. I glanced over, and Cedric was in obvious pain as well. 

I couldn’t contain the whimper that escaped from my mouth, and Cedric met my eyes.

“How the hell did you hit Y/n with that?” He spat out, while Cho only stared at us in shock and what looked like panic. After Cedric let out what sounded like a painful groan, Cho waved her wand and relief flooded me.

“Tell me! How did you do it?” Now that he was able to stand up without pain, Cedric got incredibly close to her, towering over her. 

“I-I don’t know! You jumped in front, she must have been faking it!” I watched as Cedric lowered the manicured finger she had pointed at me, and whispered something in her ear. The effect in had on her was instantaneous; she slowly stepped away before turning tail and bolting away.

“We need to go to Pomfrey.” Cedric spoke without looking at me, though when I clasped his hand he squeezed mine tightly.

-

“I don’t know what to tell the pair of you. Have you been hit by an unknown spell in the past month or so?” Pomfrey looked tired, I noticed.

I wondered how often she slept.

“Not that I can think of.” Cedric said, and I nodded. 

“Unless someone’s hit us without us noticing, then no.” I added, and Pomfrey sighed.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with the two of you. I’ve only heard of cases like these, never seen one myself. I think there’s only been four or five documented.” She explained, causing Ced and I to exchange glances.

“Well, what happened to those people?” I asked the obvious question, since my lovely boyfriend clearly wasn’t going to. Pomfrey shifted slightly.

“One person in each pair died before a full analysis and case study could be completed.” I almost laughed at the look on Cedric’s face until I realised that one of us was totally going to die soon.

“Well, my darling, it was lovely knowing you.” I patted him on the back, and he wrapped his arms around me, encasing me with love.

“What can we do?” Cedric asked, and Pomfrey shook her head.

“Not a whole lot. Try and remember if the pair of you have been struck by a spell in the past though.” 

-

It took fourteen seconds after we left the infirmary to Cedric to slap his forehead.

“I think we’re stupid.” He said, and I raised an eyebrow.

“Speak for yourself. Personally, I’m the smartest person I know.” He snickered, and I frowned. Where was the joke?

“Flitwick hit us with that spell, remember? And the spell was interrupted halfway through, which created a new spell entirely.” Cedric explained, and I sighed.

“I think we’re stupid too.”

-

We'd spent another lovely 10 years being stupid together. Sure we'd had our ups and downs, but we always knew that we were soulmates.

 Since we had found out about the spell, we've helped Flitwick research whatever charm had put us in the situation of feeling each others pain. It was actually quite strange when I was pregnant with our son, Cedric had noticed the contractions first. 

 After spending a couple of years with Flitwick researching the spell, we'd moved to Scotland and gotten married. Life had been quite pleasant. We owned a small farm where we raised cows and hippogriffs alike. Our son was now 6 years old, and had already decided that he wanted to be in Slytherin 'Just like mummy!'  

Currently we were sitting in our favorite wizarding restaurant. I gazed over towards Cedric's kind face as he helped our son go through the maze on the children's menu. I grinned over at my two lovely boys, and nudged Cedric with my foot under the table.

"Hm?" He looked up, and our son copied him. I smiled towards them both, and silently thanked Merlin that I had these two lovely boys in my life.

"What do you want to eat?" I held up the menu, and raised my eyebrows. Cedric and our son looked at each other and then looked back towards be in sync. 

"PIZZA!" They said together. I giggled and they quickly joined in. 

Just as we share pain, Cedric and I share the multitude of joys that have bloomed in our lives. And that made the joy all the better.

[littlebittyhollowbugs]

Hi!!!! I wanted to ask if it was ok to make animation/fanart of your Hollowknight fic? I ask because I read it all in one sitting and suddenly there was an animation inspired by it in my folder.

Love your work!!!

Omg of course!

I'm really glad you enjoyed it! Any and all fanart inspired by my writing is absolutely welcome!

Thank you for reading <3<3<3

[copy-that-copy-cat]

Muse Info

Name: Whitmore [ Redacted ]

Nickname: Canvas, Whitty, Whit, Whitney, Dynamite, Bomby, Bomb, Whits, Bitty, Blast, Ballistic, Haunter, Crow, Sparks, Draco, Boss, King, Prince, Emerald, Time,TL, Hatsune, Bex, Royal, Pavel, Adam, Rockstar, Jet, Spite, Viper, Red, Spectre, Sus Whit, Imposter

Age: 24 (He thinks???)

Gender: Genderfluid

Pronouns: He/She/They/It/Bomb/Explosives/Blood/Spark/Spook/Red/Blue/Pink/Orange/Purple/Black/Cyan/Gold/Silver/Green/Knife/Gun/Axe/Ink/Fire/Flame/Rose/Tulip/Prince/Snake/Claw/Scratch/Blade/Bass/Bat/Star/Watch/Galaxy/Galactic/Star/Meteor/Tick/Pop/Shroom/Cloud/Sky/Voca/Loid/Song/Basket/Bot/Skull/Void/Tech/Screen/Devil/Blur/Quill/💣/🎸/🕑/🎤/⛅️/🧨/🪓/🔪/🔫/🗡/🖤/❤️‍🩹/❤️‍🔥/🧡/💚/💙/✝️/☯️/☪️/✡️/⁉️/⚠️/🍄/👁‍🗨/☑️/🏀/🔊/🍓/🍊/🖋/✒️/🖌/🖊/🔏/🔑/🗝/📺/⌚️/🌌/💫/✨/⭐️/🌟/🌙/🌸/🌺/🌷/🥀/🌹/🦔

(Bold Pronouns are more preferred. Emojis are used as pleased)

Sexuality: AroAceflux + Pan

Appearance:

[queenjanai]

i got stuck after writing 4k of my fic where amaya, janai and her brother purify the sunforge together, and amaya and janai kiss for the first time there, and i haven’t published something for a while now so i decided to give you guys the first 3k words! i really hope you’ll like it, and i’ll really appreciate feedback or comments, it’s the first time i’m writing a really long one shot. enjoy!

Six weeks. Six weeks of darkness. Not complete darkness, thank the Sun, which still rose and fell each morning and each night. Still, the Sunforge was a constant reminder at the center of Lux Aurea, swirling with the hue of corruption, keeping the citizens sheltered inside their homes during the hours of light. 

Janai had a perfect view of her downfall from her chambers. Every evening, she sat at the center of her empty bed, gazing at the spot that used to shine during the darkest of nights, drifting children to sleep as their parents told them ancient stories and sang lullabies. Janai watched, clad in nothing but her nightgown, her armor hanged in her closet and her headpiece resting on top of her nightstand.

She refused every one of her advisors. She would not be crowned until the Sunforge was purified. She would not wear Khessa's crown, or move to her sleeping quarters. She had forbidden them all to call her Your Radiance. With a broken city and a throne she denied to sit upon, Janai regretted not listening more carefully during Khessa's meetings. Suddenly she was swarmed with paperwork and citizens requests and holding audiences and calculation of expenses. All of the things Kheesa knew how to handle by heart, while she was left wishing she could cut all of these problems with one swing of her sword.

Needless to say, she didn't get much sleep. Most of the nights, Janai stared at the canopy of her grand bed, wondering when the messages she had sent would arrive to the hands of Sunfire Mages, or pondering why the spells they had tried so far failed to work. Not pure enough, not the right time. Something was holding them back, and only the Sun knew what it was. She thought about her brother too, and her stomach clenched with guilt as the picture of him flooded her mind. She hadn't told him about the Sunforge yet. She hadn't told him about Khessa.

One night, after she dragged herself from her office once the candles began to die out, Janai came to the conclusion that maybe she was the problem. She threw the blanket away from herself, after hours of tossing back and forth, and stepped on the floor, her feet bare, to retrieve her sword. Torches flickered on the empty hallway, the castle so silent in this hour at night. Her destination was the balcony, the one closest to her room as well as the biggest. The coldness of the polished floor struck her in waves, but Janai didn't shiver. Instead, she continued her path forward, walking in isles she knew since the day she was born, and only stopped in front of one room. Not that far away from hers, but not on the outskirts of the castle either. A perfect place for her most cherished guest. Warmness spread across her cheeks at the sight of the closed door, much like any other door in the palace. Her hand clenched and loosened around the hilt of her sword, sparks flying at the tips of her fingers, but she turned away. She wouldn't wake Amaya to spar with her.

Amaya's first visit had been a surprise, despite the letter she had written her. Janai had sat in the room adjoined to her sleeping chamber, morning sunlight washing over her as she finished her cup of tea. It had been less than a week since the battle of the Storm Spire. She held the scroll with both of her hands, shifting it so the light would catch on the crimson wax seal, baring the uneven towers of Katolis. 

Golden Knight,

I am happy to announce that King Ezran's party has arrived safely back to Katolis. Thank you for escorting us to the border to avoid any further conflicts. We have taken the misformed soldiers and are working for a solution regarding their state. 

I've pulled most of my battalion from the Breach, as we agreed. A platoon awaits at the outpost and the new path into Xadia, to prevent infiltration from both sides. I've ordered my soldiers to interact with yours peacefully.

On a more personal note, if I may, I am sorry for the loss of your sister. The injustice Lord Viren had caused will not be left uncorrected, especially not after your aid and sacrifice. I would like to come to Lux Aurea and help - as a friend and not as a prisoner. I hope you are well.

I will be waiting for your response.

Warm regards,

General Amaya of the Standing Battalion.

Janai could not believe her eyes. Amaya certainly had her way with words. Prisoner had her smiling, and warm regards caused her to roll her eyes, despite her gloomy mood. She left her rooms feeling more cheerful than before, and Amaya's words echoed in her mind as she waited for a small window of time to write her back.

Amaya's second visit had been a miracle, as if Janai had been holding her breath until her arrival. She had waited for her at Lux Aurea's gates, along with two guards. Amaya was dressed in her usual General armor, silver and blue, with her shield at her back. Janai was so happy to see a familiar face.

Her third visit amazed her, and every time she arrived after. At first, she stayed only for half a day, rushing back to Katolis before the sun would set, but after the fifth visit or so Amaya stayed for the night, then the other. She had been in Janai's mind as she walked from one meeting to another, consulting with her advisors and asking for reports. She imagined Amaya didn't have much to do as Janai read papers and signed with her ink and quill. She came to her door each evening once her duties were done, and they shared a small supper or walked through the streets of Lux Aurea, but never too far from the castle. Janai didn't admit it out loud, though she was sure Amaya could spot it on her face, but she was wary of the city, and so were her soldiers, she told her in the first letter. Only a lucky portion of them won the prize of staying in the Breach instead of having to face the corrupted Sunforge. They paced through the courtyard between high trees and colorful bushes of flowers, and talked, and Janai's smile grew bigger with each step, and each sign she remembered correctly. Amaya would teach her between what spaces of the day she had, and even if she was mistaken it was even more pleasant when Amaya reached to correct the position of her fingers.

In her seventh visit, Amaya came riding her horse with a treasure Janai had almost forgotten about. The Sun staff. If Janai hadn't been so shocked she would have laughed at the irony. Six Primal Sources, the seventh one the humans discovered being dark magic, and Amaya came marching in holding the second thing that was stolen from Janai, not just her sister's life. The void of the Sun staff stood in contrast to every living thing, a dark spot among the bright light and shades of gold. Janai kept her eyes on Amaya as she dismounted, and Amaya gave her what was hers by right, wordlessly. Janai didn't ask. She locked the staff in her farthest closet, as if it was a caged animal. Every time she could sneak to her room, she'd open the wooden doors to find it still there. That day Amaya had introduced her to a pastry called jelly tarts, which the royal family of Katolis was very fond of. Janai took the little triangle-shaped cookie in her hand, the dough well baked and glazed at the corners, and the center was filled with a paste of poppy seeds. Amaya gazed at her with her best of behavior, which almost made Janai giggle, sitting with her hands held at her lap, waiting for Janai to be the first to eat. Janai bit at one of the corners, fearing to insult Amaya if the pastry wasn't to her taste, but trusting her judgment. It was delicious, she found out, and by the end of their talk they had finished a box that was meant for a week, well after Amaya would return to Katolis.

Janai woke up to the wind gently blowing on the lace curtains of her bed. The one at her feet tickled her whenever the breeze waned, and Janai pushed herself up to see the sunrise. Long strokes of yellow and soft pink brought Lux Aurea out of its sleep, coloring her room. She rubbed her sleep soaked eyes and moved the curtain aside, bracing herself for another day. Her hands were sore from the time she spent on the balcony last night- that wasn't so enjoyable. It did nothing to distract her, and fighting against an invisible enemy didn't sharpen her at the slightest. 

While she broke her fast with a first cup of herbal tea and a squeeze of lemon, Janai reached out to take one of the jelly tarts Amaya had brought. This time, they promised to ration themselves, and Janai had convinced Amaya to share the recipe with the cookers of the castle, if only as an excuse in case Amaya would forget to bring her own supply. The real reason was that Janai wanted to eat the cookies Amaya introduced her too even when she wasn't around, and to vary them with some of her liked flavors. Janai tilted her head back against the cushioned chair and savored the sweet flavor of the strawberry jam, taking in the serenity before her duties would catch up with her.

The morning council seemed to become duller with each passing day. Every morning she'd take her seat at the head of the table, and gaze at the faces of her advisors, tired of telling the same tales, and Janai knew they were tired of her stubbornness as well. 

"The final spells are being cast on the perimeter of Lux Aurea, as well as the main gate," one of her advisors said. She recognized him as Suri's deputy, though he was much younger than their late, royal Sunfire Mage. It was him she told, in a moment of frustration, to pick the less greedy Mage who would do their damn job.

All of her peacefulness left her body as soon as she arrived at the council hall. "How long will it take them? They've been casting spells for weeks now." It was the first sane decision Janai had commanded to be done. The citizens must have been getting weary of seeing Mages drawing protection runes so near their houses every day.

"Today is expected to be the last day," he said.

Janai settled in her chair. Her eyes burned from the lack of sleep, and there was nothing she desired more than to dismember this meeting and return to her chambers, to be alone. But no, not as long as the Sun still shined. 

"Golden Knight," spoke one of the ladies. She was only a few years younger than Janai, but smaller, with flowing brown hair and kind eyes. "I went to the city yesterday, and the citizens are worried because of the lack of reports."

There wasn't a lack of reports. Janai knew that an informer went from the castle into the center of the city, each day, to give status about the working being done and answer the people's requests. There was just nothing new to say. They might as well shout "Nothing is working yet."

"Tell them we're still searching for a solution. All of those with problems or needs are welcome to attend the weekly audience." It took all of her strength to keep her posture uptight. The lady nodded.

"Golden Knight, about the coronation-"

"No, I will not have it," Janai cut another one of them and stood up. All faces were drawn to her, frozen. "If there are no more pressing matters, you are dismissed."

All bowed to her, and Janai pushed herself from the seat in one swift move and passed her advisors by, the heels of her boots clicking against the polished floor. She had not changer her clothing, and still wore the same slit tunic with golden scales and pauldrons protecting her shoulders. A part of her longed to come back to the Breach, to sleep again among rivers of lava and smoke, on a hard ground instead of her room full of finery. 

Speaking of the Breach, she was headed to bid Amaya a good morning. A smile rose on her face without knowing as she walked by guards and maids and staff of the castle, all who crossed their arms together and greeted her, their smile more uncertain than hers. She couldn't blame them, a smile was a rare sight in Lux Aurea these days.

She arrived at Amaya's chamber, and raised her finger to the unlit torch beside the door. Fire engulfed her finger as her heat being seeped into her skin there, igniting her veins. The heat was enough, and within a second a small fire set the torch alight, as well as the torch inside the room. It was a little trick that was as old as the palace itself, and happened to serve Amaya just right.

The door opened, and with it came Amaya. "Good morning," she brought her hand down from her chin and laid the other as a horizontal line before bringing her left hand towards herself again. 

"Good morning," Amaya signed back, with a smile that indicated she woke up a short time ago. Janai followed her as Amaya stepped further into the room, her eyes drifting to her blue tunic with the uneven tower of Katolis sewn on the sleeves, and her black leather breeches. Two weeks ago Amaya had opened the door to her still dressed in her sleeping clothes, a set of soft pants and a tank top. The memory of Amaya's bare arms and the fading scars that decorated them hadn't left Janai yet. Amaya took a seat in one of the armchairs. "How was your morning meeting?"

Janai delayed on her hands, remembering the words for each sign. Perhaps to someone else, Amaya's slow movements would have been insulting, but Janai was grateful for her patience, and Amaya seemed to know exactly where to pick up her pace, with words Janai was already familiar with. "The same," she shrugged. "Did the scroll you received yesterday had good news?"

The corner of Amaya's lips tugged with a smile. "Just Opeli begging me to come back before Ezran brings the kingdom into dept with jelly tarts expenses," she made the letter O and pulled her hands over her head, as if donning a hood, for the name of their High Council Cleric.

Janai laughed, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence, though her worries never strayed too far. There was still so much left to do, and the coronation... 

Amaya brought her back, but not to a kinder reality. "What about your brother?" She asked. Janai felt the color fading from her cheeks, then she reddened. "You've been avoiding him." She peeked just to see Amaya, her signs more careful than ever. 

"I-" Her voice trembled under Amaya's gaze. She took a deep breath, and straightened herself in the chair. "I don't know what to tell him. It has been too long." And it has. Once she had returned with the remains of Lux Aurea's forces from the Storm Spire, Janai marched to her room, dropped on her bed, buried her face in her hands, and stared at the floor. Ori hasn't left her thoughts since, every time she wrote with her ink and quill. Whenever she tried, she couldn't find the words to tell her brother Khessa was gone, and that their greatest pride had been corrupted. Every unfinished parchment was left crumbled on her desk.

"If there is no other way..." Amaya began, leaning over, the sunlight catching over her.

"I know," Janai cut her off. "I'll send him a message today."

Amaya nodded, a gentle and hopeful smile on her face, which Janai mirrored. She couldn't ignore the faint voice in her mind being so grateful that Amaya was there, as strong as an anchor. Janai knew she had grieved herself, for her sister, then for her brother-in-law. Janai refused to let it consume her, as difficult as it was. Not when her people needed guidance the most, not when Amaya was there.

Her brother deserved the truth too. Janai walked back to her office, and allowed every emotion to flood her, guilt and selfishness alike. She missed Ori more than she imagined, her little brother, so different from her and Khessa, with his kind eyes and everlasting grin. Hatred and suspicion had made Khessa hard, for Janai it was countless battles and pride, but Ori was left untouched. Their mother used to say that Ori was the most light-touched of them all.

She sat behind the desk, dark and made out of strong wood. Light washed the room, illuminating little practicals that floated through the air. Janai took a deep breath, the blank scroll laid before her, and dipped the quill in the vail of ink. 

Janai leaned back on her chair then, feeling as if a weight has been lifted from within her chest, and watched the ink dry. Her fingers traced the surface of the desk, thinking how much quicker she finished than expected. Searching for any missing words she might want to add, Janai's eyes drifted on the black against the soft yellow color of the page, but no. She pushed herself up and rolled the scroll, then sealed it with a patch of golden wax, the symbol of Lux Aurea pressed into it.

The message needed to get to her brother as soon as possible, fast than what an enchanted arrow could achieve. Janai reached and slid a drawer open, revealing a small red gem inside. Its facets glimmered in the light of the sun, and Janai closed her fist around it.

"Nuntius Ignis." Her words brought magic into life as the gemstone crushed under the force. She wasn't proficient in spells, but remembered some from lessons she took with Ori when they were younger. Khessa was excused from those lessons, while Janai half-listened to their tutor, wishing to practice with her sword, and Ori copied each word into his notebook with dripping enthusiasm. Shards of the gem dropped from her hand on top of the scroll, and ignited when they touched the paper. Soon enough, the entire scroll caught fire, the edges of the page turning black and crumbling. The fire went out, and her letter disappeared, leaving no trace but the faint smell of smoke in the room.

Janai got to her feet, let out a long-held breath, and went to continue her day.

[me-in-hogwarts-mystery]

Viscum Album - Charlie Weasley x Gryffindor!MC

Ship: Charlie Weasley x Gryffindor!MC

Summary: It’s Christmas in Hogwarts, and everyone is going crazy because of mistletoe growing around the school. Will Y/N be affected by this fever?

Requested: Yes - “In the spirit of the Holidays, is there any chance for a little something about a Gryffindor!MC catching Charlie under the mistletoe in the common room? :3”

Warnings: None I believe, a teensy bit of bullying?

A/N: Finally got this down, oof. Why do I always feel the need to write an angsty MC? Please some psychologist around here tell me what my problem is. Anyway, enjoy!

Y/N had always been a particular girl, different from everyone else. She was in her own world, a world in which the most important things were her friends, her classes, her brother, and adventure. Everything else just… didn't matter. In her mind, it probably didn't even exist. When her roommates started talking about the Christmas holidays approaching, she was tempted to tune them out, like every other time. She couldn't say why, but she felt compelled to listen instead, just this once. “So, are you leaving for the holidays?” Rowan asked one of the girls. If Y/N remembered correctly, her name was Sarah. “Yes… just like last year, my parents are taking me to Italy. Visiting Venice was fantastic, even though I believe it would be better in spring”. “What about you, Rowan?” another girl, Anne, asked. “I'm staying. I really miss home, but… you know…” Y/N lowered her eyes. She knew Rowan was staying because of her, and she felt more than a little guilty for it. “It’s because of the freak, isn't it?” Freak. She was used to people calling her that, by now. The Jacob situation had made it all harder for her - everyone already knew who she was, and not in a good way at all. But what absolutely pissed her off, was that Anne was talking about her like that, almost forgetting that she was right there. “Don't call her that. I'm staying because I want to spend Christmas with my friends. I have been going home every Christmas in the past years, I want a change this time”. Y/N smiled softly. Rowan was amazing, and she couldn't wait for the day in which Anne would leave.

~○~○~○~○~○~

After a few days, in the haze of the Cursed Vaults adventures, Y/N had completely forgotten about the Christmas holidays approaching. She was rather surprised when, on the morning of the 23rd of December, she saw three of the five beds in her dorm empty. “Good morning, Y/N!” Rowan exclaimed from her bed, where she was sitting, still in her pyjamas, reading a big tome. “Good morning” she replied with a small smile. It took her a few moments, which she spent gazing in the void with her mouth open, to realize the Christmas holidays had started. The Gryffindor Common Room had never been this brightly lit, this wildly decorated, this incredibly happy. Every corner had some fairy lights, some holly, or some fir branches adorning it. And something else, too - mistletoe, many people’s favourite Christmas plant, was hanging from several spots of the ceiling. Y/N looked at it all with a wide smile. This Christmas, maybe, was going to be good for once. She looked down to her arms then, where a small leather-bound notebook was cradled close to her chest. She had been writing notes about the Cursed Vaults, finding Jacob, making friends, basically her whole life at Hogwarts. She knew madness would have overtaken her hadn’t she decided to note some of it down, and get it out of her head. The past three Christmases had been just her, locked in her empty dorm, rereading her notes, maybe crying. She hated it all. She just wanted it to be over. But it wouldn’t be over until she found her brother, or discovered he was gone forever. So, at the very least, she could forget about it, for just a few days. She would get back at it in the new year. So she removed her eyes from the notebook, and brought them up, and to her left, and to her right, and behind her, and in front. Observing the amazing job students and House Elves had done. This is how Christmas should always be, right?, she found herself thinking. The fireplace had holly all around it, its usual boring brick red replaced by a mixture of red, green and gold. The ceiling was covered in green and white mistletoe, and on the walls were floating lanterns and sparkly ribbons. A small tree had been set up in a corner, next to a window - its lights gave the room an even more magical look than usual. With one last look around the Common Room, Y/N left it, adamant to look for her friends.

~○~○~○~○~○~

“Y/N! You're finally here!” Penny exclaimed as soon as she saw her friend walk through the doors of the Great Hall, “We thought you were never going to come down. Rowan is still reading, isn't she?” she added with a soft smile. “Of course she is” Y/N shrugged her shoulders, sitting down next to Bill. “Only two days left before Christmas!” Barnaby exclaimed then, his voice ringing across the hall. Everyone winced slightly, then laughed. “You definitely don't need a Sonorus charm to shout loud, Barnaby” Tulip stated, raising an eyebrow. “What's a Sonorus charm?” “Never mind. You'll know” she replied raising an eyebrow, then chuckling. “Bill, where has Charlie disappeared to?” Tonks asked all of a sudden, earning the attention of the oldest member of the group. “Oh, probably looking for dragons somewhere. You know him”. Y/N felt something jump inside her at the mention of Charlie. It had been a while since she had started feeling this way, all funny whenever he was around, jumping when he was mentioned, feeling anger when he was insulted, feeling the utmost happiness at seeing him smile. When people mentioned this kind of feelings they always talked about love. Maybe she was in love too. “So, what are we doing this Christmas?” Ben asked, “Please no Cursed Vaults or anything scary. Please”. “Christmas, for once, has nothing to do with scary or dangerous stuff, Ben, so don't worry about it” Penny reassured him. “I want to trick Filch. Just because” Tonks smirked, already working out a plan. “I can join in, right?” Tulip asked, a wicked grin appearing on her face as well. “Of course”. “Just kiss already!” Y/N joked, and Tonks raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips together, making the funniest face anyone had ever seen. “Have you lot forgotten about the mistletoe growing around since the end of November? I'm going mad about it. Three girls have tried to push me under some and kiss me so far, and the problem is that they were all so horrible!” Bill complained loudly. Y/N's heart jumped again at the mention of mistletoe and kissing. If only that could happen with Charlie… wait, it could. She wasn't exactly sure she wanted that, though.

~○~○~○~○~○~

Christmas Eve had finally arrived. Only eight hours, by then, separated them all from Christmas. Y/N was walking down a wide corridor, alone, trying to clear her head and relax, finally. All of a sudden, she heard another pair of footsteps, matching her own almost perfectly, and immediately she knew, and her heart did a backflip. Only one person in the world could match her steps so perfectly. Charlie Weasley. When a redhead and a freckled face appeared in front of her, she couldn't suppress the spontaneous, wide smile that lit up her face. “Y/N! I haven't seen you in a while. Happy Christmas Eve!” “Happy Christmas Eve to you too, Charlie. Hunting for dragons again?” “No, just relaxing a bit. I needed to get away from Bill, annoying older brother and all that” he chuckled, then bit his lip when he realised what he’d said. Y/N smiled slightly, fishing for something to change the subject, and yet, failing terribly. Suddenly her eye was caught by long, green branches growing above her head, and she realised what was happening in the span of a second. “Mistletoe…” she muttered, and Charlie raised his gaze, following hers. She wasn’t ready for this. She couldn’t… No, it was not the case. No. Run, was all her mind could scream, run as fast as you can. And she did. She ran, turning her back to Charlie, who was left alone in the middle of a wide, suffocatingly silent corridor, mistletoe slowly wilting above his head.

~○~○~○~○~○~

On Christmas morning, Y/N woke up curled up on one of the couches of the Common Room, her cursed leather-bound notebook in her arms, and a quill on the ground where it had fallen when she had fallen asleep, the ink on its tip smeared and dry on the wooden floor. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the light filtering from the windows - she imagined it was around eleven - as she winced, then she rolled onto her back, looking up at the ceiling. The mistletoe she hated was still up there. God knows how many young couples had kissed in that room throughout the days. Y/N sat up as soon as she heard footsteps coming from her left, where the stairs to the dorms were. When she turned her head, her eyes widened and her heart threatened to jump right out of her chest. “Merry Christmas, Y/N” Charlie said with a small smile. She scanned him, taking note of his unruly hair, how the sunlight kissed his skin, how his eyes regarded her. And he, at the same time, scanned her. How she had bitten her lip, how she had widened her eyes, how her face had flushed, how her hands were holding the notebook tightly against her chest. And he smiled. He smiled, because he knew what was troubling her, and it was the same thing that was troubling him. When she moved to run once again, he caught her by the wrist, stopping her in her tracks. She looked into his eyes, biting her lip again, fear evident in her eyes. “You’re afraid” Charlie stated. “Terribly”. “Don’t be”. “It’s not so easy”. “Maybe it is”. Charlie pulled her to him, kissing her softly, shyly, and when she responded, he finally relaxed. Y/N pulled away only when she thought she would suffocate otherwise. Refusing to look into his eyes, she threw her arms at his neck, laying her head on his shoulder. “Merry Christmas” he whispered. “Merry Christmas indeed”.

[carminavulcana]

The solid silver anklets melted in the furnace- Sivagami

For @mayavanavihariniharini

Motherhood was difficult. 26 years ago, she had thought the act of giving birth was the hardest thing a mother could do. Today, she was rethinking her supposition. 

She stood in the middle of her adoptive son’s bedchamber and watched as his things was removed from their proper places. On her orders. 

“Maharani,” one of the servants came to her. “Do you want this to be added to the pile as well?” 

In his hands, he held a heavy gold box inlaid with multicolored semi-precious gems. 

“Yes,” she answered sternly. “And don’t ask me this again. Every last thing has to go.”

She watched as his clothes were removed from the closet-- the dark blue dhoti he had worn last Deepavali, the brown silk coat he had been given by Bhalla three winters ago, the pointed shoes he looked so good in but didn’t like wearing because they gave him shoe bites.

Next to go were his parchments, quills, and inkpots. 

At last, every nook and cranny of his rooms was stripped bare. In a few days, his lingering essence would also go stale and fade away. Or so she hoped. She had no desire to smell his unique fragrance when she came here. But she doubted she would come here again. These rooms would forever haunt her. And she would try her best to see as little of them as possible. 

In the evening, she had the pyre lit in the enclosed agnikunda. No priests were present and no prayers were recited as she performed the funerary rites of her relationship with her younger son. 

One by one, each of the items from the pile was tossed into the burning pit. The clothes quickly burned to cinders, the ink caused the flames to flare up momentarily, the quills disintegrated within moments. 

The last to go were his jewelry pieces. He had had only a few but they had been crafted lovingly for him by some of the finest silversmiths in the city. 

Her hands shook as she threw his anklets into the fire. The solid silver anklets melted in the furnace. Slowly. It felt like an eternity by the time she could see nothing of them. 

She wished she would feel sick and pained. But a yawning emptiness in the pit of her belly said something else. 

She had completed the last rites of her motherhood, it seemed. 

And the pain of this void was far worse than the pain of pushing out a child. 

She now understood what she was about as she stared at her swollen, dry-eyed face in the mirror. She did not like what she saw. A murderess. And an unwilling goddess of destruction. 

[yveschanceux]

Yves takes his time placing his objects into the simple stained box. A harmonica reed, a petrified flower, a small quill with the ink still staining the tip, a long blade of grass that could carry a whistle, a rock, a shell, a small coin, and a few other odds and ends. He tries to work quickly, so as not to dwell, but gently enough to tuck the small objects away where they won’t be rattled around too much. He wants nothing more than this to be over, and the debt to be paid.

Finally, he dives into his life to try and cut out the parts that Dahlia didn’t ask for, anything that doesn't directly provide context for his house and the way he is, he tries to remove.

In the end, he does an okay job, they aren't as cleanly cut as Dahlias, he watches the reel back, trying to force cold indifference. It’s hard, but not nearly as hard as it was the first time.  He does trust Dahlia, he supposes, but not enough to give more than asked, not yet, so he slaps the lid closed with a sigh and places the box on the table before her, nervous energy bouncing his leg.

With barely contained eagerness, Dahlia nods and opens the box.

Her vision blacks out, all she has are her other senses and it’s strange not being able to fall back on her mage’s vision. She feels his life thrumming in her veins.

Yves has always made the best of life, she can feel it in his ribs, knows that he’ll always be okay, as long as he has Felix.

It immediately feels like a dream.

-----

Dahlia wakes up on the stairs of the back porch, it's a late spring evening and shes reclined down the steps in an awkward but mostly comfortable daze watching the dust pick up and settle in the warm breeze. Even laying down, Yves body feels too long and wide on her consciousness. She can feel the high of fatigue holding down his limbs and the sun lulling him to sleep. Soft footfalls thump slowly in the house and then out onto the porch. Ilya drops down next to Yves, slightly higher up on the steps and takes his head into her lap to play with his hair and rubs a hand down his bare chest.

“Hey, babe.” “How are you feeling?” Ilya asks, looking out at the pollen swirling in the road. “Your fevers gone.”

“Mmhmm.” Yves lets her eyes flutter shut and grasps for Ilyas hand on his chest, the additional warmth of his wife lulling him further into a doze. “I’ll be back to work soon…”

“Let me know when you’re ready to finish the eel,” she traces the black and green lines across his shoulder.

He makes another content noise. “How’s Felix been?”

“Hmm. Felix is doing well in the city. He’s taken on an apprentice it seems, has high hopes for her. He’s glad to hear we’ve settled in and keeps threatening to visit.” She grins and plants a kiss at his damp temple. “We should clean up your old room for guests-”

Her voice cuts off as Yves falls into a soft sleep.

-----

They wake on the beach in the late afternoon, Dahlia is overcome with a moment of Deja Vu, but Yves seems content with the routine. Ilya rouses beside them, much less burnt and they sleepily gather their belongings and make the familiar journey up the bluff-side to watch the sunset.

They can see just the top of the farmhouse roof behind them. In the distance, the outlying docks of the town a mile away can be made out against the blue water, and facing directly into the ocean is the sun, seconds from setting. A small strip of exposed sandbar is the only obstruction breaking up the endless expanse in this direction, and the water surrounding the sliver of sand is aglow with glowing green algae and ocher and purple bioluminescent animals.

Ilya’s hand worms into theirs and Dahlia points out at the dim glow as the bright flashes of golden sun begin to cut across the water in a swath of dancing light. The few clouds above turn purple, pink, then red as the sun dips halfway below the horizon line. The purples and greens seem to intensify in its wake, and all along the darkening coast, the last flecks of orange light give way to purples and greens and intense sparkling gold all the way out to sea.

All Dahlia can see is Ilya’s face as she watches the lights replace each other, her dark skin catching each colour of the sea. She turns to make eye contact and all Dahlia can see are her green-grey eyes flecked with nearly imperceptible spots of gold, like sunbeams in a storm. Ilya cups her face and taps their foreheads together. “I love you.” She kisses Dahlia in the violet burn of the false sky with all of its glowing specks. Aside from a few grey clouds far off in the distance, the night sky and ocean seem to become one vast void of lights with no horizon to separate them.

Dahlia tries to think of something romantic to say to that but her eyes flutter shut and she focuses on the points of contact between them, on the heat of Ilya’s fingers running across her cheek and neck, still warm from the sun. She’s so happy she could cry.

“I love you too, smudge.” Dahlia grins as the kiss breaks and nuzzles into the crook of Ilyas neck, taking in the smell of sand and sun, of ink and paper. It smells like home.

They sit there forever as the lights sparkle and fade….

“I just think it’s dangerous what you’re doing.” Dahlia spits a little too harshly. She’s sitting up on the counter between the sink and the icebox while Ilya works furiously over the kitchen table. Paper and ink are spread everywhere in a map of words and glyphs, coded beyond anyone's comprehension. Ilya stops suddenly and looks up to her slowly, placing the quill down gently. “Yves, baby,” Ilya stands and walks over to Dahlia, forcing eye contact. “I understand,  But you’ve known for a long time that this is a huge part of me. Helping these people is a calling - especially-”

“-Because we’re in a position too, I know, I know, but still-” Dahlia interrupts the familiar...discussion, a swirl of bitter embarrassment wells up in her gut. “I just…there’s talk of a witch hunt in town this week. It’s got me on edge is all...I’m sorry smudge.”

“You are forgiven,” Ilya grins and runs her nimble stained fingers through Dahlia’s hair and cups her face. “I would never put either of us in danger, neither will Felix. I need you to trust me, and trust that I know what I’m doing.” She plants a kiss on her forehead and steps away back to her papers.

“I do.” Dahlia lies with a small smile. The guilt is thumping in time with her heartbeat, outmatched only by the dread building up in her chest, pooling hot and sickly just beneath her war wound - now scarred over. “I do.”

Outside the fall wind howls through the trees and splatters wet leaves against the shutters.

Dahlia knows in her soul, with unheard of clarity that she’ll always be okay, as long as she has Ilya.

------

Dahlia isn’t present for most of the winter. They don’t get snow as far south as they are but the freezing rains and grey skies take the warmth away. It's far too cold to swim and even the green grove at the beach is devoid of colour. Ilya is patient with her, used to the routine after three odd years of being together.

They work as a team maintaining the animals, even though there’s less to do on the farm it still takes much of the late morning before Ilya returns to her limited invoices and Dahlia can return to the comfort of the warm bedroom. She nestles into the covers and sleeps until she's woken by Ilya retiring to bed. This pattern continues for the whole season, broken only by the occasional illness, mostly on her part. But as the weeks proceed Ilya gets to bed later and later.

“Is everything alright?” Dahlia asks on one of her better days when her fever has gone down. “You seem so stressed, I’m sorry I haven't been he-” the apology is cut off by an abrupt kiss. Ilya holds her fast and close, a little tighter than necessary. She buries her head in the crook of Dahlia's neck in the centre of her chest and clings for a very long time.

“Hey, Ilya what’s wrong?” Guilt and fear swell up in her gut, she had been barely cohesive the past few months, and the idea that Ilya needed help while she was off living life underwater was wretched.

She clings a bit tighter, her voice muffled in Dahlia's chest. “...You know that I love you right? I love you and I would never do anything to hurt you?” She's shaking as she threads her hands under Dahlia's shirt for warmth, for proof of life. Dahlia is overcome with a deep sadness compounded by her recent emotional instability, a sob overcomes her and like a switch is flipped they are both sinking to the floor in a weepy embrace.

“Of course I know, and I love you too, of course I know.” Dahlia assures her as best as she can, “please Ilya, I love you so much but you’re kind of scaring me right now.” She holds Ilya out by her shoulders so they can look at each other. She looks exhausted, worn thin.

“Nothing’s wrong, baby, I’m just tired is all.” She seems to avoid eye contact but a smile comes to her lips trying to reassure. “I think we both need this winter to end.” Dahlia doesn’t know how to interpret this encounter and is really in no condition to, post-illness. At a loss, she also smiles and hugs her wife close. “Yeah.” They sit there for a while longer before the frigid air gets to  be too much, “common, let's go to bed, Smudge.” As Ilya proceeds, upstairs Dahlia takes a minute to lock up the house and close the curtains for the night. She glances at the documents on the table with little interest but can make nothing of the correspondence between Ilya and her customers. She slides away to lock the back porch, with one last look outside to make sure the barn door is closed.

Out on the lawn is a spot of red on the pale frosty grass. She steps outside to investigate in the as the sun dips below the trees. The shadows of the orchard reach out like long fingers towards the house. A line of ocher feathers connects the spattering of red to the treeline behind the fence. Beyond the thick oaks surrounding the property, something moves in the brush.

This isn’t the first time they’ve lost a chicken to wild animals, but the trail of gold feels so much like a bad omen that she can't help but shudder in the cold wind.

Dahlia inhales deeply, the sharp air cuts into her weakened lungs like glass. She diligently gathers water from the creek and washes most of the blood into the ground, then flicks the feathers off into the forest before turning in for the night. She double checks the locks on the door and doesn't tell Ilya about the chicken, she’s under enough stress already…

----

Spring rain comes, and with it a high the Dahlia still hadn’t gotten used too. She’s over-productive in many ways and a tad destructive in others but Ilya seems grateful to have her husband back in full health though she seems older despite high spirits.

“Let's plan a trip.” She suggests over lunch after the chores are done. “Oh yeah? Business or pleasure?” Dahlia looks away from the treeline, interested.

“Hmm…” Ilya leans over to rest her head on Dahlia’s shoulder, looking up into her dark eyes. “Most definitely pleasure.” She smiles and Dahlia couldn’t say no if she’d wanted too. “I think we should see the far west… just for a couple of weeks? Sebastien can watch the farm can’t he?”

“Why the sudden wanderlust, babe?”

Ilya inhales deeply, a weariness settling in her features, “I think we just need...a change of scenery is all…” they’d talked before, about going the way of Irene and Louann, shuttering the house and retiring to travel the countryside in their old age. Dahlia didn’t think would happen so soon, couldn’t fathom a nicer place to be, but something about this last winter had added years to Ilya’s face.

“If we butter him up first.” She kisses her wife on the head, noticing a grey hair here and there. “I think Sebas would be happy to get out of that dirt shack for a bit.”

“Oh yes, I think  so too.” Ilya agrees matter of factly, but Dahlia can hear the relief in her voice as they begin planning their trip...  

----

Two months before they leave something goes horribly wrong.

Dahlia wakes up alone for the first time in years. It's early spring, frost still threatens the grove, but the rains have started. It seems like a dream at first, she dresses like normal, an uncomfortable itch in the back of her throat. With sleep still clouding her vision, she makes it down the stairs to the first landing before she notices something is wrong. There’s mud tracked all over the stairs, looking up, she can see prints in the hallway as well. Not panicking she hurries downstairs.

“Smudge, is everything alright?” She yells as she descends, mind scrambling to come up with an explanation for the mess, perhaps they’d forgotten to take off their boots before tracking mud into the house last night? The papers on the tables are missing. “Ilya!”

Outside in the fresh spring mud are streaks of red and a trail of golden feathers.

The next few months are like one long nightmare, Dahlia can feel the life draining from her body every day.

She starts out fine. Terribly worried and angrier than she’s ever been in her life, but not panicked. Not for the first few hours.

It’s easy to piece together what happened. The boot tracks throughout the house, the missing cypher, the dead fowl. She begins the search on the grounds of the farm, fanning out from the house to circle the grove, then the property, then the beach. It's long after dark when she returns home shaking and wired and itching for violence. It’s not even a thought to grab at the bottles of wine on her way into the kitchen and spend the rest of the night awake, alternating between restless sleep and paranoid bargaining.

The rest of the week is a blur. She spends a great deal of time switching between overwhelming panic, unparalleled rage, and unwavering determination to find Ilya. She writes in a shaky hand to Felix and Sebastien, her words are basic and sharp and spelt wrong and barely legible, even to herself. Its nothing like Ilya’s deft grace and control. Dahlias used to not having the vocabulary to get her emotions across but the fact that she’s writing at all - she hopes - conveys the urgency that her words can’t.

She goes to town first, gives them the news, asks for help looking, for information, for sightings, for any kind of lead. Everyone offers their sympathies but remain ignorant of her whereabouts and no one seems to meet Dahlia's panic.  She has no new information and her sense of urgency only increases. Aside from the occasional comments about how she hasn’t quite been the same since ‘the accident’ Dahlia can’t find any trace outside of the farm that Ilya had ever existed at all.

Ilya is still in the house. Dahlia can see her sometimes, out of the corner of her eye, in the folds of the bedspread in the early morning, or in wafts of fresh ink that still circulate around the bannister. Like if she runs back upstairs, Ilya might be there, sitting at her desk by the window, crunching numbers and doodling in the margins of her notebook. She's not there though, not in any way that matters.

She tries to gather the remaining papers in Ilya’s study and the rest of the house. Whoever took her and her code didn’t seem to know it was there. It occurs to Dahlia that she likely can’t trust anyone, given the illegal nature of Ilya’s hobbies.

She trusts Felix with her life but stops herself from sending him the papers for fear that the information they hold will make him disappear into the night. She hides them instead when she’s sure no one is looking.

----

It’s been almost two weeks since Ilya’s been abducted and no one in town will mention her name. She hears people whispering behind their hands about how tragic it is that she’d been seduced by a witch and how tragic it is that she’s probably cursed, but mostly no one says anything at all and that feels worse. She knows she’s being watched, can see shapes in her peripheral but they always move before she can look at them.

Many of the memories are jumbled here, some of them could be dreams, many of them feel like hallucinations. There is one moment that stands out among the rest. Dahlia is sitting on the floor of her bedroom, unable to move. It feels like she's been through a meat grinder and one eye is swollen shut. She can feel a hot dripping down her face and neck. Above her stands a figure so still, it could be a shadow.

The figure snarls through an old gnarled scar across its nose. “Stop making trouble.” It warns as Dahlia’s vision fades out, then in again. It’s morning now, aside from her black eye there is no evidence that anyone else was in the house last night.

The dead animals keep piling up-it feels like one every day, one morning she wakes up to find the roof of the bard smouldering, the spring downpour likely smothered it in the night. She’s too stupid to stop asking questions, or care, or whatever.

They sneak into the house while she’s away or at night. They move things, take things, stand over her while she sleeps, weird shit like that. Sometimes she wakes up with bruises or cuts or really bad headaches, stuff that doesn’t just happen. Sebastien would probably say its stress, some kind of fucked up grieving process, but Dahlia knows better, she doesn’t give away where Ilya’s work is hidden.

Finally, they get sick of playing games and one night while she’s drunk off her ass because she can’t sleep anymore and her goddamn wife is missing, they break in and drag her out back behind the barn. They dig a hole and bury Dahlia in the mud. It’s not a whole six feet, but she sobers up pretty quick underground.

Dahlia hyperventilates for a long time. She watches her body struggle through someplace just above her, lodged in the fresh packed dirt above. The rain seeps down into the heavy soil and turns her grave into slick mud and the distant thunder rumbles the earth.  She doesn’t know how to get out, doesn’t know how close the surface is or even if she’s digging in the right direction. An unknowable amount of time passes but she can hear morning birds chirping through the roaring in her ears. Finally she breaks the surface, freezing and wet and delirious.

The morning mist collects and swirls at her feet. Her thin, quick breaths steam in the cool air as she vomits mud. Something is moving upstairs in the window of Ilya’s study. Trembling, she sloughs her mud-caked clothes off into a pile on the porch. She moves in slow motion through the house and stops at the bottom of the stairs. Shadows coalesce around an eerie red light striking the landing wall. Outside the sun is rising, there are no birds left to greet it.

It feels like it takes all morning to climb the stairs, she jumps and freezes at every noise. At the top, each step feels like walking through mud as she approaches the open study. Small tendrils of smoke curl upwards from burned spots in the floorboard. Nothing is on fire but the room smells of ash and ink. Her books are scattered around and torn up, her chair is knocked over and her utensils spilt. The smoke drifts from gouged lettering on the floor, and Dahlia has bad eyes but the words reach across the floor in terrible black letters.

S T O P

L O O K I N G

She can’t even clean it up, Dahlia just stomps out the wisps of smoke and shutters the window. She locks the door and hides the key away. It's impossible to be upstairs without seeing something out of the corner of her eye.

Thieve. Abductors. Undertakers. Ilya.

She stops going upstairs all-together, can’t even get near the bannister without dozens of eyes on her, peering out of the woodwork. Time bleeds together, she can’t sleep for the paranoia, for the bedsheets dragging her back underground, for Ilya watching her from the between the rails upstairs. she jumps at every sound regardless of the source. Her brain feels sick.

She keeps drinking and gets it into her head that maybe - well maybe if they had buried her, that they might have buried Ilya somewhere on the property. That maybe she was still alive underground this whole time, waiting for someone to find her.  Dahlia begins to dig holes in the yard because if they wouldn’t let her ask questions the least they could do was let her burn out trying to turn over the orchard looking for some kind of closure.

She knows it’s irrational but she feels hopeless and possessed, looking over the property they had built a life on and only seeing a ten-acre grave.

She digs during the day, at night she listens for intruders,  a part of her knows they will leave her alone now, knows that they’ve done all they need to do to keep her from asking questions, but the damage is done. In every shadow is a thief, every creaking floorboard warns him not to cause trouble.

----

Before Ilya became a cartographer she was raised on the bow. She’d been a decent shot but had ultimately preferred to explore over hunt, so she came to him with a lovely heirloom of a crossbow to be used as a party trick to win bets or scare off coyotes. Dahlia’s hands shake as she loads the bow, as she’d seen Ilya do a million times. She levels it at the door and waits through the night.

Sometimes when she’d drift off she would have dreams where it had all been a nightmare. Ilya would be next to her and she would just stay in bed and watch her sleep, watch her chest move when she breathed and the sun would cross the bedroom and then Ilya would wake with a mumble and Dahlia could think for just a minute that everything was alright.

They felt like a curse in her waking hours.

----

Days later Felix finds her, he’d been across the country working and dropped everything as soon as he’d gotten the letter, it still took weeks of travel to arrive. Dahlia has been beside herself for nearly a month and she almost puts a hole in her brother with her wife’s crossbow. She’s a terrible shot, but it gives Felix enough time to yank the bow from her hands and embrace her.  She panics at first, then realizes who it is. She cries for the first time in years.

Eventually, Sebastian arrives at Felix’s call.  The two pack up everything up while she mopes around and jumps at shadows. They try to get her to sober up too, but it doesn't take.  

She never sees the crossbow again.

It takes weeks to clean the mess, weeks to get Dahlia back into her right mind, Sebastien grounds her immensely with old stories while Felix makes arrangements. They are moving her off the farm, to the city with Felix. Dahlia watches numbly as they pack up everything into neat little boxes and scrape the dried mud from the floor. They leave the study alone.

-----

For the next few months, she lives with Felix in the city, recovering mostly, getting back into a normal sleep schedule. The noise helps, being around other people helps, Felix helps when he’s not at work. Slowly, she comes to accept that Ilya is gone, in order to live with that Dahlia also comes to accept that Ilya is dead, and takes the time to mourn properly.

Most of her time alone was something of a blur. She tries to explain to Felix what happened but so much of it was spent in the throes of a drunken paranoia that she isn’t really sure what was real and what was just a bad dream. Felix doesn’t force her to make the distinction even though that leaves a lot of gaps in the story.

In the end, Felix believes that there is some foul play at hand, but has no leads to pursue. Many words are explained, Dahlia has never yelled at her brother in genuine anger before but she's been so frustrated and scared and angry and drunk for weeks now and no one knows how to help. Felix takes it all with grace and pity on his face. He holds her close and she apologises.

They have a proper funeral at some point. Dahlia can’t remember it but she’s sure it was nice.

-----

Months pass and she slowly moves closer to herself. She doesn’t quite fit back into her body but the perspective is nearly the same, she thinks. Drinking helps somewhat.

Felix is very proud of her for finding her body again, though he doesn’t quite word it like that. He says things like “I am glad we are eating breakfast together,” or “It looks like you got some sun today!” In his cheery, relieved voice. Dahlia feels like a child, or a spooked animal being pitied, but something about Felix’s gentle way of handling her is comforting.

He wants her to stay as long as she needs too but Dahlia’s skin begins to crawl with wanderlust. She’s grateful for everything Felix has done for her but she feels like the world is stagnant now, with an absence of colour or sound. She bids Felix goodbye with solemn determination. Her brother is nervous and reluctant to let her go, but all the same optimistic that travel could be a good thing.

She knows that she’ll be okay, she always has Felix, after all.

----

She stops by the farmhouse before truly leaving, needs to say goodbye to it now that she’s said goodbye to Ilya. She goes in the middle of the day, alone. It stands solitary and warm in the summer sun, she can hear the creek babbling through the orchard and smell citrus on the breeze. Dahlia takes in the view, closes her eyes and inhales the smells of the property. She can still hear the wind-chime on the porch, made from small rocks and shells, there is laughter in the wind.

The holes she’d spent days digging up are still present, like scars on the property, though they have filled in somewhat from the rain and are grown over with grass now. In a few years, she knows, it will be like they were never there at all.

It feels like she’s just come home from the market as she slips in the backdoor easily, for just a moment, Ilya is sitting at the kitchen table, pouring over her work. She looks up with a smile on her face, they’re going on a trip soon.

Dahlia shudders and moves through the space, careful not to touch anything. It feels wrong how barren the rooms are, never in her years of living here has the place felt so empty, not even when the old birds had moved out. She avoids the stairs entirely to find some of Ilya’s papers in the spare room. Waves of melancholy wash over her, looking at their life together packed up in neat little boxes and stored away, it all feels so wrong.  She pulls a bundle of paper from a box, gently leafing through the parchment. It smells like home.

Dahlia spreads the papers over the kitchen table. She finds a vial of ink and a half dozen quills to place delicately between the pages of almanacs, half made maps, and first pass translations of various texts. She steps back with a nod, it isn’t quite the same as Ilyas organized chaos, but looking back at the kitchen as she locks the door, it feels like she’s still home, it feels less like bidding adieu and more like she’s just... going on a trip.  

----

The memory fades out and back in, she doesn’t experience first hand but knows that she spends the next few years wandering from city to city, revisiting old friends and customers from before the farm and the injury and the conscription. It’s easy to fall back into what she used to be, even if it doesn’t feel real. She stays out of the way of the law as best she can, avoids all talk of mages and witch hunts and crowns guards for fear of having to do it all over again. To repeat the last year of her life, she knows, will probably kill her.

She comes back into herself in a familiar apartment, a terrible melancholy interrupts her, a longing for this place that was her home inside a body that feels too tall, too wide, too different from hers. There is a resounding whiplash that stuns her as she sees her body, her real body leaning over her with a potion, pouring it into her leg wound that feels both numb and like white-hot pain at the same time.

She’s talking in a playful tone, telling him - telling Yves that she doesn’t need payment for the priceless potion in her hand.

“Just take me to that summer festival we talked about last night. Win me something nice, buy me snacks, whatever you can manage.”

Dahlia can tell Yves can’t remember what ‘last night’ means, but he doesn’t miss a beat in agreeing, Dahlia can feel in his gut that Yves will probably do whatever she asks of him (within reason) for the potion. But that's truly all she’d wanted at the time, and the world seems brighter for it, at least from his perspective.

The memory starts to fade there as if Yves had let it run too long on accident and hadn’t wanted her to see this far in. She fades out of his memory one last time and comes back into her real body, back in the kitchen. It feels like the breath has been knocked out of her for a long moment. Yves slaps the box shut the second she pulls away. He looks absolutely perplexed - on his end the whole thing took less than a minute, not the months that Dahlia had experienced.

“Is it really supposed to be that fast?” Yves mumbles to Namir, who is nearly in Dahlia's lap in worry, he paws her potion closer to her hands. “It feels so much longer from the other side.”

“Hey fireball, you doing alright?” He leans back a bit to give her some breathing room, remembering how claustrophobic he’d been coming out of her memory box.

[authorellenmint]

Hawke entertains three children who approach her doorstep with four stories to scare the pants off 'em. And who should she use for characters in her horror stories but those companions she knows so well?

Needing to focus and finding it impossible in the puss-ridden city, a young man set out for the solitude of the deep woods. An old cabin squatted far off the road between the skeletal trees of a dying forest. Battered and grey as an urn, the roof's bowed edges and partially boarded up windows twisted and warped the bones of the place until it looked as if the entire structure was about to lunge forward and devour the man.

No, Anders shook his head. He was being superstitious. There was nothing wrong with the cabin the dwarf told him about. It was perfect for what he needed. Solitude and quiet, nothing more. The inside reeked of decay and age, but Anders cracked open the windows allowing a warm autumn wind to swipe away the stench of death in the air.

Rather cramped, all things considered. There was a sitting room with a few chairs scattered about a rug. The charred fireplace loomed against an entire wall, so great it could burn bodies whole inside. Beside him sat a ladder, which led up to the tucked away loft designed to hold a small bed. A nice amenity, but all Anders truly needed was the desk resting near the back of the cabin.

Carved from real cherry wood, with orange firelight dancing against the grain it almost looked as if the desk itself was bleeding. The ink pot was dug in deep into the desktop to prevent spills, which Anders quickly refilled from his stash. As the final drop of black splattered into its new glass home, he pulled free his quills. They were a masterpiece to behold, as he'd tell people endlessly on, and on, and on because talking about quills is so much fun.

I mean, they were beautiful, plucked from the tails of no two similar birds. A dove's was cut at a strong 45 degree angle, giving him a thick point. From an owl, he achieved the finest line imaginable, barely a hair's breadth upon the page. But his real favorite, the one he relied upon constantly, came from a startled raven. Blacker than the ink it wrote with, when Anders held that feather in his fingers, no words were walled off from him. His hand would dash for hours and hours without end.

Which was what he needed. With a flourish of his fingers, he yanked open the book, sat in the unflinching writing chair, and began to manufacture his manifesto.

The candle burned ever lower, Anders eyes only wandering away from his screed against tyranny to note the fire's level. Hours had to have passed before he paused, the beloved raven's quill dipping into the ink to rest a moment. "Maker's breath," he groaned to himself, struggling to stretch out the crick in his neck.

"Hello..."

Anders whipped his head around, his heart holding in place. Did he just hear that? The cabin was far too tiny for anyone to hide inside -- from the desk he could see every inch save the loft. Great. That'd be just like the dwarf to tell him about the cabin, then sneak ahead and hide in it to mess with him. Or Isa...some other woman who's not the pirate queen from earlier. Running a hand against his blonde scruff, Anders hauled himself up the ladder fast.

The bed was built into the cabin itself, only the mattress capable of being changed out over time -- which at the moment appeared to be extra lumpy almost as if it held an unexpected addition. Cracking his knuckles, Anders waited a moment while watching the lumps. Whoever was here to annoy him knew to remain perfectly still.

Latching onto the sheet, Anders gave a great yank while shouting, "Got you, you sneaky bast...!"

Three pillows lay upon the naked bed, none of which were capable of giving a cheery hello. Even still, Anders jammed a hand into each to see if anyone could be hiding deeper in. "Getting jumpy," he sighed, already certain he imagined the voice.

Sliding down the ladder, he moved to scrounge up a bit of food out of his pack, when his eyes caught a glint against the afternoon light. A sliver of metal was hidden below a rug. Curious, Anders flung the rug back to expose a massive metal door built into the bottom of the cabin. A lock the size of his fist shackled the two doors together. Only one reason someone keeps their cellar locked, either that's where they hide all the valuables they stole as bandits, or the bodies they killed as murderers.

He should really let it go. Return to his writing. There was a lot left to do after all. Anders shifted towards the desk, but his eyes refused to leave the lock. They hungered for it, ached with curiosity. Needed to sunder the thing and see what lay below. "Besides," he shrugged to himself, "if there's anything valuable I might be doing someone a service in finding it."

Certain in that little lie to himself, he drew forth fire against the lock. Oh yeah, he's a mage. With blonde hair and tends to wear a lot of bandages despite not being hurt. Never really understood why but...right, the story. The lock didn't just fall apart, it fully melted, dripping against the doors until it was forever joined with them. And the secret basement forever unsealed.

After the metal bits cooled, Anders hauled open the doors. Impenetrable darkness circled the air below. A great chill danced up Anders' spine as he rubbed against his arms. "Well," he laughed to himself, "this is why mage fire was created." Rising up the veil on his hand, he peered deep into the pit. Whatever was inside waited so far down it may as well rest in the core of thedas itself. But Anders was a stubborn son of a...ass. And when he got something in his mind, oh let me tell you, there was no talking him out of it. No matter how stupid.

"Nice of someone to leave a ladder," the man continued to talk to himself while easing down into the creepy cellar, in the creepy cabin, in the middle of the creepy woods. His words pinged against the packed earth slipping further and further away, acting as a way to convince himself he wasn't truly alone. When his boots struck against ground, Anders took a deep breath.

There could be bodies, or monsters, or monsters made out of bodies. Who knows in this world. Prepared for anything that thedas could throw at him, the man turned on his heel, lifted up his lighted hand, and stared into the abyss.

Nothing.

There was nothing in the small cellar. Even the shelves burrowed into the earth itself were picked clean. Not a jar, not a gold coin, not even a finger bone. It was as empty as a revenant's grave. "A whole lot of buildup for nothing," Anders whined, kicking at the packed dirt.

He began to climb back up the ladder, but a foul wind crested against the back of his neck. Instinctively, Anders wiped against it but felt nothing save his own hide. "Just a breeze," he muttered to himself while climbing, but deep in the recesses of his brain he wondered how it could have been warm.

Slamming the basement shut and returning the rug, Anders sat down at the desk and resumed his writing. It carried on deep into the night, the words flowing like rivers of water but with words. Good words, really. All those magey words about mage things. Exhausted but pleased with the pages of his never ending manifesto he put down, Anders left the book open to dry while he pulled himself up to bed to get some sleep.

The fade came quickly to him, but he didn't dream as normal. It was all dark jagged edges and flashes of red, with the sound of footsteps clanging against stairs, and fists pounding upon metal. Underneath it all, he heard a voice barely legible but clearly in distress, begging for him to leave.

When Anders woke, sweat perforated his brow. He gasped in a breath, his heart pounding a mile a minute. "Gah!" he groaned, struggling to work out a fresh crick in his neck. Sleeping in a new bed was always such a pain.

"So's growing old," he muttered to himself. Shaking off the nightmares clinging to him like a crusty towel, Anders was prepared to face a new day. Even through the odd dreams, he had a few revelations he couldn't wait to get onto parchment. With a spring in his body, even if it was cramped from the day before, Anders slid off the ladder and stepped towards his work.

LEAVE!

Etched in red ink across two pages of what he spent all of yesterday writing was that single word. Damn it! Anders snarled, pacing around in a circle while the rage boiled in his veins. He spent hours writing down everything on those pages and someone...someone comes along and defiles it like that! They were going to pay. No doubt it was the dwarf having a laugh somewhere.

More certain than ever that someone had to be hiding in the cabin, Anders prodded into every nook and cranny he could find. He even jabbed a finger into a few mouse holes, but every single one came up empty. There was no one here, save himself.

Maybe whoever did it skipped on back to Kirkwall, Anders tried to convince himself. It made sense. Mess with him, then vanish, thereby messing with him twice. Sounded like a dwarf thing to do. Or maybe the elf. Trying to calm the snarl in his heart, Anders dug back into his work.

First he had to recopy his old words without the red stain, then he was free to continue onward. As his anger cooled to justice, the words came yet again. It seemed as if the cabin fueled his muse, atrocities committed against his people laid out in plain black and white for any to understand. By the time he looked up from his work, he blinked in surprise at the candle burned to nothing more than a stub of liquid tallow.

Breath dancing against the wick, smoke curled around his head while he smiled at his work. Pleased, and certain no one would dare mess with it tonight, Anders trailed up into his little bed and fell fast to sleep. The dreams were deeper than before, an endless void with scars of red gouged into the side's of his eyes. He couldn't stop flinching, the voice in the background growing louder. "Leave!" it all but screamed at him, causing the fade to rip away and leave him gasping for breath in his bed.

Dawn's light radiated through the windows a few hours strong, but Anders felt exhausted. He placed a hand to his forehead and groaned at the deadness in his veins. It felt as if he hadn't slept a wink instead of the full night. Scrubbing off his cheeks, his fingers glanced against his neck and he hissed at a blinding pain. That damn crick wouldn't vanish for anything.

Shaking it off, because he's good at ignoring obvious problems, Anders stepped slowly down the ladder. What he needed was food, and a long drink of water. His tongue lay parched to the roof of his mouth, his throat raw as if it'd been screaming all night. Laughing at the thought, he moved to reach for a carafe left beside the sitting chairs, when his eyes darted over to the desk.

"No!" he shrieked, the water splattering through the air as he slammed the cup down.

LEAVE!

It stretched from the entire margins of the book until someone dug the quill deep into the desk itself. "Who's doing this?!" he snarled, the blood in his body pounding as he whipped his head back and forth to find the culprit.

Another search of the cabin commenced, but again nothing was found. No one. He even took a look around the area outside to see if there was a tent or campsite, but only the cautious trill of birds flitting through dead branches filled the air. If it weren't for the constant vandalism, he would be dead certain he was completely alone.

"It's got to be the elf," he growled to himself, dragging his weary body to the chair. With a resigned sigh, stubborn Anders once again copied over the graffitied pages and ripped free the ones stained in red. Stuffing them with the last two, he hurled all four into a desk drawer that only carried cobwebs, and got back to proper work.

Rabid dog or no, he wasn't about to give up on his cause. It beat in his veins, carried in his blood stronger than anything else in his life. But Anders was weary, and he only lasted until the horizon began to shift to orange and purple. If he got in a good sleep tonight, and didn't have to restart tomorrow, then he might be able to finish this soon.

With a smartass smirk on his lips, and an idea in his heart, Anders closed his book and glanced around the quiet cabin. The fireplace! No one would ever think to look there for his manifesto in order to defile it there. Lifting up the remains of a half charred log, Anders stashed his book for safekeeping. His hands were coated in black soot from his plan, which he wiped down his pants without thought.

There, safe and sound and no surprises in the morning. A great yawn ripped through Anders' throat and he stretched his arms wide. Exhausted beyond measure, he could barely make it up the ladder to the bed before tumbling deep into an unbreakable sleep.

The dreams wouldn't come. There was no sight. No colors. Not even a voice, just the unending darkness as his body twisted inside of the void. A warm breath danced against the dream Anders' ear and he winced. In turning his head around, as if he could see through the impenetrable night, a voice screamed all around him.

"LEAVE!"

He tried to sit up, his brains rattling from the bone rending scream, but he felt too weak to rise. The crick enflamed at the side of his neck, pain throbbing to the back of his skull and across his shoulder. "Maker damn this cursed bed," Anders grimaced while trying to shift towards the ladder.

Just gripping onto the edge was traumatic to his worn body. He felt a jar from the bottom of his toes up through his teeth, but he willed himself downward. The only consolation to his exhaustion was that he'd finally pulled one over on the elf, there was no way he could have found the book and ruined it.

Smiling at his ingenuity, Anders turned towards the desk and his eyes bulged out of his head. Laying open was the book, black handprints smudging up the desktop from the bastard who wrenched it out of the fireplace. Barely able to keep a great wail pinned to his tongue, Anders impotently glared down at the bright red threat left for him.

LEAVE!

He stumbled into the chair, fingers gripping onto his hair. Slowly, he flipped through his manifesto to find the same curse sketched onto every single page. All his work for naught. The hours. The days. The soul sucking exhaustion. For nothing. Because that damnable elf snuck in here and destroyed it. He wanted to cry, to scream and hurl things, but Anders wasn't going to be cowed by some childish scribbles.

No. He was too proud to give in. He would fight no matter what.

But... He leaned forward a bit, a hand trying to keep his exhausted head up. Sleep daunted him, his eyelids shuttering with every breath. Returning to the bed would be too much work. It was best if he just took a nap here, his head cushioned by his life's work. At least he wouldn't wind up in so much pain from that lousy mattress.

As Anders closed his eyes and nestled in for a nap, a thought flitted through his mind. Where was he getting the red ink from?

Bang.

His eyes flew open.

Bang. Bang.

Nothing but the unending darkness of the void surrounded him, Anders' breath catching as he faced a return of the same nightmare. Return to slumber. This doesn't concern you.

He was tempted by the voice whispering in his mind, but he shook his head and the pain sundered his assertions. This was no dream. Burning the last bit of energy in his body, Anders raised his head and reached for the flint. His fingers, numb from sleep, stumbled against the striker and nearly sent the candle tumbling off the desk.

No. He would not be taken in by shadows and his imagination. Willing strength into his soul, Anders struck the flint and brought a sliver of yellow into the black world. The dancing flame drew his weary eyes right to it, almost soothing like a mother's lullaby. The voice that called to you from outside your crib before you could see, assuring you that you were safe forever.

A warm breeze wafted against the back of his neck. He reached behind to wipe it away, when he caught black. Black stains upon his palms. The same ones from the fireplace, where he hid his book. Where someone else had to have touched the same charred log. Gotten the exact same marks on their hands.

His entire body locked in tight, every hair lifting as it sensed he wasn't alone. Slowly, Anders twisted his chin, his eyes darkening from the loving embrace of the fire to the endless pitch of the void.

Rows of jagged teeth embedded into receded black gums gnashed the air. Skin pale as death itself wafted like crispy parchment upon muscleless bones as the emaciated creature lifted a hand and grinned. "Hello."

Anders spun a hand out, trying to will a spell to his hand, but his body was untethered to his mind. No spell would come. No attack would drive his fists. Only the spine shattering horror of the creature before him could command his mind now. He stared, incapable of doing anything else, while his lips continued to mouth one word, "Darkspawn."

A hand lashed onto his head, yanking it far to the side. Incapable of moving, he watched as the creature's endless row of fangs drilled into the exposed flesh. Warm, sticky blood welled up out of the gash, which the darkspawn greedily sucked into its bottomless gorge. Time slipped away as Anders watched the creature feed upon himself. He could do nothing, could not move, could not blink, only hung upon this eternal torture while his life essence filled the gullet of an unholy monster.

When he finished, the darkspawn tossed Anders' head aside, a black tongue lashing a foot out of the mouth to lap up all of the spilled blood. It left a slick stain of putrid saliva upon Anders' bare flesh and coat. After licking his fingers, the creature smiled, "Til Tomorrow."

Horrified, Anders watched it haul up the basement doors and slink back inside. Why couldn't he move? He had to get out of here! To run, to flee! Anders tried to will his muscles, but his legs were limp, his arms dangling useless at his side. Even in the back of his brain he could feel the darkness encroaching upon him. Soon it would return, yanking him back into the void where this nightmare would purge his memory, wipe the horrors away as if it never happened.

There was only one hope. Fingers fumbling, he yanked up the raven's feather, but his body was too weak. He couldn't sit up to reach the ink well. Dipping the point into the last of his blood, Anders began to write upon the only parchment near him.

L-E-A-V...