#neither is witche's wool

[drachenfalter]

Potion Coven -> Fire Magic?

So, someone brought up that Potions don't require magic and thus restricting the magic to "only potions" would just mean taking all magic away.

But you know what? I'd argue we've seen what kind of magic potion makers use most frequently.

It's Fire Magic!

Yes, the first association for potions would be water.

But Fire actually makes a lot of sense, because controlling the temperature is likely essential for potion making - some potions are happy with a normal fire, but more complicated ones might need very specific temperatures at the right time.

So, Fire Magic would be something a witch in the Potion Coven would retain, possibly alongside some other stuff like cutting spells.

(Yes, there's nothing to stop them from using this magic for other purposes besides making potions, but who cares? Belos didn't. He only wanted an excuse to get those coven brands on everyone.)

As a bonus point, explosive potions are also a thing.

And all of this makes me wonder if this-

-was Edric experimenting with potions.

[jarofstyles]

FICTOBER DAY 10- Lifetimes

FICTOBER Prompts/Masterlist

Patreon

warnings- mentions of witchcraft, they are witches lol

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“How many lifetimes do you think it took to find each other?”

Fingers intertwined, Harry laid with Y/N against his chest as they gazed into the roaring fire in front of them. The man’s wool cloak rested over the both of them, preserving warmth. It was cold but neither of them felt an inkling of wanting to retreat indoors. Their bound hands rested against the girl’s tummy, the sparks of the wood floating up in the air to mimic fireflies. 

“I’m not sure.” Harry’s voice warmed her ear. “I’d like to think that we found each other in every lifetime, but this is the destined one.” The witches knew they had a soul tie, the overwhelming peace filling their beings when they had found one another a telltale key. Soul mates, twin flames, the real ones. Their first meeting had been overwhelming in the best way. Happening by chance during all hallows eve, the festivities in full swing as the even fuller moon hung ripe in the sky. Y/N had been selling her enchanted flower crowns to the humans, and Harry had wandered over. Time had stopped when they’d locked eyes, but the need to act calm had repressed the true joy she felt when he had lit up. The subtle golden glow from his being which surely was replicated in her own, other witches watching with bated breaths as the humans remained none the wiser as Harry stalked slower and slipped into her tent, pulling her into his embrace. 

The golden glow showing it was their time. Their past lifetimes of near misses, they’d not been in vain. Their eternal lives would continue, no chance of death unless they both will it. Finding your Eternal, it was a celebrated occurrence. The magick soul develops for as many lifetimes as it takes for them to be ready to join with another. They’d have to have had at least a few. 

“Honestly?” His words caught her from her thoughts, making her turn slightly to look at him. His nose pink tipped, hair falling into his face and stubble on his upper lip making her thank the tiny bit of humanity that continued on with witches. “I would wait every lifetime to end up with you.” His voice was hushed, the forest around them quiet as the creatures listened in. “I’ve never felt a joy like this in my days. I know our lifetimes beforehand were wildcards but… I have you, my eternal partner, and we will make a life together. The moon and gods give us our lifetimes before to develop us into good enough beings to continue to shape the world as we know it, as witches and witchcraft become a baseline of the world like it used to…” He played with her amethyst ring. “I could not ask for a better companion to spend the rest of days with. To learn your magic and teach you my own as our souls blend and connect.” 

“I enjoy being able to light a fire with a snap.” Y/N did admit, rubbing her cool nose against his own. “And I know you must enjoy being able to speak with some of the creatures.” Harry’s elemental magic and Y/N’s plant and animal abilities had begun to blend into their own abilities, giving them control of everything they needed. Eternal pairs matched to provide the world what they needed. 

“Well.. I do admit you’ve been able to light a fire in me since we met. It may have taken a while for our abilities to combine, but for us to still be learning and loving? I understand now. Why they make us wait.” He paused. “I could never forgive myself for being given your heart wrapped up in clover and petals, and dropping it because I hadn’t learned the proper way to hold it. Our lifetimes before were painful without our union, but… This one is what all the pain has led to.” Arms around her tightened as she smiled shyly, chapped lips pressing to the corners of her own as the fire roared hotter. “I’d go a million more years, thousands of kilometers if I knew you were at the finish line, my love. You were worth the wait.” 

[evita-shelby]

12 Days of Smuff: Day 8

Fancy party + praising

For the anon who wanted more Luca smut 🖤🖤

Cw: smut, mirror sex, praise kink, breeding kink, daddy kink, mentions of a misscarriage, past infidelity and implied cuckolding 🤭

Luca feels his pride swell when he walks in with his wife.

She is everything a man could want and some more. Even better she is only his.

They can stare all they want, they can gossip all they want and it wouldn’t change the fact that Luca has the crème of crème.

The wedding is elegant and fine, his cousin looks lovely in her blue dress and the groom is of good enough standing with their family to provide a good party.

The Shelbys are invited as are the Black Country Boys and the Sabinis and other assorted families they are on good terms with…for now.

Luca will make them all kneel before him when the time comes, or perhaps he will let them have England while he goes where the real power lies: America.

The Irish no longer had the power from before nor did the Jews, the time for Sicily’s sons to show the new world how its done was coming.

And who better than Luca to pave the way to glory.

“Really at your cousin’s wedding and your scheming, Luca?” Eva asks as she drinks the bubbly champagne they have to hide back home.

Prohibition had made them rich, with the stupid ideology that a ban on drink would make the nation sober Christians.

Only made it easier for the wolves to wear the snow white wool during the light of day.

“As if you’re not bored out of your mind either, pussycat.” He answers as he gets a better idea to pass the time.

On their wedding party they snuck away to fuck, during the trip here Eva had fucked herself on his cock as they shared a deck chair and just last night, they’d fucked until the sun rose.

Eva wanted a baby and it was taking its sweet time being conceived. The sooner it cane the sooner they could pretend the one they lost never existed.

“You’d think I didn’t leave you satisfied this morning with how you’re thinking, Lucito.” The witch murmured as if she didn’t have new lingerie made with a slit that had her pussy on display.

Her dress was short, not short enough to be scandalous, but practical for what he has in mind.

“And worth every penny.” The witch almost purred as he nudged her towards the empty dressing room down the hall.

Luca was a man of class, he’d never stoop so low as to fuck her in the powder room when the bride’s dressing room had elegant couches and a mirror to fuck in front of.

“You’re by far the most beautiful woman in the room, tonight, Mrs. Changretta.” Its not long until they’re tossing his aunt’s church veil off the lily white couch and he’s showing his wife how beautiful she looks with her pussy spread open on the mirror across them.

His maga has never felt insecure about her looks or her place in his heart, but seeing all the women Luca dallied with in Birmingham gathered under one roof, Eva had been on edge.

Didn’t help Thomas Shelby seemed to be intrigued by her and every second he tried not to stare was a second Luca spent thinking of how to kill the gypsy.

The Sicilian takes his time as he prepares her for him. Having her suck his long fingers as he praised her to the heavens.

“No one can ever compare to you, maga. Its why Shelby stares at you, ‘cause he can’t have you. No one can.” The gangster feels her moan around his fingers and knows she’ll make a mess before he even fucks her.

“I’m yours, daddy. Only yours.” The witch cries once her mouth is free and his fingers enter her trimmed little pussy rather audibly.

No smart comments nor other words come out of her as he gives her a taste of what’s too come.

He’s slow and methodical about this, he wasn’t forgotten by all those women for a reason.

Polly couldn’t keep to her husband’s bed when Luca came to visit his father and half-brother, neither was sure if little Sally had been Gray’s or his.

“The only woman who’s gonna give children is you, you’re gonna look so good with our baby growing inside you.” The party is in full swing outside, but Luca doesn’t give a shit about who’s missing them when his witch looks puts the whores in the pictures to shame.

She writhes and clenched around his fingers as she came, only words she could say was his name.

“You want me to fuck a baby into you right now, do you want daddy to fill you up with his cum as he tells you all the things you already know?” the gangster doesn’t need to do much to prepare himself for the main course, just the sight of them in the mirror had him harder than the rusted piece of iron he wore in his pocket the day he married her.

The witch could only nod as she bit back a rather loud moan.

“Let them hear you, amore, let them hear how good daddy fucks you.” He groans as he thrusts into her at the perfect angle.

And sure enough Eva cries and babbles loudly as he rams into her as deep as he can. “Oh, god, Luca!”

Its not long before she’s cumming again underneath, the white sofa bearing the testament of the capo’s virility just as he ruins her pussy as some romantic ballads try to drown the sinful sounds they make at the newlyweds expense.

And with such a sight before him, Luca came just as hard as he came on their wedding night.

“How long do we have until they come looking for us?” his wife asks with eyes shut as she recovered from their lovemaking.

“Long enough to ruin the sofa some more.” He answered panting from the exertion.

[thepeanutbutterwizard]

In half sibling AU, has Eda already thought about getting Luz a palisman or making her a witch’s wool cloak?

Eda has thought about what to do with Luz getting a palisman, especially now that she's a teen, but there are some details around that that I wanna keep under wraps for now.

And Luz already had a witches wool cloak! Kinda

Eda made Luz a special witches wool rain poncho so she could play in the rain like she liked to back in the human realm. She specially treated the yarn with different potions to make it able to withstand the boiling rain. Eda did a lot of things like that to help Luz with her homesickness in the early years after finding her.

Luz is fully immune to boiling rain and the Boiling Sea, as is King, but neither of them nor Eda have figured that out yet. They think that their fur is just too thick for a random smattering of raindrops to actually get through and burn their skin, so a poncho with a hood to cover most of Luz's body is enough protection for her. Eda also added a special pocket to hold a tin of the best burn cream she can make, just in case.

[chtozaepta]

I love your OCs with the horns and tails! And all of your non human OCs, if you want could you maybe say a bit about their characters and the world they live in? Only if you want to (also I'm obsessed with your art, you really are a pillar of shaperaverse fan community on Tumblr)

Oooooh this gonna be lömg!

First of all, thank you I’m glad you like them :> These are characters from an original comic I’m about to post (the first chapter is almost ready), but this race does not appear in the main plot for some time, so I can say a few things without spoiling anything. I know it’s not a very original design, I mean, duh, who doesn’t have horns and tails right 🌚 So anyway, these guys are called yáve, and they are like… feral elves in a way. They live in forests/tundras in big clans and build funky colorful térems, mostly out of wood bc permafrost.

They looove all things colorful and worship the spirits of nature. The huge pink moth/dragon/reindeer guy? That’s one of them.

His/her name is Menerik and he/she is essentially a god(ess) of Northern Lights, the Moon, madness and magic. He/she is very coherently genderfluid, the gender depending on the moon faze. During the full moon she is a female entity, and when it’s a crescent he is considered male. On the new moon it is forbidden to speak of him. Fun fact - this also is reflected in their language, based on Russian, where a word for “moon” is feminine, and “crescent” is masculine). Since Menerik is a he for the most time, that’s what I would usually call him.

Most yave are mortal, their lifespan being close to humans, but there are two ways for them to achieve a sort of immortality. First is joining the Circle of Memories, an order that keeps their knowledge, culture and traditions and become essentially immortal through a ritual, and another way is becoming a mage and learning the ways to prolong life through contact with spirits. Any yave who starts learning magic is introduced to the spirits on the thinner layer of reality and give up their birth name, color and gender. Their new name they choose themselves, their new color is given by the spirits, and from the moment they start learning magic they are all non-binary, body and soul. All this “immortality” tho is really just a longer life, because they can still be killed, fall sick or get cursed, so there is hardly anyone older than 200 years there. There are rumors about mages over a thousand years old, but that’s spoiler territory)

Some stuff here is *very loosely* based on siberian shaman practices, some names and words borrowed from siberian folklore.

Some of the yave characters I’ve drawn so far:

There’s Chanava, the purple witch with blue horns, around 20 years or so; they will probably appear in the comic. They are a mage, and also joined the Circle, but neither have given them immortality or enough power. Not that they are desperate, just very curious.

Aravellane, their uuum king? Tsar? Prince? Whatever. The one in the crown and a blue fur coal a few posts earlier. A mage, but prefers he/him; he has a blade that can make whatever cut without killing you. Some say, he cut his own heart out with it once to stop feeling sad feelz, and the heart ran away, because he treated it terribly. Since then, an endless winter covered his part of land, and if it weren’t for the mages and trade of diamonds they mine, they’d all be very much fucked.

Myándush, the head of the Circle of Memories. Öld, woise, mistürios, all that. Speaks in riddles. Has a beef with Aravelle, though why, no one can tell.

Ryt’kheo - dabbles in magic, but is not officially introduced to the spirits. Makes airboats, which is basically a boat with a magic sail that can get it into air. The sails he weaves from wool and puts in threads of Menerik’s mane. He is considered one of the coolest craftsmen among the yavi, and everyone wants a flying boat, so he is always very fucking tired and 100% done. Random fact - a “Ryt’kheo” is not a name, it really means “Unnamed”. It is used to address someone who has already given up their name but have not yet taken a new one.

Harrahaye - Ryt’kheo’s brother, not much to say about him except that he is a pain in the ass. I’m still fleshing out their characters, so there you go x)

There is another one, who is more or less complete, but they will appear in the comic and are quite important, so all the info will be there 😌✨

[theblurbwitchproject]

Circe by Madeline Miller

Published: April 10, 2018 Publisher: Little, Brown and Company

The Author

Madeline Miller was born in Boston and grew up in New York City and Philadelphia. She attended Brown University, where she earned her BA and MA in Classics. She has been teaching and tutoring Latin, Greek and Shakespeare to high school students for over fifteen years. The Song of Achilles was her first novel and was a New York Times bestseller. Her second novel, Circe, was an instant #1 New York Times bestseller and won multiple awards.

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The Story

In the house of Helios, god of the sun and mightiest of the Titans, a daughter is born. Circe is a strange child - not powerful and terrible, like her father, nor gorgeous and mercenary like her mother. Scorned and rejected, Circe grows up in the shadows, at home in neither the world of gods or mortals. But Circe has a dark power of her own: witchcraft. When her gift threatens the gods, she is banished to the island of Aiaia where she hones her occult craft, casting spells, gathering strange herbs and taming wild beasts. Yet a woman who stands alone will never be left in peace for long - and among her island's guests is an unexpected visitor: the mortal Odysseus, for whom Circe will risk everything.

˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗

The Vibe: feminine empowerment, self-discovery, natural magic, epic story on personal level

The Style: retelling, greek mythology, character driven, standalone, single pov, immortal protagonist

Trigger Warnings: rape, torture, incest, arranged marriage, body horror, childbirth, graphic caesarean, violence, multiple character deaths, animal death, shipwreck

˗ˏˋ ´ˎ˗

The Review

One resolution I made for 2023 was to try out the mythical retelling genre that has exploded in popularity in recent years. Until now I hadn’t dipped my toe into the waters of ancient myths told in a modern format, and it has been a fun experience. I started my journey with Stone Blind by Natalie Haynes, which is a retelling of Medusa’s story. Then I picked up Ariadne by Jennifer Saint which explores the life of the titular Ariadne, her relationship with Theseus and the tale of the Minotaur. I purposely left Circe for last, as it is the highest rated of the three novels, and it’s about a witch. Yes please.

Circe takes the reader on an extraordinary journey through the mythical world of ancient Greece, all through the eyes of one of the most compelling and formidable characters in Greek mythology; Circe the witch of Aiaia. Madeline Miller's ability to breathe life into ancient stories is really very impressive. Circe felt so real, I truly enjoyed the time I spent with her on her journey of self discovery.

"No wonder I have been so slow, I thought. All this while I have been a weaver without wool, a ship without the sea. Yet now look where I sail."

Being honest, Circe doesn't really need my endorsement; it's already an award winning novel with 90k+ reviews on Goodreads, but I'll add my two cents anyway as it is a tale about a classic witch. Being super honest, before reading Stone Blind, Ariadne and Circe I had a shockingly basic knowledge of Greek mythology (although I've been to Ithaca and was already familiar with Odysseus, and who doesn't know Medusa's story?) I had a great time experiencing all these tales in retelling form, but Miller's prose and pacing was by far my favourite. I feel like I came away from the story with a perfectly developed image of Circe's character, and a strong idea of why she is perceived the way she is by different types of people.

One of the my favourite aspects of Circe is how the story celebrates the strength of femininity. Circe's journey is one of self-discovery and empowerment, breaking free from the confines of the traditional roles assigned to women in ancient times. From the meek young Naead she was at the beginning, Circe evolves into a strong and resilient woman, shaping her destiny with courage and determination (and some super badass magical skills). She steps into her own power in such an organic way; her slow growth from downtrodden girl to powerful sorceress makes it all the more rewarding when she finally begins to shape her magical abilities and claim her space in the world. I particularly liked the representation of her magic in the story; it's innate but also requires a lot of work, trial and error. It's exactly the sort of natural magic I enjoy reading about. Plus, she has a lioness familiar which is just insanely badass.

“Let me say what sorcery is not: it is not divine power, which comes with a thought and a blink. It must be made and worked, planned and searched out, dug up, dried, chopped and ground, cooked, spoken over, and sung. Even after all that, it can fail, as gods do not.”

The various relationships between Circe and other iconic figures from mythology, such as Hermes, Odysseus, and Athena are all rich and dynamic, driving the narrative with drama and intrigue. Athena's lurking presence in the second half of the story was a definite highlight; she's just so scary. Some of the relationships Circe formed, especially her bond with Daedalus, were heartbreaking and lovely all at once thanks to the humans' mortality paired with Circe's immortality. (I was so concerned that the loom Daedalus gifted to her would be damaged at some point, it was honestly a little silly!) Miller has great skill in drawing characters as rounded beings rather than one dimensional caricatures which I have seen in other retellings. The number of famous characters presented does not feel forced; each slots perfectly into the narrative at the right moment and creates a rich tapestry of Circe's life in exile.

While Circe becomes a powerful witch, using the craft of Pharmakeia to turn aggressive men to swine and to protect her child from the malice of Athena, she is still unable to prevent the loss of those mortals she loves to the infinite time she inhabits as an immortal. On the winding path to the novels' end we witness as Circe grows from a nymph who longs for acceptance into a powerful goddess who is hardened to the deceptions and politics of ancient life. We understand her. We feel bittersweet vindication at her actions as she finally lives life in a way that makes sense to her. She is flawed, she is strong and we completely understand how she came to be this way.

"It is a common saying that women are delicate creatures, flowers, eggs, anything that may be crushed in a moment's carelessness. If I had ever believed it, I no longer did."

Ultimately, Circe is a testament to the enduring power of myth and the timeless nature of human emotion. It's a story about love, loss, resilience, and the beauty of embracing one's true identity. It was an endeavour to read; a story that covers generations as if they were weeks, portraying immortals and mortals with skill and precision. If you want to dip your toe into mythical retellings, this is certainly one to try. It's worth it, believe me.

Rating: 🌕🌕🌕🌕🌗

[Goodreads]

[kelyon]

Dark Mistress 30: Connection

Belle and Bae try to get along

Read on AO3

There was snow on the ground, the first time Belle went outside the cottage. It was not quite midwinter, just a week or two before the solstice, when every day was shorter and every night was darker than the last. 

She tried not to credit her recovery to the long nights and the killing cold. The Dark One’s power was not elemental like some petty fire mage or water witch. Her magic fed on the darkness of the human heart, not the mere absence of sunshine. It was much more likely that her newfound strength had come from rest and warmth, from good food and loving care. From Rumple, to be precise. 

He walked with her, on this experimental journey around the farm. She was getting used to walking again, instead of relying on her magic to let her float through the air. One of her legs didn’t fully support her weight, so Rumple gallantly took her arm to make sure she didn’t stumble. 

Neither of them mentioned the fact that her injury was on the same side that had once hobbled him. When Belle looked at her own ankle, she could see the same spiderweb of scars that had once distorted his. But her scars were already fainter, and she was already steadier than he had ever been. She had taken his pain into herself, and her magical body was slowly absorbing it along with everything else she had endured. After all her love had given her, she was glad to take on this burden for him.  

She was bundled up in leather boots he had bought for her at the market, a hat and scarf he had knitted, and the blanket from his bed, draped over her shoulders like a shawl. With her powers slowly coming back to her, she didn’t particularly need protection from the cold, but she wore them anyway. She treasured the items for what they meant, not just what they could do for her. 

Step by step, Rumple helped her cross the short distance from the cottage to the barn.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” he encouraged her. “How do you feel?”

“Fine, fine.” She panted as she walked, the cloud of her breath showing in the blue twilight.

“You can sit and catch your breath once we get to the barn.”

Nodding, Belle pressed on. 

It was warmer inside than she would have thought. With the walls around them, they were out of the wind. The animals provided their own heat as they huddled together, the sheep in their pen and the chickens in their coop. Cats that might have scurried away in warmer weather  would not be moved from their straw nests. Rumple helped Belle lower herself onto a three-legged stool in front of the sheep pen. 

To her surprise, one of the sheep separated from the herd. It trotted out to the edge of the pen and stood in front of Belle. 

“Um.” She looked up at Rumple. “Does it want something?”

Rumple crouched down and petted the tuft of wool on the sheep’s head. “This is Dabbey, Gideon’s wetnurse. She thinks we’re here to milk her.”

“Oh,” she said. 

Tentatively, she reached out her claw to the sheep. Last winter, when Rumple had first invited her to his home, Belle had observed his livestock from a distance. She’d been no more substantial than a foul temper, but the animals had sensed her and known to fear her. Now, with her physical body, this sheep sniffed at her hand and experimentally tried to nibble on her fingers.

“Is it afraid?” she asked Rumple softly. “Can you tell?”

“Usually with sheep it’s safe to assume they’re afraid any time they’re awake,” he grinned. “But Dabbey’s standing here of her own choosing. She would run back to the others, if she thought she needed to.”

Once the sheep lost interest in smelling her hand, it turned its head away. Carefully, Belle spread her fingers over the animal’s neck. The white of her scales shone out against the dirt-covered wool.

“Go ahead,” Rumple said, as if he could read her mind and see what she wanted to do.

Slowly, Belle buried her hand in the wool. The sheep stayed where it was, even though it could run. It wasn’t afraid of her. 

Belle closed her eyes. She let herself savor the warmth and the softness and the trust of this creature. The feeling seemed to flow between the two of them, that she trusted Dabbey as much as Dabbey trusted her. This was the sheep that fed her son, that kept him alive when she couldn’t. Belle owed her a debt. 

“You’re a good sheep,” she whispered. She allowed the slightest trickle of magic to seep out of her and into the animal. It glowed purple-black in the dim barn. This was payment for all that Dabbey had done, and all that she would do. “You’re going to stay a good sheep for a long time. You’re not going to get sick, and you’re not going to run out of milk for as long as Gideon needs you.”

It was the closest the Dark One’s magic could get to a blessing. Belle lifted her hand out of the wool and stroked Dabbey a few times, to soothe her and praise her, and because she liked doing it. 

When she looked up at Rumple, he was gazing at her. Belle’s face went hot. 

“I guess I should have asked before doing that,” she said by way of apology.

Rumple just shrugged. “It’s alright. I’m not afraid of your magic.”

He really wasn’t. He never had been. Time and again, Belle had tried to explain the price, and time and again Rumple told her he would pay it. 

When he helped her up off the stool, she was a little less steady than she had been before. Of course, Rumple didn’t begrudge her that either. 

“I like having an excuse to be this close.” He held her from behind and murmured into her hair. “Thank you for letting me take care of you.”

Belle leaned into his embrace and kissed his stubbled cheek. She thought back to all the times she had pulled away from his touch, forbidden him to show how much he loved her. 

“I was a fool,” she said. “Every time I tried to stop you from caring about me.”

“You were afraid,” he assured her. His arms wrapped around her waist, pressing her against his body. “I know all about being afraid, being weak. But it’s not so bad when you have someone you’re not ashamed to be weak around.”

“Mmm.” Belle closed her eyes and remembered how her spinner would offer his weakness up to her. Kneeling at her feet, doubling over in pain, surrendering himself entirely to her desires. “You never were ashamed, were you, my love?”

“Never.” He kissed her neck. “Never with you, Mistress.”

The sound of that name sent a delicious shiver up Belle’s spine. When was the last time he had called her that? They had made love in stolen moments over the past few months, but when was the last time they had reveled in each other?

Outside the barn, the sky had grown dark while the snow gleamed white. Still holding her, Rumple looked up.

“It’s a full moon,” he said huskily. 

Belle chuckled. “You want to go to the clearing?”

“If you’re up for it.” He kissed her ear as he whispered. “I’ll let you decide if it would take too much magic to take us there, maybe give me a warming charm, and then--” he shuddered “--do whatever you want to me.”

Stumbling a little, Belle turned so that she was facing him. She held his face in her hands. “I love you,” she assured him. “And I want you. I want to see you naked and spread out on the ground like a feast for me to consume while you quiver with desire and your cock threatens to burst.”

One hand gripped him by the hair. She pulled herself up to kiss him. His mouth opened for her, yielding, begging for her domination. She gave him what he wanted. She took him into her mouth and with one kiss she made him her own, made him her creature, her love-slave, her Spinner. 

When they separated, his eyes were dark. His lips were too stunned to close. His hands shook, even as he tried to hold her upright.

She let him go. Belle braced her hands against his chest. It kept them connected, and gave her an easy way to lean against him. Just then, she couldn’t tell if she was dizzy with desire or if she was about to collapse from exhaustion. It seemed both of them were overwhelmed by the passions they could bring out of each other--even after everything they’d been through.

“But right now,” she said, “there’s a hot dinner waiting for us inside. And two boys who will be put out if we disappear for hours at a time. So maybe later?”

Despite her postponement, Rumple looked at Belle with awe. He kissed her, gentle and lingering, and offered her his arm.

“I love you too,” he said.

And they went back to their home, together.

****

The longer nights meant that Baelfire spent more time in the cottage. At first, he had tried to stay hidden away in his makeshift bedchamber, especially once Belle was well enough to get out of bed. But the isolation must have bored him because he gradually started making excuses to come out. 

Gideon was his main focus. He was always ready to feed and change and rock his little brother. The baby was more active now--smiling and laughing, making gurgles and other noises. He could lift his head up and reach for things he wanted. Bae was always reaching back to him. If Bae started a conversation, it was to brag about one of Gideon’s new accomplishments or ask a question about when a baby reached some milestone or another. When would he talk? When would he crawl? Might he be walking by spring?

Rumpelstiltskin answered Bae’s questions, told him stories of what he had been like as a baby. Belle loved to watch them talk. They were so like each other, with shy smiles and warm brown eyes, hands gesturing animatedly. The camaraderie between father and son, the easy sharing of knowledge as an act of love--it was like seeing the whole of their lives together in an instant.

Belle always dreaded the inevitable moment when Baelfire remembered that she was in the room, when all the warmth and openness in his face was snuffed out like a candle flame. It hurt that he hated her specifically, but it also hurt to think that this sweet boy had any hatred in his heart for anyone. He was too young for that, too good. He deserved to live in a house full of love.

Rumple loved her, and Gideon loved her--her son smiled at her and reached for her just as much as he did his father and brother. And they loved Baelfire as well. But it seemed this little family was destined to always be three-against-one. Either Belle stepped back, or Bae withdrew. There was never a single moment when all four of them were united. 

It was up to Belle to change that.

****

The hours between the evening meal and sleep were usually devoted to handcrafts. Rumple had his spinning, of course, and Belle was re-learning how to embroider. Sewing had been her least favorite lesson as the daughter of a nobleman, but now it seemed the only practical skill she had. 

Baelfire had no set task. He would putter around the cottage seeing what odd or end he could take care of. He would feed Gideon, or card wool for Rumple, or whittle a toy out of a scrap of wood, or sharpen the knives once they had all gone dull from his whittling. Rumple encouraged him to write and draw, but Bae treated those less as chores and more like amusements--something he was only allowed to do after all other work was done. 

One night, when there was no other task he could think of, the boy finally allowed himself to indulge in his hobby. He took pieces of thin, white bark and carefully counted out squares of the same size and shape. He made brown ink out of ground oak galls and water, then set to work with a chicken-feather quill. He drew slowly but steadily, putting the scraps of bark off to the side as he finished each one.

From her place next to Rumple on the hearth, Belle could crane her neck and see the completed products. He had done four so far. Each piece of bark had only one image on it--an apple, a ball, a cat, a dog that looked like Baguette.

“Are you making an alphabet book?” Belle was so delighted that she blurted her first thought into the silent cottage. “For Gideon?”

Baelfire’s back straightened, but he didn’t speak. 

Rumple looked up from his spinning wheel. “Are you, son?” He stood up and went to Bae. He put his hand on his shoulder and leaned over to look at the drawings. “Oh, and this is an egg, isn’t it? That’s clever.”

The boy shied away from the praise and the attention. “It’s nothing,” he muttered. 

“Nonsense,” Belle stood to join them. “This is marvelous! I had a book just like this when I was a child--of course mine was made of vellum and illuminated by scribes, but--”

“Enough!” Bae shouted as he pushed himself away from the table. He rounded on Belle. “Enough about you, you…” 

He trailed off, as he looked at her.

Belle stood perfectly still, as if she had been frozen in time. Her face was hot. Her eyes stung. It took her a moment for her to realize she was on the verge of tears.

Baelfire looked as shocked and as ashamed as he would have if he had struck a woman, not just snapped at the Dark One. 

“Bae,” Rumpelstiltskin admonished.

“I’m sorry!” His voice was small. His brown eyes were wide and wet. “R-really, I am. I’m sorry, Belle. I didn’t mean to shout.”

“It’s alright,” she said automatically. The shock and the hurt of his outburst had faded. Now all Belle wanted was to help him. If only she could reach out and touch him, embrace him to let him know that all was forgiven. But he would never accept that. All she could do was talk. “You did nothing wrong.”

There was a long, tense, terrible moment between the three of them. Baelfire was the first to look away. He ducked his head so his long hair covered his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. Then, silently, he gathered his pages together and went to his bed. He closed the curtain on the outside world.

Rumple set a comforting hand on her arm. “He didn’t mean to--”

“I know,” Belle said softly. She breathed, deeply and slowly. “Gods know I can’t talk to anybody about outbursts.” She put her hand on his. “But he truly did no harm.” 

They settled back to their work. For a long time, the silence in the cottage was as tense as taut thread. It was only later, when Belle was in bed next to Rumple, that she realized how unexpected it was that Baelfire would apologize for being angry at her.

Maybe she could dare to hope after all.

****

Belle tried to help with the household as much as she could. A hundred years of existence had given her shockingly little expertise in the upkeep of a small farm. But her greatest skill had always been in the learning of new skills, and Rumple was a patient teacher. After her introduction to Dabbey, he had taught her the fine art of sheep milking. There had also been an unfortunate incident where Belle had realized she would also need to learn the fine art of carrying a bucket full of sheep milk without spilling it all over the yard, but that was nothing a tiny bit of magic couldn’t fix.

Now that her powers were back to their full strength, Belle’s greatest struggle was not using them. Magic had been her second nature for so long--it literally made up her being--but it came at a price, and she couldn’t let anything around her pay it. Every time she used magic, she took the consequences on her own body. They were small prices--a headache, her hands shaking, feeling especially tired or ravenous or irritable--but every one served as a reminder that it was easier to go without it. 

So she put on her boots every morning and broke the ice in the well to pull up a bucket of water and carry it inside to heat it over the fire so it was warm enough for her family to wash with. She scooped up hay with a pitchfork and grain with a wooden scoop and served it up for the chickens and the sheep. She sat on a stool in a freezing barn and used the Dark One’s claws to squeeze milk from the teats of a very good and very patient but very smelly sheep. She ate meals of mashed vegetables and smoked ham hocks and soup that sometimes needed to be stretched out with water so that there would be enough to feed three adults. She held her baby when he cried all night, walking him back and forth across the length of the cottage as she begged for him to sleep.

All of this she did without magic. She slept and she ate like a human. If she didn’t think of her appearance, she could almost pretend that she wasn’t cursed at all. 

Maybe that was enough. Maybe she didn’t need True Love’s Kiss. She was strong enough now to put on an illusion if anyone outside the family came to the farm. That was all the magic she needed. Just enough to hide her true nature. Just enough to lie. That was alright, wasn’t it?

No. Of course it wasn’t. No matter how much Belle pretended to be human, she knew the truth and always would. 

Baelfire knew it too. Maybe that was why he had apologized after shouting at her, because he was afraid of her. After all, if he couldn’t avoid the Dark One, then at least he should keep from becoming her enemy. Was that what he was thinking? 

But he never seemed afraid, just angry. Conflicted. Belle kept herself from prying into his mind, but she didn’t need magic to see his distress. There was a war inside him--a war no child should have to fight.

Was there any way that she could help him? Was there any possibility that he would let her?

****

Along with everything else on the farm, Belle tried to help with the family business of spinning. Rumple did his best to teach her his craft but since they only had the one wheel, there weren’t many opportunities for her to practice. When he gave her a drop spindle, that meant they went through prepared wool that much more quickly. So Rumple assigned her Bae’s usual task of carding the wool.

Carding combs were a pair of little wooden paddles with a covering of fine bristles on one side. The idea was to take clumps of fleece--that is, the outside of a sheep once it has been shorn and washed--and brush them back and forth between the combs until they were bits of wool workable enough to spin into yarn. 

In concept, it seemed straightforward enough, but the practical application eluded Belle entirely. Rumple assured her that she would get the knack of it, that all she needed was practice. On her first night, Baelfire watched her fumble for half an hour with growing frustration before he came over and snatched the combs from her hands. 

“You’re doing it all wrong,” he groused. He crouched in front of where she sat, so they would be at the same level while he demonstrated the correct method. “You can’t let the fibers fold over each other, they all have to face the same way. And it’s more about transferring the wool back and forth from one comb to the other. It’s not like brushing hair.” He shoved the combs back into Belle’s hands. “Try now.”

As best she could, she copied the boy’s technique. “Is that better?”

“Better isn’t the same as right. Let me show you again.”

He sat down next to her on the hearth. Over at his wheel, Rumple’s spinning slowed. Belle met his gaze for just a moment, before turning her attention back to Bae’s lesson. 

“And make sure you get the wool at the bottom of the comb. Don’t just go over the top layer over and over.” He handed her the combs again. 

The next time he needed to correct Belle’s form, he put his hands over hers. It was the first time Rumple’s son had ever touched her. 

She didn’t react. If Bae noticed what he was doing, he would surely stop. He would storm off in a huff and the closeness of this moment might be gone forever. Their hands moved together, until Bae was satisfied that she knew what she was doing. Then he got up and went back to Gideon. 

“By the way,” Belle said. “Thank you. For teaching me.”

Baelfire looked up. He stared at her, unsure of how to respond. He looked down at his hands, and then back at her. His face was grim, but all he said was, “You’re welcome.” 

****

After that, it was easier to be around Bae, and he seemed to find it easier to be around her. He put Belle in mind of the creek that ran through the farm: Ice covered the surface, but water moved freely underneath. As the days began to grow longer and warmer, that ice became thin and ready to crack. 

Once he had finished the alphabet book, Bae kept up the habit of drawing. He made sketches on birch bark using a nub of charcoal from the fire. Sometimes he would stare off into nothing as he drew, sometimes he would sneak furtive glances at Rumpelstiltskin, but most often, he would set Gideon up on the table to be his model. When the baby was awake, Bae would make faces at him, to get him to smile. His hands moved fast as he tried to capture those moments. He almost didn’t look at the sketch itself, just trusted that his hands could create what his eyes were seeing. He failed often, tossing the scraps of bark into the fire. But he kept trying, night after night, until he finally seemed satisfied in his own abilities. 

It was a momentous night, when Baelfire pulled two thin squares of wood out from under his bed. He took off one square to reveal three sheets of something flat and white.

“Is that paper?” Belle asked. Only in Agrabah did they have the skill to refine crushed wood pulp into a substance smooth enough to write on. Even there it was a precious commodity. How had Bae gotten ahold of some?

What surprised Belle even more was that Bae grinned at her when she asked about it. 

“Yeah,” he said simply. “I’ve been saving these for a year.”

“Saving them for what?”

He shrugged, and set one piece of paper on the table. “For me to be good enough, I guess.” He put the remaining two sheets away again. Then he went over to the basket where Gideon was sleeping. “And for something important enough to draw.”

Careful not to wake him, Bae laid his brother down on the table. Then he took a breath, and picked up a charcoal crayon. 

Belle tried not to stare at the boy, or at the drawing as it progressed. She did watch Gideon, silently willing him to stay asleep until Bae was done. Sometimes she would share a wordless look with Rumple, who would shrug and go back to his spinning. She was carding again that night. After Bae’s lesson, the task only vexed her sometimes. She reminded herself that the only remedy was practice. 

Bae kept drawing, long into the night. Belle kept the fire burning with the thin, dry branches that produced the brightest light. At some point, Rumpelstiltskin went to bed. Bae accepted his goodnight kiss with barely a word, he was so focused on his task.

Belle stayed focused on Bae, not even pretending to card anymore. Passion radiated from him like heat. Without trying, she felt Bae’s love for his brother, his dedication to his art, his determination to get this right, to create something that only he could make. 

There was a deeper element in Bae’s furor as well. It almost felt like a spell, something he was doing to himself, for himself. Belle tried to interpret what she sensed without creeping into the boy’s mind.  

He wanted something, something more than just to replicate the image of a sleeping baby. He wanted to discover something while he was drawing, something about himself. He’d said that he’d been waiting for the right thing to draw. So Gideon was a part of this discovery. Bae wanted to discover how he felt about Gideon? But that was no mystery! Anyone could see that he loved him without limits.

Or maybe that was it? Maybe Baelfire needed to know the limits of his love for his brother. Maybe he thought something was going to test him, test their bond.

Maybe something already had.

Belle quieted herself even further. She attuned her mind to the emotions of Rumpelstiltskin’s son. She did not take information from his heart, but she allowed herself to receive what he was giving out. She waited. Then she found it.

Fear.

Deep in his heart, Baelfire was afraid. Afraid of what, Belle would not pry to find out. Something about Gideon. Doubtless something about her as well.

Something about the dagger!

Belle opened her eyes. The unbidden revelation scorched across her mind like a meteor and crashed down with an explosion. She stood up so quickly that Bae snapped out of his trance to look at her.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

Stumbling, staggering, Belle made her way from the hearth to the table. She collapsed to sit on the bench opposite him, bracing her hands against the surface to steady herself. On the table between them, Gideon began to fuss out of his slumber.

“He’ll want food.” Bae stood up and cleared his drawing off the table. Belle caught a glance of it. She saw the black lines of her baby sleeping peacefully on a blanket of white.

“That’s perfect,” she whispered. There was a disconnection between her mind and her self, like she was experiencing her own actions and words through a great distance. “A perfect likeness.”

By the fire, Bae poured some sheep milk into a pot. He blushed at her compliment. “It’s not done yet.”

“You mean you haven’t decided yet?”

He caught himself just in time to keep the pot of milk from spilling into the fire. “W-what do you mean?”

She looked into his eyes. On his face she saw everything. All the fear, the indecision, the desperate love and helpless ignorance. She saw his determination to do the right thing, without having any idea what action was truly right.

“Baelfire, what are you going to do to me? To Gideon?”

“N-nothing.” He looked away, busied himself with fetching the bowl and the rag.

Belle didn’t give up. “Is there something you want to do to us?” she asked him. “Something you’re supposed to do to us?” 

His back stiffened. When he spoke, his voice was thin. “How did you know? Did you use magic to read my mind?”

“I didn’t need to.” Belle stood up but didn’t move any closer to him. Less than two paces separated them, but it seemed an insurmountable gulf. 

“I haven’t done it yet,” he said. “I could have--I should have. For as long as you’ve been here, I should have. But I didn’t.” Slowly, he turned to look at her. His face was wretched. “Doesn’t that count for anything?”

“It does.” She crossed the distance between them. To her surprise, he didn’t shy away. Belle reached up to hold his face. She looked at him. This beautiful boy. This deadly child. “Whatever you think you have to do, I’m telling you, you don’t. Not to Gideon, at least. Please.”

The shake of his head was so small she wouldn’t have known it if she wasn’t so close. “No,” he agreed. “But you.” He pulled away. “You’re the Dark One! I know you’re trying not to be, but…”

Belle let her hands fall to her sides. She pressed her lips together and spoke softly. “I know.”

On the hearth, Dabbey’s milk was beginning to steam. Baelfire tested a drop against the inside of his wrist, then poured it out into the bowl. Gideon was more awake now, and Bae was ready to scoop him into his arms for a feeding.

Belle sat down again. She watched the two brothers. The whole of her being felt like it had become stone.

“Who told you to do it?” she asked dully. “Who burdened you with this quest? Who knew how it might be done?”

He looked at her, equally filled with suspicion and guilt. “The Blue Star,” he said at last.

The Blue Fairy. Of course. Of course the most powerful source of light magic would seek to destroy the Dark One. Of course the guardian of children would use a child as her soldier. Of course she would see the risk as justified for the greater good it might accomplish. 

“What did she tell you about my dagger?”

Bae shifted uncomfortably as he placed the milk-sodden rag in Gideon’s open mouth. “She said it’s the only weapon that can harm you. I saw proof of that the night Gid was born.”

“Did she tell you what would happen if you stabbed me through the heart?”

He set the rag down in the bowl. “Papa did,” he said. “He said that’s how you became the Dark One, by killing the old one.” 

“Yes,” Belle said. “Funny your Blue Star didn’t mention that detail.”

“She trusts me,” Bae snapped. “She needs me to save the world from darkness.”

“Darkness can’t die!” Belle’s voice rose as she spoke. “I’ve been here with you for months, Bae. Do you think evil stopped everywhere else in the world? Do you think I’m responsible for every sin that people do? Do you think the darkness cares what body it inhabits?” 

He glared at her. “I’m not listening to you. You’ll say anything to keep yourself alive.”

“Does she want you to kill Gideon too?”

Baelfire deflated. He looked down at his brother in his arms. Gideon had reached the stage of a feeding where he wasn’t particularly hungry anymore. His blue eyes looked around the cottage. When he saw Bae’s face, he smiled.

“She thought he would be evil,” he said. He looked at Belle. “She didn’t know. People are allowed to be wrong about things.”

“Not when they tell you to murder children.”

His jaw clenched. “You’re wrong.”

“Is that allowed for her but not for me?”

Abruptly, he stood up, Gideon in his arms. Without taking his eyes off Belle, Bae went to the pegs by the door where they kept their cloaks. He picked up the collection of cords and straps they all used to tie Gideon to their bodies. Belle stayed where she was through all of it.

 Once the baby was secure against his shirt, Bae put on his cloak. Still looking at Belle, he took out the strong box from its place underneath the bed where Rumpelstiltskin was sleeping heavily.

He looked down inside the strong box for a long moment, his breath shaking. Then he lifted his head to look at Belle.

“I’ve always known what I was supposed to do,” he said. “But I haven’t been brave enough to do it until now. I guess I thought there wouldn’t be any danger, as long as you didn’t know. Now that you do, I don’t have any more excuses.”

“Bae, you don’t have to trust me, but please don’t play around with--”

“Quiet.” He pulled the dagger out of the box and pointed it at her. 

Instantly, Belle fell silent. There was nothing else she could do. 

Swallowing, Bae looked down at the magic he had just wielded. When he looked up at her, his eyes were dark and cold.

 “I won’t do it here,” he said. “I have to talk to the Blue Star first.” He pointed the dagger at her again, but his voice broke as he ordered, “Don’t try to stop me!”

Belle’s heart thudded in her chest. “I won’t try,” she said, very quietly. “Please put that thing away while you’re walking with your brother.”

Frowning, Baelfire slid the dagger into his belt. He looked at her, his face brimming with agony. Belle’s heart ached for her child. But she couldn’t try to stop him.

He threw the door open and disappeared into the night. 

Belle stayed where she was at the table. Very slowly, she counted to one hundred. When she was done, she stood up and went to the bed.

“Rumple.” She shook her lover by the shoulder. “Rumple, wake up. Bae’s gone off to kill me.”

[hufflepuffwithaslytherinkink]

Transmogrification of a Not Yet Lord - Chapter Snippet (Tom's POV)

Tom Riddle is sat at the Slytherin table, his friends surrounding him talking about where they went over the holidays, the balls they attended and other rich people shit that irked him. He wasn’t paying attention to their prattle though. It might annoy him but this time his attention was on something else. He could have sworn her saw the girl from the orphanage, the new one getting off the train. But that’s ridiculous, he thinks, she’s a muggle no one special. Besides he’d never seen her before in his life.

He's seen her around the orphanage over the past two weeks, obviously, you can’t avoid anyone there unfortunately. But he avoided her, just like the other waste of spaces that reside there. He doesn’t need to waist him time on muggles, they offer him nothing. Besides he was leaving the orphanage after Hogwarts, they’d already told him, as soon as he’s finished his education, he’s not welcome back. Not that he wants to go back to that place.

He scoffs thinking about how the new girl almost knocked him over, obviously a stupid muggle. She couldn’t even be bothered to look where she was going. How is she meant to be a witch?

He chuckles at the thought. Though he thought he saw her at Diagon Alley too, he was getting his new books when he swore he saw her eating an ice-cream. Though that’s ridiculous, where would she have gotten the money for ice-cream if she lived at Wool’s? He shakes his head getting rid of the preposterous thoughts, she was playing on his mind because her orphanage had been bombed. It’s something he worried about constantly, something neither he nor magic could stop happening.

He shudders at the thought, glad he’s away from London and in the protection of the wizarding world once more. He turns his attention to the first years being brought in, he doesn’t need to dwell on unnecessary thoughts of death, he’s safe now.

He assesses each one as they walk in, he’s bored with them all already though he needs to act interested, he is head boy after all. Yet he’s starting to lose focus, wondering how long this was going to take, he’s starving he hadn’t had a proper meal in weeks thanks to rationing when he spots her, the girl from the orphanage. She’s walking in with the first years, twice their height and bold as brass. What is she doing? How is she here? It can’t be her, can it?

He leans forward watching her intently. She’s the same height as the girl, tall with dark blonde hair and pale skin. It looks like her. But how can it be her? He’s beyond confused as he watches her wait with the others. Did she only just find out she’s a witch? Why is she only just starting Hogwarts?

Cantankerus Nott notices him staring and shoots him a smirk.

“She’s alright looking, isn’t she?” He leers into Riddle’s ear. “Suppose we’ll have to see what house she’s sorted into first though ay?” He laughs to himself.

Riddle wants to curse the moron, he doesn’t understand a thing. This girl had been in his life for almost two weeks, and he didn’t even know she was a witch. How could he let something like that get past him?

He’s annoyed with himself. He should have been more careful. Why was she sent to his orphanage? Not one in the country? Why now? He subconsciously twirls his ring around his finger. Did she know? Was she sent to spy on him?

He watches the rest of the ceremony with polite interest plastered onto his face, yet a burning rage inside him screams for them to hurry up. He wants to march across the great hall, grab the sorting hat from that stupid old fool and shove it onto her head, find out what house she would be in and pull the secrets from her head.

He sighs watching as another first-year clambers to the stool. This is taking too long, he thinks impatiently.

He starts to wonder what her name is, as more and more first years are called and she’s left standing there. Unless she’s not getting sorted, he thinks. Perhaps they’ve messed up.

His eyes narrow more and more as time passes, until eventually her names called. Amelia Smith.

She walks, no struts to the front. She’s certainly arrogant he thinks with a scoff. She lowers herself onto the stool, crossing her legs in a scandalous way, her skirt rising showing way more leg than appropriate. Riddle smirks, is that to show she doesn’t care or to tease the boys?

He hears Nott let out a hum of appreciation as Mulciber leans forward eagerly.

Riddle’s interest starts to become anger, the hat is taking it’s time in deciding her house. Of course, she would be a hat stall, he thinks bitterly. Just pick a damn house already. His agitation increasing the longer they wait. He doesn’t like not knowing, it puts him on edge.

The entire hall seems to have stopped breathing, everyone staring at the girl, Smith, curiously. Eventually the hat calls out “Hufflepuff.” Riddle lets out a huff, he’s a little disappointed if truth be told. A Hufflepuff? She won’t be of any use to them, no one in Hufflepuff was worthy of the title witch or wizard. And to think he was worried about her spying on him. They might as well snap their wands the moment the hat sorts them into that pathetic house he thinks, smirking at the thought. She’s no fret to him at all.

He leans back more relaxed now than before, he might be disappointed, but his relief overpowers that dramatically. The appearance of genuine food helping too.

Nott leans towards him with a dissatisfied expression. “Shame that, I thought she looked interesting. What a let-down.”

Riddle smirks at him, what a let-down indeed.

[cursedfortune]

Oh dear, there is a something in the snow. It's neither cat nor fish, not fully at least. But it seems to be having a hard time getting around because it is barefoot and Russian winters are really better tolerated with wool socks and fur coats, not cold feets and flimsy hospital gowns.

He has a horse with him too, but it would seem the horse is tired of this clownery, still better suited than him for the climate. His (remaining) eye seems to think now's a good time for a nap in the snow, but survival instincts tell him otherwise.

Something nearby smells like... ashes a burning stove perhaps, some kind of shelter? food? warmth... might come in handy about now.

@muddsludge - unprompted

Hm. This was... curious. She could smell something in the air. Alcohol? Not the sort one would drink - something medicinal. Blood, stale. It was strong enough for her to notice despite the cold winds. A large injury, perhaps? One that was treated to some degree very recently?

Her eyes closed as she took it in, redirecting her footing to trudge through the snow into the direction it hailed from. Stationary - could be indictive of a severe injury, then. She allowed her heightened senses to guide her until she found that of a horse standing still. Ticking her gaze to the figure and no doubt the owner of this scent then, she took him in next. Whatever initial opinion she may have in that moment was kept to herself, tucked behind a neutral expression.

The soft screaming of the wind spoke plenty for the witch as she stood off to the side of this man. It was only growing more treacherous as the sun began to die; given how poorly of a state he seemed to be in, he'd be lucky to survive the night out here on his own. So would it not be best to try his luck with the witch? She had a shed the horse could even dwell within.

A hand slipped out from the thick cloak around her body, beckoning the stranger and his horse to follow. Turning around she dipped back past the tree-line and paused, looking over to him once more.

Follow. The dark gaze said. A warning, not that she was commanding him to do so - it was more of a suggestion for his own sake. For the moment she stood, waiting to see if he'd follow - if he was capable of following on his own. Waiting to see if he needed help to cross the short distance to her cabin.

[odonism]

more venn diagrammage: the middlewoods have gnomes, and froud has dragons. the middlewoods have strings and woodwinds, and froud has synth. the middlewoods have, well, wood, and froud has stone. the middlewoods have moss and lichens, and froud has squash and wool. the middlewoods aren’t cultivated, and neither is froud, but it at least tries to be. they both have poetry, and bugs that talk, and inventors, and witches.

[storiesatdawn]

witches rarely assume their true form, mar mused.

Even herself, or rather especially herself, was an amalgamation of people and things she had found beautiful.

her hair was stolen from peaches, the pale warm pink, and the golden tones with a fluffy texture. her hair wasn't silky at all- it almost felt more like the fur of her favorite sheeps.

she constantly stood just below the sun- right outside of it's most harsh rays, just enough to kiss her cheeks with a dewy pink flush.

her clothes could be considered hand me downs- they were nearly the uniform of all great witches, with modifications to the shoulders, colours and accessories of course.

All that to say, what could the original form of Mar even look like? A collection of sunrays that blinded you, a ball of wool to comfort, a juicy peach to nourish? There really wasn't a way to know- maybe in the divine realm where it was their business to know, but in the in-between, there was neither a reason nor a desire to convert to originality. Evolution was the favoured mindset, and so in that mindset mar had stayed.

still- she continued, it might be a fun exercise to shapeshift into something she felt in her essence to be true. It was dangerous grounds, though, since shapeshifting wasn't her forte and she often lacked the energy, incentive, and planning to do it. Best to stick with divination and basic spellcasting than transmogrifying yourself into a peach... again.

[fluffyydumplings]

Promise

Witch One Will Win? - Part 4

Summary: As you get closer to someone, the more promises you’d want to make.

Word Count: 641

Pairings: dragon hybrid!reader x witch!yoongi x writer!jimin /alien!jungkook x vampire!hoseok × werewolf!taehyung

Genre: fluff / crack!au / angst / fantasylau / sci-fi!au

Warnings: self-doubt and blame / insecurity over oneself

A/N: I had this ready four days ago, but never cared to actually post it. :).. The best author award goes to! Drum roll please.. 😑

The next part will be from Yoongi, Y/N and Jimin’s point of view. Brace yourselves. (This is really short, that I have to say) - I accidentally made a dad joke. I’ll reveal it per request. :].. Have fun reading.

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Series Masterlist

‘Tae.. Are you in there?’ Hoseok’s concerned voice surges through the opening of the door.

‘Hyung... I’m so weak, pathetic and lacking of everything..  I couldn't protect my mate..’

‘I let her slip away.. I wasn't and still am not perfect enough.’

‘Hyung.. Let's talk outside. It's stuffy in there. Are you okay?’ Jungkook’s worried.

‘You actually care about me, kiddo?’

‘As if..’

A scoff is followed after.

‘Fine.. Fine.. I do! So.. Please come outside and talk to us..’

‘Kook finally stopped trying to win for once? Cute.’

A smile on Taehyung’s face and pink on Jungkook‘s cheeks.

That teasing remark hits at the side of Jungkook’s ego.

‘Are you going to stay in there forever or what? Are you going to rot in there?’

‘Stop fighting.. I will snap both of your heads off,’ Hoseok has his hands on his hips.

‘Don’t snap my head off, Hyungiee,’ the werewolf bursts out of the door.

‘Now.. What’s wron-’

‘Let’s go watch the sun setting together.. I’m tired,’ he clings onto both of their arms.

‘Does he get more possessive when he’s sad?’Jungkook rolls his eyes, ignoring the elder and communicating with Hoseok.

‘I’m still here,’ the forgotten boy reminds them of his glory.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

‘I grew up in the Kingdom of Narcissus. Over there, we were expected to be perfect. To only care about ourselves and no one else. Not family, friends or anything.. I wasn’t like that though. But, when you’re the black sheep of the flock, that's what you always will be. Regardless of how nice you are or how good of a person you are, your wool is still the same. You’ll never fit in.’

‘And at one point, I became obsessed with being perfect. Now that I realise it. Perhaps my perfectionism was what killed her.’

‘How did she die?’ Hoseok’s blunt - he never enjoyed sugar coating his words.

‘She was killed by another pack..’

‘How is it your fault then?’

‘I insisted she go buy another bunch of berries. Because the ones I had weren't perfect enough,’ tears unconsciously dripped onto the ground.

‘How could you have known the future that was ahead of you? She didn't die because of you, Tae. They killed her. Was it her blood on your hands? No.. It was theirs.’

‘But.. But.. It’s my fault that I made her go to the market that day,’ he chokes on air.

‘It’s not your fault that evil exists in this world..’

‘Let’s say that you win the machine. Would she be happy knowing that you were blaming yourself for her death?’

‘No.. She would hit me in the chest and go: Tae, you silly thing!’ he smiles, a memory from years ago flashing back into his brain.

‘Do you think we’ll have to fight each other to death, for the machine?’ Taehyung keeps eye contact.

‘I won’t kill you, Tae.. Not even for her.’

‘Neither will I.. I refuse to kill you,’ Jungkook’s confident in what he says.

‘Let’s make a pact then. To give up if the final challenge is for us to slaughter each other,’ his tears have dried.

‘I, Jeon Jungkook will not have the blood of either Vampire Jung Hoseok or Werewolf Kim Taehyung.’

‘I, Kim Taehyung promise to never harm both this kiddo and this Hyung over here.’

‘I, Jung Hoseok will never lay a hand on both of these weirdos.’

‘Weirdos?!’ they scream in unison.

‘See.. Weirdos! So nosy!! My earsss!!’ Hoseok covers his ears.

‘You’re the weirdo over here, Hyung..’

‘Woah.. Woah! Now you two are ganging up on me?!!’

‘Come over and suck our blood then! That is if you can catch onto us!’ they both run away.

‘Get over here, you brats!!! I will drain you dry!!!! You probably won’t even taste good!! And for your information vampires don’t drink blood!!’

You have been invited to take a peek of one of Yoongi’s Iconic Looks

[mctherofdragons]

Little Black Book | D. M.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Fem!Reader

Genre: FLUFF! 

Request: “could you write a draco x slytherin!reader where they both have a crush on eachother, but they think the other person is into someone else? like draco with pansy or reader with some other character” from the lovely @minty-malfoy <3 

Trigger Warnings: Cussing

---------------------------------

Draco Malfoy furrowed his brow at the cauldron in front of him. He added the last ingredient and watched jubilantly as the ivory smoke spiraled upward. You watched as he leaned forward, taking a small whiff of the potion. He gasped quickly, his cheeks beginning turning a ruddish red. You looked over at him and raised a quizzical eyebrow.

He hastily placed the lid onto the Amortentia potion with a loud clang. You sighed, feeling a little twinge in your heart. It no doubt smelled like Pansy Parkinson. “Perfect, pretty, put-together Pansy Parkinson,” you thought to yourself. You knew that the reason Draco was flushed was because the familiar scent of broomsticks, cinnamon gum, and cherry lipgloss had invaded his senses. You secretly desired that he had smelled you instead - lavender shampoo, mint, and a touch of morning coffee.

“Does it smell like Potter?,” you jested. Draco glared at you before cracking a smile.

“Careful, y/l/n.”

You gave him a toothy grin, going back to flipping through your textbook. “What does yours smell like?,” he asked curiously, secretly hoping it smelled like apples, hair product, and vanilla. You leaned over the cauldron, gently taking off the cover. You inhaled deeply, closing your eyes. It felt as though you were bathing in the scent of the boy next to you and you drew back.

“Well?,” Draco asked curiously. You swallowed hard, trying to figure out the best lie to tell in the moment.

“Oh, um, I...it smells like honey...and...grass,” you blurted, turning back around to stare at your book.

Draco felt his heart sink, peaking up at you behind his lashes. You were busy distracting yourself with packing up your bag as he watched you longingly.

“Of course she didn’t smell you, you bloody idiot,” he thought to himself defeatedly, thankful for your professor calling an end to the class.

----------------------------------

That evening, you sat curled up on a green velvet chair in the Sytherin common room. It was always a lucky occasion when the common room was empty. It allowed for time to relax with nothing but the sound of the crackling fire to keep you company. You sipped a cup of peppermint tea and absentmindedly flipped through a copy of Witch Weekly. A yawn washed over you, which allowed you to stretch a bit and settle down more comfortably in your chair. You looked up from the article you were reading about a Beauxbatons’ pastry recipe when you heard the door creak open, disturbing the silence.

Draco and Pansy came stumbling into the common room, chuckling about something Draco must have said in the hallway. Pansy giggled, playfully placing a hand on Draco’s chest. You felt as if you were watching the interaction in slow motion, silently longing to be in Pansy’s place. Her blithesome smile made your eyes fill with jealous tears, although you were too prideful to allow them to spill over.

You quickly gathered up your things, polishing off the rest of your tea. You shuffled past the two, ignoring the way Draco’s head turned on a swivel when you brushed his shoulder. Heading out into the hallway, you rushed as quickly as you could back to your dormitory. “Why am I crying over Draco Malfoy?,” you cursed to yourself, feeling relief once the door slammed behind you. You sniffled a bit before wiping your eyes in annoyance. “He’s just a boy. A stupid boy at that.”

Knowing it would make you feel better, you climbed up onto your bed and pulled out your diary. Your method of getting out your frustration was often through writing letters - of course, letters you’d never dream of sending. You had written angry letters to your professors and even inspirational letters to yourself, all of which you burned immediately in the common room fireplace. You flipped to an empty page and grabbed the quill next to you. The words flowed easily now as you let a few tears drip onto the paper. Your sentences had no real beginning or end, nor did your care about making a whole lot of sense.

‘Dear Draco,

I wish I could tell you what you mean to me....that you’re charming, and handsome, and perfect in every way. I want to tell you that I am captivated by your smile, your eyes, and every last inch of you. My potion smelled like you...Did yours smell like Pansy? I’m sure it did. If I had the chance, I’d kiss you right in front of everyone. I know it’s stupid but I really do fancy you, Malfoy. I just wish you’d fancy me back.’

It was written in the same way your thoughts of Draco often graced across your mind - jumbled and disjointed. You closed the tiny black book and placed it into your backpack, reaching over the shut off your bedside light. You snuggled deeper under your soft, wool blankets, secretly thinking of the Slytherin prince as you drifted off to sleep.

----------------------------------

Draco Malfoy sat at his dormitory desk, sipping slowly on a cup of tea. The sweet drink warmed his insides. He was grateful for this as he was often coldest at night. He pulled the blanket over his shoulders and continued to write, sighing as he felt all of his pent up emotions ease. He wouldn’t admit it aloud to any of his friends, but he kept a diary. It had always served as a way for him to process the difficult parts of his day, protecting him from having to share too much with other people.

Tonight, he wrote unabashedly about how he felt for you. He wrote about your hair, your eyes, and the way his Amortentia carried your scent. He gushed about dreaming of kissing you for hours and hours, leaving very little to the imagination. After seeing you rush out of the common room, he felt an unwavering sense of dread, thinking perhaps you couldn’t even stand to be around him. Thus, he put down in black and white all of the sickeningly sweet ways he thought of you. It occurred to him that maybe if he spilled his heart out on to the parchment, he could stop being so damned enamored with you.

His eyelids started to become heavy, so he slid the small, raven-colored book into his knapsack. Turning off his lamp, he slid beneath his covers, allowing himself to drift into slumber.

-----------------------------------

Final exams were fast approaching and the entirety of Hogwarts was in a tizzy. Between Defense Against the Dark Arts and Muggle Studies, there was far too much information to digest and far too little time to do it. You and several others from your house shared a long table in the library, your papers and manuals spread out in front of you. Reading furiously, you had lost track of the time, along with Draco, Pansy, and Blaise.

“Oh bloody hell, we’re going to be late for DADA,” Pansy cussed. She stood up to quickly shove her books into her bag. The remaining three of you jumped up, jostling your belongings into your bags as quickly as possible - which is why neither you nor Draco noticed when two tiny black books got swapped.

You all jogged off down the hallway, your robes flowing behind you as you desperately hoped to not be late to class. Unfortunately, you didn’t make it in time, rushing in through the door just as Snape had begun to speak.

“Nice of you to join us, albeit late. 10 points from Slytherin, each.”

You sulked as you slid into your seat, pulling your parchment and quill out to begin taking notes.

----------------------------------------

Later that afternoon, you found yourself sitting on your bed. You had finally finished reviewing for your classes and figured a much needed break was in order. You got up and padded over to your tea kettle, flicking the water on. Just then, you heard a tiny knock at your door.

Unsure who would be coming to visit you, you walked over and stood on the other side. “Who is it?,” you beckoned, not wanting to open the door for just anyone.

“Malfoy,” the voice on the other end replied. Your stomach did an immediate flip. You opened the door, coming face-to-face with a red faced and anxious looking blonde on the other side. He held up something in his hand and you felt like the floor had just given out under your feet.

“Is this yours?,” He asked sheepishly, extending a hand to give it back. You snatched it quickly. The sound of your heart pounding echoed in your ears. A feeling of dread washed over you and you couldn’t stop your hands from beginning to shake.

“Did you r-read it?,” you choked out. You sent a prayer up to Merlin that the answer would be no.

“Yes.”

You let out a tiny gasp and your lips began to tremble.

“Hey, hey,” Draco whispered, allowing himself to walk in the door. He closed it behind him, reaching out to take your hands. “Don’t be upset. Believe me, it’s alright, y\n,”

You pulled away, turning around in embarrassment. “I’m n-not upset! I’m fucking humiliated,” you sniveled. Draco knew about how much you liked - no, at this point he probably assumed loved - him. He had read the inner workings of your heart. Every thing you had penned about the boy was now knowledge he possessed. You wished you could just dissolve into the floor and disappear forever.

Draco sighed, walking over to your backpack. He reached in and pulled out a different journal. You had no idea that his book had been in your bag the entire time, given that you thought it was yours. He sauntered back over to you, pulling you by the hand to sit down on the bed.

You looked at him confused as he opened the journal. He handed it over to you, allowing you to peruse it. You began to read, your jaw falling slack. “Y-you...is this about Pansy?,” you asked sadly, unable to accept that Draco’s feelings might be mutual. Draco’s cyanic eyes twinkled. He took the diary from your hands, placing it out of the way.

He moved a piece of hair from your eyes, tracing his finger along your jaw. Then, he took a finger and traced it down the bridge of your nose and over your lips. He began to speak, repeating a line from one of his diary entries, “Everything about you is flawless.”

He leaned in slowly, planting a kiss to your lips. In that moment, it wouldn’t have shocked you if fireworks began to burst across the ceiling of your room. You scooted closer, gently placing a hand on the back of Draco’s neck. Your fingers played in the tufts of his platinum blonde hair. You pulled him back in for another kiss. Suddenly, you were very, very grateful for finals week - and those 40 missing points from Slytherin mattered not.

[phantomato]

Five Tom Riddle Crossover Fics to Read

Tom Riddle is a difficult character to ship. For those of us who want to see pairings beyond the Big Two (Tomarry and Tomione), canonical options peter out relatively quickly. Sure, we can invent our own pairings by fleshing out side characters, but sometimes, the itch is best scratched by borrowing from another canon.

And it makes sense for Tom more than nearly anyone else in HP. Tom was born into an era that is the subject of so much literature, so it’s easy to find another person kicking around postwar Europe if that’s your goal. He’s an archetypal character, the villain seeking immortality, and can be matched against other villains with the same aims. Hell, even his quest to recover lost artifacts turns into the basis for two of these works—Tom Riddle has the perfect combination of a recognizable context and character model, plus the ambiguity of his canon timeline, to slot him alongside so many other fictional figures.

I want to pause on some of these themes for a second. Immortality or relationship to age, for one, is something that comes up in three of these pairings: the Darkling and Koschei the Deathless are both immortal characters in their own canons, and Edmund Pevensie is not immortal but has aged and de-aged repeatedly in his travels to and from Narnia. The HP series doesn’t give us nearly this wealth of different perspectives on age and immortality, which is fair—HP makes it clear that immortality is unnatural and undesirable, and Flamel is notably a ‘good person’ because of his willingness to accept his own death—but for a character as obsessed with the idea as Tom, some emotions can only be explored when you match him with another character who has a complicated relationship to aging. Even someone like Indiana Jones, not immortal and not trying to be, has an interesting perspective to bring to a story because he has seen so many other quests for power gone terribly awry.

Of course, the other thing we get from crossover pairings is the ability to match Tom with a villainous character. And whether you’re a fan of conflict at the start of a relationship or not, I think there’s something to be found in putting two villains together: moral arguments, when they exist, are rarely about whether death is necessary but about what kinds of death are best used when; the entire concept of either a redemption arc or a breaking bad arc can be thrown out a window. It’s a space wherein our two villains are allowed to be themselves, and the reveal of the extent of each character’s villainy becomes a strange form of celebration. This is challenging to achieve if one sticks to HP canon alone, whereas crossovers are a fruitful space.

My selection methodology was to read every crossover fic with a clear focus on Tom Riddle or Voldemort on AO3. I found crossover pairings by visiting the meta pages for the Tom Riddle, Voldemort, and Tom Riddle | Voldemort tags—I may have missed some pairings for Tom Riddle, as the character has over 300 child relationship tags and AO3 cuts off at 300 displayed. If you know of any ships I missed and should check out, do tell! I’ll also make a note here that one of these fics is my own—if self-recs bother you, skip Bluebird.

The following five fics are ordered by wordcount. Let me know what you think!

Neurotic Virtuosi, by skazka

Crossover: Hannibal Rising (movie version). The wizarding world exists, and Tom and Hannibal encounter each other in non-magical Eastern Europe.

Summary: Tom and Hannibal ride the same train when Tom is hunting down the diadem. Tom shares an apple and thinks about keeping Hannibal.

Mature, <1k, Graphic Torture Fantasies

Why?: This is one of those pairings that I wouldn’t have thought to do when the characters were both young, but it’s so much better for that choice! The length of this fic means we only get a taste of their interactions, but what a taste it is. Tom’s internal fantasies are horrifying and described in a very erotic way, which fits both characters.

This also serves as an interesting vision of what Tom might have experienced during his world tour to find the diadem, a period we rarely get to see. I particularly like that the author chose to write it as frustrating and mostly fruitless; a Tom who is stymied and unsuccessful is a particular weakness of mine.

Two Sides of the Same Coin, by Anonymous

Crossover: Chronicles of Narnia. Both Hogwarts and Narnia are real, and the characters meet in Britain. The magic isn’t the same, but there’s mutual recognition.

Summary: Tom tries to use sex to seduce secrets out of Edmund. Edmund sees something reminiscent of his younger self, the version of him who could join the White Witch, in Tom Riddle.

Explicit, 2k

Why?: Edmund and Tom are a pairing made in crossover heaven, both boys of a similar age born into war in the same country and whose discoveries of magical worlds help them escape it. Both lust for power and make poor choices; Edmund canonically recovers and finds redemption from his actions, and Tom does not.

This fic wears the hat of something pure smut, starting in the middle of a sex scene and tagged with top/bottom roles, etc., and it is that and does that well. But give it a shot for Edmund’s reflection at the end, his hopeful musings that he can apply the lessons learned from Aslan to help Tom before Tom’s utterly lost. It’s a crossover ship with unbelievable potential for both characters, and this fic makes me want so much more.

Shedding Skin, by electric_typewriter

Crossover: Deathless by Catherynne M. Valente. Both the wizarding world and the magic of Deathless exist.

Summary: Tom meets Koschei before splitting his soul. They keep meeting, and Tom keeps attempting to match Koschei’s immortality.

Not Rated, 2k

Why?: Immortality via relocation or storage of souls is an idea that easily predates Harry Potter as a series, and seeing two different versions of the some core idea interacting with one another is precisely what crossovers exist to enable. Koschei as an immortal being that found his immortality in a way he considers superior is a fascinating concept, because it creates a power imbalance between them that leaves Tom always running to catch up. And Tom, poor Tom, feels like a desperate man, finding sensation only when he’s around Koschei and feeling nothing at any other time.

This reads a bit like you’re dissociating. The author uses descriptive language to keep the reader a little distant from the grounded reality of the events happening, which has the effect of keeping you focused on the metaphysical question of what it means to have part of a soul.

Bluebird, by Phantomato

Crossover: Shadow and Bone. S&B summoning powers instead of HP magic, set in the real world, with characters’ histories preserved.

Summary: Tom is the second sun summoner to exist, born long after the first gave up her powers and lived out her natural life. He tracks down the Darkling, the shadow summoner who never really died.

Explicit, 17k

Why?: Tom is an immortal being for at least part of his life, and his character arc is about pursuit of immortality, but he is fundamentally a young immortal, and is killed before he can graduate to old immortality. Aleksander, the Darkling, is canonically an old immortal, and his character arc is about the burden of living with the knowledge that you will likely always be alone. That loneliness sets the scene for the relationship between Tom and Aleksander, driving Aleksander’s behavior—he fundamentally believes he will always be alone, even an immortal like Tom passes through his life.

There is a high proportion of smut in this, serving in place of the emotional honesty that neither character can muster, and I recommend it for that. But the story also relies on investment in quiet everyday moments shared between the characters. It’s a fic told through behavior because both men are so cautious around one another, where they nevertheless manage to find sympathy for the other.

Riddles of the Dead, by Maeglin_Yedi

Crossover: Indiana Jones. Blends together the wizarding world and the mysticism present in Indiana Jones films.

Summary: Tom Riddle hires an expert archaeologist and gentleman adventurer, Dr. Indiana Jones, to help him pursue an artifact that might grant him immortality. There’s fucking, fighting, magic, snakes, and some difficult choices in store for our leading men.

Explicit, 18k, Angst

Why?: Maeglin Yedi has been a mainstay of the Tom Riddle/Lord Voldemort ficspace for nearly two decades, but an old crossover like this can unfortunately slip through the cracks. It shouldn’t! With an original publishing date in early 2005, this predates the concept of horcruxes, the knowledge of Tom’s early years at Wool’s orphanage, and, well, so much of what we would eventually learn about Tom Riddle as a person. It’s a testament to the author that the story manages to capture Tom’s character in such a way that he’s still fully recognizable to a current-day reader, despite working with so much less canon.

This fic is fun. It’s an adventure, featuring hazards and traps and assassination attempts that you would expect from an Indiana Jones film, but the magic and mystery never overwhelms the relationship at the core of this story. It’s set up beautifully, with a mirrored structure between the front and back halves of the fic that foreshadows the inevitable end of the story. Watching older, confident Indy seduce young, hungry Tom is a delight. One (possible) mark of a great Tom-centric fic, imo, is to be able to portray Tom enjoying the exchange of power, giving it to someone as well as taking it from them, and this Tom is able to revel in giving up some perceived power as he practices being vulnerable with Indy. The romance is quite sweet, especially considering that ‘angst’ tag at the top of the fic!

[heyheyheyhaikyu]

do this and tag your mutuals!

pumpkin or apple // cocoa or cider // halloween or thanksgiving // leaf piles or apple picking // hay ride or corn maze // wooly sweater or furry slippers // pumpkin carving or knitting // squash or sweet potato // black cat or bat // skeletons or witches // fake blood or fake spiders // mashed potatoes or stuffing // orange or black // apple pie or maple donuts // marshmallows or candy corn // vampire or werewolf // fireplace or cozy nook // spiced wine or craft beer // candied apples or s'mores // big scarf or oversize hoodie

Ah, okay!!

Pumpkin or Apple: It depends on what it’s for, but I’ll say pumpkin! || Cocoa or Cider: Cider all the way man! It’s so nummy || Halloween or Thanksgiving: mmm I love my spoopy day, but both are great for different reasons :) || Leaf piles or Apple picking: I like apple picking more now that I’m older, but playing and jumping in leaf piles has a fond place in my heart || Hay ride or Corn maze: CORN MAZE CORN MAZE CORN MAZE || woolly sweater or fuzzy slippers: ummm neither??? Wool is itchy;-; || pumpkin carving or knitting: PUMPKIN CARVING :D || squash or sweet potato: meh, both are okay I guess || black cat or bat: black cat because I have one and she’s adorable :3 || skeletons or witches: I this witches are pretty cool! || fake blood or fake spiders: definitely fake spiders because I like terrorizing my family :D || mashed potatoes or stuffing: yes. || orange or black: well atm they’re both my favorite colors, sooooooo- || apple pie or maple doughnuts: idk what a maple doughnut is, but it’s sounds p good ngl || marshmallows or candy corn: CANDY CORNNNNNNNNNN🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩 || vampire or werewolf: both are cool- idk || fireplace or cozy nook: uhhhh- fire is cool?? || spiced wine or craft beer: umm... how about some tequila?? *^* || candy apples or s’mores: well I like caramel apples the best, but since that wasn’t an option ig s’mores || big scarf or oversized hoodie: hoodie hoodie hoodie :DDD

This was really fun!! Sorry for getting to this late though :’)))

Tags: @ethanharli @keijism @babyshoyo @midnightxix @just-ilya @y-infen @qtipcottonbuds

[suspiciouslybluemilktea]

The Passed Out Princess Chapters 1-2

Pairing: My CMC (Uyu, Dan Byeol) x Suit Saeran

Description: On days 7-9 of Ray’s route, the player is denied food as “Saeran” makes his presence first known. But, what if MC fell very ill under this method of torture due to a medical condition? Sadly, my custom MC, Uyu (full name Dan Byeol), would deal with exactly this dilemma.

Content warning: Descriptions of throwing up, passing out, and meal skipping. Every food related issue mentioned is strictly medical, and based on my own condition.

This was written under the assumption that you have played Ray’s route in full, so route spoilers ahead! This takes place during the very beginning of day 8, and according to the timings and contents of the chat rooms, it would take place before Saeran cuts contact with the RFA and before he installs a camera to monitor MC in her room. It is timed to match closely around to when I’d get sick myself.

My CMC’s condition deals chronic with low blood sugar, meaning she has to eat to keep it up or suffer the consequences as seen here. It is not diabetes related, it is something she is born with as am I and is linked to more complicated matters I left out to keep it simple. Some symptoms include: growing light headed, severe dizziness, nausea, vomiting, and passing out. See all chapters

I wrote this with flexibility for whichever HC for Saeran you follow (DID or BPD), because whether or not he has one of the following, Rika has drilled it in his head that Ray and Saeran are separate entities, and Saeran views it this way. Consider it written the way Cheritz writes him, with nothing exactly too set.

To make things easier for myself, I’m uploading multiple chapters on each post, chapters only separated by lines. Here is 1 and 2

Ping!

The sound of Dan’s phone alerted her to rise and greet the day with a new chat room open.

As the morning sun took its place in the clear blue sky, the little woman sat up in her big bed, bangs sticking out in all directions as her head thumped with a dull pain. Hunger induced pain, she noted, as her stomach felt empty.

Despite the beauty of this early morning, the light pouring through the windows creating a rosy glow which engulfed the princess room; there was no beautiful light shining on the brunette’s new situation, seeming so dreary and dim.

Uyu still found herself wrapped up in this place, whisked away to a castle tucked deep within mountains known as Magenta. Every corner of the building was constructed brick by brick with a beautifully ornate architectural design, but the bright exterior was only a façade. If she was left caged like this for long, what would become of her? Driven to insanity, perhaps she’d attack and claw at the walls which confined her, unable to turn her anger to Saeran, the real victim in all this. The “savior” made it clear she was the true ruling figure who lurked about as the moon rose, the mastermind behind this place’s pain and suffering.

The night before, after being so kindly introduced to “Saeran”, this golden-haired angel confirmed herself to be quite the wicked witch of the west indeed, and it took everything out of Uyu to not call her harsher names to her face.

Mint Eye was hell redecorated to wear the guise of heaven, but pretty gardens and saccharine words could not fool her. Because Dan wore no wool over her eyes, the savior had no intention of allowing her to live long enough to become the new narrator of “The Yellow Wallpaper”; and she had no shoes to click together at the heel to wish her way home with who she came here for originally.

Just as Ray’s suit did, he changed, flipping like a light switch.

Saeran, the name V previously called him by, did succeed in giving her a good fright, his attitude being the least thing she expected to see after Ray’s earlier sobs over the phone.

Uyu was mainly focused on one solid question after their encounter, though. Just what did that “cleansing” entail in full detail? What did this place do to him, to make him weep and beg for a warm hand to hold one minute, only to push back and try to scare her the next?

It was as if he was caught, dragged by the feet somewhere inescapable, a pit damp and dark down under; rising from a shivering grave cold to the touch.

If it weren’t for her position, she wouldn’t have allowed it.

Now more than ever, this room built on the foundation of fantasy and delight felt like a birdcage which barely allowed her to wiggle an arm through its bars. She relied on her song, her sweet words which Ray claimed to tickle at his heart and hold a power over him like no other before. Her goal, of course, was to use this for good, influencing him to learn to appreciate and care for himself like he should. But now, she felt unable to do even that much, not that she’d give up trying.

Saeran wished to dismiss her and her actions entirely, evident from his need to spew the fact that he bestowed upon her the label of being less than a person, his toy. His play thing.

That sick twisting she felt pooling in her gut upon first hearing the term “cleansing” seemed all too in place.

Ray, as sweet as her prince charming was, had a knack for leaving out important details about this museum of wonder. To her best guess, it was done to avoid panic as none of what went on here could be viewed as normal, or ok. He only briefly mentioned things like the “elixir”, such as on the night V arrived to spiral this place’s plans into chaos.

That was the night she could officially mark a great importance in staying, despite the vast network of lies.

Uyu wasn’t entirely stupid, she had an idea of what the elixir might be a while back, but it was still hard to process regardless.

Saeran threatened to give her one of these cleansing ceremonies...and said he could “draw out the maximum pain in the process”, telling her whatever happened to him hurt. A “no duh” moment indeed, but it was confirmation.

Ray suffered, for no reason other than he was too enwrapped in his blooming feelings for her, something that shouldn’t be taken as a negative but was. It displeased the savior that his chains which bound him by the ankles began to jingle with his new yearning to take flight.

She couldn’t allow herself to lie down and give the savior the satisfaction of breaking her, not when she still had so much to do, and not when Saeran and the RFA were at risk.

As the cool night-time air blew around them, feeling its whisper through her long locks of hair, Ray opened up about Mint Eye’s beliefs as a sanctuary for the “weak”, who had no choice but to lock themselves away to avoid further hurt.

He clearly viewed himself as someone in this category. Weak. But Saeran? Saeran shoved and shouted, which felt like a complete opposite to Ray’s whimpers and pleading. He even went as far as to accuse her of manipulation, of treating Ray like a puppet as she watched him dance to the harp she plucked.

Looking past his outburst and itch to watch her squirm, there stood a man seething with hate sparked entirely by twisted lies and his own fears. He gave himself away rather quickly as he attempted to say she messed with “hisna vefeelings” for some “big plan”.

She had to trust that there were boundaries he wouldn’t cross, being so close to her and forceful...and that was where her panic truly lied. But for now, she’d bank on the idea that he just wanted to scare her, staying alert in case he went too far. There were vases around from Ray’s various gifts that could be used as a weapon during the extreme. Unlike her, Saeran had no fighting skills either, but currently she was a bit too ill for those measures.

For once, a room so pink made her feel neither cozy nor at home.

Uyu’s fuzzy morning vision was then attracted to a black blob hanging on the doorknob. With a little eye rub, she made it out to be a dress, and a rather pretty one at that. In the way it was cut, it would expose much of her shoulders and upper back, the top front of it connected to a bow tied around the back of a neck piece with strings of fabric; like an attached choker. She could only assume it was a “gracious gift” bestowed upon her from the man she saw take Ray’s place. Apparently, he has a thing for black.

Her little device chimed again, and then once more, third time giving her the last push of annoyance she needed to reach over and respond to the opened chatroom.

She sighed with relief seeing Seven was the person active online, as she could now pester him with questions about what he was seeing on his end of the fight. They typed away, Uyu expressing concern for both of the hackers as they discussed Ra-Saeran’s new careless and aggressive tactics to snag him a victory.

As time passed, Jumin joined to ask questions as well, mainly circling around the governmental commendation from the Prime Minister to recognize the RFA for their charity work. Uyu stuck to her gut and pushed against the idea of it being a complete positive.

While both V and Seven acted oddly around the idea of the commendation, the RFA was also just a small organization which had only held two parties previous to Rika’s “passing”. The award was too fishy to trust in her judgment, especially now that she understood things going on around here weren’t at all what they had seemed to be.

Mint Eye wasn’t the only organization she was caught in that held its secrets.

After a bit of talking, Jumin agreed that the prime minister’s reasoning had to be figured out before any final decisions could be made. Everyone logged off, Seven returning to the battlefield and Jumin to stitching in his car.

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The need for food grew worse.

Uyu showered and changed into the outfit provided…not having much of a choice to do otherwise unless she wanted to rewear old clothing. She felt down and sluggish as she dressed the way her toy maker willed, the dark frills of her attire tickling against her thighs as her step dragged. She was still ok enough to make herself look presentable, even if done at such a pace.

Her hair changed to a solid dark brown color as it took in the shower water, the gold ombré reaching her tips returning upon giving it a blow dry, making sure Saeran would have less to scoff next he saw her. She wasn’t aiming to avoid his crude comments, but instead trying to make herself feel good. Call her smelly all he wants, she knows she isn’t.

Saeran was aiming to play into her insecurities, maybe full well knowing she had so very many of them as he tried to wind her up. The least she could do was confirm his lies to be lies in the ways she knew how, if not for him then for her. She couldn’t allow him to figure out what made her gears stop, whether his words were true or not. This was no game of knife throwing, and she was no target.

11:00 AM crept up on her as she moped around quietly in her dollhouse, waiting for Saeran to come and try to take a good yanking on her marionette strings.

Dan sat upon the bed as the empty-headed feeling and banging in her temple raged, shifting to lay down fully and make herself more comfortable. If she stood for too long, she’d sway and wobble as her vision turned to black, purple and green swirls, momentarily clouding both her sight and mind.

Despite her numerous texts and occasional calls, she still heard nothing from Saeran. Not a peep.

She was growing restless as well as worried for him, and what would become of her as she continued to go unfed.

Her phone buzzed, shifting her attention over to it groggily, eyes half lidded as she wanted to sleep off this sinking feeling. Soon, she’d start to go down like the Titanic as lunch time acted as her iceberg.

Uyu hoped it was her self-proclaimed master, only to let out a grumble seeing that it wasn’t. Instead, it was Zen who had logged on.

She chatted with him, trying her best not to voice her ever-growing discomfort from skipping last night’s dinner as well as that morning’s breakfast, lunch time now creeping just around the corner.

After a quick talk, she’d call Saeran again...as uncomfortable as that conversation would be, it was her only viable option to kill the onslaught of nausea.

As they talked for a while, Yoosung joined the conversation as well….with talk of food; stew he was in the middle of making to be precise. She felt her stomach churn and rumble as the need for rest fell over her like a weighted blanket, being the only escape from the inevitable vomit now building up inside.

She logged off within another couple of seconds as the hot sweat began.

Dan swallowed thickly as her stomach went haywire, guts twisting, coaxing her to run to the toilet and empty out the water she could at least keep herself going on from the bathroom tap.

Leaving her phone on the bed, she rose to her feet best she could, stumbling till she reached the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. There, she fell to her knees, pulling her long hair back and away from her damp face, lifting up the toilet seat before her.

Within a mere moment, she felt the contents claw at the inside of her throat with a burning sensation, attempting to break free. She shuddered as her body suddenly fell in temperature, before allowing whatever her tummy could offer up to slip past her lips, color in her face all too faded away, displaying her illness. Gagging and choking noises echoed throughout the small room as the rather clearish liquid flowed from her mouth, tears from the discomfort blurring her vision as she blinked them away.

She stayed like that by the toilet for a while, throwing up a couple more times before making certain that event was over for the time being. Uyu considered herself extremely lucky that none was able to touch her or end up in her hair, but not nice to say vomiting wasn’t new to her. She knew the tricks.

Oddly, when something like this would happen, it gave her a tiny amount of strength back. It was strangely relieving, although emptying her stomach further. Her tummy was able to untense a tad.

She blew her nose and wiped her eyes before giving it all a flush down.

A fast teeth brush followed before she stumbled over to bed where she had left her phone. She fiddled with the RFA app until she could reach Saeran’s contact profile. Trying not to let the dread of being ignored again wash over her, she dialed up his number, both nervous and praying this time for a response.

After that last fit was over, her condition would move her into another stage, passing out being the only thing to come next without the blood sugar spike she needed.

The ringing went on for what felt like an eternity as she groaned and pressed her face into the pillow.

“Pick up...pick up damn it please pick up…”.

Uyu wished that she had made a bigger fuss over this earlier rather than attempting to swallow it and wait it out. Being distracted by “the savior” and Saeran’s screaming was something she shouldn’t have allowed herself to do in the midst of endangering her own health. What was she thinking? She knew it would reach this point, it always does if left unchecked. She internally cursed herself for not speaking up more assertively.

After another moment, his angry voice finally came through the speaker and she sighed softly with relief. The last she had heard from him was at four in the morning.

“Feeling this lonely and desperate already, hmm? Tch...what makes you think you have the right to contact me over and over again when I’m doing important work unlike you?”

She huffed on the other end, which he paid no mind.

“All you do is fiddle around like a good for nothing. You didn’t seem so happy to chat with me last time we spoke, but now you’re all eager and ready? You’re just itching for another visit aren’t you? Impatient little princess~.”

He let out an airy chuckle, finding her repeated acts of calling him rather amusing.

“Don’t worry. I have play time all planned out for you soon, you pest. I’ll bother you ten times more than you ever bothered me-”

She cut off his angry rambling, mumbling quietly as she spoke.

“Saeran...can you please come here? I’m not well right now and I don’t know how much longer I can keep myself functioning...I already threw up-”

“Speak up, you complainer! Seriously? You want to see me so badly that you’d put on an elaborate show? Princess...you can’t win any sort of sympathy from me by acting like a brat. Ugg, I’m going to hang up now. I’ll be imagining the million ways I can punish you for this later, stupid toy. I’m busy! Too busy for a bug like you to understand! You waste my time-”

“Wait please...please come here...it’s harder for me to explain over the phone. I...mentioned this problem earlier..please…”

And she had, briefly attempting to bring it up as he invaded a chat room between her and Jaehee.

“Begging now?”

He took on a sad tone of childish mockery as he continued.

“Please please please...please come see me... AHAHA! You airhead. I know what your medical records look like, and therefore I know you’re spinning a lie. You’re not to be trusted just as my savior says. There’s nothing there pertaining to some sort of eating issue other than the fact that your weak little body can’t handle milk…‘Uyu’~.”

He teased at her chosen nickname, and while the irony was why it was picked, this was less than fun.

“Now quit whining over an empty stomach when it hasn’t even been a full day! It’s no fun to see you give up so fast!”

Dan tried her best not to slur her speech, the task assigned to speak up being too hard of one to follow.

“Fine...fine don’t believe me. But…..it doesn’t hurt to come anyways. Since you want to see me suffer….or whatever….”

“Or whatever??? Toy, if I come see you right now...you won’t like what you’re going to get. I haven’t an ounce of pity in me to give you if that’s what you’re searching for. I'm not the type to let you rest in my lap as I stroke your hair and tell you it will be alright, and I won’t give in and feed you. Instead, I’ll make sure you never wish to call me again.”

“...ok…”

“Ok? Ok?? Haha! ...ok then. Let’s see how pathetic you’ve become as you beg and plead to me in person, little actor. Playtime is happening earlier today than I had planned. Congratulations! I’m extra pissed.”

Call ended.

She let out a puff of air, dropping her phone down next to her before closing her eyes, not bothering to stand in preparation for his arrival.

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