#quilting is my form of witchcraft

[arsenickool-aidforever]

I’m really embarrassed of how excited I got when I finished this.. like seriously. I got so excited when I let this drop down the wall to see it fully finished.

For size reference, that’s a twenty gallon fish tank

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Teas and Tisanes // G.W.

Request: Another request for my boy Georgie because I'm a needy bitch! Hahaha Set during OoTP, and they're at school and the whole Umbridge situation is really getting to the reader, and her anxiety spikes and she's struggling with sleeping and she hides her panic attacks from her amazing boyfriend (but he notices, just doesn't want to push!), until one night it gets so bad, she ends up sneaking into his room and sobbing in his arms and he soothes her and helps het sleep? just comfort and fluff!

A/N: Here’s your request! I’ve been working on it for so long so I hope it’s okay! Feedback is appreciated in any form whether it’s likes, reblogs or comments. As always, I hope you all like!

Pairing: George Weasley x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, insomnia, nightmares and panic attacks BUT A LOAD OF COMFORT AND FLUFF AND A HAPPY ENDING.

Word count: 2.9k

The appointment of Dolores Umbridge as Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry sent shockwaves through the entire student body.

They were all well aware of Umbridge’s presence – it was hard not to be, after all. With her constant decrees and her iron fist, Umbridge had become public enemy number one for the students at Hogwarts.  

You had always had issues with anxiety; struggling with panic attacks since your early teens, but since the appointment of Umbridge, you’re experiencing the attacks and the sleeplessness that follows much more often.

There felt like there was no end in sight as you sat up night after night; tiptoeing down to the common room, sitting with your knees pulled up to your chest, resting your cheek upon them. The usual heaviness settling over you as if greeting an old friend, and from then, you knew that the next few would days would be spent jumping at loud noises and such.

George realises something’s wrong a day into your panicked state. He makes the extra effort to walk you to every class; holding your hand that little bit tighter, silently letting you know that he is there – and he always will be. He’s loved you since Fifth Year, and now two years later in your Seventh, George is certain he wants to spend the rest of his life with you. He’s well aware of how young you were, but his parents have loved each other since their Hogwarts years and who better to emulate than Arthur and Molly Weasley?

In a private moment in the Gryffindor common room, George pulls you to one side. One hand tangling with yours whilst the other brushes against your cheekbone. You lean into his touch; loving having him so close to you.

“You know I’m here, don’t you? If you ever need to tell me anything.”

“I know, I know,” You comment, burying your face in his chest.

His arms come to wrap around you tightly; his chin resting atop your head.

You hide the tears that threaten to fall. You just squeeze him that little bit tighter, thankful to know that he’s here and waiting for you to come to him.

-----

In your mind, Herbology is one of the calmest subjects offered at Hogwarts. Sitting in the greenhouse, you understand how young Neville Longbottom fell in love with the subject; deciding at such a young age to dedicate his future career too it.

You sit next to George throughout the lesson, and whilst it is one of the calmest subjects, it doesn’t stop your knee from jerking up and down for the majority of the lesson.

It seemed even in the safety of the glass greenhouse; your anxiety would not let up.

Thankfully, Professor Sprout has you up and about repotting Asphodel plants that have grown too big. It keeps you distracted for a time; your mind too busy on not damaging the valuable roots instead of on the crushing anxiety settling in your gut.

George flashes you wary glances throughout the class, and all you can do, is smile back at him with what you hope is reassurance. Each time you find yourself next to the red-headed teenager, you brush your hand against his gently. It takes everything within him not to pull you from the greenhouse and whisper reassuring words into your ear until you begin to believe them.

The bell rings, however. Standing from your seat, you look over to George where he remains seated.

“George?”

“I’ll follow you out, love. I need to ask Professor Sprout something.”

You smile smally at George before you leave the greenhouse. He promises he’ll meet you in the common room soon; you nod before grabbing your bag and heading out of the door.

George approaches Professor Sprout after the particularly long lesson. Usually, he’d be first out of the door, eager to finish his school day but he has more pressing matters on his hand.

“Professor?” George asks tentatively after waving Fred away.

“Mr. Weasley, is everything okay?” Professor Sprout questions, eyebrows reaching her hairline in surprise at the prankster still sat in his assigned seat.

“Everything’s fine with me. I was hoping you could help my girlfriend?”

“Whatever’s the matter with Miss (Y/L/N)?”

“She’s suffering from a lot of anxiety and I think she’s having panic attacks as a result. She hasn’t come to me yet, but I was hoping you’d know of a plant or an herb that I could brew into a tea or potion to help for when she does come to me.”

Pomona Sprout blinks away the sudden wetness in her eyes. She had never seen this side of the Weasley twin, and it oddly touched her. She clears her throat before answering, “Lavender is the most helpful with issues of anxiety and panic.”

“Lavender gives her migraines I’m afraid. Is there anything else?”

Sprout purses her lips, thinking of alternatives, “Jasmine for relaxation. Peppermint boosts awareness. Chamomile helps to calm the nerves too.”

George grins; happy to have an answer, “Thank you, Professor. I’ll go find them now.”

“Don’t spend your money, Mr. Weasley. Take some from greenhouse but don’t tell anyone I helped except for Madame Pomfrey who’ll help you brew this into a tea.”

“Thank you, Professor.” George whispers; touched by the kindness lacing her words. Then and there, George resolves to take Herbology more seriously; to work on improving his grades and attendance in class.

Professor Sprout waves off his thanks as she hands him bundles of the plants, “Go on. I’ll tell Madame Pomfrey you’re on your way.”

George nods once again before leaving the greenhouses, heading straight to the hospital wing.

Madame Pomfrey already has her cauldron heating up when George arrives at the hospital wing.

“Pass me your ingredients here, Mr Weasley, and I’ll show you what you need to do.”

George hands over his bundle of plants and herbs; eager to know how to help you manage your anxiety.

Madame Pomfrey, for the next hour or so, goes over the method with George meticulously, ensuring that he won’t make any mistakes should he need to create this brew on his own. She highlights how long it needs to steep and the right amounts to add so the brew isn’t too overwhelming.

“How often would you say it needs to be drunk for it to be effective?” George asks as Madame Pomfrey starts to ladle the mixture into a container for George to take with him.

“One cup, every morning, Mr. Weasley. For it to be effective. It’ll stay warm until morning in the container I’ve given you, but if you have any troubles with it, come see me.”

George nods, taking the container from Madame Pomfrey. He thanks her repeatedly before rushing out of the hospital wing, eager to get the tea safely to his room where he can keep it safe until morning.

He lets himself give in to the growing excitement coursing its way through his body; he truly feels as if he has found one way to help you with the anxiety that paralyses you so often.

Upon his arrival at the common room, he rushes to his room where he stores the tea in an empty drawer of his bedside cabinet. He bounds back to the common room where he finds you sat at a corner table, working on another essay set by Umbridge; he knows exactly which one – the theory behind the practicality of the stunning charm. He won’t write it in protest of her abysmal teaching methods – final grades be damned.

He takes the seat across from you, “Love? How are you?”

You smile at him tiredly, “I’m tired and hating Umbridge.”

“How much sleep are you getting?” George asks; a concerned lilt to his voice.

“Enough,” You comment lightly, turning your attention back to your essay.

George sighs at your evasion, but the last thing he wants to do is push you into saying something you aren’t ready to say yet.

He leans back into his chair; watching your work silently for a while.

He leans back into his chair, and he hopes and hopes that the freshly brewed tea now hidden away his bedside cabinet helps you step away from the edge you’re teetering so precariously on.

-----

Even in sleep, the panic finds you.

It has you sitting up in bed, gasping for breath after breath; trying to leech enough oxygen out of the air to be able to properly inflate your lungs, but not enough is coming in and you’re panicking more. The tell-tale sign of tears dampens your cheeks and the sobs only add to not being able to breathe.

You throw your quilt from your body; not caring if it slides off the other side of the bed. You push your feet into your slippers; rushing out of your room without a second thought.

You climb the flight of stairs to the boy’s dormitory; your tears coming faster and faster with each step. The headache you would have in the morning was something to worry about then, but already, you didn’t look forward to it.

The door to the boy’s dormitory, thankfully, opens quietly as you tiptoe into the room. The only sounds being the echoing of snores from Fred and Lee Jordan.

You find George’s bed easily; having slept in here so many times before. You smile a watery smile as you gaze down at the sleeping teenager; he’s kicked off the covers and lies with an arm covering his eyes as his mouth hangs open. It’s not the least bit attractive, but all the same, you find your heart racing at the sight of him.

You kick off your slippers before padding to the small gap of mattress available.

George startles awake at the change of pressure; blinking bleary eyed as he looks for the culprit of change. He relaxes a little when he sees you but is immediately worried by the sight of your tears.

“Love?” is all it takes for them to start anew.

You clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle your sobs in order to not wake any of others in his dorm. George frowns, pulling you into his lap, wrapping one arm tightly around your waist as the other runs through your hair. He rocks you gently back and forth; all the while hushing you quietly, whispering words of calm and reason into your ear.

Your sobs turn to sniffles, and you slowly start to feel your eyes get heavier and heavier, but you force them open out of the fear of experiencing another nightmare.

“Do you want to try and sleep?” George mumbles into the dark.

You shake your head. “Nightmare?” He asks.

You nod your head.

“Alright, we’re going to need to move, love.”

George pats your hip, getting you to shift further down the bed so he can grab his dressing gown and a hoodie for you to put on over your pyjamas.

Your slippers make their way back onto your feet as you shove your arms through George’s hoodie, pushing the sleeves up some so it fits comfortably.

You wait by the door as George grabs a container of some sort from his bedside cabinet then he reaches for your hand and leads you down to the common room.

The fire still roars as you take a seat on the couch in front of it. Your tears have dried now, and you scrub at your face with the sleeve of George’s hoodie to remove their stain from your cheeks.

George sets the container down on the small table before sitting down next to you; his arms already open for you to crawl into. His fingers doodle a calming pattern through the material of his hoodie and your breathing relaxes into a more acceptable rate. He presses kiss after kiss to your hair and for a while, he’s silent on the whole matter.

“How are you feeling now?”

“Better,” You whisper.

“Are you ready to talk to me now?”

You nod, “It’s all been piling up on me, George and I thought I could cope but I can’t. Exams, Umbridge and the Dark Lord – I don’t think I’ve had a full night sleep since term started. And on top of that, I feel so awful with how I’ve been treating you; I am so sorry, George.”

George hushes you as you start to ramble faster, “Love… Love, calm down. It’s okay.”

“I’m sorry, George.”

“I accept your apology. I’ve been so worried; I didn’t think you wanted to come and talk to me.”

Your eyes widen, “No! I did! I did want to tell you, but I was so scared of what you’d think.”

“Love, anxiety and panic attacks are not something I’m unfamiliar with. Ginny suffered with both after what happened in her First year.”

You nod your head as you think back to the small girl now in her Fourth Year. You hadn’t started dating George yet, but the feelings were there. It was the disappearance of his youngest and only sister that had you talking to him for the first time; offering him any words of comfort that you could think of.

“I should have known, but I didn’t think.”

“That’s okay, love. The fact that you came to me now means everything.”

You nod your head, smiling apologetically at the red-haired teenager that you fell in love with at the age of fifteen.

Curiosity being your besetting sin though, you can no longer ignore the container sitting on the table, “George, babe, what’s in the container?”

“Oh!” George yells, only just remembering that it’s there. Then he blushes deeply, “It’s something I had made for you.”

“What?” You gasp.

George manoeuvres himself out of your grip; reaching for the container. He opens the latches, happy to see the steam rising from the tea. The smell of the chamomile calms his racing heart, and he turns to you with a shy smile – two cups already poured.

“George?”

“So after you left Herbology, I spoke to Professor Sprout. I asked her for her advice on some plants or herbs that can help with anxiety.”

Tears spring to your eyes, “You didn’t?”

“I did,” He nods, “She suggested Lavender at first, but I know how it gives you migraines just from being in its vicinity, so I asked her for some alternatives. Chamomile, peppermint and jasmine. Then I went to Madame Pomfrey who showed me how to brew this tea to help with your anxiety. She said to drink a cup a day and see how it helps.”

“Oh George,” You hiccup; tears falling fresh down your face, “This is everything. Thank you, my love.”

You lean forward to catch George’s lips in a long kiss. Tears mix with the laughter coming from your mouth. George can barely kiss you for the smile on your mouth; instead, kissing your teeth.

George pulls away with a laugh, handing you a cup of the tea. Immediately, you blow on the hot liquid before taking a small sip. The tea warms your body and you settle back into the couch; George settling with you.

The scent of the chamomile has you feeling more relaxed, and just having the comfort of a warm drink in your hand, helps make you feel better.

As your grandmother would always say: everything can be solved over a cup of tea.

“What do you think?” George asks somewhat shyly.

“George, I think this is the best gift someone has ever given me.”

“Really?”

“Really,” You affirm, “You saw me struggling and instead of pushing me, you went out of your way to help find a solution for when things become too much. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

“I have an idea,” George comments lightly.

“Oh?”

“Let me know when you start to feel this low again? Or if you think you’re going to? I know how to make this tea now, and I’m sure mum wouldn’t mind growing these in her garden especially if I tell her what they’re for. She’ll be happy to help in any way she can-”

You break off George’s nervous rambling with a kiss, “What did I do to deserve you?”

He kisses you again, “Nothing, my love. You were yourself.”

“I promise though. To let you know.”

“Thank you,” He whispers.

Silence falls over the both of you; settling happily as you drink your tea, already feeling the calming effects.

With the heat of the fire and the feel of George’s chest pressed into your back from where he’s relaxed back to where he sat, your eyes start to droop once more.

No longer afraid of the nightmares that could come; no longer afraid to face the panic now that George has helped and will continue to help, you let your eyes slide shut.

The morning after brings with it sleepy smiles and a calm atmosphere. You kiss George good morning before stealing away back to your own dorm where you can get ready for the day.

On your way to the Great Hall for breakfast, you find George leaning on the wall opposite the entrance, waiting for you.

“How are you feeling?” George greets.

“Better,” You admit with a smile, “I’m glad we talked last night.”

“I am too.”

You nudge his side with your elbow, smiling happily for the first time in days, “Come on, Weasley. You can treat me to breakfast.”

“Love, nothing would make me happier.”

************

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @obsessedwithrandomthings @harrypotter289 @dreamer821 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @the-hufflefluffwriter @figlia--della--luna @bforbroadway @idont-knowrn @summer-writes @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter​ @chaoticgirl04​ @accio-rogers​ @msmimimerton​

George Weasley taglist: @susceptible-but-siriusexual​

[adapembroke]

Talking Tarot-Inspired Fiber Arts with Cindi Glinski of The Crone and Her Rabbit

Cindi Glinski is a fiber artist with roots in hand quilting and a future full of possibilities. Bringing a customer's idea to life is her speciality. She lives with her husband and bunny buddy in the Northwood of Michigan. You can contact her on Instagram @the.crone.and.her.rabbit or at her Etsy shop.

In this conversation, Ada and Cindi talk about fiber arts as a gateway to tarot, learning how to hear the voice of your intuition, and Cindi’s astonishing path to opening an online business.

Ada: Recently, you posted a picture on Instagram of quilted vests and jackets you had made inspired by Tarot decks. Your work is absolutely beautiful, and I knew immediately that I wanted to know more about it. 

Cindi: Thank you Ada. I’m honored to be with you today.

Ada: You said in the post that your first project was a jacket and vest initially inspired by The Rabbit Tarot by Nakisha VanderHoeven.

How did you go from Tarot cards to a vest?

Cindi: Well… it was sort of the other way around.

I started my artistic adventure as a quilter. I met Nakisha on Twitter and LOVED her watercolors of bunnies and commissioned her to create the logo for my quilting business, featuring my two house bunnies and a quilt. 

We had several collabs where she generously shared her bunny art with me to use in my quilts and handbags.

As we got talking... Nakisha shared that she read tarot and had created a tarot deck using her original bunny art in place of the traditional Rider-Waite images. She sent me a deck with an invitation to create some items showcasing her Rabbit Tarot for an upcoming gallery show. 

The jacket and vest in my Insta post were created for that show. From there I have made quite a few jackets and vests using my clients favorite cards from their favorite tarot decks.

The Rabbit Tarot deck sat on my altar as I created the items for the show. After I sent them off to Nakisha...I started doing single card readings for myself and that….. was the beginning of my tarot journey.

Ada: I love that your path to Tarot was through quilting! 

Cindi: My grandmother would be so proud. She taught me to quilt when I was old enough to thread a needle.

Ada: I’m sure she would!

How did the single card readings you started with fit into your practice at the time? 

Cindi: At the time I didn’t know. I was just on a journey…. learning about tarot. I had stops and starts...I would get frustrated trying to memorize all 78 cards. Then I started reading intuitively and my readings took off and were more accurate. 

Now it’s my major divining tool. I use my cards...yes I still use The Rabbit Tarot :-) ... to help me manifest...find clarity...and assist me in expanding my practice and intuition.

Ada: I still use my first tarot deck, too. Mine is just a regular old Rider-Waite, but I’ve formed an attachment to it. 

Cindi: I think our first deck is always special…..

Ada: I agree!

How did you get started reading intuitively?

Cindi: It just sorta happened.

After months of going back and forth looking up the card’s meanings….I put them down and asked them what I should do. I pulled the Queen of Tulips. (In the Rabbit tarot Tulips = Cups; Sticks = Wands; Carrots = Swords; Daisies = Pentacles) Could I have pulled a more direct card for my question??? 

From that point forward, I would feel what the cards wanted me to know and they spoke to me.

I knew my friend was pregnant before she did! 

Ada: That must have been a really amazing moment! 

Cindi: It was! She was shocked...lol

Ada: So, it sounds like the cards themselves told you to put down other people’s interpretations and listen to your own intuition. Is that accurate, would you say?

Cindi: Absolutely.

It’s had a beautiful ripple effect in my whole magical practice.

Trusting my intuition has increased my trust in myself... making my whole life sparkle with magic. 

I’m reading a fab book “Intuitive Witchcraft” by @astreataylor that is helping me make leaps forward with my craft and unexpectedly turning on a couple special gifts.

In my opinion...learning to hone in on your intuition should be lesson #1 for every baby witch. It’s the solid foundation to build full witchy practice on.

Ada: Absolutely!

Are there practices that have been particularly helpful for you in honing your intuition?

Cindi: That’s a really good question and I had to take some time forming my answer.

Everyone is going to experience their intuition in different ways...so I’ll gladly share with you what worked for me.. Please realize, tuning into your intuition will be the most intimate thing you may ever do. It’s all yours to discover in your own special way.

I first set out to acquaint myself with my intuition.. 

I hear and feel mine. 

A little voice (well sometimes it screams but I’ll leave that alone right now) in my gut might say: Take the other road (and I missed a traffic back up) or Not a teaspoon of salt, use a ¼ (and avoided my biscuits being too salty).

I also can walk into a space and have this overwhelming feeling of being hugged or feel a severe drop in my energy….. Like a brick dropped in water.

I learned to be comfortable….like my fave jeans….with my intuition.

At one point I started overthinking so I would ask my guides if what I was experiencing was intuition or desire.

*Word of caution: Avoid getting locked into this step. The goal here is to learn to trust. Needing constant confirmation might delay your process.

Over time...I learned to tell the difference.

This really helped me: 

Harry Potter asks Dumbledore: Is this real or just in my head?

Dumbledore responded: Of course it’s in your head! But why should that mean it’s not real? 

This is the last step…..Practice Practice Practice

Going into nature is a great place to start.

I went into nature and listened…

I dug in the dirt and listened…

I planted...anything...and listened...

I paid attention to the birds….they spoke and I listened….

I saved a tree that was falling over and felt its immense gratitude. (He’s growing new baby trees on his trunk for the day he may break and those children will go on.)

When I create I wait to feel the input my intuition wants to add to my piece.

I let my intuition choose what book will help me on my journey or strengthen my practice. It’s never wrong.

Again, it helps me interpret tarot. And I strive to read every day.

My daily practice in the mundane world has made my intuition stronger and my life fuller.

Ada: That is so beautiful. If this was a voice conversation, this would be a moment for appreciative silence. 

You mentioned the role of intuition in your creative process. Have you noticed any patterns in the pieces your intuition leads you to work on? Connections with things going on in your life, maybe, or things you’re learning?

Cindi: Another great question!

I have two sides to my creative process/business.

One is the repetitive creation of my line of costumes. Different sizes but all basically the same.

The other, one of a kind art pieces. 

When I’m putting together a costume, I ask my intuition if there is anything specific or special I should add. Sometimes I’ll hear that this client is glittery and would love some bling. So I’ll deferdiffer again to my intuition to see if it's rhinestones, glitter or something I didn't think of.

Other times I will feel that she may need a longer bodice or a shorter skirt. My intuition will tell me the measurements and I go with it.

(After re-exploring these points with you, I’m feeling I should keep an intuition journal and document these intuition experiences.)

My one of a kind pieces are ALL intuition. 

I’ll wake up and see the piece I need to create. Like the Tarot jacket. I had never made a jacket in my life up to that point...ever. So I followed my intuition’s lead on where to source a pattern and how to modify it to work with quilted elements. Not really knowing anything about tarot at the time...except for one reading I had decades before...I went through the deck and when an image lit up in me….I knew The World was the one. (To be truthful though, I did a double check by shuffling the cards, fanned them out and pulled a single card. The World….and I almost fainted!)

Ada: It’s marvelous when the tarot is that clear.

Cindi: Intuition has also played a role in helping me process through some difficult times in my life. 

I had one year where I experienced some profound loss. The new costumes I created that year were quite maudlin. Up to that point my costumes had been storybook characters and princesses. I followed my intuition and made them anyway. As the process unfolded...specifically with Emily from The Corpse Bride….the darkness of both the costume and my shadow experiences morphed into something lighter and my healing began.

To your last point, I have learned….and it's an ongoing process... to always listen to my intuition. 

Sometimes I'm on my own...and that's OK. But my intuition knows when someone needs something only I can create. If I get an image, a feeling or hear instructions and don’t honor it...I will create “empty” items that never work.

I believe intuition...in all its applications... is what gives life depth.

You can live a good life without connecting to your intuition...but wouldn’t a fuller, sparkly one be more fulfilling??

Ada: I absolutely agree. 

Can you tell me about your business?

Cindi: I actually have two active businesses and a third in the making.

They each represent a different part of me...a land of fantasy, an artist, my witchy side of life.

The Crone and Her Rabbit will be coming to Instagram and Etsy some time in mid- 2022. I’ll be using my inner artist and my oh so outer witch to create things to tantalize the senses and uplift your craft.

The Polka Dot Rabbits is my shop on Etsy and it’s my most active. There I create costumes for all ages and specialty clothing for young ladies.

This is my “inner child” place where I can create glam witches, little girl superheroes, glittery princesses and not-so-gruesome ghoulies. 

It’s a land of fantasy and whimsy that keeps me young!

Cottontail Quilts is a word of mouth business where I’m able to create one of a kind art pieces like the Tarot jacket and vest. I also welcome commissions for personalized bed quilts. These quilts can take up to a year to create, so I’m limited to only 1 per year.

This business has a very profound story for me.

I worked in the corporate world and hated my job. I was so unhappy and just couldn't find a way out...or through….or around...or over. One morning the Universe said. “OK, we're stepping in.” I was gifted with agoraphobia (a profound fear of open spaces) and I was housebound. I say gifted because it was the most precious gift I have ever received.

New doors had suddenly opened for me, my witchy skills went through the roof and the way I looked at my world totally changed….. all because I stopped trying to shove myself into a skin that wasn’t mine.

I started creating my new life...and part of that was re-connecting to my inner artist. 

When the artist was happily on her way, the Universe boomed in again and said: ”Since you can’t live out IN the world... Let’s bring the world to you.”

In just a matter of months, I bought my first computer (I know...I was a late bloomer!) researched everything I could about e-commerce, bartered a quilt for a website and found Etsy. 

2006 was the year I finally felt comfortable with my true self...was living my authentic life….and found my purpose.

With baby steps I was able to go out into the world letting my true self shine.

My greatest moment since my agoraphobia awakening...was when my hubby bought tickets for a live performance of Celtic Woman (my Faves!) in a city three hours away from home. It took a few months of intense shadow work and re-examining how I worked with intention...but I made it. I did my hair, put on my new outfit and out the door we went. Calm as can be in the car...no panic attacks at the concert.

Now I can go just about anywhere. When I do have a panic attack...and I have had quite a few...I ground, center, call in my guides and tune into my intuition. Usually the cause is not being my authentic self...or veering off the path of my authentic life.

I spent a lot of my life looking away from myself in my day to day life. Now that I have learned  to really love myself...everything I see…. is magic. 

Ada: You have such a powerful story! 

Cindi: I look back and think it's just what I needed to do….but with a closer lens, I really am proud of what I did.

Ada: No kidding!

Am I reading this right? You bought your first computer and started an Etsy shop within a couple of months? 

Cindi: Yes... I did.

For years I had been making quilts, handbags and wall hangings. The kids had several each and I had no more room in my closet so I had to do something….and fast! LOL

Ada: That’s incredible! If you could go back in time and give advice to yourself when you were starting the Etsy shop, what would you say?

Cindi: Great question.

I'm very happy with my fledgling Etsy experience.

It was a wonderful platform for handmade businesses. Even as a computer rookie, I found it easy to set up, easy to use and Etsy set up the site to make the customer-seller relationship personal.

I would advise my 2008 self to keep the web site active to work in tandem with Etsy. 

It never hurts to have another toe in the water.

Thank you so much, Cindi, for allowing me to interview you! 



If you are interested in checking out Cindi’s work, you can visit her Etsy shop or connect with her on Instagram at the.crone.and.her.rabbit.

[lov3nerdstuff]

Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.5}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 1.4k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

______________________________

A glimpse into the fourth week of travels (the third week of July):

The lightning cut through Robin's vision, making the bright day even more unbearable to the eye than the white sky was anyway. The thunder that followed broken seconds later was a sound to match, piercing and swallowing every possibility of thought. It was then when the skies opened up, and the rain came pouring down onto the fields of the heat washed Normandy. This was their first expedition to a country beyond the UK… and of course it had to go anything but smoothly. Not only had it been terribly windy all morning, but now it was storming and wet as well, making things even more dreadful for Robin and Snape as they hurried along the most desolate countryside road in all of France. Had they known they would end up here in the middle of nowhere, they probably would have gone for a different theory after all. But now it was too late, they had already come too far to turn around. They were going to see this through now.

After ten minutes in the brutally whipping rain, they finally came across a saving grace in the form of a small bus shelter (or whatever it was supposed to be), and it didn't even take a second of thought to know that they would wait here for the storm to pass. Getting drenched wasn't the worst of it, really, but being wet and out in the wind was a doom to be freezing all too soon. And they still had some miles left to go, on to a place they couldn't apparate to if they knew neither its address nor appearance.

"I hate France." Robin grumbled as she let the water fade from her clothes and hair without wasting any time in the newly gained dry space. But shedding the water unfortunately left her feeling no warmer than before.

"Have you actually seen any of the country before today or is your judgement merely based on getting caught in the rain right now?"

"It's based on me freezing right now! And even more on the stupid French books I had to translate in order to get anywhere with the stupid research on the stupid mushroom growing at the end of this stupid road!"

"You skipped breakfast again, didn't you?"

"What does it matter… It's too bloody cold to eat anyway." Robin crossed her arms over her chest with a quiet huff, trying to keep herself from shivering, but it was of no use. She did see his point though, perhaps she really was being cranky… but being cold was way worse than not eating breakfast! There had been more important matters to attend to that morning. Getting to bloody France, for example.

"I would still like you to eat." He said calmly but in determination, making Robin sigh in defeat in return. There really was nothing she wouldn't do if he asked it of her, which was equally scary as it was astonishing. Perhaps she felt this way because she knew that he would never ask anything of her that would be to her disadvantage. Perhaps she simply trusted him that much. Bloody hell, she most definitely did, there was no 'perhaps' needed. And if he wanted her to eat, as ridiculous a request as it might seem, she would relent to his wish.

"Have breakfast with me, then." Robin stated rather than asked, with a certain glance up at him now rather than down at the ground. If he could command her to his wish, perhaps she could do the same with him. "I'd bet you haven't eaten either."

"Very well." He was surprisingly quick to agree, and Robin couldn't help giving him a small smirk before first digging out the large blanket from her backpack first, then her entire storage of all kinds of food. Since living in a tent, she had gotten used to buying and thus carrying around quite enough provisions for multiple days, or in this case, for a neat breakfast for two. She would gladly share with him the little she had, without even a doubt. And as long as he didn't know just how little that really was, she believed he would gladly accept it in return.

Less than a minute later they were sitting side by side, a little warmer already from the (of course entirely accidental yet undeniably comfortable) closeness between them, and somehow Robin found herself not hating France quite so much anymore. Still, now, there were two things that were making her shiver.

"Still cold?" Snape asked in return, and Robin could have laughed at how very aware he was of her and yet how unaware of everything beyond. It was her luck that he was quite as bad at interpreting the little accidental tells of her emotions as she was at hiding them. He knew so much, and yet he knew so little at the same time… Always the ambivalence, that man.

"Quite, yes." She finally made herself reply in a breathless smile, while keeping her eyes on the tartan pattern of the blanket beneath her. She'd had that old thing for ages already, but never quite gotten around to changing its colour to something less posh. By now and in a way, she almost liked that it looked quite so terrible.

"Well, in that case I would suggest that you find yourself that black jumper you likely are keeping in your bag currently. High collar, tight sleeves, loose waist… you know which one."

"I didn't know you were so knowledgeable about my wardrobe." Robin chuckled in sincere amusement. "I could indeed wear that one, but that would be terribly unfair."

"Why, pray tell, would it be unfair to wear a jumper when you are cold?"

"Because you don't have a jacket either! I'd feel terrible to be all warm and cozy and leave you freezing by yourself."

"That's ridiculous."

"It's not!"

"It is."

"Well, then tell me in all honesty that you aren't cold." Robin quirked an eyebrow up at him defiantly. "If you're feeling perfectly fine and warm as it is, I'll shut up immediately and put on my jumper without any further discussion."

"I won't lie to you to soothe your bad conscience, Robin. I will not lie to you at all."

"So you are cold."

"Yes." He replied simply, truthfully. "But that does not by any means justify that you should be freezing as well, so do put on your jumper now or I will be gone in a second."

Geez, he totally knew that his threat of leaving was the only functioning leverage he really had on her these days… Insufferable idiot. With a small sigh and an even smaller smile Robin rolled her eyes rather visibly, then grabbed her backpack indeed and started roaming through its depth in practiced search, though not for the jumper in question. What she easily dug up instead was better by far; a warm quilt that had been serving as her duvet at night ever since she started living in her tent. But he didn't need to know that. Without asking for approval, Robin simply draped the huge quilt around his shoulders first, with little effort while sitting up on her knees, then crossed her legs beneath herself and wrapped the remaining fabric around her own body as well. 

Now that was better already… and he didn't make any obvious attempt to protest either. A good chunk of nervousness she hadn't known she'd held onto fell off her mind and heart in an instant, and she found herself smiling before she knew. The blanket was large enough by far, they didn't have to sit too closely together to be covered in warmth, but still before long their arms were miraculously touching, then their entire sides, both resting against each other without a word.

"Breakfast in Normandy… I didn't think I'd live to experience that." Robin sighed after a while of comfortable silence, quirking an eyebrow up at Snape with a smirk, and her heart skipped a beat when he barely visibly smiled down at her in return. "Without being cold, it's actually quite nice here."

"Then let us hope that the storm lasts long enough to have a coffee as well."

"Or three."

"You truly are terrible."

"You probably meant to say insufferable."

"My point exactly."

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[glitterbootsharry]

Two- Witchy Woman

Disclaimer: I do not know much about witchcraft or anything associated with it besides the few tv shows and movies I have seen. If I have gotten anything wrong or mixed up, please feel free to let me know. I want to get as much right as I can as I have done some research, but I know I do not know a lot.

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I bite at my thumb pad as I look my dilemma in the eye and time is running out. Rowan will be here soon, and after making the last clean up check, I decide that my bleached tee isn’t good enough for the small study session. Two button up shirts lay on my bed, covering the blue plaid quilt my mum bought me when I first moved out- she cried as she pressed the nonexistent wrinkles out of the thick fabric with her hands, tucking the corners neatly under the mattress. My eyes divert between the two. They’re the same, in reality, just inverted colors of the other. The white droplets on the black silk. The black droplets on the white silk. I walk over to my top drawer and search for the matching neck scarf that I insisted on buying, giving my older sister another reason to roll her eyes at me. I hear a sudden knock on my front door and in haste, I pull out my answer to my dilemma.

“Coming,” I call out, buttoning the white droplet shirt. I ruffle my long curly hair before rushing to the front door, my shirt half-buttoned.

I turn the knob, holding my breath as I watch Rowan come into view. Her hair is pulled into a neat ponytail hoisted high on her head and she’s wearing a black graphic tee that her sleeves rolled up. “Hi,” my voice croaks as she stands outside my flat door with her backpack on her shoulders. The black velvet chicken lays across her throat as it tighter as she smiles softly at me with her mouth parts slowly.

“Hi.” My hand grips the brass knob tightly as I lean against the wooden door, crossing my legs in front of one another. I become all too aware of how long I look at Rowan, drinking in her brown eyes and drowning in her glowing skin. I want to stare at her all day- she could be doing nothing and I would be intrigued.

“Can I come in or are we studying out here?” She cocks her brow up at me, a sly smile forming on her mouth before I push the door open completely forgetting the reason she came here for.

“Oh, erm, yeah,” I rub the nape of my neck, embarrassed as I motion her through the doorway. She walks past me, her shoulder brushing my chest, and I smell the sweet scent of flowers. “How are you?” I close the door and follow her into my living room. It’s small, with only a couch, television and its stand and small coffee table in between the two, but it’s one of my favorite places in the flat. She sits down on the cream leather couch and begins to dig through her bag.

“I’m fine,” she says as she pulls out two copies of The Tempest. “Didn’t know if you had a copy so I grabbed one from the store. If that’s okay?” She hands me the red used book, corners of the pages slightly torn from the previous owners’ use. I suddenly feel warm as I stand in the room, all too aware of my looming presence. I sit down beside her, looking over the book before realizing that my own book is in my bedroom. “Thanks,” I hold up my gift before gently opening the cover. Inside was a new inscription from the gingerly handwriting that I have just now come in contact with.

“I owed you.”

I smiled as I turned the page and began to read the play again. I can’t help but notice how close we’re sitting next to each other, feeling the electricity nearly flying through us. I clear my throat as I try to concentrate on the printed words, but her slow breathing fills my ears. I adjust my black jeans and run my hand across the length of my jeans, wiping the slight sweat away. It was too much for any man to bear, being in the room with Rowan, let alone being this close to her. My pinky could reach over and touch the exposed skin of her knees and I’d melt into liquid. I look over at her, her brows furrowed in concentration, and I feel my heart begin to race. The black ink tattoo behind her ear is of a crescent moon and stars creeping onto her neck. “Do you want some coffee? Tea? Crisps?” I ask, finally breaking the heavy and unbearable silence between us. Rowan looks up at me, completely exasperated, and smiles softly, placing her hand in the crook of the small book with her pencil stuck in her ponytail.

“Sure,” she says, her voice melodic to my ears. Her eyes are dark when looking up at me and I feel my throat run dry and I can’t seem to watch her watching me. Normally, I’m calm and collected around women- I can chat them up all the way to my bedroom to pull my leg over, but Rowan… She makes me nervous when she walks into the room with my stomach in knots. “Whatever you have is nice. Don’t go and make a fuss because of me.”

You’re worth the fuss, I think to myself. What is going on, Styles? You’re never like this.

I shake my head and leave the living room to Rowan. The kitchen, though small, is big enough to let my thoughts out. I think Rowan’s beautiful, yes, but why am I so nervous around her? She’s just my classmate and we’re doing a project together. Calm down.

The kettle hisses at me, letting me know it’s ready and I pour it into a teapot, grab two cups placing them with sugar and milk on a small tray my absent father gave me two birthdays ago and tuck the half empty bag of crisps under my elbow. I walk back into the living room with Rowan on the phone, her voice frantic.

“You sure? Is she okay?” she asks, turning her body into the couch when she sees me. “Alright, erm, I’ll be right there. Thank you, Mary.”

She looks up at me with pleading eyes full of regret before she speaks, her voice barely above a squeak.

“I’ve got to go. It’s me Gran.” She stands and proceeds to shove her book into her bag before she walks out of my flat, but not before I place the tray down on the table with a force that I never meant to use, rattling the porcelain dishes.

“Wait, let me, at least, walk you down,” I call out, running after her as I rake my hair in frustration. I closed the door, half running after Rowan as she glided down the stairs. She’s in the car park before I can break ground. The sound of the engine spurring fills the air. She tries to turn the engine again, again, and again until I reach the opened car door.

“You’ll flood the engine that way. Be no use to you then,” I say, my smile trying to calm Rowan down. “I can take you.”

“I can’t ask that of you, Harry,” Rowan’s voice breaks, tears spilling down her face.

“You didn’t ask, love, I offered. C’mon,” I nod my head back to my flat. “Let me grab my keys and wallet and we’ll be on the way, yeah?” Rowan nods as she stands outside her car. I hear the slamming of her door when I turn to leave and a hushed, “Fuck.”

***

“It’s down there. First little dirt road on your left,” Rowan points at the small brown path that barely lets my car fit on its way. It was a quiet thirty minute drive to the small village Rowan calls home. Shere- the small town that never lets any new business go unnoticed. Rowan busied herself calling Mary again to check in, letting her know she was on the way. I pull up to a small weather worn red brick house with flowers planted in every inch of ground that could be except for the small gravel pathway that leads you to the front wooden door. Roses, tulips, daffodils, wildflowers- Rowan had every flower that one could have, but the majority of the vast arrangement of color were roses- pink, yellow, purple, red. Vines and moss creep up the brick of the house with no intention of stopping.

“You want to come in?” Rowan asks as she begins to climb out of my car. “Be a shame that you came all this way without a proper cup of tea and a thank you.”

“You want me to come in?” I ask, but Rowan pushes the front door of her home open by the time I climb out of my car. She left the front door open for me and when I walked in, the strong scent of flowers and chocolate hit my nose.

“Gran?” Rowan calls out, her eyes frantic as she walks into the front hallway. “Why don’t you wait for me in the parlor? Gran should be coming soon.” She turns her head looking back into the open sliding glass door into the back garden. “Erm, she’s got a bit of a memory problem so…” She looks back up to me, tears brimming over.

“Go,” I say, “I’ll find the parlor. Don’t worry about me.” Rowan smiles, graciously, and walks into the back garden, which unsurprisingly, has more roses and plants within eyesight. I wander around the small home, the cozy air reminding me of my childhood one, before I find the small unused parlor. Book line the walls- all the way from Poe to Everything to You Need to Know about Herbs. I run my finger over the spine of a small leather book labeled “Astarte’s Book of Shadows”. I pull it from the row, the leather claiming the books that sit next to it. It feels heavy when I finally have it in my hands and I have an urge to open it, but the feeling fades when I hear Rowan’s voice.

“Gran, you can’t do that. The cookies were burning. You scared me. What if I-“

“Ya Amar, you cannot worry about such things. I’m fine. How was your reading with that tall boy you told me about?” A sweet, but stern voice spoke back at Rowan’s concerns.

“You were sitting on the garden wall- the high one. But,” Rowan sighed. “My car wouldn’t start so he brought me. He’s in the study, Gran. Behave.” A small elderly woman that looked almost like Rowan with a crooked back turned into the room. Her skin was tanned like Rowan’s but with white long hair in a braid. Her skin, wrinkled with sun spots, was also covered with small tattoos. She looked up at me and smiled before sitting down on the blue couch that I was standing behind. I placed the black book back on the shelf and sat down beside the aging woman. I extend my hand and introduce myself.

“Harry Styles, madam.” She looks at my hand and smiles. Her fragile fingers wrap around my pinky, pulling me towards her. She places her other hand over the top of mine before speaking.

“You know she likes you too. Only one who's ever been truly nice to her. Alice Lloyd.” She lets go of my hand and laughs softly as she was in a small joke that I was unaware of.

Do what? I think. I never said…

“You didn’t have to.”

“Gran, behave.” Rowan brings three cups in one hand. I try to stand to help her, but she shoots me down. She brings an antique teapot. She gently pours tea into the three cups, smiling as she hands Alice her cup and as she hands me my own, her smile is full of gratitude.

“Quite a garden you have,” I say speaking to both women. “It’s lovely.”

“Gran started it when she moved here years ago. I just try to keep it up,” Rowan sits down into the chair opposite us. Her hair is down, small tendrils falling into her face as she blows into the small cup.

“You do more than that, ya amar. You put the new basil bush in just yesterday. Don’t sell yourself short, love,” Alice sighs before turning to me. “You from London, Harry?”

“Just outside. Holmes Chapel in Cheshire. My mum owns a pub there in town.”

“How nice,” Alice looks at my shirt and I’m all too aware that my shirt is nearly unbuttoned, exposing my two swallows on my chest and the butterfly on my torso. I clear my throat as I try to casually button the rest of my shirt. “You go to the university, as well? English major? Let me guess, you want to become a writer?”

“Gran,” Rowan’s voice is short- her eyes not faltering from her tea.

“Well, it looks like the fun for me has run out. The adventure outside has taken me so I think I’ll retire to my bedroom for the evening. Good meeting you, Harry,” Alice motions me to lean closer to her with her finger and when doing so, I feel the slight wet kiss on my cheek. I smile before speaking, “Nice meeting you Gran.”

Rowan helps her grandmother up and when they think they’re out of hearing, I hear the small whisper, “He’s got dimples, Rowan. Quite handsome. Don’t mess this up.”

I smile, my dimples evident, as I hear Rowan’s small, but grand response, my heart overwhelming with joy and wanting.

“I won’t. As long as he doesn’t.”

###

@awomanindeniall​ @sunflwr-styles​

[blackenedwhite97]

Trials ( An Erasermic x Reader Medieval AU Ch.11-12)

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

https://blackenedwhite97.tumblr.com/post/643722830321696769/trials-an-erasermic-x-reader-medieval-au

CHAPTER 11

The next time you awoke the long glass ceiling was filled with inky darkness, a dull amber glow barely vignetting the far edge of the sky. There was no longer a hustle and bustle in the hall beyond the closed heavy doors to your wing, and across from you Hizashi breathed softly in his sleep. He had changed his clothes since you'd fallen asleep, he was wearing a similar forest green tunic to the one he had one when you first met him and his hair washed and haloing out around him. You too had been changed in your sleep, your oversized traveling clothes replaced with a fresh white linen dressing gown. Next to Hizashi, stretched out across a still made cot, was Shouta. He had yet to change fully, his pants were still the same black worn trousers he'd been wearing for the last handful of days but he'd peeled off the heavy top layers and was wearing a thin linen shirt not so dissimilar to your dressing gown.

The door creaked open every so slightly, wavering golden light spilling into the room in a clean molten ray. A man, peered in, his features silhouetted by the torches in the hallways, his head was more than a foot or so higher than the average man's head when standing tall. The edge of his broad shoulder peeked through the door as well, and a huge hand wrapped around the edge of the door. He slowly pushed the door open, trying to keep the heavy door's moans to a minimum. As he entered the room you got a good look at his full size, he was enormous. His shoulders were as wide and Shouta and Hizashi's side and his arms reminded you of the brutal strength in an ox's legs, you could see defined mounds of muscle through the rich red velvet that encircled his arms.

"Hello." He whispered softly, looking at you. You could see the faintest outline of his face in the light from the hallway, a kind smile across his lips.

"H-hello." you greeted back, choking on the dryness in your throat.

He walked towards you, for a man his size he was exceptionally quiet. He wasn't soundless like Shouta could be but his foot falls were light and controlled like he had lots of practice roaming around in the small hours when everyone was asleep. The closer he got the more you could see, he had golden hair that was neatly combed back, two clocks in the front refuting the lay flat, and glowing blue eyes. The doublet he wore was a rich blue quilted velvet, the long sleeved tunic beneath it made from red velvet, the clasps of the doublet were gold and the shoulers were lined with little tufts of white fur. He was dressed unbelievably lavishly, his clothes fitting to those of a king.

"My name is Toshinori." He greeted, sitting down smoothly on the cot next to you.

"Toshi- Lord Toshinori?" you gasped. You tried to sit up, maybe even stand, tried to make an effort to greet the lord properly.

"Please," he raised a hand to stop you, "it's alright. I take it Shouta and hizashi have told you a bit about us then?"

"A-a little bit," You muttered, still acutely aware you were speaking to a lord you threw in some formality for good measure, "m-my Lord."

"Good." He was still smiling but there was an air of awkwardness about it. "You may call me Toshinori when we aren't speaking under official circumstances, Y/n."

"Of course, m-Toshinori." You smiled politely. A Lord, who didn't want to be referred to as a Lord, at all times? You suddenly understood Shouta's horrendous display of court formalities a few days ago. "How did you-"

"I spoke to Shouta earlier today, after you and Hizashi were tended to he came to speak to me. He informed me of your meeting and of some of the details of our travels, you've had a very exciting week." The way he spoke warmed you to your bones, kindness seeped outwards from him in thick wafting waves.

"That's a nice way to put it." you responded. Exciting. Try traumatic.

"Yes," he chuckled deeply, "I've been told I tend to sugar coat things."

He fidgeted awkwardly with a clasp on his doublet and sighed, his eyes were far away in thought.

"Regardless of what you've experienced, Y/n, you are safe here." He looked up at you.

"What is here?" you asked, wanting so badly to understand how a man you'd only just met could make that promise so assuredly.

"Hhhhm, where to begin. What do you know?" he asked, a sparkle in his eye.

"About this place?" You collected your thoughts for a moment before speaking. "Shouta and Hizashi say that it's their home, that the people who live here have special abilities like- like me."

You tried to stop yourself out of habit, the idea that you could exist here without hiding this part of yourself would take some getting used to.

"Before that, though... I suppose just the legends of towns folk and gossiping children whispered about the great disappearing fortress in the mountains, a home to the creatures that stalk the mountains at night." You paused for a moment, remembering how you'd passed through a set of trees and then all of a sudden the walls were rising up before you. "You don't have an army of ghouls and spirits in secret do you?"

"Not that I am aware of." Toshinori laughed. "I'm ever so amazed at how those stories have kept over time, probably for the best..."

He trailed off, he looked far away again, this time he was looking at something specific. He cleared his throat softly as he came back.

"Well, I suppose I'll start from the beginning." He shifted further onto the bed. "My name is Toshinori Yagi, I grew up far away in the west. I'm the second born to the House of Yagi and was, once upon a time, first in line for the throne. That was, until my mother found out I was different, to her I was dealing with dark arts and witchcraft, but to me I was suddenly plagued with abilities no sane man would ever ask for."

He looked at his hands, as if they held a script.

"My mother, she was very religious you see, and she could not have a son who would go so far against God so as to practice witchcraft so she motioned for my father to kill me." Toshinori was speaking casually, as if he'd told this story many times over. "He was a kind man, my father, and he couldn't bring himself to order an execution. Instead I was ordered into exile, and sent into the world with nothing. I wandered, I wandered and found pity from a farmer who let me stay in his stables and later a traveling merchant who let me ride with him to the east and again from an old woman who'd lost her son and couldn't till her own land any longer.

" I stayed in a village not far from here for months, and while there, I learned of the local myths surrounding this fortress. At the time it was said that it was empty save perhaps a pack of wolves that had made a home in a portion of the crumbled wall. I stayed in that village until the winter frost began to form and farm work ran out for me." Toshinori paused, it was only a brief moment of silence before he started again, his voice slightly more grim than before.

"I needed somewhere to stay, shelter that wasn't haphazardly pitched tents that filled up with smoke every night. I found myself in the hills and looked up to the mountainside at the great stone walls of this fortress and decided that, even if it were just for the winter, that there had to be somewhere here I could make a home.When I arrived, however, I found that the village folk had been sorely mistaken about the fortress being empty and decrepit. This is where I met the woman that would change my life, the woman who would teach me how to control these new abilities of mine and the woman who would make all of this possible." Toshinori gestures around.

" Her name was Nana Shimura and she was like us, special. She let me stay the winter and eventually the spring and then eventually she realized she wouldn't be able to get rid of me. It wasn't long until Nana was able to help me control my own strength, she was a great teacher, after all. One day, in the late fall, I'd been on my way back up the mountain with some supplies from town when I happened across a man who was wandering the forest looking for a woman he'd been told could help him.

"He said that he'd heard of a witch who lived in an old fortress haunted by spirits that could help someone who suddenly found themselves plagued with dark abilities." Toshinori cleared his throat. "He had originally wanted to be healed, wanted to be stripped of his abilities."

"I-is that possible?" You blurted out, you had been trying so hard not to interrupt but the idea that you could theoretically go back to a normal life sparked something in you.

"Not in any way that I know of." Toshinori hummed. "We were curious too but we were never able to find anything that supported what this man believed Nana could do. Instead, he came to stay with us for a while."

Toshinori paused again as if you waited for more questions, there was a part of you that would have gladly taken the opportunity if the other, rational part of you hadn't been screaming at you for having just interrupted a Lord. When you didn't speak he continued.

"It was in finding that man that I realized that Nana and I were not alone, that there must be more people like us. I wanted to make somewhere for people like us, ostracized, unjustly convicted," Toshinori's fists balled, his knuckles paling. "somewhere for us to seek refuge."

"A safe haven." You muttered dreamily.

"Exactly." He hummed. " I was in line for the throne and even that couldn't save me. I realized very quickly I was lucky, though. Had I been born ro any lesser family my neck would have been on the chopping block, or my body hanging from a noose. And so, I welcome all sorts to Kaer Yuuei, and we became a fully functioning community in no time. We were small in numbers but with our abilities being so vast and varied we found new ways to thrive. Now, we're the largest settlement of our kind."

"There are others?" you asked, shocked.

"Yes." he looked saddened, his fingers picking at his knuckles. " There was one to the south, but it has been annihilated in recent years by House Noro.

Your blood ran cold. The name, Noro, seemed to follow you everywhere.

"There are two more far to the east, smaller settlements that work together rather well. We've had brief dealings with them in the past." He continued. "But they were all formed only after I began my work here."

"Y-you started this place on your own?" You stammered. He seemed so kind to begin with, but the more he spoke to more you understood there was something deep within him that went beyond just kindness. He spoke about his own family so blasé but when he spoke of the shuddering of others, his hands trembled. He was that special sort of person, the sort of person your mother had been. He was a good man. It was rare to find anyone who would go beyond the law and the church, someone who went beyond just staying in line. If someone like him had been in your little village...Shouta and Hizashi had, you reminded yourself. They were also good men. You glanced wistfully at them as they slept.

"Not on my own," Toshinori smiled, blush creeping across his face. "I had help."

Toshinori followed your eyeline, watching the two of them sleep for a moment before looking away.

"I met those two nearly ten years ago." He smiled. "Hizashi came riding up the mountain side one day, a barely conscious Shouta sliding from his saddle. They had come from the southern country, and Shouta was in a bad way. They had had dealings with the House of Noro."

You straighten up at that name, Noro. It was understandable the fear that Shouta had expressed at the idea of witch hunters, especially given what they thought you all were, but there'd been something more to his ration when Hizashi had told him about seeing the crest. Something you hadn't been sure at the time you were able to ask about, in fact, you still weren't.

"That's a story for him to tell, I'm afraid." Toshinori smiled at you. "Shouta wanted to go back south when he was able to travel once again, but it was Hizashi who convinced him to stay. Instead they traveled to the surrounding towns to keep an eye out for any signs of House Noro or their victims who had fled north. It was they who pioneered our efforts to find and protect others like us outside of these hills."

"Hm." you breathed. "Even if it hadn't been them who found me, I'd still have them to thank."

You were both silent for a moment, something hung heavy over Lord Toshinori's head.

"I hope you don't feel as though you are in debt to us, y/n." He looked up at you, a very grim look on his face. "We don't even want you, or anyone here for that matter, to feel as though they owe us their allegiance. We-"

He sighed heavily.

"Many of us have experienced the same fate, experienced the same kind of baseless hatred. We- we can't just stand by and watch others burn." His lip...quivered. You could barely see it in the dull light but there was a twinkle of tears welling up in his eyes.

"I'm afraid, whether you want it or not, I do owe you all my life." You chewed your lip. "But, if the only way for me to repay that debt is to thrive, in spite of what had been done to us...well, I think I can do that."

Toshinori smiled wide, a laugh shaking his shoulders. He wiped his cheek with the back of his hand and sniffed loudly.

"A-are you crying?" Shouta asked blearily from his cot, rubbing his eyes.

"It's not my fault this time, I swear." Toshinori laughed softly, realizing he had to be quieter lest he want to also wake Hizashi. "She's a good one."

"Yeah," Shouta smiled sleepily and looked at you through heavy eyelashes. "I know."

You smiled back. He was so...relaxed. Even during the calm points in your travel Shouta still seemed aware, or alert, or at least uncomfortable. For the first time since you'd met him he seemed fully relaxed, like he'd been able to leave his constant vigilance at the gate. There was something about the way he slumped back against the headboard to this cot that warmed you. You suddenly felt as safe as he seemed to, waves of relief washed over you. You hadn't realized that you'd been holding on to so much fear until just now, even when Toshinori had promised you safety you'd been reluctant to let go.

You were, for the first time since this had all begun, really looking forward. Not staring with empty eyes at a horizon, fooling yourself into thinking you were trying to think of the future, when really you were too stuck in the present and the past. A sudden flurry of thought hit you, like who would you meet, what would you eat, would you become a healer here, what would you do for a living, where would you live.

"Uh," you swallowed. "W-where am I going to live? I mean, how does this work, here?"

"We'll have to find you a place." Toshinori leaned back comfortably, as if problem solving was his natural state. "You may have to stay in the training barracks for a while, or possibly the dorms at the school until we can get you settled."

"She can-" Shouta started abruptly, then slowed himself down. "She can stay with us, for the time being. We've already been traveling together so-"

"If Y/n is alright with that, I suppose." Toshinori pondered. "Of course, if you want more privacy you could always-"

"I would like that." you rushed. "I-I uh, don't really want to...be alone."

A wild blush crept across your face and you looked down at your hands. It was strange, you felt inexplicably safe with both of these men, perhaps it was the vulnerability the Lord had just shown you, but you felt as though they could be trusted with that information. However, you were a fully grown woman who lived on her own for the better part of her adult years now and admitting something like that was mortifying.

You felt the edge of your cot dip and looked up to find Shouta sitting at your feet. He placed a hand on your leg and ran his up and down your leg in long soothing motions.

"You don't have to be." he hummed, sleep still thick in his voice. He was half awake but his instincts were still telling him to comfort you. You heart swelled.

"Settled." Toshinori declared. "You have time to get settled, to build a life Y/n. Don't worry about the future just yet, alright?"

CHAPTER 12

Winter

6 months Later

The world had frozen overnight, what had started off as a mild winter had quickly become snow up to your knees and breaths freezing on your lips. You peered beyond the bushes, the buck knee-deep in snow, its snout rummaging around for frozen berries of a snow capped bush. You slowly shifted your balance so you were perched up on one knee, your other leg propped to balance you. Slowly you lifted your semi-translucent shimmering bow, an arrow notched and ready to be drawn. You hoped the bush would give you enough cover to hide the dull purple glow that radiated from your bow as you aimed. You'd been able to somewhat control the amount of light and the opacity of the items you conjured since coming to Kaer Yuuei but there was always a residual purple glow about everything.

You stilled yourself and dre your bow, lining up a shot towards the lower front of the buck's abdomen. You could feel the strain of the bow under your fingers, with every passing second your arms began to sway more and more under the draw weight. You held your breath and released the arrow, somewhat cloaked by its transparent nature, you could barely see it fly over the snow. The buck shunted sideways with the force of the blow and scuttled into the treeline, disappearing over a bank of snow that had piled up around the base of the trees. You dropped the bow, the astral conjuration blinking from existence before it could hit the snow.

You dashed through clearing after the buck, with a wound like that, especially now that the arrow had been dismissed, it wouldn't take too long for the buck to pass out. A thick trail of blood had melted through the snow, the buck only made it a few rows of trees before its legs gave out. Its eyes were glazed over and its breaths were shallow and laboured and you had to grit your teeth and close your eyes and you summon a long blade to make its final moments easier. You looped a thick rope around it's rear hooves and begna your trek back to Kaer Yuuei, towing your bounty behind you in the snow.

The sun had begun to set by the time you made it to the gates, as the mountain side grew darker the golden lights of Kaer Yuuei grew brighter.

"Y/n!" Kirishima greeted, smiling brilliantly. He was one of the boys you'd seen opening the gates of the first day you arrived and over the last six months you'd learn he was one of Shouta's students. "There's an emergency council at the hall, just got called a few minutes ago. I'll take the buck to the butcher so you're not late."

As if the buck hadn't weighed over two hundred pounds, Kirishima wrapped the rope around his hands and hauled it off down the road with ease. You jogged through the layers of the fortress, noticing the streets were less busy than they normally were. This meant that either the snow had deterred folks from leaving their homes or that the council was dire. Councils were held in what you had assumed to be Lord Toshinori's manor when you first arrived at Kaer Yuuei, however you later found out that he only lived on one of the upper floors and the rest of this building was used by the public for gatherings, councils and a place to host large celebratory meals.

The door was just barely cracked open and as you slipped in you were met with a broad pair of shoulders, you ducked to the side and apologized for the near collison. A hand grabbed yours and tugged you away towards a pillar that left a bit of an empty pocket behind it, away from the overly crowded room. You followed, looking up to see Hizashi grinning at you. His nose and cheeks were pink as if he'd just come in from the cold and he still had a great furry hood pulled up over his head.

"You're late." he mumbled under his breath as the two of you settled next to the pillar. The room was filled with a low rumble of voices, the council had obviously not started just yet. You could hear a few words here and there, some were just talking idly and others wondering why the council had been called.

"The snow slowed me down." You responded, taking off your thick fur lined mittens. "Where's Sho? I thought you two had class together today."

"At the front." Hizashi's usually dopey grin faltered. "He got called away by Toshinori earlier today, I think something's happened. I heard whispers of a scout returning late last night in bad shape."

" I heard there were some sightings of House Noro not too far from here, a little south but still too close for comfort." A sultry, feminine voice hummed behind you.

You looked over your shoulder to see a familiar face. Nemuri was a beautiful woman with long dark hair and icy blue eyes, a coy smile seemed to be permanently affixed to her lips. Nemuri had become one of your closest points of contact since coming to Kaer Yuuei, she had been friends with Hizashi since he was a kid. They went their separate ways as teens, Hizashi leaving after the bandit attack on his village and the two of them reconnected years later, here.

Hizashi swore under his breath and crossed his arms.

"Makes sense." He grumbled. "That's why'd they call Sho."

You were about to ask for clarification on the rumor but Toshinori's booming voice rang out, silencing the room.

"I understand the shift change is going to happen soon so I'll make this as quick as possible." He started, his voice sounded tired. Hell, he looked tired, his normal shining yes were weighed down by dark circles. "A week ago one of our agents went missing, he turned up again last night. He'd been intercepted by a group of riders while returning from an investigation out west and was abducted."

There was a collective breath. You could feel the tone of the room change all in one moment, there was a tense fear beginning to creep into everyone. Yourself included.

"Whilst in captivity our agent was able to obtain important information. Namely that the riders who abducted him were of House Noro, this was verified by Shouta who examined a letter with a crest our agent had managed to collect." Toshinori glances sparingly at Shouta. You weren't able to see much of Shouta through the crowd but you could tell he was slouching, and there was a dark look on the half of his face you could see. "What's more is that he was able to find out that the Noro family have been enslaving gifted people and forcing them to work on their behalf. While we are not entirely clear to what these gifted individuals can do, our agent was able to find out one of the slaves had a tracking abiltiy."

A smaller man, perhaps he was regular sized only to be dwarfed by Toshinori, stepped forward with a linen bag and handed it off to the Lord.

"From what our agent was able to gather this individual is able to track the general direction of an individual, using an object with immense personal value. During their escape our agent grabbed an item he'd seen the tracker using." Toshinori opened the bag and reached inside. You shifted to the side a bit to peer through a set of large shoulders, trying to get a better view of the item and he pulled it out.

"We believe that this item is how they've managed to get so close to us." he declared, withdrawing his hand.

From his fingertips dangled a necklace. The chain was silver, warped in places, and in the center hung a polished turquoise stone surrounded by silver filigree. That necklace, the last time you'd seen that necklace it had been glittering in the sun a handful of yard from you, hanging at a vender's stall and labeled a witch's medallion. You'd dreamed about that necklace a few times since you'd made it to Yuuei, about how it hung around your mother's neck, how it looked against her always clean linen dresses, how you'd wanted it for yourself so badly as a child. You'd half thought about going back to find it or asking the next person who would be passing through your old town to buy it for you.

Your stomach dropped, and suddenly the room was too hot and your mouth was dry. Your breaths felt heavy, like running your hand through water. The men in front of you were radiating heat, scorching waves of sweat. Hizashi and Nemuri too, and you pulled back. Your back met someone's chest and you huffed a rushed apology and ducked away, yoru shoulder brushed someone and then another, no where you ducked to was safe. The room was positively sweltering now, sweat was pooling under your jacket and every person you came in contact with felt like a hot iron pressed into your body, breaths coming harder and harder with every contact. You scrambled for the door, trying to dip and weave and stay away from stray shoulders and out cropped elbows. You pushed on the heavy doors with all your weight and were greeted with a cold wind, littered with snowflakes and you stepped out into the night.

Hizashi clamoured out after you, you name on his lips. He'd been calling you names you'd realized as the cold snow granted you more clarity. He's been calling your name the whole time. You didn't have the breath to speak, you didn't have the breath to think. You barely hand enough to be feeling the panic that was rising in your chest. You slid down to your knees in the show and buried your bare hands into the fresh icy powder trying to grip for more clarity.

"Y/n," Hizashi's arms wrapped around you and you could feel his chest pressing into you back. He'd slip down into the snow with you. "what's happening?"

His voice was soft, comforting but a little frightened. He placed his chin on your shoulder and in an instant just having him wrapped around you your breaths came easier.

"The-" you panted, swallowing hard. He waited patiently, looking his finger through yours. "The necklace, Hizashi-"

"What about it?" he asked, directing your frantic thoughts as you trailed off.

"Mine." you hiccuped. Hot tears were swelling in your eyes now, the panic was giving way to guilt now. "Me. They're tracking-"

"It'll be, okay." Hizashi shushed you softly.

It wasn't true. It hadn't been true, not ever. You were meant to die in that cage, you cheated death when they showed up and this was punishment for that. You were the reason why this new life of yours was going to be taken away.

"Stop." you huffed. "Stop- lying."

Hizashi's arms tensed, you'd hit a nerve. He pulled away and stepped around you so he was crouching in the snow, his emerald green eyes boring into your own.

"I'm not." he declared. "We'll fix this, we always do. We'll take care of you."

You felt your bottom lip quiver and the tears that welled up in your eyes fell. You'd needed saving so much during your time with Shouta and Hizashi and you tried not to feel badly about it but you couldn't help but feel guilty now. Not only was you who needed saving but now all of the gifted folk who were in danger because you were the one they were tracking. Hizahsi grabbed your face with both of his hands and stared in your weeping eyes, you could see him breaking apart slowly. He sighed and dropped his head to yours, leaning against you. His breath floated up into the air and surrounded you.

"I'll talk to Toshinori when the council is adjourned, we'll figure this out." He sniffed.

You nodded against him.

"I- I just need some time-" you sniffed hard. "time to collect myself. I'm going to head home."

He helped you up, again you were reminded of how strong he was despite his lithe frame.

"We're not losing you." he smiled sadly at you.

He looked at you for a moment, lingering long enough to stew in whatever emotions were boiling up inside of him. He blinked them down, cleared his throat and turned back toward the hall. He turned back briefly, jutting his child out toward the east wall where your shared home was and ordered you away with a soft "go".

You obliged and started off towards home, snow crushing beneath your heavy boots. Your hands were burning now with that awful sting of freezing skin. The snow that had melted against your skin was freezing now into thin sheets of ice and you found yourself being able to wipe it off on your coat in thin layers of white. Your cheeks stung, the spilled tears leaving you skin raw and susceptible to the cold.

By the time you made it to the wall, you were so frozen that you could feel the warmth radiating from the apartments stacked against it. You sprinted up the staircase to your door, wishing desperately that Hizashi and Shouta had gotten a ground level home as your foot slipped out from under you and you gripped the rickety wooden railing for dear life. There was a dull glow through the warped glass window, a luxury you hadn't yet gotten used to, windows that didn't need shutters. You pulled on the latch and was greeted by warm humid air and a small dying fire in the hearth. Another luxury you weren't accustomed to, fires that were tended to throughout the day for you so your home was warm when you returned. Living in Kaer Yuuei was somewhat a dream at times if you were honest.

You still remembered the first time you'd stepped foot in your new home, despite the fact that Hizashi and Shouta had spent the whole day with you in the hospital. You'd never lived higher than ground level, and you felt as though you had to walk softly everywhere so as not to disturb your lower neighbors. Hizashi got a good laugh at that one, watching you tiptoe around for days before telling you that they lived over a storage room.

Back then the living space was a little different, there were three rooms. The main room was the largest and had held a bed big enough for the two of them on one side, a fireplace on the other and a worn out chaise lounge that looked as though it had once existed in a castle somewhere was sat in the middle. When you'd ask about it later Hizashi would grin and tell you that it was stolen from a rather unkindly noble during a move from one city to the next, however he would be very adamant that it was not he who did the thieving. The other two rooms were smaller, one a store room that was on the other side of a small door on the far side of the bed and the other a lavatory through a door on the other side of the bed. Along the far side of the room there was a line of twine strung up around the ceiling, pieces of parchment with dexterously drawn scribbles, letters with misspelled words and small crafts hung from it. A fraying thick knitted blanket and a bundle of furs were draped over the chaise lounge, obviously seeing very little use in the hot summer days. At the foot of the bed there was a large dented drunk and a small furry animal curled atop it snoring.

"Uh, w-welcome home." Hizashi smiled. "We'll obviously have to change some things around now that you're here."

It was around the same size as your cottage, only in your cottage you'd managed to pack in a counter, a kitchen table, a padded bench you used as a bed for your patients, a large chair with a footrest you usually slept in, two bookcases of herb bunches and glass vials and fireplace. Compared to your cottage this was rather spacious.

"There's a lavatory through there." Shouta pointed to the closest door awkwardly as if he was showing his new home to his parents awaiting judgement. It was strange, you realized, seeing their domestic life after having spent the entirety of your time with them sleeping in the wilderness and running from armed mercenaries. "But there's some hot springs in the caves behind the hall where most of the fortress tends to bathe."

"A hot spring?" you repeated. "This place is starting to feel like a resort."

"Yeah," Shouta looked lost in space, staring wistfully at nothing in particular. "it's pretty nice here."

You looked around again when a thought sprung itself on you. There was one bed... and a couch. It wasn't that you were opposed to sharing a bed with them, in fact the three of you were essentially sharing a bed by combining your bedrolls in the bottom of the wago for the last few days of the journey and before that Hizashi had woken up nearly cuddling you a few times. It was more that you were unsure of where you stood. It was one thing to admit you found each other attractive and another entirely to act upon those attractions.

"So," you toed your boots together awkwardly and looked at the chaise lounge, "is that mine or, uh- are we going to get a cot?"

Hizashi's brow shot up and his eyes darted back and forth between you and the chaise lounge.

"No." He snorted, incredulously. "You're sleeping in the bed!"

Then it dawned on him, the real question. A bright pink blush sprung up in his cheeks and a small nervous grin formed at his lip.

"Well," He began one long stammering sentence, "only if you want to- or feel comfortable- i mean we don't have to- we can take the - although i don't think we'd really fit and-"

He was rattling off half finished sentences faster than you could piece them together, a thin veil of nervous sweat forming at his brow. He started to nervously laugh between sentences, blushing more furiously than before. You fought off a smile and side eyes Shouta to gage his reaction to find him openly grinning. He looked pleased, both with the offer and with Hizashi bumbling. His eyes flickered to you and there was a silent moment between you, something you were starting to realize was going to be a hallmark of your relationship, these wordless conversations. He nodded softly answering the silent question of whether you really belonged here. The question had tugged at the back of your mind since you woke up after Toshinori's visit, whether your attachment to them was a circumstance of how you met and whether theirs was some sort of saviors complex. Whether you were really meant to be here with them or if you were encroaching on their lives. But it melted away with the way Shouta looked at you, with such a dreamy softness. You could feel the contentment with this life in his eyes, you could see love in his eyes.

You strode over to hizashi and took his fidgeting hands in yours, his mouth instantly unable to form real words. You take a split second to muster up all your courage, this certainly felt harder than running away from murderous mercenaries, and places and kisses on Hizashi's lips. It was short but sweet and just as you pulled back he let go of your hands and gently clasped each side of your face and pulled you in, this time for a longer more passionate kiss that pulled the breath right from your lungs.

Behind you you heard a low laugh and when you separated Hizashi rested his forehead against yours but one of his hands began to fish around his pocket. He giggled softly to himself and apologized under his breath, still obviously flustered from the kiss. Then a coin was being tossed over your shoulder and Shouta, silent as ever was behind you, catching it. Hizashi's hand returned your cheek and instead of kissing you against he stayed pressed against you for a moment.

Then you realized what just happened.

"Wait." You pulled back. "Did you- did you make a bet about me kissing you?!"

"Yeah." Shouta hummed behind you, he pressed forward his chest meeting your back. You felt the instinctual want to just melt back into him but fought it. "I was sure it'd be with him first."

"H-how were you so sure I'd kiss either of you!" you huffed, albeit playfully.

"Oh no." Hizashi laughed. "I'm the only emotionally adept one here, aren't I?"

"W-hwat you do you mean?" you pouted.

"Shouta bet you won't kiss either of us and that I'd have to do it." he smirked.

You looked over your shoulder at Shouta who seemed unbothered by any of the statements being made.

"I'm not as bad as him," you turned back to Hizashi, "am I?"

Shouta scoffed behind you, pulling away and stalking over to the bed where he freely fell backwards on top of the plush mattress.

"No," Hizashi pulled you closer, looking down at you with heavy lids. That same liquid love swirling in his eyes as Shouta's. "He wouldn't have gone in for the kiss at all. That was a very romantic way of telling me to shut my mouth."

Your own words echoed in the your mind. I don't really want to be alone. You wouldn't have to be and even if it wasn't meant to be forever, it felt pretty good for now to be with them. Maybe their hero complex would wear thin and maybe their bathroom habits would put you off but that was a someday problem. For now, falling asleep in their arms, your boys on either side of you felt pretty good. No more cold night, no more hard bruising cages, no more estrangement.

***

That was six months ago and everynight they still held you and you them, every day you still looked into their eyes and found love and every morning Hizashi took way too long to get ready for the day. The apartment now had a much larger bed, it had to be custom framed to fit all three of you comfortably, and the once lavish Chaise lounge was unfortunately given to Nemuri who had more room for it. A writing desk had replaced it, somewhere for the three of you to draft reports of your patrols.

You woke up, Hizashi's arms draped over you loosely. He was a snorer, and with his gift even a shallow breath could resonate down your spine. You blinked hard, clearing the sleep from your eyes and looked around the room, the space Shouta usually occupies was empty and letting the cold in. You lifted your head and looked around finding him slouched over at the writing desk, penning something absent mindedly.

"Hey." you mumbled, sitting up and sliding off the edge of the bed. He didn't respond, keeping his eyes on the page. You stood fully and took a few steps towards him.

"Did Hizashi, uh- tell you?" You asked, clearing your throat awkwardly. "And Toshi?"

"Mm Hmm." He hummed quietly.

"Oh, good." you nodded to yourself. "Is there any plan, anything I can do?"

"No." he grunted shortly. "Just stay out of the wood for now. Actually for you, not travel. Period."

He hadn't looked up at you. His writing got more sloppy, aggressive even. You could see frustration boiling up inside of him and you could tell it was directed at you. That guilt that you'd momentarily forgotten about hit you in the chest leaving a heavy stone plummeting to your gut. You didn't know the full story between Shouta and House Noro, you just knew that he had a run in with them years ago. This must have been a nightmare for him, having them so close to Kaer Yuuei, his safe haven. And it was you who lead them hear no less, unintentionally, which made it worse because he probably felt like he couldn't really be upset with you.

"Sho," you muttered, your voice cracking. That got his attention, he turned around to look at you, his expression hard to read. "I'm sorry. I'm- if I hadn't come here- I'm the weak link here."

Shouta stood and strode towards you, there was a strange sort of power in the way he moved. Like he was trying to cut through a crowd of people with a specific destination in mind. But when his hand reached your shoulders and pulled you close to him he was gentle and you felt as though he was swaddling you in safety.

"I'm sorry." he breathed into your hair. "I didn't mean to sound like that. I- I'm just..scared."

You looked up at him startled. You had been half ready to get the full force of what anger you thought he held towards you, and the fact that you received the exact opposite was jarring enough. However, Shouta flat out admitting he was scared was more perplexing. Over the last six months you realized that Shouta had no problems admitting to a few things, namely all of his annoyance and misunderstanding of social conventions or when he forgot to do or get something. Those were more so things Hizashi seemed to get hung up on and would try to play it cool over. Shouta had more trouble admitting his own emotions, Hizashi said that he was much better at expressing positive emotions more readily, but you'd never really heard thim admit to being upset or scared willingly. Hizashi was like a magician when it came to getting Shouta to talk about his feelings, a very persistent and borderline irritating magician.

"I know." you muttered. " Me too."

He sighed and pressed you against him.

"What have I told you about my life before Kaer Yuuei?"

[everly-kindred]

Everly’s Diary - Entry #34

Synopsis: Eve talks about Bonfire Night, the state of the castle, and her and Aures’ new creative ideas! 

Words: 597

Date: 10th of November, 2026

Dear Diary, 

It has been peaceful in the castle for the past week, which is a really nice change. I’ve been focusing on schoolwork and flying whenever I can, and sort of keeping to myself. 

At Hufflepuff hangouts, Priaulx had us make the Guy Fawkes for Bonfire Night. I stitched up the arms! And then Marigold and Nora filled him with leaves and hay. Everyone had to get in groups, so some people were working on legs, while some were working on the torso and head, and we did the arms. And then the professor put him all together, and he was at the center of the bonfire! 

I didn’t know Bonfire Night would be celebrated at Hogwarts, which is a nice surprise. My mum and stepdad always love getting a good fire going and lots of fireworks, so I’m glad I didn’t have to miss out. It turns out, Hogwarts does Bonfire Night rather fantastically! 

We all gathered in the courtyard around the fire, ate snacks like chocolate and marshmallows and drank cider, and watched a really fantastic fireworks show with magic firework dragons and all sorts of things. It was magical! 

That was last week. This week, for Hufflepuff Hangout, we went outside. My grandma had actually just sent me a new coat a week ago, and I love it! It’s big and heavy and feels like a blanket, and it’s more like a cloak than a coat, really. It has a pretty flower pattern on the outside, and a red quilt like pattern on the inside. I have a feeling I’ll be wearing it a lot this winter. That, and the scarf Bobby gave me. 

We went down to the campfire by the lake, near Dumbledore’s grave. There were more snacks, (chocolate chip cookies - my favourite!) and a roaring fire. I have to say, I’m really loving how I always smell like burning wood now. There’s fires constantly going in the fireplaces around the castle, plus things like the bonfire and the campfire for the hangout… It makes me happy. It makes me think of home. 

All of Hufflepuff House sat around the fire and talked about our plans for the upcoming holiday break. I’ll be going home, of course… I can’t remember if I asked Ruby if he needs somewhere to stay, but I think I will again, just in case. It would be lovely if he could stay with me!

I’ve also got a new thing going that I’m working on. Not school or quidditch related, either! Aures and I were doodling in Care of Magical Creatures class, and we basically began to wonder what the human versions of certain creatures would be. So Aures made a unicorn named Sylvanine, and I made a phoenix named Maxine! 

Maxine was killed by bandits on her wedding, and came back as a phoenix. I honestly love writing about her and drawing her. She loves Autumn and lives in a caravan in a magical forest filled with faeries. Being around her is like being by a bonfire, and even more so when she opens her wings and goes into her phoenix form! See, she has two forms, her normal human-looking form, and her phoenix form, which is like her human form except her skin is like fire and she has massive wings. I want to do a really nice drawing of her and include it in here, but I haven’t had the time to work on it, yet. I want it to be just right!

Anyways, that’s all I have for now.

Much love, Everly

About the Character: Everlina Rosemary Kindred is an imaginative Hufflepuff attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She keeps up with her magical journey through a series of diary entries, dream journals, and tarot readings, all documented for future reflection. Her diary is a small glimpse into her enchanted life, and her adventure into the wizarding world and all its splendors. If you’d like more information about Eve, visit her wiki page. 

About the Author: My name is Katherine! I am a 21-year-old Hufflepuff & Pukwudgie from Louisville, Kentucky. This page is my creative journey into the magical world, through the lenses of Second Life. Here I post diary entries, dream journals, and tarot readings all from my character’s perspective. If you’d like more information about me, visit my Flickr! 

[deliciousscaloppine]

The Blood is the Life (Part 2)

Vampire AU. Nie Mingjue is captured by the vampire coven of Qishan and turned into a vampire so he can wipe out the monster-slaying Nie Clan of Qinghe for them. Meng Yao is his mortal lover, a witch’s son and a witch himself who covets his vampire gift of immortality. And Huaisang is the empath prince who observes their relationship through his trained birds vying for recognition and affection.  Also Huaisang’s girl harem from their arrival at Sun Scorching Palace is in this one too. Also some good old “I don’t know” Huaisang.  

He at first thought the ruckus had been a sudden storm. He had jumped out of his silken bedding to see his wall of cages in a frightful disarray, some had even fallen on the floor. And every single bird was screeching and fluttering like mad.

“Prince!” Biyu had said and moved closer to him, unseathing her sword.

All of them in an instant had  grasped their swords and circled his bed as if to protect him. Dressed as they were in their nightgowns they made for a fearsome sight, from some fearsome tale.

“What on earth is going on?”

“It's some creature” Fengfang said wildly. “It has breached the fortress!”

“That's impossible” Huaisang uttered, his eyes falling on the mad birds in the fallen cages, clawing and screeching frightfully. Could it be true?

“Do not be afraid, help me stand” he said and rising he moved closer to the door that led to the courtyard.

“Be careful, prince, you are unarmed” Mingzhu urged, but followed him nonetheless with her sword in hand.

Truly Huaisang could sense the great spiritual upheaval from the other residents of the fortress. There was truly an intruder, but under such close scrutiny he had no hopes of entering the mind of the creature. He opened the door and peered, the guard had set several torches to light the darkness that was surrounding them from every side.

Not even the moon or the stars shone in the sky. That was truly suspicious, only the Qishan coven could blacken the sky so with thick smoke. If his brother had been here they wouldn't have dared though. A wave of Baxia could split the very clouds, raining heavenly light on any vampire creature that approached. And the moon of Qinghe, unobstructed and illuminating the desert plains was as fearsome to them as the sun.

There was great turmoil underneath as a heavily armed guard approached ready for battle with this invisible intruder. But then a great silence followed. They formed themselves in neat rows as if for some exercise, and patiently waited even though they were terrified.

“We should go back inside” Fengfang said.

“It's no less dangerous inside than it is here” he offered and it was true. If a vampire creature had managed to infiltrate the Unclean Realm, then it would slaughter them all, but he didn't share this depressing truth with the rest of the girls.

Suddenly a frightening roar could be heard from the central hall. Huaisang would have sworn it was his brother's voice. He had heard his cries of battle many times, but this didn't sound like such a cry. It was almost a wail as if someone had struck him. He could feel every human in the Unclean Realm shiver with fear then. Such collective emotion was so strong it easily overpowered his mind. But then he felt something else, something indescribeable, something he shouldn't be able to sense. An individual.

It was impossible for him to feel a person individualy, especially in such a turmoil, but there it was sharp as a blade. Someone was in tremendous agony. Oh no, he thought. Even though he was not sure what was his distress about this. Then the door of the great hall opened, and out of it stumbled Meng Yao, as if seeking air. He wore a strange gown patterned with red blotches, he had never seen him wear before. He seemed in agony, but what Huaisang felt wasn't him. In fact the harder he tried to pry his mind, the more impossible it seemed to him. Then he saw it! Meng Yao's neck had received a brutal blow, and he was bleeding. The blotches on his clothes were not patterns but his own blood. 

Pale and bloody Meng Yao collapsed before the court and Huaisang cried in terror. As if what had injured him, was now after him too. In fact he felt that urge, a blind urge to kill coming from the fearsome creature inside his brother's hall.

Meng Yao's eyes followed the scream to him and he quickly rose. “Protect the prince” he growled and then fell again before the elderly steward arrived to help him.

Huaisang didn't have time to register what was happening. Several soldiers of came up the stairs, pushing him and his lovely companions back inside, driving them deep, almost to the corner with the fallen cages. There they remained, everyone even the soldiers shivering with fear, even as they clutched their weapons, pointing them at the door.

They stayed like this all night until the sun came up. And only when the rays of the sun touched the windows of his rooms did anyone relax. In fact collectively they all slumped onto the floor sighing with relief and beginning to talk amongst them. Huaisang was so exhausted that he fell asleep right there among the soldiers and the maidens and the swords. He didn't wake up before afternoon and he was a little surprised when he discovered Biyu, Fengfang and Mingzhu also piled up and huddled on the same quilt as with him.

It would have made for an exciting turn of events had he not the clarity of mind to worry about state affairs. He disentangled his limbs carefully as to not rouse the girls, and dressing quickly he descended to the courtyard clutching in his hand his favorite fan. Everything was as orderly as it was the day before. As if nothing had happened the previous night. Nothing betrayed the great crisis, other than the drowsy expressions of some guards. 

He hurried to court expecting to find his brother seated on his throne, somehow having appeared and resolved the whole thing for them, but to his misfortune the court was entirely empty. Not even a captain or a steward appeared.

It was the most shocking thing of them all. Had his brother been here, everyone would have been in their positions, offering their reports and bickering over trivial details for a little recognition. The throne of Qinghe was empty. Its court gone. Huaisang had never before experienced such existential terror. To whom would he address his petitions from now on? Not even Meng Yao was there. But of course why would he, he had been injured the night before.

Huaisang darted outside, seeking through the labyrinth of the court officials' residents, the room that belonged to Meng Yao. He had never walked to it of course, he remembered it only from the many times he had his moths and birds visit it to spy on him. But even if he had never been there before, it wouldn't be difficult to find it today. It seemed like part of the court had flocked to it. He saw many officials on his road there, and some of them were even assembled before his door talking in hushed tones.

They all parted respectfully as he approached. That was a first. It wasn't that he was disliked, but even at his age he was still very much treated like an eight year old child. Not that such a thing did not come with its perks, it was easy to get his way around them, and easier to have them ignore him when it came to distributing important government tasks. So today was a new day indeed. He recognized immediately the two students of the chief physician, politely remaining outside in kneeling positions before the door as their master inside undoubtedly treated Meng Yao.

He almost climbed over them to get to the room. Meng Yao palid and exhausted rested seated before a desk, where a written report with a red seal was opened. The physician, sitting next to him took his pulse before summoning one of his students to attend them. Meng Yao was the first to take notice of him, at the door. He nudged the physician aside and without speaking reached for the report on his desk, only to offer it to him.

“You are now the king of Hejian. Lord Nie Mingjue has ordained your succession.” he said achingly yet still managed to bow to him as if he was before some great lord and not silly, oblivious Nie Huaisang. 

Huaisang couldn't believe it. He took the report on hand, and there it was in his brother's handwriting an order of succession, sealed with his his own seal, the one he took with him on journeys and battlefields to sign official commands.

Huaisang had to seat somewhere, even if that was the floor. Was this witchcraft or reality?

“But where is my brother?” he managed to ask after a while.

Meng Yao straightened himself with some difficulty as if perplexed by such a question.

“Is it not enough that he has made you king?” he asked with the same perplexing honesty.

They physician bowed to them both.

“Assistant Meng Yao has been greatly abused this night. We must allow him to rest before he is to answer your lordship's questions.”

Huaisang made sounds in his throat as if he would have liked to ask more questions, but the physician had already stood up from his position, and with every respect he was gently ushering him outside. If Huaisang was really king, shouldn't he interview any servant he liked? Or was his behavior such a gross display of insensitivity that was unbecoming of a leader.

He didn't know what to feel. He only remembered Meng Yao's eyes curiously trained on him as if he was seizing up an enemy.

The physician took him outside where it was bright and sunny like any other day, and soon he found himself in the company of many court officials who gently but suredly shepherded him towards the throne. He was made to sit upon it and receive not only piling up reports, but also the many questions of unaware officials who wanted to know his opinions on important matters.

All through this ordeal he could not but mutter: “I don't know, I don't know, I really don't know.”

[guesso-blog1]

(hits the hc tennis ball back into your court) accumulation of witch ford thoughts,,,

[a submission sent to me forever ago by @inktheblot that I have been selfishly holding onto; sue me]

Magic had always been a part of Ford’s life in one way or another, and he’s been confident enough in interacting with it in the past. He’s carried spells and curses with him on multiple occasions, and melds talk of magic with talk of science so commonly that it seems he considers them two sides of the same coin. Now, after everything he and his loved ones have been through, he seeks ways to harness the mysterious forces that permeate through his hometown for good and practical reasons. To heal, to protect, and to find peace - no longer to confuse, harm, or destroy.

His new study in Fiddleford’s manor begins to fill with tomes on ancient witchcraft, with herbs, potions, and crystals, and with many more abandoned mugs of coffee. He finds himself quickly connected to magical energy and power. After spending an afternoon at the lake and finding the fortune-teller’s ring that he tossed away so long ago wash up beside him, the stone shining blue once again, he starts to find that even the sort of lore that he dismissed in the past has plenty of layers of truth to it. He reconnects himself with his family and the world around him as his passion for learning and discovery returns.

Something that wormed itself into my doodles a while back and i can’t get rid of the thought, now: he fashions an amulet of a gold pendant in the form of the Zodiac wheel, worn on a chain over his heart to keep the energy of the bonds of his loved ones with him always. The center of the circle is, rather than Bill’s image, an upside-down black triangle silhouette, to signify victory over their demons.

His magical energy manifests in a sparking golden glow around his hands.

He keeps a grimoire that is, inside and out, visually similar to his old journals: the cover a sort of iridescent black-and-gold, marked with his opposite handprint (to signify a new direction in his life!) and the infinity symbol.

As teenagers, Dipper and Mabel continue to go off exploring on their own and/or with their friends to potentially more dangerous areas. Ford stops them at the door before one particularly ambitious mission (back to CSO?), and refuses to let them go before he can cast a protection spell on them. He assures them that it’s not out of a doubt in their own abilities or a lack of trust, but the thought of them getting hurt with him having had the chance to prevent it wrecks him inside. So they let him do his thing if only for his own peace of mind. It ends up being a good investment, and the energy of their grunkle’s love and protection is warm and reassuring.

He can ramble on for ages about the magical properties of any and all herbs and crystals and whatnot in the Gravity Falls woods like the giant dork nerd he is. If you happen to be on a hike with him, and you see an interesting plant and ask, “what’s this?”, beware — once you get him started he won’t ever shut up.

He incorporates into his regular meditation routine mantras for protection and the blessing of his home and loved ones.

He’s got healing spells and teas for everything. Fever? Drink this and get some rest, you’ll be good as new once you wake. Nightmares? Keep this charm under your pillow, or even better, let me stay with you and lull you to sleep myself. Paper cut? Oh nonono don’t bother with a bandaid I have a spell for that too, just give me a moment to fetch the book—!

Tickle attacks from across the room just by wiggling his fingers!

The one supposedly-simple thing he cannot master for the life of him is levitation. The best he’s managed is wiggling around a pen or a die on the other side of his desk.

Some see magic and science as opposites that cannot coexist. Ford disagrees. he believes magic is a science - and an art, and a faith, all at once.

He’ll flip if you call him a wizard. Hell no!! Wizards are overpowered and bearded and even more annoying than unicorns!! He is a studied, practiced witch, thank you.

He probably gets the angry mob after him at some point because he has no filter and no shame and if a certain farmer guy happened to ask, “are you some kinda witch?” he’d answer “yes, indeed!” with pride…

Maybe he runs into the palm reader/hand witch again at some point and she just gives him the biggest “I told you so”. He sheepishly admits that after realizing how right she was, reevaluating his values, and looking back on his past discoveries, he has chosen to become a witch himself. She thinks this is hilarious.

He’s gentle and deliberate in general, and he wants to be seen as benevolent, but if anyone hurts his family he has no qualms against coming after them with fire in his eyes and curses in his hands and terrifying them to their core.

Basically his craft allows him to feel the excitement of learning and discovery again, with the added bonus of protecting his family and feeling unity and peace with the world that is his home once more. Regained trust and confidence in his surroundings and in himself.

Fiddleford is kinda unsettled and creeped out by all of this at first, but once he sees how Ford’s eyes light up when he masters a spell and how truly meaningful it all is for him, he starts to warm up to the idea. Ford magically aids him with his sleep and memory and health and so on, in the gentlest, most loving way he can.

Ford then revisits his mindscape inception incantation and reworks it to operate on some energy other than the power of Bill’s presence. Fiddleford’s mindscape, while significantly healed since the Blind Eye days, still appears tattered, disorganized…even downright shredded in some places. But Ford has some ideas. He jumps into recounting many a tale from their past, while summoning an astral needle and thread in his hand. F catches on, and together they remake the torn-up space in Fiddleford’s mind into a beautiful patchwork quilt of memories. 

Mabel has a natural talent for witchy things as well and becomes interested in being Ford’s apprentice (oh the irony), but it’s more like they’re teaching each other. think enchanted sweaters, the color and symbol of each reflecting the charm it bears…also lots of dreamcatchers and shiny things. Mabel, too, has no qualms about boasting, “yeah, it’s magic, my grunkle’s a witch!”

Ford and Dipper, then, have many more interesting ghost hunts and seances.

Stan, of course, makes bad jokes always. They go to the lake and Ford trips into the dirt; as he shakes himself off he can hear a cackle behind him of “haha, sand-witch!“

[arsenickool-aidforever]

[maneaterwithtail]

The politics are the cough. the disease is flooding to chase the trend of personal brand building. Events and confusing communities and arguably the arrangement of the direct market itself. No simplicity and lots of expense with shakeup one after the other.

And some transparently business or out of story disrupting existing (in humans versus mutants)

Starting Marvel, as an example, is harder than figuring out where to come in on the Fate series. I mention this because Comics are often compared to manga and yet however convoluted in silly may get for the most part you buy one collection, or let's not kid ourselves pirate, or wait until an animated adaptation comes out realize that it's pretty much faithful, go back to the core comic and so long as you start from the beginning you can follow to the end. Even if it's based off of a visual novel chances are everything will progress from beginning to end. It's usually when that models messed up with that something becomes destructive and difficult to follow or deal.

Unlike with manga where if you're having trouble following where to start with, like the Fate series, you can at least enjoy the latest Nasu verse offering. especially if you can turn your brain off and just engage with one example. Or if you don't want to deal with that you can just go to an entirely different property from a similar publisher that scratches a similar itch.

Like the premise of America Chavez buts I think she did it wrong? Well it's not like you can just switch over to Champions because that's a mess as well along with Miles Morales Spider-Man and ms. Marvel or spider woman.

it's expensive, patchy, filled with all sorts of weird continuity that you end up having to buy just to start. As such only the dedicated fanbase could possibly tolerate it but that also is exclusive in the sense that it's so to them with a history that it feels kind of off-putting.

I like the comicsgate comics I have heard of. I can also understand why we try to move away from that. Such as very obvious p*** tracing. And so on. Yes supposed diversity has basically led to a similar story of we're here now we're going to f*** the status quo too strongly relating to the audience or the author's pandering.

But it's not just they're going to have a trans person in an announcement. Which is a pretty major character trait I imagine that they want to talk about that or include it in the announcement.

the discontinuity does not help you build upsetting characters characterization and Circumstance. This is what I mean you're following themes story and events building to something then a new author will come in and he or she will wreck all that up so that they can go in an entirely different direction. Okay maybe you don't like the homosexual overtones of Eddie Brock and Venom. Maybe you want to stick it to all the slash shippers on Tumblr. But they've been the people who been following the comic and there's been a multi-year build up with sleeper, Eddie Brock and Venom's son.

going no now Eddy has a son he doesn't know about. oh and he was in the car that killed a child and him and Venom hate each other? Basically says f*** that other story we're going back to this story because I liked it better when I was young and I like it this way. And this kind of hostility is constant with every Changing of the Guard which can happen almost every two to three years. This keeps happening right when things are starting to get good or conclusion is reached. this undermines any death any major event or twist especially when it's in the headlines as if it's going to be meaningful

we can't even engaged in the illusion that someone has a plan charting something out when it feels like it's always fly by the seat of the pants the slightest whim can blow off the direction. We know in our conscious nothing that happens matters or at the very least when things end and we don't move on to something else then realize that there was a change but it seems seamless. Or at the very least it's a damn good seem that makes a very likeable and unique and distinct quilt. Again comparing and contrasting with manga

basically constantly ragging on the Politics as if that's what's causing the problem as opposed to Poor practices is off. yeah the customer service is definitely a no-go. But let's not kid ourselves Fanboys started it

I can straight up say that if you had a book that was straight up gay. like it starred the gay couple that once was Rescued by Captain America including his childhood hero And they were joined by the gender-bending exiled courtesan. you know those girls that always hang around in the background of Thor comics and everybody talks about winching and all that stuff? What if we actually focus on one of them and we threw in some mythological deviant queerness with the idea that men who practiced a certain form of Witchcraft had to be ladies. Now in practice this often meant anything from cross-dressing to performing ceremonies with a freaking dildo. But this is Comics so instead I can just go with the idea that after he uses magic so much he can turn or does turn into a lady. At first it's inadvertent but then he Masters the power so much that can transform into any lady. So he can go from weak little nerdy witch man to a Vanir (super durable pretty strong) or she giant.

It gets even more so when apparently he can change not just to a generic woman but any specific one. so he can literally clone an individual lady alive or dead. If she's dead you can act as a vessel for her soul so effectively while he might be booted deep within he can resurrect anyone's female loved one. Until changes back. The Twist is that while he won a beauty contest to be one of Odin's many many side pieces due to the politics and sociology of the time and the setup Odin didn't like admitting that they were both men or equals. Now the crossdressing courtesan isnt necessarily the nicest person. In fact the number one thing that characterizes him is that he hates the alpha male warrior culture or at least what he perceives of the negatives of it of Asgard. But that doesn't necessarily mean that he provides a good alternative. This will be a total retcon. not only would this make Odin effectively bisexual -although it's long since established that it seems like he's banged about so much he has had a child with everyone but his wife- but the idea that Loki and Thor grew up exposed to this weird gender-bending courtesan who tried to compete with the affections of their Queen Mother just so that that way he could get ahead and hated showing the absolute loyalty and Devotion to Asgard seeking glory in battle and death as opposed to conniving Gatling favor and trolling for booty while having to serve drinks for the Warriors that came by and were celebrated in the castle Hall.

Probably make up all sorts of relationships with other lesser-known Danny's that haven't been as much part of Marvel Thor but are important or at least well-known for the tradition. I would also shamelessly ripoff @gumon and her take on Norse mythology. With giants that just naturally produce children whether male or female. anyway ignoring all the continuity just so I could bring in the mythology that I want I would have it so that he was ultimately exiled because he got set up on a failure assignment. He got assigned to the Blue Mountain the traveling planet or set of rocks now that was the home of one of the Warriors Three the blue guy well the guy who wears blue and looks kind of like Angus Khan

The entire point of this is to get a different eye view of the Marvel Universe. What was it like to be one of those disposable pin-up girls. What is the gay population in gay culture and gay people been doing and light of the world that's been invaded from the ground been in a Perpetual fight with remnants of terrorists from World War II. And of course how they've been in for you property and making their lives and how are they responding to the fact that New York finally recognizes their marriage and of course life in the Twilight years as a gay couple that's constantly facing mortality. Also with the usual hey I'm an immortal mystical being who's having to relearn how to be human after having lived a life with a God's but neither being loyal to them nor a particular loyal to my own people. Along with the issues of the shapeshifter gender Dynamics and identity and all other sort of things. Pretty damn gay book. But I read it

Kids like imitating what they see so ripping the idea that someone's going to take some of the more iconic X-Men looks and style themselves after them when they know that their mutant doesn't seem wrong. I like the idea that we're going to open with someone who manages an online community for mutants. I like the idea of Trailblazer I like the ladies thick and I like the fact that she has a more utility power that she's going to have to work with and around hopefully being clever though that backpack does run the risk of becoming the Omnitrix and having the solution for every problem that you need.

Basically I like the children of the atom a bit more than the whole lineup of the new Warriors. I think people really should give the characters a chance so if you're turned off by yet another set of incest siblings in Marvel ya no problem or argument here.

[mysteryshelf]

FRIDAY SF & FANTASY - The White Raven

DISCLAIMER: This content has been provided to THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF by Xpresso Book Tours. No compensation was received. This information required by the Federal Trade Commission.

The White Raven Carrie D. Miller Publication date: April 1st 2017 Genres: Adult, Fantasy

Finally, after nearly a thousand years, Aven Dovenelle is truly happy. In her thirteenth life, she’s settled into the now witchcraft-friendly Salem, Massachusetts, where she has opened her own shop and made great friends—there’s even a possibility of love blooming.

Despite her contentment in this new life, the truth of Aven’s existence haunts her. She is cursed to live life after life, with all the memories of her horrific past. For all her powers, she’s never discovered why she was cursed nor how to break it. Hope may come in the form of a mysterious white raven, who has followed Aven through each of her lives. Although they have a connection that neither understands, it may prove to be her salvation.

An evil force from Aven’s past isn’t finished with her. Driven by vengeance and hate, he emerges to torment her anew and threatens all she’s built. He strikes without warning—her loved ones are caught in the wake of his attack and may not survive the encounter.

The cost of her happiness and freedom could be too high as Aven uncovers the truth about her curse and that dark magick lingers.

Goodreads / Amazon

—

PROLOGUE:

Calico, California 1886

They are close. I sense their hatred. Though I am prepared, I must force myself to be calm. I do not fear what comes although I know I will be dead soon. Running from this place now is not something I wish to do, nor do I care to fight anymore. I’m ready to seek out a new land, a new time, and to continue on to the next life I am cursed to begin.

My Pyrenees is at attention by my side, ears pricked and hackles raised. “It is time to go, my girl.” She whines and lowers her head, her big brown eyes pools of concern. “You go ahead,” I say with a smile. “I’ll be along soon.”

I hear the gallop of fast-moving horses and the shouts of agitated men as they approach my home. The sound of heavy boots bounding onto the porch makes my skin prickle. Torchlight fills the windows and I steel myself. The front door splinters when one of those heavy boots comes through it.

“I knew there was somethin’ not right about you.” The man in the lead is Morris Stiles, the town’s bully. I’m sure he took quick ownership of the lynching party so he could exercise his insatiable need to inflict pain and suffering without the threat of retribution. Not to mention the chance to snare himself a witch.

His face seethes with hostility. The men who crowd into the room behind him wear the same expression. The grin forming on his face as he looks me over is filled with decaying stubs that once passed for teeth. Many months ago, I offered to ease his pain, but was met with the back of his hand followed by a brown, revolting gob of spit aimed at my face.

Life in Calico has been filled with hardships. Each time I felt a modicum of acceptance, someone like Morris Stiles would speak against me. My goats and chickens were taken one by one, and the sheriff was not the least bit sympathetic or helpful in retrieving them. I am not one to back down so I held on, hoping for the relief of simply being ignored.

Now, yet another angry mob is at my doorstep. I know my lover has not had a direct hand in this. I am certain that due to the effects of much drink, his lips recounted events he should have kept hidden. I confessed to him this very morning that I am, in fact, a witch, and his reaction was what I had expected. I am unable to hide my true self for very long, and I am either revealed by my actions or by my simple confession. I will not deceive my lover with lies and trickery. I have told myself time and time again to stay away from love but the pangs and yearnings cannot be ignored, not even by one such as myself.

There is no fear on my face as I glare at the five men who have invaded my little home. Each one averts his eyes. As I inhale, my lungs fill with the thick, heavy air the men brought with them—full of sweat, dirt, whiskey, and anger.

I glower at the still grinning man. “Morris Stiles, you are a fool.” My voice resonates throughout the room. The sound makes the men jump and look around, wide-eyed.

Morris grunts and spits a brown mass onto the floor. “Them’s funny words coming from a whore a’ Satan!”

I scoff. “Tell me one thing, just one thing—any of you—that I have done to remotely reflect the work of the devil?” No one meets my eyes and nothing intelligible passes from their lips. Feeling the mood of his men shift, Morris lurches forward.

“Don’t matter! You do things no livin’ person should be doin’. Ain’t but God himself that can mend a broke back, or make Jenny’s fever break even after Doc said nuthin’ could be done. You got wrong in you, woman, and we gon’ fix that!” He lunges for me. Emboldened by Morris, three other men follow. I do not cry out as they grip my arms and shoulders with rough, dirty hands. Morris binds my hands in front of me. The smell of their breath and body odor stings my nose. I am ushered from my home with shouts and laughter. The night is fresh and crisp after the all-day rain. I welcome the clean air into my lungs.

“Why don’t she fight?” someone mutters behind me. “Why don’t she scream? Ain’t never known a woman not to go screamin’.”

“’Nother thing that ain’t natural ’bout her. Like them purple eyes!”

I am shoved up onto an old, work-worn mare. A timid voice comes from behind the rest.

“But she made Pa’s leg stop hurtin’. He’s able to get out in the fields again. Ma said it was a miracle and that God was workin’ through her.”

“Shut yer mouth, boy!” Morris slaps the young man hard on the back of the head. He grips the boy by his collar. “Yer Pa’s lucky she didn’t turn that leg into a cloven hoof!” He pushes the boy backward and turns to face me.

“We gonna show you what we do to witches!” He throws his head back and hoots manically. Several men follow suit; some punctuate their exuberance with gunshots into the air.

The horse underneath me snorts and pulls back from the man holding the reins, jerking her head from side to side. He yells obscenities at her and yanks her bridle. I run my hands along her taut neck and make her listen to my words in her mind. She calms to the song I sing to her.

I am paraded down the main street through town towards the cemetery where the gallows stands. Many outlaws have met their end in this manner, and it appears so will I.

The cemetery is unusually bright this evening with torches on every fence post. They cast a harsh yellow glow onto the weathered wood of the gallows. I am aware of the shouts, calls, and other verbal assaults around me, but I hear nothing except the steady beating of my heart. I focus on controlling my movements and breathing. I will not give them the satisfaction of seeing my fear. While I am not afraid of death itself as I have done it eleven times before, it is the act of dying I fear. But I am pleased by the method they have chosen, for it is a fast end if done properly.

I am shoved up the steps and I will my legs to keep up. I am jerked around into position in front of the freshly tied noose of new rope. Morris presents it and me to the crowd—the ringmaster to this circus.

“Lookie what we got here!” He shoves me forward as if they couldn’t already see me. “By her own confession to Roy Shackleford, she’s a gawd damn witch!” The crowd becomes deafening.

I catch the eye of the town preacher at the far end of the massive throng. His face is smug and his eyes dance with spiteful glee. Under my glare, his grin falters and he moves behind a large elderly woman who’s covered herself in a quilt and grasps a wooden cross tightly in her meaty fists.

Morris continues to speak random sentences describing my unnatural and ungodly ways, inciting the crowd further. I look upon their hateful faces, devoid of any resemblance to the humans they were earlier in the day. I pity them all for their small, feeble minds. I become aware that Morris is attempting to put the noose around my neck.

“I wish to speak!” I yank myself away from Morris’s grip. Much to his dismay, I am stronger than I have led him to believe.

I am booed and hissed at, and the crowd calls for my immediate death. I clench my teeth and hiss back at them. “Silence!” The force in my voice, the unearthly sound I make, strikes them dumb. “You will listen.”

“Almost half of you have benefited from my healing skill.” My gaze seeks those I readily find who have been under my care. Their eyes do not meet mine.

“I have caused no harm to any of you, nor your land, nor your property. I have done only good deeds. Refute that, anyone!” People shift their feet and hide their faces behind those in front of them. The people in the front look at the ground. In the silence, I hear the flapping of large wings and see the heavy flames of the torches dance in the air currents. I cannot see the creature but I know it. I have always known it. A sharp, angry cry from the bird peals out above the crowd. There are gasps and cries of fear; some crouch down as they stare into the black sky. I feel strangely calmed by the bird’s presence.

Morris steps forward to speak, and my thoughts close his windpipe. He grips his throat, his eyes widening. My eyes warn him not to proceed. I will be allowed to speak, Morris, but you no longer will.

“As I look at each of your faces, I know none of my words will make the slightest difference. Your minds are small and petty. The only danger here is you. You believe you are ridding the world of some great evil tonight. But all you are doing is worsening your own lives. Ponder that as you lay your heads on your pillows. The evil here is you, for there is none in me.”

I release Morris from where he stands still gasping for air. As he tries to recover himself, he waves several men forward to put me back into place. Coughing is all he can manage as he puts the noose over my head and jerks it tight. When he is close to my face, he spits at me. The smell of it would be nauseating if I could feel anything other than rage.

He shoves each man out of the way so he is the one to pull the lever that controls the trap door upon which I stand. He stumbles and is still sputtering to get words out, but he can only cough and spit. As my last act of defiance, I make those the only sounds that will ever come out of his mouth. My petty revenge makes me smile.

The movement of the well-worn mechanism opening the trap door is loud in my ears. It is all I hear though I’m certain the crowd has reached a frenzied state. For the length of a breath, I am suspended in midair. I look above the crowd as I plummet downward, seeing a flash of white wings in my periphery.

I relax my neck and let the noose perform its job without resistance. I want this over quickly, to have my neck snap immediately. The noose tightens as my weight pulls my body down. The pain is but a quick jolt and then the world is black and silent to me.

  Author Bio:

Carrie D. Miller was born in Hutchinson, Kansas, on October 31, 1970. She credits her vivid imagination, as well as her sugar addiction, to being a Halloween baby. In a former life, she was an executive in the software industry for many years. Her career in the technology world included software product management, website design, training, and technical writing just to name a few. Although Carrie’s written a great deal over the decades which has been read by thousands of people, software documentation allows for about as much creativity as pouring cement. At the age of 45, she decided to chuck it all to become an author which had been a life-long dream.

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FRIDAY SF & FANTASY – The White Raven was originally published on the Wordpress version of The Pulp and Mystery Shelf

[arsenickool-aidforever]

Tis the season.

A friend of my grandparents asked me to finish her quilt. I’ve only been listening to Christmas carols the whole time.

[arsenickool-aidforever]

A wedding gift for my favorite older sister-in-law. The top is about halfway done.

[arsenickool-aidforever]

The new project begins

[arsenickool-aidforever]

A Halloween project. If I’m not finished by Halloween I will weep.