#ghost of white spire

[flowerpetalprincess]

The Ghost of White Spire || Redraw || 2015/2023

After working so hard on gifts, the giveaway, and larger projects, I was really eager to do something to relax!

This sketch has been sitting in my wip folder since 2017, on a canvas with a bunch of other busts. I wanted to do something small and chill to relax with after everything, and settled on finishing this up :)

Cole is a spirit that was first introduced in Dragon Age; Asunder, a novel written by David Gaider. He's later introduced as a companion in Dragon Age Inquisition! In both the book, and game, he is one of my absolute favourite characters!

He's such a sweet lovely being, who seeks to help people. Though, in the novel, he's version of 'helping' is a bit more deadly. Killing those that were lined up to be made tranquil, so they could avoid such a fate.

Due to this, a rumour started to spread of 'The Ghost of White Spire.'

~

$5 Patrons had full access to my WIP's for this project, and got to see it a week in advance! If you're interested, you can see my art for as little as $1 on Patreon!

~

This Post is Scheduled.

Please do not steal, repost, or alter in any way.

#dragon age #dragon age asunder #dragon age inquisition #cole dragon age #dai cole #ghost of white spire #digital art #my art #queue

[eluvianarts]

Men of Thedas bust sketches (13/?) : Cole / Compassion

#Dragon Age #Dragon Age Inquisition #Dragon Age Asunder #Cole #Spirit of Compassion #black and white art #greyscale art #grayscale art #greyscale #grayscale #art portrait #digital art drawing #digital sketch #art sketch #Ghost of the Spire

[spacedace]

Reluctant War AU Part 2

Part One

...I ended up writing more for that Reluctant War AU...Like. Wrote this before work and started on part 3 with plans for part 4 more.

this was supposed to just be a brain worm what happened (also thank you @catastrophic-crow for the AU name <3 <3 <3 Also, also: welcome to the cult of Ancient of the Speedforce Elle! Membership includes nonsense, shenanigans and chaos haha)

-

Gotham had always been a place for ghosts.

Every corner haunted by death and tragedy.

Every street stained red at least once in its many years.

Every dark shadow holding the faint shadows and shades of the dead.

Gotham was, before all else, a grave yard.

Jason had known that his entire life. Every kid born and raised in the Alley did. Death came fast to Gotham’s streets. Especially for those the rest of the city turned its back on. He did his best to lighten the reaper’s load when it came to the people that called Crime Alley home. Well, mostly. He’d certainly added names to old Death’s list before, when the occasion called.

When the armies of the dead descended upon Gotham, the only surprise Jason could feel was that those white wearing pieces of shit had dared to try and hunker down in his city.

It was a sentiment shared by most of Gotham’s fine citizens. By the city itself - herself? Something to ask later, if there was a later - even if the impossible, living shadow that rose up out of Gotham’s many dark corners was anything to go by. He knew, almost instinctively, that the entity - skin of cracked pavement, mouth a bridge suspended too wide across the face, eyes of CCTV camera lenses and body built brick by grimy, bloody brick of the sharp skyline - was Gotham. Not a ghost but something bigger, greater. Something awfully, terribly alive in all its horrible, noble glory. His city, manifest in the shape almost human beneath the green glow of the torn apart sky above.

Phantom’s armies arrived without warning as they had everywhere else, and their enemies poured out in unforgivably unmarred white suits to meet them. Horrible and garish against the Gotham streets. How they’d ever managed to slink by unnoticed while being so blatantly, clearly not of Gotham Jason wasn’t sure he’d ever know.

If either side thought this would be like the battles they fought before, they were mistaken.

Gotham was a place for Ghosts.

A place the dead piled up, lingered well beyond their deaths. A place where the rules were different from everywhere else in the world. Where crime was rampant and chaos reigned but at the end of the day people said their thanks that they were born to this hellhole and not so cursed to call anywhere else in the world home.

The dead came to fight

And Gotham, a thing so alive it was sickening to look upon, rose up to fight right along side them all.

The agents were ready and prepared for the incursion of the dead. It’d been two weeks since the first volley of attacks. Two weeks spent shoring up defenses and ramping up weapons and strategizing ways to kill what was already dead. They were, as best as they were able to be considering how endless the armies that came for them, prepared.

They weren’t prepared for Gotham.

Weren’t prepared for the city itself to rise up and take spectral, eldritch shape. Jagged building spire and shattered glass teeth bared in a snarl that spanned miles. Screaming rage in a voice made of gunfire and the concussive boom of explosions and the shrieks of a furious crowd.

Weren’t prepared for its people to ignore the gentle ushering of the dead trying to push them away to safety and instead press forward to fight shoulder to shoulder with the ghostly armies.

Weren’t prepared to have brick and bottles and trash and debris rain down upon them from the jeering living. Weren’t prepared for dirty faced children with hard eyes to light up rags stuffed into chipped beer bottles filled with gas and kerosene and throw them with more speed an accuracy than any professional baseball player. Weren’t ready for Gotham’s motley crew of terrifying Rogues to band together with the citizens they so often accosted and worried and bring down wave after wave of chaos and Goons.

Weren’t prepared for Red Hood to swap out his rubber bullets for the real deal and start mowing the fuckers in white down, his own crew at his back, the rest of the Outlaws on their way.

The Justice League was trying to find a peaceful resolution. Trying to play go between to the US Government and the infinite dead. Too wound up in US politics to side with the dead outright, too disgusted by what the American government had done to ever want to stand with them. All it had gotten them was spun wheels and confusion and the slow creeping realization that the time to try and play negotiators had well passed.

Red Hood wasn’t a member of the Justice League.

He had no obligation to try and find a way to talk things out.

What he had was a grave he’d dug his way out of, enough ammunition to arm a sizable country, and a burning need to make things right.

Gotham had always been a place for ghosts, and Jason had long accepted that he was one of them.

Haunting the streets he’d survived as a child, the city he protected as Robin, the family he’d loved and lost a thousand and one times before and after his death.

The sky cracked open above his home, and it was not an invading army that came rushing out but a native one. Friends, neighbors, strangers on the street you caught from the corner of your eye. The people of Gotham knew their own and fought for them. Only Gotham was allowed to fucked with Gotham and they’d been screwed over enough by the government themselves to know what side they were on.

He lifted his guns and fired, teeth bared in vicious satisfaction beneath his helmet as white was splattered bright red.

A hissing electric whine of a weapon, a flash of green from the edge of his vision.

“Down!”

He was thrown bodily to the cracked and ruined street beneath him, the body shielding him warm and living as one of the agent’s weapon fired a blast of energy right where he’d been a second before. He’d seen that same weapon reduce one of the raging dead to dripping green and screams of agony the dead should not be capable of making.

Before he could shove himself up and respond in kind, the body above him was in motion and the air above him cracking with the snapping-popping-roar of a gun of a much higher power than even what he had. The fucker in white that had shot at him dissolved into a mist of red viscera, body seizing and shuttering in the briefest moment it had before it was obliterated completely.

“Watch yourself.” He looked up - and up - and wondered at the lovely, fierce face he found staring down at him. “Even without shooting at them you’re Liminal enough to trip their sensors.”

She was tall enough to be an amazon, six inches in height on him at least. Body strong beneath the pitch black armor she work - as deep and dark as the depths of space, etched with starlight, a familiar crest upon her chest in the dizzying burst of a supernova - she held herself with confidence. Strands of hair the color of a warning sunrise escaped out from beneath the helm she wore, bright against her pale skin, warming the glass-sharp teal eyes that had pinned him in place.

The hand not holding the gun she’d just used to delete the asshole that had just tried to shoot him - a strange, impossible thing that made him taste lightning at the back of his throat to look at it - stretched out to help him up.

He accepted it.

Something pulsed to life in his chest. A piece forgotten where it’d been left behind, half buried in grave dirt and broken pieces of a casket he’d clawed his way out of. It burned like a hot coal in his chest, froze him with the same aching cold of a blizzard, crackled his nerves to life with lightning even as his brain popped and fried with the same sizzling energy.

On his feet, hair on end and body and Core pulsing with the need to fight, to rend and tear and scream for all done to him, his people, his home, he met the eyes of the woman before him. Her cool gaze softened, just a moment, just a second as she seemed to realize what had happened. Her hand, lighter than the armor she wore should allow it to be, tightened on his just a moment, mouth tilting from determined frown to soft understanding.

Gotham had always been a place for ghosts.

Jason had long accepted that he was one of them.

---

Part Three

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #jason todd #jazz fenton #GIW #reluctant war au #ghost zone goes to war #ghost king danny #liminal jazz #halfa jason #sorta kinda #he's waking up alright #anger management #if you squint but if i do end up writing even more of this it'll be a thing lol #spirit of gotham #gotham spirit #eldritch gotham spirit #tw death #tw violence #implied gore #gothamites take one look at the GIW and are like: yup time to fuck some bitches up #the entire city has been itching for a chance to fight the US government after all the times they got cut off after a disaster #ghosts are trying to evacuate them and they're like: Nah we're good #Gotham Girl Scouts get badges for making molotov cocktails and knife fighting you can't convince me otherwise #Outlaws are gonna show up to find Jason has somehow collected yet another tall red head that can kick his ass #They're convinced he has the world's most specific meta ability with how many he ends up running around with #Bruce in mid convo w/ Waller trying not to kill her suddenly has his *one of my kids is Up To Something* senses go off

[strangelittlestories]

If that year’s winter had not been cold enough to crack the air, or if it had not overstayed its welcome like a troublesome relative, then the village never would have called upon the woman with all the skulls.

But the warmth came late and, worse, when it did it brought the sickly sweet smell of blight on the wind. The people tried to hope it away, but it clung in their nostrils, the ghost of future hunger pains.

When spring finally limped into view, the first long-term crops emerged shrunken and sickly. Barely thawed earth was dug up to reveal blackened roots beneath. The farmers toiled to get their first plantings of the spring in the earth, but a second snap of frost killed their progress and many of the seeds.

So, with a hard and hungry year promised, Evelyn (the village librarian) volunteered to make the journey to the Tower of Skulls and Soot.

Evelyn was no fool. She took all reasonable precautions. She brought gifts: a small jar of her own baby teeth, saved by her parents in case she ever saw such desperate times; and a parcel of old poetry books that no-one ever checked out as they were long past the fashion. 

She took protection too: from beneath the library’s floorboards she excavated the Quiet Stone, a worn piece of marble that resonated with all the silent moments of revery that echoed above it. With it, she could take any place she travelled to into a library. She also brought a knife (because some people didn’t respect libraries).

When she reached the tower, she was struck by its strange appearance; the impossibly elongated femurs and humeruses of its pillars; the lightning blackened spire; the hanging baskets of death-pale flowers. Inside herself, she noticed a new feeling squirm at the sight and it was … not unpleasant. She gulped and raised a hand to the jawbone knocker on the front door.

The door creaked open, revealing a light and airy corridor - totally empty. Most people would have asked, in a similar situation: well, who opened the door? Evelyn was left wondering: how on earth does a hinge made of cartilage creak?

Soft whispers coming from nowhere and everywhere guided Evelyn through the hallways and winding stairs (mostly made of stone, but with some bone accents). The way was lit by skulls mounted on the walls, with small patches of glowing fungus growing from their mouths. Eventually, the gentle susurrus guided her to a solar near the top of the tower. 

Evelyn had never been in a solar before, but had read descriptions in books and had always thought they sounded most elegant and sophisticated. She was glad to see she was correct, as this room was spacious but not gaping, well appointed but not gaudy, and comfortable but not too cosy. It was filled by crisp morning sunlight that spilled through a huge window that took up the entirety of the east wall.

Sitting by the fireplace was the lady with all the skulls. She rested on a chair with a frame built from the skeleton of some fierce and hunched creature, but filled in with plentiful soft cushions. She wore a sleek robe of pure white; it looked soft.

“Greetings, fell mistress. I bring you a gift of-” Evelyn began confidently, before tripping over the final step.

The jar of teeth went flying from her hands and shattered on the floor. Molars and broken glass covered the floor.

“Well, that’s certainly an improvement on pitchforks and flaming torches.” The lady’s lip twitched almost imperceptibly. “But your aim certainly needs work.”

She flicked a finger in the direction of the teeth, which transformed immediately into a dozen tiny creatures that began to gobble up the glass. They were like a cross between cats, ferrets and tiny dragons. The shards went crunch in their teeth (Evelyn’s *teeth* had *teeth*).

“I, uh, also brought poetry.” Evelyn held out the books. “It’s quite old, I’m afraid. But I like it.”

“A poorly flung tooth grenade *and* classic poetry?” An eyebrow was arched. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to assassinate me or court me.”

Evelyn blushed.

“If I might ask-”

The lady waved a hand.

“I already know what’s on your mind. And yes, I will raise your village’s crops from the dead.”

“Actually,” Evelyn continued to blush, “I was going to ask you where you got those robes. People in towers - especially with so many skulls - always seem to have robes. And I’m sure no-one nearby makes them. At least, not ones so fine as that.”

The lady looked at Evelyn properly for the first time. Once more, Evelyn felt that strange squirming sensation and again realised that she didn’t mind it.

“I keep a small colony of zombie silkworms. They’re picky eaters, mind, but they do make the most delicate threads.” She paused, noticing something in Evelyn’s eyes. “I could gift you some, if you like.”

“Um…”

“Now come on, let’s get to your village before they think I’ve eaten you or harvested your clavicle or some nonsense.” She rose. “I swear, folks may think all the skulls are a *bit much*, but … when the killing winter comes, they remember they need a necromancer.”

---

With thanks to Character of the Month member Ellie Williams for the character of Evelyn.

Want to join the Character of the Month club and suggest character pitches for my stories? Support me at £10/month on Ko-Fi! https://ko-fi.com/strangelittlestories

#writing #microfiction #flash fiction #short story #wtwcommunity #writeblr #creative writing #character of the month club

[catmansquad]

Special

Miguel X M!Reader (Since we're apparently drowning in an influx of Spider-woman Reader stories, and the M!Reader tag hasn't moved in a few days. Here's a Civilian Male to counterbalance it.)

Lyla had asked on three separate occasions if there was anything to do to help you. The first was likely her just taking note of how you stared out of the window, the last two had occurred at exactly a half-hour interval, and it was a toss-up in your mind as to if it had become part of her routine, or Miguel had sent her to check in on you. The view from the window was the same it always had been; fascinating, futuristic. The city had been bright and shining; sleek spires, clean streets, the gentle whizz of traffic above the pedestrians below, between lanes of hard-light. But now the skies were grey and overcast, like the weather was determined to suck all the colour out of this magnificent world. You watched the first droplets run down the glass, more appearing with each second until the downpour truly began. You were not looking for anything in particular, you saw your own reflection in the glass as much as you saw the city beyond. Your eyes trailed down your form, resting on the bracelet that was secure on your left wrist. You could feel its faint, barely perceptible hum, keeping you from violently, painfully disappearing from this beautiful world altogether. This was not your world, not your city, and certainly not your home. That honour belonged to another altogether.

You were surprised when another half-hour elapsed and Lyla did not return to check in on you again. The reason was only realized when you caught the glint of red eyes in the reflection. Huge hands gently rested on your shoulders, fingers giving a firm, reassuring squeeze. ‘¿Qué pasa, mi corazón? Lyla tells me you’ve just been… staring out the window for the past hour.’ You exhaled a shaky breath, finally tearing your eyes from the cityscape and turning to find the tall, broad form before you. Miguel moved a hand to stroke your cheek, his gaze was soft with concern. ‘… Please, tell me what’s wrong. You’re not yourself… I know it’s miserable out, but even so-‘ ‘… Why me, Miguel?’ You asked the question that froze the larger man’s voice in his throat, you met his gaze, seeing his eyes widen in concern. ‘How did I…? Why did you choose me? Out of all the worlds, and all the people you chose me.’ His crimson gaze searched your face, concerned and curious. ‘I chose you because I love you.’ His words were soft, voice low.

You did not resist as he took you by the wrist and led you from the window, to the soft white sofa that befit the minimalist, monochromatic décor his apartment so favoured. ‘I don’t see what’s so special about me, I’m just a… A regular guy. Every day you spend at your job, you see… hundreds and thousands of spectacular Spider-Women. You… Wouldn’t you be better off with one of them?’ Miguel’s gaze narrowed, just a fraction, then he leaned in and placed a soft kiss to your forehead. ‘No. Oh, they think they have a chance with me. They buzz and flutter around me like irritating gnats who tell terrible jokes. They all think they’re the funniest person in the room with tragic backstories and special circumstances….’ He paused to hum in thought, impossibly strong arms circling around your waist as he pulled you into his lap, against his broad, warm chest that filled out the familiar soft white hoodie. ‘I tell them all the same thing; I am in love with a regular, wonderful man. There is nothing that they can do to change my heart, not in this world or any other. You have my heart…’ His lips ghosted across your own as your tensions began to ease away, taking doubts with it. ‘… You always will. You don’t need to be special, because you’re the man I love. To me, you’re already the most special person in existence.’ He gave no room for reply as his lips met yours, imparting tender love and warmth where words would not suffice. You hummed in delight at his kiss, and then returned it with vigor, arms snaking slowly across his shoulders and around his neck, fulfilling that need to be closer and return the love shown.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x male reader

[asp1diske-art]

Your technical skill with lineart and shading is amazing in itself, but it's your ability to convey emotion and atmosphere in your work that is trademark to me :) its incredible how you can show through gesture and body language just what these masked, expressionless characters are feeling, and how the environment itself conveys that. Your lurien comics, especially the one that ends in something along the lines of "I return to the kingdom you abandoned" are I think the spark that made Lurien go from Some Guy to Deeply Interesting for me, and your use of color pop and shaky line contributed so much to the feeling in those comics. You are one of the artists whose skill at evoking emotions I aspire to <3

Oh wow, I've been reading and re-reading this for the last 20 minutes this is amazing.

So, emotions!

If there is one thing I'm proud to have accomplished during my time in Hollow Knight, it's the skill of expressing tone. Because here's the thing, facial expressions are just one of the many components of tone. (I even wrote about this in another ask some time ago.) Colors, gestures, camera angle, lighting, paneling, lines and narration - all of these come together to convey the mood of the scene.

Check out these wips from the Watcher and the Watched comic, for example.

You can see that color played a huge role in setting the atmosphere in the comic. It shows that this comic is taking place in the Watcher's Spire, but it also gives a dark, subdued feeling that wouldn't come from idk, a yellow background. The backlight emphasizes the ominous tone of the last page. As does Lurien's pose - coupled with the butler looking up and Lurien looking down, it makes it look like Lurien is looming over his butler (and the reader). All this builds up to deliver Lurien's lines with maximum impact.

So yeah, a lot goes into conveying tone in comics, and I'm very happy to hear that it was recieved well!!

The Lurien, Dreamer comic. It's almost 2 years old now but it's still one of the favorite comics I drew about him. Together with the City of Tears comic, it's the epitome of my interpretation of Lurien. My characterization of Lurien's relationship with the Pale King was quite different from the usual fanon at the time (I don't know how it is now, I haven't gone into the tags in years haha) and I wasn't really sure how people would take it. So I'm glad to hear that it got you interested in Lurien!

It's the one that took the longest too lol. Usually I draw comics in a single setting, but that one took 3 days. Besides Two Ghosts (which was an 18 chapter+@ comic that was over 50p and took about 2 months), no other comic has broken this record. I put in a lot of care into it, and it still holds a special place in my heart.

Honestly half the reason I use messy, sketchy lines is that I suck at drawing clean lines lmao. But I like to think that I've made the best of it and utilized it as an art style. In that comic especially, because the whole thing takes place in the dream realm and I wanted to give a rough, unreal feel to it.

I'd show breakdowns of this one too but the file is so big it keeps crashing lol. (Pro tip - draw your comic pages in separate files. Don't be like me and draw 300dpi 10p comics with 30 layers in each page in a single canvas. It will crash and you will be sad.) But drawing the White Palace was a interesting challenge because I usually draw in highly saturated colors whereas the Palace is, well, white. So I had to work out a way to color this without making everything looking grey, while also making it recognizable as the palace. iirc I used a lot of overlay & burn & dodge layers along with a few difference & subtract layers to give the white a slight yellow tint to stand out from the dark blue. (I'm pretty sure they're the culprits crashing the file.)

Sorry this got long, I really took this as an invitation to ramble about my art hkfsldjkflj

Thank you for all the compliments! It's an honor to hear that my art could be someone's aspiration, and I'm very happy that all my Lurien art got someone else into Lurien. I hope you have a nice day :D

#asks #my art #long post

[orqheuss]

For whatever we lose (like a you, or a me)

(Ominis Gaunt/Sebastian Sallow/GN!Reader ANGST)

Pre!Parenthesis Universe

Summary:

“Oh for the love of—” Sebastian cut himself off, quickly drawing his wand from his sleeve and pointing it at your chest. Images danced behind his eyes; Solomon destroying the plant that could have cured Anne; The blurry image of the goblin that had cursed his sister running from the house, cackling in villainous mirth; finding his parents bodies in the cellar, thick plumes of colored toxic smoke spewing from their cauldron. His vision faded to a striking black. White hot pokers stabbed into his temples, and he cast his wand at you in a blind rage. “Crucio!” *** The Scriptorium called your name, and who were you to ignore its song? At least, that's what you told yourself as Sebastian pushed you and Ominis deeper and deeper into the mausoleum.

Word count: 9k

Tags: arguing, violence, cruciatus curse, dark!sebastian (kind of), sexual humor

AN: I’m moving all of my fics over from Ao3 to make them more accessible! These are my fics.

Not a sound could be heard in the moonlit, desolate hallways of Hogwarts. The distant star casted a haunting glow over the courtyard and shone through the grand windows of the Great Hall. Figures long lost to time danced through the paintings lining the hazelwood walls, waltzing to an imaginary concerto. The ghosts floating about chatted quietly about their history, telling tales of cadences forever forgotten in old textbooks. Their whispers shivered the leaves in the trees on the campus grounds, leaving them humming at the fall winds cascading from the sky and turning their once vibrant green spires into a burnt orange. Lanterns lined the Grand Staircase at the heart of the castle, a paragon of regality and the wisdom of the great wizarding school. Baroque styled banisters basked in the glow, expelling person-shaped shadows on the enormous walls lining the mystical architecture. Down the stairs laid an ornate stone door, its architrave adorned with a cosmic silver snake. Two freshly lit braziers framed the entrance and swayed in the steely breeze of the dungeons, its smokey ash pirouetting in romantic couplets towards the ceiling. 

A third was sparked to life just down the way. The line of light seemed to lure in anyone who were to walk the halls past curfew; beckoning them with the promise of mischief and pleasure. Standing before the final brazier, basking in its luminescence, were three young students. One leaned against the far wall of the corridor, arms crossed tightly against his chest with a sullen look adorning his features. His eyes seemed to catch the light and shimmer like frosted glass on a winter morning. Another stood in front of the boy, directly under the cold stone of the giant candelabra. He was beaming with elation, his eyes glittering with waywardness and intrigue. His brown irises seemed to reflect the fire back in challenge, almost daring it to blaze brighter than he did. Between the two was the final student. A slight frown quirked the corner of their mouth, glancing back and forth between their two friends in trepidation. They could feel each emotion emitting from their companions like a thick fog, coating the hallway and leaving the braziers the lone match shining through the storm. Each felt something different about their quest— had different motives for the scintillating adventure. They all heard the distinct call to the Scriptorium before them, and felt more than compelled to answer. With a great rumble, the stone wall sloughed away and opened up to a chasm leading downward. A spiral staircase slithered from below and attached to the ledge, hissing out a stream of steam in its wake. 

The three friends stood in awe at the display, amazed at the grandiloquence of the long dead wizard who made this place. They were about to enter Salazar Slytherin’s Scriptorium, a feat very few could claim as their own. 

Sebastian Sallow turned on the balls of his feet and beckoned his friends over, a giddy look twinkling in his eyes and stretching his smile. The prospect of finding a cure for the curse that plagued his sister heavily outweighed any unease he may have had at the daunting entryway. He nearly vibrated with excitement— the need for thrill buried itself deep in his bones. He could taste the tombs of secrets hidden in the enigma before him, feel the leather bound books worn with oil from the fingertips of his house founder. The forbidden magic thrummed in his veins and set his blood aflame like the brightest sunlight. Something unfamiliar flashed in his eyes, something dark.

Ominis Gaunt, the heir of Slytherin himself, flicked his wand from his large robe sleeve and sparked it to life. A red light pulsed from its tip, and the hallway came more into focus in his mind. He pushed himself off of the wall and walked towards the imposing archway, closer to his family history simmering below. He looked striking, noble even, with his even, strong steps. Only someone close enough to be in his own skin would notice the slight tremble in his hands, the sweat that beaded at his brow. Anyone else with his condition could hear the steady hammer of his heart against his rib cage, the fast but even beats swimming in his ears and resting behind his eyes. He thought of his dear aunt Noctua, the last of the Gaunt’s to enter the foreboding mausoleum— how she had disappeared soon after finding its entrance. A shiver ran up his spine and something akin to fear lodged itself in his throat. 

You looked on at the two boys. You had no feelings for this moment, nothing to go off of but the words of your two comrades. You peaked down the chilling stairs into the never-ending darkness. It seemed to hiss in contempt at being awoken. This metaphorical pit of serpents had fangs, and each dripped with a deadly poison befitting the strongest men. The blackness crept up your arms and buried itself in your hair— it whispered sweet nothings into your ears, enticing the ancient magic flowing under your skin. You inhaled the titillating aroma of devillment and stored it deep in your lungs. Excitement and worry crashed against your soul and swirled like a hurricane in your stomach, sending ripples of anxiety through your very bones. You truly didn’t know how you felt at that very moment, but you knew, more than anything, that you wanted to protect your friends. Something inside, though, felt familiar. Something was calling out to your magic, and you felt inclined to answer.

You pushed the anxiety aside for now. The two boys, now standing next to you, both had things they needed to learn from the Scriptorium, and you were going to help them find it. The idea of adventure took over your senses at that moment and spread heat through your chest, glowing as bright at the braziers you had just lit. 

Even Ominis, a very stoic and reserved boy to most, seemed to have a gleam about his face that shimmered in eagerness. Not many knew, but he most definitely had a taste for chaos— he had to with the company he kept. There was something so intriguing about the Scriptorium to him. Maybe it was something forged in his very being, him being a Gaunt after all. Either way, the young wizard turned his attention towards his companions in a silent confirmation that he was ready to go. You cleared your throat hesitantly, drawing the attention of Sebastian away from the dark hallway before you. 

“Alright boys,” you gestured towards the entrance with your hand, “shall we?” 

The two nodded in your direction. Sebastian turned to you with a cheeky grin decorating his features. “I haven’t seen a tunnel this big since your mum.” 

Another thing about the Sallow boy: he very rarely took anything seriously. 

At the unimpressed look you gave him, he held his hands up in a placating manner, chortling to himself, “Aw, come on. That was a good one—”

You reached your hand towards his face and promptly thumped him on the forehead with a flick. Sebastian dropped the troublesome smirk and quickly brought his palm up to rub at the affronted spot, hissing through his teeth in pain. 

You looked at Ominis next to you, and as if sensing your disappointment he shook his head while looking up at the ceiling, muttering to himself, “Merlin, help me,” before beginning to walk down the daunting staircase. 

You and Sebastian fell into step behind the young Gaunt, trusting his instincts and sentient wand better than your fleeting eyesight. The tunnel was unequivocally dark, even the lumos dancing in front of your face barely pierced the surface. Your shoes made a distinct squelch sound on the wet cement with each step deeper into the pit. 

Down, 

          down, 

                    down you went. 

The stairs seemed to go on forever, descending into the fathomless unknown. Each sound echoed off the tightly packed walls, bouncing back and forth like a well crafted game of wizards chess. The seconds ticked by slowly, cascading around you like the steady stream of drips coming from above. The piping loomed imposingly above your heads and drizzled along the black-stone walls. You must be truly under the castle, you supposed. You felt tightly packed like a tin of sardines— three fish wiggling together towards the unknown fate of the stew pot. Ominis could smell your discomfort behind him, and quite honestly, he was inclined to agree. He couldn’t sense the end landing, if there even was one, in the infernal devilry that was the accursed sepulcher. The scent and taste of mildew and stale air coated his nasal cavity and larynx, making it impossible to determine anything else from the two orifices. He would gripe about his lack of sight in situations like this, at least normally, but he doubted that it would make much difference at the current moment. There was truly nothing around them.

Sebastian could taste the unease in the air from his two companions, and he detested the feeling greatly. It was of the utmost disrespect to the boy to turn down adventure; there was absolutely nothing in this world that he didn’t want to poke and prod, to know how it ticked. If there was one thing that his parents passed down to him before they died, it was that. He understood that it was a daunting task, and a very large ask of his dear friends, to take this journey with him, but for Merlin’s sake, it was Slytherin’s Scriptorium! He had only ever read about this monumental library, hiding deep in the caverns of the Hogwarts underbelly. How could he say no to this journey, this discovery? If it helped Anne along the way, what was the harm of it all? 

Just as you were beginning to think you would never leave the Hadean staircase, it finally puttered off to a smooth path of river-stones and a dimly lit concourse. Ominis stood at the forefront of the group, his wand casting a small bale-fire and illuminating more of the imposing hallway. Sebastian chuckled lowly behind him. Wrapping his arm around the smaller boy's shoulders and leaning his head towards you, his eyes focusing deep into the darkness before him, he hummed.

“Hmph. Dark, ominous corridors. My favorite!” He cheesed at your bubbling laugh, snickering to himself at the obvious annoyance of the other boy. 

Ominis bemoaned the statement, groaning and throwing his head back minutely. A hand raised to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “No comment.” 

You turned towards your blond haired friend, placing your own hand on his shoulder and leaning in next to his ear, a dangerously coy simper tweaking up the corners of your mouth.

“I certainly love one of Ominis’ corridors.” 

The wiry boy wiggled out from under your arms, making a sound of disgust at the comment as his cheeks turned a bright fuchsia. Sebastian desperately held in giggles behind his hand, watching as the boy made an obscene gesture with his middle finger in your general direction. The taller boy stepped closer to the other, gently grasping his arm by the wrist and redirected the gesticulation to face more fully at you instead of a little to the left where it once was pointed. Both of you paused, looking between each other's eyes and the offending finger with barely contained mirth, before combusting dramatically into boisterous laughter. Sebastian leaned against the wall in support, nearly screaming around the laughs that wracked his body. You still stood across from Ominis, doubled over with your hands on your knees. Gasping breaths left your lungs as you teared up in humorous pain. Ominis’ scowl somehow got deeper, and once again he turned away from the pair of you and began to walk down the hallway himself— screw you two hooligans to the sticking place for all he cared. 

“Yes, yes. Hardy har, laugh at the blind fellow. Incredibly mature, you both are.” 

Sebastian walked up to your hunched form, patting you gently on the back before grasping at your shoulder and helping you stand. You both leaned on the other for support as the last of your giggles tittered into the air around you. Taking a deep, cleansing breath before shakily releasing the air, you began to walk after the tiffed boy. His haunches were raised above his ears, only the tips poked out and were flushed a light pink. You quickly ran to catch up with his quick steps, waving your wand around in front of you to avoid any obstacles in the low lighting. Your arm landed on his shoulders once again, and you sniggered jovially,

“I do apologize. That was terribly coarse of me, my dear Ominis.” 

Sebastian slid up on the other side of the boy, wrapping his arm around his other shoulder and resting his hand at your elbow. He accentuated his accent, adopting an incredibly posh vernacular. “Indubitably. Frightfully uncouth of us. Please forgive us, dear friend.” 

Ominis growled in the back of his throat, mumbling curses under his breath and shrugging off both of your arms. “Go lick a leprechaun taint, the both of you.” 

You both gasped in outrage. 

“How dare you, good sir!” Sebastian cried, a hand fluttering over his heart and a scandalized look decorating his visage. 

You took a similar stance. “We are children of God! Deviant behavior such as that must be saved for one's wedding bed.” 

The two pureblood wizards paused and turned towards you, confusion laced in their eyebrows. The brunette leaned closer to you, arms now crossed in befuddlement, and glanced at you from his peripheral vision like he was about to share a secret. 

“What’s a ‘God’?” Sebastian whispered out of the side of his mouth.

You turned towards the boy, finger raised and mouth open with an explanation at the tip of your tongue. You quickly decided against it, though, as you knew it would just confuse them more. Best not try to explain muggle religion to two boys who have never stepped out of their small towns until it was time to go to school. You sighed, lowering your hand and about facing the end of the hall, ambling along ahead of the pack. The two boys shrugged and continued after you. 

At the far end of the hallway stood two imposing stone walls, an ostentatious doorway slid into the space between. Looking at the entrance, embellished in the texture of scales and decorated with serpent imagery, you felt a sense of dread wash over you.  Each turn in this maze of a catacomb seemed to linger with a foreboding aura, flooding your senses and raising the hairs at the back of your neck. You turned to look at Sebastian, now at your elbow just behind you. He was gazing at the door in pure curiosity, his eyebrows pinched together in contemplation. He ran his hand along the intricate carvings, tracing each snake with delicate precision. 

Ominis slowly entered the room, his head tilted left and then right with a pensive look adorning his face. He stood in the center of the room and closed his eyes, seemingly listening to something that only he could hear. Soft hisses slithered through the room from the pipes above, adding to the dreadful vibe. Each hiss caused him to twitch in one direction to the next. If you didn’t know any better, you would say that he was possessed by a snake itself. 

His eyes suddenly snapped open, startling you with his ferocity. He quickly paced towards the door, running his hand along the carvings with Sebastian. The homing signal at the tip of his wand cast an eerie glow on the wood, mingling with the green fire torches lining the walls. He leaned his ear on the door, listening closely to the whispers in the walls. He tilted his head towards the pair of students, gesturing with his chin at the entryway. 

“It’s speaking to me.” 

You quirked an eyebrow at the boy. “The wall is talking to you?” 

He nodded, pressing his ear against the wall once again. You walked towards the blond, pressing the back of your hand to his forehead in puzzlement. 

“Are you feeling alright, Ominis? Are you ill? How can the wall be ta—”

“Shush!” He gently grasped your arm and lowered your hand to your side. “No, you numpty. It’s speaking parseltongue, the language of snakes.” 

Sebastian leaned away from the door, snapping his fingers in excitement and pointing at the blind boy. 

“I forgot you could speak parseltongue!” 

Ominis huffed to himself, trepidation coating his tightly spoken words, “Well, I don’t particularly enjoy it. Parseltongue is notoriously associated with dark wizards, something as you know I have tried very hard to disassociate myself with.”  

He leaned away from the door, instead resting his hand on the wall beside it. He looked up, unseeing, at the grand archway decorating the edges of the room and listened carefully once again to the hissed whispers. 

“I think I need to speak to the door for it to open. Please step back, the both of you. I don’t want you hurt if something goes awry.” 

You both took a noisy step back, making sure to alert him since he briefly put away his wand in favor of leaning on the stone wall with both hands. 

Ominis sighed to himself, blowing upwards and dislodging part of his hair from his styled quiff. “I can’t believe I’m about to do this.” 

From his mouth came a series of lethargic hisses, stringed together as if in a sentence. The sound seemed to fill the entire room, echoing off the stone walls and bouncing back at you from all angles. It amplified steadily as the hisses from above answered in turn. 

Three of the decorative serpents came to life within the wood, slithering through the holes of the door and gliding along the edges of its carved trenches. A stream of mist puffed from its outer ridges, silencing the voices floating around you with a defined burst of powerful air. It blew the hairs dangling around your face backwards, tickling the tips of your ears and the back of your neck. Every hair on your body stood on edge and you suppressed a shiver. 

The three of you stood silently for a moment, basking in the sudden quiet. It was like a bubble that had mysteriously appeared around your heads spontaneously popped, sending a rush of startling stillness pulsating directly into your ears. 

Ominis was the first to break the spell, clearing his throat around the tightness that rested there, his cheeks glowing with a soft rosacea, and gestured through the now open doorway.

“After you.” 

Your face broke out into an animated grin. “Ominis, you truly possess a rare ability, indeed!” You gently brushed your hand on his shoulder as you passed through the archway. Ominis’ cheeks blushed a darker red, and he reached his hand behind his head, rubbing softly at his neck in embarrassment. 

“Oh, er, it’s nothing.” 

Sebastian stayed in the back of the group, a scowl on his face and his arm crossed tightly across his chest. He glowered at the door like it affronted him, cursing it for allowing his friend to show his rare gift. Stalking towards the next room, irritation heavily prevalent in his steps, he muttered to himself the phrase you had just spoken in a mocking tone. He wasn’t sure which of you he should feel jealous of— you complimenting Ominis, or Ominis getting complimented by you.

Both, he decided. He was jealous of both. 

The three students passed under the bend and entered into the next room of the monolith-lined maze. Once fully inside, the imposing door behind you closed with a loud slam. Sebastian ran at it, pulling desperately at the carvings and pushing with all his strength. Ominis joined him, throwing his weight at it with a grunt. The door didn’t budge. 

“Shit!” Hissed the brunette, punching the door one last time before taking in the room behind him. “Guess we’re stuck in here until we find the next room.” 

The blond leaned back against the wood, an annoyed puff of hair leaving his mouth. “Until we find the next room? How do we even know that there’s a next room? We could very well just be stuck here until we inevitably die of thirst or hunger, whichever happens first.” Ominis turned his head towards the sound of the pacing boy. “Sebastian, we’re eating you first.” 

Sebastian stuttered in outrage, “Why me?!” 

“Because it was your idea to come here in the first place!” 

“Say that to my face you—”

Tired of listening to the boys argue, you lit the tip of your wand and began to explore the new area you had unlocked. It was a large stone room with a gunmetal gate at one end, a giant lock decorating the middle. Spiderwebs covered every corner, starting from the very far bottom corner and stretching to the upper corner across the room. You shuddered, thinking of the large arachnids you had fought not that long ago. You hated spiders. Making your way closer to the gate, you traced your finger along the lock, noting strange shapes in the metal. It seemed like it wouldn’t take a key like normal, it was a puzzle of some sort. 

Turning towards your friends, you tuned back in their argument. They were face to face, arms crossed, with indignant expressions. 

“It’s your ancestor that seems to like puzzles so much!”

“Look in a mirror, Sebastian.” 

“How dare you!” He stuttered for a moment, wracking his brain for a suitable comeback, “Were you dropped on your head as a child?!”

Ominis scoffed, a sarcastic grin stretching his lips, “Oh, bold of you to assume I was ever held—”

“BOYS!” You shouted for them from the gate. “Can you have your lover’s quarrel later? I found something.” 

Their faces instantly softened a fraction at the sound of your voice. They stepped away from each other, embarrassed by their squabble, straightened their cloaks, and walked over to where you stood. 

Sebastian came up to the gate, running his fingers along the lock like you did, before  grasping at the bars and giving it a good shake. The gate rattled against the ground, scraping at the concrete below, but refused to budge. He took a step closer, craning his head around and looking through the small slits in the metal. His collar dug into his neck uncomfortably. Growling, the boy tugged on the offending cloth.

“This bloody collar—”

The freckled boy stood back, looking at the gate once more for a moment before undoing his robe and tossing it unceremoniously to the ground. He shrugged off his jacket and vest next, leaving him just in his white button down and tie. He quickly pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, shaking out his arms in the process, and loosened his tie before undoing a few buttons near the top of his shirt. Grasping his wand between his teeth, Sebastian took hold of one of the horizontal metal rungs in the gate and pulled upwards with all his might. Still no movement. 

A blush began to creep up your neck at the display before you, and you averted your eyes from the very attractive boy. You turned towards Ominis, only to find him in a similar state of undress. He was in the process of carefully undoing the buttons around his cuffs and folding the sleeves to his elbow. You noticed he had neatly gathered his jacket, vest, and robe and placed them atop one of the assorted rocks littering the ground. He began to walk towards the other boy, listening to his struggling grunts of effort. Your blush somehow got brighter.

“Let me try.”

Sebastian took a step back and waved his hands in a “have at it” motion. Ominis approached the gate in a similar stance to the other boy, flexing his forearms and pulling upwards once again. You could see his muscles straining under the material; he may have been slim, but he certainly wasn’t unfit. Eyes skipping from one boy to the other, one with his hands on his hips, panting at the effort he had just exuded, and the other now pondering the gate before him, a finger resting on his chin and hand resting on his other elbow across his chest, you suddenly felt like the room had gotten at least ten degrees hotter. 

In your flustered state, you took a step back away from your companions. You bumped into something just behind you, a piece of sharp stone slicing through your shoulder. Releasing a hiss in pain, you grasped at the wound and quickly turned around, looking for the offending object. Just over your shoulder stood a large stone statue of a snake poised to strike. It was resting on two circular bases, one atop the other with just enough space between to twist them to different directions. You noticed symbols decorating the rims of each— they were the same shape and style as the two on the gate lock. You quickly crouched down and took hold of the stone, turning it until both bases lined up with the ones on the lock. A loud click sounded through the room and the gate before you opened. 

The three of you quickly turned towards the sound, wands poised in front of you ready to strike. Seeing no danger, you all lowered your weapons and turned back towards the statue. You crouched yet again, running your fingertip along the other symbols.

You spoke to the boys over your shoulder, “It’s a puzzle. You have to match the gate symbols to the ones on the snake.” 

Sebastian barked a laugh, coming up behind you and gazing at the sculpture. “Absolutely brilliant, you are! Bet I could do that just as well, eh?” He patted you on your shoulder with pride, not noticing your new injury. You clenched your teeth, a pained hiss escaping through the gaps. The brunette drew his hand back in alarm, looking at the small streak of blood on his palm. He took your arm gently, eyebrows furrowed at the medium sized cut in concern. 

“Stars, you’re hurt! What happened? Are you alright?” 

You placed your hand over one of his, looking at him over your shoulder and forcing a laugh. “That’s how I found the statue in the first place. I’ll be fine, it’s just a scratch.” 

He looked at you with doubt, but let it go, releasing your arm and taking a step back. “If you say so.” 

You stood, shaking out your arms and shoulders. His hands felt like small fires against the cool air of the mausoleum. 

“Okay, Ominis and I will stay here and look for more of these puzzles. Sebastian, you go look in the other room and see if you find anything. Call out if you need backup.” 

Sebastian saluted two fingers in your direction before running at the open gate, grabbing at the taller ledge of the other room and heaving himself up. You watched him disappear onto the other floor. You and Ominis spread out, each taking a different corner of the room. It was bigger than you originally expected, going on for at least the length of a classroom. There was another gate at the very center of the room, the same as the other. Your eyes scanned each corner of your side for the distinct shape of Salazar’s sculpt, calling to Ominis on the other side of the room.

“So, why does Salazar Slytherin like snakes so much, anyway?”

Ominis shrugged, “Some legends say that he was an animagus— that his form was a basilisk.” 

You whistled lowly, “That’s a big snake.” 

The boy chuckled softly, going back to the original silence directly after. Ominis bit his lip, chewing it over what he should say next. He didn’t like the silence, it made him feel like he was back home. The ambiance of the Scriptorium certainly didn’t help, either. 

He took a deep breath before speaking. “Are you truly alright?” 

You smiled, moving over to his side where he was feeling along the wall. You rested your hand on his shoulder, a feather light touch that felt like a heavy weight because of his nerves. “I am, I promise. Please don’t worry about me, everything is fine.” 

He turned his face towards your voice. “I always worry. About the both of you.” 

Your face softened at the confession, bringing your hand up to gently caress his cheek. He leaned into your touch, eyes closing at the contact. Brushing your thumb against his cheekbone, you felt a surge of nerves in your stomach; butterflies bumping around in the inner lining of your gut. You opened your mouth to speak.

“Ominis, I—” 

A short shout cuts through the quiet. You both whip your heads in the direction of the open gate, calling out to the boy on the other side. 

“Sebastian, are you alright?” 

You hear him fumble around for a moment, calling in return, “The statue bit me! Be careful not to get it wrong!” 

Ominis gently grasped your chin, turning it back towards his face. He listened to you expectantly, patiently waiting for you to continue your thought from before. The blond was incredibly nervous, hoping that you couldn’t tell that his hand was shaking. You hesitantly flick your eyes from his irises to his lips, soft and inviting. You wet your own, taking a shaky breath in. 

“What were you saying?” Ominis whispered, his face a hairs length away. 

Your eyes quickly slid over to the left, feeling incredibly hot under the collar all of a sudden. A strange shaped rock caught your attention, curved at the base like a worm. There it was, the final puzzle. You gasped, fumbling out of Ominis’ hold on you and quickly scurrying over to it, turning the dial to the shapes on the other gate. Just as yours slotted into place, a second click could be heard from the room over. The second gate opened with a loud, rusted creak, leading into a third, and what you hoped was final, room.  

Sebastian made his way back over to the two of you, an elated grin stretching across his face as he gazed into the next section of the crypt. Ominis had dropped his arm when you de-tangled yourself, now crossing both in front of his chest with an expression similar to someone who smelled something foul. 

The three of you crept into the room, wands poised for any danger that may come forward. The gate slammed shut behind you once more, trapping you there like before. 

“Salazar Slytherin isn’t done with us yet,” Ominis whispered, a grave seriousness adorning his visage. 

You quietly make your way to the other side of the room where a large, disfigured door lay. It was covered in carvings; scratches marred the corners, flowing dangerously into disturbing images of screaming faces. You felt the air around you grow even colder than before, a shiver running down your spine. There was a flutter of paper to your right, and you swung your wand towards the sound. The tip illuminated an old piece of parchment, covered in dust with sections of it nibbled away by rats. You gently pick up the letter, afraid it would fall apart at the slightest movement. On it was a journal entry of sorts, big looping cursive depicting the fate of the last explorer to make it to this room. You carefully scanned the note, each word filling your chest with dread. Gazing down at the ground near your feet, you quietly gasp at the sight of a decaying skeleton. Its bones were a stark alabaster against the gray concrete floor; spiderwebs weaved throughout the skull and down to the rib cage. 

Noctua Gaunt.

You quietly ushered Sebastian over to where you stood, handing him the final journal entry of the woman before you. He scanned it, his eyes growing larger by the second and his face adopting a grim expression. The freckled boy looked at you for confirmation, and you gestured to the skeleton below. He gasped quietly in his throat, looking over his shoulder at the other Slytherin quietly pacing by the gated entrance. 

You quietly spoke, sympathy lacing your tone, “Ominis, I’m so sorry to have to tell you this. There’s a note over here, next to a body.” You cleared your throat uncomfortably. “It’s Noctua.” 

The boy froze his movements, head tilting down towards the ground in sorrow. “What happened to her?” 

“The note says she was stuck in here, and that she could only open the door with an unforgivable curse. She didn’t have anyone else in here with her, so she was unable to escape.”

You walked up to the now shaking boy, his hands grasping at his opposite elbows to ground himself. You gently moved your hand to his shoulder, stroking the joint with your thumb. He roughly shrugged your hand away, returning to his pacing; his face morphed into a look of pain. His hands ran through his hair in anguish, mussying it up into a wild mane. 

“She died stuck in here, and we will suffer the same fate. We will be stuck down here forever— the next person to enter will find our bodies like we found hers.” 

Sebastian bent down to pick up the note you dropped, studying it closely again. He quickly paced towards you both, anxious nervousness rubbing off of him in waves. 

“Don’t give up quite yet. She says that she couldn’t leave because she was alone and had no one to cast the spell on. There’s three of us— we can get out! We just have to cast the unforgivable.” 

Ominis threw his hands down in agitation, spitting at the other boy, “That’s dark magic, Sebastian! Unforgivables are unforgivable for a reason. You can’t just cast one, you need to mean it, and I don’t particularly want to hurt either of you. Do you?” 

Sebastian’s eyebrows knitted together in irritation, “If it means getting out of here alive and finding a cure for Anne, I’ll do anything I have to.” 

You stepped between the two squabbling boys, holding your hands aloft to keep their distance from the other. This argument was getting heated fast, a darker, more dangerous aura rested under the surface than the argument in the prior room. You spoke to the brunette to your left, “Sebastian, which spell is it? What do we need to do?” 

He scanned the note for a third time, eyes alight in a combination of rage and panic. His expression grew grave, and he felt something lodge itself in his throat. He forced the words out from around it, slightly choked with emotion, “We need to cast the cruciatus curse.” 

Ominis’ wrath was palpable in the air, filling the room like a thick fog. “Absolutely not! There must be another way out. There is no way in Merlin’s name that I’m letting either of you cast that spell!” 

The taller Slytherin growled, throwing the note down on the ground and pacing back to the horrifying door. He ran his hand along the faces, each twisted in pain. He sighed, pushing his anger back down into his chest. It would do them no good to argue with each other. 

“I understand that you’re scared, Ominis, but there isn’t another spell. This is the only way out.” He took a deep, steadying breath, before finishing his thought. “You’re the only one here who knows the spell. It should be you who casts—”

“Are you soft in the head!? I would rather die than cast that spell again. I question our friendship just at the fact that you would ask that of me.” 

Sebastian pressed his forefinger and thumb against the bridge of his nose, pinching it in exasperation. He turned on the balls of his feet towards where you were, silently watching the fight with fright in your eyes. He walked towards you, placing both of his palms on your shoulders and looking deep into your eyes. 

“It’s up to us, then.” He paused, searching your face for something. His eyebrows creased in concentration and something else that you couldn’t name. Fear? Anger? Assurance? You weren’t sure. You weren’t sure you wanted to know. He quickly spun away from you, beginning to pace the length of the room while muttering to himself, tapping his wand against his leg in a sporadic rhythm. You watched from your spot next to the door. It seemed to glow with evil energy, spreading its wicked tendrils around the room like a well-fed devils snare. You could almost feel it crawling its way into your nose and mouth, wrapping around your throat and squeezing the air from your lungs. Rapid breaths escaped from your lips, your heart pulsing rapidly in your chest. Your wide eyes, absolutely swimming in terror, refused to leave the daunting door. You open your mouth to speak, before a resolute voice cuts you off from your thoughts. 

“Cast it on me.” 

Your breath caught in your chest, freezing in your veins as your blood ran cold. Surely you didn’t hear him correctly? He wasn’t asking you to—

“Cast it on me, it’s the only way.” 

You slowly turned in his direction, meeting Sebastian’s beautiful brown eyes, normally filled with warmth but now cold and hard. He stood directly across from you, the glow of the door casting a striking shadow on his youthful face. His demeanor was all straight lines; tight and unmoving in discernment. There was no changing his mind, he had made his choice— his figurative bed. He would rather take the curse himself than have to cast it on either of his closest friends. You saw the determination in his eyes, in the thin line of his lips and jagged edges of his clenched jaw. He was an immovable force, and who were you to try and bend physics to your will? You closed your eyes, gathering your resolve, before meeting his eyes once again. The fire behind your irises burned brightly, a blazing inferno ready to take the entire world into its flames. 

“Alright, if you’re sure. Do you know the spell?”

He looked at the door again in trepidation before meeting your gaze, something unknown still swirling in his irises. “In theory. I can teach it to you.” 

The both of you moved through the motions of the spell, repeating it a few times to make sure you knew what you were doing. The movements in itself felt dirty— wrong, even. Like you weren’t supposed to be privy to this kind of knowledge. Your wand arm felt numb, like the cold was seeping into your very bones and inducing hypothermia. You swallowed thickly, before raising your wand to Sebastian’s chest. You stared into the other’s eyes, both filled with intense worry and fright. 

“Are you ready?”

The brunette took a deep breath through his nose, clearing his mind and attempting to calm his rapid heartbeat. He nodded his head, not trusting his voice, eyes squeezing shut in preparation for the unimaginable pain he was about to experience. 

Your shaking voice spoke, mouth feeling weird around the accursed word.

“Crucio.” 

A slight red spark shot from the tip of your wand, but no pain came to the Sallow boy. His eyes shot open, looking at you across from him. You were shaking like a leaf, staring confused at your wand and then at him. He knitted his brows in angered confusion. 

“What happened? Why didn’t it work?” 

“I-I don’t know.”

Ominis spoke from the back corner where he had sat himself, head leaning heavily on the wall behind him and his arms resting on the tops of his knees. His face was riddled with resignation. “I told you, you have to mean it. You have to want to inflict pain on the other person.” 

Sebastian growled loudly, his teeth clashing together harshly as he clenched his jaw in anger. “If you’re not going to offer anything helpful, just be quiet.” 

You stood in stunned silence at the boy's ferocity. He quickly rounded back towards you, teeth clenched in a near snarl. He pointed at you accusingly,

“Why aren’t you angry? You need to be furious! Yell at me— tell me this is all my fault! Let me have it!” 

You stuttered at the boy, hands shaking even more forcefully now. You knew what he was doing; he was trying to make you hate him. He wanted you to be so angry at him that you could easily cast the curse. Unfortunately, the tactic seemed to have the opposite effect on you. Your heart ached for the boy, listening to each word he said and knowing somewhere in your heart that he thought this of himself. Apologies filled your mouth and spilled out like a waterfall of dismay. They splashed against the ground and the droplets sprayed everywhere, bouncing harshly against the echo chamber walls. 

Sebastian continued yelling, rage pouring from his being, “Stop apologizing! I brought us down here, it’s my fault we’re in this situation to begin with! I’m the reason you have to cast this spell! You didn’t want to come here at all before I basically forced you and Ominis. Look at him, he’s petrified! I did this, cast it on me!” 

Tears gathered in your eyes, horrified terror coursed through your body because of the boy across from you. He was breathing heavily, eyes ablaze and nostrils flaring like a bull. You had never seen him like this before. The anger poured from him and swirled around the air like a dense cloud, permeating every inch of the desolate cavern. Ominis hesitantly stood from the corner, intense worry spreading across his face. He slowly approached the two, steps soft and slow, hands outstretched in front of him like he was dealing with a raging animal. He could smell the tension, feel the red hot heat of fury and agitation.

He hesitantly spoke, his voice shaking with a soft timber, “Sebastian, take a step back. You’re scaring them.” 

The frenzied boy rounded at his friend, snarling and gnashing his teeth, “No, they have to do this!” 

You continued to spew apologies, the words getting swallowed by the thick, maroon fog and evaporating into vapor. Tears cascaded down your frightened face, staring unblinking at your rampaging friend. He was nearly foaming at the mouth in outrage, his eyes wild and hardened. He didn’t look like himself, a complete stranger in his own body. All Sebastian could feel was anger, extremely hot and branding his very soul with a wave of wrath. He could hear your pitiful cries, Ominis’ begging for him to stop. He wouldn’t let you both stand in the way of curing his sister. 

“Oh for the love of—” Sebastian cut himself off, quickly drawing his wand from his sleeve and pointing it at your chest. Images danced behind his eyes; Solomon destroying the plant that could have cured Anne; The blurry image of the goblin that had cursed his sister running from the house, cackling in villainous mirth; finding his parents bodies in the cellar, thick plumes of colored toxic smoke spewing from their cauldron. His vision faded to a striking black. White hot pokers stabbed into his temples, and he cast his wand at you in a blind rage. 

“Crucio!” 

Your screams filled the small room, ricocheting off the walls and burying inside the duo's ears. Ominis slapped his arms around his head, bending over in pain, his sensitive ears amplifying the violent outburst tenfold. His heart shattered in his chest at the sound of your pain, crushing his soul in its devastating grasp. The sound snapped Sebastian out of his trance, his face morphing into one of absolute horror and revoltion at what he had just done. He dropped his wand in shock, stumbling backwards into the nearest wall and sliding down it. Tears welled in his eyes as he watched you writhe on the floor in never-ending pain. He brought his hands up to his mouth, covering it in distress, and whispered curses and pleading apologies against his skin. 

“Oh Merlin, what have I done? I didn’t mean to. I didn’t mean to.” 

Pain— that’s all you knew. Your blood was boiling under your skin, the veins feeling like they were going to burst out of you in a shower of blood at any moment. You clutched your abdomen in agony, nails biting into your arms in desperation. Blood ran down from your hands, coating your sleeves and staining them red. Each organ felt like it was dying slowly, decay seeping deep into your body and coating every surface. Your heart pounded harder than ever before, threatening to combust right through your ribs and out of your chest. Every nerve ending fired off in rapid succession, blazing through your body like a wild inferno and leaving intense burns in its wake. Your head was the worst. It felt like someone stabbed a freezing ice pick through your eye socket, retracting it and pushing back in with each pound of your heart against your skull. Bile rose into your throat, evaporating around the force of your wails of pain. You were curled on the ground, arms tight against yourself in protection. It felt like you would never be happy, be well, again. The torment went on for what felt like years, centuries even, wracking your body with heaving sobs and otherworldly screams. 

In an instant it was over. Sparks of residual magic shot against your skin, shaking your body to its core. The world around you was dark and silent, your senses absolutely fried. A heavy weight was resting against your back, pressing against you with a relieving, grounding pressure. Your hearing returned first, flooding in like you had just rinsed the water from them. 

“Come back to us! Are you alright? Damn it, please say something!” The panicked voice of Ominis filled your electrified brain, the sound grating against your ears. He pressed his palms against your cheeks and raised your head from its spot on the cold ground, wiping the tears from your face. He rested his forehead against yours, listening closely to your shuddering breaths. “Please, give me a sign that you’re still in there.” 

A groan eased its way out of your tight throat, pushing past the damage your screams had done and croaking through like a toad. Ominis sighed in relief, pressing a soft kiss to your temple before gathering you gently in his arms. He stroked your hair, letting the last of the tremors make their way out of your body. Your consciousness faded in and out, lids fluttering open and closed around the blackness resting just behind your eyes. 

“Shush now, don’t push yourself. Everything’s going to be okay.” Ominis gently coaxed your head to rest against his collarbone, his cheek pressing against the roof of your head. He continued his movements along your hair absentmindedly, lulling you into a soft sense of security. 

The blond spoke to the distraught boy behind him, voice devoid of any emotion. “We need to get them to the infirmary.” 

Sebastian broke out of his morose stupor, panic rising in his voice, “We can’t! She’ll know that we’ve used an unforgivable! Not to mention, we’re out past curfew. We’ll likely get expelled, or worse!” 

Ominis sighed inwardly, his head leaning back and smacking against the wall behind him with a dull thunk. He knew that Sebastian was right, no matter how much he wanted to throw the boy to the wolves at that very moment. If they were to bring you to the hospital wing the nurse would ask all three of them questions, and none of them were prepared for that. There wasn’t a single lie in the world that would be that convincing. With a final growl of agitation, he made a decision.

“Fine, the Undercroft, then.” He leveled the taller boy with a harsh glare. “Go get whatever you’re looking for and meet us down there. I hope this trip was worth it, Sallow.” 

The clock tower sounded three times, signaling the beginning of the witching hour. Two students rested against the chaise lounge conjured up out of an old shipping crate. Your shoulder had been dressed, the bandage peeking out from under your ripped blouse. The same was done for the indentations on your arms, half moons lining your biceps in a circle from your sharp nails digging into your skin. Ominis gently stroked your hair from where your head rested on his lap. You had fallen asleep not long ago, your quiet whines of pain tempered out and gave way to startling silence. Anger festered under the boy’s skin, warming him to an uncomfortable degree. It burned in the back of his mind, boiling against the memory of your screams and whimpers of immense pain. He had half a mind to curse Sebastian where he had stood in the Scriptorium. Ominis heard his panicked breaths and whispered apologies after he brought you to your knees, truly realizing the damage that he had done and the dangers of dark magic. Good, he thought. Maybe he’d finally stop moving down the dark path that he was so set on. He deserved to beg for your forgiveness. 

The metal gate of the Undercroft squeaked open, the sound of heavy footfalls following after. Ominis gently picked up your sleeping head, standing from the chaise and lowering you onto one of the many pillows lining the cushions. He quickly paced towards the brunette, eyes blazing with barely concealed fury. Sebastian paid no mind, flipping through the large tomb he had collected from Salazar’s Scriptorium. He looked up and saw the approaching boy, not noticing the very prevalent anger on his face. 

“Ominis, you’re not going to believe what I found—”

The smaller boy slammed into him, pressing his forearm against his neck and shoving him harshly into the nearest wall. His wand was pressed against his chin, glowing menacingly in the candlelight of the hideaway. The blond’s mouth was twisted into a gruesome snarl, teeth looking like fangs in the dim lighting. Sebastian gulped against the arm pressed against his larynx. He dropped the book in surprise, a cloud of dust puffing up from the ground at its harsh landing. Even though Sebastian knew that Ominis couldn’t truly see him, the boy’s heated glare seemed to set fire to his very soul. 

Ominis growled at the taller boy in a gravely low voice, his teeth gnashing around each word. “If you ever hurt them again, you will be dead where you stand. This is the last I want to hear of dark magic, Sebastian. You’ve gone too far; people have gotten hurt. Promise me that you’ll stop— you’ll find some other way to heal Anne, or this friendship will continue no longer.” 

Sebastian nodded as much as he could around his friend’s arm, squeezing the words out of his crushed throat, “Yes, I understand, I’m sorry!” 

The anger seemed to evaporate from the smaller boy in mere seconds, his arms dropping to his sides and his shoulders slumping. He grasped the front of the freckled boy’s shirt, leaning his forehead against his chest with a heavy sigh. 

“I almost lost you both today. I can’t do that, don’t make me live through that again. Please, I can’t lose anyone else, I can’t bear the thought.” 

His shoulders began to shake, tremors rocking his entire body and sending the tears gathering in his eyes down his pale cheeks. He softly cries into the shirt of his friend, grasping harder at the cotton between his fingers and burying his face even deeper. The freckled boy stands still for a moment, startled by the sudden emotional whiplash. He hesitantly raises his arms and circles them around the shoulders of the crying boy, looking over to your sleeping form with guilt swirling in his eyes. 

He had hurt both of his friends today over something he thought was so trivial, so insignificant. He just wanted to find a cure for his sister, not cause undeniable pain to those he loved. He truly was turning into a monster; the dark magic he was so fascinated by had begun to circle around his heart, squeezing it with its thick tentacles. Sebastian buried his head into Ominis’ neck, deeply breathing in his scent. The mildew of the cellar was thick against his skin, but reminisce of his expensive cologne and natural scent, something musky and rich, still lingered there. He focused on it, the familiar smell warming his insides and bringing his heartbeat to a slight increase. 

He hadn’t promised the boy that he’d stop exploring the dark arts, instead twisting his words into something that sounded like agreement. Sebastian knew that he would come to regret that decision, but he couldn’t give up on Anne. She was his flesh and blood, his twin sister. She was everything to him. He knew that he would hurt his two closest friends more than words can express with his decisions, but deep in his heart he believed that he was doing the right thing. 

With a heavy heart, Sebastian basked in the comfort of the Undercroft and the arms wrapped around his waist, praying to anyone who would listen that this wouldn’t be the last time he felt this safe.

AN: Did I make an "Ominis gets pegged" joke? Yes, yes I did.

***

like what you read? here's more!

#tina speaks #masterlist #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy mc #hogwarts legacy #hl #sebastian sallow x ominis gaunt x reader #sebastian sallow x ominis gaunt x you #sebastian sallow x ominis gaunt x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x you #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt x you #ominis gaunt x mc #sebastian sallow x ominis gaunt #ao3 #ao3 fic #ao3 writer

[chiriwritesstuff]

The Impossible Man ✨ 1. The Deathwatch Beetle ✨

Modern Day Detective! Din Djarin x Witch! Reader (Soulmates AU)

Series Masterlist

Summary: For someone being born into a magical family, a curse placed on the women of your bloodline means you have mostly avoided witchcraft and its calling for the majority of your life. After a life-altering tragedy, you turn your back on your family and your gift and seek out a more normal, boring existence, devoid of magic, and mostly, of love. What happens when the ghosts of your past threaten your peaceful existence and you are forced to reconcile all that you have lost? Will you let the people you have abandoned in your past life back into your heart? Will the appearance of an impossible man you have unknowingly cursed yourself break the chains of love? Will you let him?

Chapter Rating: M? (for now)

Chapter Warnings: Magical realism, implied mention of suicide, reader and her family are cursed, implied (minor) character death, (some) men are the worst, mentions of violence

A/N: Oh, Hello there.

For Halloween this year, I decided that I wanted to write a little 3-part story featuring my favorite Pedro boy, ✨Din Djarin✨. Inspired by my favorite Halloween-ish movie, Practical Magic, the story follows a Modern Day Detective Din, and our (reluctant) Witchy Reader. This story is not a complete retelling of PM, but a mishmash of other films that I love and cherish. If you're able to spot some of these films, I'll gift you a virtual Halloween candy treat! Happy Halloween, everyone!

Peep the (main canon storyline) Star Wars cameo!

Banner by @chiriwritesstuff ✨ Dividers by @saradika

Word Count: 3.2K

The first time you heard of the deathwatch beetle, you were eight years old.

The Victorian-style house that sat along the edge of Puget Sound was a whimsical sort, with its white picket fence adorned with creeping ivy, its single turret, a spire with the shape of a star on top of it, like a star on a Christmas tree. It had belonged to your family for decades - and was always kept in the same manner as when it was built. It was the home that your mother was raised in, and her mother before her, the house being passed down through each generation. You remember the summers you spent with your Aunt Fennic and Omera, taking the ferry from the port at Capitol Hill to Bainbridge Island, your sister Violet - Vi, for short - with her hands intertwined with yours. Three hundred and sixty-seven days younger than you, and every bit your opposite - if you were the match, then she was the flame; she was light, embodied to your infinite darkness. You would wear braids in your hair and fairy wings as you ran down the corridors of the house, playing hide-and-seek and hoping that you wouldn't get lost in the vastness of it. It was your beacon of light and solace, always welcoming. Now, as you hold your sister's hand while walking up to the porch, dressed in black, eyes still puffy and swollen and lined with tears, your aunts standing side by side, already expecting you both - it had finally become home.

"In this house," your aunt Fennic starts, grabbing the suitcase out of your hands as your aunt Omera bends to pick up Vi, "We will eat chocolate cake for breakfast and not worry about silly little things like bedtimes and brushing our teeth." You chuckle as she winks and leads the two of you inside.

Later that night, as Omera tucked you into bed, Vi having fallen asleep only moments before, she smiled as she kissed your forehead. "We're so happy you're with us, Starshine."

You silently nod, your fingers fidgeting nervously as you try to hide the discomfort of being in a new place, despite having been here so many times before. You look down at your hands, blinking away the tears that were begging to come out. "Aunt Omera, did Daddy die because of the curse?"

She gives you a sad smile. "Yes, Baby, he did." She strokes your cheek with her thumb, wiping away your tears.

"Your mother knew the moment she heard the click, click, click of the deathwatch beetle beckoning for your father's life... she knew that day that he was doomed to die. Every person who falls in love with any of the women of our bloodline is resigned to the same fate."

"Is that why Mommy died? Because of a broken heart?"

Omera's face softens as she brushes your hair away from your eyes. "Yes, my darling girl, she did. She couldn't imagine life without your father..." She pulls the covers over you. "…but that's how you came to live with us, and we will raise you the best way we know how."

You smile sadly, settling yourself deeper into the covers. "Why is our family cursed, Auntie?"

"It was because of your ancestor, Maria."

"Was she a witch?"

"Yes, the first in our family. And you are the most recent in a long and distinguished line."

"What happened to her?"

"Well, my Starshine, she fell in love. She fell in love with a man, her soulmate... but not everyone was happy about it. There was another man, an evil man, who had loved Maria from afar. He demanded that she be with him, and when she refused, he killed her lover in cold blood."

You bite your lip, nodding to yourself as you try to understand. "… but how does that make us cursed?"

"Well," Omera says, "Maria didn't take her lover's death kindly. With her powers, she managed to encase the evil man in a tomb full of beetles, eating him alive. However, before he died, he cursed the entirety of our female bloodline. This curse dooms any being who dares to love us, but it also ensures that we will always find our soulmate. Throughout the years, the appearance of the deathwatch beetle - the same one that consumed the man - is seen as a warning bell. The moment you hear the click, click, click of the beetle, there is nothing you can do to stop the curse. We have carried the weight of this burden for hundreds of years."

"I wish that I never find my soulmate," you whisper, determination etched on your 8-year-old face. "I don't want anyone to die because of me, and I don't want to die of a broken heart!"

Omera looks at you sadly as she kisses your forehead. "Oh, my sweet Starshine." She reaches over to turn off your bedside lamp, then kisses Vi before walking to your door, locking eyes with you, nodding as she turns away, leaving you in complete darkness.

"You will."

“He will hear my call a mile away. He will whistle my favorite song. He can ride a horse backwards.”  You gather the petals of the flower and place it in the bowl, reading the words you have written in your diary aloud, your fingers grazing the page.

“What are you doing, Starshine?” Vi asks from behind you, walking into the greenhouse as she pets Boba the house cat.

“I’m summoning a true love spell. Amas Veritas. Also known as a Soulmates calling.” You pull a rose petal, inspecting it as you turn to your sister. “He can flip pancakes in the air. He will be marvelously kind… and his favorite shape will be a star… and he’ll have a birthmark on him, the shape of a… bullseye.”

“… I thought you didn’t want to find your soulmate? I heard you, last night. When you were talking to Aunt Omera.” She picks up your diary and flips through the pages, her hip resting on the table as you finish gathering the rest of the ingredients, stirring it gently with your hands.

“That’s the point, Vi. The guy I dreamed of? My soulmate? He doesn’t exist… and if he doesn’t exist, I won’t die of a broken heart.”

You walk out and your sister follows, making your way to the balcony as you hold the bowl out into the night sky. Vi gasps as the petals start to float out of the bowl, flowing out like a waft of smoke, fluttering in the air, flying out into the distance, a small smile forming as you look out into the sky.

"Goodnight, Impossible Man." 

The first time you heard the ominous click, click, click of the deathwatch beetle, you were 28 years old.

It was in the dead of night, the clicking noise faint and almost unnoticeable, its distinctive chirps being drowned out by the idle sounds of the crickets and the gently blowing wind.

Click, click, click.

Your eyes open at that, suddenly alert. You shoot up from where you lay, Ben's still form beside you still in deep sleep. You breathe deeply, pushing your hair out of your face as you scan the room, looking for the source of the subtle clicking sound that roused you from your sleep. "Baby," Ben murmurs into his pillow, his eyes half open. "What are you doing up? It's late. Go back to sleep." He whispers, his arm pulling yours gently as you ease yourself back onto his chest, the deep thump, thump, thump of his heartbeat reverberating throughout your body, a reminder that he’s still very much alive. You sigh, pressing a chase kiss on his sternum. "I thought I heard something," you reply, his body shifting as he cages you in, his chin resting on the top of your head. "It's just the wind, Starshine. Go back to sleep," he continues, his fingers gently drawing small circles on your back. "I love you," he finally whispers before his breathing evens, his soft snores lulling you back to sleep.

A few hours later, you’re roused from your sleep once more as Ben's phone starts to chime. You feel his arm reaching out blindly for his phone on the nightstand, a slight groan rumbling from his chest as he squints at the screen.

"Good Morning, baby," Ben whispers in your ear, his voice heavy with sleep. "I have to get up, but you go back to sleep." You feel his breath on your cheeks as he presses a kiss to them, a faint smile forming as he embraces you, the feeling of his body stretching against yours as he wakes. He kisses your sleepy head as he rises out of bed, sitting on the edge of it as he caresses your half-sleeping form. He cracks his neck and silently pads himself into the bathroom, the sound of the shower starting as you burrow yourself deeper into the covers, your body slowly shifting to where his body was only a moment ago, relishing in the residual warmth of your lover it still contains. You wedge your nose into the indent of his pillow, smiling as you inhale his scent. You lay there until you hear the tell-tale sound of the shower shutting off. Your eyes adjust to the warm orange light of the bathroom as he walks out, a towel half slung onto his form as he walks into the closet, pulling on his suit as he dresses for the day, his faint silhouette shuffling in the light of early dawn.

"Ben," you say softly as he’s beginning to pull on his socks. "It’s early. Come back to bed." You plead with him, your arms outstretched, making grabby hands, beckoning out for him.

"Djarin messaged me saying he has a lead. I’m heading over to meet with him now," He walks over to you, sitting on the edge of the bed as he puts his wingtip loafers on. "We’ve been at a stalemate for months now, baby. I’ll make it up to you, maybe we could go back to Montauk after I close this case. Gideon is so close, I’m finally closing in on him, I can feel it."

You nod as you reach out to rub his back. "Okay. You owe me, though."

He chuckles at that, the corners of his cheeks lifting as he gives you a rare smile. "No, Djarin owes me because I must be insane to leave my beautiful wife all alone. It’s criminal." He smirks as he bends over to kiss you, his lips tracing the side of your jaw.

"I have to go," he whispers into your ear as he kisses your head. "I’ll see you after work, ok? Might be a late night, this case has been killing me," he continues, grabbing his briefcase perched against his nightstand. He hovers by the doorframe, smiling as he turns to leave.

"I love you, Starshine."

He’s gone by the time you whisper those three little words back out into the ether.

Click, click, click. Click, click, CLICK.

Your eyes shoot open once again, the room now bathed in the mid-morning light. You scramble out of bed.

No, you think. No, no, no, NO.

You pace around your room nervously, the clicking sound from the night echoing into the recesses of your brain. You scan the room for the source of your dread, your body shivering in fear. You run to the opposite side of the room, scanning every nook and cranny, every crevice and surface. "Where are you, fucker?" you think to yourself.

Click, click, click.

You realize the sound is coming from beneath you, your eyes quickly shifting to where your feet are planted on the old floorboards of your shared apartment. It’s an old apartment in the heart of Queen Anne, one of those charming wartime-era duplexes painted in pink with its charming crown molding and black and white checkered tiles in the kitchen. Your dream home, you once thought to yourself, Vi’s unit on the other side, her bedroom wall sharing your own - an inheritance you both shared after your mother died all those years ago.

Your mother.

Your heart shudders at her memory, the tears forming as you take another deep breath. You forcibly repress and push those memories aside, centering yourself as you remind yourself of the current problem on your hands. You look below you once again, the gaps of the aged wood showing the earth below. You focus on the gaps, your eyes scanning frantically until you see it - the silhouette of the deathwatch beetle, its obsidian shiny armor scampering away from you, as if it finally acknowledges your presence. You dive onto the floor in its direction, your eyes inspecting the gaps of the floorboards, your line of sight aligning with the death beetle once more.

You scamper back onto your feet hurriedly, running out of your bedroom into the hallway, your feet pounding heavily on the floor as you make your way to the hallway closet, wrenching the door open with hurried force as you scan for the ancient toolbox on the shelf. You yank the rusted toolbox out, spilling its contents onto the floor, not caring one bit about the mess that you’re making. Grabbing a flathead screwdriver, you hurry back into the bedroom, following the now-insistent clicking of the beetle. It managed to make its way above ground, scampering away as you furiously head towards it. It hurriedly makes its way across the way of the floorboards, you diving once again towards it, your hand stretched out as you try to slam onto it. The beetle is quicker and more agile than you, shimmying away from your hand as it falls through the crack of the floorboard. You lay your cheek on the cold floor as you pound on it furiously, willing the beetle to click as you listen intently for it. "This can’t be!" You whisper to yourself, your breath choking out in a panic.

"FUCK!" You scream in agony, grabbing the screwdriver that lay beside you. You wedge it against the edge of the floorboards, prying it open as you scan for the beetle. You start to pry off the boards around you until you make a sizeable gap for you to jump into, throwing the screwdriver aside and forcibly pry more floorboards until they lay haphazardly amongst each other in piles, completely surrounding you as you breathe heavily, the tears flowing freely on your face.

"Don’t do this to me!" You cry out, gasping for air as you crawl into the earth below, your nightgown now soiled as you frantically search around you. The clicking sound is becoming more frequent and louder, its eerie cadence becoming the only thing you can hear in your mind. "Come on!" You scream. "Please, don’t do this to me, not now, not him…. PLEASE! Haven’t you taken enough from me?! Haven’t we shed enough blood? Oh god…" You plead, your voice croaking out in desperation. You suddenly sit in a daze, your hair disheveled, the tears refusing to cease as your heart feels like it’s about to explode in your chest from pure exhaustion, from sheer adrenaline. It's then you realize that you’re suddenly surrounded by silence. You blink, scanning the room once more, the clicks having stopped and the deathwatch beetle nowhere to be found. You breathe a sigh of relief until suddenly the clicks ring out fast and furiously, a crescendo of fear and pain building within you until it ceases once more. You suddenly shudder, your body jolting violently, a single tear falling down the slopes of your face.

You’re still sitting there hours later, as the day has turned into night when your phone suddenly rings in the distance. You slowly climb out of the floor as you make your way to your dresser, silently picking up the phone and answering it, not bothering to check who it is, your hands trembling in fear.

"Ben?" You whisper shakily.

"Hey Starshine, it’s me, Din. Din Djarin?" You hear a deep sigh on the line. "...Are you there?"

"Listen. I’m going to need you to come down to the station… I’m sorry… it’s… it’s Ben." You hear him take a harsh breath as he speaks again. "I’m so sorry, Starshine…." His voice fades as your phone slips out of your grasp, the Seattle Police contact illuminating the screen as it hits the ground, his voice cutting through the silence as the sob you’ve been holding in erupts deep within your chest, you begin to wail and scream, falling to your knees.

"It was the curse, wasn’t it?" You scream as you storm into your aunt's house later that night, pacing frantically in the kitchen. “Because I loved him so much!”

Your aunts slowly walk into the room hesitantly, looking at your shaking frame nervously.

It’s your aunt Fennic who speaks first.

“We had no idea… when we cast that spell…”

“What spell?” You ask as your eyes shift between your two aunts, Omera’s eyes downcast in shame. “What are you talking about?!" She finally looks at you, her eyes filled with tears as she glances at her sister.

“Oh…” you shudder. “You didn’t. Please tell me you didn’t… my own flesh and blood...”

“You were so lonely, Starshine… we just… wanted to give you a little push… we didn’t expect you to fall in love.”

“WELL, I DID!” You gasp, grasping your chest as you walk out, grabbing the spell book from the other room, slamming it onto the kitchen counter as you frantically flip through the pages. “And I want him back!”

“You brought him into my life, and I want you to bring him back!” You say as you continue to flip through the pages. “I’ve never asked you for anything, I’ve never asked you for spells but do this! I know you can, I know you can bring him back!”

“We won’t do this” Omera speaks up as she approaches you. “We can’t do this” Fennic adds, crossing her arms.

“I know you can! I remember I found it here…” your fingers reading through the spell “I found the spell when… when mommy and daddy died.”

“Even if we did bring him back” Fennic starts, looking at Omera “… it wouldn’t be Ben.”

“… it would be something else, something dark and unnatural” Omera adds, reaching out to you.

“I DONT CARE WHAT HE COMES BACK AS, AS LONG AS HE COMES BACK… as long as he comes back” your voice breaks as you suddenly start to sob. “Please! Please do this for me!” You sob as you collapse onto the spell book, looking at your aunts pleadingly. “Please? PLEASE?!” You cover your mouth as you fall to your knees, Omera catching you as you cry onto her chest.

“I’m so sorry, Starshine.” She whispers as she strokes your back, looking at her sister as she turns to walk away.

The first time you hear the ominous click, click, click of the deathwatch beetle is the day you swear to yourself that you will never, ever fall in love again.

Authors Bits:

If you guessed that Ben was Ben Solo, you were right. I admit that I was once a Reylo - not so much now, but back in the day, so including him in this story was a treat... also, because Adam Driver <3.

Speaking about Ben, it's safe to say he's alluded to his death several times to Starshine, and there's several hints that I try to convey throughout. I'll miss our Benji, but we all know what we want, and he's definitely coming...

Taglist: @strawberri-blonde

#din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #modern din djarin #din djarin/reader #pedro pascal #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x oc #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x original female character #A smol Ben Solo Cameo #ben solo x reader #Squint and you might miss Ben Solo #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction

[danpuff-ao3]

@hprecfest: a compilation

1. A favorite fic under 5k: An Unwanted Intrustion @babygray

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5. A non-AO3 fic: Sunrises | Reconciling Lily's Eyes

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8. A canon-divergence fic: Chrysalis

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10. A fest fic: Something to Say @silvereye5

11. A dark fic: The Dreams We Forget (Are Those We Most Regret)

12. A WIP you’re following: The Afterlight @perverse-idyll

13. A fic with over 100k words: Nights of Gethsemane

14. A favorite series: Needs Must @silvereye5 | So it is @ogthreadbear

15. The most recent fic you bookmarked: For I Have Found Salvation @lumosatnight

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17. A fic that made you cry: Loose Ends @arrisha-ao3

18. A fairy-tale inspired fic: Red Like Blood @likelightinglass

19. Fic with the hottest smut: Warm @perverse-idyll

20. A fic rated G: Lilac @givereadersahug

21. A thought-provoking fic: When the Rose and the Fire Are One @perverse-idyll | Niemöller, or Four Times When Harry Didn't Speak Up and Then When He Finally Did

22. An unfinished fic (hasn’t updated in 10 years or author stated it been abandoned): The Release of Sisyphus

23. A soulmate fic: Corresponding Shapes @bleedcolor

24. A holiday fic: The Christmas Hate List @lizzy0305 | The Nutcracker's Delight @perverse-idyll | Gratia Plena @femmequixotic

25. A fic rated T: a scratch for every itch @bleedcolor | The Sleeping Prince

26. A fic with an ending you can’t stop thinking about: And Mine the Gall @perverse-idyll | Penance is the Play @maeglinyedi

27. A Muggle-AU fic: Marks 

28. An under-rated fic: A Series of Events @babygray | Molly's Advice @arrisha-ao3

29. A post-canon fic: The Beating of This Fragile Heart @writcraft

30. A pre-canon fic: Buried Roots @yletylyf

31. A fav amongst favs: The White Road @perverse-idyll

#danpuff recs #hp rec fest #hp rec fest compilation #link compilation

[thekingofwinterblog]

How Cole Became Human - Dragon Age

So in the Dragon Age Universe, amongst the countless, countless amounts of Abominations, demons, and spirits that end up on the physical side of the Veil, there are only two known cases where the beings that crossed turned, not into abominations, or a physical form of their fade self, but into actual people, with motivations, dreams, desires, fears, and all that comes with being a human being.

Cole, a spirit of compassion.

And Harren, a desire Demon.

Both of these are very, very interesting for a whole host of reasons, and the question of why these two turned out the way they are, are many.

The fact that this is not limited to either spirits or demons is interesting on it's own, but exactly what it was that made Harren so unique is hard to say when we dont know anything about his past other than the fact he presumably was pulled across the veil by the desires of his current lover Wade withouth needing a body to inhabit, and it all developed from there.

However, we can make some educated guesses from looking at Cole's past, and pinpoint the moment he turned from a spirit into a person.

Now anyone who has played inquisition knows Cole as a troubled, but well meaning cinnamon roll, who deserves the world. Knowing how he is now, it's easy to imagine his past as a serial killer murdering mages who wanted to die as a completely well meaning, but ultimately, terribly misguided soul

The truth however is much, much murkier than the image cole unitentionally presents in inquistion.

Cole during his days thinking he was a ghost in the White Spire and not knowing what he was, was a far, far darker creature than one might assume.

Now the actual, underlying motivation that Cole presents is true, his main reason for killing the mages was him believing that they really did want to die, and that he could help them by doing so... but that is not how Cole in the moment thought of it.

It's just how he in hindsight looks back at all of it, and has analyzed his own actions and the reasons behind them.

In the moment though, Cole didnt know anything. he didnt know why he was doing any of it, not truly. He felt that he was "Real" in those moment, that it was something he had to do in order to not cease existing basically.

He was terrified of ceasing to be, not knowing what he was, but killed the mages because he felt he had to do it, withouth really knowing why. When Cole speaks later of now knowing it was wrong, he isnt just talking about the fact that he stupidly missed that there were other, better ways to help people, but also just how misguided his complete lack of understanding and ability to affect his own impulses were, and the catastrophic results that lack of self control and knowledge led toi.

He was not withouth kindness and more noble trait, but Cole in Asunder, is a far, far more sinister, dark, cowardly and frankly disturbing individual.

even after his character development, the Cole at the end of Asunder, when he is confronted by Lord Seeker Lambert, and forced to confront what he is, seems a far, far cry from the Cole of inquisition, as the mocking of Lambert breaks him, breaks the belief that there was ever actually a cole, that he was anything but a stupid spirit that had convinced himself he was a person.

Which leads us to the moment that Cole actually becomes a person, in the time period between his banishment by Lambert, and the epilogue of Asunder, where he confronts, and kills the unarmored and unarmed Lambert.

The young man leaned close, his expression one of deadly intent.

"There was a Cole," he whispered.

"You forgot him in that cell, and I heard his cries when no one else would. I went to him, and held his hand in the darkness until it was over. When the templars found him, they erased everything to hide their shame . . . and I was helpless to act."

Sorrow, and perhaps even regret, crossed the young man's face, but only for a moment.

"I'm not helpless any longer." The words sent a chill through Lambert's heart.

"What do you want from me?"

The young man smiled coldly.

"I want you to look into my eyes."

Cole's actions here lines up perfectly with the later confrontation with the man who murdered the original Cole, a seething, burning rage, and making the choice to murder that son of a bitch with extreme prejudice.

And yet despite doing something that is completely, totally against everything that compassion is, Cole does not become a Demon.

at all. Despite all traditional knowledge about spirits becoming demons telling us that Cole should have become a demon here, he doesnt, despite his own fears.

And the original plans for his personal quest also adds to this, because there was going to be a choice to let him murder the piece of shit that left Cole in that cell... and he would not become a demon as a result, despite Varric and Solas fears during his quest.

Why?

Because it is his choice to do all of it. Spirits change when their original purpose is twisted by the direct actions and feelings of an outside force, usually a host, or a summoner... but there is no such here, either when Cole murdered Lambert, or in his personal quest.

Now you have the option of having Cole backtrack, become a spirit again by siding with Solas limited understanding of the situation, but im not here to talk about that route.

Im here to talk about the other route, where you reaffirm the path Cole Chose to go down when he killed Lambert for all his many, many sins.

He wanted Lambert to die, and he went through with it, all on his own choice. and by doing so he completely changed his very nature. We dont know how Cole learned about the details of the original cole, but it was the discovery of that path, and the resulting actions he took from that path, where he completely rejected the nature of what he embodied, that Cole became a true person, and changed his nature down to his bones.

That was the key.

With this in mind, it's not hard to see how Harren went down the same road.

Harren's entire dynamic with Wade, is that he is the businessman of the relationship, he is the one that has to reign in the genuis of his boyfriend in order to keep their business running, so Wade doesnt have to go back to "Living on Gruel".

In other words, he had to make a personal choice of his own free will, to act the complete opposite of a desire demon, just like Cole had to.

And the moment he did that, he became an actual person, with all the contradictions that involves... just like Cole did.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age inquisition #dragon age awakening #cole #harren #wade #meta #spirits #demons #lord seeker lambert

[cream-and-tea]

FIRST LINES TAG GAME

Rules: Post the first few lines from one of your WIPs; this could be first sentences of the whole story, a chapter of your choice or just from the most recent writing session

i was tagged by @joswriting and decided to go a bit overboard and share the first lines of the first ten chapters of Lay Me Down (plus my little extra bits). so. enjoy!

INTRO POEM: SONG OF THE WOODS

First I'll sing of ghosts my love Of first and dying breaths

Next I'll sing of heroes dear And how they fall in death

INTERLUDE ONE: SWORD AND SHADOW

Once there was a woman, a wood, and the end of the world.

CHAPTER ONE

It begins like this: fifty years after the end of the world there is a girl running through the forest.

CHAPTER TWO

When she wakes up everything is dark, and it takes a second of panic to realize that it’s because she’s lying face down in the dirt.

CHAPTER THREE

Pallas should have killed the girl.

CHAPTER FOUR

Amidst choking wilderness The Library stands as a lone sentinel, stone walls and spires reaching to a sky that would otherwise remain unseen.

CHAPTER FIVE

The voice is what reaches her first.

INTERLUDE TWO: LOCK AND KEY

Once there was a door in the woods

CHAPTER SIX

Library days are long, and Library days are slow.

CHAPTER SEVEN

If there’s anything Pallas could not have predicted it was this: Agnes-Maria White is not a fool.

CHAPTER EIGHT

It is only later, walking back to her room, that they are able to comprehend the depth of what they’ve done.

CHAPTER NINE

This is the test, Agnes thinks. These are the rules.

CHAPTER TEN

Back in her hole the woman called the Director shakes her hand with fingers cold as steel and smiles at her with teeth straight as tombstones and Agnes spends the entire time staring at the sword hanging just above the chair she sits in, wondering what it must have taken to anchor something like The Library.

i'll tag @kiki-is-writing @ashfordlabs @flowerprose and @serenanymph (no pressure obviously!)

#i forgot pallass very first pov line was that lmaooo why are they like this #i mean ig i did a good job establishing their character right out of the gate #anyways this was super fun! #creme does a tag #wip: ghost story

[bonemeadows]

june, june of my heart, ten year june. today i drove into the city into the hot metal mouth of the city where the planes needle in and out of the spiring clouds and then i drove out of the city to where the fields ripple with meadowsweet and the low stone walls run alongside me for miles. it is a comfort that the barns here are all still falling down, and that they will keep falling down forever. 

june june of my heart ten year june. you pin up your fog on the black cherries, and curdle your thunderstorms yellow and heavy. then you breathe sweet night air through the window and send me lightning bugs and bullfrog songs and sticky webworm dreams. when the rains come they almost kill me on the highway and i think how quickly my blood would be gone in all this water. 

JUNE JUNE OF MY HEART TEN YEAR JUNE. did you ever think, in all those junes of long ago, there was a better way than this? you are my sweetest ghost, the one i cannot look in the eye without feeling sick, and i hold you aloft over the water. i could drown you, but i am showing you the white arcs of terns, the sailboats asleep on their moorings, the line where the sea blurs and falls away and from where the hurricanes will be born. 

[lady-efri]

Oh boy it's been a while since I've actually posted something

I've now got a self moc everybody

I haven't really decided shit about her story wise but she's going in my fucked up au

-----

"While you're here, could you hold this for me and stand over there? You won't explode, I promise. Probably."

Naita, Unbound Force

An enigmatic and excitable mage, she has spent her life with her diminutive companion, Calypso, in studying the elements and how to wield them all. A wielder of the Light, she studies the Logic of the Bomb in every meaning, allowing herself to gain much power. In doing this, she unrestricted herself from just her original element - magnetism.

She lives in a spire she constructed herself, where she has helped train several Toa. Naita has... Unique methods, which has led to her current reputation.

-----

Calypso is a diminutive Ghost of white, purple, and silver coloration, having met Naita longer ago than either care to remember. She is shy, rarely appearing when Naita is around others and instead opts to be a friendly presence at the back of the mage's mind.

#bionicle #moc #oc #self moc #god I love her sm #Naita #Calypso #au #yes this is a destiny fusion au #not all toa are Guardians #juat a few #I should really re-render with better glows but I want to sjow her to you all #mask by Galva

[elfboyeros]

A Scholar’s Rotunda

Wanna Read More or start from the beginning: Hallows Academy Masterlist @karaboutmyart @jj-pines @lerenee

“So, if you wish to help me, what is the plan?”

Amora thought for a moment as she sat over her homework, ironically homework for Trigonometry, “I don’t know…” she sighed.

Cobalt huffed, from his phantom place in her room, “Look I’m sorry!” Amora exclaimed.

“Chickadee, you are a smart girl, I believe you will be able to figure out this mess we are in.”

“I’ve searched as much as I can search on the internet about ghosts and ascension. Cobalt, I know as much as you do, we need to figure out your unfinished business! Since no one alive or dead knows how you died we have to find out how you died, yet you don’t remember what happened and I wasn’t even 3 yet and, oh yeah, I was in America!” She vented.

“Sorry that I died at a very inconvenient time for you,” Cobalt remarked with a high level of sass, “Your math is also incorrect!”

Amora groaned, loudly, before the door to her room opened and Loki entered.  

“What are we groaning at?” she asked, approaching Amora’s desk, and looking over her shoulder, “Ewe math.”

“Just having a bit of trouble,” Amora muttered with a sigh.

“I can’t help you out, lovely, I’m sorry,” Loki replied, settling herself into the plush palace that is her bed, “I asked Odis and Lance about books on Supernatural stuff, and they don’t have anything that isn’t fiction.”

“That’s fine,” the blond girl huffed.

“You’re really into the supernatural, huh?”

Amora thought for a moment. She may enjoy the supernatural and studying a subject, she isn’t obsessed with, yet her current predicament makes her seem fixated, “It’s just currently a fascination recently.”

Loki hummed, settling into her bed, “Ya’ know if you are this obsessed, you should check the rotunda,” the British girl remarked.

“The rotunda?” Amora asked.

“It’s the school’s library” Loki answered, adjusting her headphones, “It’s in the rotunda, off the study hall.”

Amora nodded, tomorrow’s Friday she’ll have time to spend all the time she wanted in the library… if she could find it first.

The following morning, Amora ventured into the maze of the academy. Now actually enjoy Cobalt's ethereal company as he guided her through the old halls to the library. After

The following morning, Amora ventured into the maze of the academy. Now, he actually enjoyed Cobalt's ethereal company as he guided her through the old halls to the library. After waving to a few new friends who had taken positions in the study hall, Amora made her way to the library,

A quiet spire full of bookshelves upon bookshelves in between columns and spiraling staircases with some nooks where one could sit, study, and read. It's a book lover’s wet dream, really. In the middle of the rotunda is a large Mahogany checkout station, with stacks of books covering the surface. A melancholic-looking woman with voluminous auburn hair with milky white streaks in her hair that curled around her round peachy cheeks.

“Welcome to the rotunda,” the woman remarked, quietly.

God, why does everyone here sound so depressed and monotone?

“Good morning,” Amora chirped.

“A little too chirper there, chickadee,” Cobalt chuckled.

“Do you have anything on Ghost and the Dead?” Amora asked approaching the checkout station.

“There are multiple pieces of fiction on ghosts in our sci-fi and supernatural sections on the 2nd floor,” the woman replied.

It smells heavily of Lilac the closer Amora gets to the checkout station making her cringe and the overpowering smell, “I was actually looking for something like a research journal,” Amora retorted.

“Those would be the third floor,” the librarian replied, “if we had any.”

Amora nodded taking one of the many spiral staircases up to the third floor of the library, while Cobalt followed his eyes still focused on the librarian in pink that sat at the checkout station. Her name was on the tip of his tongue, while Amora searched and heard through the few nonfiction pieces on ghosts, Cobalt continued to watch the older woman from his ethereal place, wondering why he felt so off being in the rotunda and why he wanted to get as far away from this woman as possible.

“Greyson?” Cobalt muttered to himself as the dean dressed in the color navy made his way to the checkout station.

“What about Mr. Densmore?” Amora asked quietly, her head still in a book rereading much of what she’d already seen on the internet.

“He looks horrible,” the ghost replied.

Amora let out a questioning hum before getting up from her little table to look over the banister. She started at Greyson; he looked fine like he did the day they went but given the grimace on Cobalt’s face at one point in time the dean of Hallows Academy at one point looked different.

“Olympia, do you have the reports I asked for?” Greyson asked the librarian in a stern and tired tone.

“Olympia!” Cobalt gasped, “My god, no wonder she looks familiar!”

“They’re on your desk, dear,” Olympia answered Greyson.

Greyson sighed, shaking his head, “I’m sorry, I guess I didn’t see it.”

“Are you all right, dear?” Olympia asked, softly.

“Why is she calling him dear?” Cobalt asked out loud.

“Maybe it’s just a term of endearment,” Amora replied in a whisper.

“I’m just tired,” Greyson replied to the librarian, “Working too hard and sleeping very little.”

“Then, why don’t you come home tonight? I can order some food, you can relax, we could—”

“I’ll sleep when the work is done.” Greyson interrupted very firmly, “I’m staying in my office for now.”

Olympia looked at the aging man extremely dejected, “I’m horrible old man, I know, and I’m sorry,” Greyson cooed, before placing his hand under her chin and tilting her gaze upwards to meet his, “I’ll make it up to you I promise.”

Cobalt raised an eyebrow, “but he’s married to Klaus…”

Amora looked at Cobalt confused, it was obvious that he knew something she didn’t out the two adults below them, “Klaus?”

“He is or was a teacher here when I was… I would have thought those two would have been together for the rest of their lives,” Cobalt answered, “Let alone end up with her, from what little I remember.”

“And what do you remember?”

“She started here young, had just given birth to a child, and needed a job. In the time I knew her, she was shy, but mysterious as if she was scheming,” Cobalt explained, “But I didn’t know her that well.”

Before Amora could reply, the doors to the library opened again, and Iphigenie walked through, “Genie!” Olympia chirped.

“Hi, momma,” the ginger girl sighed.

“Iphigenie,” Greyson remarked with a smile and nod at the young woman, she only waved.

When standing near one another it is obvious that Olympia and Iphigenie are mother and daughter, “Here,” Iphigenie said pulling books out of her messenger bag.

“Are you going to get others?” Olympia asked.

“Yeah,” her daughter replied before ascending one of the many staircases.

Amora went back to the books she was looking over, coming to the same conclusion that she had when looking across the internet, “So, we have to stay on the whole unfinished business crap,” Amora sighed in a whisper.

Cobalt nodded, “You have a plan now?”

Amora nodded, “You can’t remember how you died, and you can’t leave the school grounds, according to these books and articles on the internet that could possibly mean you are tied to the college somehow which means it’s tied to your death, I think if we find out how you died like if you were shot, stabbed, or whatever we could get at least a step closer to getting you to ascend,” Amora explained, “But I’m going to need you to start doing something.”

“What?”

“Tell me when anything seems off, even if it’s the smallest thing.”

“Ah, you are turning into the little investigator,” Cobalt chuckled.

“Thank you,” Amora replied with a little goofy smile.

Cobalt’s smile faded, “If you are starting a suspect list, put Olympia at the top of it,” he muttered, “There is something about her and being in here that makes me ill.”

“Noted,” Amora sighed.

“Do you always talk to yourself?” Iphigenie asked from behind one of the bookshelves.

The American girl let out an embarrassed squeak, “Not normally,” she mumbled, as she could hear Cobalt laughing in his ethereal place around her.

“Just now?” the ginger girl asked, poking her head out from behind the bookshelves.

“Seems like it,” Amora groaned, “Sorry, it’s weird.”

Iphigenie shrugged, sitting across from the blonde girl, “It is weird, but if it’s what you do it’s fine if it helps you retain the information you’re reading.”

Right, because she is in front of a ton of books, her conversations with Cobalt how ever quiet, could just be her reading to herself out loud, “What are you reading?” Amora asked.

“It’s an art catalog,” Iphigenie replied, “I need some inspiration for my next piece for my painting class.”

“Oh, do you have any pictures of your art?”

“Uh…” The young woman was shocked at Amora’s question, before pulling out her phone, “Here.”

The pictures of her art in the false-realistic style with rococo coloring, “Wow, this is all really good!” Amora exclaimed.

Iphigenie let out a little laugh before smiling, “Thanks.”

“These look so amazing, they look like book covers,” the blonde girl remarked.

“I want to do book illustration, so I need to finish my portfolio so I can submit it places,” the ginger retorted before sighing, “It’s hard-working at the café though.”

“No one really seems to have a job here, but you. Back at home, everyone seems to have one,” Amora observed.

The young woman sighed again, “I want to move back to Switzerland, and knowing my mother, she isn’t going to let me go back willingly even if I am an adult. So, I have to get the money together myself.”

“What a lovely mother,” Cobalt huffed.

The girls soon went back and further chattering away for what felt like hours, before descending one of those many spiral staircases together their books in hand.

“I’ll send you the notes for Trigonometry when I get back to my dorm,” Iphigenie mentioned as she and Amora reached the checkout desk, “There is tutoring on Thursday nights too.”

“I’m usually really good a math,” Amora sighed, “just recent I’m not too sure of myself… I don’t know why,” she said Cobalt was snickered in the background, “I just want to make sure I didn’t miss any notes.”

Iphigenie nodded before taking her book she checked out and leaving with a softy, “See you later.”

“You two are good friends?” Olympia inquired, as Amora sat her books on the counter.

Amora shrugged, “We are acquaintances, Today is the most that we have talked, we only have two classes together.”

Olympia hummed, “Do you intend to keep it that way?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“Excuse me,” Amora questioned.

“I only mean that you don’t seem like a good fit for my genie,” Olympia remarked, “that’s all.”

“A good fit… Iphigenie should be allowed to have her friends,” Amora awkwardly laughed.

“Careful, Amora,” Cobalt remarked softly, he could see the scowl forming on Olympia’s face just as much as she could, but he was also aware from being a parent, Amora just said some fighting words.

“You know better than I, mhm?” Olympia scoffed, passing back Amora’s books.

“No, but I know what it is like to be isolated,” the blonde girl replied, “Even if Iphigenie and I don’t become friends, it should be her own choice to pick her friends despite what you think.”

Olympia clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth before staring narrowly-eyed at the young girl, “You know not of raising a child.”

“I know,” Amora squeaked out.

Whilst Amora and Olympia were conversing, Cobalt had toddled his way over to a large stack of books, using his ghostly abilities to knock the books over. Allowing Amora to scamper her way out of the library.

“Thank you,” Amora sighed.

“What the hell were you thinking!”

His voice is loud in her ears, as she walks back to the dorms, “Does Olympia seem like a horrible mother yes, but you just met this woman, the woman that is our only suspect.”

Amora huffed before rolling her eyes before he continued, “I commend you for standing up for Iphigenie, but you and I are linked, if you get in trouble that could be bad for our investigation which means I can’t leave this plain to leave you alone!”

“I can’t just stand around while bad stuff just happens,” she puffed out, “It’s just like Bellamy…”

“And who is Bellamy?” Cobalt asked, his tone is much claimer.

“My friend in America, protecting her is what got me sent here in the first place.”

Cobalt hummed seeing the dejected look on Amora’s face as she recalled the memories of Bellamy, “I should text her later,” she muttered.

“You should.” Cobalt agreed.

Amora nodded, “After I figure some stuff out,” she sighed, before hurrying back to the dorms.

Hiding her head in books, examining web articles, searching odd questions in her search bar. If someone was mentoring her search history surely sharing things like ‘What are the most common causes of death’ would be cause for concern.

“Who was the guy you mentioned when we were in the library?” Amora asked Cobalt.

“Klaus, why?”

“Loki mentioned that someone went missing when I first got here,” Amora answered.

Cobalt hummed, “I don’t remember him ever going missing.”

“Klaus Densmore, right?”

Cobalt nodded, as Amora typed the name into the search bar and many articles popped up all with headlines that mentioned Klaus and a disappearance from 15 years ago. The American teen clicked on an article from Solostica News Channel One the same place she had read the article about Cobalt's death.

Beloved Music Teacher Gone Missing Ahead Equinox Festival  

Solostica News Channel One   Editor: Suzette Levi      Writer: Lucian Nicolette Esperine

On March 15th Klaus Densmore, a music history teacher at Hallows Academy, was reported missing by his husband. Last seen on the school grounds his disappearance has shocked our tiny community.

Although he had a vivacious personality and was described as quite direct by many, Klaus was respected and loved by many, including his husband and dean of Hallows Academy Greyson Densmore.  

Klaus Densmore is 5’11, of a pale complexion with jet black semi-leaf cut hair and gray eyes. He was seen in a navy cardigan, black slacks, and black shoes.

If you see Klaus Densmore or have any information on his whereabouts, please contact Solostica Detective Matias Prescott at 020 9734 2648 or ask for him at the Solostica Supervise Office.

Addendum: This case is currently cold according to Solostica Detective Matias Prescott.

“Ah! Ah-ha!” Amora yelped, “Clue!”

“Clue?” Cobalt asked, with his interest peaked he floated over her.

“Klaus went missing right before you died! Maybe you and Klaus are connected!” Amora exclaimed, “Maybe if I try and find stuff about Klaus, we’ll find stuff about you and how you died.”

“It is a definite start.”

“Amora, who are you talking to?”

Amora froze, the smooth silky voice of Loki from behind her, slowly turning around the blonde girl held an awkward smile, as her British roommate looked at her with a concerned gaze, “Lovely, you okay?”

“Yeah, Yeah,” she replied waving her hands in front of her, “Just talking to myself.”

“That’s not a good excuse.”

“Lance talks to himself, he has since we were kids. You were having a full-on conversation before I walked in.”

Amora awkwardly laughed once again, “If you are in the middle of a phone call I’ll leave.”

“At this point, if we are going to be investigating, just tell her,” Cobalt sighed.

“I’m not on the phone…” Amora huffed, “I... I am being haunted by a ghost…”

Loki then began to laugh, making Amora’s whole face bright red, “Loki! I’m serious! Ever since that stupid séance, this guy named Cobalt has been haunting me!” Amora exclaimed.

“And you are talking to him because?” Loki chuckled.

Amora sighed, “I’m trying to help him get to the afterlife.”

Loki continued to laugh loudly, holding her stomach as she did so, which made Amora’s face turn even more red, “LOKI, STOP!”

Cobalt sighed as Loki continued to laugh, the ghostly man moved himself over to Loki’s side of the room, before straining to use his ghostly abilities to knock many of Loki’s items and trinkets off her bedside table to the ground.

“What the hell,” Loki panted after laughing so hard before Cobalt used all of his ghostly strength to throw one of Loki’s mossy green pillows square in her face, “Holy shit you are being haunted by a ghost.”

“WHY WOULD I LIE ABOUT THIS!” Amora shouted.

While Amora explained what had happened since the séance,  the sky darkened into night, the librarian bookkeeper, Olympia, made her way to Greyson’s office. Finding the older man in his sitting area outside of his office, many papers atop the dark color coffee table in front of him as he laid back on his dark blue couch.

“Dear?” Olympia asked, seeing the dean resting across the couch with an arm covering his face.

“Yes Olympia?” he questioned.

“What do you know about the new American girl?”

“Amora?”

“Yes,” Olympia answered her hands clasped in front of her now standing at Greyson's side as he did not attempt to change his posture to give her his full attention.

“She’s a young scholar, here because she has an awful mother,” Greyson explained, “She has great potential.”

“Anything else?” Olympia asked.

“Not that I can recall, or that is relevant at the moment… she likes to read I guess,” Greyson answered with a tired sigh.

“Is she violent?”

“No?”

“Abrasive?”

“Why the questions, Olympia?” Greyson complained.

“She seems friendly with Iphigenie and—”

“Iphigenie is an adult she is allowed to befriend whoever she likes.” Greyson exhaled rolling over on his side.

He hugged the large navy coat under him as if it were an old teddy bear, “but Iphigenie is my little girl,” Olympia whined, “I have to protect her.”

“Protect her, or not have her leave you?” Greyson grumbled.

Olympia sighed, “I’m sorry for bothering you, I’ll leave you be.”

“Travel safety, Olympia.”

“I love you, Greyson,” she replied, as she reached the door.

He only hummed before she exited his office. Left to go home, yet she doesn’t go to the shared townhouse, no she travels to the beachside where a small pale shack sits abandoned and deshelled, where a man sits changed up below ground.

#Hallows Academy #Hallows #writing #amora #loki #Iphigenie #Olympia #greyson #klaus #cobalt #ocs #original characters #ficiton #supernatural #romance #mystery #ghost #writng #writers on tumblr

[raayllum]

dude i just read your "Teach Me How to Name the Bigger Light" fic and ⁉️⁉️⁉️⁉️what the fuck!!! this is so good!! you're an amazing writer<3

Thank you!! It's been a while since I've written a fanon / plot focused fic but it's fun to bring over more skills from my OG WIP to something fic based. Here's a snippet of the next 2ish chapters <3

“That’s kind of the problem,” Ezran spoke up, tired but alert with worry. It was a feeling Rayla knew well. “Zubeia is missing.” Opeli’s brows rose. How did you lose a massive, powerful archdragon, after all? “Missing?” “We had to make our own way to the prison’s location,” Callum explained, a shadow briefly crossing his face. Rayla wondered if she’d ever stop feeling guilty for taking them to Scumport in the first place. She’d been thinking only of the distance, not the danger. (An inverse of going after Viren, perhaps.) “But when we made it back to the Storm Spire, she wasn’t there either. We don’t know where she is, just that she’s wounded, and possibly sick with... A dark magic poisoning.” “From what?” Opeli inquired, finally sitting in a nearby chair, although Rayla didn’t know what it’d been dragged up here for. (On the way to the Storm Spire her second night back, Ez had mentioned they’d tried throwing a birthday party for Callum, alongside assurances that his brother "really was glad to see her, just—being very jerkface Callum-y about it." It hadn’t made her feel better.) “Lux Aurea’s corruption. But we’ll deal with that problem when we get there. In the meantime...” She sent him a questioning look—deal with it how?— but Callum was focused on drawing Ezran’s bag to him and unfurling the flap. He hesitated and then took the prison in his hands. It made his face glow a ghostly white.

Bolded is for future implications / the chapter title is "Spectres" (like ghosts)

#fic: teach me how to name the bigger light #thanks for asking #anonymous #kind words #tdp #the dragon prince

[evolutionsvoid]

It is not just the dark forests and creepy caves that have their own phantoms, even the frozen peaks that scrape the sky have their fair share of ghosts. Those places are a far cry from the usual setting of horror stories, as the cramped darkness is replaced with endless spires of stone and an unforgiving sky. How is it that such a land can have its mysteries? How can you not explain what should be plain to see? Surely a wide open mountain range should make it easy to spot its denizens and clear up any confusion, but that is not the case. As some will say, these mountains are the one place in the world where you can be closest to the heavens while also being closest to hell. The journey to touch the sky is a grueling one, as the earth and wind are relentless. Climbing up a stony face that seemingly has no end, while the howling air seems to steal your very breath away. I have not climbed the tallest peak, or any of the top ten. I have, though, walked upon their slopes, and felt a mere fraction of their power. The weather changes in an instant, going from a clear sunny sky to a shrieking tempest faster than you can blink. The view that can go on for miles can suddenly turn to a sheet of white that keeps you from seeing your own breath. Here, the body and mind are driven to their limits, so there is no surprise that the disoriented and desperate would start to see "phantoms" and "demons." Figures in the snow, shadows of movements across distant peaks. Stories of encountering other people and beings, despite having no other soul around for miles. One particular tale spoke of giant men who strode across these slopes, entities that seemingly appeared and vanished into the snowy air without warning. While fascinating tales, it must be made clear that the folks who spotted such things were not in their right minds. The air is thin up there, making it hard to breathe, while the constant sense of worry and doom makes it hard to think. There are indeed creatures upon those snowy mountains, but they are no ghosts, though they may be just as difficult to catch. The beast I speak of is the Yeti (though some refer to them as "snow men," or a variety of other names), a hulking brute that calls these frozen slopes home. The stories of giant humanoids are not wrong, though they are not quite human or ape. Beneath that white fur is a gray blue armor, and the large "hands" they have are more like claws. Their heads have no mouths, only eyes, while their chest sports a chilling maw. The Yeti is no mammal, but instead a crustacean. If readers recall my entry on the Mapinguari, then they should understand when I say the Yeti appears to be a relative. It has focused its strength into two pairs of limbs: arms and legs, while the rest have shrunk down and joined with the complicated mouth upon their bodies. Their "heads" are nothing more than fused eye stalks, sporting huge eyes that help them navigate the stormy mountains and spot prey from afar. Thick white fur gives them warmth, while hefty armor gives them defense. Though large in size and built like trees, they are surprisingly masterful of their precarious domains. Their curved claws let them scale walls and slopes, and their wide feet give them balance and support. They can walk upon their knuckles, or stand tall against the screaming winds. Their ability to move swiftly across the terrain is hard to truly describe, as well as their power to seemingly vanish into nothing. Obviously, it is their white fur and stony armor that helps them blend in with their surroundings, but it doesn't dull the surprise of seeing a massive crab suddenly melt into the mountain. Yeti's are solitary creatures and their lives in the frozen mountains make it difficult to properly study them. They obtained such a haunting status because very few people have seen them, and such sightings were brief and panicked. The people that call this mountain range home are not ones to wander aimlessly across its slopes, so their encounters with the creatures are rare. They keep to their territory and the Yetis keep to theirs. Most stories of this species come from explorers and climbers, outsiders that seek to conquer the peaks. They are strangers to these lands, and thus often lack the understanding of its denizens. While fighting the elements in their quest for glory, they may spot a strange figure in the distance, or see a great silhouette cloaked in a blizzard. There is no time to investigate, not a second to waste while hanging on for dear life. All they can do is survive and tell the tale later, with no true knowledge of what they really saw. I have entertained the thought of going out their myself to see what I can learn of these creatures, but time and experience has prevented such a trip. I have spent many times up in the mountains, studying trolls an Alpine Killers, so I know how harsh and unforgiving it can be. Each time I think of going after Yetis, I recall these experiences and then remind myself that this one would be easily twice as bad. I am no fresh sapling, and I will admit that the cold brings me more misery with each passing year. I will not shy away from places with a chill, but I do have the tendency to find other projects in warmer biomes when need be. For now, I will just read up on others who attempted this research, and marvel at specimens held in museums and collections. As for the life of the Yeti, we know very little. They live on mountains and thrive in the endless cold. Places of stone and snow is where they are found, and their elusive nature makes it hard to truly pinpoint their range. As for food, we have to assume they are carnivores, as what else could they eat? I don't see them scraping off measly lichens and nourishing themselves with that (probably be just as miserable to eat as Crust Soup, ugh), so I imagine they eat whatever they can catch. Pursuit on the slopes is tough, so maybe they ambush prey? Scavenging is probably also an option, seeing that these slopes invite death. I wonder if the frozen bodies of failed explorers have wound in their bellies from time to time? I am sure that adds to their mystery and terror, seeing one of these brutes tearing into a frigid corpse. As for reproduction, how would we possibly know that? If we can't figure out how they eat, then we surely don't know how they get around to making more of them! The mountains have to be a lonely place, I can't imagine how they find one another in all that. Probably loud calls in the icy air, as those would travel far. Shout out into the great white nothingness and hope someone else hears you. Due to their mysterious nature, the Yeti has become a target for researchers, collectors and hunters alike. Everyone wants a chance to spot or bag one of these beasts, so it has only brought more outsiders to their homes. Since they are so elusive, many fail in this quest. The one hope, though, is that this failure at least lets them come back alive, as plenty have disappeared out in those mountains. As for the hunters, I wonder how many of the vanished succeeded in finding their prey, only to realize they were no match against this foe? I also wonder which of these returning failures was a results of the locals being sick and tired of these intruders. The people there live quiet lives, so I can't imagine them enjoying this convoy of collectors and conquerors. I have heard that they offer their services to the outsiders, helping them survive this harsh land, but perhaps some have their own agendas. From what I have learned, these people have a respect for these Yeti, and seek no quarrel with them. So I don't think it is a stretch of the imagination to think some of this hired help would intentionally point their employers in the wrong direction. With how rare these beasts are, you can easily chalk it up to bad luck and not the fact you were hunting in the completely wrong spot. In the end, you get paid and the Yetis get to live in peace, a pretty good deal! I would hope if I ever made my way out there, they would see my intentions are for study, not for slaying, and would help me locate one of these fascinating beasts. Then again, they probably would see me shivering my leaves off and instead carry me back down the mountain before I got myself in more trouble. That would probably be the smartest move.           Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian -----------------------------------

With what I did to the Mapinguari, you folks should have expected this to eventually happen! I'm not just making some plain ol' snow ape!

#yeti #crab #yeti crab #art #drawing #monster #creature