#I’m praying that’s the correct elf

[autumnsoldier13]

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

[queenstarlight2]

Lindir and a modern human who thought his name was Lindor like the chocolate for awhile until someone had to tell her she was saying his name wrong 😂

Let's put our listening ears on

word count: 1,035

The morning sun spilled golden light across Rivendell, painting the dew-kissed leaves in shimmering hues. Birds trilled from the treetops, and the cool, sweet air carried with it the fragrance of blossoming wildflowers. You found yourself wandering the grand halls of Elrond’s haven once more, marveling at the beauty that felt as surreal as a dream.

You were adjusting well, or so you liked to believe. Even if waking up in Middle-earth had initially been a shock, Rivendell’s serene beauty and the Elves’ gentle, albeit occasionally amused, company had helped you settle in. It didn’t hurt that Lindir, one of the more graceful and composed Elves, often accompanied you on your walks.

Today was no different. You found Lindir waiting by one of the many bridges that arched over Rivendell’s rivers, his silver hair catching the light, and his expression, as always, a careful mask of tranquility. You greeted him with a wave and an enthusiastic grin.

“Good morning, Lindor!” you called out cheerfully.

His serene expression twitched ever so slightly, but his smile remained. “Good morning to you as well,” he replied, his voice smooth as the river’s song.

The name—Lindor—had become something of a pet nickname. You knew it was a slight mispronunciation of his actual name, but somehow, it had stuck, and Lindir never corrected you. You didn’t think too deeply about it, assuming it was either not important enough to mention or perhaps he found it endearing. Besides, in a place so removed from your world, it was nice to have something familiar, even if it was just a name that reminded you of chocolates.

Together, you wandered down a path that led to a sun-dappled grove, your conversation meandering as effortlessly as the river beside you. Lindir asked questions about your world, his curiosity polite but genuine. You had spoken of cities and cars, of libraries full of books and kitchens full of foods the Elves had never imagined, but somehow, chocolate had yet to come up.

“You know,” you said, looking up at him, “it’s funny how you Elves don’t seem to get tired. If I didn’t have chocolate in my world, I don’t think I’d have survived college.”

Lindir’s brow furrowed slightly. “Chocolate?” he repeated, testing the word on his tongue. “What is that?”

You blinked. “Wait, really? You don’t have chocolate?”

Before Lindir could respond, another Elf, taller and with a more severe demeanor, approached. It was Erestor, one of Elrond’s advisors and librarian. He paused, eyeing you both with his typical scrutinizing expression, which always made you feel slightly like a wayward child.

“Ah, My lady, Master Lindir,” Erestor greeted, though his gaze lingered on you. “Forgive me, but I have overheard something quite peculiar these past weeks.”

You tilted your head, curiosity piqued. “Oh? What’s that?”

Erestor’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, you felt the weight of an Elven stare that seemed capable of seeing straight through you. “The name by which you address Master Lindir,” he said, his voice precise, “is incorrect. It is not ‘Lindor,’ but Lindir.”

Your cheeks flushed with sudden embarrassment. “Oh no,” you said, your hands flying up to cover your mouth. “I’m so sorry! Why didn’t you say anything, Lindir?”

Lindir, who looked both amused and faintly embarrassed, shook his head lightly. “I did not wish to embarrass you,” he admitted, a gentle smile gracing his lips. “Besides, you seemed to find some joy in calling me by that name. I did not think it harmful.”

Erestor, however, looked as though he was trying very hard not to roll his eyes. “And what, pray tell, is this Lindor you have been referring to?”

You couldn’t help but giggle, though you tried to stifle it. “Well, it’s a type of chocolate in my world. A really fancy, melt-in-your-mouth kind of chocolate. The best, really.”

Lindir and Erestor exchanged a look, one of deep Elven confusion, and it only made your laughter harder to contain.

“Chocolate,” Lindir mused, as if tasting the word again might give him insight. “You must explain this… delicacy.”

“Oh, absolutely,” you said, excitement bubbling up at the prospect. “Chocolate is, like, this heavenly, creamy food made from cacao beans, and you can make it into all kinds of things—bars, drinks, desserts. And Lindor chocolates are these little round truffles with a silky filling that just melts when you eat it.”

The Elves stared at you, their expressions frozen somewhere between polite interest and utter incomprehension. Finally, Erestor shook his head, his long hair swaying with the movement. “Your world sounds increasingly bizarre, My Lady,” he declared.

You grinned sheepishly. “Yeah, I guess it is. But seriously, I owe you an apology, Lindir. I’ll get your name right from now on.”

Lindir’s eyes softened, and he placed a hand on your shoulder. “No harm done,” he said gently. “If it is any consolation, the way you say it has a certain charm. But I am pleased to know the story behind this… Lindor chocolate.”

You couldn’t help but smile up at him. “Thanks for being so understanding.”

Erestor looked between the two of you, sighed as though resigning himself to the strangeness that came with having a human guest, and excused himself, muttering something about the peculiarity of mortals. You and Lindir watched him go, and once he was out of earshot, you both burst into laughter.

“He must think I’m hopeless,” you said, wiping a tear of laughter from your eye.

Lindir’s laughter faded into a fond smile. “I think he finds you… perplexing, but in a way that makes this world feel a bit more lively,” he said. “As do I.”

You felt warmth bloom in your chest, and for a moment, the beauty of Rivendell seemed brighter, more vibrant. “Thank you,” you said, feeling a bit shy. “I guess I’ll have to introduce chocolate to Middle-earth one day, won’t I?”

Lindir’s eyes lit up with a playful glint. “I look forward to it,” he replied, “if only to finally understand what could be worthy of my accidental namesake.”

And with that, you continued your walk together, the morning light gilding the leaves, and a new promise of sweet surprises hanging in the air between you.

[roleplayfinder]

🦇 yeah, that's me... bet you're wondering how I got into this situation

sup - 33yo trans dude, he/him, European looking for 25+ only individuals for some Baldur's Gate 3 related shenanigans. specifically, I'm looking to finally return to the writing game to scratch an itch I quite never sated when the game first came out, sooo...

as one does, I'm looking for someone to write either Gale Dekarios, Wyll Ravengard or Astarion Ancunín against a few of my characters. all MxM, cisgender preferred. I do not double up as a default and will gladly go into detail as to why if we chat over DMs. as for details;

⟼♥ for Gale, I long to ship him with my half-elf bard. he's witty, flirty, really pretty and a very "doms from the bottom" type of person in bed. presents nonchalant and happy-go-lucky, but is a fairly insecure, untrusting and sad boyo deep down. he can be very generous and nice even to complete strangers, but also has rather grey morals over some things - for one, he's not above picking a pocket or two. his instrument of choice is the violin and he has a knack for singing, but he can work his way around most instruments. falls very deeply when he does, impossible to shake once you have his heart. he was not intended to fill the role of Tav, but can easily be molded into the role if it works for the plot!

⟼♥ for Wyll, I'd love to ship him with a childhood friend. a tiefling warrior and city guard who very reluctantly works for Lord Gortash towards Act 3, praying for a rebellion to restore some sanity into his beloved city. he's a guy who's carried a torch for Wyll since early childhood and wants nothing more but for a chance to tell him how the young Ravengard inspired him on his way to greatness - even if he holds no hope that his feelings may be returned. he's a very gentle, soft man with a knack for service topping and domming. very goody-two-shoes, cat dad, immensely romantic if given the chance... it's just that he's never quite gotten over Wyll, hence his romantic side is mostly reserved for his daydreams.

⟼♥ for Astarion, my wish is to allow my drow druid to adore him. a man who's extremely demisexual and gets hyperfixated upon giving Astarion the joy and the pleasure he's never quite had in his life. he's a very morally grey guy leaning just a tad into villainy, but not so much for ambition but rather just distrust and dislike of most people. he definitely prefers animals and plants over people and finds irony that he'd find the love of his life in an undead man, considering he is a druid. speaking of - he's weirdly goth for a druid, extremely autistic, yet he can feign charm when it benefits him. it's just... most of the time, he doesn't care if people know he hates them. and he does, he hates most people... except Astarion. and probably Karlach. who could hate Karlach? definitely a black cat type, very selfish and feels no regrets about it... except when it comes to Astarion. he's very much a "I'd give you the moon", service top and pleasure dom for his precious spawn.

I have bios available for all of my fellas, + plenty of writing samples you can take a look at! as for my writing in general;

⟼ I write in third person, past tense, I’m super descriptive and write anywhere from minimum two paragraphs to, idk… dozens??? I’m pretty much guaranteed to hit the discord limit most of the time, though I do obviously put effort into matching my partner’s style and length. I don't demand multiple paragraphs every reply, I just personally like to ramble a lot.

⟼ I can be nitpicky about correct characterization and grammar so if you’re not looking for deep analysis and character studies on, y’know, characters, I’m not the best fit for you.

⟼ I’m always quality over quantity.

⟼ my favorite to write are romance, relationship and character studies, enthusiastic about smut as long as it comes with plot... yeah, mostly just Relationship Stuff with possibility for action and things on the side.

⟼ I appreciate good communication even when we’re not writing (it's The 'Tism, it craves understanding) and hope there’s mutual consideration in that neither one of us can be or should be available 24/7. having said that, I’m more than happy to befriend my partners! I love sharing memes, art, music, whatever you have OOC.

⟼ super open to multiple threads, multiple ships and plots and AUs with a single partner! I love having a thread for every mood, personally!

⟼ depending on how life's going, my reply speed can be anything from several times a day to a few times a week. if you do not pester me, I will always get back to you eventually!

does this sound like your cup of tea at all? great! please like this post and I’ll come fetch you. we’ll talk, we’ll hopefully make some people kiss, we’ll chat about whether it’s a good fit - and if it's not, you're welcome to ghost me in peace!

look forward to hearing from you! ★

.

[ellekhen]

Hand, Hearth, and Home

Chapter 65 - A Sanguine Song

Chapter Summary: At last, the time has come to investigate the Grand Thorm Mausoleum and the secrets that lie within. However, a certain devil takes the opportunity to approach Church and Astarion with a deal they can't refuse. Secrets are revealed, but with that clarity comes consequence.

Pairing(s): Astarion x Male Tav (Main); Past OC x Male Tav Rating: Explicit Length: 340K+ words; Chapters 65/?? (Master Post)

Excerpt below:

Despite being in an ancient, foreboding temple, camp at least feels safe. Church hopes Withers won’t decide to lapse in his protection now of all times as the skeleton stands ever-present at the perimeter. Wryly, the warlock wonders if their guardian is enjoying a bit of relative peace and quiet away from his young charge. Last Church saw, Arabella was back at the inn introducing Thaniel and Oliver to the other tiefling children. They seemed to be having a good time, all things considered.

He can’t quite say the same for themselves. Astarion has barely let him out of his sight amid the ruins, and Church isn’t inclined to do the same. He can barely eat due to his nerves. 

Where the hells is Raphael?

Church knows Astarion is thinking the same thing when he finds the elf in a more remote corner of the ruins.

“Hey,” Church murmurs as he sits beside him upon the crackled marble stairs. The tiefling tilts his head, smiling softly as he offers up his neck in invitation. “Liquid bravery?”

To his surprise, however, Astarion looks almost nauseous.

“I must decline,” he says, far too politely.

“Oh! Of course,” Church says, taken aback as he lets go of his collar. “Something wrong?”

“Where the hells is he?” Astarion grumbles.

“I mean, besides that,” Church says hastily. “What was that look about just now?”

Astarion stews in silence for a long moment.

“Look. If you must know, I haven’t been able to… stomach the idea of feeding upon you ever since… then,” Astarion admits, stilted. 

Church winces. “Oh. Gods, I didn’t even consider that…”

“I’m sure you still taste wonderful,” Astarion says reassuringly. “But when I meditate, all I can see is your bloodied throat and your… beautiful, dead face. Those empty, glassy eyes. And…” 

His voice breaks as he speaks. 

“...I felt your life leave your body, darling. Even in that dazed, feral state. Even though you were revived and fine soon afterwards… you have no idea, do you? No, you wouldn’t have known, being dead and all,” he corrects himself quickly. “I was there for what felt like ages, listening for your heartbeat, begging for you to stop your nonsense and wake up.”

Church’s mouth is dry. “Astarion…”

“I… prayed, you damned fool! To any fucking deity that could reach that forsaken plane. Even to the Raven Queen herself, even to Shar. I thought maybe—”

“—perhaps you shouldn’t have looked to the heavens, little vampling, and instead looked to the hells.”

Church and Astarion leap up as Raphael emerges from a fiery seam in the air, a swagger in his step as he approaches them with that stupid, smug smile.

“What the hells is going on?” Karlach calls into their minds, and Church can hear the clatter of her dropping everything to race over.

“Stop! Stay where you are!” Church orders all of them. “Give us some privacy, alright?”

“What are you doing?” Wyll asks in dismay. “Please, don't tell me that you’re making another deal?”

“This deal is already done,” Astarion tells him flatly. “Now stay. Away.”

Raphael watches them in amusement. 

“Discontentment in the camp, I see,” he chuckles. “No matter. I won’t be long.” He raises an eyebrow knowingly at Astarion and Church’s resentful expressions. “Oh my, did I intrude on something private? Do forgive me, I was under the impression you wanted answers as soon as possible.”

“Well we’re all here, aren’t we?” Astarion says blithely, even though his body and smile is tense. “Do go on.”

Raphael examines his nails.

“Do you know what happens when a devil is struck down on this charming plane of existence?” he asks conversationally. “It returns to the hells — to the very point where it last stood before venturing to whichever devil-forsaken plane it died on. In the case of our friend Yurgir, the orthon you so handily dispatched here in the temple of Shar manifested in my House of Hope.

“He returned to me chastened but intact, his wounds healed, his body restored. He thought I would dismember him…” he chuckles. “...but he has his uses. So instead, I am reeducating him.”

“Lovely. Look, we delivered the devil,” Astarion cuts in impatiently. “Now I want what I’m owed.” He raises his chin imperiously. “We had a deal.”

“Indeed we did,” Raphael smiles. “I discovered all there is to know about those scars of yours; it’s a rather grim tale, even for my tastes.”

“Stop stalling,” Church says flatly.

“As you wish,” Raphael drawls. “Brace yourself, Astarion — we’re about to unveil your destiny.”

He eyes the two of them. “You may want to sit.”

“We’ll stand, thanks,” Church replies curtly.

“Very well,” Raphael shrugs, and with a snap of fingers he conjures up an ostentatious armchair upon which he drapes himself languidly. 

“As you know already, your precious skin is home to one part of a contract between the archdevil Mephistopheles and your former master, Cazador Szarr. In full, the contract states that Cazador will be granted knowledge of an infernal ritual so vile it has never been performed — The Rite of Profane Ascension. It promises to be a marvelous ceremony. Very elaborate, incredibly ancient, and entirely diabolical.

“If he completes the rite, he will become a new kind of being — the Vampire Ascendant. All the strengths of his vampiric form will be amplified, and alongside them he will enjoy the luxuries of the living. The arousals and appetites of man will return to him, and unlike Astarion, he will have no need of a parasite to protect him from the sun.”

Church feels a throb of emotion from Astarion through their tadpoles.

Envy.  

“But the ritual has its price, as all worthwhile things do,” Raphael flourishes a hand towards Astarion. “Lord Cazador will need to sacrifice a number of souls, including all of his vampiric spawn, if he is to ascend.”

Church can’t help but drift instinctively closer towards Astarion’s side.

“Imagine how he felt, then, when one of those precious spawn simply disappeared into thin air,” Raphael continues, watching in amusement. “The only missing ingredient is Astarion. You are the final piece he requires to complete the ritual — your scars bind you to it. Your soul will set off a very wave of death, bringing Cazador his twisted life.”

Is Astarion… trembling? 

“And that, my tragic and toothsome friend, is that,” Raphael concludes with a flourish. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have business elsewhere.”   

He snaps his fingers and burns away into a wisp of smoke — chair and all.

The Raven Queen breaks her silence. 

“A ritual most foul,” she whispers into Church’s mind. “An undead tyrant, ascending, evolving into a beast beyond measure… you mustn’t let this happen, little bird.”

Church gulps. 

The only missing ingredient is Astarion.

Not if Church has anything to say about it.

Astarion’s shoulders sag slightly as he relaxes, turning towards Church with an unreadable, preoccupied look upon his face.

“Hmm…” he frowns.

“You’re not going back to Cazador,” Church says softly, his mind racing with possibilities. “I won’t let him…”

“Do you think it’s so simple?” Astarion snaps scornfully. 

“It’s never been simple!” Church retorts. “But I know you’ll never be truly free while he lives.”

Astarion grimaces.

“I hate how right you are,” he growls. “I knew he wouldn’t leave me alone even when I was just another wretched toy for him to play with. But if I’m key to this power he craves, he’ll hunt me to the ends of Faerûn.”

He scoffs. “A ‘Vampire Ascendant.’ As if he needed another reason to be the pretentious bastard that he is… but if he can walk in the sun, imagine what other powers he could gain? Even as he is now, he can enthrall beyond those who are his spawn. He can enthrall even you. Just taking away the burn of the sun would make him unstoppable."

Astarion's expression turns pensive. "But if someone else were to steal that power from him…?” 

Church eyes his companion. “What are you saying?”

“He doesn’t deserve that power,” Astarion spits. “But don’t you think I’ve suffered enough? And if there’s a way to ensure my freedom, then I won’t need that tadpole at all. Then… I can protect what’s mine.” He gazes at Church, his eyes earnest and determined. “I can protect you. And you won’t need the Raven Queen or any patron, delightful shadowy powers aside.”

“How would that work though?” Church asks uneasily. “Did you not hear the part about sacrificing souls including yours and your siblings?”

“Yes, well, we don’t know the details of that now do we?” Astarion waves him away. “I’ll need to figure out exactly how I’m involved, but I wouldn’t lose any sleep over my siblings. They’re not good people either, darling. They hated me. They did terrible things to survive in Cazador’s name. As for the other souls, well…

“I’d let any number of nameless souls burn if it meant keeping us safe,” he concludes vehemently. 

Church looks at him in disbelief. “You can’t mean that.”

“Can’t I? I don’t expect you to understand,” Astarion scoffs. “I haven’t had anything ever since I crawled out of that grave. Nothing but shame and hunger… until you.”

He huffs before taking Church’s hand. “Can you blame me for wanting to fight to protect this? The barest possibility of living beside you in the sun, without fear?”

For all the ferocity of his words, his eyes are so, so soft. Despite the squirm of his stomach, Church can’t help but feel… thrilled?  

No one — not even Tavi — had ever made such a declaration as this. It is likely the elf’s emotional hyperbole in the moment, but all the same, Church’s heart soars. 

“I’m touched,” he murmurs. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, alright? We don’t know how many souls or whatever devilish stipulations Raphael conveniently neglected to name. And there’s the matter of getting Cazador out of the way too, of course.”

"Indeed," Astarion chuckles. “It’s all wishful thinking while we’re in this tomb.”

He ponders to himself, resolution manifesting upon his face. “Either way, I need to take the fight to him.” He looks up at Church. “And I need you to help me, darling.”

Church squeezes his hand back. “Of course I’ll help. Whatever it takes. We’ll hunt him down and kill him.”

Astarion nods, before pressing a firm kiss to Church’s lips — as if to seal a pact of their own. 

“Thank you,” Astarion murmurs, eyes blazing with determination.

[findroleplay]

🦇 yeah, that's me... bet you're wondering how I got into this situation

sup - 33yo trans dude, he/him, European looking for 25+ only individuals for some Baldur's Gate 3 related shenanigans. specifically, I'm looking to finally return to the writing game to scratch an itch I quite never sated when the game first came out, sooo...

as one does, I'm looking for someone to write either Gale Dekarios, Wyll Ravengard or Astarion Ancunín against a few of my characters. all MxM, cisgender preferred. I do not double up as a default and will gladly go into detail as to why if we chat over DMs. as for details;

⟼♥ for Gale, I long to ship him with my half-elf bard. he's witty, flirty, really pretty and a very "doms from the bottom" type of person in bed. presents nonchalant and happy-go-lucky, but is a fairly insecure, untrusting and sad boyo deep down. he can be very generous and nice even to complete strangers, but also has rather grey morals over some things - for one, he's not above picking a pocket or two. his instrument of choice is the violin and he has a knack for singing, but he can work his way around most instruments. falls very deeply when he does, impossible to shake once you have his heart. he was not intended to fill the role of Tav, but can easily be molded into the role if it works for the plot!

⟼♥ for Wyll, I'd love to ship him with a childhood friend. a tiefling warrior and city guard who very reluctantly works for Lord Gortash towards Act 3, praying for a rebellion to restore some sanity into his beloved city. he's a guy who's carried a torch for Wyll since early childhood and wants nothing more but for a chance to tell him how the young Ravengard inspired him on his way to greatness - even if he holds no hope that his feelings may be returned. he's a very gentle, soft man with a knack for service topping and domming. very goody-two-shoes, cat dad, immensely romantic if given the chance... it's just that he's never quite gotten over Wyll, hence his romantic side is mostly reserved for his daydreams.

⟼♥ for Astarion, my wish is to allow my drow druid to adore him. a man who's extremely demisexual and gets hyperfixated upon giving Astarion the joy and the pleasure he's never quite had in his life. he's a very morally grey guy leaning just a tad into villainy, but not so much for ambition but rather just distrust and dislike of most people. he definitely prefers animals and plants over people and finds irony that he'd find the love of his life in an undead man, considering he is a druid. speaking of - he's weirdly goth for a druid, extremely autistic, yet he can feign charm when it benefits him. it's just... most of the time, he doesn't care if people know he hates them. and he does, he hates most people... except Astarion. and probably Karlach. who could hate Karlach? definitely a black cat type, very selfish and feels no regrets about it... except when it comes to Astarion. he's very much a "I'd give you the moon", service top and pleasure dom for his precious spawn.

I have bios available for all of my fellas, + plenty of writing samples you can take a look at! as for my writing in general;

⟼ I write in third person, past tense, I’m super descriptive and write anywhere from minimum two paragraphs to, idk… dozens??? I’m pretty much guaranteed to hit the discord limit most of the time, though I do obviously put effort into matching my partner’s style and length. I don't demand multiple paragraphs every reply, I just personally like to ramble a lot.

⟼ I can be nitpicky about correct characterization and grammar so if you’re not looking for deep analysis and character studies on, y’know, characters, I’m not the best fit for you.

⟼ I’m always quality over quantity.

⟼ my favorite to write are romance, relationship and character studies, enthusiastic about smut as long as it comes with plot... yeah, mostly just Relationship Stuff with possibility for action and things on the side.

⟼ I appreciate good communication even when we’re not writing (it's The 'Tism, it craves understanding) and hope there’s mutual consideration in that neither one of us can be or should be available 24/7. having said that, I’m more than happy to befriend my partners! I love sharing memes, art, music, whatever you have OOC.

⟼ super open to multiple threads, multiple ships and plots and AUs with a single partner! I love having a thread for every mood, personally!

⟼ depending on how life's going, my reply speed can be anything from several times a day to a few times a week. if you do not pester me, I will always get back to you eventually!

does this sound like your cup of tea at all? great! please like this post and I’ll come fetch you. we’ll talk, we’ll hopefully make some people kiss, we’ll chat about whether it’s a good fit - and if it's not, you're welcome to ghost me in peace!

look forward to hearing from you! ★

.

[fandom-rpfinder]

yeah... it's me, back on my bullshit again 🤡

sup - 33yo trans dude, he/him, European looking for 25+ only individuals for some Baldur's Gate 3 related shenanigans. specifically, I'm looking to finally return to the writing game to scratch an itch I quite never sated when the game first came out, sooo...

as one does, I'm looking for someone to write either Gale Dekarios, Wyll Ravengard or Astarion Ancunín against a few of my characters. all MxM, cisgender preferred. as for short details;

⟼♥ for Gale, I long to ship him with my half-elf bard. he's witty, flirty, really pretty and a very "doms from the bottom" type of person in bed. presents nonchalant and happy-go-lucky, but is a fairly insecure, untrusting and sad boyo deep down. he can be very generous and nice even to complete strangers, but also has rather grey morals over some things - for one, he's not above picking a pocket or two. his instrument of choice is the violin and he has a knack for singing, but he can work his way around most instruments. he was not intended to fill the role of Tav, but can easily be molded into the role if it works for the plot!

⟼♥ for Wyll, I'd love to ship him with a childhood friend. a tiefling warrior and city guard who reluctantly works for Lord Gortash towards Act 3, praying for a rebellion to restore some sanity into his beloved city. he's a guy who's carried a torch for Wyll since early childhood and wants nothing more but for a chance to tell him how the young Ravengard inspired him on his way to greatness. he's a very gentle, soft man with a knack for service domming.

⟼♥ for Astarion, my wish is to allow my drow druid to adore him. a man who's extremely demisexual and gets hyperfixated upon giving Astarion the joy and the pleasure he's never quite had in his life. he's a very morally grey guy leaning a tad into villainy, but not so much for ambition but rather just distrust and dislike of most people. he definitely prefers animals and plants over people and finds irony that he'd find the love of his life in an undead man, considering he is a druid. speaking of - he's weirdly goth for a druid, extremely autistic, yet he can feign charm when it benefits him. it's just... most of the time, he doesn't care if people know he hates them. and he does, he hates most people... except Astarion. and probably Karlach. who could hate Karlach?

I have bios available for all of my fellas, + plenty of writing samples you can take a look at! as for my writing in general;

⟼ I write in third person, past tense, I’m super descriptive and write anywhere from minimum two paragraphs to, idk… dozens??? I’m pretty much guaranteed to hit the discord limit most of the time, though I do obviously put effort into matching my partner’s style and length.

⟼ I can be nitpicky about correct characterization and grammar so if you’re not looking for deep analysis and character studies on, y’know, characters, I’m not the best fit for you.

⟼ I’m always quality over quantity.

⟼ my favorite to write are romance, relationship and character studies, some smut likely tossed in... yeah, mostly just Relationship Stuff with possibility for action and things on the side.

⟼ I appreciate good communication even when we’re not writing (it's The 'Tism, it craves understanding) and hope there’s mutual consideration in that neither one of us can be or should be available 24/7. having said that, I’m more than happy to befriend my partners! I love sharing memes, art, music, whatever you have OOC.

⟼ super open to multiple threads, multiple ships and plots and AUs with a single partner!

⟼ depending on how life's going, my reply speed can be anything from several times a day to a few times a week. if you do not pester me, I will always get back to you eventually!

does this sound like your cup of tea at all? great! please like this post and I’ll come fetch you. we’ll talk, we’ll hopefully make some people kiss, we’ll chat about whether it’s a good fit - and if it's not, you're welcome to ghost me in peace!

look forward to hearing from you! ★

👾

[rphunter]

yeah... it's me, back on my bullshit again 🤡

sup - 33yo trans dude, he/him, European looking for 25+ only individuals for some Baldur's Gate 3 related shenanigans. specifically, I'm looking to finally return to the writing game to scratch an itch I quite never sated when the game first came out, sooo...

as one does, I'm looking for someone to write either Gale Dekarios, Wyll Ravengard or Astarion Ancunín against a few of my characters. all MxM, cisgender preferred. as for short details;

⟼♥ for Gale, I long to ship him with my half-elf bard. he's witty, flirty, really pretty and a very "doms from the bottom" type of person in bed. presents nonchalant and happy-go-lucky, but is a fairly insecure, untrusting and sad boyo deep down. he can be very generous and nice even to complete strangers, but also has rather grey morals over some things - for one, he's not above picking a pocket or two. his instrument of choice is the violin and he has a knack for singing, but he can work his way around most instruments. he was not intended to fill the role of Tav, but can easily be molded into the role if it works for the plot!

⟼♥ for Wyll, I'd love to ship him with a childhood friend. a tiefling warrior and city guard who reluctantly works for Lord Gortash towards Act 3, praying for a rebellion to restore some sanity into his beloved city. he's a guy who's carried a torch for Wyll since early childhood and wants nothing more but for a chance to tell him how the young Ravengard inspired him on his way to greatness. he's a very gentle, soft man with a knack for service domming.

⟼♥ for Astarion, my wish is to allow my drow druid to adore him. a man who's extremely demisexual and gets hyperfixated upon giving Astarion the joy and the pleasure he's never quite had in his life. he's a very morally grey guy leaning a tad into villainy, but not so much for ambition but rather just distrust and dislike of most people. he definitely prefers animals and plants over people and finds irony that he'd find the love of his life in an undead man, considering he is a druid. speaking of - he's weirdly goth for a druid, extremely autistic, yet he can feign charm when it benefits him. it's just... most of the time, he doesn't care if people know he hates them. and he does, he hates most people... except Astarion. and probably Karlach. who could hate Karlach?

I have bios available for all of my fellas, + plenty of writing samples you can take a look at! as for my writing in general;

⟼ I write in third person, past tense, I’m super descriptive and write anywhere from minimum two paragraphs to, idk… dozens??? I’m pretty much guaranteed to hit the discord limit most of the time, though I do obviously put effort into matching my partner’s style and length.

⟼ I can be nitpicky about correct characterization and grammar so if you’re not looking for deep analysis and character studies on, y’know, characters, I’m not the best fit for you.

⟼ I’m always quality over quantity.

⟼ my favorite to write are romance, relationship and character studies, some smut likely tossed in... yeah, mostly just Relationship Stuff with possibility for action and things on the side.

⟼ I appreciate good communication even when we’re not writing (it's The 'Tism, it craves understanding) and hope there’s mutual consideration in that neither one of us can be or should be available 24/7. having said that, I’m more than happy to befriend my partners! I love sharing memes, art, music, whatever you have OOC.

⟼ super open to multiple threads, multiple ships and plots and AUs with a single partner!

⟼ depending on how life's going, my reply speed can be anything from several times a day to a few times a week. if you do not pester me, I will always get back to you eventually!

does this sound like your cup of tea at all? great! please like this post and I’ll come fetch you. we’ll talk, we’ll hopefully make some people kiss, we’ll chat about whether it’s a good fit - and if it's not, you're welcome to ghost me in peace!

look forward to hearing from you! ★

.

[cavernfullofexistentialdread]

WHY THE FUCK DOES CHASCA HAVE THOSE SPECIFIC ELF EARS WHAT

Okay so we know Iansan has similar elf ears to Klee, so that’s an established elf ear shape. SO WHY DOES CHASCA’S LOOK LIKE THAT??? HELLO??? THIS ISN’T JUST THE ZOOM BY THE WAY. As she turns the elf ear shape stays the same. The only people I can think of off the top of my who also has pointy ears that don’t look similar to Klee’s species is a fucking Dragon Sovereign, The Dendro Archon, and Layla. AND THEIR NOT EVEN THAT SIMILAR TO CHASCA’S?.?

HOPING BEGGING PRAYING THAT SOMEONE CAN CORRECT ME AND THAT I’M WRONG, BECAUSE WHAT DOES THIS MEAN

[novella-writers]

yeah... it's me, back on my bullshit again 🤡

sup - 33yo trans dude, he/him, European looking for 25+ only individuals for some Baldur's Gate 3 related shenanigans. specifically, I'm looking to finally return to the writing game to scratch an itch I quite never sated when the game first came out, sooo...

as one does, I'm looking for someone to write either Gale Dekarios, Wyll Ravengard or Astarion Ancunín against a few of my characters. all MxM, cisgender preferred. as for short details;

⟼♥ for Gale, I long to ship him with my half-elf bard. he's witty, flirty, really pretty and a very "doms from the bottom" type of person in bed. presents nonchalant and happy-go-lucky, but is a fairly insecure, untrusting and sad boyo deep down. he can be very generous and nice even to complete strangers, but also has rather grey morals over some things - for one, he's not above picking a pocket or two. his instrument of choice is the violin and he has a knack for singing, but he can work his way around most instruments. he was not intended to fill the role of Tav, but can easily be molded into the role if it works for the plot!

⟼♥ for Wyll, I'd love to ship him with a childhood friend. a tiefling warrior and city guard who reluctantly works for Lord Gortash towards Act 3, praying for a rebellion to restore some sanity into his beloved city. he's a guy who's carried a torch for Wyll since early childhood and wants nothing more but for a chance to tell him how the young Ravengard inspired him on his way to greatness. he's a very gentle, soft man with a knack for service domming.

⟼♥ for Astarion, my wish is to allow my drow druid to adore him. a man who's extremely demisexual and gets hyperfixated upon giving Astarion the joy and the pleasure he's never quite had in his life. he's a very morally grey guy leaning a tad into villainy, but not so much for ambition but rather just distrust and dislike of most people. he definitely prefers animals and plants over people and finds irony that he'd find the love of his life in an undead man, considering he is a druid. speaking of - he's weirdly goth for a druid, extremely autistic, yet he can feign charm when it benefits him. it's just... most of the time, he doesn't care if people know he hates them. and he does, he hates most people... except Astarion. and probably Karlach. who could hate Karlach?

I have bios available for all of my fellas, + plenty of writing samples you can take a look at! as for my writing in general;

⟼ I write in third person, past tense, I’m super descriptive and write anywhere from minimum two paragraphs to, idk… dozens??? I’m pretty much guaranteed to hit the discord limit most of the time, though I do obviously put effort into matching my partner’s style and length.

⟼ I can be nitpicky about correct characterization and grammar so if you’re not looking for deep analysis and character studies on, y’know, characters, I’m not the best fit for you.

⟼ I’m always quality over quantity.

⟼ my favorite to write are romance, relationship and character studies, some smut likely tossed in... yeah, mostly just Relationship Stuff with possibility for action and things on the side.

⟼ I appreciate good communication even when we’re not writing (it's The 'Tism, it craves understanding) and hope there’s mutual consideration in that neither one of us can be or should be available 24/7. having said that, I’m more than happy to befriend my partners! I love sharing memes, art, music, whatever you have OOC.

⟼ super open to multiple threads, multiple ships and plots and AUs with a single partner!

⟼ depending on how life's going, my reply speed can be anything from several times a day to a few times a week. if you do not pester me, I will always get back to you eventually!

does this sound like your cup of tea at all? great! please like this post and I’ll come fetch you. we’ll talk, we’ll hopefully make some people kiss, we’ll chat about whether it’s a good fit - and if it's not, you're welcome to ghost me in peace!

look forward to hearing from you! ★

Like if interested!

[roleplayfinder]

yeah... it's me, back on my bullshit again 🤡

sup - 33yo trans dude, he/him, European looking for 25+ only individuals for some Baldur's Gate 3 related shenanigans. specifically, I'm looking to finally return to the writing game to scratch an itch I quite never sated when the game first came out, sooo...

as one does, I'm looking for someone to write either Gale Dekarios, Wyll Ravengard or Astarion Ancunín against a few of my characters. all MxM, cisgender preferred. as for short details;

⟼♥ for Gale, I long to ship him with my half-elf bard. he's witty, flirty, really pretty and a very "doms from the bottom" type of person in bed. presents nonchalant and happy-go-lucky, but is a fairly insecure, untrusting and sad boyo deep down. he can be very generous and nice even to complete strangers, but also has rather grey morals over some things - for one, he's not above picking a pocket or two. his instrument of choice is the violin and he has a knack for singing, but he can work his way around most instruments. he was not intended to fill the role of Tav, but can easily be molded into the role if it works for the plot!

⟼♥ for Wyll, I'd love to ship him with a childhood friend. a tiefling warrior and city guard who reluctantly works for Lord Gortash towards Act 3, praying for a rebellion to restore some sanity into his beloved city. he's a guy who's carried a torch for Wyll since early childhood and wants nothing more but for a chance to tell him how the young Ravengard inspired him on his way to greatness. he's a very gentle, soft man with a knack for service domming.

⟼♥ for Astarion, my wish is to allow my drow druid to adore him. a man who's extremely demisexual and gets hyperfixated upon giving Astarion the joy and the pleasure he's never quite had in his life. he's a very morally grey guy leaning a tad into villainy, but not so much for ambition but rather just distrust and dislike of most people. he definitely prefers animals and plants over people and finds irony that he'd find the love of his life in an undead man, considering he is a druid. speaking of - he's weirdly goth for a druid, extremely autistic, yet he can feign charm when it benefits him. it's just... most of the time, he doesn't care if people know he hates them. and he does, he hates most people... except Astarion. and probably Karlach. who could hate Karlach?

I have bios available for all of my fellas, + plenty of writing samples you can take a look at! as for my writing in general;

⟼ I write in third person, past tense, I’m super descriptive and write anywhere from minimum two paragraphs to, idk… dozens??? I’m pretty much guaranteed to hit the discord limit most of the time, though I do obviously put effort into matching my partner’s style and length.

⟼ I can be nitpicky about correct characterization and grammar so if you’re not looking for deep analysis and character studies on, y’know, characters, I’m not the best fit for you.

⟼ I’m always quality over quantity.

⟼ my favorite to write are romance, relationship and character studies, some smut likely tossed in... yeah, mostly just Relationship Stuff with possibility for action and things on the side.

⟼ I appreciate good communication even when we’re not writing (it's The 'Tism, it craves understanding) and hope there’s mutual consideration in that neither one of us can be or should be available 24/7. having said that, I’m more than happy to befriend my partners! I love sharing memes, art, music, whatever you have OOC.

⟼ super open to multiple threads, multiple ships and plots and AUs with a single partner!

⟼ depending on how life's going, my reply speed can be anything from several times a day to a few times a week. if you do not pester me, I will always get back to you eventually!

does this sound like your cup of tea at all? great! please like this post and I’ll come fetch you. we’ll talk, we’ll hopefully make some people kiss, we’ll chat about whether it’s a good fit - and if it's not, you're welcome to ghost me in peace!

look forward to hearing from you! ★

.

[givemeweasley]

First Things First pt. 3

Fred Weasley x Reader

Warnings: angst to fluff no worries only happy endings here (this is also the last part)

Word Count: 5.9k

A/N: Thank you so much for reading this! I put a lot of research into it even for smaller details about Ilvermorny or even the Gryffindor password to make sure it was all correct. Also for the last section I listened to Heart by Sleeping At Last (highly recommend)! Please let me know what you thought and I’m also taking requests :)

First Things First pt. 1, First Things First pt. 2

-----

You remembered the first time you made up-

You were miserable. There was no easy way to put it. In the week leading up to the ball you’d been eating your meals in the kitchens, studying for next semester in the kitchens, really just spending every free second in the kitchens since classes had finished. And sitting alone. Even herbology. You’d made a point to quietly sit on the other side of the classroom and not look at him even in the slightest.

The week leading up to the ball felt like a year. It only seemed longer when you overheard the house elves talking about who was going with who.

“I heard Mr.Potter is going with that Ms.Patil.” One of them whispered.

“Parvati or Padma?”

“Parvati.”

The whispering continued until one name caught your attention. You didn’t dare glance up, you could feel the house elves lower their voices and glance at you.

“The eldest Weasley twin is going with,” their voices lowered even more. You leaned forward a fraction, tilting your head in their direction. “Angelina Johnson.”

“They’ll be a right handsome couple.”

At that comment you heard a few house elves immediately fuss and shush the house elf who said it, but it was too late. You’d already heard. They were right. For what seemed like the millionth time in that week, your eyes welled up with tears.

Godric. You were so tired of crying. So tired of feeling guilty and angry at the same time. So tired of missing your friends.

You hated England. You hated Hogwarts. You hated these stupid kitchens and these stupid dungeons. You hated Yule balls especially. How simple everything would’ve been if the ball hadn't existed.

Maybe you could’ve spent your life pretending you never kissed him.

But you knew better. The kiss was never far from the front of your mind. Even if the memory now only brought pain.

Fred was right. You could’ve asked him. Why didn’t you?

You buried your head in your hands uncontrollably sobbing. You called him a coward. The only coward between the two of you, was you. He was better off with Angelina. She was incredible and they had so much in common. You could already see their wedding in your head.

It only made you cry more.

“Look what you did!” You vaguely heard one of the house elves whisper angrily. There was some shuffling around and pots clattering about before you felt the tap of a long finger against your elbow.

“Ms.Y/L/N?”

You looked down to see Jippy. His ears were flopped over, his wide eyes looking up at you kindly with a blue box in his hands. A white bow wrapped around it.

You unfurled yourself from the seat, your limbs achy and in desperate need of a stretch. “What’s this?” You asked taking the box from Jippys hands.

He nervously glanced back at the house elves behind him. They were all smiling broadly looking from the present in your hands to your face. Finally, he seemed to build up enough courage to say what he needed.

“Well, Ms. Y/L/N, we all noticed you’ve spent your entire week in here and-”

“Oh I’m so sorry!” You grimaced. They had probably needed alone time from humans and you’d done nothing but intrude on their continued generosity.

“No! No! That’s not it at all! We just knew that you hadn’t gone out to Hogsmeade to pick out a dress so we wanted to do something for you.” Jippy said, twisting his foot on the floor. But his smile widened as he glanced at the present. “Happy Christmas.”

The tears already in your eyes spilled down your cheeks. You had completely forgotten about purchasing a dress for the ball. Hastily, you wiped the tears from your cheeks before pulling the ribbon gently off the box. You lifted the blue lid.

Inside was the most stunning fabric you’d ever seen. It glittered silver reflecting off every light in the room. You gripped the shoulders of the gown and lifted to see the entirety of it.

Jippy poked his head into your field of vision. “Do you like it?”

As gently as possible, you folded the gown back into the box. You made a point to look at every single house elf in the room. “I love it. Thank you.”

Cheers rang out through the kitchens. For the first time in weeks, you laughed. Heartily. Until, you realized what Jippy said. You whipped your head to him.

“Christmas?”

Jippy froze, furrowing his brow. “Yes ma’am. It’s Christmas.”

Your eyes widened before lifting them to the grand clock on the wall.

7:03

You leapt up out of the chair causing Jippy to startle backwards. You reached your hand out to steady him before him fell. “I’ve gotta go! Adrians coming to get me at 7:45! Thanks again you guys!” You yelled over your shoulder, box in hand as you ran to the portrait.

Shouts of ‘good luck’ and ‘Happy Christmas’ rang out over your shoulder as the portrait shut behind you. Without thinking, you barreled towards the staircase hauling ass to Gryffindor tower. You were on the bottom floor, Gryffindor tower on the seventh. It would take you at least ten minutes to get there. Still, you ran up the stairs no matter how much your legs ached. You’d be damned if the beautiful dress in the box went to waste.

Finally, you halted to a stop in front of the Fat Lady. “Balderdash!” You huffed out, still catching your breath.

“Running from something, dear?” The Fat Lady asked as she swung open.

You didn’t take the time to answer. You shot into the common room and up the stairs trying not to notice several people lounging around already dressed for the ball. You did however slow enough to check the time on the clock over the mantlepiece.

7:16

Shit. Using the banister as leverage, you half pulled half leapt your way up the stairs to the girls dormitory. Not even bothering to head to your dorm, you swept into the nearest empty bathroom. Clothes came off your body faster than they ever had before. You wasted not a moment before hopping in the shower. If life had seemed slow these past weeks, it seemed to be catching up with you in the span of ten minutes.

Jumping out of the shower, you toweled off and threw your hair into the towel swinging it atop your head. You wrapped another towel around your body and grabbed your clothes and the blue box that was sitting safely on the counter.

You ducked into your dorm throwing your old clothes onto your dresser and gently sitting the box on your bed. Angelina and Alicia were nowhere to be seen. It made your heart hurt worse than you anticipated, therefore you tried to ignore it.

You threw on your undergarments and with a drying spell, dried your hair. With a few quick succinct movements and charms your hair was done. You examined your work in the mirror with satisfaction. Your hair fell perfectly around your face, a few well placed spells had made it seem like tiny stars were intertwined within it. You then brushed on some mascara and lipgloss, rubbing your lips together a few times.

Finally, you turned to the blue box still sitting peacefully on your bed. You lifted the cover once more, the dress looking even more beautiful at second glance.

Your fingers gripped the shoulders, pulling the entirety of the dress from the box. It glided along the edges before the bottom of the gown hit the floor. Trying not to stare at it too long, knowing you had limited time, you walked to the mirror and slipped into the shimmering gown.

The only thing about being alone meant you had to perform a summoning charm to pull the zipped from the bottom of the dress and into your hand which rested at the top of the track.

But the dress fit you perfectly. The transparent glittering sleeves continued down to your wrists. The neck dipped softly down your chest, not revealing too much but enough to compliment your skin tone. The waist cinched in just the right spot before softly flaring out. The material moved like water as you twisted. It brushed the floor gently before pooling at your feet. You looked more beautiful than you remembered ever looking.

Shaking your head, you checked the clock behind you.

7:45

Quickly, you pulled on a pair of black heels before taking one last glance at the mirror. As beautiful as you looked, something was missing.

You glanced at your dresser before grabbing it. You pulled it over your head doing your best not to mess up your hair and then tucked the pendant in the bodice of your gown. The fireworks heating up the valley of your chest.

You carefully made your way down the steps of the dorm, focused on the steps before you. It was rare you wore heels and you weren’t quite perfect at walking in them. You gripped the banister tightly praying you wouldn’t fall. So when your heel finally hit the floor of the common room, you let out a breath.

The common room was empty except for a few of the younger Gryffindors who weren’t allowed to go to the ball. You tried to ignore the few gasps and looks you felt as you crossed the room to the portrait.

You pushed it open half expecting the corridor to be empty. That you had accepted Adrian over Fred just to be stood up. It would serve you right.

But Adrian was standing there in his dress robes, leaning against the opposite wall of the portrait.

You stepped towards him, the lights of the hall dancing off your dress and the glitter in your hair. “You know I never asked how you knew where the Gryffindor dorms were.” You spoke up causing him to look up from where he was pulling at a string on his robes.

Adrian jerked to a standing. “You look beautiful.”

You are magnificent. Breathtakingly beautiful.

You blinked and Fred was gone. “Thank you.”

Adrian stepped forward, offering his arm. “Shall we, milady?”

A small laugh left your lips. “We shall.”

The walk to the Great Hall was pleasant. Adrian was a gentleman who asked all about your classes and what you got for Christmas. His arm was also a blessing considering the several flights of stairs you had to descend to get to the Great Hall. But he was slow, making sure to assist you when you needed.

The Great Hall was stunning. Barely recognizable. The walls glittered with ice and sculptures. Lights were floating around that looked like snowflakes. There were tables scattered around with frozen centerpieces. Some were flowers, others were elaborate carvings. There was music quietly playing while students shuffled into the fold. Adrian led you to a table that was typically on the Slytherin side of the Great Hall. He pulled out your chair for you and you graciously sat.

Adrian sat beside you and smiled widely. The room was stunning. Your eyes were bouncing from wall to wall, decoration to decoration, trying to absorb every inch of the beauty. You felt starstruck.

And then Draco Malfoy sat next to you. Followed by Pansy Parkinson. Your shoulders tensed as Draco smiled evilly.

“Well isn’t this a treat?” He said smiling broadly, looking you over. He leaned in close til his lips brushed the shell of your ear. “You look simply ravishing.” He pulled back smirking.

“Leave her alone, Malfoy.” Adrian rolled his eyes after taking a sip of his pumpkin juice. “Not tonight.” It was then that Lucian Bole and his date Patricia Stimpson sat down. It was at that moment you realized you were a Gryffindor sitting at a completely Slytherin table. You tried not to show a sliver of fear. You had a feeling they could sense it like blood in the water.

“So you actually got the American Gryffindor to come with you, Pucey.” Bole leaned back in his chair smirking, throwing an arm around the back of Patricia’s chair.

“I did.” Adrian smiled back at him.

You leaned forward trying to reign in your slowly building irritation. “My name is Y/N.” A tight smile lifted your lips.

Bole shrugged. “I know.”

“I think it’s a rather ugly name if you ask me.” Pansy spoke up. You were surprised it had taken her that long to insert herself in the conversation.

“Good thing nobody-”

“I think Dumbledore’s about to announce dinner!” Adrian spoke up over you. You glared at him, but he was already looking over at Dumbledore.

“He agrees with me, you know.” Pansy whispered just loud enough for you and Draco, who was sitting between you, to hear. You tried not to think about how much you wanted to smother her.

Draco smirked widely looking at your fuming face. You sucked in a breath, relaxing yourself. Your hand subconsciously reached for the pendant at your chest, still hidden by your gown. It calmed you just a fraction before you turned to face Dumbledore. Maybe if you ignored them they would be quiet.

You’d tuned in just in time for Dumbledore to announce dinner and how to get food to your plate. You put in your order and waited only a second before it appeared on the plate.

You desperately tried to eat your food in peace, but all you could hear was the sly snickers of Pansy and Draco paired with the constant Quidditch talk from Bole and Adrian. You had briefly attempted conversation with Patricia, but she gave you a disgusted once over before turning back to her food. If that hadn’t been a clear message about how she felt about a Gryffindor being at a Slytherin table, you weren’t sure what would.

You just picked at your food while watching the lights float around trying not to glance at the flashes of red you saw throughout the hall. You wondered what Angelina was wearing. What Fred was wearing. If they’d coordinated. If he’d held her hand while they descended the stairs. If he caught her when she stumbled. Maybe even kissed her because he couldn’t help it, she just looked so beautiful.

Breathtakingly beautiful.

“What did your plate do to you, Y/L/N?” Draco laughed loudly. You furrowed your eyebrows before seeing the knife in your hand completely stuck through the plate. You let go of the knife, pushing the broken plate and knife away from you. You felt a blush rise up to your cheeks unwillingly.

You pushed your chair back, turning to Adrian.

“I’m going to go use the bathroom. I’ll be back.” Adrian vaguely nodded continuing his conversation with Bole about the potential of increasing the weight of bludgers. You rolled your eyes as you stood and walked away.

“Awh, poor American mudblood probably peed herself too.” Pansy snickered from behind you.

Frustration built in your chest. This night, one that so long ago you were dreaming about, was turning out to be the most miserable you’d spent at Hogwarts yet.

You slipped out the doors of the Great Hall making your way to the furthest bathroom on the first floor hoping the walk would give you a minute to breathe. You shoved the bathroom door open angrily hearing it fall shut behind you.

Your hands gripped the edges of the sink as you stared into the mirror. Your mascara still looked pristine. Your lipgloss was still perfect. Your hair still spun up with the glitter still sparkling. You looked great.

So why did you feel so awful?

Enough with the pity party. Go out there and enjoy the dance, if only to show off the dress the house elves made you.

You shook your head and once again pressed your hand to the pendant still situated warmly against your chest.

Your heart ached for him.

Pushing the bathroom door open, you took a deep breath. You didn’t, however, expect someone to be waiting for the bathroom.

“Oh I’m so-”

Fred.

He was leaning against the wall looking down at his shoes, until you spoke up. He was wearing his black dress robes with a nice white button down and a black tie tucked underneath a burnt orange vest. His eyes lifted as he stood up straight. His brown eyes seemed to stare straight into your soul.

You began to take a step towards him when you realized you hadn’t spoken since your fight. Your arms seemed to wrap themselves around you of their own accord. Your eyes fell away from his, unable to keep his strong gaze. You simply stepped out of the way of the door to the single stall bathroom.

“It’s-um let me get out of your way.” You mumbled beginning to pass him.

But the softest touch brushed your forearm. “Wait.” The word was whispered. “Please wait.”

You stopped but didn’t dare turn around. You didn’t have the courage too.

I’m the coward. You so desperately wanted to say.

“Y/N, I’m sorry.” The fingers still barely touching you began to curl around your wrist. Soft as a feather he pulled your wrist forcing you to turn to face him. You kept your eyes on the ground. The cobblestone underneath your feet had never been more interesting. “Please look at me.” His voice sounded desperate. But when you still didn’t comply his finger lifted to tilt your chin.

Finally your eyes met his. Tears in yours and pain in his.

“I’m sor-”

But your voice had finally found you. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Fred.” Your chest felt a fraction lighter at the release of the words that had been weighing on you for weeks. “You were right. I got mad at you for not doing something that I wasn’t even willing to do. That’s not fair.” Your voice choked. “You’re not the coward, I am.”

Fred's hand slid up to cup your cheek, and you couldn’t help but to lean into it. “We’re both cowards then.” His thumb brushed away a runaway tear. “I should’ve asked you. I should’ve brought up the kiss before Adrian asked you first. But I was scared that what happened in the Trophy Room was a result of you being vulnerable and needing comfort. That I had taken advantage of your hurting. I was scared to face the rejection that would’ve come if I asked you and you admitted that’s all it was.”

“Fred, do you want to know what the boggart said before you started to hear it?”

Fred furrowed his brows. “What does that have-”

“It told me that you- that it-  would never love me. That I wasn’t worthy of its affection.”

which was also the first time you said it.

“Fred, I’m so in love with you.” Your hands lifted to rest on his chest, gripping his shirt. “I have loved you since the day I was sitting at the breakfast table reading my letters from my friends and you suggested buying them gifts at Hogsmeade. I love every dumb joke you tell me in the middle of class when I’m trying to take notes.” One of your hands made your way to brush a bit of hair out of his face. “I love every smile you give me. I love every time you throw fruit at me at breakfast just to test my reflexes. I love the way you sing and dance when you’re drunk after a winning Quidditch match. I love you, Fred Weasley. All of you.”

Your heart was pounding. You had just spilled your soul out to him and more than anything you needed him to say something.

But he didn’t. Instead his fingers left your face and drifted down your neck. The trail of his touch sent shivers running through your body. Finally his touch rested on your collarbone.

“Fred?” You whispered desperately searching his eyes. But his gaze dropped down to your neck. Before you could say anything else, his fingers dipped underneath the chain resting on your neck. With a gentle tug, the necklace was slowly lifted from underneath your dress. His fingers slid down the chain until they clutched the pendant.

Fred softly cleared his throat.

“I saw this through the window of Gladrags Wizardwear. It was resting on the neck of a mannequin. I ran inside and asked to know how much it was despite probably being absurdly expensive and knowing me and George were saving for the shop. The clerk that day leaned down on the counter and asked me to go grab it. When I got back with it he asked me what I saw inside the pendant. I was confused but I told him I saw a Wampus running around within it.” Fred’s hand reached up tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “He asked me who it was for and why I wanted it. So I told him it would be for you because your house at Ilvermorny was Wampus- and he cut me off. Said I could have it free of charge under one condition.”

“What was it?” You asked breathlessly.

“He told me to ask you what you saw. He said the necklace was like Amortentia but instead of smell it showed you something that reminds you of the person you love. Y/N, I love you. I think I loved you from the moment you doubted whether I was good at Quidditch. I can’t get you out of my head. Seeing you cry that night in the Trophy Room because of words you thought I was saying to you broke a piece of me. These last few weeks have been hell without you. I’m so mad for you, ‘Merica, that I can’t stand it.”

Then he kissed you.

It was just as amazing, if not better, than the last one.

Your lips pressed together as if they were never meant to be apart. You reached up, gripping the back of his neck pulling him closer. Fred’s arms wound their way around your waist tightening until your bodies were flush together. Every corner of your body was in tune with his. Every movement of your lips together felt like breathing again.

So much so that you almost forgot you had to. You pulled back sucking in the air. Both of you panting. You licked your lips tasting him. That thought alone almost sent your lips back onto his. He seemed to have the same thought as his mouth descended. But you stuck your hand between you, pressing against his mouth.

“Wait. I need to tell-” You panted. “I need to tell you what I see.” Your hand left his mouth as you reached between the two of you to grab the pendant. You lifted it to your eyes watching as the fireworks exploded before your eyes in the same shade of red as Fred's hair. You looked back up at him, a small smile on your face.

“I see fireworks, Fred.”

-----

Lastly, you remembered the first and last time you said I do.

You thought the NEWTs were stressful, they had nothing on the feeling rolling through your gut that day. You paced the floor, already dressed in a stunning white gown that accentuated every part of your body. Yet, so many things could go wrong in the span of an hour. So what your hair was done? So what your makeup was complete? Who cared that you were already at the venue and you had personally seen to that everything looked perfect? What if the officiant didn’t make it? What if you fell while walking down the aisle? What if the groom didn’t show up-

“Y/N!” Ginny yelled, halting you in your tracks. “If you pace anymore you’re going to wear a hole in the rug.”

You squeezed your fingers before nodding and gently sitting down taking care not to wrinkle your gown.

“I’m just nervous.” You sighed trying hard not to reach up and fiddle with your hair.

“About what?” Angelina laughed, leaning on the doorframe in her bridesmaids gown. “Fred is stupidly mad for you. Hell would freeze before he would let anything go wrong. Besides what matters most is at the end of that aisle. Not me, Ginny, Iris, Louisa, Hermione, or any of us really.”

Iris nodded. “She’s right you know.”

“I know. I just- I can’t help but feel like this isn’t real. And something is going to take it all away from me any moment.” You weren’t sure if it was the raw break in your voice that rendered the room silent or if it was the reminder of Fred’s near death nearly a year ago.

Ginny stood up abruptly. “Alright everybody out.” She waved them out of the room despite the protests.

You furrowed your brow preparing to ask what she was doing, but she beat you to it.

“I’m going to get Fred.”

“But-”

“I’ll close the door so he can’t see you. And under no circumstances is he to come inside.” She smirked. “I want to see him cry when he sees you walking down the aisle.”

And with that she shut the door behind her. The thought of Fred being so near made you equal parts more nervous and more relaxed. Your hand smoothed out your dress, trying to keep yourself busy in anticipation. You didn’t have to wait long.

A knock sounded on the door. You leapt up trying not to run to the door.

“Y/N?” Fred’s voice filtered through the door. You pressed your hands on the door, wanting nothing more than to open it and throw yourself in his arms. But you agreed with Ginny. You wanted him to first see you when you walked down the aisle on the way to becoming his wife. “Y/N? You in there?”

“Yeah.” You replied.

“Ginny told me you were nervous.” His voice had a slight wobble to it that made you respond immediately.

“It has nothing to do with you!” You hesitated. “That’s a lie.”

“Are you afraid I’ll leave you?”

The words sat on your chest heavily. “Not willingly.” You whispered. The memory of seeing him almost die underneath the weight of an entire wall would be forever seared behind your eyes.

“Can I open the door?” Fred whispered back.

“You can’t come in.”

“I won’t.”

The door pushed inwards and after opening about six inches, a hand stuck through the crack. “Give me your hand, love.”

Tears gathered in your eyes as you placed your left hand in his. You felt his hand tug your upwards. His lips pressed against your knuckles, kissing them gently.

“I’m not going anywhere. Not even death will stop me from marrying you. I’ve been hoping for this day since-” A laugh bubbled out of his mouth. “Since that moment in the Trophy Room.” Fred lowered his voice a fraction and pressed a kiss to your palm. “I’m sorry you had to see that, but I promise that I will do everything in my power to make sure you never have to see anything like that again.”

You blinked away the image of him underneath the rubble. Thanking every force of nature that he was alive and was about to become your husband.

Your fingers reached out and cupped his face rubbing your thumb over his clean shaven cheek. “I love you, Fred.”

“I love you back, Y/N.” He shifted your hand until it rested over his lips and then pressed another kiss onto your palm.

And then he sucked your thumb into his mouth.

“I also can’t wait until tonight when I can peel that dress-”

“Alright!!” Ginny shouted. “Time’s up!”

You jerked your hand back inside hearing Fred groan from the other side of the door. “Five more minutes, Ginny!”

“Are you joking me right now? You’re about to be with her for the rest of your life, you can wait-” she paused, “thirty more minutes.”

“But-”

“Shoo!” Fred’s groan followed him all the way down the hall.

You stepped back from the door right in time for Ginny and the rest of your bridesmaid to come strolling in.

The next twenty minutes passed pretty quickly. Touching up your makeup, checking to see if anything had been missed, and just talking with your best friends. As much fun as you were having talking with your friends, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t vibrating with excitement when Ginny checked her watch and stood smiling broadly.

“It’s time!”

“Yes!” Louisa shouted, pumping her fist into the air. Ginny, Louisa, Hermione and Angelina all walked out of the room grabbing their bouquets. Iris handed you yours before walking with you out of the room.

“How you feel, kid?” Iris whispered. You looked at your best friend. A genuine smile on the  lips of someone who saved smiling for when the occasion was truly deserving.

“Happy.” You squeezed her arm gently. “So incredibly happy.”

“Well then let’s get you married.” Iris leaned over pressing a kiss onto your cheek, before handing you to your father. Hermione had been paired with Ron, Louisa with Lee, Ginny with Harry, Angelina with Danny, and finally Iris with George with your flower girl being Bill and Fleurs baby girl who was being carried by her mother.

When the doors opened, one by one you watched your friends disappear through them. Your heart felt as if it was about to jump out of your chest and run down the aisle without you. But your fathers hand on your arm settled you just a bit.

“You ready?” He already had tears in his eyes. You nodded before wrapping your arms around his neck tightly. “Fred’s a good man. I wouldn’t let you go for anyone less.”

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you, too.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead.

And then the music started. He held his arm out and you wound your own around it as you stepped to the doorway.

And saw Fred standing at the end of the aisle.

A smile lit up your face. Your father led you forward, but you ached to ditch the slow pace and sprint to the man who waited for you at the end. With each step, a memory of the two of you flashed before your eyes. Every kiss, every laugh, every touch, every smile, every tear, every moment.

You knew you should’ve at least acknowledged the other people who were standing in the room, but you knew it would cause you physical pain to pull your eyes from the most beautiful man you’d ever seen in your life. A man who was crying wearing his simple black tux. He was still smiling but the tears were slipping down his face softly and onto the floor.

Finally, you and your father reached the end of the aisle. You barely noticed your father giving him your hand or Iris taking your bouquet from your hands, all you felt was Fred. You reached up wiping the tears from his eyes, like he had done for you so many times.

“We are gathered here today…” But the officiant's voice drowned out as you stared at Fred. Your eyes flickered down to his lips as he mouthed a sentence. You are breathtakingly beautiful.

You mouthed back, not caring if anyone saw. So are you.

“I believe you two have prepared your own vows?” You and Fred both nodded. One of Fred's hands left yours as they reached into his pocket to pull out a sheet of paper. He unfolded it one handed before glancing back up at you. Then George tapped him on the shoulder handing him something else. Fred smiled, you could tell he had forgotten.

“Y/N Y/L/N, I wasn’t even sure where to begin these vows. There is so much I want to give you, so much I want to do with you. Ever since I saw you all those years ago, I knew I wanted you to be a part of my life forever.” He took a deep breath, glancing down at you. “You are my entire world. Being next to you makes me breathless. I am so madly in love with you.” His hand tightened around yours. “I want to be with you when you’re happy, when you’re hurting, when you’re angry, when you’re excited, when you’re perfectly healthy, and when you’re sick. I want to be with you when you accomplish the big things and when you fail. I want to be with you when you love me and even when you hate me. I want to be with you even if some enchantment turns half of you into a giant squid.” A small giggle slipped past your lips thinking back to one of Fred’s failed products taste tests. “I want to have children with you and make a family. I want to grow old with you. I just want to be with you in whatever way you’ll take me, love. I can promise that much.”

The tears in your eyes were spilling in waves now. Fred reached up wiping a few of them away before slipping the wedding band on your finger.

For the first time since you had seen him, you turned away to face Iris who was standing behind you. Her hand was already outstretched holding the sheet of paper holding your vows and his ring. You mouthed thank you before turning back to your fiancé. The paper had already been unfolded, so you began to read.

“You are-” you glanced back up at the man who was about to become your husband. You dropped the paper and grabbed the hand you were forced to drop in order to hold your written vows. You stepped a fraction of an inch closer to him. “You are magnificent.” Fred’s smile wobbled at that. “You are all that I could have ever dreamed up. You are handsome, kind, brilliant, loyal, loving, gentle, and best of all hilarious. Whenever I’m around you every single one of my worries just melts away. You are my solid ground, my anchor. I’ve forgotten what it’s like to live without you-” Your voice broke off, but Fred’s fingers massaged your own steadying you. “I never want to remember. Fred Weasley, if you’ll have me, I will spend my last breath making sure you’re happy. You are the man I love and also my best friend. And I love you more than I have words to express.” And then you slid the ring on his finger, your hands shaking the entire time.

“I now declare you bonded for life!” The officiant said. “You may kiss the bride!”

Fred’s arms wound around you like they had done a thousand times before, while yours stretched up around his neck pulling him down to you. Your lips collided somewhere in the center, molding themselves to each other. You vaguely heard shouts and cheers ring out. It was then that you realized you were kissing your husband. You were married. To Fred Weasley.

Fred pulled back just enough to speak. “Mrs. Weasley.”

You giggled. “Mr. Weasley.”

And then his mouth was back on yours again as you laughed against his lips.

-----

“The end.” You whispered, running your hands through his hair. You began to stand when a tiny hand grabbed your finger.

“What happens after the end?” The tired voice of your child called. You leaned down and pressed a kiss to his small forehead. You glanced up at Fred who was leaning against the doorframe, silhouetted by the light from the hall. It was him who answered your son, but his eyes were on you.

“They lived happily ever after.”

Taglist: @huffledor-able541​ @asuperconfusedgirl​ @daddystevee​

let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

[findroleplay]

yeah... it's me, back on my bullshit again 🤡

sup - 33yo trans dude, he/him, European looking for 25+ only individuals for some Baldur's Gate 3 related shenanigans. specifically, I'm looking to finally return to the writing game to scratch an itch I quite never sated when the game first came out, sooo...

as one does, I'm looking for someone to write either Gale Dekarios, Wyll Ravengard or Astarion Ancunín against a few of my characters. all MxM, cisgender preferred. as for short details;

⟼♥ for Gale, I long to ship him with my half-elf bard. he's witty, flirty, really pretty and a very "doms from the bottom" type of person in bed. presents nonchalant and happy-go-lucky, but is a fairly insecure, untrusting and sad boyo deep down. he can be very generous and nice even to complete strangers, but also has rather grey morals over some things - for one, he's not above picking a pocket or two. his instrument of choice is the violin and he has a knack for singing, but he can work his way around most instruments. he was not intended to fill the role of Tav, but can easily be molded into the role if it works for the plot!

⟼♥ for Wyll, I'd love to ship him with a childhood friend. a tiefling warrior and city guard who reluctantly works for Lord Gortash towards Act 3, praying for a rebellion to restore some sanity into his beloved city. he's a guy who's carried a torch for Wyll since early childhood and wants nothing more but for a chance to tell him how the young Ravengard inspired him on his way to greatness. he's a very gentle, soft man with a knack for service domming.

⟼♥ for Astarion, my wish is to allow my drow druid to adore him. a man who's extremely demisexual and gets hyperfixated upon giving Astarion the joy and the pleasure he's never quite had in his life. he's a very morally grey guy leaning a tad into villainy, but not so much for ambition but rather just distrust and dislike of most people. he definitely prefers animals and plants over people and finds irony that he'd find the love of his life in an undead man, considering he is a druid. speaking of - he's weirdly goth for a druid, extremely autistic, yet he can feign charm when it benefits him. it's just... most of the time, he doesn't care if people know he hates them. and he does, he hates most people... except Astarion. and probably Karlach. who could hate Karlach?

I have bios available for all of my fellas, + plenty of writing samples you can take a look at! as for my writing in general;

⟼ I write in third person, past tense, I’m super descriptive and write anywhere from minimum two paragraphs to, idk… dozens??? I’m pretty much guaranteed to hit the discord limit most of the time, though I do obviously put effort into matching my partner’s style and length.

⟼ I can be nitpicky about correct characterization and grammar so if you’re not looking for deep analysis and character studies on, y’know, characters, I’m not the best fit for you.

⟼ I’m always quality over quantity.

⟼ my favorite to write are romance, relationship and character studies, some smut likely tossed in... yeah, mostly just Relationship Stuff with possibility for action and things on the side.

⟼ I appreciate good communication even when we’re not writing (it's The 'Tism, it craves understanding) and hope there’s mutual consideration in that neither one of us can be or should be available 24/7. having said that, I’m more than happy to befriend my partners! I love sharing memes, art, music, whatever you have OOC.

⟼ super open to multiple threads, multiple ships and plots and AUs with a single partner!

⟼ depending on how life's going, my reply speed can be anything from several times a day to a few times a week. if you do not pester me, I will always get back to you eventually!

does this sound like your cup of tea at all? great! please like this post and I’ll come fetch you. we’ll talk, we’ll hopefully make some people kiss, we’ll chat about whether it’s a good fit - and if it's not, you're welcome to ghost me in peace!

look forward to hearing from you! ★

-

[spiltscribbles]

Any chance you could give us some Arabic speaking Remus headcanons? Loved your latest fic ❤️ 📚

OMFG gorgeous sugarplum! I legit only just was reminded of this while scrolling through my inbox right now! But my heart is finna burst!!! Thank you SO SO much and yes I would love to give some Headcanons about this! Especially since the next long story I’m working on includes this dynamic, and I’m so excited about it!! However, common disclaimer that while I am Arab and culturally Muslim even if I don’t practice like the rest of my family lol, I am Palestinian and not Syrian. So with every identity there are different experiences and customs no matter how closely intertwined. So I apologize for any inconsistency   that a Syrian may read and disagree with, and please feel free to correct me<3 <3

.-

The FIC this HC is from 

.-

So first off some background on his mum in the story 

I chose the name Vivian based off a friend of a friend who’s uncle married a woman by that name back in Palestine,  so it’s definitely extremely uncommon, but a fully Arab lady was named it, so like it’s my defense bahaha. But it also means lively, and coupled with Hussein as her maiden name which means beautiful, it just fit her personality to a t!! 

She was born into a pretty secular family in Syria in the late 1920s, so there was a lot going on in that time period. But her dad was pretty influential, working in the government and such. Vivian was also the youngest of four girls and three boys so she was pretty spoiled tbh

She attended a boarding school in France through out her adolescence and decided to go to university there too, so she’s fluent in both Arabic and French, with pretty great English as well. Though she wasn’t exactly white passing, even though like a bunch of Syrians/Palestinians/Lebanese folk she was somewhat fair, she had distinctly Arabian features, like the large almond shaped eyes and thick lashes and thicker brows, and a long, largeish nose, accented by full lips. So she experienced a good amount of jeers and discrimination, especially when folks found out her surname. So I think she’s able to relate to Remus in that sense of being a wolf at least, and later on  when he comes out as gay.

It was 1950  when she and a few of her girlfriends went to Wales for holiday after completing university. The second Lyall first spotted her in the woods while she was trying to make it back to the cabin near the Irish Sea with her mates, it was something like love, because duh. She was a fucking knock out!! A babe and a baddy! Literally so far out of his league its ridiculous! But on Vivian’s side,  she was mostly just amused and a bit enamored by this cocksure Welshman who had the most endearing of crooked smiles that their son would inherit a decade later. So obviously she didn’t make it easy on him, but eventually she let him take her out on the last night of her trip, and was pleased to find out that they had the same sort of humor and the same passion for their careers and even the same love for the outdoors too.

 They had a long distance relationship for two years while she went to grad school so she could teach about classics while Lyall himself was rising the ranks in the Ministry for regulation and control of magical creatures— Unbeknownst to her, the Floo network  was very helpful with the distance. Just thank God Lyall himself is a Muggle born because he really had to fake the hell out of it lol.

So just to speed things up they got married on a lovely June evening in  1955,  subsequent to  Vivian excepting a professorial job in Cardiff after Lyall told her about the Wizarding world. At first Vivian thought e was tripping on some subpar edibles until he proved it by transfiguring her snuff box into a lovely broach that she kept for the rest of her life, So after Vivian was convinced, she became  absolutely enthralled by all of the magic so completely. 

They were trying for a few years when she finally became pregnant with Remus in 1959, and they were both so over the moon (pun unintended).

So like I said above, Vivian’s family are pretty secular, so I see her mostly practicing the cultural aspects of Islam. For example, every Friday— which is the equivalent to Sundays being the holy day  for Christians— she lights up the instance that she always keeps herself stocked up on after her annual trip to Syria, instead of the typical candles she ordinarily prefers.  And Remus swears that for the rest of his life whenever he smells it, he’s back to being a baby, puttering around the house and watching her dusting the shelves while humming quietly an Arabic song that’ played out the gramophone  by a man who’s music would soon become regarded as the song of the people. Or Remus would recall being snuggled into her lap while she read him a novel on the windowsill. Or he’d simply remember listening to his parents laughter fluttering in the air while he fell asleep by the fire, subconsciously making the flower buds closest to him bloom with his untapped magic.

Remus’s first clear memory— thanks to the endless pictures— is when he was around four years old, before the attack, and they were staying in Vivian’s home town in Damascus. While the men congregated out doors for cigars and cards and the women in the living room chatting while snacking on watermelon seeds, his older cousins— who were all girls— dragged him off to one of the bedrooms and doted on him because he was the baby of that side of the family. And he remembers walking out in a set of one of their heels and a headscarf wrapped around his head which made his Mama and Tata and Aumties laugh out loud and croon over him, and all his uncles and Sido call him Aumty Remus.

The attack by Greyback happened soon after they returned to Wales, and I’m not gonna touch on it becs I’ not finna depress myself. But it was a January morning after his first transformation and he remembers that when he woke up, he saw the cookies stuffed with dates resting on his bedside with a glass of milk that Lyall had put a cooling charm on. And they’re indulgent treats that Vivian makes for both Eids every year even though they don’t celebrate them in any other way lol. But the cookies always reminds him of family and of feeling safe in his mother’s arms, and they still work to make him feel better even after the worst thing he has ever experienced in his short life.

Remus’s love of poetry came from both sides of his parents, but it was listening to his mother recite the story of Majnun Layla in it’s original Arabic that really made him glow for the art form, and brought him to discovering his favorites like Auden and Neruda. 

There’s a ornate, wooden prayer box that has been past down on the Hussein side of the family for five generations, it was originally  meant to hold a Qran but for the past three it’s simply just been a beautiful piece of decoration. So when Vivian gave it to Remus when he was headed off to Hogwarts, little Remus asked McGonagall to help him with locking  charms so it could become a safe place for him to keep his most cherished of nicknacks ant momentos, so obviously,  she silently added a charm to keep the wood nearly unbreakable and the extension charm atop of that, like Hermione with her bag, so that he could keep as many happy memories as possible inside of it, and she prayed that there would be so many that it threatened to burst. 

The last time Remus opened the box was in 1996, when he was putting away the ring Sirius gifted him as a match to his own in some feeble promise of forever only weeks before James and Lily’s own engagement. 

Once during first year, he and the lads were staying up late, trading stories about how they got their most ridiculous scars— after seeing the one that scraped across Remus’s left shoulder blade— But it got to a point where they were all feeling a bit nippish, so they went down to the kitchens for some of the chocolate pudding that was served during dinner that night. And Remus idly asked the house elves if they could make him a batch of Kinafa because he was getting home sick and missed when he and his Mama would dash over to the city whenever they were feeling antsy, and she’d take him to their favorite hooka bar after buying a round of the dessert— which is basically sweetbread stuffed with cheese— from down the block. And they’d stay sitting beneath the starlight, and talking about her job and his lessons from school while she’d let him try a discrete puff or two and they’d laugh about everything and nothing at all.

The next time they stopped by the kitchens one of the younger house elves presented him with the snack gleefully, and it tasted fine, just not like how they do back home. So Remus smiled warmly at Tipsy, the house elf, and thanked her with real sincerity.

But his face must’ve betrayed him because after easter break, Sirius plops down a fresh batch of them on Remus’s bed before leaping into his own, casually mentioning that he saw how grossed out Remus looked when trying the one the house elves made, and it was from a restaurant close to Grimmauld so it’s not that big of a deal, and then he rushed to cursing at James for stealing his favorite pen and swearing that  if he broke it he’s gonna have hell to pay. Remus had only blushed and chuckled  with a small smile on his face when he cut himself a small piece and finished the half sheet off with the rest of their house later that night during an impromptu party that the Marauders would become infamous for in later years.

It was the summer after second year when all the marauders visited Remus back home in Wales and when they heard Vivian call him Qamar practically every other sentence, which of course lead to endless ribbing and eventually  to his nickname of Moony— even though it’s so fucking obvious and Remus loves and hates it in equal parts. God his friends are so fucking stress inducing!

Remus teaches the other marauders funny Arabic curse words and they use them in class so that they can talk shit about particularly disgusting Slytherins without them being any of the wiser. (Yes I did do this with my friends, and I’d do it again! POW! POW! POW!)

It’s from Vivian that Remus has an affinity for coffee as strong as shit, but also prefers his tea weak— specifically two sugars and a dash of milk. But seriously, if you’ve ever tried Arabian coffee you’d understand, that shit is so fucking strong it’s literally a hate crime LMFAO. But yeah, this habit is definitely a point of contention between him and Sirius— who’s actually so fucking posh no matter how much he wants to be punk, and he stands by only drinking black tea— like Merlin intended— and saying bugger off to any and all coffees. “Leave that shite to the French and Americans.” And Remus would try to keep himself from making eyes at him from across the table, because God Sirius is hot when he’s all fiery  and impassioned, even when it’s about the dumbest, most inconsequential shit.

Something that’s sort of funny is that Remus was the first among them to become a fucking pot head and could drink them all  under the table even though Sirius himself has got two stone and three inches on him. But Remus still refuses to eat ham, purely because he never grew up eating it and doesn’t care too now. Sirius had to specifically ask Euphemia and Monty to make turkey for Christmas dinner their sixth year just because he knew that Remus’s head would probably implode with the decision between being rude and not eating it or forcing himself to gag down the unfamiliar meat.

When Remus is really, really fucking drunk he definitely spends the night only speaking in Arabic! (Don’t look at me I’m trash just because I stole this from my own life lmfao) But yeah, it’s really fucking hilarious and Sirius swears to God he’s so fucking in love with him while listening to Remus ranting in the unfamiliar language. And he’s like positive that half the time he’s actually just cursing Sirius out but he doesn’t even care because it’s SO! DAMN! CUTE!  And sometimes Sirius decides to speak French at a drunk off his arse Moony, who occasionally replies back in a stiff staccato before returning back to the easy Arabic. And it’s just a mess.

Ok so sadness warning

In my head, Vivian loses her fight against breast cancer the July after the Marauders graduate from Hogwarts, and afterwords Remus gets a tattoo of her name in Arabic on his chest, and the word for soul on the nape of his neck. He locks away that battered copy of Magnun Layla in the wooden box she gave him years ago, along with a woolen  scarf that smelt like her perfume.

 It’s Sirius who buys a set of prayer beads to hang off her photo above the mantel in the flat he and Remus share, and when Remus sees it he literally feels like  he might crack open with tears, but opts to kiss Sirius thank you instead, and they stay tangled on the sofa for the rest of the day in quiet contemplation.

One night, in late 1979, while  the war was only getting worse and worse—  Sirius was hit by a cutting curse to the ribs. And it was really fucking bad, but thankfully James got him to his house in time for Lily to help and heal. He slept for the most part for nearly an entire day, but remembers snippets. Like when Remus had sprinted into the room with fear painted all over his soft features, and when James put a cooling cloth to his head. But most distinctly, Sirius recalls Remus gingerly lying besides him and Sirius talking gibberish at his boyfriend while Remus plunged his entire face against his back, eyes wet with tears and body shuttering as he squeezed him softly, saying something quietly in Arabic. Sirius obviously didn’t understand like 99.9% of it, but he did catch the word “Habibi,” which he instantly remembers as an old pet name Vivian use to call Remus with so much love it made her entire countenance sparkle. It’s an endearment  that means beloved, or darling, and it feels like Remus is begging Sirius to stay with him and Sirius’s throat is still raw from the screaming, so he can only  reply by dragging Remus’s hand up to his mouth and kissing his knuckles tenderly. And he knows that whatever he does for the rest of his days, he loves Remus Lupin with every cell in his body.

Oof this got mad depressing…. Chow anyways, I can add a picture of the container you’re suppose to use for the instance if anyone wants that?

Thank you again dear Nonny!!!

Ask Me For Headcanons About A Story I’ve Written Or For One You Want To See Written

[retroateez]

Prophecy - Chapter Twenty

Length: 2.7k

taglist: @hewwo-from-the-other-side @sweetsojudreams 

Now's the time. You can do this. What's the worst that can go wrong?

"No, really. What's the worst that could go wrong?" you sigh deeply at your reflection in the mirror, running your hands over your face in nerves.

"They could like... behead you or something?"

"Mingi!" you whip around to glare at the bard, who is casually lounging on your bed. "That really isn't helpful!"

You knew that telling Yeosang and Wooyoung what you did was the next step in setting this right. All the wrongs you had committed since meeting Yeosang could only be set right this way, no matter how much you were dreading the conversation.

"Can't you just tell them for me?" you whine, dropping down next to Mingi. "You're a bard, you're good with words."

"I'm a bard, not your personal messenger." he frowns, but wraps a comforting arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his side, rubbing your arm in support. "You can do it, you just have to accept responsibility and try your best to fix it, okay?"

"Okay." you exhale sharply, standing up and grounding your panicking thoughts.

"Great." the bard says, rising from his seat. "I believe they are in His Majesty's office whilst he is in a meeting with Seonghwa, something urgent apparently. So, that means you have ample time to tell them!"

Brilliant. Absolutely fantastic.

"Alright. Alright, fine!" you bat Mingi away from you as he ushers you towards the door. "I'm going!"

"Come find me later and let me know how it went, okay?" he smiles at you, before pulling you into a bone-crushing hug. "You've always got me."

Touched, you smile back up at him. With a final shove, you make your way to the king's office, nervously playing with your fingers.  The short, familiar walk through the castle hallways seems to take forever. Each footstep lasting a hundred years in your head but in reality only taking a second. You play out the conversation in your head, mentally rewriting your speech, scratching words out with an invisible pen.

You're so scared.

You don't even care if they're angry at you, you just really hope they aren't upset. After everything they've done for you, upsetting them is the last thing you would want to do.

Eventually, you find yourself standing directly in front of the door. For a few moments, you shut your eyes to brace yourself. Truthfully, you're praying that San, the snitch, had already told them and that you wouldn't have to. Or maybe that they were observant enough like Hongjoong to have been able to figure it out themselves.

You raise your arm to knock, and with a final exhale, your fist connects with the cold oak.

"Come in!" a familiarly comforting voice calls from the other side.

Twisting the brass handle, you shakily enter the room, not daring to raise your eyes to look at them.

"Oh, hey, there you are." you slowly look up at Yeosang, who stands over Hongjoong's desk rifling through sheets of parchment and rummaging through countless open books.

You look over to your right, at Wooyoung, who is carefully studying the spines of a pile of books to put them back on the correct place on the shelf. He turns at the sound of you entering, and his face lights up at the sight of you. His amethyst eyes glitter with joy, and your heart is consumed by guilt.

"Iris?" Yeosang's voice is laced with concern. "What's wrong?"

"I- I have to tell you something." you stutter out, looking at him with wide eyes. You turn to look at the elf. "You too."

Confused, the two men take a seat on the bench in the middle of the room. You grab one of the chairs facing Hongjoong's desk and drag it opposite them. The sound of the wood violently scraping across the floor pierces your ears and the noise goes directly to your stomach, fueling your nausea.

The sit opposite from you, poised and waiting for your news. You feel like you're the one who should be berating two naughty school children for provoking the pigs out in the school yard, not their protege and lover respectively, who is about to break some horrifying revelation to them.

"What's the problem?" Wooyoung asks you, leaning forward a little to inspect your eyes. "Are you alright?"

"What?" your voice cracks a little, the way Wooyoung is asking you if you're okay jams the dagger more into your heart. "Yes, yes, I'm fine."

"Then what's wrong?" Yeosang says, beginning to get a little impatient.

"I- I messed up. Really, really, really badly." for a moment, you let yourself study their faces.

Wooyoung's brows, furrowed with concern, relax slightly. He leans back and crosses his arms across his chest. His one pointed ear flexes just a little. You don't know what to make of it. Then Yeosang, is completely stoic. There is little to no emotion written on his face. It's scary.

"I got really mad when you guys wouldn't let me help out with the prophecy." you admit, staring down at your clasped hands in your lap. "All I've wanted to do was help, ever since Yeosang took me in, I've wanted to learn and do my best and help you. And I'm so sorry. I didn't think about it properly and it was such a stupid thing to do-"

"Hey. Just tell us, it's okay." Wooyoung cuts off your rambling by leaning over and grabbing one of your  hands. The sensation of his thumb ghosting over your own soothes your frantic mood, and grounds you enough to speak clearly.

"A few weeks ago, I snuck out of the castle to the town, and I went to see Yunho."

You see Yeosang stiffen at the sound of his old friend's name.

"I visited him and I begged him, despite Yeosang's refusal, to teach me magic-"

"You did what?!" The blonde mage bursts out. "I'm going to murder Yunho, I swear-"

"He didn't teach me anything!" you cry out, and luckily that seems enough to calm Yeosang down. "He flat out refused. He told me about what happened to him- to you both - at magic school, and that he was sorry, but he wouldn't help me."

"Oh. Then that's fine."

"That's not everything."

"Oh."

"Before I met you, Yeosang," you look him his bright, cobalt eyes and hope he doesn't hate your guts after this. "I was a street rat. I was homeless, I had no family, no real friends. I stole food and clothes to keep myself alive. So when Yunho refused to teach me, I had no issue stealing his magic book. So I did, I stole it and I kept it hidden, and at night when everyone else was sleeping, I tried to teach myself magic from the book."

There's a few moments silence whilst the men process exactly what you're telling them.

"Did it work?"

"W-what?" increduously, you gaze at Yeosang's curious but untelling eyes.

"Did you succeed in doing magic?"

"Not properly, but I made a little something happen."

"What spell did you use?" Wooyoung suddenly speaks up. His body is tense, you can tell from his crossed legs, crossed arms and stiff, furrowed brows.

He knows.

You cast your mind back to the conversation you had with him, recalling his reaction to the spells even then.

"What did you just say?" he demands.

"Feinn ichaer?" you repeat. "Aevon bleidd was another-"

"Stop!" he practically screams at you. "S-stop saying those words!"

"Why? What do they mean?"

"Where is that book?" Wooyoung glares at you, angry, crimson fire bursting through the usual calm lilac of his eyes and for the first time since meeting him, you're scared.

"I-I do-"

"Where is it, Iris?!"

"I don't know!" you cry. "I just left it somewhere and it got tidied up!"

The elf exhales shakily, running his hand over his face and keeping them over his eyes for a few moments.

"Feinn ichaer, Aevon bleidd" the elf says after some time.

So that's how you say them.

"Sun blood and river wolf. They are two of the most dangerous spells in the realm of dark magic. In the hands of corrupt people, well, you could conquer entire planets with them."

"What does it feel like? When you cast them, I mean." you really were pushing your luck now but Wooyoung was probably too shocked to care.

"I've never used them myself, but," he looks up to meet your gaze, his eyes glistening, but not burning brilliantly like they usually do. "Feinn ichaer feels like a forest fire rages through your veins. Like your heart has been plucked out and replaced with the sun itself, or like the air you breathe has turned into scorching hot lava... It's like physical hell, apparently."

Interesting.

"You stay far away from those spells, Iris. Do you hear me? And if you find that book, give it to me immediately, okay?"

"I tried two, but I'm not sure I said them ri-"

"What spells did you use, Iris?" the elf lurches forward almost aggressively, moving in a way you've never seen from him before.

"Feinn ichaer and aevon bleidd," you say quickly. "I don-" you stop speaking abruptly, as the colour drains from Wooyoung's face, and Yeosang drops his jaw.

"Are you serious?" Yeosang leaps up, practically yelling at you. "How could you be so stupid? Those are forbidden, ancient elf spells, Iris. They're tied to a banished elf clan! Why on earth did you think that learning magic by yourself was a good idea!"

"Because you never let me in!" you scream back at him, standing up from your own seat. "You never let me help! I just wanted to be included!"

"Is that so?" Yeosang glares at you, speaking through gritted teeth with an air of anger you didn't know he could possess. "Well, I hope you're happy with yourself, because everyone is in danger now, Iris. Everybody." before you can respond, the mage marches out the room, slamming the wooden door closed behind him.

You force yourself to look at Wooyoung, and the second you do, you can only wish you hadn't.

The elf looks up at you, broken. His usually sparkling, purple eyes are dampened, darkened with tears that read a mixture of rage and betrayal. You can't find any words in you to say to him, except-

"I'm sorry, Wooyoung." your bottom lip trembles as you fight back tears of your own.

Still, he remains silent. Fresh tears roll down his pale skin as he looks at you. Slowly, he begins to stand up, his movements sluggish. He paces towards the door, before suddenly stopping and whipping to look at you. The movement is so sudden, his black hair jumps and grazes the tops of his pointed ears.

"I-" is all he can muster up, before biting his bottom lip and rushing out of the room.

You stand, alone and motionless in the center of the room for a few moments before breaking down into your own fit of tears. A flurry of emotions swirling inside your brain like a suffocating snowglobe, so many thoughts bashing against the dome of glass trying so desperately to get out.

Yet, you had nobody to blame except for yourself. If you had just listened to what Yeosang told you, none of this would have happened.

But it was too late for that now. You simply had to live with the consequences of your actions.

"If fate is real," you sniff, wiping your nose with the back of your hand and kicking the leg of the bench with your booted foot. "Then it's a real bitch."

"Don't speak ill of the gods, kid." Hongjoong's voice grows louder as he enters the room. He examines your face, noting the wet, puffy eyes and redness around your nose and lips.

"So, you told them?" you nod. "I take it didn't go well?" you shake your head.

Hongjoong sighs, spreading his coat out behind him before shutting the door and heading over to sit in his throne. He motions for you to take a seat opposite him, and you do.

"If there is one wisdom I wish to impart on you Iris," he begins. "and this is regardless of whether or not I like you, it is that good and evil do not exist.

There is no such thing as wholly good or wholly evil. I have done terrible things in my past, I have murdered people, tricked people, betrayed people whom I loved, and yet I have devoted my all to people, taken people in, given those in need necessities to survive. You are not defined by the bad things you have done, if you can reedem yourself of those shortcomings."

"I don't understand." you sniffle.

"Yeosang and Wooyoung will come around," he sighs. "There are bigger problems at stake here. I shouldn't tell you this, but I'm going to, because to be honest, it is basically your fault."

Here we go.

"You remember that Seventeen didn't attend the ball, correct?" you nod. "That appeared to be a statement, so Seonghwa and myself organised a little chat with Commander Jeonghan, who deals with inter-kingdom affairs for them. They somehow got wind of the magic going on within Ateez walls, and as a result they refused to attend."

"But why do they hate magic?" you ask.

"Hundreds of years ago, the kingdom of Seventeen was entirely a magical kingdom, their queen I believe, was an elf, and she would willingly take in magical breeds and look after them. Until one day, a group of humans turned up, and as Seventeen was soley a magical refuge, they refused help to the humans. You see, the humans didn't like it, and that very same night while the kingdom was sleeping, they snuck in and burnt the entire city to the ground.

Legends say that the thirteen heads of state that rule Seventeen now are direct decendents of that group of humans that massacred the elves and mages."

"So they're waging war on Ateez because of something from hundreds of years ago?"

"Yes, essentially."

"Well, that's stupid."

Hongjoong nods in agreement and it only hits you then that he's the one who has to deal with this. He has to defend his kingdom and his people from a much stronger force, just because of a bit of magic.

"Anyway," he carries on. "The talk we had with them did not go well. They threatened to invade if we didn't get rid of the magic, I promised that we would. But evidently, there is still some traces of it here, as magical residue does not disappear quickly. Even less so if it is dark magic. This morning, Seonghwa recieved a letter informing us that Seventeen will attack."

"What? Are you serious?"

He nods.

"How long do we have?"

"Seventeen is quite far, so I would say roughly a week until they get here."

"Why are you so calm about this?"

Hongjoong takes a moment to think over the question, playing with a strand of overgrown hair at the base of his neck.

"I'm the king." he shrugs eventually. "Everybody looks to me for guidance, If I am panicking like a headless chicken, or freaking out like Mingi when he plays his chords wrong, nobody will have faith in me as a leader. This is my job."

As you examine him, you don't see royalty. You see a young man with the pressure of the world on his shoulders.

"How old are you, Hongjoong?"

"It's your majesty to you, you know."

"I'm not a citizen," you retort. "I don't have to."

Hongjoong chuckles.

"I'm twenty seven years old."

"Is it even legal for a king to be that young?"

"My grandfather was crowned when he was six," he replies. "They had to remake the crown to fit his tiny head, we buried him with it in the family crypt, he hated when we teased him about it."

You laugh along with his fond chuckling, happy to at least have one person who didn't hate your guts right now.

"That reminds me," he says, straightening up in his seat. "Yunho contacted me about your request to learn safe magic, which, seeing as we're being invaded anyway, I will allow you to do in the safety of the castle.

I have also invited Jongho -you remember him? the tailor from the ball, yes?- to come and measure you up for some clothes better suited for battle. I haven't forgotten about that. Oh, and Seonghwa will give you some sword fighting lessons, too."

"I'm supposed to learn how to do magic and to swordfight within a week?" you ask, astonished.

"Yes." Hongjoong casually nods. "If you hadn't disobeyed me, you would've had much longer, but you didn't so..."

"Okay, okay, I get it."

"Great," he grins, standing up and pulling his tawny fur coat straight. "I believe Yunho should arrive any minute now, so head down to the courtyard at the front of the castle and you can start your training immediately."

He heads towards the door, with an aura of regality and power.

"Hongjoong." you suddenly call out to him, causing him to stop in his tracks.

"Hmm?"

"Thank you." you say sincerely. "Thank you for giving me a chance."

"Of course," he smiles a little. "You're welcome."

He turns to leave again, before stopping to look at you a final time.

"And it's your majesty, to you."

-----

hello everybody! huge apologies for how many months it took me to get this out! i started my second year of university in october, and for some reason i thought taking an extra class would be a good idea, so now i am so ridiculously busy.

i hope everyone had a good christmas and new year, or if you don't celebrate, i hope you had a wonderful holiday season!

keep safe!

[patriciasage]

The Wordless One

Author: Patricia_Sage

Fandom: The Adventure Zone - Balance

Summary: Davenport may not be able to speak, but there isn’t a mystery on this plane that Angus McDonald can’t solve.

[chapter one of two]

posted in full under the break but you can find me on AO3!!

She is with Magnus when he forgets, and she takes care of him the best she can. She helps him to the ground, so he doesn’t fall like a tree, and then casts Sleep. She gently brushes his hair out of his face, noting that even unconscious he’s grimacing.

She wants to take a moment to breathe, but she doesn’t have the time yet. She needs to get to Barry and Taako next, before they do something reckless in their panic. She rushes up the stairs to the deck of the Starblaster where they spend each night planning and worrying. The walls of the stairwell feel like they’re closing in. She perseveres.

She’s not sure what she expected to see, but it wasn’t this. There’s a hole blasted through the railing and Barry is nowhere to be seen. Taako is crumpled like an abandoned doll on the deck, hyperventilating. His wand, barely clinging to his shaking hand, is still smoking.

“Taako,” she calls out softly as she approaches. He whirls at the sound of his name and the expression on his face nearly breaks her.

His ears are low and flat. His skin, normally a warm brown, is washed out, and his dark eyes are ablaze with panic, confusion, and fear. He scrambles away from her like a wounded animal. “Who are you? Where am I? What the fuck is going on!?”

She has to account for everyone. “Where’s Barry? The other man who was here.”

“I-I don’t…” he points with his wand to the broken railing. “He told me to kill him. I didn’t know what to do – I just did it. Who was that? Why did I do that?” His hair is falling in front of his face like a curtain, some strands sticking to the tears on his cheeks. “I’m sorry! He told me to – I’m sorry!” He’s looking at her like she’s going to blast him in retaliation.

She puts her hands up. “Taako, it’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you.” He doesn’t believe her, and the fierce distrust hurts more than she thought it would. He’s breathing in ragged gasps, pushing his back against the other railing. Taako’s a proud elf; she’s never seen him like this. She thinks of his past, carefully shared by Lup one lonely night, and hates herself for making him defend himself again.

Oh, Lup. Forgive me for what I’ve done.

Sleep is a contact spell. She dreads what she has to do. “Taako. I know you’re scared and confused, and your head probably feels really strange. Please, let me help you.”

“Who the fuck are you? How do I know you didn’t do this to me?” That breaks through her fragile defenses and she can’t stop a few tears from falling.

“Taako, please.”

He tries to fight her when she approaches, but she disarms him before he can cast any spells. She touches his arm and casts Sleep. He slumps to the ground and she lets herself cry.

But only for a moment.

The last two were in the stateroom this evening for their weekly tabletop game. She collides with a confused and frantic Merle on his way out. They blink at each other for a moment before she sends him to sleep as well, catching him as he falls.

Davenport is sitting at the table when she enters, cards scattered and abandoned in front of him. He’s holding his head in his hands, muttering to himself.

“Captain?” Lucretia calls out softly.

He looks up. “Davenport,” he says.

He doesn’t usually correct her. She doesn’t know what to say. “Listen, I’m so sorry. I know it’s inconsequential now and you don’t even know who I am. But I’m so sorry, sir, I’ll fix everything.”

He’s looking at her with confusion. “Davenport,” he says.

Her heart stops. Something is wrong.  “Sir?”

“Davenport!”

His expression is similar to what she saw on Magnus, Taako, and Merle. But there’s also frustration as his mouth seems to grope around words he can’t say. He says his name again. She’s terrified.

She touches his shoulder and protects his head from hitting the table when he goes limp. She prays to any god listening that this is a temporary side-effect, that he will wake up and talk to her.

She casts a careful enchantment on the other three so that they don’t remember being on the ship, but she’s too worried to try the same with Davenport, who remains unconscious on the Starblaster with her for now.

She places Taako in a caravan near New Elfington and, as she stands on his front step, she hears him groaning about a hangover. His mind appears to have filled in the gaps she created (potentially devastating, Lup-sized gaps and 100 years of static).

She purchases a house for Magnus in the community of Raven’s Roost and watches him unpack for a few hours just to make sure he’s okay.

If there’s one thing she knows about Merle, it’s how much he loves the beach. She places him in a little cottage. The first thing he does in the morning is collect a pocketful of shells and plants.

And when she returns, she rouses her captain.

“Davenport?” he mumbles. Even though she was expecting it, it still aches when the flickering and desperate bit of hope is extinguished. His identity as a pilot, a leader, an adventurer – it was too much to take away. The guilt almost crushes her on the spot. She can’t leave him somewhere to start a new life like she did with the others. She has to keep him close, keep him safe.

She offers him a job. He nods.

They build the Bureau of Balance together.

[teruthecreator]

Hey... let’s play in the chaos Fitz space... I’m so curious how magic lessons with Festo would go now Fitz is aware of Chaos in relation to his magic...

anon idk what u were expecting when u sent this, but im sure it wasn’t a 1.7k drabble of fitzroy and festo having a lil chit-chat. that being said, though, this was incredibly fun to do so thanks for the suggestion!!! 

_______________________________________________________________

“I don’t want magic lessons anymore,” 

The question makes the fairy halt in their fluttering, staring at their pupil with a curious stare. Fitzroy hasn’t been the same since the centaur assignment, they knew that already. Word has made its way through the faculty about the barbarian’s outburst on the field; hushed whispers of concern that never seem to make it to either headmaster’s ears. Althea Song even came in to discuss with Festo about the future of Fitzroy’s lessons; what might be the safest approach to controlling his wild magic. 

Festo is well aware, though, that “control” and “wild magic” tend to not mesh well. 

This is the first time they’ve managed to get Fitzroy to come to a lesson since his return over a week ago. Usually they meet three to four times a week, practicing simple spells and focusing on how to channel the energy for larger ones. He used to be adamant on his distaste for magic, but after a while he began to warm up to the idea of understanding the arcane abilities he was granted. Snippers seemed to help with that warming, becoming less of a familiar and more of an emotional support crab when Fitzroy’s feelings would go haywire and seep into his magic. But, after the centaur assignment, they were advised to postpone a few of their lessons to give Fitzroy the space to recoup after being cursed (and whatever triggered his outburst). 

After that grace period, though, Fitzroy just became a no-show. No matter how many cheerfully threatening letters Festo would send, Fitzroy never came to a lesson. 

That is, until today, when they came into their class to find Fitzroy already seated in his usual spot; twiddling his thumbs anxiously as he looked down to the floor. Festo was hoping this meant Fitzroy was finally ready to get to work, but...it would seem that’s not the case. 

“...Is this why you’ve been hiding from Festo?” The fairy asks, seating themselves atop a stack of books so they can face the half-elf properly. Fitzroy refuses to meet their gaze, nervously scratching his neck as he nods. “Ah...I see…You do not believe in Festo’s teachings.” Fitzroy perks up at that, turning to them and vehemently shaking his head. 

“I-It’s not that, Festo, really! It’s just…” Fitzroy trails off, looking frustrated and caught between words. “I just...When I came to you first, Festo, it was because I didn’t know why I had been given my magics and, therefore, was unable to control the outbursts. O-Or, that’s why I felt these lessons were good--I know they’re required, given my schooling track, but--” 

“--Festo gets your point.” Festo finishes, not wanting Fitzroy to get lost in the semantics before getting out what needs to be said. He nods his head bashfully and continues. 

“Right, yes. B-But now that I...I feel like now--or, I know now why I have magic. When...When I got cursed? I-I, uh...I met someone…” 

“You met Chaos, yes?” Festo asks, simply. Fitzroy buffers for a moment, mouth sputtering as he attempts to grapple with the knowledge, and Festo snickers. “Fitzroy, did you think Festo did not understand where your powers came from upon first meeting you?” Fitzroy’s cheeks are tinged red as he opens and closes his mouth to try and retort. “Festo knew your magic was wild from before Festo even saw you! There are not many schools of magic that manifest in catfish transformation.” 

“I...suppose so. B-But Festo, if you knew where my magic came from this whole time, why did you never tell me anything?” 

“Because you never asked!” Festo answers cheerfully. Their response makes Fitzroy’s shoulders sag as he pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Also, it would not have been wise of Festo to give you such an answer when you were first learning your magic. Knowledge is not always key to understanding.” 

“I’d say it is!” Fitzroy bites back, his hand dropping from his face. “These powers were imparted on me to do evil, Festo! A deity has been watching over my every move, cheering me on whenever I goofed up severely and got people hurt!” The air begins to crackle with static electricity as Fitzroy gets riled up, anxiously running both hands through his hair and lodging them there. 

“I ripped a man’s hand off, Festo! That’s fucked!! I struck fear into innocent bystanders! A-And the worst part of it is th-that...I didn’t feel bad for doing it! The hand part, at least--I felt awful once I noticed how everyone was...was looking at me like some sort of monster. It’s terrible! I can’t sleep because of it, I don’t have an appetite anymore because anything I look at just becomes a hand or a shitty magic apple, a-and I can’t...I won’t do magic anymore.” He looks to Festo pleadingly, hoping they see his anguish and understand. “I-I can’t even summon Snippers anymore because I’m paranoid about him being a direct line for Chaos to watch me mess up! I-I don’t--I don’t want my magic anymore, Festo.”  

Festo sits there, watching as Fitzroy huffs and puffs on the verge of a meltdown. Then, after Fitzroy seems to have regained a little bit of his compuse, they get up and fly over to him, grabbing his right hand with both of theirs and flipping it over so it’s palm-side up. 

“Make a flame for Festo,” they command, not even bothering to look up and see the utter confusion and hurt on their student’s face. “Just do it, it will be fine. Have faith in Festo.” Fitzroy sighs, deep and long, before shutting his eyes and concentrating. In a few short moments, a small blue flame appears in his hand. Festo makes an affirmative noise as they study the flame. “How did that feel for you to do?” 

“Um...Fine? I guess?” Fitzroy replies, sounding unsure. 

“It did not hurt?” 

“No…” 

“Did not feel forced out of you?” 

“No.” 

“You feel confident that it was by your will that this flame came to your hand?” 

“Y-Yes, Festo, what does that--” 

“Then you are fine!” Festo states matter-of-factly. They push Fitzroy’s palm closed, thus extinguishing the flame. “You should not feel worried about Chaos’s influence!” They look up in time to see Fitzroy’s eyebrows furrowing. “You said yourself that the magic felt natural to you--it was not forced out of your hand or influenced by a force that was not your own brain, yes?” 

“R-Right…” Fitzroy responds. Festo flies up to his face and pokes their forehead with maybe a bit too much force than necessary. “Ow! What the heck, Festo!?” 

“Your magic may have been bestowed upon you by a being of influence, but it is you who controls how that manifests.” Festo explains, suddenly sounding wiser than normal. “Chaos can only influence your magic if you let them; other than that, they cannot control how you choose to use the gift they gave you. From Festo’s experience, they actually hate doing that, so you should not worry about being ‘controlled’!” Fitzroy’s eyes widen and he guffaws for a moment. 

“W-Wait, Festo, you’ve had experiences with Chaos?” Festo twirls around in a circle and giggles mischievously. 

“Not in that way, silly! Fairies are creatures of unpredictability; Chaos is one of our patron deities! Festo has had quite a few communes with them in Festo’s lifetime!” Fitzroy’s face scrunches up in disgust at the implication of their first sentence, making Festo laugh again. “You were the one who said ‘experiences’, not Festo!” 

“Right, but I was not implying you had sexual experiences with a deity, Festo. I really don’t want to be thinking about...really anything like that ever, thank you very much.” 

“You brought up sexual! Not Festo!” 

“Ahhh! I am covering my ears until this conversation ends!” Fitzroy screams as he slaps his hands over his ears. Festo rolls their eyes and kicks Fitzroy in the nose. “OW! Are you even allowed to hit a student?!”

“Festo has tenure, remember?” Festo chides, letting out a snarky “teehee” before flying a little further back so Fitzroy can look at them properly. “Now, do you still want to stop your lessons? Festo won’t make you do anything you’re uncomfortable with.” Fitzroy stares for a long moment, brows furrowing once more as he thinks. He doesn’t think for too long before squaring his shoulders and sitting a little more confidently in his chair. 

“Y’know what, Festo? I think...I think I’m going to keep at this magic thing! Show that Chaos who’s boss!” Fitzroy announces, his usual bravado back. Festo claps their hands as a shower of sparkles rains around them. 

“Hooray! Festo is proud of you for conquering your fears!” Festo cheers, making Fitzroy flush a little with the praise. “Now, to make up for your missed lessons, Festo wants you to come here every day for the next two weeks after your classes! This is non-negotiable!” At this, Fitzroy deflates, just as Festo expected. 

“Alright, I suppose I...deserve that for ghosting you for so long…” Fitzroy groans. 

“Correct!” Festo chirps, causing Fitzroy to roll his eyes. “Now, to pick up where we left off, show Festo how you’re doing with Mage Hand…” 

---

It’s later that night, when the school has settled and all the students have gone to bed, that Festo returns to their office. They pull a set of small candles from one of the drawers in their desk and lay them out in a pattern on the desk’s surface. With a flick of their wrists, the candles are lit in an iridescent flame, and they close their eyes to pray. 

Coming to, they find themselves in a familiar woodland clearing, looking unimpressed at the figure seated across from them. The figure, on the other hand, looks positively delighted to see them. 

“Festo does not want you meddling with Fitzroy anymore,” Festo says, their voice uncharacteristically serious. Chaos smiles and shakes their head. 

You, of all the beings in my court, should know I cannot do that. They reply. I have a special mission in mind for him, and I do intend on seeing it through to the end~

Then, the wind blows, and Festo wakes up back in their office in a circle of smoking candles. With a sigh, they put the extinguished candles away and leave. 

Futile as it seems, Festo is determined to give Fitzroy control over his powers, Chaos be damned.