#anyways. back to art drought from ink

[inkedmyths]

Last Artfight upload! Didn't do as many as I wanted to this year, but that's okay :)

Valka belongs to @ashenknightt

[hi-i-love-u-bitch]

Rain Makes The Flowers Grow Ink and Candle AU

This is based on the beautiful Ink and Candle au by @sugarglider9603 where Logan is a quill and ink pot and Patton is a candle and also Roman is a rose and Virgil is a little rain cloud. I thought it was super cute and you should totally check out all of her art because she’s SUPER AMAZING!!! Anyway, I got in the mood to write some Prinxiety and will probably write something for Logicality later. Please enjoy!!!

The flower people were a very curious bunch, on one hand they were vain, loved to gossip, and easy were to offend but once they accept you as part of their own they’re sweet, loyal, and ready to fight for you. But being that they are faery folk that is something to expect of them. Still, Virgil had a hard time adjusting to their sudden switch in attitude, even if it has been a few months.

When Virgil first wandered into this land everybody feared him, being that he studied magic he was more powerful then your average storm cloud so it was to be expected. Then he met Logan, who was much too curious to be scared of him. He studied magic as well, more with ruins and alchemy, and was overjoyed to have someone to talk to and study with. Logan introduced him to Patton who was cautious at first, keeping his boundaries and speaking softly, but that lasted all but five minutes. The candle creature was an exciting being with a kind soul that gave hugs frequently and a bit too tightly. It was he that introduced Virgil to Roman.

Virgil and Roman did not get along at first, Roman was much too dramatic, boisterous, and stuck-up, and Virgil for the life of him could not understand how a sweet creature such as Patton could be friends with him. He questioned Logan on the matter, seeing as the ink man and rose also bickered just as much, and was surprised to find out that Logan too though Roman good company. It was then Virgil got a quick lesson on faery lore, they aren’t too fond of outsiders so it wasn’t really Virgil’s fault but there was also very little he could do about it. Least you bring an offering or gift, like Logan did, or are kind and sociable enough, like Patton, there wasn’t much Virgil could do except hope Roman warms up to him.

Though it wasn’t like Virgil minded all that much, he much rather keeps to himself and study his magic. It did really matter to him if Roman, or any other flower folk for that matter, liked him or not. That is until the summer months came in and with it the biggest drought the land has ever come to see. Droughts were quite common during summer so the creatures of the land were more prepared then most but it was still not enough for this drought. Everyone was suffering but there were none that suffered more then the flower people, who depended on water more than anything else. The lake nearby was drying up and it was beginning to get increasingly difficult to ration out what little water they still had.

Virgil was surprised when Roman came searching for him, begging for him to help his people, thinking that the rose would be too proud to ask for any outside help. Still, Virgil was a bit reluctant, asking why he hadn’t just asked Logan who was much more experience to which Roman replied: “As powerful as Logan is his expertise is in ruins and alchemy. You’re from the cloud kingdom and are studying the magical forces of nature, you’re the only one who can help me!”

So, the rain cloud obliged, conjuring up a medium-ish storm of sorts, not big enough to cause damage but large enough to give plenty of water across most of the land. It drastically helped a lot of creatures and made Virgil sort of a hero. Which isn’t something Virgil wanted but it made people less scared of him so he guessed it was fine. Afterwards, Virgil thought once everything was said and done his “fame” would die down, he’d be left alone again, and Roman and him would continue to bicker. Of course, he was wrong because not only did Roman NOT shoo him out of his village immediately but asked him to accompany him to help make sure that the other villages surrounding the lake had plenty of water as well. Again, Virgil was surprise that Roman, being a flower folk, would worry about other villages being that they were considered “outsiders”.

And again, Roman replied with a surprising yet obvious answer: “Just because we don’t like conversing with outsiders does not mean we wish them misfortune or harm. Our neighbors are our allies, in times of need we help each other.”

That would not by the last time Roman surprised Virgil with his chivalry. Though it really shouldn’t be that surprising, Roman was a knight after all, the best in not only his kingdom but in all the land. Sure, Virgil would hear in passing conversation how Roman would boast to Patton about his adventures across the land, climbing mountains, finding treasure, and fighting off something called a dragon witch, all of which the rain cloud would roll his eyes and scoff at. But he really should have been paying attention as to WHY he was doing these adventures. He asked Patton once he was finished helping Roman with the surrounding villages around the lake because surely, he was missing something. Which he was, Roman climbed the largest, coldest mountain not meant for any living, green being to collect a special healing stone to help a sick boy in his village. He hunted down treasure stolen by bandits, returned it to the neighboring village from which it was stolen from, and refused to take any reward. The dragon witch was a real thing too, it was a malevolent being terrorizing the flower folk’s once rival kingdom, the cactus creatures.

“Why didn’t he say anything?” Virgil had asked, confused and a bit guilty for having written Roman off so negatively “He boasts and shows off everything else, why keep the most important things out of it?”

The candle man smiled fondly, a look of wisdom that Virgil didn’t know he was capable of, “Roman may be of the fae but he is also a knight and knights are taught nobility, chivalry, and humility. It would go against his morals to use the people he’s helped as means to gain popularity.”

Virgil could understand that, still didn’t excuse Roman for being a jerk to him, faery or not, but he guessed the rose wasn’t so bad after all. And apparently it went vise versa for Roman as well. He came by the next day to apologize for treating Virgil so harshly and not giving him a chance as well as inviting him over to his village for a celebration feast the flower folk were making in Virgil’s name. Virgil, a bit overwhelmed, was about to kindly decline the offer but Logan wisely stepped in and accepted for him, inviting himself and Patton as well.

“It is a great insult to decline an invitation by a faery,” Logan warned him once Roman had left “especially if they are celebrating in your honor. But don’t worry, me and Patton will be there to…ease the excitement.”

To which Virgil will forever be thankful for because flower folk parties are very…extra. It was odd having people who once stared at you suspiciously and whispered behind your back now coo at you sweetly and marvel at you like some sort of “rain god”. It was odd and excessively overwhelming, Virgil had to excuse himself multiple time so that he could breathe without having someone in his face singing his praise. How long would he have to stay at the party? Would it be rude to leave early? How rude would it be if he left early? Like punishable by silent treatment or hunt you down and take your first born? Why do faeries have to be so complicated?

It was then he heard a familiar voice from a few bushes by the try he was hiding behind, “Are you alright?”

“Just peachy Roman, thanks.” Virgil gave a strained smile that told the rose he was anything but peachy.

“Are you not enjoying yourself?” Roman asked.

“It-it’s not that, it’s just…” Virgil paused, trying to think of a way to word his thoughts without offending Roman and his people “it’s a bit…mm…much. Don’t you think? I mean, all I did was a simple spell-”

“You saved countless lives Virgil,” Roman cut in, a passionate fire in his eyes “simple spell or not you have done a great serves and deserve a thank you the matches up to it.”

“It does, it does!” Virgil assured “This is more then enough, it’s great, and I’m extremely grateful for it all. It’s just…my kind isn’t all that into,” he made a vague gesture with his hands “big…extravagant…parties. We like to keep it simple and small…and quiet. That’s all.”

“Oh,” Roman frowned, the fire being replaced by worry “I see.”

“But this is fine! It’s fine!” Virgil put in quickly “It’s just me, I’m not…” another vague gesture “social, as you can probably see.”

“But we have made you uncomfortable when we wish to celebrate you.” Roman rebutted.

“I’m not uncomfortable.” Virgil said, lying through his teeth.

“No, this is all wrong,” Roman sighed, the roses growing from his body dimming from it vibrant red color to a dull maroon “I wanted to apologized for my rude behavior and make amends so that we can be friends so I thought we’d throw a party so that we could mingle and get to know each other but now I’ve just ended up making you feel uncomfortable and I-”

“You wanna be friends?” Virgil asked, cutting off Roman’s rambling.

“Yes, yes of course,” Roman nodded before biting his lips nervously “I’ll admit, I had ill judgment of you when we first met. You are dark and gloomy looking and with Patton and Logan being dear friends of mind, well, I didn’t think they’d be safe around you. I now know it was very wrong of me to think that, of any of us to think that. And it all should have been very obvious since the beginning.”

Virgil tilted his head curiously, “Why is that?”

“Rain makes the flowers bloom.” Roman said simply, as if it answered everything Virgil needed to know.

It didn’t but the declaration made the rain cloud flush a deep scarlet and tug the hood of his cloak over his head as he mumbled, “That, er, really shouldn’t be enough to trust a person. It’s a nice metaphor, yeah, but trust and friendship take time and it’s built on much more then ‘what’s supposed to be’.”

“I guess you’re right,” Roman sighed melancholy before he perked up a bit, the tips of his roses turning back to their bright red color “then how bout we start over, and slowly this time?” He extended an arm of salutation “Hello, my name is Roman and I would like to be your friend.”

Virgil looked down at the rose’s hand unsure before he looked up to meet his eyes which were soft earthy tones of moss and rich soil. They practically glowed with life, inviting and fresh with new adventures on the horizon. How is it these eyes could hold so much within them?

“I-I’m Virgil and I would also like to be friends.” Virgil finally replied, firmly grabbing onto Roman’s hand.

“Oh my,” Roman said breathlessly.

“Is something wrong?” Virgil asked worriedly. Maybe he had grabbed on to tightly? Or maybe his hood made him look creepy?

“No, nothing of the sorts,” Roman assured, staring more intensely at him, his hand seeming to tighten around his and bring them a bit closer “it’s just…I’ve always thought your eyes were just one color, like a dark stormy grey. But now…it seems they reflect a multitude of colors.” He smiled brightly, his flowers now fully bright and red “Like a rainbow of sorts, it’s really quite amazing. With the rest of you being so dark and gloomy they really stand out quite beautifully.”

Once again, Virgil found himself flushing at Roman’s words and realizing that there was more to him than meets the eye. It quite silly to think of it this way but Roman was so closed off to him before but now, after the storms passed, he’s bloomed into something beautiful.

[red-streaks]

herbology 101: never read from a wizard’s book

mildred and miss hardbroom and art. oh, a funny little herb that starts it all.

or, read on ao3

“Miss Hardbroom?”

A small voice drifts through her closed door. Hecate looks at her timepiece and notices its gone past 8:30, a time she usually spends revising her classroom notes.

As it has been the tradition for the past four terms, Mildred Hubble’s name is at the top of her page, underlined three times with such force that the paper almost tears.

Confiscated coloring pencils for using them in the middle of creating a sleeping drought, reads the neat handwriting next to her name.

“Miss Hardbroom, it’s um, Mildred. Hubble?” There’s another timid knock, and Hecate sighs deeply, turning the page of her journal. “I just…had a question, please?”

“Come in,” she says tiredly, opening the door with a flick of her wrist. She already knows Mildred is going to try and weasel her way out of getting her coloring pencils back, and Miss Hardbroom is in for a long rambling filled with excuses.

“What question could you possibly have a half hour before lights out?”

“Um,” Mildred enters the classroom sheepishly, head peeking in behind the potions lab’s door before her entire body follows. “I was in the library studying for tomorrow’s class because I don’t actually know what an assimilation spell- uh, potion does and I found a book that explained it rather well, but uh…” She pauses and considers her next words, an apprehensive look on her face.

Miss Hardbroom’s eyebrows rise higher and higher with every word she says and she finds that she can’t quite yet respond to Mildred even if she wanted to.

When was the last time she had caught the girl in the library past dinnertime? Miss Hardbroom can’t ever recall a time Mildred was anywhere else but with Maud and Enid in their rooms after dinner.

“Well,” Mildred starts before falling silent again. Miss Hardbroom feels a trickle of annoyance at her hesitancy. “The book’s pages are really old, and some of the pictures are faded and it says that you need calendula to prepare it but I really don’t know what that is, either, and there’s no picture of it anywhere in the library and I couldn’t find it in the supply closet, so I tried going by the description in the book but  -.”

“Mildred,” Miss Hardbroom interrupts, and folds her hands over each other in a perfect picture of composure, something she very much does not feel. “What is your question?”

“Um,” Mildred looks scared, suddenly, and her gaze falls to the ground. Miss Hardbroom notices just then that the girl is hugging a rather large journal in her arms, her braids falling over it. “Is…is this what a calendula plant looks like?” She asks timidly, and unceremoniously drops the journal, jostling the entire table.

“It’s a herb,” Miss Hardbroom says distractedly, watching closely as Mildred opens the book up and flips hurriedly through the pages.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, and frowns in concentration. “It’s somewhere in here…”

Miss Hardbroom catches a glimpse of a Hypnapillion intricately designed in a dozen different colors and the tail end of a salamander’s vibrant yellow body before Mildred let’s the book fall open to the only page without any color at all.

She pushes the book a little closer to Miss Hardbroom, shakily inhales what she must believe is a small, inconspicuous breath, and takes a tiny step back.

Directly below her nose, Miss Hardbroom can barely contain her surprise at what she sees. She tries, Merlin, she tries her hardest but Miss Hardbroom’s eyebrows feel as if they’re going to lift straight out of her face.

“Does it? Look like a calendula, I mean,” Mildred asks, straining her neck to peer into her own book.

“Hardly,” Miss Hardbroom replies instinctively and tries not to feel too bad when Mildred’s shoulder slumps. But it truly doesn’t. The herb she’s looking for comes in cloves of three and is shaped rather peculiarly with bright blue dots adorning each of its six sides. Mildred’s has three sides and specks of ink spattered over each leaf, a poor imitation.

Miss Hardbroom purses her lips and mulls over how best to show her before she materializes a feather quill and poises it over thin air.

“The shape is more accurately drawn like this,” she says as a piece of parchment appears the second she moves the quill. When she’s finished, she looks up and sees Mildred swaying on her toes, trying her hardest to see the rough drawing upside down.

“Oh,” she mumbles and scrunches her nose. “That’s an es-estoile?” The word sounds unfamiliar coming from her tongue.

“Why, yes,” Miss Hardbroom says, frowning. “A star that has six-sides. Surely, you learned this at a younger age, Mildred Hubble.”

“Uh, yeah.” Mildred flushes. “But in school- ah, in non-magical schools, they teach it as a hexagon. I didn’t – I didn’t understand what an estoile was. In the book I was reading, I mean.”

Miss Hardbroom opens her mouth, but she finds that she doesn’t quite know what to say.

“Ah,” she settles on at last, unoriginal and plainly unimaginative. “I see.”

“Yeah,” Mildred croaks and there’s an awkward pause where neither of them say a thing and stare at a random spot on the wall.

“I’ll just read the description again, anyways.” Mildred shrugs and moves to take her book back. “I only wanted to draw it so I could memorize it. Sorry to bother you, Miss Hardbroom.”

Mildred wraps her hands around the heavy cover of her journal and Miss Hardbroom feels the sudden need to snatch it back just to leaf through it.

She despises art, doesn’t see the purpose in its frivolity but there is something about Mildred’s eyes as she looks down dejectedly that makes her open her mouth and say, “Which book did you read the description from?”

“Well,” Mildred frowns, and scuffs the toe of her boot against the floor. “The author’s name was Leon, um, Star- Star...”

“Leon Stargazer,” Miss Hardbroom finishes and materializes the book Mildred was just reading from into her open hand. “Herbs and their Magical Properties.”

“Yup,” Mildred nods her head, rising on the tips of her toes to look at the book. “That one.”

Miss Hardbroom looks down at the old weathered book, notices the way Mildred is itching to get her hands on it and quietly resigns herself to a late night of impromptu tutoring. If Mildred is willing to show up, Miss Hardbroom is willing to stay.

“Find the page,” she says, and sets the book down gingerly on top of Mildred’s journal. “And show me.”

Mildred does a funny little thing with her face, almost as if she wants to smile but doesn’t know if she’s allowed to. Miss Hardbroom sniffs and points rather obviously to the book, still sitting there unopened.

“Carefully,” she adds as an afterthought but realizes she needn’t had warned her because the girl is slowly turning the pages with just the barest hint of contact. The book, Miss Hardbroom thinks, is either very, very old, or Mildred Hubble truly does not want to be sent away.

This is the thought that makes her rise and circle around the table to stand next to Mildred, the thought that makes her unfurl her hands and wait patiently until Mildred presents the passage she had been studying.

“Truly abysmal,” Miss Hardbroom mutters four sentences in, itching to spill her red ink all over it. “This will not do. Some wizards should never have been given a spot on the shelf among great witches, Mildred Hubble, and you’ll do well to remember that.”

She doesn’t expect the small giggle that comes about the height of her stomach, or the surrounding warmth that spreads across her face, but she turns on an expert heel and makes her way to her cupboards with faked ease.

“You may examine my sample, but you are not allowed to take it out its jar, do you understand?”

“May I open it?” Mildred bounces on the balls of her feet and Miss Hardbroom thinks she shouldn’t be quite so excited, but she notices the way the girl picks up her journal with enthusiasm and takes a pencil somewhere from behind one of her braids.

“Do not store your utensils in your hair, Mildred,” she tries to scold, but the girl is rushing past her and settling quickly into the stool she usually sits at during class.

In less than twelve hours, Mildred will be back to sit at that very same stool, and she will know the answer to what shape calendula blossoms into at the end of a full moon. All because she wanted to.

“You may open it, yes,” Miss Hardbroom all but whispers, turning slowly to face her cupboard again. Mildred beams.

Beams.

Right at Miss Hardbroom.

Her hands are not shaking when she reaches for the singular clove she’s stored as backup for tomorrow’s class, and her breathing is under control when she unscrews the cap.

But her blood is singing with unrestrained surprise – surprise at Mildred, at her journal, at herself for not noticing what the young witch is always doodling away at.

When she reaches Mildred’s table, she notices her own crude drawing being carefully glued to the empty page next to Mildred’s attempt. A small cat appears at the right corner of the page, stretches slowly and then walks right out of the page, as if it were never there in the first place.

“Smells funny,” Mildred interrupts her thoughts. “Like pumpkins.”

“It has a peculiar smell, yes. Do you know when it is best harvested?”

Mildred shakes her head slowly, then abruptly, stands up taller.

“Only every other full moon! Starting in the second week of spring,” she rapidly says and sits back with an astounded look on her face, as if she’s surprised herself.

“The third week,” she corrects, and watches as Mildred’s eyes dim. “But a good answer, nonetheless.”

She’s never been one to coddle students. Never been the type of teacher that gives out praise for the sake of it. But she has always been the type of academic who learns from her mistakes, and is rewarded with that truth when Mildred shoots her a confused little smile.

“You have until I finish revising my notes to draw this.” She cannot help the sneer that graces her lips at the word, but she nods sharply at Mildred and turns towards her desk without further comment.

She goes through her lesson plan for the first years once more, tweaking things she suddenly does not find fitting, cleans out the cauldron that Beatrice Bunch left simmering for too long and burned, unnecessarily recounts her ingredients for tomorrow and finally takes a curious look towards Mildred’s station.

The girl is tugging at the end of one of her braids, head tilted to the side as her pencil flies over her paper.

Appearing silently behind her desk, Miss Hardbroom peeks over Mildred’s shoulder and sees a pencil replica of the herb sitting in front of her. If Miss Hardbroom hadn’t heard the light scratching noise of the pencil, she would have thought Mildred pulled the herb straight out of the paper with her hands.

“Impressive,” she mumbles and makes Mildred jump.

“Miss Hardbroom!” Mildred screeches, and throws her charcoal stained arms over the drawing. “It- It isn’t ready.”

“My…apologies,” Miss Hardbroom says, if only to keep herself from chuckling at the way Mildred glares at her over her shoulder. Before she rounds the table though, she takes another peek and notices the notes on the margins.

Green, reads Mildred’s messy handwriting, and an arrow points to the end of one of the leaves.

Red, another points to the stem.

Purple during the summer, another reads messily.

As Miss Hardbroom walks back to her station, she feels her magic surge from her fingertips almost instinctively, almost without thought.

“Ten minutes, Mildred,” she says, and ignores the open-mouthed looks of astonishment that Mildred is directing towards her box of coloring pencils, suddenly perched at the end of her desk. “And do not think I will not give you detention if that jar does not find itself back on its proper place before time is up.”

“I’m sure you would, Miss Hardbroom,” Mildred tries saying very seriously, but laughs at the last possible second.

Miss Hardbroom sniffs and turns a random page over.

I really would, she thinks, but she finds herself fighting back a smile.