#emerald witch. ( portrait )

[ravenclaw-for-all-seasons]

Crossed Wires - Mattheo Riddle

A/N: Based on a couple of requests I’ve received. Hope you enjoy ☺️

At first, you couldn’t tell what had changed.

The Slytherin common room was its usual emerald-lit, velvet-chaired sanctuary of snark and secrets, but the moment you stepped through the portrait entrance behind Mattheo, a strange tension settled over the room like fog.

Theo looked away from you too quickly.

Enzo didn’t greet you with a smirk and a nickname.

Pansy was suddenly very invested in flipping through Witch Weekly, and Blaise didn’t even look up.

Even Draco, who usually shot you a teasing glare at the very least, offered nothing.

You hesitated by the couch. “Did I… do something?”

No one answered.

Mattheo slouched into a seat, tugging you down beside him. “What are you talking about?”

You looked around, heart starting to hammer. “They’re acting… weird. Like they’re mad.”

Pansy flipped a page loudly.

Theo muttered, “Maybe some people don’t like it when others snoop where they shouldn’t.”

You blinked. “What?”

Blaise huffed. “Forget it.”

“What the hell are you all talking about?” You stood, confused and instantly defensive. “I haven’t done anything.”

Enzo raised an eyebrow. “Haven’t you?”

The tone was joking, but cold. Cold enough to slice.

You looked at Mattheo, expecting the usual — the scoff, the snark, the “don’t talk to her like that, she’s mine” — but…

He just ran a hand through his curls and leaned back. “Just drop it.”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“They’re obviously pissed,” you said, voice rising slightly, heart beginning to crack around the edges, “and you’re just going to let them treat me like that?”

Mattheo didn’t look at you. “They’re allowed to feel how they feel.”

You stared at him.

That wasn’t how this worked.

That wasn’t you and him.

Mattheo always stuck up for you. Always. Even when you were wrong. Especially then.

“What is going on?” Your voice trembled slightly. “Why are you all acting like this?”

Pansy sighed dramatically. “It’s not a big deal.”

Theo muttered, “Depends who you ask.”

Mattheo stood, frustrated now. “Can we not make this into some huge thing? Merlin.”

“No, Mattheo, we will make it into a huge thing,” you snapped, hurt tightening your throat. “Our friends are suddenly acting weird towards me and you’re acting like I’m overthinking it.”

“You’re being dramatic,” he snapped back, the edge in his voice sharp enough to sting. “Not everything’s about you.”

You recoiled like he’d slapped you.

Theo’s head shot up. Pansy froze mid-page flip.

Mattheo’s eyes widened — but too late.

The words were already in the air.

Your breath hitched, heart cracking clean down the middle.

“…wow,” you whispered. “I guess I was wrong about who’d stick by me.”

You turned to leave.

“No—darling—” Mattheo stepped forward, instantly reaching for you.

But you pulled away. “Don’t.”

And then—

You did something Mattheo Riddle had never seen you do.

You cried.

Right there in the middle of the common room, surrounded by the very people you trusted most, your voice broke, and a sob slipped out before you could stop it.

The room went dead silent.

You ran.

And the door slammed behind you.

Silence.

Mattheo hadn’t moved. He was still standing where you’d left him, chest rising and falling like he’d just finished running — like the air had been punched out of him.

Theo was the first to speak. Quiet. Cautious. “You said you could handle it.”

“I could,” Mattheo muttered. His voice was low. Fractured. “I was.”

Enzo stood, pacing now. “Well, clearly not, mate. She’s crying. She ran. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Mattheo snapped.

Pansy narrowed her eyes at him. “You knew this was all fake. You knew we were just acting off to keep her from catching on. So why the hell did you blow up on her like that?”

Mattheo finally turned to face them, his hands balled into fists at his sides. “Because she looked at me like she believed it. Like I wasn’t on her side.”

He swallowed hard. “She thought I was just standing there and letting you all turn on her. And for a second—just a second—I thought maybe she really believed that I wouldn’t protect her. That I wouldn’t choose her.”

Theo frowned. “So you lashed out.”

Mattheo nodded slowly, jaw clenched. “I panicked. I got angry. I’ve never seen her look at me like that before.”

Enzo raised a brow. “Like what?”

“Like I was just like everyone else.” His voice cracked. “Like I wasn’t hers anymore.”

Pansy winced. “So instead of playing it cool, you accused her of making it all about herself?”

“I was trying to snap her out of it,” Mattheo said hoarsely. “Make her realize it was nothing serious, just… a moment. That she was overthinking it. But then—” He paused, his face twisting with guilt. “She cried.”

No one spoke.

Not when Mattheo Riddle’s voice broke on the word cried like it shattered something in him.

“I’ve never seen her cry like that,” he whispered, rubbing a hand over his mouth. “And I caused it.”

Blaise finally sighed, voice low. “This was supposed to be fun. Just misdirection. Get her a little riled up, make the surprise sweeter.”

Theo nodded. “We thought the tension would distract her.”

Mattheo sat heavily on the arm of the sofa, staring at the door like he expected you to walk back through it. “I didn’t mind pretending to ignore her. I figured I’d make it up to her after the party — flowers, candles, the whole fucking castle if she wanted. But when she actually believed it… when she believed I could ever let people turn on her like that—”

He broke off, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek.

“She didn’t even yell,” Pansy said quietly.

“No,” Mattheo breathed, eyes dark. “She cried.”

Theo shook his head. “We messed this up.”

“No,” Mattheo corrected, standing again, already halfway to the door. “I did.”

Enzo raised a brow. “Where are you going?”

Mattheo looked over his shoulder, jaw clenched. “To find her.”

“And if she’s still mad?”

“I don’t care if she hexes me,” he said, already pulling on his jacket. “I’m not letting her think I’d ever choose anyone over her. Not even for a fucking surprise.”

Then he was gone, the common room door swinging shut behind him.

And this time, it was the group left behind in stunned silence — staring at the damage they hadn’t meant to cause.

————

Mattheo had searched the entire bloody castle.

From the Astronomy Tower to the boathouse, even the deserted old Transfiguration classroom where you sometimes liked to read when the common rooms got too loud — but you were nowhere.

And worse?

He couldn’t get into the Ravenclaw common room.

He stood outside the eagle knocker for the fourth time, fists clenched at his sides.

“To enter, solve this riddle:”

“I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. I have no body, but I come alive with the wind.”

He nearly growled. “An echo. Let me in, you stupid thing—”

“That is correct. But you are not welcome.”

“Try again tomorrow.”

The knocker went still. The door refused to open.

Inside, you lay curled up on one of the pale blue couches, face buried in your knees, heart cracked. You’d ignored the looks from your housemates. Ignored the way your dorm door clicked closed behind you when you came in, silent and shaking.

Mattheo had let them treat you like an outsider.

Worse — he joined in.

And then he hurt you.

On the day before your birthday.

————

You woke up with a hollow feeling in your chest.

You didn’t want to get out of bed.

No excited chatter from your roommates. No magical confetti exploding from your trunk. Just the memory of Mattheo’s voice, sharp and cold:

“Not everything’s about you.”

That had hurt more than anything.

Still, you got up. Brushed your hair. Pulled on your robe.

When you stepped out of the common room, the air was cool and quiet—and then—

He was there.

Mattheo Riddle.

Slouched against the stone wall just across the corridor, like he hadn’t slept. His curls were messy. His uniform tie was crooked. His hands stuffed deep in his pockets as if anchoring himself there, eyes lifting the second he sensed your presence.

He straightened. “Angel.”

You stopped.

He took a careful step forward. “Please don’t run.”

You didn’t.

You stood very still, arms wrapped around yourself, eyes guarded.

“I waited out here all night,” he said quietly. “The knocker wouldn’t let me in.”

You stared at him. “Good.”

Mattheo swallowed. “I never should’ve snapped. Not like that. Not when I knew—not when it was all fake. I panicked. I thought you—” he hesitated, voice cracking, “—I thought you were starting to doubt how much I love you.”

You didn’t answer.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” he added quickly. “You are everything to me. You’re the only thing that matters. You know that, right?”

You looked at him, eyes rimmed with sleep and sadness. “Do I?”

His face crumpled.

That hurt him more than your silence ever could have.

“Please come with me,” he whispered. “Just—just to breakfast. That’s all. If you’re still mad after, I’ll leave you alone.”

You hesitated.

And then you sighed. “Fine. But I’m only going for toast.”

————

When you entered the Great Hall, it was early — not many students yet.

Mattheo hovered beside you like a nervous shadow as you walked toward the Slytherin table. You weren’t even sure why you were heading that way — force of habit, maybe. But then you saw them: Theo, Enzo, Pansy, Draco, Blaise.

All standing. All looking like they’d been waiting for you.

Theo stepped forward. “We were idiots.”

Enzo scratched the back of his neck. “The worst actors in Hogwarts.”

Pansy wrinkled her nose. “Honestly, I hated pretending to be mad. You’re the only one I can tolerate.”

Draco smirked faintly. “You do make Ravenclaws tolerable.”

Blaise offered you a wrapped box and a sheepish glance. “Happy Birthday, Ravenclaw.”

You blinked.

Your eyes flicked to Mattheo.

“You planned this?” you asked.

He smiled, hesitant. “We all did. I just… didn’t expect it to go sideways. You weren’t supposed to cry. You were supposed to be…surprised.”

You stared at him.

And then—despite yourself—you laughed. Just once.

A watery, breathless sound that cracked the ice around your ribs.

They all sighed in relief.

You sat down, still a little unsure, but slowly, as the gifts were opened and the teasing resumed, you let yourself lean into it. You wanted to believe them. And more than anything, you missed your place with them.

You didn’t say the words “I forgive you” — but the smile you gave Mattheo when he poured you pumpkin juice said enough.

————

Later that morning, Mattheo led you by the hand to his dorm.

You curled up on his bed, legs tucked beneath you as he sat beside you, gazing at you like you were starlight.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

“No,” you said honestly, “you don’t.”

He cracked a grin. “Still mad?”

You raised a brow. “Don’t push it, Riddle.”

He chuckled—and then reached into the drawer of his bedside table.

When he turned back, he was holding a small velvet box.

Your breath caught.

He opened it slowly to reveal a delicate emerald pendant strung on a thin gold chain, shimmering like forest fire in candlelight.

“Mattheo…”

“I wanted to give it to you this morning,” he said, “but after last night…I wasn’t sure you’d even look at me.”

Your fingers brushed the gemstone.

“Put it on,” he said softly, already leaning in to clasp it around your neck.

You did.

He lingered behind you, lips brushing the back of your shoulder. “Wear it tonight.”

“Why?”

He grinned. “You’ll see.”

————

That evening, he led you down the winding halls, through a shortcut behind the tapestry, past a moving staircase and into the dimly lit corridor outside the Slytherin common room.

The door opened before you could even answer the knocker.

And inside—

“SURPRISE!”

Lights. Floating decorations. Glittering stars enchanted to dance along the ceiling. Tables overflowing with sweets and butterbeer. Balloons charmed to spell your name. Music pumping low and steady.

The entire common room had been transformed into a dream.

Your yearmates — even some Ravenclaws — cheered. Pansy tossed fairy dust into the air. Enzo blew a kazoo. Theo was already dragging you toward a massive enchanted cake.

You stood frozen, stunned.

They’d all done this. For you.

And in the middle of it all, Mattheo wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“I told them it had to be perfect,” he whispered. “Because you deserve perfect. Even if I’m not.”

You turned in his arms, smiling up at him through glossy eyes.

“You’re not perfect,” you agreed. “But you’re mine.”

He kissed you like it was the only thing anchoring him to the world. Slow. Soft. Sincere.

Cheers erupted around you.

Draco muttered something about “pathetic lovebirds.”

Pansy threw a cupcake at him.

Mattheo didn’t care.

His forehead rested against yours, emeralds glinting against your skin.

“Happy Birthday, angel.”

You squeezed his hand.

And just like that — the sting of last night faded into the glittering glow of this one. Because in the end, the lesson was clear:

They all loved you.

But none of them loved you like Mattheo Riddle did.

Not even close.

Taglist: @hisonlyobsession

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Mon Cher Chapter 1

*Idea found on TikTok by @yaberdat aka Finnley.*

“A modern day writer exploring a vampire’s estate during the day.  Wondering why a random room was locked.  Until…they find a Victorian painting of themself.”

*garer:  shelter, where the word garage originates

Next chapter

Y/N had always been a little…odd.  She always felt like she didn’t belong.  Like she was out of place, or more aptly, a woman out of time.  Her mother called her an old soul.  She loved things that were old, vintage, retro, whatever it was called at the moment, and particularly from the turn of the century and into the 1920s.  She didn’t understand the trends, didn’t relate to the kids her age growing up, and she buried herself in romance stories of characters who yearned and were desperate for one another.  And after a school choir trip to New Orleans when she was 15, she had become obsessed with the city and its history.  She felt more at home and at peace there than she had anywhere else her entire life.

She had purposefully applied to Tulane University just so she could live there, and got a Bachelor of Arts in Design.  When school was finished she integrated herself fully into New Orleans, moving into a little bungalow with two roommates and getting a job working for a self proclaimed witch named Toussaint in his shop along the French Quarter and taking on design clients part time, helping bring their eclectic styles into cohesive designs within their homes.  Her weekends consisted of wandering the streets looking for new discoveries, taking guided tours around the city, bayou tours and parties with her roommates.  The most fun she had was at old dance halls or bars where she and her friends would dress up in old fashioned clothes and makeup and listen to the classic jazz and blues music while dancing the night away.

Then on a bayou tour she spotted something.  “What is that?” she asked the tour guide, pointing to something peeking through the high grass and willow trees.

He squinted at the area she was pointing to then sighed.  “That’s the abandoned Barnes mansion,” he said sadly.  “Beautiful but haunted Queen Anne style home.” She raised her eyebrows and stared at the house hidden amongst the overgrown Louisiana marshland.  “It used to be open for tours, but it flooded during Hurricane Katrina and nobody took the time or money to have it fixed up,” he said.  

“Nobody can reach it now?” she asked.

“I’m sure you could.  But it’s been left to rot, so best to steer clear for your safety,” he said, then turned his attention back to the regular part of the tour.

Y/N knew at that moment that she would be paying a visit to the Barnes mansion, one way or another.

***

Her roommates-turned-friends Yelena and Kate dragged her to a party after the Bacchus parade during Mardi Gras.  They were dressed in flapper dresses this year, and Y/N had pinned her hair to look short and gone full out with the outfit and makeup.  They sipped on their cocktails as they meandered through the party, admiring the old architecture of the building they were in and looking at all the paintings and pictures on the walls.  At one point they found themselves in a quiet alcove where Yelena collapsed on the nearby stairs and kicked her heels off.

“Ugh, get these wretched things off of me,” she whined, massaging her feet as she grimaced in pain.  

Y/N giggled and leaned against the wall opposite of her to wait for her to be ready to go.  Kate leaned against the banister then looked at the wall Y/N was on then gasped.  “Y/N!” she said in shock, staring at the wall.  “Look!”

Y/N frowned and turned to look at the painting on the wall just above her head.  It was a portrait of a woman in an early 1920s evening dress that was close to the same design and color palette Y/N had chosen for her flapper dress, with beaded strands hanging off her sleeves, the dress an emerald green color that had an ombre effect into gold at the bottom, her hair styled just like Y/N’s was now.  What was striking was the fact that the woman in the portrait and Y/N looked almost exactly alike.

“Oh my god,” Yelena gasped, her eyes moving back and forth between Y/N and the portrait.  “It’s you.”

“Very funny,” Y/N chuckled, finishing the last bit of her drink.  

“No, it looks exactly like you,” Kate agreed, pulling out her phone.  “Pose like her.”  Y/N shook her head but did as she said, posing like the woman in the portrait as Kate took a picture.  Kate pulled her phone close to her face then shoved it in Yelena’s face, who raised her eyebrows, then into Y/N’s face.  “It is you!”

“Weird,” Y/N said.  She had to admit, it did look just like her.  She turned back to the portrait and looked at the plaque at the bottom of it.  “‘Lady Barnes:  The Belle of the Vampire Ball,’” she read quietly.  “I haven’t heard of her.”

“Wait, I remember this,” Yelena said with a smile.  “The legend of Lord Barnes, the rumored vampire of the northern bayou.”

“Barnes as in the Barnes mansion?” Y/N asked, her interest piqued.

“Yeah,” Yelena nodded with a knowing look.  “That abandoned one you saw.  He and his wife used to throw a vampire ball every Halloween, and every year someone went missing from it.  The rumors spread that the missing person was like a sacrifice to Barnes and his wife, since they always looked reenergized and refreshed after the ball.  The legend of their youth and beauty, as well as their belief in the occult, made them targets for religious zealots and the local authorities at the time, and Lady Barnes was killed during an altercation with some Catholic vampire hunters.”  Y/N was hanging onto her every word.  “Lord Barnes swore that he’d get his revenge, then killed multiple priests and set fire to the church.  He never came out, so people assumed he died in the fire.  But there’s always been talk of how he would rise again once he found his reincarnated wife.”

“Spooky,” Kate said with a hushed and reverent tone.  “Well, looks like the Belle of the Vampire Ball is back,” she said with a smirk towards Y/N.

Y/N rolled her eyes, making the other two laugh.  “He will find you, and rise again!” Yelena said, wiggling her fingers at her with wide eyes.  “To be together forever!”

“You guys are ridiculous,” Y/N snickered, and they all laughed together then helped Yelena get back in her shoes before moving to return back to the party.  Before they left the alcove Y/N looked back at the painting.   It really was uncanny just how much it looked like her, and she had a strange feeling about the portrait.  She shook her head at herself and quickly took a picture of the portrait before scurrying down the hallway to rejoin them.

***

“Yeah, I can see it,” Toussaint nodded as he looked at the picture on her phone then back at her.  “I thought it the first time I saw you.”

“Really?  Why didn’t you say anything?” Y/N asked in surprise, following him as he walked around the counter towards the backroom.

“Well, that’s cursed history,” Toussaint retorted, giving her an unimpressed look.  “I may do hoodoo but that doesn’t mean I dabble with that stuff.”

“It’s just an old ghost story,” Y/N smiled.

“Not in New Orleans it ain’t,” he replied.  He walked up to her and reached out to the necklace with a small pouch on it that he’d given her when she first started working there.  “I can see you already making plans in that head of yours to go see the mansion,” he said quietly.  “I would caution you not to.  But if you do, make sure you keep this on.”

“Why?” she asked with a frown.

He shrugged.  “Just in case,” he said simply, then walked away to stock more crystals.

[rexshadaoart]

The Princesses of Oz

Well, for the first week of June, I'm going to be on a long vacation to Orlando, Florida, and visit nearly all the major theme parks located there. As such, I would not have time to make Dorzma artworks as frequently as I want to… and I know of the legal battles between Disney and DeSantis over the "Don't Say Gay" bill or whatever nonsense is going on.

So instead, I make Dorzma artworks in advance. And for this one, I wanted it to be like a book cover, a poster for people to put on their walls. You might say a royal portrait. And indeed, that's what I was going for.

Instead of using the traditional anime-style ink pen and cel-shaded filling, I decided to go for a more painted feeling. This meant the outlines were done with dark sketch pencils, and the colors were painted with digital acrylics, both wet and dry, and maybe a few watercolor brushstrokes here and there. It's meant to give the impression that an artist was commissioned to paint a royal portrait of the princesses to later display in one of their hallways (or maybe in a museum).

For this reason, I had to design a new outfit for Dorothy to be more fitting of a princess rather than a farm girl. Since Ozma was considered to be a princess (despite technically being queen), it made sense that Dorothy would have a white dress similar to Ozma. Given that Dorothy was not the descendant of King Pastoria and Fairy Queen Lurline, I felt she could inherit the original design of Ozma's dress with the Oz emblem at the center of the neck collar.

Obviously, since this would take place after Dorothy's family permanently moved to Oz, Dorothy can now wear the Magic Belt of the Nome King freely. And being a princess, Dorothy out to have a crown of her own. I decided to go with the book design with a nostalgic look back at my very first Oz artwork. Dorothy would have a crown made of silver that glitters so brightly. 

It may not be emerald, but it makes Dorothy feel like a young apprentice of Glinda the Good, and I want the audience to feel like Dorothy is training to be a good witch herself.

The Oz banner, was there to give a finished polish for the portrait. Made it through symmetry tools and careful observation. For the background, it was a pain to figure out what goes on there. I planned windows, thrones, and gardens to go there. But I settled with a foggy, brief glimpse of the Emerald City with Dorothy and Ozma standing by one of the gardens.

[natalieina]

Emerald Green

The memory of emerald September, of the first timid steps of Autumn, of her gaze, reminiscent of the lake surface. About the serene expanses of mosses and grasses, mysterious paths in the dark forest... September is the abode of tranquility, filled with the cool freshness of forests, where the first sprouts of withering are hidden...

Self-Portrait.

Snake wreath by Tropical Witch Flowers.

Natalie Ina Photography.

August-September 2021.

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Boosty

Behance

VK

[jadeshifting]

🫀 SHIFTMAS

day 10. WHAT’S YOUR DR’S CHRISTMAS CARD LIKE? is it a glossy, glamorous photoshoot with your dr family? a hand-drawn masterpiece that feels personal and sweet? or maybe just a cosy polaroid moment caught by surprise?

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. �� ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

A SLYTHERIN CHRISTMAS PORTRAIT

★⋆. the Slytherin Christmas portrait looks like it was torn straight out of Witch Weekly’s “Most Enviable Holiday Gatherings” spread. draped in emerald velvet, silver brocade, and the occasional pop of enchanted crimson—a calculated nod to the season.

★⋆. — Mattheo and i are front and center, him leaning casually with that signature I-own-the-room smirk, while i lounge with pearls glinting in my hair and a fur-lined cape spilling over my shoulders

★⋆. — Draco stands rigidly regal, one hand tucked into his pocket as if he’s posing for a family tapestry, with Daphne and Astoria flanking him like they’ve got their own holiday scheming brewing.

★⋆. — Pansy strikes a dramatic pose, her mistletoe charm hat perched just-so, while Theo and Blaise exchange subtle grins, looking like they’re plotting the next holiday scandal. Lorenzo’s all rakish elegance, his tie slightly askew and a sprig of enchanted holly pinned to his lapel, while Millicent leans coolly against the grand fireplace, her glittering goblet catching the firelight.

★⋆. the backdrop is pure Malfoy Manor glamour: a towering tree dripping with enchanted silver snow, flickering emerald baubles, and shimmering snakes curling through the branches. green and silver fairy lights cast a soft glow, while the enchanted snowfall swirling behind everyone adds a touch of extra. it’s less of a group portrait and more of a power play, a glossy reminder that no one does Christmas—or confidence—like Slytherins

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

[tinycatteethstudio]

This pattern is a love letter to my favorite stage musical (and now movie) Wicked! They are just two friends, two good friends. Two, best friends. Together in the emerald city they discover the magic they can create, together. Whatever happens, they’ll always have that one short day!

In a deeper sense, this pattern is dedicated to a dear, sweet friend who has been gone from this world for over 12 years now. She was the Elphaba to my Galinda and truly made me a better person. Because I knew her, I have been changed for good ✨ These stitches represent the love I still have for her as my best friend and my first love. Though our time was short, my heart will forever hold a room filled with portraits of Maisie 💖☮️🕊️

-TinyCatTeeth

[whotfletamothhyperfx]

Sonic Wizard of OZ AU master post

Original

Toto in the AU

Sonics tattoo

How could sonic come to this?

Sonic and shadows designs

Tails “mission”

Barry the Quokka

Childhood

How Tails met the others

What did shadow do?

Rouges backstory

Recognise his friends back home

Wicked witch of the East / Starline

Sonic and tails design doodle

Maria and shadow

“Why doesn’t sonic recognise tails?”

“Will sonic ever recognise Tails?”

Maria and Ozma

IDW covers

Tangle and Whisper

Sonics hallucination

Why tails was “killed”

Munchkinland and Emerald City

“Does shadow ever realise the error of his ways?”

Surge and Kit As Kids

Surge and kit before and after Starline designs

Witches backstory

So what’s up with the magic system

Family portrait

Shadow and Tails animatic

Amy animatic

Sonics end goal?

Core fours relationship

Amy and tails fanart

Kit animation

“Whats Tails doll’s deal?”

Chuck and the Baby triplets

[a-lil-random-artist]

Leah’s Normal Day

Chapter 12: The mirror / New Responsible

TW: LANGUAGE!!!

3 days later during grounded, Leah is no longer grounded anymore after 3 days of being grounded, and what she saw was the purple yarn trail on the floor, coming from the blank door with decorated dream catcher. So she decided she have to headed to the blank door with decorated dream catcher on it as she follows the trails. Sad the sensitive clown came out from the portrait clown door, and he recognized her entering the blank door decorated dream catcher on it, but he’s wondering what she was doing entering the room. “What is she doing…?” Sad said to himself before he goes follow after her to enter the decorated dream catcher blank door. When Leah (leia) enters in, she picked up the purple yarn trail and located where its at, but no, it was not coming from the witchcraft area or the secret basement door, it was coming from the purple door with some kind of decorative goth stuff and the real Emerald. Sad snuck in and noticed she is heading to the purple door, realizing she is heading towards it as he quickly came behind her to stop her for entering the door. “Leah, No! What are you doing-“ “Shhh…don’t distract the witches…they might going to hear us if they know we enter the door…Just follow me, Im following the purple yarn trail…” She whispers after she shushed him, not going to distract the witches in this silence eerie surrounding those both clowns. As they enter in the bedroom, they all saw the old vintage goth furniture between those same beds that it has the goth version, and those furnitures are old vintage goth version with those vintage candlesticks around, However, it sounds like the witches are living like the luxury prince and princess life until the yarn trail stops, got tying up on the wooden frame bed with the note on it. “The note?” Leah (leia) replies as she went towards closer to the note and takes out. “Dear Little lamb, since you followed the yarn trail coming from our bedroom, you must follow the cat with three eyes, so they can guide you to follow the dream closet to see the mirror, the mirror will show you different instead of the reflection, and if you enter in the magic mirror to turn you into different, you will be responsible for all of the families and your parents, Jolly and Mortality.” By Cindy and Caden.” After what she read, they both saw heard the cries coming from the closet, and they notice there was familiar cat with the three eyes who stood there at the vintage closet door, and licking their own paw as it walk off, guiding them to follow the cat. “Hm…they’re taking us to the mirror, right?” Sad replies as both of them begin to follow the cat.

Entering the closet, they saw the vintage of dream closet, lots of the old-fashioned goth shoes, accessories, and the outfits. They never seen the witches dream closet before, and just then they look all around the stuffs, they saw the thousands of skulls has the flowers wrapped around and popped out the eyes or mouths, maybe they must be the victims, but did the witches do this to the victims? “Thousands of skulls…did they do this to the people…?” Leah (leia) whispers, looking around that there is more thousands of skulls with flowers popped out eyes and mouth. They both stopped when the familiar cat went over toward the old-fashioned golden mirror, backing away as Sad and Leah (leia) went towards the old-fashioned golden mirror until…They saw the version of themselves is the Happy version, and the Goth version. Sad look like he is the Happy version who is no longer sad anymore in the mirror, and Leah (leia) is goth version herself in the mirror when she has no star marked at all. “Why do we looked different than us…?” Sad said, and they both looked down and looked apparently normal as well instead of the mirror version. “It seems pretty strange…what’s with ourselves?” Leah (leia) said before going towards the mirror, pointing her finger against the glass of mirror, but out of nowhere, she is suddenly dragged in by the mirror as she let it out yelped. “AHHH!!!” “LEAH!” Sad quickly grabbed her hand, trying to pull her from the mirror as hard as he could, and it was pretty hard to pull her from the mirror. “Don’t let my hand go! Just keep holding my hand!” Leah (leia) shouted, feeling it pulled by the mirror so strong, but she could feel her hand is getting weaker just like Sad. “I can’t-“ As he trying to use a word, they both got dragged by the mirror as they let it out scream. Only the familiar cat is alone. In the golden universe, they were screaming while falling and spinning around. “HOLY SH*T, WHAT’S HAPPENING!?” Leah (leia) screamed in terrifying expression. “I DON’T KNOW! I THINK IT TAKING US TO THE ANOTHER PLACES!” Sad said as they begin to hugged each other, hugging it tighter and tighter. “WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE FOR THIS!!!” Leah (leia) screamed. “Just hang on! In case, we’ll lose each other if you let go of me!”

As Sad told her, they’re still hugging each other while, still looking down and noticed they were getting closer to the light. “Okay, let go of me, and hold my hand!” Sad said, letting go of her as they were holding each others hand and entering in the light. In a moment later in void realm, they popped out from the mirror and causes the familiar cat to jump. They both slowly opened their eyes, and now they were back in the dream closet from the mysterious mirror. “Nghhh…well that was-“ Sad begin to hesitated as his voice looked different than the sad tone, and he looked at the mirror when he realized he is replaced by the sad version, and looked like the happy version himself. “Wow…I love it…Leah (leia), are you okay?” Sad ask, watching her getting up from the floor as she looked at her own hands, but something she seemed is wrong… “No…what’s happening to me…?” She glance up at the mirror until she realized her blue clown version was replaced by the goth version which looked different to her. “No…NO!” She quickly ran towards the mirror before banging against the mirror, but the glass of magic mirror refuses it to return her into the blue version. “NO, NO, NO, NO, NO!!!” It was too late for Leah (leia), because she is now replaced into the Goth Clown, and she can’t believe that she is caught off guard dragging by the mirror when she touches against the glass. She is going to be in trouble if Sad enters with her in this golden universe. “Oh no no no no no…My adopted parents gonna kill me if he enters in!” “Hey, it’s okay,” Sad comforts her. “It’s just that we’re looked like new.” “Is there the another way that we could get ourselves back to normal?” Leah (leia) ask in worried, and Sad let it out sigh. “No not really…maybe it will help you be responsible for what the note said.” Sad replies. After exiting out the dream closet, the clowns decided they would have to hide themselves from everyone before someone would exit out the room and show themselves up if they noticed they were being exposed and asking the lots of questions. They both enter Jolly’s door without distracting someone in the family members, getting out from the flowerpots as Leah (leia) let it out sigh. “*sigh* There’s no one there…” There is no response in this situation, and only they feel like is alone in this darkness around, suddenly, someone’s baby let it out cry. “Sh*t…” She thought it was the baby doll, but no, it must be Baby Nostalgia coming from the direction. They both quickly went up to see if the baby is crying until they noticed there was an old vintage crib, looking down at the inside of the crib. Baby Nostalgia the blue baby girl who’s crying in the crib.

“Hey, whose baby is that?” Ignorance came up, and just like Want who came up, but only recognized the blue baby girl in the crib. “Did Jolly bring her here…?” Want ask, watching her picking the baby up from the old vintage crib and smiled at her. “Nope, she didn’t bring her here, My father brought her, as a new baby daughter, but we can’t talk about this anymore…” The baby girl looked at her, babbling and coo softly as she reached her chubby hand to her black clown nose. “What is her name?” Ignorance ask. “Her name…is “Nostalgia”…” Leah (leia) told them while, holding her carefully and ask them. “Wanna hold her?” Ignorance shook his head, and want agrees with him which the baby’s look heavy if they carried the little chubby baby. “Uhh no, it’s really heavy” “for us…” They both said, and the little blue baby lamb look at Sad as she begin to reach her chubby hand towards him. Leah (leia) passed the blue baby lamb to him, watching him carry the baby lamb. “She likes me…” Sad said, but Nostalgia plays his red curly hair, feeling it soft while she is babbling and cooing. “Hey Sad, can we show it to the proto warners?” She ask. “Sure, why not?” In out of the void realm, Jolly and the witches are having conversation about what they placed the purple yarned trail and placed the note so Leah (leia) could follow the cat and entered the magic mirror to change her for. “Responsible, she is responsible for us.” Jolly said. “Oh no I mean like, once she enters the magic mirror after what she look at the glass of mirror, she could change herself into the another form, so she can be responsible for everyone in this family.” Caden explains. “I like her blue version better tho, because her hair is healthy, and she seems very responsible for all of us, but also…maybe being a troublemaker just like the boys…” When three of them enters Jolly’s door, three of them recognized five little ones are gathering around the crib, and noticed Sad and Leah (leia) are looked different than before after they entered the mirror. “Oh! I guess she enter the mirror…Did Sad really follow her?” Cindy replies, still watching five of them holding the little baby infant as Sad pass the baby over to Leah (leia), but the baby is not heavy at all, it feels like she is holding the pillow. Leah (leia) smiles at her new baby sister and glanced her head toward to see who it was until she recognized the twins witches, and Jolly between them. “Mom?” Leah (leia) said while holding her new baby sister. “Little lamb, Did Sad really follow you while you were following the yarn trail?” Jolly ask in mothering tone.

“I did, but Sad came behind and wondering what was I doing, but he ended up become the happy clown. Listen…he just-“ “I love it…” “Huh?” Leah may confused, She thought Jolly is going to be mad over at both of them if he goes with her, but out of nowhere, she stroke Sad’s and Leah’s (leia) hair which they were soft and smooth. “You guys looked very pretty just like it…” Jolly smiles in mothering way, as both clowns look at each other before looking back while, Leah (leia) is still holding a new baby sister. “Really?” Leah (leia) ask. “Yes, little lambs. Leah (leia), since you become a new one, you will be very responsible for all of us when you will have to do the daily chores everyday until next week.”

In the next day, Leah (leia) is now responsible for all of the family after what Jolly told her what to do, Leah did the chores everyday and remembering what she would have to do is to do the laundry, washing dishes, clearing off the cobweb from the lamp, and other objects. At the another day, Leah (leia) is sweeping the floor in the toyshop peacfully, until all of the sudden, Theodore and Rj came up. “Woah, what the hell happened to you?” Rj ask. “Oh do not worry about it, it’s just that the witches just change me into new responsible.” Leah (leia) tries to hide, felt like she is going to be in trouble if she reveals her truth about entering the magic mirror with sad. “Come on, Rj, we gotta go play outside, and no more gaming Mortality said.” “Aww I dont wanna go!” “Well touch the grass, just like the kids does!” And that night, everyone is having a dinner with those old vintage dish on the table with the recipes on it, and she is watching them having conversation as they let it out laugh until Smakky accidentally spill the golden wine of cup spill all over the sheet of table. “Oh no!” Smakky worried, but Leah (leia) told them and said “I can wash it after the dinner.” Jolly and Mortality smiles at Leah (leia), how responsible she is when she did a great job cleaning every day at the week. They would have to give her reward if she cleaned all over the places. After the dinner, Leah (leia) is placing the juice stain on the sheet of table in the old vintage wooden basket before she heads off, washing it during in the laundry at night before she goes to bed, but Jolly calls her out. “Little lamb, Are you to read a book for little ones after your done with laundry?” “Yeah, but, I’m on my way after the laundry.” After the laundry, Leah (leia) is reading the fairy tale book for proto warners and her little brother, but except for Yakky, because she knew Yakky is too old to listen to the fairy tale book when he is grown up. As she’s done reading, The little proto warners and Logan fell asleep as she tucks the blanket in and put the book away. In that moment after shower, she is heading back were Theodore and Rj was at, but something she could hear the voices coming from the old vintage closet. “Huh?” She decided she’s heading towards the old vintage closet before opening the door, noticing there was the light behind the picture art frame of Mona Lisa.

She moves the picture art frame of Mona Lisa until what she discovered was the small door, just like the Coraline reference. It wasn’t much smaller like Coraline’s small door, it looks less larger than small one. She wonders if it might be the boys who is in the small door and behind to enters in. Once she enters in, she recognized there was the 2000s nostalgia decoration on the wall that i some boys favorite band poster on the wall, and the boys recognized her. “Uhh hey boys, where should I sleep?” She asked for boys. “Umm…You may sleep with Jolly, just like your little brother Logan-“ When Rj is trying to use the sentence, Theodore cuts off from his words. “Umm actually, you may sleep with me.” “What!? Theo, I knew you guys are going to make ou-“ “SHUSH, let me speak to my girlfriend…say…wanna sleep with me?” Theodore ask while, pressing his finger against the Rj’s lips to keep it mouth closed. “Sure, why not?” In that moment, they both are cuddling each other on the bean bag, and except for Rj, because he’s pretty sure uncomfortably seeing them cuddling each other like a couple. Theodore begin to kiss her lips for one last time and going to take a nap, which Rj looks pretty uncomfortable keeping his head away from them and look back to see them cuddling each other. “Nasty…” Rj said and fell asleep.

To be continued…

[queen-of-prophecy]

The Emerald Tower: Rooms

Though the Emerald Tower rises tall in the Ring of Pride, and it's shadowy Tower of Heresy looms on it's own floating isle in its own Ring, the layout of the Towers are exactly the same. Vine had its original design put into motion thousands of years ago, and it took two hundred years give or take to complete. There's a great debate over whether it's made of actual emeralds or simply glamored to look that way, but since the original builders left no surviving notes on the construction, it remains a mystery. Here is a rough estimation of what the Emerald Tower contains.

-184 bedrooms based on medicinal herbs and plants, 14 bedrooms based on common witches familiars, 36 bedrooms based on alchemy, as well as 13 "goddess" rooms based on a particular deity Vine has pretended to be.

-53 bathrooms, each spaced out roughly every 12 rooms or so. Some are full bathing rooms, and others are just toilets and sinks.

-24 galleries of varying sizes displaying artworks spanning from the Prehistoric to Contemporary Period. The galleries are often split between Earth at and Hell art.

-4 master kitchens, though these see very little use.

-6 grand dining halls, but they serve very little use and have seen perhaps one dinner party per room.

-A world-class fromagerie. This room is Vine's pride and joy and houses cheeses of all kinds.

-4 wine cellars. Perhaps incorrectly named, as none of the rooms go below ground, they house vintages as far back as the 14th century, preserved by magical means.

-The Mourning Room, where Vine keeps portraits of deceased companions.

-20 library rooms. These are more of a collections space for her to house rare books to lend out to others.

-19 artifact rooms. These are mostly off limits, with only a "passing chamber"' that prevents passersby from accessing them without Vine's consent, and display powerful magical artifacts, historical pieces and trophies from the ancient world.

-The Heaven Vault. You would not know you were passing through the vault as there is a deceptive corridor that is all steel that simply goes to the next room. However Vine stores her stash of dangerous heavenly weapons here, as well as a vat of purest holy water.

-16 armories. These are more or less historic collections of armor sets and weapons ranging from melee to siege that she's collected over the years. Strangely enough, they all appear to be in perfect condition.

-100 walk in closets. These are the size of most of the bedrooms and have fashions from all over time, of Vine's massive clothes collection.

-59 treasure chambers. Strangely unguarded (or are they?) these have Vine's jewelry collections, gold, silver, and jewels, as well as safes containing important papers.

-The Alchemy Room. It's the largest room in the entire Tower, and houses all of her equipment for producing potions.

These are all of the rooms yet known. There are still at least a hundred which are either not known or difficult to describe.

[churchobones]

DWC Day 4: Vengeance

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“And then... I remember...”

Bruce looked down at his arm. His skin was pale as the waning moonlight, black veins writhing with every weakened pulse of his heart. His head swam, vision dim and distant.

Bruce looked up. “The Red Witch. What do you know of her?”

The little lord pursed his lips.

“The legend of E’Andusore… The whore told you, did she?” The shards of whispering shadow framing his head began to spin, building momentum.  “It’s a tale lost to most of my people.

“She was a vicious crone who haunted a powerful magic circle; she and her nightmare hound, Narral’thix.  The sacred site held the key to Life after Death; the natural cycle made manifest in mana.  A power she used to butcher innocents and turn farmland fallow.

“As the story goes,” the lord smiled grimly.  “She ate the dog’s heart to tap into the circle’s power, raising a mighty tree surrounded by a bramble thicket miles wide that only she could pass through unscathed.

“Until the Lady came with fire.  A mother desperate to save her son.”

“Three times I've asked about that story now. The first time I heard it, She shared Her memory with me-- that old Oak Tree.”

Bruce's jaw set as the plaintive mew of a kitten long passed echoed in his mind. In that mansion, where Zelion’s family portraits lined the walls and an Oak Tree split the marble floors, he'd heard her cries.

Her coat was mottled brown with camouflage not yet shed. Milk teeth flashed in the darkness. Paws too big for her scrambled, begging purchase.

Emerald magicks flared outwards from his touch, along the grooves of the Oak’s bark, scrawling up and down the trunk.  A whistling shimmer grew twice as loud from below, a tremor taking the ballroom floor felt up through the soles of his feet to his knees; enough to require bracing but not enough to steal his legs out from beneath him. The floor splintered beneath the kit’s paws, a desperate cry falling away into the darkness below until there was nothing left to be heard but the burgeoning hum of the awakened tree.

She regarded him with a tingle that remained in his fingertips and pricked at his thumbs.  The Oak spoke only by willing a single word to the forefront of his mind: Vengeance.

Her bark served him as second eyes, racing down Her formidable length past the vine covered, stone walls of the cellars, deeper still past crypts, dirt, stone, bone until they reached where Her strongest roots anchored.  She was framed by a circle of fallen trees, Her roots wrapped protectively over an ancient altar of jasper.  The dead lynx cub’s broken back never made it to the stone.

And then the Oak stood silent.

  “I was wondering if I’m no better off than that kitten when Kallarel--”

The smell of sulfur filled the worgen's lungs. Hellfire: the scent which lingered as the bramble brands crawled into skin; the scent which pierced the air with every lit cigarette. He focused on the sickening sweetness alone.

One by one, the arch over his heart gave way as Kallarel tore into the hallway, a manifested monster hot on her high heels with a blazing green gem alight in a chest once empty.

By the third spout of blighted blood, the witch was upon them; beauty, beast and burden all.

By the fourth, her hands were alight with a green fire to match the flame licking the demon’s panting tongue.

By the fifth, the lord’s prone figure was cloaked in cold shadow, absconded without a trace apart from the faintest flicker of rot against the nostrils before the witch could claim him.

And as the last of Zelion’s void crystals burst in Bruce’s chest, the haphazardly placed shard split in two with a deafening crack.

“I can’t... I can’t have died that night. I didn’t. But I dreamed. I dreamed... I was in a house-- the house in Gilneas. With my wife-- with my dead wife, Sophia.”

It was shamefully small, that old cabin in Gilneas. Sophia had given up everything for him-- lands, titles and inheritance. In exchange, Bruce had built a shack with leaky walls and slept with her on the far side of the kitchen for fourteen years.

Now they sat across from one another at the dinner table.

“I thought it might come to this.”

Bruce felt sick. There was a teacup in front of him, which rattled quietly.

“I miss you,” he said. Her face was just as he remembered it; prominent cheeks smattered with freckles and a button nose.

She rolled her eyes-- big, stormy and blue. The same ones he saw every time he looked at his daughter. “You’re doing fine without me.”

“I’m sorry--”

“Don’t be. I mean it. I'm proud of how Lizzie turned out. But if you want, you can join me now. You can rest.”

The knot in his stomach twisted.

“You don’t have to,” she went on. “Not everyone gets a choice, but you will.”

The tips of his fingers felt cold as ice. The table trembled below.

She smiled. It was warm and remarkably genuine-- like a candle in the night. “I know this is what you want, Bruce.”

The support beams above his head cracked. Dust fell in a plume, rippling his tea.

“Just know--” she hesitated, expression soft-- “you’re messing with powers you don’t understand. The Gods may never forgive you for this.” 

His chest squeezed. He couldn’t breathe.

“But I'll help guide you home,” she said.

@daily-writing-challenge

[iguessihavemore]

ROLLCALL PORTRAITS DONE YAY

Chapter 1 Emerald Witches (they won't change much just get 1 👆extra member)

Cameron is from @unironicduncanstan

Manaia is from @tuatara-time

Marina, Stella, Winnifred, and Wilfred are all owned by @faemorningstar

Rosie is owned by @sapphicwizzro

And Tadao is from @explosivoo ^w^

[draqo-pctter]

nostalgia // a dramione drabble

words: 562 / tags: angst, memories are liars, but love lasts forever

Hogsmeade sat mostly empty as Draco made his way down the cobblestone street with his hands in his pockets. Rain fell from the gray clouds above in a soft but persistent sheet, clinging to his clothes and filling his dragonhide boots. With each step he took toward the castle, memories of her jumped at him from behind buildings and beneath trees with faded red and orange leaves.

If asked, he would never admit that he’d only gone to France for a Potions Mastery to get as far away from their memory as possible. And he would lie for days about why he’d accepted a position teaching Potions at Hogwarts, refusing to acknowledge the way memories of late nights in the dungeons still clung to him like the rain.

Draco often managed to push thoughts of pressing Hermione against the side of the Three Broomsticks when they’d been little more than children to the back of his mind. But, sometimes, he couldn’t help but stare at the old stone wall and remember the way her back had arched against his touch and the way her curls got stuck on chips in the wall.

Or the time they’d stopped halfway across the bridge, forearms resting on the railing and shoulders pressed together. They’d spent hours like that – leaning, laughing, falling in love. Planning a future that would never come to fruition with all the ardor that came with being young.

Wet leaves and downtrodden weeds gave way beneath Draco’s feet as he approached the castle, and the courtyard where he’d first considered proposing. He’d been eighteen and smitten beyond belief, thinking that if he didn’t have Hermione, he didn’t want anyone else. Even the Quidditch pitch in the distance was haunted by the memory of her cheering him on during games their Eighth Year, his emerald green scarf woven with her burgundy one around her neck.

Inside the castle, the halls were quiet enough for him to hear the ghost of her laughter bouncing off the bricks and getting stuck behind tapestries. Whispered words and promises that burnt up in the torches on the walls, never to see the light of day. Hope that fizzled out and dissipated slowly, bit by bit, until it crept up on them with a certainty that ripped down any doubt that might have lingered.

Because, of course, Hogsmeade and the bridge and the courtyard didn’t want to remember the jealousy that rippled beneath both of their skins. The Quidditch pitch had forgotten the way Hermione grew frustrated with his return to everyone’s good graces, being stopped by witches and wizards alike on his way out of the locker room.

And the halls and their ever changing portraits had neglected to echo the sounds of their whispered arguments and the times Draco wondered if that would be the rest of his life – arguing with her over a comment someone made that she should have ignored, or fighting the urge to say things he knew would cut too deep to heal.

Nostalgia was a dirty liar that insisted things were better than they seemed. It was also the stuff his bones were made of, and the wind that ruffled his hair. It rested in his desk drawer, waited in the ingredients cabinet, and reared its ugly head every time Hermione’s carefully crafted smile graced the cover of the Daily Prophet.

[daughterofyourdarklord]

Scorpio is hurt, what’s your reaction?

It happened while she was at school. 

Delphini rushed home, of course, the only Third Year that they couldn’t stop from leaving the castle. She’d stormed into the Headmaster’s office in a flurry of emerald robes, eyes immediately on the large fireplace, strutting right past him and ignoring every word of protest the former Potions Master had to offer. She reached confidently for the floo powder, calling for Malfoy Manor. 

It was eerily quiet when she arrived. Delphini didn’t take a moment to ponder it, heeled boots hard against the ground as she made her way to her little cousin's room.

Distantly, she heard frantic voices as she cut down a large hallway, bolting up a set of stairs. 

Likely an urgent meeting of the Inner Circle. 

In any other circumstance she would’ve changed course, followed the voices and finessed her way into another one of the meetings her parents tried so hard to keep her out of. 

Not today. 

She veers around another bend, ignoring the chirping from the portraits lining the wall. At the end of the hall stands a head of long blonde hair. 

“Aunt Cissa!” She calls for her almost involuntarily. “Is he okay? What’s happened?” 

She falls into her aunt’s arms, trying to steady her with a strong hug before pulling away to look into her tearful eyes, hands still lingering on Narcissa's arms. 

Delphini listens as the story spills from her aunt's lips in the same way she watches it play out in her eyes. Once again grateful for her legilimency as it helps to fill the stressed induced holes in her aunt’s story. 

“Draco - if he hadn't gotten to him just in time..” Narcissa is once again nearing tears. “They cast a killing curse at him - at a five-year-old boy!”

Delphini turns from her, hand reaching for the doorknob. 

“No!” Narcissa pushes her back and Delphi has to fight to contain her blooming rage. “He’s resting - Draco and Astoria are with him! We need to let the mediwitch-” 

“You shouldn’t be here!” 

All forms of protest die on Delphini’s lips at that familiar shriek. 

She winces, turning just in time to witness Bellatrix Lestrange storming down the hallway. Lucius is hot on her heels and already reaching to console his wife. 

“I need to be. He’s family.” She answers through grit teeth as the pair reaches them. “You’re the one who always says we watch out for family." 

Her mother’s eyes narrow dangerously at that, reaching out to yank Delphini’s arm just as Lucius pulls Narcissa into his own. Bellatrix drags her halfway down the hall and Delphini knows at this point there's little room for protest. 

“I gave Snape explicit instructions not to let you leave that castle! We haven’t even caught all of the individuals involved - Scorpius wasn’t the only child that was attacked! They’re after all related children.”

All cause-related children, her mother means. Any child related to Death Eaters in particular, perhaps to a complicit ministry worker or other compliant witches and wizards. Any child who isn’t a direct member of the resistance movement, maybe. 

“Why must you insist on disobeying us?” Her mother’s words are a hiss and her tone heated but the look in her eye is worried.  

Delphini knows why. 

Knows that she has a steeper price on her head than any other Death Eater’s child. Knows that the resistance would rejoice in her death, the perpetrator wildly celebrated - hailed a hero. Knows that it just might be enough to cripple her mother.

“No one can hurt me.” She lies, unable to even look the witch in the eye as she says it. Bellatrix leans forward, firm hands that were just locked around her daughter's arm in anger find her face gently, lifting Delphini’s chin to force her gaze.

“You foolish little girl.” The older witch starts, pulling Delphi hard against her. “I will take you out of that school so fast.” It’s an almost empty threat, the pair of them liars. Still, Delphini reaches right back, arms locking tightly around her mother. At thirteen she’s still at least a head shorter than Bella, her mother’s chin rests atop her curls lightly.  

“Is he going to be okay?” She can’t find the strength to ask in anything louder than a whisper. It’s a heartbeat before Bellatrix answers:

“Of course.”

This time, she can’t tell whether or not her mother is lying. 

[syoevergreen36]

Chapter 1: A Dark Omen

In the heart of the sprawling Vaelorian forest, a world veiled by towering ancient trees and dappled sunlight, there nestled a remote village known as Lysandria. The village was a hidden gem, a place untouched by the hurried pace of modern civilization, where the ceaseless march of time seemed to slow and become one with the whispering leaves and babbling streams. It was a place where the mystical met the mundane, where magic and nature coexisted in a harmony as old as the world itself.

As the last rays of dusk kissed the treetops, Lysandria stirred to life with a serene, almost ethereal quality. Wooden cottages with thatched roofs and moss-covered stones seemed to grow with life, seamlessly integrated into the lush surroundings. Vibrant ivy clung to the walls, as if nature herself sought to reclaim what was once hers.

At the heart of this village, within a quaint, cozy cottage adorned with symbols of the natural world, lived a young woman named Syona Nightshade, or Syo, as she was affectionately known by the villagers. She was no ordinary resident; she was the last in a long and illustrious lineage of witches, bearing the weight of a name steeped in history and power.

The Nightshade bloodline was legendary, renowned throughout Vaeloria for its unique connection to the ebb and flow of the world's magic. From predicting the seasons with uncanny precision to mending the wounded and curing ailments that befell the villagers, the Nightshades were whispered of in reverent tones, their powers said to be as boundless as the forest that sheltered them.

Syo herself was a testament to the family's mystique. Her long, raven-black hair cascaded down her back in a wild, untamed mane, a stark contrast to her pale, porcelain skin. Her emerald eyes, the color of the canopy that stretched above her, held a profound depth, hinting at the wellspring of magic that flowed within her veins. At the moment, those eyes displayed a hint of unease, a flicker of doubt that danced beneath their depths. On this particular evening, as she emerged from her cottage, the world around her seemed to hold its breath. Her footsteps were light, barely disturbing the carpet of moss that blanketed the forest floor. 

She wore a cloak crafted from an ethereal silk  that let off a faint glow, it was more than just an heirloom, it was a mantle of responsibility, a symbol of the Nightshades' unique place in Vaeloria's history. The threads of the cloak held the echoes of spells cast by her ancestors, their collective wisdom and power woven into its very fabric, passed down through generations. Small runes, and other strange symbols marked the cloak. Each silken thread hummed with an ethereal resonance, as if whispering ancient secrets to those who would listen. Syo's fingers lightly traced the intricate patterns etched into the silk, feeling the vibrations resonate through her skin. The cloak had always been a source of comfort, a tangible connection to her lineage, but tonight, it felt like more than that. It felt like a conduit to something greater, a bridge to the mysteries of the world.

Syo's unease deepened as she ventured further into the forest, her senses attuned to the subtle shifts in the natural world around her. The tranquility of Lysandria remained unbroken, save for the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant hooting of an owl. Yet, something, an indefinable undercurrent, tugged at the edges of her consciousness, warning her of a change she couldn't quite grasp. The crescent moon still hung low in the sky, its silvery glow casting dappled shadows upon the forest floor. Lysandria lay bathed in the soft, silvery light, a portrait of serenity that belied the unease that coursed through Syo's veins.

Her thoughts invariably returned to the weighty prophecy that had shadowed her family for countless generations. It was said that the Nightshade bloodline held the key to the future of Vaeloria, a destiny that could either usher in a new era of prosperity or cast the world into darkness. The choice, the burden, rested squarely upon her shoulders. With a trembling hand, Syo traced the intricate patterns etched into her protective cloak. The threads of silk hummed with a haunting, melodic resonance—an echo of her ancestors' power, their unwavering dedication to preserving the balance between magic and nature.

She paused by a brook, its crystal-clear waters shimmering like liquid silver in the moonlight. Kneeling down, she cupped her hand, letting the coolness of the stream caress her fingers. In the ripples, she saw the reflection of her own uncertainty, mirrored back at her. The evening breeze rustled the leaves overhead, and a strange sensation settled in Syo's heart. It was as if the very air held its breath, waiting for an ominous revelation to unfold. Her emerald eyes narrowed, her senses on high alert. The forest was alive with ancient secrets, and they seemed to beckon her forward into a destiny she could neither predict nor turn away from.

 Beneath this celestial sentinel, the atmosphere was undeniably eerie, as if the very fabric of reality had been woven with threads of uncertainty. The forest, usually a sanctuary of serenity, held an unusual hush. Leaves rustled in the gentle breeze, their whispers carried away by the night. The branches of ancient trees, gnarled and wizened, stretched toward the heavens, reaching for the enigmatic light of the moon as if seeking solace in its silvery embrace. Yet, for all its beauty, the moon cast long, eerie shadows that seemed to dance to the rhythm of an unseen melody.

Standing beneath the moon's haunting glow, she felt the unease that hung in the air like an unspoken secret. Her emerald eyes, framed by the inky blackness of her hair, gazed upward with a mix of reverence and trepidation. The Nightshade lineage, her lineage, had long been the keepers of an ancient magic, the guardians of a profound connection between nature and the arcane. Tonight, that connection seemed to hum with an unusual intensity, like a chord struck in a forgotten melody. Syo's heart quickened as she scanned the forest around her. She was not alone in her unease, and the very elements themselves seemed to stir with a strange anticipation.

The forest seemed to sigh, leaves shivering in a breeze that carried the scent of ancient earth and wildflowers. It was a night unlike any other, and Syo knew that the tendrils of fate were closing in around her. The unease she felt was not unfounded; it was the tremor that precedes a seismic shift, a signal that her world was on the brink of transformation.

With a final glance at the crescent moon, her emerald eyes filled with a mixture of reverence and determination, Syo took a step forward. The shadows that danced around her whispered of secrets long hidden, and the protective cloak draped upon her shoulders seemed to pulse with anticipation.

In the heart of the woods, where the whispers of ancient trees met the gentle babble of a crystal-clear stream, there was a grove untouched by the passage of time. Here, amid a sacred circle of towering oaks, Syo found solace. The breeze that rustled through the leaves carried the wisdom of countless generations, and the very earth beneath her feet hummed with a connection that transcended mortal understanding.

Syo stood at the center of this sacred grove, the place where she had spent countless hours in communion with nature and the arcane. She felt the pulse of life all around her, from the delicate ferns that unfurled like emerald scrolls to the towering trees that whispered secrets in the wind. But tonight, a sense of unease gnawed at her, a premonition that the grove itself seemed to share.

The prophecy had haunted her family for generations, an enigmatic riddle passed down through the Nightshade lineage. It spoke of a chosen one, a guardian of the balance between magic and nature, destined to confront a great darkness that threatened to engulf the world. The words of the prophecy were etched into the annals of Nightshade history:

"When the crescent moon unveils its hidden face,

A child of Nightshade shall find her rightful place.

With power and purpose, she'll stand alone,

To shield the realm where magic and nature are sown."

Syo had grown up with these verses echoing in her ears, whispered by her parents, Alaric and Elowen Nightshade, renowned magical practitioners in their own right. Their names were synonymous with wisdom and power, respected not only in Lysandria but across the realms. The Nightshades had always been the keepers of the prophecy, the guardians of a delicate equilibrium between the mystical forces of magic and the organic rhythms of nature.

Alaric, tall and broad-shouldered, possessed an air of quiet authority. His eyes were deep pools of wisdom, and his hands, weathered from years of tending to the grove, held a gentle strength. He was a master of earth magic, able to coax life from the soil and mend the wounds of the land with his touch. His affinity for the natural world had earned him the title of "The Verdant Sage" among his peers.

Elowen, his beloved wife, was a luminary in the realm of elemental magic. Her grace and poise were matched only by her unwavering dedication to preserving the balance between magic and nature. With a flick of her fingers, she could call forth flames that danced like living entities or summon torrents of water to quench even the most voracious fires. She was known as "The Elemental Enchantress," and her mastery over the elements was unparalleled.

Together, Alaric and Elowen had been a formidable force, their love and magic intertwined like the very roots of the sacred grove. They had raised Syo with a profound reverence for the prophecy, instilling in her a deep understanding of the responsibility that came with their bloodline.

As Syo stood beneath the canopy of ancient oaks, she felt the weight of her lineage press upon her shoulders. She was the last of the Nightshades, the one fated to fulfill the prophecy and confront the looming darkness. The grove seemed to murmur in agreement, leaves trembling in a breeze laden with a sense of foreboding.

It was not just the prophecy that troubled her but a vision that had visited her dreams—a vision of a world shrouded in shadow, where the delicate harmony between magic and nature had been shattered. In that shadowed realm, a malevolent force known as the Shadowweaver sought to harness an ancient power buried deep within Vaeloria, a power that could either usher in a new era of prosperity or reduce the world to ashes. She had seen herself standing at the precipice of this world-altering choice, torn between her allegiance to magic and her bond with the natural world. The vision had left her with a profound sense of unease, a premonition that the threads of destiny were drawing her closer to a moment of reckoning.

[beautytreats]

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[blotgydja]

❛❛ OH, YOU KNOW ME. LIGHTING IS EVERYTHING. ❜❜ the words are punctuated by a knowing glance up at him through her dark lashes, a pointed look which to less experienced eyes might have appeared to be judgemental, but to those who have spent more than just a passing moment in glinda's presence know to be teasing. while her person bares no trace of a sleepless night, the mere mention of dawn allows some of her exhaustion to slip through. but the yawn that threatens its arrival is covered up with a nonchalant sigh, as if she's unhappy with his tie despite the meticulousness of her knot. she steals another glance at him, looking for shadows staining the pale skin under his eyes ─ a confirmation of sorts that he is still the fiyero she knows, hands tied by the same rope that encircle her wrists.

❛❛ seems like it. ❜❜ an airy chuckle just barely slips past her perfectly painted pink lips, as if she had forgotten to reign it in at the very last moment. a speckle of the true glinda, in between all the glitter and glamour. in the wicked witch's absence these parts of the good witch could only be seen in solitude, or in the prince's presence; like a ghostly specter hidden behind a curtain fluttering in the wind, there one moment & gone the next. ❛❛ last chance to drop out. ❜❜ she jokes, knowing he won't. ❛❛ though it would be a shame not to get our portraits done in these outfits. we look certifiably swankified! ❜❜

though her gaze remains pinned to the emerald fabric of his jacket as she adjusts the lapel with the kind of detailed precision she is incapable of dropping when it comes to fashion, fiyero's discomfort at being draped in shimmering emerald has not gone by unnoticed. as she wraps up her finishing touches, a suggestion slips forth, quiet so as to ensure only his ears will discern its meaning. ❛❛ you can think of it as her colour instead. ❜❜

[ 17. ] sender fixes receiver’s crooked tie, teasing, "nervous?" (glinda for fiyero!)

the sun has just risen, drenching the entire room in a gentle glow, and alighting glinda with the sort of iridescent shimmer that comes almost natural. fiyero has never met another person quite like her, who does whatever she can, whatever she wants, whatever she has set her mind to, and excels at it - even if it might cost her, or them, greatly, personally, emotionally. a young girl used to getting her way, she has grown into a woman he admires & respects, and in another world he would love her and this would be an honest promise, and not the sham they both know it to be.

but does the intention make the act any less true? he wonders silently, fretful as ever, and he allows her to step closer to him, touch him in a way he has always wanted to be touch ( just not by her, or by anyone he has ever met. it seems, luck should not be on his side in this one life ) reverent and oh so careful. she really is something else, his best friend in the world, and maybe the only friend he has ever really had. he does know it is not the same for her, that the gap between them is shaped by the absence of the wicked witch, who has never been wicked at all. not how they both remember her, anyway.

" a little, " he allows, and he has yet to get used to the emerald fabric he will spend the majority of his days in. it is at least no uniform, which might have been appropriate wedding attire if he was anything less than a prince. he might have a title now, but his parents have their own ideas. " you do not get married anysingle dawn, don't you? " he tries a smile for her, and leans in to press a gentle kiss to her cheek. she smells sweet and familiar, and is as stunning as ever.

with a single touch, he brushes a stray curl over her shoulder. " we are really doing this, aren't we? "

⋆ . · * ·✵ · ✹ · ✹ *  ↪ 𝐀 𝐘𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐖 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐄 . / open.