#slightly different spellings and structure aside

[mikurulucky]

So the French lyrics to the smurfs' little ditty in the movie came STRAIGHT from the comics. Well at least I can kinda parse what the small set of lyrics were now lol.

[a-hazbin-spider]

Angel’s brows furrowed, his thoughts telling him better than to let his bow rise as it stood. He was sure to give the care that he could, refraining from the touch that was to be taken as unwanted. If he’s anything like his boss, Papyrus could easily take one mistake and soon find a trail of them. Until Angel could safely say otherwise, he’d keep his head down as to avoid any disservice.

With his body curled, chest pressed to his legs, head essentially before his knees, most he was doing for a spell was listening. And while relief is microdosed via a bunch of stammering, it also brings forth considerable confusion. And a bit of worry for a different reason. “Your… body structure?” Slowly he moves from his position, rising just slightly, awkwardly. His eyes start to take an observant gaze over limbs, bones, fur, skin- checking for anything wrong. Bruising, injury- anything like that. Aside from the recent, he might even say the other man was in better shape than he was. His boss often kept him… trim, to put it nicely. He’s scrawny, and never without- well, what people often have deemed to be feminine traits. He usually would also rather die than admit to any of his physical flaws- setbacks if you will. But of course his mind would try looking for such things!

His brain wasn’t helping him out much, he was trying to figure out what was wrong. Only this focus made him very visibly flinch over movement. Eyes squeezing shut, bracing for impact. But nothing like that comes. The other man has a gentle hand, one that made him let out a breath he wasn’t even aware he’d been holding. “You… you don’t gotta apologize. I’m s’posed t’be here t’make ya feel good. Guess I didn’t try’n expose nothin’. Is there somethin’ that’d make it- I dunno, better?” He fishes for words, wringing his hands as if it’d help.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen.”

@the-lord-of-letters

“When you say shit like that, almost makes me think you’s a married man. Or maybe that you forgot protection~.” What an ass, though, he doesn’t appear to be worried by those words. Maybe he should be though, maybe it wasn’t so much him, as it was the man he knew quite a bit more about.

[baneschadenfreude]

Well played Master Aaron, well played 🤦

On that note, this also gave me a little thought about our master wizards' staffs! This may already be obvious to many in the fandom but might as well dwell into it none the less.

This is about how the staffs aren't only are a great tool / extension for a wizard's magic but how it's appearances and capabilities also represent and reflect the wielder's creativity, personality and level of mastery of their Magic.

Let's being with Merlin Ambrosius:

His staff if called the staff of Avalon. It's handle seems to share the same metal that made up most of Merlin's armor albeit in a darker shade and somewhat have matching intricate accents and pattern much like said armor along with it's respective handle and knuckle guard. On the very top, sits a fairly sized Emerald crystal which I think reflects his over-all image as a wizard. Emerald crystals represent intuition, great focus and enhanced foresight which we all know are one of Merlin's key traits. What makes Merlin's staff different from his pupils' is how he wields it. As a -for the lack of a better word- "by the book" kind of Wizard, Merlin cannot (perhaps to his preference) dematerialize his staff like Douxie's and cannot retract like Morgana's and is always seen carrying it physically resulting in minor hindrances similar to when he lost his staff to Gunmar in troll hunters and when he dropped it when the Arcane Order attacked Camelot and only got it back with the help of Arch. This shows that he does not have the capability to summon his staff at will. This implies it's either he designed his staff that way because he believes that he has no need of additional capabilities aside from it being a helpful tool in spell casting or that because of how he perceives magic and his life philosophy as a wizerd reflected how far he can "costumize" his staff. His staff also -in a way- reflects his methods of manifesting magic and that is from his key traits. Unlike emotion intuition, knowledge and keen foresight is a great substitute for magic. A wizard can also harvest power and energy from one's own intentions so long as they mean it and need it and this is perhaps where Merlin generated his magic from and I think we can agree that Merlin barely relied on emotions and instead direct his goal of using magic to his knowledge as a means to succeed in any given obstacle.

Next is Morgana le fay:

Her staff is by far the easiest to decipher. Morgana's staff is called Skath Rhün. As you may have noticed, it's structure resembles that of dragon scales or a texture similar to one of stone. It has no crystal anywhere attached to it and is the only staff known to change its color depending on the wielder's emotions when using it as well as it's ability to conviniently retract at will . The reason to all these features is because of WHO Morgana is. Since Morgana was reintroduced to us in Wizards, we came to understand that Morgana cared for the troll kind and other magical creatures that Arthur had banished out of spite. She also had a natural talent for sorcery and spell casting along with the gift of shadowmancy which further solidifies her strong bond with magic. My personal take of why her staff does not bear a crystal is because of the kind of magic she gravitates to: shadowmancy. Crystals are supposed to represent a wizard's key values and traits in order to manifest magic. Morgana's key to manifesting magic, however is slightly different. Just like what Douxie had once said "magic IS emotion." This was brought up when he was teaching Clair how to use magic without the need of a staff and what magic was Douxie teaching Clair? shadowmancy. Meaning this kind of magic required much more than just ingredients and incantations. It requires emotions. Now how does this tie up to Morgan's lack of crystals on her staff? Because emotion is not a tangible trait. Unlike Merlin's key traits, emotions cannot be contained nor controlled. Only redirected; Emotions consume you, they pull the strings to which you cannot control. However, you can bend it to a direction where it benefits you (but not without cost). Intuition and the ability of foresight are traits that one developes overtime. Emotion is something that come with you the moment you are born which would corelate to why her staff changes color depending on the wielder's emotions. On another note, Morgana is not as different as Merlin in terms of carrying her staff. Unlike Merlin's her staff retracts at will and can be summoned with the encantation "azazazuth khenek thün" which proved to be convenient at times. But like Merlin's case it isn't as convinient given that not only did Morgana lose her staff at some point, Angor Rot and Clair did as well at times because it still retains a physical form.

And lastly Hisirdoux Casperan:

Douxie's staff is THE most unique one I have came across so far from the show🖤 where do I begin!? Okay to start, Hisirdoux's staff is called Spellcaster guitar (appropriately so) and appears to be made of black Iron as a handle with it's respective handle and knuckle guard (foreshadowing Merlin's staff?) along with sky- blue accents and a gold-ish plate on the top that closely resembles his eyes. He can dematerialize and rematerialize it from his magic cuff at will as well as transmute it as a guitar (hence it's name?) and within the hoop of the staff sits his respective crystal. I honestly had a hard time figuring out which cristal it was but then decided on it being a sapphire (You'll know why). Another key feature to his staff is it's ability to stand or levitate in of itself as well as it's ability to return to it's owner without the need of any sort of encantation. Douxie's staffmanship is indeed a very unique one at that and it rightfully reflects him as a whole character. Starting with the reason why I settled for sapphire as Douxie's respective crystal. It's because one: it looks close to what a Sapphire would look like and two: because it's meaning closely resembles himself and his key traits to generate his magic. The Sapphire symbolizes Psychic awareness, Insight, wisdom, Self-discipline and focus which perfectly portrayed Douxie's development for the past 900 years and in addition with the time jump incident. (the scene where Merlin instructed him to feel the stone that called for him was a momentous event for me since it works the same with ACTUAL Witchcraft. When we chose an item to represent our whole being to stand as our extensions for certain spells, we don't just pick in random, we feel which items felt the most compelling, and it goes the same to which crystals/gem stones we use in a craft. Here, Douxie did the same and might be as well for both Merlin and Morgana.) These key traits are what drives Douxie to manifest his magic; It's the core anchor to where he harvests his magic. The next is when his staff's transmutation as a guitar. This one is where I was very proud of him for. His master told him to channel himself to his staff and make it an extension of his own and transmuting it into a guitar was just beautiful! For me, the reason why he chose to turn his staff into a guitar of all things instead of it being an ACTUAL weapon is because he knows he doesn't have to follow the rules to win. He formed his own rules to benefit him in a particular situation with comfort and to give himself somewhat a form of incentive to maximize the efficiency of his performance. It's similar to how even if your sneakers are very worn out, they still provide you comfort and that's enough, compared to a new pair of shoes where you'd be a victim of blisters 😱. This alone proved that Douxie put Merlin's lessons to heart but at the same time utilizes his own creativity with it in order to make "unexpected possiblities". Sounds a lot like what Douxie would do no? Lastly, the feature where his staff materializes at will simply shows how advanced and we'll explored Douxie is with his magic, showing that Duxie's staff- stowing is far better and convinient compared to Merlin and Morgana's staff portability. In addition, it's unlikely that he'd lose his staff in a battle because it comes back to him like a boomerang. And all the better, it's feature to levitate whilst Douxie performs a spell adds to its convenience given that he performs spells mostly with the use of mudras and hand gestures. Over all, I love how his staff adapts to suit its owner's needs and it just makes Douxie and his staffmanship very fun to analyze!

And with this comes a conclusion: with how each wizard wield their staffs, it shows how

(Merlin): when one keeps themselves stagnant to a belief or practice and doesn't acknowledge it's evolution, they will surely remain in the dark, no matter how enlightened they may be.

(Morgana): it is not wrong to let emotions seep out. However, it is a sign of weakness when one allows it to manipulate them.

(Douxie): balance is key to succeed. Use the bones of ancient knowledge to build one's structure of growth whilst embracing the newness of innovation and evolution to the path to maturity!

And that's about it.... I hope I got my point through BUT! keep in mind that these are just the thoughts of what I personally think of them and their relation to each of their respective staffs but I hope you enjoy it.🖤

[ainarosewood]

Ruminate

FFXIVWrite2021 Day 7 Prompt Speculate

Raha found himself pacing restlessly across the floor of the Umbilicus, his mind racing. The Miqo’te had found this room to be the best suited as a central focus to work the Towers systems. So far the first part of the plan worked: the Sycrus Tower had successfully crossed the rift and made it to the First. Albeit a hundred years earlier than expected but the Ironworks Engineers had said that their calculations were rough at best given that such a trip had never before been thought of much less achieved.

I may be early but that does afford me some time, he told himself, Time to figure out how in Seven Hells I am going to bring the Warrior of Light here?

He had already determined, thanks to the refugees that had come to him, that the key in banishing the Light was slaying the Light Wardens. He also suspected that their influence was akin to a Primals and therefore the Echo would protect Rhel’a from its corrupting influence. At least he hoped it would. All that remained was figuring out how to pull the Keeper here to the First.

In theory I could use the Tower again to jump to the precise time before the release of the Black Rose he thought but...no that wouldn't work because I cannot guarantee that such a jump could be the exact time giving the variance that has been detected.

“Perhaps I could use the Towers capabilities of travel in some other manner,” he murmured

The question was how? That he could reach Rhel across the rift with the Towers temporal engine he did not doubt but the question was how could he then pull the Miqo’te across the rift at all much less safely.

Raha stopped pacing and flopped down pulling one of the many books he had piled here in the Umbilicus hoping one might give him some spark of inspiration. He felt a pang of grief as he realized that the one he had picked up was one of Rhel’s journals from his travels. Even with this remarkable endeavor leading him to travel well beyond anywhere he had dreamed would be a thing it was still a hard thing to accept that the gentle Keeper was gone.

Shaking his head and shoving down his grief he opened the journal knowing full well that the other Miqo’te’s travels had been vast and maybe just maybe his spark could come from something recorded from them. He began reading one of the passages,

I cannot deny the relief I felt as I saw her appear from that burst of aether. The Seedseer’s and I felt a great sense of triumph that we had managed to have the Elementals recognize her and manage to pull her from the Lifestream. I almost wept with joy as I looked upon Shtola’s prone form. She was alive, she hadn’t given her life to buy me time to escape. Hopefully soon the others could be located as well.

Raha stopped flipping back a few pages to get the full of the information involved with this particular passage,

I can scarcely believe we may have some information on what happened to one of the Scions. It seems that Y’shtola managed to escape from the waterway beneath Ul’dah by means of a spell known as Flow. I had to get Urianger to explain to me exactly what that entailed for I had never heard of it. It was the precursor to the Teleportation spell that is in current use. A far more dangerous one. He seems convinced that she survived its use but is now trapped in the twisting vortex of the Lifestream. But in that there is hope, it seems her aetheric trail led to the Shroud and the Elementals could in theory help us, I hope.

“Flow,” Raha mused, “Hmm, no not it by itself that is too unpredictable. Maybe….portions of it combined with Teleport. But that would require some sort of beacon….”

His ears shot straight up; he had the beacon right here, the Tower itself. The entire thing was a conduit for massive amounts of aether. In theory the Auracite of the Tower could be considered another form of crystal not unlike an Aetheryte.

“But he’d have to attune….wait no he wouldn't.” Excitement began to fill Raha; he may at last be coming up with some form of solution to getting Rhel’a to the First.

The Sycrus Tower had, back in the height of Allag, not only been a beacon that transmitted vast amounts of energy gathered from the sun to the rest of the Empire but also a restricted research facility, one of the most restricted. Therefore anyone entering the Tower would be recorded and documented by the internal systems.

“Not to mention he fought several battles here which means his blood was spilled on parts of the Tower and his aetheric use would have been detected….”

Which meant in theory Rhel’a was already ‘attuned’ to the Tower’s crystal. The internal systems would easily identify and recognize the man’s aetheric and physical signature. Which meant a beacon for the spell to find.

“Now comes the fun part,” the Seeker told himself ruefully, “Forming the spell.”

Setting aside the journal he began digging though the mountain of books he had there in the Umbilicus grateful that he and the Ironworks crew had the forethought to take as many books as could be found on many different subjects. And rejoicing in the fact that thanks to Urangier’s cleverness the wards on the Waking Sands had hidden the place from looters and all of the Scions records and copies from the Sharlyan library had remained there intact. He had of course brought all of those back to the Tower with him and in turn to the First.

He gathered as many books as possible that he had on aetherology and spell work. He had never really been one to use magic much and to be honest had it not been for Krile’s nagging he never really would have tried to get so much as a base knowledge of it.

But, now he was eternally grateful to the Lalafell for her stubbornness and insistence. Had she not been he never would have dared attempting to make much less combine spells for any reason.

Frowning for a moment he also realized that just Teleport and Flow alone may not be enough of a basis to attempt such. He began going through more of the Scion’s old trove of books and realized another piece of the puzzle that might help. The information on how the beastribes summoned their Primals.

“It could be said I am summoning Rhel….” he stated softly, “But in a slightly different manner. I could probably use some of the base structure of a summons with elements of both Flow and Teleport woven in somewhere…”

His voice trailed off as he sat down and began studying all that he had grabbed. This was going to by far be one of the most complex things he had ever attempted. 

 Raha first began brushing up on Aetherology and Magic use in general knowing that his half remembered, cursory knowledge would not be enough to attempt a feat such as this.

“If only you could see me now Krile,” he said sadly, “You would be standing there with that knowing smirk reminding me that you were right all along.”

He regretted not listening more intently to her lectures, it would have made this easier. But he had been a half cocked fool that thought he knew it all and didn't need what would be considered trivial in his opinion.

“And yet I should have known better. After all, all of Allag’s technology was infused with magic in various ways. Hmm I will also have to somehow tie the spell into the workings of the temporal engine….best look at some of the engineering manuals as well….”

He also realized that he would need vast quantities of aether to even attempt this. Which meant he would also have to recalibrate the Tower’s Aetheric Absorption systems. Due to the Lights dominance the aether from the sun would be too feeble to actually call upon.

But, I could reset the Tower to absorb the ambient Light aspected aether that surrounds us in abundance and potentially aid in defending the Tower and the surrounding settlement along with the barriers. If the Light’s influence is weaker it might just help cause trouble for the Eaters and give the Tower ample supplies of energy.

He had a lot of work ahead of him. Attempting to create something he had no way of knowing would even work. But he was not about to let that stop him. He had already known he had an example to look to. One that often made the impossible possible. A man who never gave up no matter how hard the road was.

“And I will save you old friend,” Raha murmured, “Even if it is the last thing I do. For those who sent me here, for those who lamented your loss. For your sake and theirs I will stop the Eight Umbral Calamity.”

[domjaehyun]

Big questions here. You don't have to answer them but if you do thanks I'm just curious as a writer myself. Do you edit the grammar and spelling of your writings during the writing process or afterwards? And do you use a specific website e.g. Grammarly to help with any corrections you've missed? Do you write up your writings in tumblr drafts, word, or something like that? And when you have new ideas for writings do you note them down, start up a quick draft or how do you remember new ideas?

omg no you’re totally fine i actually. really genuinely love being asked about my writing process and habits it’s so fun to me !!!! okay i feel chatty so this got rly long apologies 😭😭😭 i tried to bold keywords from your questions so you could pick out my answers more easily :D

ngl my grammar and spelling is like. pretty damn good like any mistakes i ever catch in my stories are never genuine spelling errors theyre literally just typos 😭 and as for grammar, the grammar issues i ever ever find are birthed from like. inconsistency w the preexisting sentence structure djfjsjfj bc i always always always reread and edit while i’m writing especially when i’m starting out w the fic, but the longer it gets, the more exhausting it becomes to reread the whole thing sjfkdkdkd

also sometimes i’ll stop writing a fic mid sentence that’s semi-long and when i come back, i just pick up from where i left off without. rereading the sentence 😖😖😖 whenever i reread my like published works and catch mistakes just know i thought about putting my head directly through a wall 😭😭😭

so!! i do edit it obsessively during, i proofread it after i’m done (even though i’m usually exhausted and honestly sick of the story at that point) and then i send it to a friend or multiple friends so they can beta it for me, then i make any changes as i see fit, proofread it on my own AGAIN usually very lazily, then i’m like “i cant bear to look at you anymore” and i just post it sjjjdkddj

i don’t use any sort of online tools to “help” me write apart from google docs and the built in suggestion feature they have! i hate grammarly, actually skfjskdkd it doesn’t know half as much as it thinks it does and its software fucked up so often when i used it that i was just like. “what the fuck are you talking about.” also, i think that in very specific occasions, general sentence rules can be slightly subverted in order to achieve some sort of goal, and i enjoy doing that from time to time, so it got annoying when grammarly was like being dumb or that hemingway website said shit like “this sentence is rly long and complex” like….yeah. i know. i did that on purpose.

i will never in my life trust tumblr to host any drafts of my work. never. ever. ….ever. i either make a google docs draft or a notes draft for like. actual longer ideas like scenes and more plotting and stuff!! if it’s a small little idea and i have a bunch for some reason, occasionally i’ll write the ideas down physically either onto paper or w my apple pencil onto my note taking app on my ipad sjfjskkd !!

but yeah tbh i was just talking to nova abt this the other day bc we were talking abt wips and our storage of them and. when i was trying to count how many wips i even have, i had to search in like. 3 different apps (technically 4 but that’s bc i already have lists on here in my drafts that i have elsewhere but it’s easier to find them here shfjsj) in different documents until i rounded up all the lil ideas like stray sheep 😭😭😭 so hopefully soon i can set aside time to sit down and compile every single wip, at least the idea and where i have more info stored, into one single google doc for my convenience !!!!

BUT YEAH THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ASKING OMG I LOVE LOVE LOVE QUESTIONS LIKE THESE 🥺🥺🥺 if you or anyone else has any more writing process questions, totally feel free to ask!!!!

[pollenat]

“Nocturnal silence” | cjs.

➛ ITZY’s Lia. 2012!au.

➛ Word count: 1854.

➛ This short follows the events of “Liquid mirrors”.

The worst part about the overcrowded cabin has to be the snoring woman. The very same one that just a few hours ago complained about the lack of fresh brussels sprouts on a ship - the last ark of humanity after the end of the world. Humankind has gone mostly extinct, and she had the guts to be angry at frozen greens. Looking at her through half-closed lids, you’re itching to throw a pillow at the woman. Nothing can stop her from going on, like an old tractor, choking on its own engine every now and then. The very pillow you’re trying to deafen the noises with, does nothing to your sensitive ears. You’re growing more and more irritated with each passing second.

Others seem to not mind. You look down, at the bunk underneath yours, where a mother with her son are sound asleep. The boy has kicked thin blanket off of his body, as if to prove how much space he can take. His mother is lying on the very edge, somehow calm despite her tragic situation. A man, lying above the snoring woman, has earplugs. Lucky asshole.

Your body thrashes around for an hour or so. At least it feels like it. The duvet is in desperate need of changing, but who cares about laundry during the apocalypse? You’re all sticky from sweat, annoyed by incoming headache and ready to commit a murder, which is just a figure of speech, don’t worry. The fact that nobody else is as affected by the snoring? A perfect way to drive you insane.

At some point you can’t take it anymore - the night feels useless. You miss the rays of sunshine, the sign of life, the reason to stay away from the cabin. Tonight, just like many times before, you jump off of bed, barely avoiding the snoring woman’s husband. He has made himself a sleeping station on the ground. You wonder is he really asleep or just way more patient than you. Either way, you don’t plan on staying around a second longer. As soon as the door closes, you’re welcomed by sweet silence. It’s an odd contrast to the loud snoring. Its lack has you almost creeped out.

The floor is cold under your naked feet. To the point where you can’t touch it for longer than a few seconds. Jumping from one foot to another, you look down the dark hallway. Its only source of light are small windows in the cabins’ doors. Circle-shaped rays fall on walls, like headlights, showing you the way across narrow scene.

Nobody will mind you getting lost in the ship’s hallways, right? You’re just another survivor, struggling to find their place aboard the ark. There are no perspectives. Exploring it seems to be the most compelling thing one could busy themselves with. So you travel down the scene, stepping inside the circles of light and looking inside the cabins as you pass. There’s no other soul up. Everybody is sleeping. It’s sort of weird and you wonder whether it’s just a dream you’re stuck in. How come you’re the only one unable to fall asleep?

Humming some tune you faintly remember makes the night feel more bearable. You’re tired of the crowded spaces, of eyes settling on you, even if they’re just traveling. They’re a tiresome phenomenon that does nothing, but fuel your anxiety. The worst part? Aside from the night, there’s nowhere to escape. All-ocean has made sure of that.

Step by step, you move forward, never putting a foot down for longer than two seconds. You’ve already observed that, but now it reminds you of the past. The tiled floor of your balcony during Winter. Dusting used duvets while cursing at temperature. Welcoming the texture of a carpet with relief. Digging your toes into the fluff. It’s weird to miss carpets in the middle of the night, but you do. Their last reminder is the one snoring woman’s husband uses as his mattress, an object completely out of your reach. What interior designer forgot about additional carpets onboard a luxury ship?

In front of you a door opens. Some silhouettes leave their cabin in hurry. Hushed giggles resonate down the hallway. You can neither make out a sense to their conversation nor put faces to dark shapes. But they do sound familiar. The silhouettes disappear behind a corner in the hallway’s other end.

Heart beating fast, your steps speed up. A thought, string of memories, collection of pictures swims in the back of your head. Common sense is the only thing keeping you from describing them. Number 203 is meaningful, though it’s just a number.

You’re just by the door when it opens again.

“Oh!” Jisoo. Jisoo? Jisoo! “You scared me!” She laughs, eyes morphing into crescent moons. But as soon as her voice raises in volume, Jisoo covers her mouth, worried she will wake up other residents.

“I see there are more night owls around the ship?” You motion at where the two silhouettes, you can now safely identify, disappeared.

The girl looks in the same direction. Her eyes stay there for a longer time, while you watch her profile. Perhaps (you won’t admit it), you should be thanking the snoring woman for a chance to see Jisoo at a different time. Her hair is disheveled, but the little mess is a beautiful one. Eyes glossy, lips dry, t-shirt creased. She’s a painting you enjoy watching. Even when her smile disappears as she returns to facing you.

You grow nervous instantly, because the mood shifts and you slightly prefer the easy-going Jisoo to solemn and serious Jisoo. The easy-going one loves joking, which is much better, as it consists mostly of laughing at yourself and your inability to form proper sentences.

“Uh, yes. I don’t know why Ryujin and Yuna left though. They didn’t tell me. Probably to spy on Yeji.” Pause. “Or something...”

“So, are you going to follow them?” Jisoo seems to consider your question.

Then she steers the conversation to your person.

“I don’t know- Why are you up? Came to spy on Yeji too?”

“As if it has ever bothered me what's Yeji doing at night. I have my own problems, mainly, a snoring roommate.”

Jisoo nods her head in understanding, mouth opened to build on the effect. You’re stuck in nocturnal silence, both scared to break it. Frankly, you don’t even have any idea where to go from here. Maybe you should just return to exploring the ship, but then again, it’s not everyday that you catch Jisoo alone.

“I’ve been walking around, you know, exploring.”

Again, she nods.

“So you’re looking for some place to rest?”

“In a way, yes. Do you happen to know any?” She smiles.

“Actually, I do.”

You’re surprised by her boldness. Jisoo lies down on her bed and you’re watching her with an awkward surprise.

“Don’t make it weird, I’m just sharing a bed with you. Okay, perhaps it does sound weird. But we’re just going to sleep, not- do anything weird? Okay, ignore me. I don’t know what I’m talking about.” To be honest, her joke doesn’t make you feel any better about the situation.

After a defeated sigh, you walk over to the bed, eyes never once meeting hers. Jisoo holds the edge of her duvet. She’s patiently waiting until your stiff posture joins her side. Then she slowly follows your lead.

The first thing you register is the smell - Jisoo’s smell. It’s an overwhelming sensations you’re eager to breathe in after many attempts at small doses. Now that you can experience it in its full form, you can safely say it’s bound to become one of your favorite sensations. It causes you excitement, one that you’re embarrassed to show. Maybe she will call you a creep if you don’t stop yourself from smiling? Suddenly worried, you look for other things to focus on. Like the coldness of her skin against your left hand’s knuckles. Frankly, it’s stuck. The bed is meant for one person and you can’t just sprawl across its surface.

A moment of hesitation passes. Then you turn to lie on your side, facing Jisoo.

At first you’re both stuck in shy silence. Jisoo’s looking down, perhaps thinking over something. But you don’t plan on disturbing her. It’s as if you’ve forgotten your tongue - you can’t even feel it. The darkness is all-consuming and you wish to stay hidden in its embrace, so Jisoo never learns of how hard it is for you to say a word, but also look away.

“So.”

Her eyes, so hesitant to meet yours, finally reach them. She’s surprised to find you staring back.

“How bad is it?”

“Bad?”

“Yeah, how bad is lying next to me on a bed?” Dark eyes pull away to avoid you.

Your brain orders you to be smooth. “It’s not bad.” isn’t the type of smooth you had in mind.

“But not good either? Ah, forget I said anything-” Jisoo laughs nervously through clenched teeth. “I’m just nervous. Because I made you come here with me! That’s why I’m nervous.”

“Jisoo,” The silence returns. “you don’t have to be nervous around me. I know, my magnetic personality and good looks are to die for,” She snickers in disbelief at your words. “but I’d rather you felt comfortable around me. Which doesn’t mean our current bed situation- I mean, I don’t mind it.”

There’s a blunt taste on your tongue. As if you have just finished your entry for a spelling bee and were in dire need of some water. Some actually meaning a lot.

“Do you think your roommates will make fun of us?”

“Definitely.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Silence.

“Um-” She dares a look into your eyes before dropping them again. “Let’s go to bed then, hm?”

You don’t think you’ll be able to fall asleep next to her. At least not with the possibility of seeing her face at the cost of merely opening your eyes. Jisoo seems to have the same idea. Her turning around causes a way too powerful sting somewhere in your abdomen. Before you know it, instead of her soft face structure, you’re looking at void-like black of her hair.

Your left hand sticks to your chest, but what about the right one? Keeping it on your thigh feels tiring. Placing it on Jisoo’s side? Too wonderful and too dangerous. Even if you’re itching to offer yourself, you cannot imagine the amount of courage it would demand from you. Instead, you rest it in the hold of your left hand. That way, perhaps, it will be stopped before any unconscious action takes place.

For a moment, you wonder, would she mind? Still, it’s a question you have no answers for. You also have no idea what will happen in the morning. How will the girls react? What will Jisoo do? How will you feel in the morning and will your left hand let go because of that damn itching...

Perhaps, the snoring woman is weaker than your true enemy - your vivid imagination.

“Goodnight Jisoo.”

“Goodnight.”

➛ pollenat’s list of headcanons

➛ pollenat’s list of shorts

➛ pollenat’s list of scenarios

[httpjeon]

❝book of beasts: from the ashes❞ myg― m.

— summary: you perform a spell to meet your familiar; what you don’t expect is a centuries-old phoenix to be the one attached to your soul.

phoenix!yoongi/witch!reader | mythical shifter!au | fluff, smut, angst | 12k ↬ content warnings: reincarnation, soulmates, character death, corpses, murder, violent, mentions of black market slavery, blood, knives, loss of virginity, virgin kink if you squint, fingering, dirty talk, rough sex, yoongi pushes you, light argument, regrets, crying, witch-hunting

a/n: finally, another fic for this series is out! it took me ages but i did enjoy this yoongi!

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Ever since you were a child, there had always been stories of reincarnation and soulmates being told around you. There was even an elderly lady in your village who could recall her past life with startling clarity.

It had always been a wonder to you, if you also had a past life and someone who you were destined to be with. As far as you knew, you couldn't remember anything other than your current life. Nothing had ever stood out to you with strange deja vu that many reincarnates would speak of feeling.

You had learned magic as a child, discovering that even though you weren't born a witch, you still had a natural affinity to the craft. When your parents died and your village eventually lost economic value, you decided to travel in order to find more knowledge of the world.

However, the world outside of your quaint little village you were born in was harsh and unforgiving in your status as a taught witch. Numerous towns outright rejected your presence, not accepting anyone except a pure-witch. It saddened you, to be told to leave as if you were a plague and receiving vicious glares and cruel whispers behind your back.

You supposed there was good reason; after the genocide against their kind many, many years ago — they were wary of outsiders in their close-knit communities.

You began to wonder if you'd ever find a place to settle down and call your home, you had turned 18 and you knew it was time to find a place to live.

Just as you began to give up on the idea of being able to live among witches, you came across Caelfall.

The sign leading to the town made your heart ache with nostalgia. You just couldn't describe it but it felt like you'd been walking through this very place before.

You were thrilled when you managed to snag a little shack on the outskirts to the town fit with a little personal garden that was in dire need of a good weeding. But it was definitely a good place to grow nightshade and various ingredients instead of having to buy them from the market. The place was a bit of a walk from the market anyway so growing common and easy things would definitely be a good idea.

Your good feeling of finally having a home was quickly vanquished when you realized the people of Caelfall were not as happy to have you in their midst. With a population of mostly elder witches, they stuck to the ideal that those who learned magic were not to be trusted; whether they believed you were a threat or simply foul in your learned status, you didn't know.

The first frustrating act committed upon you was when you arrived in the town's Apothecary to see what type of things you had to look at. An elder witch named Agnes was standing there, smiling but the second she saw your face that smile turned into a glare that you swear sent your soul six feet under. You powered through, offering a smile only to receive nothing in return before you looked at the various ingredients and premade potions that decorated the little shop.

When you attempted to purchase a packet of nightshade seeds, she had charged you twice as much as the price tag said. When you spoke up about it, she told you to either pay the price or you got nothing and you nearly left over it. However, a young girl with startling red hair about your age came from the back of the store, calling in a scolding tone "Mother! That's not fair!"

You were shocked when the young lady shooed her mother back to where she had originally come from. She apologized on her mother's behalf saying "Her mind and opinions are still stuck in that of when she was a child, that'll be 10 Silver for those seeds!"

And that was how you got your seeds for the right price and managed to start your little garden.

Your next run-in with Agnes was when you wanted to sell your nightshade to her but she tried to jip you by paying only half of what you knew you should have gotten. As a result, you had to go to the market to sell your goods.

The market had various stalls with people selling, buying, and trading; most of the people were outsiders who would come and go over time.

It was at one of these stalls that you met a girl by the name of Calypso who had paid you very fairly. She also happened to be selling various wares which led you to coming across a Spell Book.

When you looked through the pages, you were incredibly excited to see so many spells that you had never gotten the chance to learn or even seen before.

"How much?" You asked, making Calypso smile at your excitement.

"130 Silver originally but I'll give it to you for 100,"

"I can get that money up in a few months will you be here?" You questioned.

"A few months, I'll even put it aside for you and save it for you, okay?"

She was a godsend, truly.

And you were true to your word, managing to get the book in 3 months as you sold as many things in the market as you could possibly manage.

Though constantly working and going back and forth between the market was exhausting, it was worth it in the end.

The pure exhilaration and excitement you felt as you were finally sitting at your potions table with the beautiful, intricate leather-bound book sitting in front of you was palpable.

There was one spell among the hundreds that the book possessed that you just knew you had to perform. It was a deep-seeded need that you felt you must do it, almost as if your very soul was commanding that you do it.

The one spell that everyone knew learned-witches just couldn't successfully cast. It was something only those born as a witch could perform because they're the only ones who could possibly possess one.

The Familiar Spell.

There was something you just couldn't shake that told you you had to perform it, you had to find the end result. There was something at the end of this tunnel that you needed to see or discover. You would learn something about yourself in the process, you were sure.

The spell called for Nightshade of any color, Eye of Newt and a simple few Slips of Yew. The only ingredient that would be hard to procure at the moment would be the Yew.

The plant tended to fetch a high price so you had sold what you had to get the 100 Silver to afford the book.

This meant that you would have to venture into the forest to locate what you could find. Ingredients were usually readily found growing in the land surrounding where witches lived; it's why they settled in their particular villages.

The air was chilly and there was a slight breeze as you ventured into the forest. You held your worn wicker basket in your hands, your fingers beginning to burn as they were exposed more and more to the cool air. Sniffling, you followed down an overgrown path and you briefly wondered how long it had been since a witch actually had to come and fetch her own ingredients.

With the economy of the country booming, ingredients and things of that sort were increasingly easy to come by. Even peddlers from other lands would come to sell which ultimately made having to hunt through the forests on your own completely useless. You should count yourself lucky since that merely meant things would be very easy to procure in your predicament.

"Ah there," You muttered, your voice being drowned out by a slightly stronger gust of wind. Perhaps a storm was beginning to roll in.

Either way, the Yew was in your sights and you rushed up to collect what you needed. However, just as you began to sift through the green to gather berries, something caught your attention.

Standing behind the tree, hidden in vines and moss and covered by tall trees surrounding it was a structure. The walls were gray and a large archway stood, though cracked and partially crumbling away, as the entrance to it.

It was some type of ancient shrine.

Unable to keep your curiosity at bay, you stumbled your way through the brush and squeezed past trees until you were standing just before the entrance to the shrine. As you stood there, the hairs on your arms began to stand up and there was undeniable heat coming from within the building. It wasn't just hot, it was pure electrically charged.

The entire building was infused with magic. Magic that had even your own magic bubbling and sparking from within, and you weren't even a pure blood. 

This shrine was built by a witch — a powerful witch at that.

The whole place seemed to emit a vibrant purple glow; and you could see the faint magic markings of sigils casted into the stone of the building.

Clutching your basket tighter, you stepped up to the doors; they were simple wood but had engravings carved all along them. The doorknob was burning hot to the touch but for some reason, it didn't hurt though it felt like it should have. Perhaps it was a ward of some sort to keep non-witches from entering.

The door creaked loudly enough to make you flinch when you opened it, and you had to hold your breath at the gust of dust that invaded your throat. You doubled over, choking and coughing as your basket toppled to the floor and spilled your ingredients all over the floor with it.

The magic and energy in the air was palpable and as your coughing died down, you opened your eyes to see a completely different scene than what you had walked in on.

Instead of cobwebs and dust hanging in the air, everything was clear and even it seemed sunlight was now filtering through the windows. The walls were awash with beautiful purple instead of murky gray and the wood was now bright and in one piece contrasting to the rotting material you saw moments before. You noted that there was, however, still a big black burn scorched into the floor that didn't disappear, instead it became more prominent as the veil of grime disappeared.

As confused as you were, you were more intrigued with the podium and a table full of jars and ingredients that sat on the other side of the room. The floor creaked as you moved towards it, your heart pounding in your chest as you felt your very soul glowing in response to a certain book sitting innocently on the podium. It felt as if it was calling for you and you couldn't stop your hands from touching it.

You gasped, yanking your hands back as the material delivered a sharp zap to your skin. It wasn't painful, it just startled you and left your hands oddly tingly.

You carefully pulled the strap out of the loop that held the book closed, allowing it to fly open.

You watched with wide eyes as the pages flicked by on their own, the sound of paper moving filling the otherwise silent shrine. As it was empty, the sound seemed to be amplified. The book had a mind of its own, locating a page near the back of the book before falling still.

The Familiar Spell.

Mentally you complained about the fact you literally just spent 100 Silver to buy a book with this spell when this one was just sitting here literally inviting you to use it for free. But that was the least of your worries as behind you, glasses and jars began to clink and move.

This was true magic; an unknown force performing the spell without you even having to lift a finger.

"A Residual Spell," You mumbled, watching in wonder as the Eye of Newt jar popped open all on its own. A Residual Spell is a spell left behind by a witch who infused her own magic, usually through a scroll or runes, to perform a spell by being activated via unknown means — a specific trigger chosen by the witch. Whatever that trigger was, you seemed to accidentally cause her magic to release and now it was going to complete this raise familiar spell on its own.

But wouldn't that mean it was going to raise her familiar? What would happen if someone else's familiar were raised in your presence with no corresponding Witch to be by its side?

You didn't have very long to wonder as the spell was effortlessly completed.

The floor beneath you rumbled and vibrated, ultimately knocking you completely off of your feet. You groaned as your shoulder slammed against the wood floor.

"What—" The place where the black burn was scarred into the floor was glowing a vibrant purple. The temperature in the room raised what felt like 50 degrees, sweat forming on your skin as you watched flames physically erupt from the scorched spot.

You were sitting up now, watching with wide eyes as a figure formed through the flames followed by an ear piercing shriek that had you covering your ears with your hands.

The bird's wings stretched wide, showing vibrant splashes of red and orange colors. Razor sharp talons scratched the floor beneath it as it shook its body to fluff it's own feathers up.

Then, before your very eyes it let out another deafening shriek and this time you squeezed your eyes shut as you felt if you kept them open the octave of its cry might literally cause your eyes to pop out of their sockets.

Then, everything became deathly still.

Opening your eyes, the bird was now gone and in its place stood a pale man with pure onyx hair that hung over his face. His sharp, dark eyes were fixed on you through his bangs with his mouth open as if he were in shock.

"It's you..." He muttered before he was suddenly stomping his way across the room to drop to his knees before you.

"Wha-Who are you?" You whispered, now trembling slightly from the shock of everything.

"...I'm called Yoongi," Then the corners of his lips raised lightly and he placed his hand over your cheek. "I'm your familiar."

"What are you talking about? I didn't raise you, the magic did it on it's own," You muttered, shaking his hand off your cheek and standing up. You missed the way his smile fell before he too stood up.

"I am your familiar," He reiterates, leaving no room for you to argue with him. "I am yours only."

"A-Alright," His choice in words had your face heating up as you scampered back over to the door. There was no real reason for you to not believe a familiar claiming he is yours. If it weren't true, he'd surely let you know. "Th-Then I guess w-we...should go home?"

He smiled, this time it was a vibrant smile that had his eyes crinkling in the corners. Your heart sped up, a frustrating feeling of deja vu settling in your mind.

"Yeah, home," He repeated, following you to the door.

The longer Yoongi was in your home, the more his scent seemed to pierce into every inch of the place. It was smoky, strangely familiar and soothing.

He had knowledge of many things, helping you to learn and perfect spells.

You found him looking over the spell book from the shrine; it was difficult for you to read because over half of the spells were written in an ancient text you couldn't understand.

"What're you up to Yoongi?" You asked, placing your freshly picked nightshade on the table as you took a seat.

"I uh..." He cleared his throat, tapping his fingers on the surface of the page he was on. "I'm translating some of the spells for you."

"Oh?" You couldn't help but smile, leaning forward to see that he was, indeed, making notes along the expanse of the old, dulled writing. "You didn't have to do that."

"Well..." He cleared his throat and suddenly slammed the book shut, standing up. You couldn't miss the way his ears were burning red as he grabbed your nightshade flowers and began to pick the petals off of them and place them in a pile.

Yoongi had a quiet sense of kindness, he was never boisterous about his actions — simply doing them out of the goodness of his heart. He was easily flustered, which was endearing, especially coming from an ancient creature.

He had lived with you for about one week before he finally crawled into your bed. You hadn't realized he had been doing it, only noticing the increasing scent of smoke in your blankets. It wasn't until he rolled over one night, curled up into a small ball as he nestled into your side, waking you up that you realized he was there.

His lips were parted, features relaxed in a way you hadn't seen them before. He was breathtakingly beautiful with flawless, pale skin that seemed to glow against the deep shade of black in his hair. Mindlessly, you reached out to stroke his cheek and couldn't help but smile when he subconsciously nestled into your touch.

Having him beside you felt...so right. It was indescribable.

Something, deep inside you, told you that you needed him there — right beside you.

So you snuggled back down under your blanket and curled yourself around Yoongi's body. Easily, the two of you melted together as if you'd done it time and time again.

When the sun rose above the horizon, you took great pleasure in watching Yoongi blush as you told him; "You don't have to sneak into my bed, you know."

And after that, he would go to bed with you instead of waiting up and pretending like he wasn't tired as he watched you hunker down for sleep. He didn't have to ignore the pull to snuggle beside you until you fell asleep — instead, slipped in with you the second you indicated it was time for bed.

Even if he wasn't tired, he would go with you.

It was two weeks before he let slip the name 'Circe'.

"Circe, I think you should—" He cut himself off, stiffening under the confused gaze you set upon him. "I mean _____, you should try this spell out. I think we have all the ingredients for it. I translated it yesterday."

"Who's Circe?" You asked, taking the book from his hands as he held it out for you.

"It's nothing — just a slip up," He replied quickly, obviously not willing to advance with that conversation.

It happened again, though subconsciously, as he snuggled up to you one night. He wrapped his arms around you from behind, making your face burn hot with a blush as he woke you up. His breath fanned over the back of your neck and he squeezed you tighter as if he were afraid you would slip away from him.

"Circe...'m sorry..." He whispered trailing off into a series of unintelligible mumbling. What stuck out to you, however, was the pained intonation in his voice as if he were desperate for Circe to hear his apology.

Similar incidents continued to happen without fail. They were casual slip-ups, the name rolling off his tongue with practiced ease. It was a name he'd uttered many times in the past, you could tell. But no matter how much you pestered him to tell you, he would completely clam up.

You couldn't deny that it hurt your feelings that he wouldn't tell you. There was also the shameful feeling of jealousy lingering in your heart, burrowing deeper with every utterance of the name.

Why was he comparing you to her so much? Why wouldn't he tell you about her?

Was she really so important that he couldn't let her go even though he had been dead for 3 centuries.

Without meaning to, you began to hate Circe — a faceless mystery woman who seemed to haunt the heart of your familiar.

"Yoongi, did you get the fruits from the market like I asked?" You asked as you stood at your table, mashing ingredients together in preparation for practicing a new spell.

"Oh shoot...I'm sorry Circe—" He froze from where he was flipping through the spell book you had bought.

You sighed, pausing in your own activity to turn to look at him. He was stiff as a board, gnawing on his bottom lip. No doubt, he felt your eyes burning into him but he pretended not to notice.

"Why do you keep calling me that?" You asked, making Yoongi flinch as he was reminded he made the mistake again. Instead of answering, however, he kept his back to you and shrugged his shoulders.

You were growing frustrated. He was obviously avoiding it and it was obviously weighing heavy on his mind if he kept making the same mistake.

You were more frustrated with him than he realized and more hurt than you would like to admit.

"Yoongi, look at me," You commanded, walking up behind him.

He heaved a sigh and slowly turned to look at you, staring at you through the dark veil of his bangs. The tension that spread between the two of you was thick, it made you swallow nervously. Out of your peripheral, you saw the way his hands clenched closed so hard his knuckles turned white.

He exhaled and it made you realize how close together your faces were, his breath fanning over your skin. When you looked into his eyes again, you were shocked by how dark and heated they were.

Then he was leaning down, his lips ever so softly brushing against yours. It was fleeting and before you knew it, he was pulling back. Before he could get too far from you, however, you tangled your hands in the softness of his hair and pulled him back down for a much deeper kiss.

His hands, strong and rough, gripped your waist to pull you flush against his body. You were more than surprised to find that he was at least half-hard in his pants already.

There was something familiar about his touch, comforting and sweet as he stripped your body of all your clothes. You'd imagined being embarrassed in a situation like this; a man hovering above your naked, vulnerable body.

But as Yoongi’s lips trailed sweetly over you skin, you felt more relaxed than ever. The way he looked at you was almost pained, as if you were something so precious to him that it hurt him. His touch mimicked his gaze, holding you and touching you like you were made of glass that he needed to handle you with the utmost care lest you break apart beneath his hands.

You curiously touched his bare chest, mesmerized by the heat his body emitted. The Phoenix fire that was embedded in his very soul caused him to be incredibly warm. He smiled, leaning down to press his lips against yours again. You moved in unison with him, as if the kiss had been performed time and time again but you knew that wasn't the case.

Yoongi was the first man you'd been with in such a way. 

So why was it that your bodies worked together like a well-oiled machine?

You weren't able to dwell on it for long as he parted from the kiss and began to trail his lips down your neck, over your collar bones and down the center of your chest.

"Can I touch you?" He asked as if his lips weren't already where no man's had been.

"Y-Yes..." You breathed, biting your lip when he eagerly and suddenly enveloped a pert nipple in his mouth.

He cupped your other breast with his hand, thumbing over your neglected nipple. You whined clutching the pillow beneath your head. His mouth was hot, burning against the sensitive bud as he nipped it with his teeth. He added the perfect amount of pressure, working your breasts perfectly so that you were growing wetter by the second.

Unable to resist the urge, you reached down to card your fingers through his hair; so soft and thick. His dark eyes flickered up to meet your gaze and your heart stuttered in your chest at what you saw.

His irises were glassy, as if he were holding himself back from shedding tears. He pulled his mouth off of your nipple with a soft pop before he was surging forward to bring you in for a kiss again.

He gripped your knees, pulling your legs open so he could slot himself between them. You noticed he was as naked as you now, the hard heat of his cock nudging against your thighs.

"Yoongi..." You whispered, a sense of apprehension filling you at what the situation was implying.

Were you about to have sex with your familiar? Lose your virginity to him?

"Do you want this, ______?" He asked, voice low and raspy but oh so patient.

Did you want this?

You questioned yourself as you looked up at him, your hands pressed against his chest where you could feel his heart beat wildly from within. His cheeks were flushed and his lips were red and swollen from the kisses you'd shared.

As you met his gaze; warmth and comfort swirling within the dark irises you realized that, yes, you did want this.

"Please Yoongi," You whisper, canting your hips upward with a small whine.

"You're so perfect," He muttered, placing kisses along your sternum as one of his hands began to trail up your inner thigh. "So wet."

You whined when his fingertips ghosted along the sensitive folds of your heat. You spread your legs wider, eagerly inviting him to touch you some more. He took the invitation and slid two fingers between your folds, grazing your leaking entrance and swollen clit.

"Oh Yoongi..." You gasped when those fingers zeroed in on your bud, dragging your arousal from your entrance upwards to circle it until your thighs were trembling.

"Let me in," He whispered, prodding your entrance with two thick fingers.

His lips brushed against yours to distract you as he suddenly pushed those two digits inside you. There was a sting and you whimpered, clutching his shoulders tightly. He held still, allowing your walls to adjust to the intrusion before crooking his fingers upwards to touch a little spot inside you that made your hips buck.

The sensation was foreign but not unpleasant at all. His thumb moved to circle over your clit as he slowly began to fuck you with those two fingers. You held your thighs open, mouth falling open at the sensations shocking your system.

Before long, he was nudging a third fingers into your hole. The stretch wasn't anywhere near as bad as the first intrusion -- your walls having grown accustomed and prepared for the new addition. Yoongi's eyes flickered between your face, checking your reactions, and your core to watch how you messily accepted his fingers inside you.

"You're ready," He muttered, mostly to himself before sliding his fingers out of you. You felt empty immediately and whined as you walls clenched pathetically around nothing. His brought his fingers up to his lips, sliding them in to taste your juices on his tongue. The sight was incredible arousing, making you gush which brought a blush to your cheeks.

"Yoongi please," You whined, biting your lip as you watched him position himself at your entrance.

The tip of his cock was hot, sliding between your folds to gather your arousal along the underside of him. You gasped, glancing down to watch as he easily popped the thick head of his cock inside you.

It was more of a stretch than his fingers but it was welcomed and felt incredibly pleasurable to be filled again. Yoongi took your hands in his as he surged forward, moaning as more of your cunt swallowed him. He felt hot and hard inside you, cock throbbing at every noise you made.

When he bottomed out, he froze and leaned down to bring you into another kiss. Being filled by him was exhilarating, he pressed against that spot inside you that made your walls spasm around him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, clinging to him as his tongue met yours. He tasted sweet, the remnants of your juices still lingering in his mouth.

"I c-can't believe I get to have you like this again..." He whispered, voice sounding watery as he pulled back from the kiss to nuzzle against your neck.

The meaning of those words were lost on you as you felt the wetness of his tears on your shoulder.

"Yoongi..." You cooed, hugging him tightly against you to comfort him.

You remained like that for several seconds before Yoongi's tears turned into feather-light kisses along your skin. Your nails dug into his shoulders when he suddenly pulled back, his cock sliding deliciously against your walls before he pushed back in. He kissed your cervix, a little jolt of pain mixing with the pleasure.

His forehead rested against yours, fingers clutching the bed on either side of your head. Your breathing mingled as he set a steady pace — his pelvic bone grinding against your clit every time he sunk into you.

"I-It feels so good, Yoongi," You whimpered, lashes fluttering when he angled his hips to hit your spot.

"Yeah?" He chuckled, a cocky smirk gracing his lips.

You didn't get to say another word because he was pushing off from his hands to sit on his heels. He stared down at your body, gaze zeroing in on where his cock was buried in your cunt. Licking his lips, he pinned your knees open and began to fuck you faster. His bangs stuck to his forehead as he began to sweat in exertion.

You gasped, whimpering his name as the pleasure began to mount to overwhelming levels. He didn't pause or slow, keeping his eyes on the way your cunt gushed around him — soaking his cock as you swallowed every inch of him. You were tight, spasming and clenching around him as you got closer and closer to your high.

Yoongi groaned, bringing his thumb to his mouth to lick the pad of the digit, slicking it up, before pressing it against your clit. You cried out his name, desperately reaching down to circle his wrist with your hand as he began to circle your sensitive bud.

"Yoongi I—"

"Let it go," He whispered, his free hand reaching up to cup your breast all the while he didn't cease fucking his cock into you. "Come for me, darling."

The pet name set you off and suddenly you were arching beneath him. Crying out his name you tossed your head back, trembling and clenching violently around his cock as he continued to fuck you through it.

"Good girl," He cooed, removing his thumb from your clit. "So good coming for me...around my cock...fuck..." He trailed off, muttering to himself and whispering praises towards you.

You went lax against the bed, eyes fluttering as you watched him reach his own high. His cum was hot as he spilled into you, hips stuttering before burying completely into you. His cock throbbed in time to his orgasm, continuing to cum inside until it began to drip out of you.

He collapsed over you, kissing you softly as he pulled out. Your face burned hot when you felt your mixed fluids gush past your still clenching walls.

"Just rest," He cooed, pressing his lips against your forehead.

The last thing you saw was his serene smile and sparkling eyes.

Cracking your eyes open, you groaned softly at how dry your mouth felt. Looking to the side, you naturally expected Yoongi to be curled up in his little ball as usual. However, your heart ached at the unexpectedly empty bed.

As you sat up in bed, you couldn't ignore the nagging feeling in the back of your mind telling you that you should check out the shrine. You slipped your clothes, which were scattered around the room, back onto your body and wrapped a shawl around your shoulders before venturing outside of your home.

There was distinct electricity in the air that had you shivering.

Yoongi was upset.

You hurried your footsteps to find your familiar, traveling a now-memorized path to the decrepit shrine, where you could feel his magic even more. Pushing the creaky old door open, you could see Yoongi crumpled down on his summoning spot with his face buried in his hands.

Loud, shoulder-shaking sobs tore from his lithe frame that absolutely broke your heart. You softly padded over to him, sinking to your knees beside his trembling form. When your hand touched his back, his whole body flinched before another sob tore from his lips.

"Yoongi..." You whispered, pausing when you heard the self-deprecating laugh escape his lips.

"I've been sleeping for so long," He choked out, finally pulling his hands away from face to see you see how his irises were glowing golden. He was so distraught mentally that he was letting his shifter magic seep through. "W-When you raised me again...I was so happy...I couldn't wait to see you again, ______."

"What do you mean...again?" You whispered, though he didn't seem to hear over his little sniffles.

"I love you so damn much but you don't even know how much you love me back," He growled, slamming his fist into the floor so hard you feared that maybe he would be able to break through with a single punch. "You don't realize...that we're made for each other," He spat.

"Yoongi, what are you talking about?" You asked, taking the hand he had punched the floor with into yours, the buzz of his magic coursing through the contact and making you tremble. He sat back on his heels, meeting your eyes and you realized that they were no longer glowing.

"You're my soulmate, ______," He whispered, scooting closer to you on his knees to take your face in his hands. "I'm your soulmate."

"What are you saying?" You shook your head but didn't brush his touch off. "Soulmates don't exist."

"They do," He insisted, moving one of his hands from your cheek to your chest, above your heart. "Our souls are intertwined — connected."

"How do you know that?" You pressed, locking eyes with him.

"You're the reincarnation of a witch named Circe," He explained, slowly taking his hands off of you as he took a deep, shuddering breath as if they memories physically pained him. "You-She died 3 centuries ago and I alongside her."

"That long?"

"I don't know why it took so long for you to come back but..." He once again cupped your cheeks and brought your face closer to his. Instead of the sadness you expected to see in them, you saw hopefulness and happiness. "You're here and...I can hold you again...I missed you so much..."

Something incredible happened when your lips met; you could see everything you couldn't before.

Inside you, you knew that everything he said was true and as you shared a kiss inside the shrine, you remembered everything from your life as Circe.

"Sweetheart," Your father uttered, a kind smile on his face. "You're 12 now...and it's been a custom for so long that at this age—"

"I'm getting my familiar?!" You shrieked, making your mother chuckle.

"Always a smart cookie," She praised, patting your hair softly.

"Yes, darling," Your father grinned. "As you know, being a witch, you're born with a creature attached to your soul, right?"

"Yes," You agreed, letting him take your hand and lead you to sit on a chair — it was made of stone and freezing cold but you were used to it.

"Do you remember what we have to do to raise it?" He quizzed, grabbing a bowl he had already set out in advance.

"You need nightshade, eye of newt, yew...a lock of hair and something infused with my magic!" You replied, grinning when he patted your head in praise. "But I don't have anything infused with magic..."

You weren't yet old enough to truly channel your magic like seasoned witches could. You were still learning the ins and outs of being a witch after all.

"Don't worry about that," You father replied, opening a glass cabinet to pull out a rose petal that seemed to glow purple. "When you were a baby, we had a dash of magic pulled so we could do this."

"We always think ahead," Your mother mused from behind you as if she were praising themselves.

"Now," Your father took a small pair of scissors, taking a chunk of your hair and cleanly cutting through it. "That should do it."

You watched with rapt attention as he placed your hair in with the glowing petal. Easily pouring in a vibrant red liquid that didn't have a label on it like the other ingredients; you assumed it was the nightshade, eye of newt, and yew mixture.

"Stand here, darling," You mother urged, waving you over to a spot marked with a sigil.

You did as you were told, standing in the center of it as your father crushed and mixed the ingredients in the bowl. Finally, he brought it over to you and placed the bowl in your hands.

"All you have to do is drink this," He uttered, stepping back away from you as he held your mother's hand.

The ingredients in the bowl melted into some soup-looking concoction that swirled red with the liquid and purple with your magic. You brought the lip of the bowl to your lips and titled it back — swallowing down the bitter mixture.

It burned once you swallowed it, making you drop the bowl in shock. You gripped your stomach and whined, flinching when the sigil beneath your feet began to vibrantly emanate a purple light.

It was still, terrifyingly silent for a beat before flames exploded from beneath you. The sigil was scorched — completely gone as you were surrounded by a wall of fire.

It was hot and you were scared you would get burned but even with the close proximity of the flames, not even your hair was singed.

Then, suddenly, there was another person within the circle of fire with you.

It was a boy your age, about an inch taller than you with pale skin and black hair. His eyes were blank as he regarded you.

"What is my name?" He asked, voice so soft that you almost missed it over the roar of flames around you.

"N-Name? I-I don't know!" You repeated, watching as the flames licked against his skin. "Y-You'll get burned!"

Even against your warning, at the flames touched the skin of his arms, he didn't flinch of move away.

"My name." He shouted now, voice stronger than any child you'd ever heard. It made you flinch when he narrowed his eyes at you. "You have to think. You know my name."

"No I don't! I don't know who you are!" You shrieked, growing panicked as the flames began to close in on your two. They were almost enveloping the boy and you began to tremble. His skin began to turn an inhuman red — human nails turning to black talons.

"You have to say it!" He roared, the flames finally covering him. He disappeared within the fire — an ear-piercing shriek following it.

"Y-Yoongi!" You cried, the name bubbling past your lips without you even realizing it.

All at once it was still.

There was no fire. The heat had vanished.

You were trembling as your parents watched on with proud smiles. Movement from below you caught your eye and you were shocked to see the boy kneeling at your feet.

"Yoongi!" You cried, watching as your familiar threw the spell book to the ground with a violent thud. "Why did you do that?!"

"How were you born to such powerful witches but you can't even cast a simple resurrection spell?!" He growled, jaw clenched in his anger as he glared at you.

"It's not a simple spell, Yoongi!" You argued. "It's one of the most difficult spells for a witch to cast!"

"You can't do anything right," He snapped, making you flinch. "You might as well give up on being a witch if you can't cast this spell."

"Yoongi!" You gasped, crossing your arms over your chest. "You're being mean, you know."

He scoffed, leaning back against the tree. "I'm being mean? You need to grow up."

"Yoongi," You muttered, nibbling on your lip as he began to walk away. Before he could get far, you grabbed his arm. "Where are you going?"

"Well I figure if I leave now I might be able to find a less pathetic witch than you to be attached to!" He snapped, shoving you to the ground before vanishing from sight before your eyes.

You knew it was impossible for him to do such a thing, but the prospect of him leaving you was painful. He'd been a constant in your life for over 4 years and his insults made your eyes sting with tears.

Holding your tears back, you packed up your belongings from the spell and made your way back home. A year ago, you'd been given a little house to live in away from your parents — a tradition for all witches who turn 15.

Yoongi naturally lived with you but when you got inside, he was nowhere to be found.

You allowed yourself to cry as you put the ingredients up and placed your spellbook back in its rightful place on the shelf. Sitting on your bed, you swiped at your eyes in an effort to stop crying.

It was useless.

Curling up on your bed, you hugged your pillow that was practically stained with his smoky scent — a very predictable smell to come off a Phoenix, you had mused. It had made him laugh and it felt so nice to make him laugh.

Your house was empty and still without his presence. You wondered where he was and you hoped he was safe.

It was a stupid wish considering he was an immortal creature made of pure magic. No mortal would be able to take him down.

It still didn't stop you from worrying.

The smell of smoke became stronger suddenly and you knew Yoongi had returned. You sniffled, sitting up to greet him regardless of the way he'd hurt your feelings.

His eyes were soft when they met yours, a whisper of your name falling from his lips.

"Welcome home," You recited your usual greeting for when he came home after you.

"I'm sorry," He whispered, kneeling on the floor beside your bed. He took your hand in his and laid it upon his hair as he nestled his head onto your lap. "I shouldn't have lost my temper like that. There was no reason for me to insult you or push you like I did."

"It's okay, Yoongi," You sniffled, carding your fingers through his soft hair. "I know you didn't mean it."

Similar incidents had happened before — though he'd never shoved you before. Ever since you moved in together, he'd grown more on edge and aggressive in his teachings.

"I didn't but it still doesn't make it okay," He whispered. "It's just...we only have a short amount of time before we have to begin our travels and I'm worried about you."

"Why?" You asked, moving his bangs from his eyes.

"If you're not powerful enough to protect yourself...when I'm not with you..." He sighed, brows furrowing. "Then anything could happen to you."

"You're just worried that if I die, you die," You joked, trying to break the tension.

"That's not it at all," He gasped, sitting up straighter on his knees. "You will always be more important than me."

His words brought a smile to your face and you couldn't help but wrap your arms around his shoulders in a tight hug.

You groaned, kicking a rock as you walked along the dirt path. It was hot — painfully so. The two of you had been on the move traveling for 3 months and summer was in full swing.

Glancing at Yoongi, you noticed the beads of sweat along his brow and you wondered how it felt to be a creature of fire in the summer heat. Suddenly, your own pain didn't seem so bad.

"There's a stream up ahead," You said, making him look down at you.

He'd grown several inches taller than you since you turned 18 — he was also developing very...attractive features. His eyes were sharper, almost like a cat and his lips were a soft, pink color that look delightfully soft against his pale complexion. His shoulders had broadened and he’d developed a sharper jawline but still retained a cute amount of cheek fat that made him look youthful.

"So?" He chuckled, glancing down at you with a crooked grin.

"Soooo...we should take a break and cool off, don't you think?" You raised a brow, nudging his shoulder with yours.

"You phrase it like a question but something tells me it isn't," He chuckled, easily seeing through you. You'd been together for 6 years and he grew to be able to read you like a book.

"Let's go," You grabbed his wrist and veered off the bath and walk through an overgrown path.

Before long, the distant sound of the stream grew louder and you could have cried at the sight of beautiful running water.

It was a much needed break, you sighed in relief as your sore feet met the cool water. Yoongi walked along the shoreline, muttering something about catching some fish for dinner. You were thankful to have Yoongi — he easily took care of you by catching wild food and cooking it with his fire incredible abilities.

He was a blessing, truly.

There were footsteps from behind you and you turned to look over your shoulder as you realized Yoongi couldn't have come from that direction.

"Hey!" You shouted, watching as two strange men walked up to your belongings.

One picked up your bag and began sifting through it. They completely ignored you, even as you launched out of the water to snatch your bag away.

"Hey now," The taller of the two grinned. "Why don't you just make things easy and let us have your stuff. It'll be a lot easier than having to kill you."

"Why, you—"

"You know what?" The other man, a blonde, snickered. "I think we should take her and bring her back. She'd fetch a pretty price on the market."

Your heart stuttered in your chest at the mention of the market. It was a black market in the region you’d entered — people being sold as slaves was commonplace.

"Y-You can have my bag..." You uttered, preferring if they took your stuff instead of kidnapping you.

"I don't think you have a choice now, little girl," You cried out at the violent grip on your arm as he began to drag you away from the shore.

All defensive spells and tricks you'd learned flew out the window in the face of real danger. It was the first time you'd come face to face with a threat that wasn't a wild animal and you were scared.

"Yoongi!" You shrieked, summoning your familiar immediately.

"What the—"

A single eruption of fire, red tinged with the purple of your infused magic, and the two men were gone. Nothing but two piles of ash were left in their wake.

"Are you okay?" He breathed, eyes wide with panic, grabbing your shoulders to turn you to look at him. "Are you hurt?"

"No..." You felt your body relax as he pulled you into his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders.

Neither of you said a word as he held you, his head resting atop yours.

He was thankful you'd learned to summon him hands-free like that because, although he wouldn't tell you, if you hadn't he would have been much too far to get to you in time.

It was the first time he'd saved you and he never wanted to listen to your fearful cry of his name again.

"It's lopsided," You muttered, fighting the laugh bubbling up inside you as you stared at the cake Yoongi had made you.

"Listen!" He pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. "I did my best! And it tastes wonderful, thank you very much. The appearance doesn't matter."

"Oh Yoongi," You finally let your laugh free. "I think it's cute. I appreciate you making me a cake."

"Well it's the first birthday we're spending here," He gestured around the little cabin the two of you settled in. "So, I figured we should celebrate."

"I think it was a great idea," You agreed, using the knife he'd brought along to cut a piece for yourself and for Yoongi.

Though he didn't need to eat since he was an immortal being, he genuinely was still a glutton. He loved food, especially sweets which you found cute.

"This is good!" You groaned as you took your first bite. "Where'd you learn to make this?"

"I asked that traveling lady who stopped by last week."

"You're so cute," You giggled, finishing your slice of cake along with him.

He hummed, eyes following you as you began to get ready for bed.

He whispered your name and you paused in fluffing the pillows to look at him. You jumped when you realized he was standing in front of you suddenly.

"What is it, Yoongi?" You asked, leaning into his touch as he cupped your cheek.

His eyes were dark as usual but there was a gentle smile on his lips. You reached up to cup his hand against your cheek as he slowly began to lean in closer to you. He paused for a second, your lips almost touching to make sure you didn't want to move away.

When you didn't, he closed the gap and you shared a sweet kiss with him.

Your first kiss.

You knew you loved Yoongi long before you found yourself laid out bare beneath him. His lips were soft as he trailed kisses along any and all skin he could access.

"No one's ever touched you like this," He whispered, mostly to himself. "Or seen you like this."

"J-Just you, Yoongi," You whispered, arching your back when he wrapped his lips around your nipple.

He hummed, hand sliding between your thighs to graze over your wet slit.

"Ah Yoon— " You whimpered, clutching desperately at his shoulders through the feather-light stimulation.

"Does that feel good?" He asked, voice muffled as he switched to mouth at your other nipple. The cool air on you now neglected bud caused it to harden and peak.

You didn't get the opportunity to reply, only a broken whimper escaping your lips when his deft fingers found your clit hardened and swelling under your arousal. His fingers were hot and rough but his touch was gentle and soothing.

"Are you ready for my fingers, sweetheart?" He asked, nosing softly against your cheek to press a kiss against the heated flesh.

"J-Just one..." You whispered, biting your lip nervously when his middle finger was positioned at your entrance, ready to enter you.

"You ever touched yourself here, baby?" He asked suddenly, running the digit through your folds to get it nice and wet with your juices.

"Wh-When would I ever have time for that?" You grumbled, feeling your thighs tremble when he began to circle your clit again. "I-I'm literally always you..."

Yoongi chuckled at that, a dark almost possessive sound. "True. I think it's better that way."

"What do you mean?" You breathed, meeting his dark gaze.

There was a pregnant pause, a drawn out stillness between the two of you. You were breathing heavily, wound up from the teasing he'd been giving you.

Then, a cock smirk fell over his swollen lips and you were suddenly being filled his his middle finger. Your mouth fell open and you gasped — the feeling foreign and strange to your virgin body.

"Because I'm the only one allowed to touch you like this now," He whispered, leaning over your body as he slowly fucked his finger in and out of you. "Not even you will be able to make yourself feel like I can."

He met your lips in a heated kiss, your arms wrapping around his shoulders to hold his body close against yours. Your entrance was stretched a bit more when he introduced his ring finger. It wasn't uncomfortable like you'd feared, there was a little sting but when he crooked his fingers just right your back arched.

"Ah...right there?" He asked, grinning before leaning down to nip at one of your nipples.

"Yoongi!" You cried, clawing at the soft blanket beneath your body. "I-I need...I want...please."

"What is it?" He asked, voice soft and comforting when he sensed your rising panic.

Everything was so new for you — the sensations and needs you felt. It excited him like nothing else ever has. He wanted to be the one to give you everything you wanted — wanted to be the first and only person to make you feel good.

"I-I don't...know..." You choked out, mindlessly grinding your hips down in search of more stimulation. It felt like you were teetering on the edge of something — needing a little push to fall apart in pleasure.

"I've got you, sweetheart," He cooed, resting on his forearm above your head as he began to drill those two fingers into your clenching cunt. "I know what you need."

You abandoned your hold on the blanket to cling to him. He pecked your lips, holding your gaze as he introduced a third finger. The stretch was a bit more painful than the last but it quickly and easily faded when his thumb began to grind against your sensitive bud.

"Yoon, I— " You felt breathless, eyes wide but unseeing at you gazed up at Yoongi.

"Cum for me," He growled, fingers pounding into you at just the right angle to hit your g-spot perfectly in time to the cruel circles he made against your clit. "Come on, sweetheart. Let it go for me."

Your mouth fell open in a silent cry, your walls clamping tight around Yoongi's fingers until he had to stop — simply grinding his digits up against that spot inside you as you came. You clung to him, holding him tightly against your body, his soft praises keeping you grounded through the waves of new, untold pleasure he forced your body to ride through. Finally, you were left a weak, spent mess beneath him. His fingers slowed, working you down from the high as you walls continued to spasm randomly.

Finally, he pulled his fingers from your cunt and held them up. They glistened beneath the meager candle light, coated with your cum and soaked with your arousal. You covered your face in embarrassment when he slid those very fingers into his mouth with a moan.

His tongue swirled around every centimeter, savoring your sweet taste.

Mindlessly, his free hand found its way to his cock. You felt yourself clench pathetically at the sight of his fist wrapped around his thick cock — jerking himself off as he cleaned his fingers of your cum. With a final moan, he pulled his fingers away and bit his lip as he looked down at you.

"Do you still want to?" He asked, abandoning his grip on his cock to grip your hips.

"Please, Yoongi...I want you," You whispered, spreading your legs further to fit his body back comfortably between them.

"I love you so much, ______," He whispered, lowering his head to kiss you.

It was a soft, chaste kiss despite the situation you were both in. Your heart fluttered at his confession, feeling tears prick at your eyes with a smile.

"Will it...hurt?" You asked suddenly, feeling the wet tip of his cock prodding at your entrance.

The size difference was daunting, you could tell without even looking. You could feel it. He was thicker than his 3 fingers and definitely longer — he would no doubt kiss the deepest parts of you.

"I'll make sure it doesn't," He whispered, running his fingers down your sides causing goosebumps to rise along the skin.

You leaned up to kiss him again before falling flat against the bed — leaving your body open and vulnerable for anything he wanted to do. Your explicit trust in him made his heart race and he bit his lip to hold back the stinging of tears in his eyes.

He sat back on his heels, gripping his cock in a trembling hand to slide the head up and down your folds slicking himself up with your juices. He held back a moan when you trembled every time he brushed over your sensitive clit.

Holding his breath, he began to push into your entrance. Your previous orgasm had allowed your walls to relax but you began to tense up as he tried to push inside.

"You have to relax, ______," He whispered, prodding the tip against your entrance.

You whimpered, shaking your head. "I c-can't."

"Yes you can," He whispered, thumb finding your clit and circling it. "Let me in, sweetheart."

You sighed, head falling back as he rubbed your bud, pleasure mounting once more. Without you realizing, you melted against the blanket — his name lingering against your lips.

Suddenly, he surged forward and sunk half of his cock inside your tight walls. There was a sting, as you expected, but as he continued to push forward until his cock was sheathed completely — the discomfort vanished.

The two of you were still, your walls spasming around him as he leaned forward to kiss you again. You'd never get tired of feeling his lips on yours and coupled with the way he was filling you — it was addictive.

He pulled back, just the head left stretching you open, before he sunk back inside. You were so wet that you could hear it but you didn't have it in your to be embarrassed. The way he was looking at you, dark eyes filled with lust and love, you didn't feel an ounce of shame in your body.

"Feel so...good," He grunted, beginning to fuck you in earnest while keeping his pace gentle for your sake.

"I-I...I want more, please Yoongi," You softly begged, breathless from the way he stretched you so deliciously.

"Yeah?" He asked, a scoff escaping him in a huff. "I don't think you're ready, baby."

"I am! Please!" You whined, arching your back and grinding your hips against him. The movements were inexperienced but still drew a moan from him.

"No, darling," He whispered, holding your hips down as he continued the same pace. "You can't handle that yet."

His tone left no room for argument and even if one was building, it died at your lips when he began circling your clit again.

"Yoon..." You breathed, clinging to the blanket beneath you again.

"Come for me," He whispered, lips brushing against yours as your body suddenly stilled.

He felt you come, walls tightening around his cock. He continued to work you through your high while grinding against you. The way your back arched and you cried out his name as you lost yourself over his cock was enough to send him over the edge — no matter how hard he tried to hold it back.

You gasped feeling the gush of heat inside you. He moaned your name, burying his face in your neck as his cock throbbed against your walls. He abandoned working your clit when you whimpered and gripped his wrist — the dual feelings of him touching the sensitive bud and coming deep inside you too much for you to handle.

Slowly, when both your bodies calmed down, he pulled out. His cum gushed out of you and you whimpered — embarrassed but he just smiled.

"You're mine now," He cooed, laying beside you to pull your body close to him.

"I love you Yoon..." You whispered, kissing his jaw softly, making him smile.

"I love you too," He replied, wrapping his arms tightly around you.

Breaking through the wall of overgrown shrubbery, some of the twigs scraping your arms on the way. You didn't pay any attention to it, however, as you were immediately taken in by the sight in front of you.

It was some sort of temple, it looked old and was obviously not cared for or in use for anyone anymore.

Yoongi moved in front of you, shielding you from whatever possible threats could come from the abandoned place.

"Hey, what a strange place," You whispered, following Yoongi into the decrepit, old shrine. "What do you think?"

"I think it'd be a good place to hole up," Yoongi replied, moving around the dusty pieces of furniture. "We can put up some warding spells and hide out."

"Good idea," You agreed, placing your bag on an old table.

Yoongi walked up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, kissing your cheek. "We'll be okay. If we can hide long enough, they won't be able to find us."

"I hope you're right," You sighed.

"I think it'd be something to look into, Yoongi," You said, sighing when he ignored you. "Yoo—"

"No. There's no reason to do it now," He snapped, his back to you. "You're only 24, a spell like this shouldn't be performed until you're in your 50s!"

"But things are different now, Yoongi!" You cried. "They're rounding up all the witches and putting them to death. I'm at risk now and I want it done before it's too late!"

"Stop talking like you're going to die!" He shouted, making you flinch as his voice echoed off the stone walls.

"It's always a possibility—"

"No," He snapped. "I'll protect you. I've done it all our lives and I'm not about to fail now."

"Yoongi..." You whispered, standing up to wrap your arms around him from behind. "Please..."

You felt him sigh as his shoulders went lax. He turned in your grip and looked down at you, His eyes were shining with tears as he leaned down to kiss you.

"Thank you," You whispered against his lips.

That was when you performed the spell; locking away a piece of his power, his soul, there in the temple inside your spell book. Only someone who shared your magic signature would be able to see the true shrine — the one you and Yoongi lived in, rather than the one that would appear for others.

And only someone who's soul would be connected to Yoongi's could release him once you died.

It was only a year later, in the bitter cold of winter, that your fears came to fruition. You'd been out collecting wild foods as Yoongi hunted. The two of you did such work at night to avoid being detected as best you could.

You hadn't seem the dark figures stalking you like wolves until it was too late.

All it took was one moment for everything to crumble. A knife to your heart and you were falling to the freezing snow.

The pure white became stained with the red of your blood. Above you, the night sky was lit brightly with the light of the moon and the stars. You and Yoongi loved clear nights like that.

It took everything in your power to whisper his name — the air fogging up with your breath as you uttered it.

The name of the man you loved — the man who would forever be etched into your very soul would be the very last thing you said.

He had felt it long before you had summoned him — your draining spirit. But seeing you on the ground, eyes desperately searching for him broke him.

He fell to his knees, finally coming into your line of sight. He couldn't help the sob that tore past his lips when, despite your situation, you smiled.

You had half expected you wouldn't be able to summon him with your diminishing life force. But being able to see him in your final moments was all you could ask for, truly. Although his eyes weren't filled with the vibrant happiness you wanted to see, they were the eyes you loved regardless.

He cupped your cold cheek, his own body still emanating heat. He leaned down, pressing his lips against yours and held there, just kissing you, even after he felt your soul leave.

The gaping emptiness left inside him was painful, the bitter reminder that he had let you die. He had failed to protect you and now he had to face his punishment.

It wasn't much of a punishment, after all he didn't want to live in a world without you.

He picked up your body, limp and cold, before making the short trek to your home — the shrine.

All around him, he could feel your magic from the wards you'd put up. Despite that, it was disembodied and felt fake without your soul there to feed them.

He knelt beside your body as his skin began to flake off and turn to ash. He held onto your hand for as long as he could until his hands turned to ash.

He kept his eyes on your beautiful face until he finally disintegrated — a charred stain on the floor beside your body. The last thing he whispered were from his very soul uttering words of love for you.

Around him, as Yoongi's soul too vanished, the lively home once created within the shrine reverted back to a hollow decrepit place that would only be seen for the next 3 centuries.

Until your soul finally made it back to him.

Pulling back, you met his eyes, finding unrestrained fire and love and...lust swimming inside them. He seemed to notice the change in you; he reached up and cupped your jaw to move in for another kiss.

His lips were soft and warm, that lovely smoky scent enveloping you as he held you close to him.

Although the memory of the first time you were with him was burned into your memory -- you couldn't forget the other ways he held you. With rough hands and filthy words whispered in your ear.

"Please Yoongi," You whispered, reaching down to cup his hard length in the material of his pants. "I want you please."

"Yeah?" He grinned, lips turning from soft to rough as he kissed you again.

"Show me that I'm yours again, please," You begged, moaning when he suddenly pinned you to the hard floor.

He growled, pushing the hem of your dress up roughly to expose the panties you wore beneath. He didn't hesitate in tearing them down your legs and pinning your thighs open.

"So pretty for me," He groaned, eyeing your wet slit spread open for his greedy gaze. "All mine, right? Tell me."

"All yours, Yoongi, only yours!" You cried out when he dipped down and ran his tongue over your clit to taste the creaming juices you gushed at being in such an exposed position.

He knew exactly what to do to make you feel good, swirling his tongue over your clit until you were tugging at his hair. You felt your cunt clench when he suddenly spat against your entrance.

"Can't wait, I need you so fucking bad," He whispered, pulling his cock from the confines of his pants.

He slapped the head of himself against your clit, making your hips jump. Then he finally sunk into you to the hilt with a groan of your name.

Having him inside you after remembering everything was unlike anything you'd experienced in your life. He felt so good, stretching you perfectly, and grinding against your g-spot to make you whine.

He loved the noises you made and he couldn't help fucking into you harshly from the get-go.

"Yoongi! Harder!" You cried, making him chuckle.

"Yeah? Want it harder?" He smirked, hooking your knees over his arms to leave you completely open to him. "I'll fucking ruin you, sweetheart."

The words made you clench him tightly and he groaned. The wet sound of his cock sinking into you mingled with your moans as he doubled his pace. His hips slapped against yours harshly — pain blossoming alongside the pleasure when his cock kissed your cervix.

Your eyes rolled back, body spasming under the onslaught of pleasure.

"'M gonna...cum..." You sobbed, reaching down to circle your clit.

"That's it baby," He whispered. "Get yourself off for me. I'm so close."

Suddenly, he froze balls deep inside you. His cock throbbed for several long seconds before he groaned and came inside you. The rush of heat oh so familiar that it set you off as well. You came, clenching and trembling around his cock as he continued to spill his load. Finally, he pulled out — making you whine and clench once more.

"Oh? You still want to cum?" He asked suddenly, knowing by the way you continued to mindlessly circle your clit with trembling fingers.

"Please Yoongi," You begged, gasping when he replaced your fingers with his own.

They were rough, circling and grinding against the bud until you were arching once again.

His cum gushed out of you, soiling his fingers as he continued to work you through the high and aftershocks.

You grabbed his wrist, bringing those cum-soaked fingers to your lips to envelop them and swallow the mess down. He sighed, yanking his fingers from your mouth to press his lips against yours.

The kiss went from heated and lust-filled to loving and soft in the matter of moments. Pulling away, he gave you his familiar gummy smile before sitting up. He tucked his softening cock back in his pants and smoothing your dress back down properly. Your panties were torn from when he had yanked them off of you — leaving them of no use.

"Should we go home?" He asked, standing up and taking your hand. Your legs shook a little as you put weight back on them.

"I think so," You smiled, lacing your fingers between his.

The two of you left the shrine, the wards and sigils that had been put there by Circe glowing brighter now that your power was connected with your old soul.

Yoongi smiled, tugging you down the familiar path — talking happily about what he wanted to eat for dinner.

You couldn't help but giggle along with him, your heart fluttering endlessly in your chest.

Even though so much time had passed, as Yoongi's nose wrinkled in the wake of his grin, you were reminded that he hadn't changed one bit.

You vowed that even after this life, you would always return to him. You never wanted to be the source of his tears. You couldn't even imagine how he must have felt knowing you didn't remember him. Didn't remember the feeling of his lips against yours, the memories that must have haunted him every time he looked at you -- knowing you didn't share them anymore.

Even now, you could feel his pain; remnants of your last death still weighing heavily on his mind. You squeezed his hand, pausing to pick a wild flower that bloomed within the green grass.

Handing it to him, he smiled. His eyes sparkled with unshed tears — making your heart ache. He smoothed your hair behind your ear, placing the flower there and took your hand again.

As he looked on, you kept your eyes on his side profile.

You loved him and you never wanted to forget the feeling of his love again.

© httpjeon 2019. do not repost or modify.

[stowaway-macaw]

Biome Curse (Part 3)

Cub looked at the message in the chat, with the long, blurred out name and the lines of enchanting runes. He was put off, and there wasn't much that could do that since he himself was somewhat of a force of chaos. Something made him more worried though.

Cub could have sworn that someone close to him had been saying something about feeling emotions that weren't theirs and other strange presences, but try as he might, Cub couldn't recall who that might have been. No faces, names, or voices came to mind. Deep within himself, he knew something was up and he knew he was forgetting something important, but the fog in his mind simply wouldn't let up. His gaze drifted into the distance and the hot noon sun was glaring down on him. He had grown used to the desert, but the bright crystalline shapes protruding from the ground were breaking the desert scenery. Again, in the back of his mind, something screamed at him that those gigantic crystals were because of someone, but Cub still couldn't place the name. 

Sighing in discomfort, he turned away from the magical structure and lent his attention back to the chatroom. The messages have died down and Xisuma had said that he was looking into the strange message. Cub shoved the communicator back in his pocket and grabbed some rockets. He took a step forward, ready to take a trip to the jungle to look for some more melons to trade. But before he could, something in the back of his mind told him no. He wasn't sure what, but something in his gut told him that something was seriously wrong with that place. Cub wondered if it had something to do with what the person he couldn't recall had said. 

Huffing, Cub decided against the trip and flew off to the cowmmercial district instead.

Mumbo, meanwhile, was hardly as calm. He had had a growing sense of anxiety ever since… since… for the life of him he couldn't remember, but he knew it had to do with the mysterious mansion in the mountains. He always felt the need to stay as close as he could to his base and he had somewhat honored that, but now ever since that strange message had shown up in chat, he felt like he couldn't leave. He felt like leaving would somehow be some kind of ultimate betrayal, but to whom he did not know. Even so, he stayed put. 

Mumbo sat on one of the giant structures in his base and looked out at the mansion. As far as he knew, it had mysteriously started construction one day, but nobody knew who was building it or who it belonged to. As Mumbo thought this, something stirred in the pit of his stomach and his face scrunched up. He felt like he should know. He somehow felt that out of every hermit, he would have known who had constructed such a structure. But he didn't. And he felt horrible about it without knowing why. He felt just as horrible every time his gaze wandered to the mountainous horizon. And so he looked away.

Scar and Grian were the only two who knew what was going on, and it was obvious from the way the other hermits were talking. It was like the two never existed. While the situation was definitely concerning, hermits were resilient by nature. The two had already started walking the perimeter of the village to see just how far the barrier stretched. It was like that that they found out that while Scar was bound by the barrier, Grian was not. That being said, Grian was physically incapable of doing anything, including leaving the barrier, without Scar telling him directly to do it. 

"I guess that's what they meant by you being my familiar, huh?" Scar said, half jokingly. Grian was less than amused. It went against everything he had worked for, so literally not having any freedom was not something he enjoyed at all. All he responded with was a huff.

"Hey now, we've got to be optimistic! It's important you know!" Scar was obviously trying to keep them both calm, and Grian would have responded sarcastically and made some defiant joke, but since what Scar said was technically a command, Grian could feel a smile creep up on his face. Before Scar could comment, Grian reached for the mask hanging off his neck and pulled it over his face and hair. The mask itself was designed to resemble what was probably the most colorful bird either of them had ever seen and made Grian look even more strange. The mask covered his whole face so Scar couldn't see his grin under the mask, just his mischievous, defiant, violet eyes. It also allowed Grian to physically touch things, and Scar had connected the dots by realizing that so long as nobody could see his face, Grian wouldn't be in his strange "spirit form".

"I'll feel however I want thanks." Grian said, his smile apparent in his voice. Scar sighed with what was thankfully a genuine chuckle and Grian's eyes now smiled for real at the wizard.

"Oh come on…" Scar's voice cut out, like he couldn't say what he wanted said.

"Argh! Seriously! Why can't we say each other's names!? I know what your name is, so why can't I say it!?" The two were definitely frustrated. Neither could say the other's name despite knowing it. However, it was low on the list of problems they had to solve. It was merely inconvenient, but still infuriating.

The pair joked around as they finished marking the border, both attempting to cheer the other up. When they reached the snail, a border had been drawn that marked the barrier which was mere meters from the edge of Scar's village. The pair turned to each other and Grian started with a new topic.

"Alright. We've got to find a way to communicate with the other hermits. You can't use your communicator and mine is straight up gone somehow. I can't do anything without you telling me to do it, which is bad, considering you can't exactly go all the places that I can. What do we do?" Scar thought for a moment and Grian did the same after his small recap. Scar was still trying to get his emotions under wraps and it made it hard to think, so he started to think out loud.

"So, we need you to talk with the hermits, but in a way that doesn't require any actions that are too complicated. Something that I could quickly tell you to do now that wouldn't cause any misunderstandings. The worst thing that could happen is that the hermits start seeing us as threats." Grian nodded along and asked Scar something he hadn't yet considered.

"The voice called you the wizard right? And since it made me some weird magic bird thing, maybe it gave you more powerful magic?" Grian sounded unsure, but the two were grasping at straws.

"Umm, maybe? How would we even test that?" Grian shrugged. Scar hummed and eyed Grian.

"Wait hold on, I'm not gonna be your test dummy am I?" Grian tried to back up, despite knowing he couldn't leave earshot without permission.

"Tell me… " Scar began.

"Tell me if either of us have any abilities that the jungle gave us." It was like a spell, Scar's words, because as soon as he had uttered them, Grian felt the voice again and its words could be heard through his whole being.

See. The jungle had helped the bird. The bird needs to know that the jungle owns it. The wizard knows that the jungle owns it. The jungle has given the wizard crystals. The jungle has given the bird a different form. The jungle has gifted the bird with what it wanted most. The bird owes the jungle. The bird must stay with the wizard. The bird must stay with the jungle. The wizard can do the same. The wizard is like the jungle. The wizard will gift those with what they want most. The wizard and the jungle will be one.

 And then the voice was silent. Grian hadn't realized he was wheezing and Scar could see the panic in Grian's uniquely colored eyes, which were the only things visible under the mask.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I won't do it again, please, just deep breaths. Deep breaths." Scar was doing his best to console the gasping familiar.

"Y-you…" Grian started, slowly catching his breath. Scar relaxed slightly at his voice.

"You can… grant wishes… " Scar's eyes widened.

"What?" Grian repeated what the voice had said to the best of his memory.

"But… what did the jungle give you then?" Scar asked Grian. Grian wasn't quite sure, but felt he knew what the jungle gave him. After calling him "the bird" so many times and after the costume change, he could guess. Whether or not the jungle had actually been right in saying it was his heart's desire was something that only Grian knew. He knew it to be wrong, but only because what his hear desired was something he already had. Putting the thoughts aside, Grian clamped his eyes shut and focused on his body and what the jungle had changed.

"Woah!" He could hear Scar's shout as well as the shuffling of his footsteps as he backed up. Grian opened his eyes.

"What changed?" Scar looked him up and down.

"You've… got wings…" Grian turned his neck and sure enough, two honest to goodness wings were resting slack on the jungle floor. 

"I had a feeling that's what it would be… " Grian mumbled. Scar tilted his head.

"You most wanted wings?" He asked, confused.

"No. But the jungle thought I did. I already had what I wanted." Scar relaxed somewhat, slightly relieved that his friend wouldn't have such a shallow heart's desire, especially when they already had elytra.

Suddenly, Scar had an idea.

"Oh! What if we trade wishes in exchange for favors!" Grian looked at Scar with a mix of confusion and concern.

"How would that help us?"

"Neither of us can tell the hermits anything about our identities, so we'll look suspicious no matter what we do. The barrier makes my village impossible to enter or exit unless it's you. If we offer the hermits something they can't refuse and tell them to investigate the jungle for us in return, then we can gain their trust, all you have to do is be a messenger, they get their wishes granted, and we get information on what on earth happened to us!" Grian thought about Scar's proposal, and realized that it was probably their best shot. Who could refuse a chance to have their wish granted?

"I think that just might work… " Scar smiled. 

"Perfect! We'll look into more details tomorrow, but I think it's about time we rested a bit." Grian agreed and the two cursed hermits made their way into the snail, anticipating the next day.

[amphtaminedreams]

A/W 2020 Fashion Month & Top 20 Collections: Before Vogue Went Blank (Part 4)

Hi all,

Welcome to part 4! It’s gonna be a bit of a shorter one because I wasn’t sure if I could fit the last few collections into my part 3 since I also want to include a ranking of my favourite F/W20 shows. I have so many ideas for what I’d like my next few posts to be (there’ll probably be a bit of gap between them as I would like to try and get some fiction writing in too) and I need help and recommendations on one post in particular so I thought I’d open by explaining that if anyone would like to send me suggestions! The post is basically going to highlight the often under-appreciated personal style of PoC, and I’d also like to make sure I include all types of bodies and genders and ethnicities (other than white girls, as we get enough credit as it is, all a tall, skinny blonde woman has to do is wear some light wash jeans, heels and a blouse and high fashion Twitter are posting non-stop about how incredible her style is)! This can be a celebrity, a model, an influencer or even just one of your friends if you think they deserve some hype too! Obviously there’s only so many photos I can include but I will make sure to look at any suggestions, though of course I’m gonna be biased towards the grungier looks; I gave Dolls Kill a pass for a long time because I thought the brand had changed and become more responsible over the last few years but since Shoddy Lynn’s thoughtless Instagram post during the protests last month and then her lacklustre response video, I say fuck that “goth is white” bullshit, alternative black women are hot af. I’ll also make sure to include a list of my favourite black owned clothing lines I’ve seen people talking about on Twitter and Instagram so again, if you have any suggestions feel free to inbox me. Other than that, I have a couple of lookbooks planned and after, either a post about my favourite shows for style inspiration OR a lookbook depending on whether I have the clothes to do it already/can source a few things from Depop-Depp-I’ve made a commitment not to buy anything new for the next couple of months and I want to stick to that this time round! I’d also like to do a general collation of my favourite summer outfits, an almost scrapbook-y kinda post, and another post on some of my favourite fashion icons (I’ll probs end up repeating a lot of the women from the post I was talking about above but I’ll try and include different outfits to keep it varied!). 

Now, into the final part, and the top 20, starting with Tory Burch (I’m really pissed off because I added an unnecessary E in after the R and now Tumblr is once again being stupid and not saving any of my editing changes-also I said on the next post instead of in in the last paragraph and my anal-retentiveness is kicking into high gear). 

You’d think it’s a kinda anti-climatic one to open with but I do like this collection! It reminds me a bit of last season’s Miu Miu but more so of Brock’s general aesthetic, though with more layers and in some ways to its detriment, a lot more wearable. Looking like something from a bygone era is part of what gives Brock its mystique, but Burch’s designs are practically made for the Chelsea born and bred lifestyle blogger who dresses for a cold spell in the Coachella valley all year long and treats trawling Pimlico’s furniture shops and meeting their girlfriends for coffee like it’s a full-time job. She’s probably born into money and doesn’t work all that hard but hey, she looks angelic holding a bouquet of flowers and in 2020 we all low-key want her life, right? It’d go against my ethics but...*whispers* it would be nice to be that girl just for a couple of days. It is a gorgeous collection, with a lush colour palette and an ever graceful variety of prints and textures, and it toes the line of being accessible and being worthy of a fashion week spot with dexterity. 8/10 and it only loses marks because it’s safe for the brand.

When it comes to Valentino, they’re a pretty reliable favourite for me, and this season’s collection doesn’t break tradition; this one is slightly grittier than usual too which is a big win for me. Whilst the usual sophistication and delicate details are there, quirky embroidery, sequins and tulle, we also get a lot of leather and more black than usual, which I pray doesn’t a herald a return to people thinking “I only own black clothes and listen to Artic Monkeys” is a personality trait. I don’t know if it’s intentional, but there seems to be a lot of aquatically inspired pieces in this collection too; the 3d roses resemble scales to me (and are a really unique texture), and the way the tulle is placed kinda reminds me of fins and has a mermaid on land feel. It wouldn’t surprise me, since Valentino does tend to draw from nature quite a bit. Highs for me were the Valentino red tulle piece and the tulle pieces in general, of course with the embroidered florals as well which the basic bitch in me always looks forward to. The few lows were concentrated in the leopard print section, a print that for me is really overdone and reminds me of recent Dolce and Gabbana. It was cool when layered with the matching coat but I otherwise could’ve done without it.

Vera Wang is another one of my reliable faves-I think I like this collection even more than the last, it really is a fucking DREAM. The overly floral pieces I wasn’t too keen on but I’ll ignore that on the basis that as with Gucci, the tulle-harness combo is everything I look for in a dress and more. I know manic-pixie-dream-girl is a bit of a slur (not a slur slur but you know what I mean) in terms of the associated character, but this 90s Courtney Love grunge twist on that aesthetic is gold, fully realised big anarchist fairy energy (which is a screen name I’m surprised I don’t see more often and which I might now steal). These dresses were made for someone like Zoe Kravitz or FKA Twigs on the red carpet, and if god forbid I somehow ever ended up on one, I would go to the ends of the earth to be wearing one of the dresses from this collection. Aside from the dresses, I appreciated the moody doesn’t-want-to-be-at-the-family-function teenager inspired sleeves and the 2014 Tumblr Cruel Intentions style knee high socks. Love, love, LOVE it.

So, Versace started off strong with the all black looks-the cut outs were cute if impractical and the fit and flare trousers in particularly were really well fitted (from a distance, at least). I hated the film Red Sparrow but the visuals were very cool, and this section reminded me of that, like a high fashion collection based on Jennifer Lawrence’s character. There were some stunning colour combos in the Ashish like hyper-floral part too, and the houndstooth, marble and Versace tile prints were sick. The black jumper with the flowers on reminds me of a jumper of my nan’s I always wanted that my aunty ended up donating to a charity shop after she died not knowing I liked it. Gutted (not just about the jumper obviously, looool).

HOWEVER, as with many 91 look collections, it was sloppy at times. A lot of pieces I at first liked (I.E the silver dress we saw Kendall Jenner in, included above) are kind of unfinished up close. There was also a big varsity inspired section which was nice at times but got pretty repetitive and occasionally looked like it could pass for Jack Wills or a bad Michael Kors collection. On the whole, it had both its pros and its cons which puts it directly in the middle of the pack.

Victoria Beckham’s collection is near the lower-middle quartile when it comes to plotting the highs and lows of the F/20 collections. The pieces are pretty and accessible, I’d definitely wear them, but they’re predictable and mostly a rip-off of other brands who did something similar in a more interesting way. Though her collections are never really experimental, this one is particularly safe, and she and whoever helped design this season’s pieces were clearly avoiding the edges of the box like a child playing the floor is lava. It’s alright, and I hate coming towards the end of the post with negativity, but I have to be honest, and this just doesn’t really interest me beyond a “yeah, that’s nice” glance.

Vivienne Westwood, on the other hand, is always interesting whether I would actually wear it myself or not. Despite the mix and matchiness that is essential to the deconstructed look, which being the basic bitch I am I often struggle to see past, there were some gorgeous pieces and eurgh, I could really talk about that Bella Hadid look all day. The contrast between the exaggerated femininity of the waist cinchers against the androgyny of the less structured, oversized pieces is a really interesting one and the colour combinations work beautifully together. I also love the idea behind the collection, which is, in the words of Andreas Kronthaler about “rites of spring, and the good and the bad, and conflict, and the good prevailing over evil”. Ahhh, I hear you say. THAT’S what’s with the garlic necklace. Can I get another pat on the back for summing up this collection as “vampire slaying uniform” in my notes? I mean, that’s kind of a good vs. evil situation, isn’t it? I know it’s hard to ignore how hot vampires always are in TV series and movies but just think of the true forms of the ones off Penny Dreadful and remember THEY DRINK BLOOD (I personally think being a vampire would be really cool, just need to work out how to do it “ethically”).

Lastly, Zimmerman, and I really can’t say how happy I am to end on a positive note because this collection was stunning. Not without all the characteristically ornate, indulgent and painstakingly detailed efforts we’ve come to expect from Nicky and Simone Zimmerman, these looks (in an icy winter themed colour palette as well) are the offspring of a sophisticated flower child and a 70s glam rocker and I think with this sentence I’ve finally put my style aspirations into words. Honestly, give me the money to produce a modern day Almost Famous and I’ll make my character this no-nonsense intersectional feminist front woman of a fictional Haim-like band who sings with the voice of an angel but is rock and roll as fuck and eats men for breakfast and I’ll put her in this collection and (deep breath) it would be ICONIC. There. Got to the point eventually. Am I talking about a 2020s version of Steve Nicks? Possibly. After all, I do have a framed illustration of her on my wall. But regardless, I need those lace-up velvet BOOTS, that mesh dress with the celestial embroidery, the flame detail pieces, the white pussy bow blouse with the eyes on it. Everything is sooo dreamy; when I was looking through the collection for my favourites, I saved pretty much every. single. look. IT’S EVERYTHING I STRIVE TO BE. WHY CAN’T I AFFORD ZIMMERMAN GOD DAMN IT!?

See, I’ll be going on about Zimmerman in a couple of paragraphs again because it will be very high in my top 20, which I’m so glad is a top 20 BTW. I know I said it would be a top 10 in my last post because I thought that was how I structured it last time but I double checked and it is 20, which is a relief; once again, picking only 10 collections would be very hard. SO! Let’s get into it!

1. Gucci

I hate being predictable but Gucci once again holds the top spot for me. How could I not love this? I would say that I hope Alessandro Michele fucks up next season so I don’t come off as a boot licker but when the boots in question are platform Mary Janes and knee high socks and they’re underneath tulle with BDSM inspired harnesses on top...maybe boot sole doesn’t taste so bad after all.

2. Zimmerman

Well, I did say it wouldn’t be long until you were seeing the same outfits again, so at least you know my word is good.

3. Moschino

Wow, as if putting Gucci first again wasn’t bad enough, Moschino’s also a non-mover. But...Marie Antoinette this season and Picasso last? And this campy? It’s like Jeremy Scott reached into my brain magician-into-a-top-hat-style, picked out an interest of mine at random, and tried to communicate this to me through the medium of design with THE most chaotic energy humanly possible. I an only commend the man, because he succeeded, and I approve. It’s weird because before I always saw Jeremy Scott’s designs as tacky and yet I’ve loved all the collections I’ve reviewed, so I must ask...are the collections getting less tacky or am I getting more tacky? Much to think about.

4. Vera Wang

The battle armour of a punk princess. Not very good at protecting against knives, arrows, bullets or...anything really, but I’ve never really been the kind of person to get into physical fights (apart with a bouncer who tried to push me down the stairs once at an ABBA night but I was really drunk and she was mean, alright!?), so who cares? Nobody can make you do anything in dresses this pretty.

5. Lanvin

I’m a few years behind everyone else but I’m still on the Mad Men hype train and I don’t ever want to get off. All I wish is that Betty Draper had *SPOILERS* divorced Don’s detty arse earlier and rode off into the sunset in that white Bella Hadid coat with the red lip to match (or the checkered one above will do).

6. Etro

As long as she remains the queen of dreamy bohemian fashion, I’m not gonna do Etro dirty by putting her any lower than this ever again on the basis that she’s not conceptual enough which ashamedly is what I implied in my last ranking-yes, Etro is a she because just as most women deserve more from men, she is beautiful and deserves better than my previous disrespect! I said what I said. 

7. Dilara Findikoglu

I see your Thom Browne and your Commes Des Garcons and I raise you my “weird”-though-not-actually-that-weird-at-all-can-we-all-just-dress-like-this-on-a-day-to-day-basis-please? fave, Dilara.

8. Paco Rabanne

Battle armour that actually COULD protect you against knives, arrows, and bullets. Maybe. Well, you’d hope so anyway for the price.

9. Rodarte

Suddenly my phobia of spiders has evaporated. And no, it doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that these ones are diamond encrusted, what are you on about?

10. Alberta Ferretti

The colour combinations in this collection were stunning. Honestly. I just picked a really bad pic to illustrate that. Go read my first post to see (grifting 101: complete)!

11. Charlotte Knowles

I saw Bella Hadi wearing a Charlotte Knowles two piece, so I bought a Charlotte Knowles two piece. 

LMAOOO, I wish.

12. Balenciaga

It’s occurred to me a couple of posts too late now on the basis that Tumblr is being a dick and won’t go back and let me edit stuff, even little typos, but I’m now wondering if there’s a link between the climate change theming of the show and the exaggerated structures of the pieces? Ya know, the whole abundance is killing the planet line of thinking? I know analysis isn’t exactly on brand with these silly mini captions and that oversized and exaggerated proportions is one of Balenciaga’s running motifs anyway buuut just a thought I had! And sidenote: I do believe overconsumption is killing the planet! The way I phrased that made it seem like I’m a climate change denying dickhead! That I am not! Maybe if I shave my head, legally change my name to Steve, get a British flag tattoo on my bicep, and spend every waking moment in my nearest Spoons I’ll get there but it’s not on the agenda quite yet!

13. Christopher Kane

If fashionable robots took over the world, they’d raid Christopher Kane’s studio and fry us all with laser beams whilst wearing his dresses.

14. Fendi

Siri, play Vroom Vroom by Charli XCX.

15. Olivier Theyskens 

Mandarin collar. Mandarin collar. Mandarin collar. NEXT TIME I WILL REMEMBER WHAT THE PROPER NAME IS INSTEAD OF NEEDING TO GOOGLE IT AGAIN. Come on brain, you’re supposed to be good at this kinda thing, make it happen.

16. Elie Saab

Blair Waldorf’s wet dream. Add in some platform boots and chain jewellery and now it’s my wet dream too.

Because Chuck Bass is creepy as FUCK and maybe it’s because I watched Gossip Girl at the ripe old age (lol) of 21 and most people watch it as teenagers but I don’t know why YOU WERE ALL SO OBSESSED WITH HIM! He tries to sexually assault Jenny who is about 14 in the VERY FIRST EPISODE. I think I went off on a tangent here but it had to be said. You girls have no taste.

Don Draper was an absolute dog, but he was played by Jon Hamm, and he might be one of the finest men on the planet. What’s your excuse, Chuck and Blair enthusiasts?

17. Miu Miu

As someone who has probably been/met many a spoilt brat in her time, I appoint Miu Miu as the official sponsor of the Spoilt Brat™ aesthetic and yeah, that’s something I just made up but I’m on the money here. Imagine one of those “daddy, can you get me a pony?” types all grown up. Are you telling me you don’t picture her in Miu Miu? Because that sounds like a lie.

18. YSL

The war flashbacks I get of the Friends episode where Ross tries to get out of those leather trousers aside (I know it’s PVC her not leather but they have the same sheen, you can’t deny it), these outfits turn me into the irl version of the heart eyes emoji. It’s not like I think this is the best collection I’ve ever seen, YSL could def push the boat out a bit in terms of experimentation, but there aren’t many people who wouldn’t look hot as fuck in one of these pieces

19. Balmain

I didn’t like ALL of it, but the looks that I did like were amongst the ones that stuck out to me most when I was reflecting on the collections I’ve reviewed: the breast plates and silk capes and the scorpion detailing are real chef’s kiss moments.

20. Marques Almeida

Miss the collection that gave us this coat off the list? Never.

SO!

That is the end! Wow! I started saving the photos for this review back in late January/early February or whenever it was that the first fashion week began and now it’s mid-fucking July!? I don’t know if that speaks more to my incompetency or what a state the last few months have been. I’m not gonna write a super long ending paragraph because you’ve heard enough from me already and it’s 2:30am and I’m being hassled by Trump supporters on Twitter (literally just for stating that it’s a privilege to be able to pursue a career you truly have a passion for rather than having to be practical about finances first) anddddd I’ve got a closing shift tomorrow so I should probably log the fuck off and remove my clown makeup before it’s time to start my shift, lol!

Quick recommendation before I wrap this up, there was a really interesting debate on ITV literally a few hours ago on the Stephen Lawrence case that I thought I would recommend (they also showed the 1999 dramatic portrayal of events afterwards) about racism in England and whether or not much has changed since the murder. I didn’t catch the whole thing but from what I did see, there were some really strong points being made and I think it could be a good thing to sit and watch with your family members if you want to get talking about the Black Lives Matter movement and aren’t sure how to broach the topic. I bring it up because I feel like most middle-aged white people trust ITV so they’re less likely to turn their noses up (lol, I wish I was joking) at it and maybe go in with a more open mind. I’d like to keep the conversation about social issues going so if there’s anything you’d like me to get some information together on and make a post about-I read yesterday that there’d been arrests of THE PEOPLE PROTESTING the way Breonna Taylor’s death has been handled. No, not the police officers responsible for her death, the people simply pointing out that those police officers have done wrong. It’s a ridiculous situation and just shows how deeply embedded a police officer’s supposed right to kill and to use force is in upholding the American status quo. I wish I could end the post on better news, but let’s hope that next time I post, there is some, and as always thank you for reading til the end if you did get this far! I really don’t have all that many followers on here but do et me know if there’s anything I can reblog or share to help.

Lauren x

[rainbowsandsilverlinings]

One Pure, Loving Sacrifice

Or: a different way October 31st, 1981 might have gone.

Read on ao3

“Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off-”

She couldn’t hear any words after that, Lily ran on pure instinct, snatching her beautiful baby boy and sprinting up the stairs and through the nursery door without a glance backwards. Depositing Harry into the crib, Lily gripped the frame for just a moment to compose herself before reaching for her wand. There were protective wards on the nursery door, but they had to be activated with a simple spell.

No.

Her eyes closed in horror when she felt only fabric, no trace of willow.

“Gween!” Lily heard from behind her and her eyes snapped open again in time to see the fading outline of green residual magic, almost a halo around the closed door.

Hearing the following thud made her chest feel like it might cave in. A wave of grief physically pushed her backward, leaving her leaning against Harry’s crib, struggling to breathe.

She had a strange metallic taste in her mouth, it was almost like magic, magic so powerful she could almost bite through it. She was probably imagining it, but she could have sworn she almost felt a hand brush her cheek.

She didn’t have time. There had to be a way to get them out of here, maybe she could make an emergency portkey wandlessly, or—

The door blew off its hinges.

“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!”

“Stand aside, you silly girl . . . stand aside now.”

“Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead—”

“This is my last warning—”

“Not Harry! Please . . . have mercy . . . have mercy. . . . Not Harry! Not Harry! Please— I’ll do anything— ”

“Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!” 

Something moved Lily, it felt as though a firm shove had pushed her a few inches to her right, but it had been enough, just enough. The intense magic of the Killing Curse just brushed a few strands of Lily’s hair, but the proximity of that raw power was enough to throw her violently into the armoire.

She only barely had time to raise her head and begin to reach desperately towards what remained of her family before another intense green light overwhelmed the room.

Only this time, as the magic began to fade a burst of golden, raw, energy burst from the fading green. It would have been beautiful if it hadn’t been terrifying.

Lily was already unconscious as the armoire collapsed on top of her.

Harry was crying.

“James, gerroff me. I’ll go get him.” Lily tried to turn slightly and push her sleeping, dead weight of a husband off of her, but James hadn’t just rolled over and thrown his arm over her this time, his whole body weight was on top of her. Merlin he was so heavy.

“Harry? Oh, Merlin Harry! Come here, up you come Prongslet. Oh, Merlin. Your alright.”

What was Sirius doing here? Lily let out a little grunt of frustration at James, who was just not budging. He has a lot of practice sleeping through Sirius’s outbursts Lily supposed.

“Who's there?” Sirius must have heard her shifting because she could hear him shift Harry to his other side and unsheath his wand wearily.

Confused, Lily finally opened her eyes, not to find herself in her bed underneath her lump of a husband, but rather on the floor underneath splinters of wood mixed with baby clothes. “Siri-” her voice hitched with a pain she hadn’t even processed yet.

“Bloody shit balls, Lily is that you? Merlin’s- ah damn. Hang on, Lils.”

Lily grunted in response but it was all she could do now that she was aware of her situation to just breathe and try to push back something terrible that her brain wanted to remember.

“Wingardium Leviosa”

She hadn’t realized how difficult it was to breathe until the heavy wood was lifted off of her chest.

“Merlin, Lils. What happened? How did you...”

Sirius kept talking, asking, pressing in on Lily’s consciousness but there was something her brain was trying to tell her. “Sirius, where’s James?” Lily cut in suddenly. Something was telling her that she had to find him, and quickly.

Sirius stopped suddenly. “Lily, I-” his voice broke and he just stared at her for a moment.

Frustrated, she moved to sit up “Sirius I need you to tell me-” she was cut off by sharp pain in her side that made her vision swim in front of her face and Sirius’ hand on her shoulder, keeping her static.

“Lily, don’t move, I don’t know if-”

Lily’s voice rose, “Sirius Orion Black you tell me right now what has happened to my husband.”

“He’s dead!” Sirius finally yelled.

“No,” she whispered as a flash of green shaded her memory. But it couldn’t be true he couldn’t be-... “James, no.”

“He’s dea-" Sirius's voice broke, "I’m so sorry Lily, I should have-... I just can’t.” Sirius exhaled audibly, nearly a sob and Lily’s heart sunk even further into her stomach.

Sirius’s grip on Harry tightened and he seemed to compose himself for the moment, “Lily we need to get out of here, I don’t think the structure is stable. Do you think you can portkey?”

Lily whispered again, “James.”

“Shit. I’ve got to get you to Mungo’s. We’ll have to risk it.” There was a pause, “Portus,” and a stuffed dog of Harry’s glowed blue.

“Hold on to me, Lily. Ready? 3, 2, 1.” And the three of them were whisked away.

[darkobsidianquill]

Harry Potter and the descent into Darkness.

Chapter Eight.

Harry entered the chamber, pulled his matchbox-sized trunk out of his front pocket and set it down on the floor. He tapped his wand on the top of it, and it instantly enlarged to full size.

The trunk had three latches on the front; two with keyholes and a spoken password, and depending on which one you turned before opening the trunk, you would find one of three different compartments. The two with the extra security features were book compartments, and the way they worked was really quite fascinating.

When you opened the trunk to one of the book compartments, there were two rows worth of 'shelves' facing up, but they slide from side to side as if they were on rollers. The space was magically expanded on each side of the trunk so even though the books appeared to be sliding into the side of the trunk and vanishing, they were actually disappearing into a magically expanded space. The shelves also looped, so you could keep sliding it to the right for what seemed like forever, and it would just keep repeating the same set of books.

He didn't know how it worked, but he was definitely interested in finding out. He added 'expansion charms' to his list of 'things that are safe to ask the teachers' in a bound notebook he had been keeping for his extracurricular learning activities.

He sat down on the floor in front of his trunk and began to empty it of all of his books. He had amassed quite a nice collection during the past month and a half of owl-ordering from Crespus Publishing's catalog. In fact, the collection had got so large that he hadn't had enough room for them in his old trunk and that was becoming a problem since quite a few of them were of a substantially questionable nature and he couldn't exactly leave them laying on the desk beside his bed for his dorm mates to spot.

He had stuffed them, haphazardly, into his new trunk rather quickly, but now he wanted to organize them. He also wanted to sort through which books from Salazar's Study he was going to... borrow.

The first thing he did was separate his 'safe' books from his more questionable ones. The organized the safe books and put them into the second compartment and gave it the password 'Quidditch'. If Hermione or Ron ever needed to get a book from his trunk for him, he could just tell them that the second compartment was his book compartment and tell them the password. Nice and safe and a good way to avoid suspicion.

All of the other books, he organized by subject and then alphabetically, and then placed them in the third compartment. On that one he assigned a parseltongue password. He used §Notechus§, which was the Latin name for the tiger snake and was the alias he had been using when ordering from Crespus Publishing.

As he was sorting through them, he set a few aside a couple that he he had skimmed through recently and had been meaning to actually practice. He hadn't gotten a lot of time to read many of the books he'd bought from Crespus since none of them were safe to read in the common room, and he had had even less time to actually practice any of it, since most of his time in the chamber had been reserved for practicing the serpentine transformation. Now, however, he thought was probably a good time to try some of them out.

He stretched an arm over his head and twisted a crick out of his back that had formed from sitting on the floor for the last hour. He was relatively satisfied with his book sorting. Most of the books that he had added to his collection, from the Slytherin's library, were books that had probably been left there by Riddle since none of them were old enough to have been left by Slytherin. Some small part of him worried about just how many of Tom Riddle's books sparked a strong pull of curiosity and intrigue in him, but he squashed the concern quickly and pressed on.

He also keep two of Slytherin's parselmagic books.

He looked at the two books he had set aside to practice from and frowned. He was waging a bit of an internal struggle over this. It was so easy to say he was okay with it when it was just a matter of ordering a book from a list, but now that he was legitimately planning on practicing what was contained in the book, he could feel a bit of a queasy unsettled knot in his gut.

This was a book entirely on dark magic.

It certainly wasn't the nastiest of the dark magic books he'd bought. It was sort of an introduction to lesser dark curses. He had already read through several dark magic theory books, but this was the first time he was going to actually try using some real spells.

For a while he hadn't been sure how exactly he would try out the spells. Most were rather destructive, obviously, but he didn't want to start throwing off spells at the walls. The last thing he wanted to do was cause a cave-in down in the chamber and end up getting trapped.

But then he was walking through the chamber one day and looked over at the great, enormous basilisk corpse and was struck with an epiphany.

That beast was magically resistant. Most of his spells would get absorbed right into it's scales, so there was no risk of blasting the ceiling of the chamber in on himself.

He took a deep breath and picked the book up.

It was just magic. Damned useful magic at that. That was all. There was no point in ignoring an entire branch of magic just because it scared those too weak to handle it. Harry was not weak.

Having sufficiently steeled himself, Harry stood to his feet and made his way out into the basilisk chamber. He had the book open in one hand while he skimmed several of the spells and walked, and he had his bound notebook in the other.

The book was called 'Sceadwian's Tome of Shadow Vol. 1; Dark Magic that really really hurts, but won't quite kill.' In his notebook he had already made notes of a few of the spells he wanted to practice, and what page to find them on.

He had two lists. One was a list of environment spells. Things that effected the surroundings. These were spells he figured he could easily practice on the basilisk corpse. The second list was a collection of spells he thought would be useful, but were specifically intended for attacking a live human being with.

He could still practice casting them, but he wouldn't be able to tell if they were cast properly and actually working without an actual person to test them on.

He flipped through his notebook to the page of the environment effecting spells and read through his notes.

Scateren glaesum - Makes any inanimate surface crack and shatter like glass. See pg 98.

Khnwos - Scrambles the matter of an object chaotically. See pg 142.

Dimoliri - Tears down a small structure to rubble. See pg 52.

Collabi - Collapses everything within a sphere of space into a crunched mass. See pg 151.

Quassare - Makes a black point of void and sucks immediate surroundings into it. See pg 172.

Screade - Dark cutting curse that can slice through most anything. See pg 208.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he debated what he wanted to try first. He wondered of Screade, that cut through 'most anything' would be able to cut through basilisk skin?

A cutting curse was always useful, and if this dark cutting curse could actually cut through basilisk skin, it would definitely be useful in other situations. More useful than diffindo, that was for sure.. He decided to focus on it first, and opened his book to page 208 to re-read the section on the curse.

A few minutes later he felt prepared and stood before the corpse and pointed his wand.

He figured he could work up to non-verbal after some practice actually saying the incantation aloud, since he had never actually performed any spells like this before. He aimed at a portion of the basilisk's underbelly, focused his magic and drawing it out and around him and shouted out "Screade!"

He felt a sudden and enormous surge of a certain, neglected portion of his magic flow through him, and out his wand. A black beam of color with jagged twirls of deep purple intertwined with it, shot out of his wand and hit the corpse. Harry gasped and felt his knees give out as he suddenly found himself a few feet lower and blinking in stunned surprise.

The magic that had coursed through him had been so utterly raw and intense. It had felt... it had felt incredible!

He hadn't been prepared for it to feel like that. It wasn't anything like using neutral magic. If anything, it felt a lot closer to what his parselmagic felt like. Only... more.

Harry collected himself and stood back up. His eyes were blazing with a weird sort of ecstatic glee. His whole body felt like it was on fire with white hot amazing. He couldn't comprehend any other way to describe it. He pointed his wand at the corpse and cast the spell again.

He gasped and wobbled slightly at the intensity, but didn't lose his footing this time. He threw the spell again, and again and again, and before he knew what was happening, he was cackling madly at the top of his lungs. The more magic he pulled out of himself and threw into the spell, the more incredible it felt. He finally began to feel so light-headed that he began to waver slightly from side to side and his cackle morphed into a subdued titter. He lowered his wand arm and blinked in surprise.

His first few attacks on the basilisk had left it unmarred, but at some point during his barrage, his attacks had apparently begun to do some actual damage. The small section of snake belly that he had focused his attacks on was criss-crossed with shallow gouges.

Another little giggle escaped his throat at the shock of it.

Power. So much unbelievable, raw, delicious power. It was incredible. He could still feel it. It was coursing through his veins and making his head feel foggy, leaving him in an odd euphoric haze. But he loved it. Oh Merlin, he loved it.

More.

Harry looked down at the book that lay discarded on the floor beside his notepad. He moved over to it in a few quick strides with wide, hungry eyes.

He glanced at his notebook first and decided upon one of the spells.

Quassare - Makes a black point of void and sucks immediate surroundings into it.

Sounds interesting... he said with a twisted little grin spreading across his lips.

He opened the dark arts spell book to the proper page and quickly read through the passages on the spell. He had a feeling he was rushing it, but he just felt so damned eager to try it out. To feel that rush again.

He set the book back down and returned his focus to the basilisk. He pointed his wand, aiming at the same section of scarred flesh he had already assaulted. He pulled forth that intoxicating dark magic that came to him so deliciously easily and let it course through his every limb. His eyes nearly rolled back into his head and another little chortle escaped his mouth before he blinked and refocused on the corpse. Aiming his wand, he called out "Quassare!"

The first time it didn't seem to do anything at all, but he felt the rush of magic. It wasn't nearly as powerful as the cutting curse had been though and he scowled. He refocused his magic, pulling more of it out and leaving it at easy access to him. He tried to control his heavy excited breaths and pointed his wand again.

"Quassare!"

A tiny black ball appeared in space where he was focusing his aim and popped big and then small, and then big again for a split second before disappearing with a Bang!

He felt more of the fantastic tingling vibrating all through him that time and had a better idea of what he might be doing wrong. He walked back over to the book and re-read a passage before returning to the snake.

Once again, he pointed his wand, focused the incredible dark magic just so and called out "Quassare!"

The black sphere appeared again, right at the point where all the criss-crossed scars littered the snake's skin. It grew in size by about two feet in diameter, and during that brief moment Harry was consumed with tremendous euphoria and called out in stunned pleasure. The black sphere then shrunk down into nothing, disappearing completely with a pop!

Where the black sphere had been, now existed nothing. There was a perfect hemisphere-shaped chunk now absent from the side of the basilisk. He could see the layers of skin, muscle, and bone that had been vanished with the black magical ball.

And this is a bloody basilisk! Harry thought with excited glee. Basilisks, that were so incredibly powerful, and supposed to be 'magic resistant.'

Not very resistant to powerful dark magic. Harry mentally chuckled with unrestrained glee.

He closed his eyes and shivered as he let out a slow, shuddering breath. His whole body felt so indescribably amazing. It was like the most powerful endorphins known to man were flooding his entire nervous system, setting every nerve on fire with pleasure.

Harry let out a slow breath and opened his eyes slowly as a wicked nasty grin spread across his face. He felt insane with glee. Too insane to rationally analyze his own thoughts or actions. Everything was about this feeling.

Feeling encouraged by his results, he threw another ball of dark magic at the corpse, with similar results. The insane cackled began to escape from his chest again and he began to send off a barrage of the spell. One after another, he pointed his wand and cast the Quassare curse at the snake, leaving it littered with round holes of varying size vanished from it's flesh. When he cast the spell faster and in quick succession, the circles were smaller, but that seemed to give him the greatest rush.

He began to mix in Screade curses at random intervals, practicing repeating his success at slashing into the beasts flesh with it. He felt the need to move. His whole body was pulsing and his muscles were twitching with the need for action. He began strafing from side to side, and then intermixing it with rolls across the floor as if he were dodging incoming spells. All the while, still throwing the delicious dark curses at the snake and trying to maintain his aim.

Anything to give him an excuse to keep firing off the glorious, amazing magic.

Sometime around three in the morning, after Harry had been laying on the floor in a giggling mindless heap for about two hours, Harry blinked his eyes and began to feel his head clear.

He pushed himself up slowly until he came to sit, cross-legged, on the dirty floor in front of the mutilated basilisk corpse. It was a right mess and it took him a few confused blinks to realize that he had done it all. It didn't seem possible.

Like it had to be some impossible dream.

It just didn't seem possible for Harry to be powerful enough to do that level of damage to a thousand-year-old magical creature. It also didn't seem possible for anything to have ever felt that good. It was like it had to be a dream. It just couldn't be real.

But it had been real.

He had done that. He had utterly lost himself to the magic, and the indescribable pleasure it had brought him. As his mind slowly began to work it's way around what had happened, more and more of him began to grow horrified by the whole thing.

Had that really been him?

Yes.

He couldn't put the blame for this on his companion. That had been all Harry. He knew that. The dark magic had been so good that he had utterly given in to it. He had wanted it to take over.

He still did.

A shuddering breath escaped him and he felt a shudder shoot down his spine, to land in the pit of his stomach with a delicious warm curling sensation, as the memory of the way the magic had felt filled him again.

He lowered his head into his hands and fisted his hair tightly while he clenched his eyes shut.

What the hell was happening to him?

– –

Harry had tried to stay away from the Chamber for the next few days. He had really tried. He had even neglected his transformation exercises. He knew if he went back down there he would have to look at the basilisk corpse, and that would only remind him of how the dark magic had felt.

Was it supposed to do that to people? Supposed to have that strong an effect on a person? He had read a few summaries on dark magic in a few of his text books that made reference to dark magic addiction, but he had never expected it to be so strong, so instantly. And these weren't even very nasty spells. They were kind of mild in comparison to some of the others he'd seen in that book.

Despite all of Harry's efforts of will power, he now stood down in the chamber, looking at the devastated section of snake corpse, and yearning desperately to do it again, while also being absolutely terrified to do it.

You must... face this... do not fear... it. His companion's voice whispered in the back of Harry's mind. Harry flinched in surprise at it's sudden appearance.

His companion had been completely absent during his 'training session' a few nights previous. When Harry had escaped into his mindscape the previous night, he had wanted to steer clear of the whole incident. He was trying to relax and calm down, not dredge up his freaked out worries about the whole thing. And his companion had acquiesced to his desires and had not mentioned the event at all.

"What do you mean?" Harry though in a shaky voice.

The magic only... controls you... because it is new... you are unaccustomed... to it. It will control you... as long as you remain... this way...

Harry bit his lip and looked down at the corpse that was currently tempting him.

"But it was like I was insane... I... what do I do if I ever use that sort of magic out in a real battle and I lose myself? I'll end up killing someone and enjoy the whole damned thing... until I come down from my high later on and hate myself forever."

That is why... you must practice... you must gain control of it. To master the darkness within you... you must use the power. You must use it... learn to harness it's... intricacies... and make the power yours.

Practicing it here... where you can harm no one... It is ideal, Harry. You... you can master your power here. Become master of your darkness... Make it thrive... inside you. Wield it and bend it... to YOUR will.

Harry was slowly nodding his head. He saw reason in that argument, and if it was true that practice would bring control, then it was worth it. He had to admit that another part of him was rejoicing with this new, valid excuse to keep using the magic. To keep feeling that thrill.

Harry tried to shove that insane gleefulness down and closed his eyes.

I can help you... His companion's voice whispered through his mind, sending a shudder through him.

Slowly, Harry opened his eyes and nodded his head. The corners of his mouth turned up, and a fire lit behind his eyes. He was committed. He would do this.

And damn it. He was excited.

– –

Harry had begun to make a habit of checking for Moody and Crouch on the map, every time he used it. It didn't take long to determine that there was obviously something very screwy going on.

First and foremost, Moody never left his office.

Literally. The dot beside the name Alastor Moody never moved an inch. The dot beside the name Bartemius Crouch, however was in the school almost all the time, which honestly, made no sense since the man was supposed to be a high-up ministry worker with a full-time job that did notinvolve the school.

Bartemius Crouch spent an awful lot of time with Moody in his office, and also in Moody's classes.

Was Crouch pretending to be Moody? If he was, he was obviously using Polyjuice potion, which would explain why the man had been raiding Snape's storage room. But why the hell would Crouch be doing such a thing? Harry just couldn't work it out. It made no sense!

In any case, Harry was more than aware that the man he was looking at in class each week, was most likely not Alastor Moody.

One day in class, the next week Harry even pulled out the map from under the lip of his desk, activated it, and checked. He looked up and at the head of the room, lecturing, was was looked like 'Mad-Eye' Moody. But the dot on the map in the exact same spot said Bartemius Crouch.

It was just... bizarre! What was going on? And did anyone else know?

– –

It was now three weeks until the second task. That week would be his last dose of the accelerant potion, and Harry was looking forward to being done with all the potion nonsense.

Neville had spotted him taking his morning potions several times, since Neville had a similar morning schedule, and had no qualms about being in the bathroom at the same time as Harry. Dean and Seamus were still rather skittish about the whole thing, as far as bathroom time was considered, but at least they weren't being obnoxious about it.

Mostly just awkward.

Harry had been making considerable progress in his serpentine transformation. He'd managed to transform both of his legs into a single mass that melded together and then shifted into an extension of his spine, instead of hips and leg bones.

That had been an undeniably bizarre sensation, but he'd done it every day for the last four days and was beginning to feel accustomed to it.

He still hadn't completely absorbed his collarbone and arms, although they did get very small now. He was sure he was getting incredibly close to having the transformation complete.

Harry's dark arts practice had been going great. He'd managed to control his irrational need to do it, as long as he was regular about it. He dedicated a whole hour to it every night, but no more than that. He even charmed a wrist watch so that when the hour was up, it began to get very very hot. If he didn't stop, the watch would continue to get hot until he did stop. If he didn't stop soon enough, it would literally burn him. And quite badly.

But it had been effective at breaking him from his hazy intoxicated state the first few weeks of practice. Now he didn't need it, and as soon as the alarm sounded, he was able to regain control of himself and stop of his own will.

His companion stayed with him during most of his dark arts practice sessions. He didn't say much most of the time, but he would occasionally contribute little hints, or use some strong words or urges to get Harry to calm himself.

Harry still found that he absolutely loved the way the magic felt when he used it. The feel of his dark magic well was just so much more delicious than his neutral magic well. It was also growing stronger.

His companion had been right when he had said that Harry needed to practice. The stronger his dark magic grew, the greater control he had over it.

He also noticed that his gray mottled mindscape was quickly changing it's appearance again. It now had a nights sky. Or at least that's how he imagined it. The ground plane was still gray, but much of the walls and the non-existent ceiling had begun to fade to pitch black.

The darkness was soothing.

His companion seemed to appreciate the change as well. He was able to spend longer periods of time in Harry's aware mind during the days now. He said it was much easier for him to tap into Harry's magic now.

Harry wasn't an idiot.

He knew what this meant.

His affinity had switched. Had his magical affinity really been so light before this all started, though? He had a hard time believing that. But his mindscape had been pure white. Wasn't that a representation of his affinity?

He was really only theorizing, but it seemed pretty glaringly obvious to him.

His magical affinity, which for some reason he couldn't fathom had already aligned with the light before, had managed to switch to the dark, during the last four months.

And he couldn't quite find it in himself to care.

He liked it better this way.

–

Harry made his way to breakfast following behind Ron and Neville. It was Friday and he was both looking forward to, and dreading his last dose of the potion the next night. His mind was busy mulling over the spells he planned to practice that night in the chamber, so he sat down at the Gryffindor table and began to pile food onto his plate on auto-pilot.

"Hermione...? Are... are you alright?" Ginny's voice broke in through Harry's haze and he glanced up, looking between the two with a blank, confused face.

Hermione sniffed once, before quickly mastering her expression, sticking her nose into the air and locking her jaw.

"I'm fine," she said, tersely.

Harry was reallyconfused now. He looked back and forth between Ginny and Hermione, trying to figure out what was going on. It was at that point that he saw the two copies of Witch Weekly that were lain out on the table in front of Ginny and Hermione. He scowled down at the magazine. He couldn't make out the cover, but he clearly saw a picture of Krum from the last task, scowling and then ducking out of the border. The byline also clearly said "Rita Skeeter" under the article's title.

"What has Skeeter done now?" Harry asked in a tightly restrained growl.

Ginny glanced over at Harry and then back at Hermione, hesitantly, as if she was afraid to answer the question.

"She, er... wrote a pretty nasty story about Hermione and Krum," Ginny said, giving Hermione an apologetic look.

Ron's head came up now and he looked at the group of them with an annoyed scowl. "What about Krum," Ron said through a mouthful of food.

"Don't even start, Ron," Ginny hissed angrily. "Not now."

He shot his sister an indignant expression and narrowed his eyes down at the newspaper. He literally sneered down at the photo of Krum before returning his focus to his food.

Harry heard Hermione stifle another sniffle and could see the masked pain in her eyes. He looked down at the offending paper and he felt his anger beginning to boil. He was actually surprised by the intensity of the emotion, considering how little he actually liked any of his once-friends' company these days. They had become a means to a goal, and the goal was was to remain under the radar of the general student populace, and the faculty. As long as he was friendly and he socialized on occasion, and he seemed outwardly happy more often than not, people wouldn't suspect that he'd begun practicing dark magic in Salazar Slytherin's secret chamber.

But still, he hadn't lost all of his old protectiveness of them. Besides, they were his, and anything that the vile Skeeter whore did that was in some way tied to him, made him angry. He would protect what was his.

Harry reached out and made to grab Ginny's copy of Witch Weekly, but Hermione reached out and snatched it away first, causing Harry to growl and glare angrily at her for a moment before he managed to mask his reaction. Fortunately, Hermione was refusing to make eye contact, so she didn't see the fury that flashed across his face.

"You don't need to read it," she said sharply, while staring at the table.

Harry's fumed internally and the angry monster in his gut began to growl and hiss loudly, but he held it in check.

"What. Did. She. Say?" Harry said in slow, controlled words as he fought to keep the beast at bay.

"It doesn't matter," Hermione said as she finally made eye contact.

Harry held her gaze for a long uncomfortable minute. Finally Harry forced himself to push the anger away. He could just get a hold of the paper later on his own to find out what the cow had said. Hermione was clearly embarrassed by it.

"Fine," he said as he turned his attention down to his plate and stabbed his eggs with his fork rather forcefully.

–

"Harry? Can I talk to you?" Hermione's voice called out to him as he entered the portrait hole that night. At that moment, Harry was in the process of coming down from his dark magic high, and usually begged off from 'exhaustion' the second he got back from the chamber. His temper was always a bit skewed after his training and he didn't think he could keep his mask on properly in that state.

So, understandably, Harry was considerably hesitant to agree to her request. However something in Hermione's tone made him sigh – mostly in frustration – and concede.

"Yeah, sure, 'Mione. What's up?" He said as he turned to face her and pulled on the most convincing caring mask he could muster, given his current mental state.

"You know how you couldn't figure out how Rita Skeeter managed to find out about you being... gay?"

"Yeah?" Harry said with mild exasperation.

"You and Fleur talked about it after the ball, but there was no one there, right?"

"Right," Harry replied shortly. He really didn't have the patience for her to be beating around the bush like this. If she didn't get to the point soon, he was liable to snap at her.

"Well some of the things that she said in that... article about... me... there's no way she could have known those things. No way. No one else was there, and I've asked Viktor and he has no idea how she found out either. He was incredibly furious. I know he wouldn't have said anything."

"So what you're saying is that Skeeter must have some secret way of eavesdropping on us?" Harry said impatiently, trying to get this over with quickly.

"Exactly!"

Harry took a moment to breath, trying to push away his irritation with her. He had already figured this, but she had a point. He would have to keep his eye on it more.

"Well, she's banned from the castle. Dumbledore banned her after the first task. But I'll start checking for her name on the map. See if she's sneaking into the castle under an invisibility cloak, or a disillusionment charm. But she might be using someone else to do her spying for her."

"Do you think she could be using the paintings or a ghost as well?"

Harry shook his head. "The paintings wouldn't help her. They're loyal to the headmaster. The ghosts too, except for Peeves, but I would have spotted him if he had been anywhere around when Fleur and I were talking."

"And Viktor and I weren't even in the school for one of the times that she would have had to eavesdrop on us."

"Where were you?"

She blushed. "Out by the lake. Under that willow tree."

"Ah," Harry said, nodding his head in understanding. That was a pretty well known location to go for a good snogging. "Well the map doesn't show me the grounds, only inside the castle, but I'll keep my eyes open."

Hermione bobbed her head in agreement. "Alright. I'll keep my eyes open too," she hesitated for a moment before looking back up at Harry. "Thank you Harry."

"Don't mention it."

– –

Sunday afternoon at half past noon, Harry 'woke' from his final session with the accelerant potion. He stood in front of the full-length standing mirror and admired the results of his hard work and suffering.

In comparison to what he looked like at the start of the school year, he was now a solid seven inches taller. His shoulders were considerably broader and firmly muscled with surprisingly defined deltoids. His forearms felt and looked solid now instead of the frail bony appendages he once had. His legs were similarly well defined now, as well.

His ribcage, hip bones, and spine were no longer visible on casual inspection. He was lithe and he liked what he saw.

He smirked into the mirror as he turned from side to side eying his reflection.

"Well, I'd fuck me," he said, jokingly to his reflection before snickering loudly. He looked older than fourteen now. He could easily pass for sixteen, in fact.

The changes had happened gradually over the last two months, and as far as he could tell, no one at school had made note of the rather drastic changes. However, he was pretty sure that anyone who hadn't seen him on a day to day basis would notice how extreme his 'growth spurt' had been.

Still, he didn't care. Magical growth spurts weren't unheard of. And he could always argue that he was well past due for one.

Finally, he sighed happily and pulled on a shirt and then his robes. As a reward, he was going to head straight up to Gryffindor Tower and go take a much needed nap.

– –

He drew his wand and aimed it at the target dummy he had conjured. It was getting easier and easier to access his magic, even in his ridiculously pathetic vessel. His power was growing in leaps and bounds and he was becoming more and more anxious and excited for his final resurrection.

He called forth his magic and it responded with growing ease. It was still reluctant to answer the his call with this pathetic body as the intermediate, but he was strong. It would answer his will.

He mentally incanted the spell and the orange jagged light shot out of the tip of his wand and exploded against the dummy.

He cackled at the dark euphoria. He had missed this feeling. Almost as much as his books.

He threw another curse, and then another and another in fast succession. The magic flowed through him and around him as he effortlessly commanded it to suit his will.

His endurance was still rather pathetic, and his vessel grew weary far too soon for his liking, but he had made progress.

He called his levitating chair to him, climbed up into it, and sighed as he finally allowed his limbs to relax. He guided the chair into the study but instead of heading to the desk, he went over to the large windows and with a flick of his hand, the curtains were drawn back and bright sunlight beamed inside. The warmth against his skin was a relief. The manor was too drafty, more often than not.

There was a great yard and an untended, overgrown garden below the window. He was on the second floor, and the manor was atop a hill. From his vantage point he could look out and see Little Hangleton in the distance.

A hissing sound from behind him brought a smile curling upon his lipless face. Nagini climbed up onto the sill of the window and he shifted in his chair so that his small bony hand could reach out and touch her. He hummed in contentment at the soft feel of her scales beneath her fingers. She hissed back in pleasure, happy to be at her master's side and told him so. She also told him that she was hungry and wished he would allow her to visit the local town's park so she could eat one of the younglings who played there.

He chuckled, but told her that she would have to limit her diet to the creatures in the nearby woods. She sulked but didn't press the matter.

§Ah, love, I know you are bored and frustrated here. I am as well. But soon, we will be free to leave this place and I can finally resume my work,§ he hissed to her as he lovingly ran his fingers over her head.

– –

It was three weeks until the task and Harry was currently racing from the second floor corridor, down the grand staircase, and towards the entry hall. He had a triumphant grin across his face as he ran.

He had done it.

He had finally completely succeeded at his first serpentine transformation. He could turn into a huge sea snake, and do it at will with ease. He'd got the transformation time down to less than a minute and finally felt like he was ready to try it out in the water.

He had three weeks to practice actually swimming in that damned freezing lake, and making use of the warming and bubble-head charms. He was fairly confident that it would be enough time, but he was anxious to get started.

He escaped the castle and began to jog down the grounds towards the lake when he came across Hagrid coming out of the forbidden forest followed immediately by young golden-colored unicorn foal. Harry grinned, feeling a wave of relief that his Care of Magical Creature's course had finally started covering creatures that weren't constantly trying to eat him. He wasn't sure how much longer he could stand the blast-ended skrewts.

Hagrid grinned at him and waved cheerily. Harry chuckled and waved back but kept on running. He reached the shore of the lake and began to make his way around it until he had reached a section far enough away from the castle, and with a thick enough collection of trees nearby to hide him from anyone who might be watching.

He reached out with his magic, searching for any nearby magical auras, just in case that Skeeter whore was around under an invisibility cloak or something, but he sensed nothing.

He stripped down to his boxers, which was horrifying since it was bloody February, and it was COLD! He quickly cast a warming spell on himself and instantly sighed in relief as a magical barrier surrounded his whole body, creating a small pocket of warmth. Next he swirled his wand around his face, casting the bubble-head charm directly over his mouth and nose.

He gave a few test breaths to make sure the bubble was actually working. When he was convinced the charm was performing as it should be, he steeled himself and jumped into the lake.

Warming charm or no, it was still really bloody cold. But it was just cold, not the icy-freezing-suffering-pain that he was sure it would be without the charm.

He let himself sink down as far as his body would allow, given natural buoyancy, and began to focus on the transformation.

He held his legs down straight below him and felt as they magically melded together. His arms tingled uncomfortably as they shrunk down into nothing but vestigial limbs. His skull shrunk and streamlined, his jaw structure changed and he felt his hinged fangs grow in. A moment later, he was a long, large serpent. A streamlined mass of muscle and strength. He gave a quick test breath from the bubble and could tell it was still in place and still working. His lungs could hold enough oxygen to last him twenty minutes underwater, but he would still want to ration his air since he was using a small bubble over his smaller snake face, and would need it to last an hour during the actual task.

He opened his eyes, but kept his secondary set of eyelids closed to protect his pupils. His underwater vision was impressive and he would have grinned smugly, if he had been capable of it in this form.

He gave a few experimental swishes of his strong powerful body and began to practice swimming.

There was a modicum of instinct that was working for him, but he was still going to have to learn most of it the hard way. Which also meant practice.

–

The one-to-two hours each night that Harry had previously dedicated to trying to master his transformation was now moved to the afternoon and used to practice swimming. After a few days, he added in practice using the locator spell in his snake form, as well.

Since he couldn't exactly hide things in the lake himself, he started using the spell to locate different creatures that he knew should be in the lake already.

Most of the time he just located the giant squid, but he located the merfolk's village, and a large colony of grindylows, as well.

Nothing down there was ever the slightest bit suspicious of him – although several things were quite wary and steered clear of him. As far as any could tell, he was just a very large water snake.

While Harry would have thought that the present of a large snake would be an unlikely occurrence in a Scotland loch in the dead of winter, nothing else in the lake seemed to think so. But the more time he spent down there, the more he became aware that the Black Lake was filled with a large array of very strange and inexplicable things.

His excursions down there were proving to be quite effective, and he was now able to zip his way through it's many nastier obstacles without any hindrance. He wasn't sure if it would really be that easy during the actual task, but at least he felt like he had a good handle on the lake's underwater terrain.

After the first week of practice, he reduced his time spent in the lake to one hour, three times a week, just to keep in good form.

He had been falling behind in his homework lately since he had been putting so much of his efforts towards his preparation for the task, and into his private studies of the dark arts. He had a lot to catch up on, and began to use his now increased free time to work on his back log.

– –

"I want to try something a little different today," Moody said as he came to stand beside his desk and leaned his weight on the corner to allow his fake leg to rest. He looked out over the class of forth year students and smirked.

"Who can tell me the most important difference between an experienced dark wizard, and an inexperienced one?"

The class looked around and quiet murmurs could be heard, but no one raised their hand at first. Hesitantly Seamus rose his.

"Mr. Finnigan," Moody said, nodding his chin towards Seamus.

"Uh, an inexperienced dark wizard won't know as many spells as an experienced one?"

"Well, that is true, but it's not the most important difference. Anyone else?"

"An inexperienced wizard will make more mistakes in an actual battle?" Hermione asked.

"Again true, but that could be said for any experienced wizard versus an inexperienced one. I'm talking specifically about a dark wizard. Anyone?"

Hesitantly, Harry rose his hand.

"Mr. Potter," Moody called out.

"An inexperienced dark wizard won't have control of the dark magic yet. The magic will still be controlling him."

Moody looked impressed and smirked.

"Correct, Mr. Potter!" Moody pushed himself up off the corner of the desk and began his rough pacing. "But is that truly an advantage, or a disadvantage?"

"It depends on how powerful the dark wizard in question is," Harry said.

"Oh?" Moody asked, curiosity and interest shining in his eyes.

"Well... if the wizard had a really large magical power well to draw from, starts using dark spells, and gets lost in the dark madness, they may just go berserk and start blowing up and slaughtering everything in range.

"They may be easier to take out because they're not necessarily thinking defensively, or using a strategy, but you have to be able to dodge and counter their spells to begin with, and you may not have the time or opportunity if they're already gone. At least an experienced dark wizard who has control of their dark magic won't be so wasteful of their power. But they'll also be thinking clearly enough to employ a strategy and counter any attacks you make. So... it depends."

Moody grinned widely. "That's right, Mr. Potter! Twenty points to Gryffindor."

–

"Where did you learn that, Harry? None of that was in any of our defense text books," Hermione said in a flustered, frustrated tone as they walked down the corridor towards the grand staircase.

"Er, it was in one of the books I owl-ordered on my own, I think," Harry said dismissively.

"Really? Can I borrow it?" Hermione said, looking bright and excited.

"Uhm... I'll see if I can remember which one it was from and dig it out sometime," Harry said, hoping that he could just put it off until she had forgotten about it.

"That would be fantastic, Harry. I was really fascinated by Professor Moody's lecture today. I've never heard anyone explain the psychology behind a dark wizard, or the biology of how the magic effects their body, like that before," Hermione gushed.

"Yeah, but what was all that rubbish about endolphins and stuff?" Ron asked. "I couldn't make heads or tails of any of it!"

Harry and Hermione both looked at him with frustrated disbelief.

"They're called endorphins Ron, not dolphins." Hermione said exasperatedly.

"Yeah, well I don't know what that is either," Ron grumbled bitterly.

Hermione turned to face Harry, apparently having decided to pretend Ron hadn't said something exceedingly idiotic... again. "Anyway, I thought it was an incredibly fascinating lesson. I'd never heard that using dark magic effected the nervous system like that before, but it's really useful to know, actually. The fact that the dynorphins and enkephalins in the spinal cord and peripheral nervous system that dampen and slow pain nerves are triggered by the dark magic is huge!"

"Huh? How so? And what the ruddy hell does any of that even mean!" Ron said, cutting back in.

"It means that using a lot of dark magic triggers the body's natural pain dampening systems. What that means is that a dark wizard could get hit with some pretty nasty curses and hexes but not really feel a thing till much later. They'll be able to just keep on fighting."

"Oh... that's... bad," Ron said looking painfully thoughtful.

"But what I thought was really fascinating is the fact that repeated use of dark magic causes a surge of endorphins in the hypothalamus! It's no wonder that so many dark wizards are sadists! They literally feel pleasure when they cast really nasty dark curses at people! The magic makes them feel a euphoric high. It's really kind of sick, but it's also really fascinating."

Harry had to fight against the sneer that tried to pull itself across his lips, but managed to force it down into a grimace.

"But what does that endolphins in the hypopotamus mean?" Ron asked in a frustrated whine.

"Ron, please don't... don't even try to say it," Hermione said, shaking her head and rubbing her index fingers against her temple.

"Well, you know what I mean!"

Hermione huffed. "It stimulates the reward pathways of the brain, giving the person a sense of euphoria and pleasure."

"Oh... well you could have just said that."

"I did!"

"No, you said –"

After that, Harry just tuned them out. He was already aware of all this. He'd been reading up on dark magic for months now. It's not like it mattered anyway. He grumbled in annoyance and hurried his pace towards the great hall. Maybe some food would distract him. 

[helshades]

French prompt! How does one look at être and arrive at fut? (I know "verbs of being" are notoriously unruly, but this was a mystery for me, even though my own language cobbles the tenses from two separate verbs, neither of which have all tenses.) Broader prompt: what used to be the point of passé simple and how did it become "the storybook tense"?

One of my mother’s favourite puns is the following: On ne peut pas naître et avoir été (’One cannot be born and have been’), a play on an old saying, On ne peut pas être et avoir été (’One cannot be and have been’) meaning that one simply cannot live at once in the past and in the present. Grammatically speaking, this isn’t entirely true, though: the French passé composé, like its equivalent the English present perfect, is trying very hard. When you think of it, ‘I have been doing this for the last five minutes’ is telling exactly that: one is performing a continuous action that began some time in the past and is still going at the moment. Every single French pupil learning English was subjected to the example of the vase that one has broken, and is consequently still broken at present. French has one time like this, known as the ‘compound past’, which technically works in the exact same way, except it has come to be used everywhere, replacing even the French equivalent to the preterite, or past simple, to the point that no one uses the French preterite anymore aside from the only people who may get away with reading as highly literary, which isn’t a lot of people nowadays. Children’s books rarely do contain verbs conjugated in the past simple anymore; in (junior) high school, students are only taught the third person of the singular and of the plural for ‘important’ verbs, and a number of people have been pushing for the complete eradication of a tense which they deemed ‘elitist’ for being more complicated than the compound past, which only requires one to know the present-simple forms of auxiliary verb avoir, ‘to have’, plus the past participle of the verb concerned by the action.

Of course, French students used to have no particular difficulty in learning conjugations, no matter how detailed; only, for a few decades now people deeming themselves progressists have imposed new teaching methods based on a supposedly ‘intuitive’ approach to knowledge as well as a downright utilitarian idea of the language itself—what isn’t useful in everyday life will never be of use, and can therefore be dropped altogether. French isn’t taught systemically in French school anymore, grammar rules are generally glossed over and since learning by heart is strongly frowned upon conjugations are more than imperfectly mastered, not to say anything about the basic principles of syntax. Today, it is estimated (by international tests also) that about one third of students enter junior high school (at age 11) without knowing how to read, or write, their own language. Parents usually riot if teachers seek to correct children’s spelling or enunciation, and after each national exam now students take to Twitter to complain about the difficulty of the exceedingly simple tests. In this context, it is very hard to know whether or not the passé simple is meant to fall out of usage definitely—but I suspect it won’t before long, as a matter of fact, as it already serves, along with other grammatical notions, to separate those who do master their own idiom from those who don’t.

In any case, concerning the structure of the simple past and its meaning, I’m reminded of a remark that famous French linguist Émile Benveniste made about the simple past: like narration, in which it is almost exclusively employed, the simple past is non-deictic, whereas discourse as well as the tenses used in it are deictic, meaning they are anchored in the ‘situation of enunciation’, the frame of the dialogue. Being outside the deixis, the simple past operates somewhat remotely from the event which it describes, inducing an impression of temporal and/or spatial distance with it. Quite frankly, it’s hard not to make a parallel here with the postmodern obsession with immediacy and its deep-rooted hatred of the long term...

Speaking of long-term things!

How does one look at être and arrive at fut? Well, that is a splendid question, reaching far into the history of the French language, and in truth all Indo-European languages since they all have the quirky habit of mashing up the conjugations for several verbs expressing slightly different aspects of an action and deciding that they are to be only one verb now—usually, an auxiliary, and the results are just wild. But let’s get a closer look at the conjugation we’re dealing with, here:

You’ll note that I didn’t include (amongst other things) the four tenses of the subjunctive mode, to avoid being too long as I only aim to draw a few explanatory comparisons with Latin, but just in case, I’ll remind you that the present goes que je sois (sois, soit, soyons, soyez, soient) while subjunctive imperfect goes que je fusse (fusses, fût, fussions, fussiez, fussent). And now, hoping you didn’t run away screaming and flailing, I propose a little comparison with the equivalent Latin tenses:

Please fawn over my pedagogical abilities. Once that is over, please note how the conjugation of être was mostly constituted in Old French (from the 9th century onwards), bar a few interesting exceptions, such as the concurrent forms in the future: the older stem, er- or ier-, directly evolved from Latin. Linguists theorised that the stem that ended up in modern French, in ser-, is actually a syntagmatic construction taken from the Latin infinitive (es)sere to which were added special endings borrowed from the conjugation of auxiliary avoir, to have. Romance languages all form their future synthetically. For instance, ‘we will love’, nous aimerons, is literally nous aimer-(av)ons. (Compare to Spanish cantaré, ‘I will sing’, which is cantar + hé.) Where être is concerned, the ser- stem replaced the original infinitive after too many speakers dropped the beginning of infinitive essere, especially in the first person, and a full tense ended up being constituted from that model (hence the ‘syntagmatic construction’ I was mentioning earlier: it didn’t evolve so much as it was reshaped to accommodate usage).

If you know a bit of Latin, you might have frowned upon the infinitive essere, since the classical verb is esse. Esse was a pretty archaic form to begin with, although it was actually conjugated regularly; the -s had mutated to an -r between two vowels in most other verbs pretty early in the evolution of the language, and that is where the French infinitives (-er, -ir, -re) come from. But esse remained unchanged, probably because of its particular role as an auxiliary. On the other hand, in Vulgar Latin, which was Latin as it was spoken by regular people, the strange infinitive got hypercorrected, ‘regularised’, into essere, after getting mistaken for a stem. And since Romance languages are mostly stemming from popular, late-era Latin, rather than the literary language... In Italian, the infinitive is still essere. In Spanish, it evolved into ser. In Occitan, into èser. The t of estre is, as you can see, a French particularity; it’s purely epenthetic, meaning it was only added to ease the pronunciation of the word, in this case after one of the vowels dropped: esre > estre.

The participles of être, however, both in the present (étant) and the past (été, ayant été) don’t come from any version of esse, any more than the imperfect tense, since its Latin equivalent was eram. They come, instead, from an entirely different verb: stare, which evolved into Vulgar Latin estare, which in turn became Old French ester, and which meant ‘to stand, to stay’. Well, it’s actually the origin of verb ‘stay’ in English, which was borrowed from the Old French. In modern French, you’ll find its descendant as rester, ‘to stay, to remain’.

And this is where we come to our strange Latin stem in fui-, and its French equivalence in the simple past. Now where does that come from?! Well, my dear Tatty, it is the last remnant on an archaic verb issued from an Indo-European root °bheu- meaning ‘to grow’, ‘to become’. It’s why the auxiliary in English is ‘to be’, actually! (Proto-Germanic °beuną > Old English bēon > Middle English been). In most languages this Indo-European root gave words beginning in b-. The exceptions are Sanskrit (bh-, with a strong aspiration), Hellenic languages (Ancient Greek φύω, phúô) and Italic languages, where it ended up being pronounced as an f, hence fui. In passing, the original meaning of the Indo-European root, ‘to grow’, has been preserved only in Greek φύσις, phúsis, ‘nature’—hence ‘physics’. Morphologically, though, the root is present everywhere in Indo-European languages, starting with the word ‘future’ itself.

A major difference between Latin (and Greek) and Germanic languages, however, is that fu- in Latin possessed in its meaning the idea of veering towards the completion of an action, but that was expressed differently in the future (participle) and in past-tense narration; eventually, the future aspect was dropped from the language altogether, and all that remained was the stem’s perfective value (the idea of accomplishment, of a done and over thing), which serves to explain how the fu- root came to be specialised in Romance languages as a form destined for the simple past/preterite/perfect tense. (In Germanic languages, the past is defined by the idea of staying in one place, whereas the enunciation is characterised by a general idea of ‘aiming towards’.)

In guise of a conclusion, I heartily recommend the Wikipedia article on the Indo-European copula, which is long and bountiful and makes a few salient points on the topic of this fixture in all Indo-European languages that is a weird, weird little verb corresponding to the English to be, and it tells a lot on the way languages get shaped.

[witchoflavender]

Modern Witch Tools

If you’ve read just about any Wiccan book, and most non-religious Witch books as well, you’re probably familiar with these 4 tools:

An athame

A wand

A pentacle, and

A chalice

For those who feel called to these tools, that’s wonderful. But recently I’ve been thinking about modern adjustments for these and other tools. 

I wanted to show it’s possible to use new tools that still have their own beauty.

Athame -> Letter Opener

If your athame is not a practical tool, but a ritualistic one, then a letter opener is another option. (In fact, maybe preferred, since it’s safer after all.) Also, there are so many beautiful options:

For me, I use a letter opener for fiddling with candles and other such things. Of course, it’s not especially sharp. If you want something that can be used to cut, consider

Athame -> Scissors

In our current world, most people don’t handle knives except for cooking. But scissors are handled every day for all sorts of tasks. When hearing the phrase, “cutting ties”, I believe many would think of scissors over a knife; scissors as a tool have their own potency.

And again, if you look for them, there are a lot of lovely options.

Wand -> Paintbrush, Pen, or Pencil

Not only similar in shape, but similar in function; a writing or drawing tool channels creative energy into a piece of art. A wand channels magical energy into a piece of spellwork or ritual. A paintbrush itself also offers a chance for decoration, as they are usually a bit plain. If you’re drawn to pens, consider an antique or inkwell pen. Pencils come in both traditional and mechanical; mechanical has the benefit of not being “used up”. 

Related in my mind, kitchen witches may feel drawn to a wooden spoon, or some other kitchen tool. Honestly, any tool, especially of this kind of thin shape,  could be used as a wand.

Wand -> Lighter

This one might seem odd, but hear me out. A lighter certainly wouldn’t replace a wand in the way that a letter opener might be able to replace an athame. BUT. Wands are associated with fire. If you’re looking for something to represent the element of fire on your altar, a lighter is a good modern day tool. 

Or, there are longer lighters (try searching “candle lighters”) which have more of the feel of a wand:

Wand -> Fan

Now, wands are sometimes associated with air, (switching places with the athame in that case) but, the other reason I bring this up, is that fans direct air in much the way a wand is meant to direct energy. For me a wand and a folding fan feel similar in my hand, somehow. 

In the end, a wand is a bit difficult to replace. Unlike the others it has wide recognition as a general magical tool. But if you put that aside, I think either of these suggestions can work for an altar. 

Chalice -> Glasses

A chalice is basically equivilant to a modern day wine glass in both appearance and function. In fact, I’m sure many people use one as a chalice already. Consider stemless as well as tradional wineglasses:

Pretty much any kind of glass can be used, in fact. The idea of a drinking glass is something that we encounter every day. A chalice is not. For some people, that may mean a deeper connection with the tool. 

(Below: cocktail glass, shot glasses, and flute glass, in that order.)

There are so many options here, I couldn’t cover them all. But I’m sure you get the idea.

Chalice -> Mug or Tea Cup

Fairly similar to above, but different enough I felt they deserved their own category. Has the advantage of being a little less fragile, and able to handle hot liquids safely.  If you prefer a symmetrical look, there are handleless mugs as well.

So many pretty options—I love tea cups!

Pentacle -> Coin

For me, it’s always been a bit odd to me that a pentacle is meant to represent earth on the altar, and yet the pentagram itself is a representation of five elements. But anyway,

Coins are an obvious choice, representing resources. In fact coins replace pentacles in some tarot decks. For an altar tool you will likely want a larger one such as a dollar coin. There are plenty of different variations, giving you some options. For rarer versions, you may have to pay more than the coin’s worth, of course. 

There are also fantasy coins you can buy if you prefer something along those lines. 

Pentacle -> (Wooden or Stone) Bowl

Another slightly odd thing about pentacles to me is that it is the one that feels the least like a tool. A bowl is a tool you can use in ritual to hold offerings, grind spell ingredients, or make other preparations. It’s a bit hard for me to explain how a bowl connects to earth, but there’s something about the container, the physical structure holding chaotic ingredients, that feels very earthy. I suggest wood or stone for the bowl over ceramic or plastic, as I feel those will have a stronger earth energy, but do what you are drawn to!

Wooden bowls offer a chance for carving, if you have that skill, which could be a lot of fun. 

Pentacle -> Box or (Small) Chest

If pentacles are related to coins and wealth, what is used to store wealth? A chest. Boxes are how we store physical resources. The hoarding and hiding away of them. Again, I suggest wood or stone, but go wild. 

In some ways, the box is even more earthy to me; I associate straight lines with earth. 

Allright, moving on from the four Wiccan tools, lets look at some general spiritual, witchy tools. 

Cauldron -> Pot

I’m sure this will appeal especially to kitchen witches, but makes sense for anyone. The key for me to turning this from a mundane tool that happens to help with spellwork, to something that feels in and of itself magical, is reserving its use; only use it for spellwork, and have other pots for cooking. Aesthetic helps too.

There’s both typical metal pots, and the ceramic type. Honestly, the brass color real appeals to me here as being both a bit unusal but still easy to use (I find ceramic a pain, but that’s just me!)

Censor -> Scent Diffuser

While burning incense or candles for scent is lovely, there are a lot of downsides. Dorms and certain apartments don’t allow it, for instance. Also, it actually isn’t great for you to inhale smoke? Scent diffusers are an easier way to freshen up your space. (Though essential oils can have their own health issues, especially for pets; do your research.) Just a few drops of essential oil should be enough to last you for hours.

Censor -> Oil Warmer

Similar to the above, oil warmers are a great way to use essential oils. Make sure to dilute them in a carrier oil. There’s both candle based ones and electric ones.

Hand Mirror -> Compact Mirror

Of course, hand mirrors are still used, but I wanted to throw this idea out there anyway. Great for scrying, “bouncing back” energy, amplifying your spells, or anything else you might use a mirror for.

Being compact makes them easy to take with you, which is convenient. I also like the idea of being able to seal them up when you aren’t using them. 

And that’s it! I hope people find this interesting or even inspiring! I think it’s really valuable to rethink tradition to find what actually fits.

Witch on.

[shardclan]

At the center of the vast hall within the Beacon, the emanating glow of the Lightweaver flashed and warmed in recognition.

“Ah… the prodigal queen.”

The great golden doors closed and Rebis strode into the light. Short as ever, with the same rounded, childish face, but her frills sat higher and straighter than they ever had during their previous encounters. She knelt just outside the brightest perimeter of Weaver’s light, and dutifully payed her homage.

“I have returned, your Luminance."

“And brought with you the smell of ash and stardust,” the Weaver chided. “You could not spare time to be cleansed before coming into My presence?”

“No I could not,” said Rebis, with no trace of fear or indignity. She rose back to her feet, though she kept her eyes humbly cast down. “I had to spare an eon for my mind and the bodies of my knights to heal. Then another more to regain our strength and take the long path back. Sparing any more time would simply be too costly.”

The light shifted, as if the god within were reclining on a throne of Her own presence. “Yet you've spared the time to see me before all else. Diligent. Nearly devout… But I see a practical cause in your eyes.”

“I've come to receive your acknowledgement as an Archmage in your service.” “A strong way to phrase a request, child.” The light strobed slowly—muted, then warm, then stark white with whatever whims Lightweaver was entertaining. “What would you do, I wonder, were I to decline?” Rebis raised her eyes. They were more golden than they had been in nearly a full cycle, the sickly pink tinge of her contamination banished to a tight roseate ring around pupils that glowed white with her magic. 

“There's no correlation between my abilities and what you do or don't say to me before I am dismissed. I'd leave and go take care of business.”

The light shifted and flickered with the mirth of the deity within.  “Such a sweet little spine you've grown while the parasite has played in your streets! That is a convincing impression of Telos if ever I heard her insolence.”

Rebis' frills drooped. Her face crinkled as if the thought pained her, but she kept her head high and her eyes focused ahead. "I must respectfully disagree. Telos is gone, your Luminance. It's just me. If my tongue seems insolent, please forgive me and know it's only my eagerness to restore Analemma.”

“I'm sure it is. And you have chosen an interesting time to do so. The parasite is strong and so are you.” The light homed in on Rebis' face, forcing her back to her knees under the full and looming presence of the deity. “Let me look in your eyes and know what you have in mind…”

------------------------------------------------------------

Outside the golden doors, two guardians waited for their charge on the Exalt’s Path. 

The Beacon rumbled. They shared a look, but it was not the place of either of them to intrude of whatever might be happening inside.

Mere moments later, Rebis exited no worse for wear. 

"I presume things went well?" asked Rubranova.

Rebis smiled modestly as she marched ahead down the path. "She was as pleased with the depth of my spell as I imagined she would be."

"Congratulations."

"Thank you. It’ll make things easier down the line. Right now, I wish to get down to business. Make your way to House Betelgeuse. Find my Tribunes, the margravines, and the beastclan intermediary and send them to me.”

Rubranova grinned wide and flex her massive hands, knuckles popping in a synchronous staccato. “And if should they resist?”

Rebis glanced at Arcanus. One of the resisters would definitely be the Tribune of Commerce—his beloved niece. The one who had nearly killed him.

“Drag them by their necks if you must."

"Yes, Your Majesty." With a cursory bow, Rubranova shed her glamour and flew off south toward House Betelgeuse.

Arcanus took his place at her side. The celestine resistant armor had gone un-repaired. There was simply no way to get a new set constructed in the chaos, so he remained just out of her reach, but close enough to defend her, if it came to that.

Without turning around, she knew the exact posture of his body and length of his stride. The passively intense expression when he was on guard that slightly tightened the contour of his jaw. She knew the set of his brow. he exact shade and shape of his lips. The sleek, inky silkiness of his hair, uncut since he left Telos’ side and kept neat by a long braid tucked into his armor.

She knew the new color of his eyes—tinted by the magic she had pushed into him while he lay physically alive but so magically depleted he would have died. She knew the exact spot on his abdomen where cauterization had left a fleshy splotch of scar tissue. And precisely where on that splotch she could find the ridge of an incision scar where Eaqarab and Heaven had to surgically remove Stellaria's horn. 

She even knew the precise amount of silver, roughly twice the length of her thumb, that still capped his right horn from when it had broken. It would be another two eons before it finished growing back.

So clear were all these details that she knew she loved him still, in some small and private way. But she was no longer consumed by adolescent carelessness at being by his side. There was something about nearly watching him die that forbade that kind of feeling from lingering. 

More than any dream of reciprocation or romance, her heart's desire was to protect him. She never wanted to see him on the brink of death in her name ever again. 

Luckily, becoming strong enough to protect her clan had the wonderful benefit of making her strong enough to protect herself. 

They crested the final hill and stood on the precipice of the valley that sloped mildly down until it became the Summerlands on the horizon. In the distance, the Courtyard of Five Lights glowed even in the daylight.

Rebis’ lips thinned, and she took off at a renewed march.

Under the arcades of the garden she had grown up in, it was almost like Brightshine was already underway. Sunchaser orbs littered the pale sandstone. Garlands of flowers, gemstones, and assorted glittering baubles hung from wherever they could be suspended and were wound around the pillars and colonnades where they could not. The mediation hall had been remade into a strange shape—undoubtedly by an abuse of Moyo’s architectural magics. It looked more like a child’s sandcastle than a structure.

Rebis’ eyes immediately turned in the opposite direction to assess the museum. But it was fine. Untouched, unaltered, and undecorated.

“Camellia,” said Arcanus.

The mere name set her at ease. Nothing would be even a centimeter out of place if Camellia had established the museum was under her protection.

She gently kicked a bauble aside and ascended the stairs into the Hall. The massive columns were undisturbed. The midnight colored banner rippled peacefully with the emblazoned crest of Analemma still whole between the gold trimmings.

“I’m a little disappointed,” Rebis said light-heartedly, shrugging her thin cloak off into Arcanus’ waiting arms. “I was hoping they would have decorated this place too.”

She made a beeline for the private quarters beyond the discreet entry way tucked against the back wall. While she didn’t feel a change of clothes was strictly necessary, it was appropriate. A thing for show, just like receiving the mantle of Archmage in official capacity when she very much already had the power.

She picked the first thing her eyes paused on. However, because her newfound lack of self-consciousness regarding taking care of her responsibilities had nothing to do with her still being a young dam, she still peeked over her shoulder to make sure her knight had politely turned his back before undressing.

The flowing cotton and smooth silk was practically ticklish on skin that had grown accustomed to thick wool and rough leather. Her old focus sat beneath the window. She fluffed her short curls around her crown and took it, even though she didn’t need it.

Telos had been a modest queen. A circlet rather than a crown. A simple stone chair rather than a throne. With fresh eyes, Rebis saw and understood that it was integral to Telos that she could make those things into something finer than they were by filling them with presence she already had by way of her ancestral experiences. In the end, she truly was an alchemist, transmuting common marbles into diamonds by her mere proximity to them.

Rebis was technically older than Telos had been when she took her place at the head of the clan, but she didn’t have any ability like that. What she had was the kind of power that could perhaps have protected the old clan from Lutia’s wrath.

Maybe it was two eons of living among mercenaries, but she suddenly had very different ideas about how she should present herself. She wasn’t Telos, she could not do what Telos did by trying to think or act as she did. Her time at Horizon’s Landing had taught her that, and for the first time, she was prepared to step out of the space Telos left behind and create a new one of her own.

But just like celebrating the accolade she had been granted, that would have to come later.

For now, she sat in the stone chair and glanced at the abandoned parchments scattered over the marble surface of the Tribunal table.They were old. Covered in dust and the cobwebs of spiders with adventurous ideas.

She gathered them all into a neat stack and waited.

Saber was the first to arrive and greeted her with as much warmth as desperation. She asked if anyone had died. When he told her the answer was no, she bade him hold his peace. Her absence and the enthrallment had left the clan’s affairs in tatters. Discussion would be long, intense, and undoubtedly boil over more than once. The last thing she wanted was to rehash any of it. They would wait until every single one of them was gathered to begin.

He seemed surprised but bowed his head and patiently sat down.

Ashes and Flaga arrived together in the company of Nayvadius. The champion greeted her with his same old insolent smile, but she just smiled back. Of course, he was fine. His unusual condition aside, he was the type of drake who wouldn’t die even if Bestealcian personally killed him.

Caress arrived with war in her eyes and Maka with carefully neutral temper in hers, but both were forced to yield before they could begin by the arrival of the Tahalils.

Rubranova landed with a powerful beat of her guardian wings and assumed her glamour between the vast pillars. She marched in dragging both Stellaria and Miscedence by coils of their hair wound tight around her relentless fists.

Alala, smaller but no less imposing than her daughter, followed in her wake with Samradh held at scalpel point. It was a deft matter for her to tie the three enthralled tribunes to their chairs before she took her seat with a pleasant smile.

With a flick of her fingers, Rebis cast lights into the high archways and corners, shedding a warm glow over the stone that would not otherwise arrive until the afternoon sun came in.

“I’m glad you to see most of you are well,” she began. “Those of you who aren’t, will be. I’m alive, I’m home, and I am not leaving until I have a concrete plan to restore this clan to its proper function. Neither are any of you. And yes--” She looked pointed at every one of them with eyes full of scorching inner light. “—That does include dealing with Titi-tet.”

Not a single one of them rushed to speak. All around her table, even from the enthralled, were wide eyes and parted lips. 

She sat back and folded her hands atop the cold marble. “Tribunal is in session.”

[thecrossingroleplay]

W E R E W O L V E S

Description and History: Werewolves, much like vampires -creatures they have been known to war with for thousands of years - have no ties or loyalties to another species. They were never known to exist as the underlings of angels, or demons, or the gods. For the most part, the werewolves have lived alongside and within the human realm. Most live human lives, with human jobs and personal lives. They tend to obey human law. Aside from rogues, they mostly even try desperately to get a handle on the shifting so they don’t harm another human. While they obey the human law, there is a higher power they all answer to. Their alpha. It’s fairly rare to find a lone wolf, and when stumbled across, they’re usually a result of being abandoned or removed by their pack, or by having their pack killed. The alpha is royalty to the wolves. They make the rules the pack lives along and while not everyone likes it, they all obey it. As opposed to how most species tend to obey one royal, there are several alphas all over the world, running their various packs. Some packs are small, some are on the larger side but they all share the common instinct to obey their leader. As for the history of werewolves, it’s hard to say their roots. Some say ancient goddesses blessed them, others say they were men who committed horrible acts and whose bodies contorted into beasts to match their acts. The truth is, werewolves existed before man for years. There was a time where more shapeshifters existed than men. A time where the beasts roamed wild but maintained a symbiotic relationship with their neighbors. Over time, bloodlines got watered down by intermingling with humans, to the point there was so little werewolf that those watered bloodlines couldn’t shift. Other wolves were killed by jealous humans, or angry humans. Some even turned on each other. There were no history books to tell the stories, though sometimes, such stories are still whispered among campfires: the bloody ending to the tale used to scare little children into behaving. Psychology: The psychological profile of a werewolf is quite similar to that of a human, in almost all and every aspect of it. They share very few differences in things like mood and other emotional tendencies. However, werewolves are more prone to things like anger. Those emotions tend to be more advanced. Most werewolves also tend to linger on having very hair trigger esqe emotions. They don’t feel things quite as intensely as vampires, but most of their emotions are slightly heightened and tend to end up translating into rage. They are also known to be slightly more impulsive than the typical human, which is what leads to the werewolf attacks. Werewolves are more attuned with their gut feelings than most humans as well. Though this isn’t always the best thing for them. Appearance: Werewolves look just like humans. They’ve got the typical humanoid structure on a day to day basis. The only difference between them and a regular human is not something that someone would see and immediately think “werewolves”. They tend to be more muscular in their human form. They’re not always entirely buffed out, but they do tend to be toned, which more than often shows in their form. Like phases of the moon, there are varying phases of shifting. The first for them is yellow/golden eyes, something that can even shine through in their human form if they lose control of themselves. They can also develop claws, which are the second to appear in a shifting. Usually, any further half forms are achieved by stronger, more powerful werewolves. Such as extension and sharpening of the canines. Occasionally, fur will also start to grow from their skin. Such as on the backs of their necks. These are all varying stages of what’s known as a “half form”. Their full form can only be obtained on a full moon. This is a complete shift into a wolf. All coat colors follow the typical coat colors of a regular wolf. They are also slightly larger than the common wolf. Weaknesses: Like shapeshifting is the most common known ability of werewolves, silver is their most commonly known weakness. To them, silver is a poison. It can kill them immediately if the weapon is put somewhere lethal. Say if they were stabbed in the stomach by a silver blade, they’re likely to die. Or if their throat is cut. Because silver impedes their ability to heal and poisons them simultaneously, wounds that would not mean loss of life become mortal injuries. However, some werewolves manage to regenerate or get help fast enough that they can recover. The easiest way to ensure a werewolf will die from a silver weapon is stabbing them in the heart. From external exposure alone, their skin will burn and sizzle from contact with the metal, much like a demon will react to holy water. Other less popularly known weaknesses are mountain ash and wolfsbane. They will both result in a similar burning sensation to silver, but are not as deadly if ingested. The ingestion in high doses may put them into a coma like sleep, and in low doses knock them out and cause intense pain. They’re capable of falling prey to mind manipulation tactics of creatures such as demons. Even though they tend to have stronger wills than a human, they’re still vulnerable to such powers. Decapitation and fire will also bring death to them. They can fall victim to some human illnesses, and can also die from old age. Werewolves are slaves to their emotions as well, and fall victim to heightened emotions, which often will end up bringing on things like half-turnings. Abilities: Werewolves most obvious and of course well known ability is to shapeshift. Their ability is very much attuned with the cycle of the moon. While some powerful werewolves can access a half form, it’s practically unheard of for any wolf to be able to fully shift into a wolf outside of a full moon. All wolves are equipped with heightened senses, as well as enhanced speed, strength, agility and dexterity. While they do have these advanced features as opposed to say a human, these abilities do not surpass those of most supernatural beings. It’s often the skill and knowledge of using their abilities that allows them to defeat enemies of a more powerful species. On a full moon, all these abilities are increased to around the same level of power as vampires. Along with these abilities, they also have their own version of telepathy. By penetrating the back of the neck of a person, they can sort through their memories and depths of their mind. While this is possible, it takes a great deal of practice and a powerful werewolf to manage such a feat. Other attempts can often result in killing the subject of this. Though with this ability, it’s far easier to develop a telepathic link with another species that happens to be strong in telepathy. They have the power of their bite, which allows them to turn humans and humanoid species into werewolves. Alongside these other capabilities, they also possess a high resistance to most human viruses. With this, they have an incredibly high healing factor. While they don’t recover from flesh injuries as quickly as some species, they do recover fairly fast. They’re not as fast as some other species, but fast enough that most injuries don’t last long. Creation: Werewolves by nature follow a similar creation pattern to their enemy species. A werewolf is created in one of three ways. They are born, bitten, or cursed. To be born, a werewolf merely must have a werewolf ancestor within a relative family. A werewolf grandparent, parent or great grandparent. Most are predisposed to this gene. Werewolves born with the gene must first kill someone before they are able to shift. Whether the death was an accident or not, if they caused it, then they will find themselves shifting on the next full moon. A rare few are born already able to shift, but this typically runs in bloodlines. So werewolves who were born capable of shift will pass that on to their children. Werewolves can also be created with a bite. Should a werewolf bite a human or a creature akin to them (ie. witch, necromancer, banshee) the human will likely change. This change kills several humans, or it turns them. There is rarely ever any sort of prevention for the change, though some spells can interfere. Most humans end up not being able to handle the shift and die in the process. In a rare case, werewolves can also be created by spell work. If a witch or sometimes even certain demons were involved, they can use some transformation spell work to cause a regular human or creature to become a werewolf. This is fairly uncommon, unless a witch is particular pissed off or a demon with the right skill set just so happens to be bored. Nutrition: Werewolves are not privy to any particular diet. There are several rumors and suggestions they feed off human flesh, but these rumors were born from fear and an attempt to create a divide between wolves and humans. While in wolf form they have a penchant for raw flesh, in human form most times they purely crave a higher caloric intake. Their body requires higher amounts of nutrition and protein to sustain their powers and abilities. This often means they consume a great deal more than the average human.

[adamantiiine-blog]

THE MULTIVERSE

Origins of Magic on Earth

Since there’s no official canon explanation for where magic comes from on Earth in HP, I’m gonna go ahead and make my own explanation. Because I love my random worldbuilding headcanons that don’t exactly have any real bearing on anything but just exist to exist.

ANYHOW, Magic on earth obviously comes from Eä. I talked more about the multiverse and the passageways between in this post so go ahead and take a look at that for further explanation, but a brief run-down is that the passages on Earth exist at prominent intersections of ley lines. In the Harry Potter universe, some of the earliest known wizards are Ancient Egyptians, Indians, and Greeks, which would line up with some of these intersections (One in Southeast Asia, one MAJOR one in Egypt, which was also at one point part of the Greek Empire). There are also other major intersections in North America, and also… guess where… Scotland, pretty close to most speculations of the location of Hogwarts.

Magic on Earth comes from the fragments of the Music of the Ainur that seeped into Earth’s reality, traveling and connecting the passageways along the ley lines. As it travels across Earth, this mystical energy is warped a bit by Earth’s energy, creating some differences between the way magic works in either universe.  

This inundation of Earth with fragments of the Music of the Ainur is what caused the introduction of plants with magical properties, and gave rise to many sorts of Magical Creatures that are similar to nonmagical creatures. Others (creatures and plants that exist in both worlds, for example), appeared as a result of seeds, and of the creatures themselves, crossing through the passageways.

T H E   O R I G I N   O F   W I Z A R D K I N D

As for the origins of wizardkind, and why some humans are wizards and others are not, this is due to interbreeding between people from Eä, who are fundamentally created by the Music, and who it flows through, and humans from Earth. This would create children who were capable of tapping into the residual energy of the Music that laced across and throughout Earth. This ability did not die out, and thus wizardkind as we know it continues to exist.

Important to note that most of this interbreeding was between early Men of Arda and humans. While Men do not have much innate magical ability in Middle Earth, they are still intrinsically connected to the Music, and it is possible for Men to become sorcerers. Thus, Men, or Atani/Edain, are slightly different species than the Humans of Earth, though in many measures there was little difference between them, and they did not often note any.

Because these mixed families tended to settle and live together not too far from the passageways and travel was limited in the ancient world, the distinction between wizardkind and non-magical people became more and more prevalent. Once many of the passageways became inaccessible, the humans of earth and the Atani of Eä no longer interbred, and the worlds were largely separated. Thus, the evolution of both beings and creatures on earth and Magic itself, differed from that of Eä, and the two worlds became much different.

D I F F E R E N T   M A G I C S

Time as a whole moves much more slowly in Eä, which contributes to the rapid development, evolution, and innovation on Earth. This shift in the motions of time-space is also how the traces of Music that cause Magic on Earth became warped to become more external, while mystic powers in Eä remain much more innate, even to the race of Men, well into the Third Age.

The major difference is that Magic, over time, went from extremely innate to becoming a force that must be manipulated. Magic inundated many ancient cultures, not only within people, but in the surrounding lands. Mystical phenomena were far more common-place and everyday. Wands were almost completely unheard of, with ancient wizards able to use and control magic easily without them.

Because of the discrepancy in the motion of time, many of the passageways became narrowed, or choked off, allowing less of a flow. This evolution caused magic to be much less innate, and far less predictable when it was so. Now, most wizards use wands, because the connection of the wand materials to Magic itself causes magical ability to be more easily-controlled, and wandless magic can be learned later. This isn’t always the case, though—it is possible to be taught wandless magic from childhood.

Magic on earth is much more chaotic and unstable than the Music is within Eä. This is because most of the passageways were formed in places where Melkor’s powers were most at use. This is why most uses of ‘magic’ within Eä, aside from the power of the Ainur, are rather passive, unless they are dark forms of magic. Magic on earth has a disproportionate amount of the chaotic, unstable power of Melkor’s influence. This is also why the Dark Arts often seem more powerful. This instability of Magic can also have a mutating effect—this is why there are so many more fantastic beasts on Earth than within Eä, and why conditions such as lycanthropy and blood malediction, as well as metamorphmagi, exist on Earth, but not within Eä. This evolution also had a neutralizing effect, magic on earth shifting from darker to more neutral as time went on.

T R A V E L L E R S   B E T W E E N   W O R L D S

Though most humans, whether Muggle or Wizard, would die shortly after entering Middle Earth due to the locations and surroundings of passageways, it is still possible to survive. If one does survive, a Muggle will feel little effect—they won’t be able to perform magic, because they have little to no connection to it. However, it is likely that a Squib could gain some magical ability, though not much. A wizard, however, will gain much power, in particular the ability to effortlessly perform wandless spells. Wands could still be used in Eä, but they are likely to be overloaded, and could potentially shatter. Most spells will likely function differently, so a wizard should be careful while using magic in Middle Earth until they’ve adapted to the different flow. It is also unwise to apparate within Middle Earth, as that will almost certainly result in splinching.

For those that travel from Eä to Earth, Atani will feel little additional effects. Elves and Maiar, however, will become significantly weaker, because they are intrinsically tied to the Music, and the fact that the Music is fainter and functions differently on Earth can cause problems.

The reason for these differences is that, in Eä, the Music flows through and around everything in a rather aimless pattern—the entire world is basically composed of Magic. On Earth, magic travels along ley lines in a fixed pattern. Thus, magic in Eä is of an amorphous structure, while magic on Earth is of a crystalline structure. This is what causes particular problems with apparition—wizards on earth apparate along these lines of magic. In Eä, there are no lines, and apparition of a physical body almost always results in fatal splinching.

Travelling between worlds for anyone causes a physical adjustment, a sort of magical jet lag. This could have symptoms similar to motion sickness and jet lag, and can cause emotional upset as well as magical upset.  

Wizards who travel to and from Middle Earth may end up getting a sort of high from the sheer amount of magic within Middle Earth, which can cause symptoms sort of like a withdrawal if they remain on earth, thus, it is wise to be very careful about these travels.