#uniform emblems are scribbled on.

[harvestmoth]

my dauter ., she is . ill

[soopersara]

Me: Zuko's scar is kind of shaped like a flame.

Me: I mean, no shit, it's a burn scar.

Me: But it has the three little pointy bits at the back, which kind of make it look like the Fire Nation's flame emblem, but turned sideways.

Me: ...

Me, scribbling furiously: The resistance movement in the Fire Nation comes to see Zuko as the symbolic leader of their movement toward the end of the war, and because voicing support for the traitor prince isn't tolerated, the resistance needs a subtler way to make their position known. All across the Fire Nation, banners are stolen and re-hung sideways, official seals on documents are deliberately printed crooked, and disillusioned soldiers deface their uniforms by tearing the flame emblems away and reattaching them sideways. What most people know but no one will say is that the sideways flames represent Zuko's scar, and that the symbol indicates support for him as a leader and for his mission to bring an end to the war.

Me: ...

Me: Am I gonna have to start another fic just for this idea?

[wernerherzogs]

FIC REC: you drew stars around my scars by ladieslunching

buck/eddie, 10.234 words

It begins with three little stars, haphazardly scribbled on an uncompleted inspection report.

Where he had been meticulously documenting the contents of the firetruck only minutes before, putting uniform checkmarks with each item stocked, Buck is now met with the offending doodle. There, squeezed in beside the LAFD emblem, are three stars, drawn in jagged, uneven lines. They can barely be called stars, really, looking more like ink splotches, Buck thinks. He knows, logically, that stars are hard to draw, getting the angles right almost impossible. Everybody expects hand-drawn stars to be squint, never perfectly symmetrical, always a little imperfect. In a way, that is their beauty, a perfect metaphor for humanity.

But these. These are atrocities.

And maybe that is why Buck just stares at the previously unmarred sheet, brain buffering for a good twenty seconds before the truth of the situation catches up with him. “Who did this!”

***

or: Someone at the 118 doesn't know how to leave Buck's clipboard alone. Buck would be a lot more upset about it if it didn't bag him the love of his life.

[sunstone-smiles]

Can I request Day 9 of Miya and Mia"s TickleTober2023 (mirrors) with Lees!Sylvain and Ashe where their reflections are tickling them? That'd be pretty cool!

-🦋

It's Like Looking Into a Mirror

Author’s note: Hello Butterfly anon! I took some liberties with the idea of “reflections” and instead turned it into look-alikes created by Annette’s magic! I hope you all enjoy Day 9 of Tickletober: Mirrors! (From Miya and Mia’s Tickletober list!)

Series: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Characters: Sylvain, Ashe, and Annette

Word count: 813

Summary: Annette has some new magic to show Sylvain and Ashe, but this magic is intended to be used for the fall-themed festival, so there might be a trick up her sleeve as she shows it off.

—

The academy’s spooky harvest festival is just around the corner, so everyone is busy making preparations for the event. Outside in the academy’s marketplace, Sylvain and Ashe work together to decorate wooden booths and stations with autumn themed materials.

“Hey you two!”

The boys look in the direction of the feminine voice calling in their direction. They see their fellow Blue Lion’s student, Annette, running towards them with a wave of her hand. In her other hand is a magic tome. She stops running and has a twinkle in her eyes. “There’s something I want to show you both!”

“You seem pretty excited,” Sylvain observes. 

“What is it?” Ashe asks with a curious inflection.

“Watch this!” Annette lifts up the tome and waves her hand above it. Purple, sparkling magic swirls around her fingers until it shoots forward on the ground in front of her in two separate beams. From the ground up, the purple magic begins creating an image of a person with legs and an academy uniform, but the real surprise is when Ashe and Sylvain see the faces of these conjured up figures. They share their exact likeness, with their same hair, facial features, and all. 

“Ta-da!” Annette cheers.

“Whoa!” Sylvain exclaims as he looks at the magic form of himself. “Handsome fella. It’s like looking into a mirror.”

“Two mirrors,” Ashe jokes in response. “This is wonderful Annette!”

“Thanks!” Annette smiles. “I thought the magic would be useful for fun entertainment at the harvest festival.” The orange-haired female pauses for a moment to look at her two friends. “But there’s one more thing I forgot to show you with it.”

“What’s that?” Sylvain asks.

“You’ll see.” Annette places her tome under her arm to free her hands. Like a puppet master controlling strings, Annette moves her fingers to control both the Magic-made Ashe and the Magic-made Sylvain. The real Ashe and Sylvain are startled at first when the two forms start moving, but they soon become intrigued the more they watch Annette’s magic.

“Whoa! I didn’t expect them to move too,” Ashe says, keeping his eyes on the approaching figures.

“Me neither,” Sylvain says. Although, his impressed expression soon turns into concern when Annette maneuvers the figures to walk behind them. They didn’t think that their own selves could be so intimidating, but they were in this moment.

“Um, Annette?” Sylvain glances his eyes towards the girl while his focus stays on his magic-made reflection. The only answer he gets is a giggle from Annette. (If Annette of all people isn’t giving him a straight answer, then that can’t be a good sign.) With a flick of Annette’s wrist, the two figures dart out their magic-made hands and, surprisingly, start tickling the real Ashe and Sylvain.

The two male Blue Lions yelp with a jolt at the sudden, silly surprise attack, followed by roaring laughter from the two students. Ashe squeezes his arms to his side and tries to curl himself up, while Sylvain tries to shove the shadowy figure away. 

“Hehehey! Wahahait a mihihihinute!” Sylvain playfully exclaims.

“Ahahahannette!” Ashe squeals through his laughter. He ends his sentence with a squeak as the figure scribbles into his ribs, as if his magical doppelgänger is aware of exactly where he's ticklish.

The girl giggles again as she wiggles both sets of her fingers to control the magic figures tickling her friends. “How do you like the second part of my trick? It’s really just to show how the magic can interact with physical objects, but I thought that it would be more fun to test it this way! Plus, there’s usually monsters at the harvest festival, right? So what better monster to have than a tickle monster!”

“Yehehes, we see thahahat!” Sylvain shoots his arms down to pry the hands of the magic-made figure with his likeness away from squeezing his sides.

“It’s vehehehery impressive Annette,” Ashe giggles from his curled up state, “but I thihihink we're both tickled ohohohout!”

“Hehe! Okay, I hear you,” Annette smiles and throws both of her hands to her sides like a conductor of an orchestra. The magic-made Blue Lions disappear into a breeze of purple dust. Ashe and Sylvain immediately wrap their arms around themselves. Annette walks closer to check up on them.

“You two okay?” the girl asks with concern.

“Yeah,” Sylvain smiles with a breathless chuckle. He takes a moment to breath some more air. “That was a…strange experience. Do I really look that menacing when I’m tickling someone?”

“As someone who’s been on the receiving end of your tickle attacks many times, yes,” Ashe teases beside him.

Sylvain scoffs and gives Ashe a playful shove. The silver-haired boy giggles and so does Annette. The harvest festival might be intended to be scary, but its autumn themed decorations, spooky mazes, and even entertaining magics, are all in the spirit of fun.

[newfashion01]

Cleveland Monsters Babies & Children’s Night 2025 Hockey Jersey

Product link:https://inspirdg.com/product/cleveland-monsters-babies-childrens-night-2025-hockey-jersey/

Store link:https://inspirdg.com/

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Design Analysis: A Playful Yet Meaningful Visual Concept

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Conclusion: A Jersey That Inspires Change

The Cleveland Monsters Babies & Children’s Night 2025 Hockey Jersey is a celebration of resilience, compassion, and youthful joy. Its bold colors, symbolic design, and powerful message make it more than just sports apparel — it’s a beacon of hope for children and families facing medical challenges.

By wearing this jersey, fans become champions of a greater cause — showing that through sports, we can uplift communities, celebrate life, and inspire brighter tomorrows.

[puppyluver256]

I...may or may not be brainstorming a Fakemon region based on my home state and surrounding areas.

I may have made some design work for said region.

Said design work may have been one of the human characters.

I think I love her, help

[knightingaleforce]

...SOo, I saw some people create their own Three Houses OC, so I did it too! :’)

I imagine him to be pretty good with swords and the bow. He is really friendly but can be a bit reserved; he can usually be found at the stable or pond. 

[accursedpenner]

I realized i never posted this to tumblr??? 

Anyways I love One (1) Sleepy Boi a WHOLE LOT

[spacecapart]

@ironqrowweek: Role Swap (technically day 6, but I’m a little late)

I was hoping that I’d be able to draw a proper thing for the role swap prompt, but unfortunately I haven’t had the time this week. I did, however, do these design sketches a while ago in preparation, so for once I’m sharing something from my scribbles sketchbook. So, behold, independent Huntsman James and military general Qrow!

The roleswap idea I’m working with here is basically ‘what if Beacon was the militarised kingdom and Atlas was just the technologically advanced one?’ Don’t ask me how the overall plot of the show works when it’s that way around, but I figure maybe the kids end up travelling to Atlas for the Vytal Festival in the early volumes and after the kingdom is attacked by Salem James ends up being the one who goes on the roadtrip mission with them while Qrow returns to Beacon. He’s probably not quite The General the same way James is, sharing the role with Glynda and with Ozpin above both of them, but Qrow does rather get the short end of the straw in the swap. He gets all of the stress James had to deal with after Ozpin disappeared on top of his other issues, poor chap. James, meanwhile, gets to hang out with the kids more, which I really enjoy because he could have had such a good dynamic with them if he’d gotten to spend more time with them. And, since this is an Ironqrow AU, Ruby and Yang are still technically travelling with their uncle. There’s a lot of fun potential character stuff there, with Ruby and James butting heads over who’s actually in charge, and Yang having someone around to talk to about losing a limb, and then there’s also the fact that Weiss would already know James (since he’d still be a mentor to Winter).

As for the designs, I tried to stick to their usual vibes while moving in a more practical/rugged sort of direction for James and a more military formal one for Qrow. James is probably always going to be the neater of the two, he’s just like that, and I just can’t redesign him without keeping the tie. I also like to think that, without the pressure of being a public figure, he would be a little more comfortable letting people see his prosthetic arm, which is my excuse for the rolled up sleeves. The emblem patch on his shoulder is based on my headcanon for the emblem he used before he was a soldier, which is an anatomical heart shape formed out of the same swirling patterns from his guns. And he keeps the beard because I enjoy it, although here it’s a bit shorter and neater even while his hair is a little more windswept.

I based Qrow’s outfit vaguely on the Beacon school uniforms, reasoning that if Beacon had a military the uniform designs wouldn’t be dissimilar. He gets to keep his usual colour scheme (which, you might notice, matches James - I really liked the fact that their outfits in vol3 were so complimentary to each other so I’ve kept that vibe), and his cape, although this time it’s a half cape to try and lean into the fancy military vibe. I figure the loose tie is his small act of rebellion against wearing a uniform, and went with him being clean-shaven and keeping his hair more slicked back, although I reckon both of those things would slide as he got more overwhelmed with responsibility. I figure the kids would eventually make it back home to Beacon by around vol7 the same way they travelled to Atlas to find military aid, and I can’t imagine poor Qrow would be doing too well by the time they got there...

I do enjoy redesigning these two, and one of these days I will actually get around to drawing some proper stuff with this concept, it’s an especially fun one.

[sugarnspiceselfshipisnice]

3, 7, 8 for whichever s/i you're feeling the most rn!

I'll answer for Loriel, cause this seems very fun for her!

3. What was their most expensive purchase/where does their disposable income go?

Most Expensive Purchase: A very very old book titled The Truth of Grima. She even begged her dad to give her 4 allowances in advanced so she could purchase the book for 2000 gold- she told him it was an extra credit project for class, but it was really part of her own independent study into her mysterious crest... it ended up unlocking her final spell which I took from Fire Emblem Awakening actually- "Expiration".

Disposable Income: Books, Coffee, and supplies for Faustus, her pet wolf. When you have giant dire wolf growing very quickly in your small dorm room you have to keep him fed and happy. But one must also balance their caffeine addiction as well

7. Describe the shoes their wearing

Pre Time Skip: Tall, calf high black boots with gold trim, standard issue for the Garreg Mach Uniform. She tucks her leggings into them (similar to the style of her old old ancestor, Robin the Master Tactician) .

Post Time Skip: Heeled, brown leather boots with intricate laces all the way up. Classy yet functional, they're fur lined on the inside to fight the Faerghus cold.

8. Describe the place they sleep

Pre Time Skip: An absolutely wrecked dorm room. One would think a high class student such as herself would be meticulous and organized, but it's chaos in there. 15 coffee cups strewn about in various places, papers with frenzied scribbling tossed about, books books books. She has to constantly move things to different surfaces when she needs a space to work or sleep. Bonus: Faustus had a little puppy bed in the one clean corner of the room with a stuffed toy and a few meat bones, but as he grew exponentially he was moved to the wyvern paddock. They thought of the stables but people feared a giant mountable wolf might eat the horses. Wyverns are fierce enough to defend themselves.

Post time skip: A battered tent that's seen the throws of the elements. A sleeping bag that's stitched together furs. It's not the most comfortable but it works

It beats sleeping on a church pew in a cold cathedral, empty except for a King colder than the snow drifting in through the broken stained glass. One that doesn't look at her with the same love in his eyes as he did when they were students.

[iliketowritebutiminsanelystupid]

Some of my current wip

Lance stared at the kid wizard tapping his foot impatiently on his doorstep. The kid was even wearing wizarding robes, which was definitely a school uniform as wizarding robes had gone out of style over three hundred years ago.

“Are you Lance Shieldbearer?”

Lance scanned the kid a little more, and spotted a school emblem for the Solstice University of Sorcery, a blue crescent moon over a stylized yellow sun, and sighed.

“I’m not gonna donate to whatever school fundraiser you’re milking people for, kid.”

The kid looked a little surprised, and neatly adjusted his wizard hat, “That’s… not what I’m here for.”

Lance’s face scrunched up in confusion, “Then what do you want?” The light from the morning sun outside his door was starting to bring his headache back.

“I just need you to answer a few questions from my questionnaire? It’s a school project. I need the credits to graduate.”

Fuuuuuuckkkkk. He had to do those in college too, though he definitely didn’t go to a prestigious magic school like this twelve year old.

“Make it quick. I’ve got work today.”

The kid grinned and his little elf ears flicked excitedly. He grabbed a pencil from his breast pocket and a notebook from his satchel.

“Okay, do you get headaches often?” He looked expectantly at Lance, his pencil ready to scribble down his answer.

“Yeah I guess.”

“Is this after you wake up?”

What the hell is this for? Alcoholics anonymous?

“Yes…”

“Particularly after strange dreams?” the kid asked as he scribbled down Lance’s previous answers.

“Um… yeah? Define strange.”

Lance raised his coffee mug to his lips and took a sip and immediately spit it back into the cup discreetly. It was beer. How’d beer get into his coffee mug?

“Strange as in….” the kid took a second to think, tapping his pencil on his chin, “Strange people you’ve never seen before, events that happen in real life after you wake up, dreams that are oddly specific, dreams that feel really real” he finished.

“Uh.. yeah then. Strange dreams.” He figured he shouldn’t tell the kid that the headaches are from hangovers and the dreams probably from being drunk. The poor kid needed the credits after all.

“Have you had these your entire life? Do you get deja vu often?”

“....Yes? To both I guess.”

The kid bounced on his toes and scribbled down the answers. Lance took the opportunity to peer back into his kitchen to figure out the beer situation. His coffee pot looked fine… Oh nope that’s beer. There’s beer in the coffee pot. Strange.

“And when were you born? Time of day matters too.”

Lance snapped back to attention and eyed the kid. This was a weird questionnaire. Should he lie? …Shitttttt he couldn’t think of anything. The truth then.

“Midnight on June ninth.”

The kid grinned again.

“And was this a full moon?”

What the fuck was this for? Better not be some cult, though he was sure a prestigious school was against cults.

“I think so.”

“And you’re thirty-two?”

He just nodded and took another sip of his not quite coffee. The beer was room temperature.

The kid bounced on his toes.

“Do you have any magical abilities that only you possess?” The kid was practically leaning into his doorway, his green eyes huge in excitement.

“Are you actually from Solstice University? You look a little young,” Lance poked the kid back out of his doorway.

“Yes. I’m a prodigy,” he half-glared, “now answer the question.”

“No… I mean I’ve got a hangover cure, but that’s it.”

The kid hummed and wrote it down, “Would you call that inherent healing magic?”

“If magical Tylenol counts.”

The kid just nodded vigorously. He looked over his notes, as he examined them his grin grew wider.

Lance grew more suspicious the longer the seconds ticked on.

“What is this for, anyway?”

“School,” he muttered, not looking up from his notes, his eyes speeding over them at an incredibly fast pace.

Lance rolled his eyes annoyedly, this kid was fucking weird. “Besides that. What’s your project?”

The kid looked up from his notes with a wide, suspicious, grin, “Finding the prophesized chosen one!” He shoved his notebook up to Lance’s eyes, close enough that he couldn’t actually read it, “And it’s most likely you!” He announced.

Lance blinked slowly and pushed the notebook out of his face. “What?”

“Cool right?” He said excitedly, pushing his way into Lance’s house.

“What? No, it's not cool; get outta my house!” Lance scrambled after him into the kitchen, his slippers squeaking on the floor as he rushed. Lance practically slid into the kitchen, hitting his head on the doorframe as he did so. He shook his head–shit man the headache’s back-and glared at the kid making himself at home in his house. 

The kid yanked items out of his satchel that definitely should not have fit and laid them on the table. He spread a large map of the country out on the table, smoothing it down flat, before pulling several notebooks out of his bag and laying them down too.

“What are you doing?” Lance asked, a little breathlessly.

“Setting up,” he mumbled, pulling several pens and a desk lamp out of his bag. “Do you have anywhere to plug this in?” he asked, swinging the plug for the desk lamp around his face.

“Why are you setting up in my house? What are you setting up?”

The kid pulled his coffee maker away from the wall and unplugged it for his desk lamp and the charger for presumably his laptop. “If you really are the chosen one,” he turned quickly to point at him, “which I’m pretty sure you are,” he turned back to the coffee maker, “then we’re gonna have to find a better way to prove it. And I know just the thing!” He walked around the kitchen island and swung open cupboards until he found the one with mugs.

Lance sat down at the table exasperated. He took another sip of his not quite coffee and was glad that it was alcoholic instead.

He sighed, “Look kid,”

“My name’s not, kid, it’s Timmy,” he said, pouring the contents of the coffee pot into his mug and sitting down.

“That’s worse.”

The kid-or Timmy- rolled his eyes.

“I’m not the chosen one for anything. I’m just the town drunk. I work at the grocery store across from the mall for fuck’s sake!”

“Well according to all the evidence,” he raised his mug in a mock salute, “you are,” Timmy took a sip of the notfee, looking smug, and immediately spit it back out. He pushed the mug away from himself.

“What evidence?”

He groaned, “One child, born late spring on the full moon, descended from kings, will, along with his allies, destroy The Great Evil and save ____,” Timmy said, dramatically waving his arms around and making his voice deeper than it was.

Lance paused. “I’m not descended from kings, I can’t be the chosen one.”

Timmy rolled his eyes again, “Only one way to check!” He reached across the table and plucked several hairs from Lance’s head, which Lance did not like, and mashed them together in his fingers, muttering all the while. When he opened his hand to let the hairs go they poofed into a green light.

A green screen, similar to that of a tablet, appeared over Timmy’s hand. Little portraits of people linked by lines crossed the screen, disappearing off view. Under the portraits, little name plates resided. Lance recognized himself, and followed the string up to his mother and…

“That’s not my father.”

Timmy’s eyes went wide, “Huh. You should talk to your mom about that.” He scrolled up past Lance’s mother and the man he didn’t know. He scrolled very quickly past a lot of people, but he never went to any of the side branches.

“Ah-ha!” he stopped scrolling with his finger over the face of a man with great big ram horns. His name plate read, ‘King Jebidiah of The Satyrs of Faerest.’ 

Lance’s jaw was on the floor. “No fucking way…”

Timmy smiled and hummed to himself, “It’s even just a few generations back. Enough to lose the satyr, obviously,” he let the hand holding the spell drop, the screen disappearing as it dropped, “But right there. Descended from kings.”

Lance shook his head and downed the rest of his drink, “I was born in June though. That’s summer.”

Timmy had the audacity to laugh, “June ninth is before the summer solstice. It’s late spring. Really late spring, but still spring.”

Shit.

[malevichism]

Draga Ajna

It’s been 1 year, 8 months and 11 days since our brigade left Prijedor.

People don’t count the days in Sarajevo because every day is the same. What difference would it make? Putting a number on it would make them seem terribly long, or even worse; like counting the bulleted pimples that pollute our buildings. You'd be there forever.

But I do.

I’m not sure what hope means, if it means anything these days. And if I am one that carries the notion of ‘hope’ by numbering my days, I simply think of it as the ‘banality of hope’—survival.

But 1 year, 8 Months and 11 days ago, a little boy tugged on my sleeve, stuck a daffodil in my hand, and waved a scrap piece of paper in my face.

* * * *

We are situated in the eastern part of the city, where the lost souls of ancient books are taken by the breath of the reaper and bled back into the river. Back in Prijedor, my commander praised me for being good on my feet. An unfortunate skill in this neck of the woods. Sarajevo needed ground troops. Sarajevo had decided my fate.

A swarm of angry birds land on stone remains of the old wall that separates me from the Milijacka. They’re unruly, unrelenting and unforgiving for the fact that the only meal up for grabs in this city is a decomposing arm with maggot dressing. In its course, the Milijacka will carry the occasional corpse down its stream. Eventually, it will form a curve that travels in a south-easterly direction and trail on out of the city towards Pale, where our letters become Cyrillic. It is a triumph to leave Sarajevo. Every man and his wife's dream. Congratulations you’re safe! But you'll be too dead to see it.

There is a windless hollow in my chest where my heart used to be. If you look down, it’s lying at my feet, tethered to a ball and a chain. I've become accustomed to the sour, metallic stench of blood that pours out the eyes of windowless buildings. It suffocates me as though it were the first time. It's stone-cold hand takes me by the neck and wrings it like a wet cloth as I begin to read hope-filled words through tear-filled eyes. The only difference is, that they're not mine.

‘Draga Ajna’. Written in a childlike script.

‘How are you and you famili? Majka say that our countri become dangerus. No food and water. People are hungri.’ There is a pause broken by a scribble of a sad face and a tear that hangs too far from its dotted eye. ‘I miss you, Amina and you famili. I hope you are OK in Sarajevo. It is not good there. I hope you will write back soon. Your friend, Besim’. His letter is short, sweet and signed with a year-old Smurf sticker that ambers at the edges.

Cracks of sniper fire pierce through holes in the sky—pierce through the holes of unanswered questions in my mind. Slugs that feed the parasite of why?. The hair is standing still on my back. The hand that spares my throat leaves its mark as stiffness in the neck. My jaw had been clenched the whole time. It’s my cue to pick my sunken heart up from the floor. The dried up daffodil, still burning a hole in my pocket.

I am scared. Fearful of failure. Haunted by the echoes of childlike cries and childlike dreams. ‘Please, please take this to my friend in Sarajevo!’. More than anything, I am intimidated by the unwavering act of hope. The plea in his eyes, the urge of his word and the adamant tugging on my uniform, as though his world would surely crumble if I don’t answer his call.

I am the most important man in the world. I am the most important courier in the world. I am the God that he utters to at the end of his prayers.

Most of all, I am his emblem of hope. The eyes that he sees in his dreams, and the ones that I see in my nightmares. I'm on my hands and knees, begging Mr Mladić, 'don’t shoot the messenger!'. Repeating it between staggered breaths as I wave Besim's holy script before the man who plays God. As I look up, his beefy face melts away into the blackness of a cold sweat. My nightmare doesn't end in the morning. Because if the boys’ hope dies, it must die with me.

[sunstone-smiles]

Can I please request a Dimitri Felix, Sylvain, and Ashe tickle fic, please? Almost like a tickle fight style. Those 4 are my absolute faves, and u write FE so well!

If not, it is completely understandable! Happy Saturday, my friend

Hi Gladys! Thank you! And yessss, the boys! I’m so excited to share this with you, so I hope you enjoy!

A Training Tussle for Lions

Series: Fire Emblem

Characters: Dimitri, Sylvain, Ashe, Felix

Word count: 2,151

Summary: During a training session, four of the Blue Lions end up in a playful free-for-all. Enjoy!

—

The heel of a white academy boot drags into the dirt as its wearer is pushed back by an attack. Stabilizing himself, Felix thrusts forward with a training sword in hand. Dimitri swings his own wooden sword to counter, keeping Felix’s from hitting him. The two struggle at a stalemate of strength, each side trying to push back the other. The Blue Lion’s house leader powers through for a final shove. Felix stumbles back, and with the opening, Dimitri hits him with a swing of his sword, forcing the other noble to fall onto the dirt of the training grounds.

“Aaand point to Dimitri!” Sylvain says while gesturing towards the leader. Ashe stands by his side, keeping track of the score in his head alongside Sylvain.

“Excellent round, Felix. You nearly had me there,” Dimitri walks over to lend a hand to his friend. 

Now to his feet, Felix dusts himself off. “Yeah, but not close enough.”

“Better pick up the pace Felix, or Dimitri will have you beat everytime,” Sylvain teases with his signature smile.

Felix growls upon seeing that smug grin on Sylvain’s face. “Oh yeah? I’d like to see you do any better!”

Dimitri steps forward. “Come on you two. There’s no need to argue—”

“Ha!” Sylvain puts on a new confident grin, “Watch me!”

Dimitri's face palms and Ashe’s eyes grow. The silver-haired boy quickly tugs on the redhead’s academy uniform sleeve. “Sylvain, are you sure about this?” the smaller boy whispers. He doesn’t want to see two of his friends getting hurt over a little squabble.

Another smirk grows on Sylvain’s face. “Relax, I’ve got this,” he whispers, “I’ve got a foolproof plan up my sleeve.”

If Ashe knows anything about Sylvain and that smile, it’s that he isn’t going to be able to talk his friend out of this. Ashe lets out a long sigh. “If you say so…”

“Hmph, good luck,” Felix hands Sylvain the training sword and the two switch places. Felix now stands on the sidelines with Ashe while Sylvain stands across from a battle prepared Dimitri. 

“Ready,” Felix holds his hand up. He slices it down through the air, “Fight!”

With that call, Sylvain and Dimitri run towards one another. When he gets close enough, Dimitri takes a large swing forward with all his weight, but Sylvain dodges to the side. Overshooting the attack, Dimitri stumbles forward and is left completely open. Sylvain swoops up behind him, wraps his forearm around Dimitri’s neck in a headlock, drops the wooden sword, then playfully ruffles the leader’s blonde mop of hair.

Dimitri giggles and tugs at his friend’s headlock. “Sylvain! No playing! We’re trying to train.”

“No playing, huh?” Sylvain’s smirk grows even wider. “Then how about…a tickle attack!” Sylvain moves the hand that was ruffling Dimitri’s hair to scratch his fingers at the leader’s tummy. 

“AH! Sylvahahahain!” Dimitri explodes into giggles and yanks himself out of Sylvain’s headlock, in turn tripping onto the ground. With no time to spare, Sylvain goes down after him, scribbling into the house leader’s torso and sending him into laughter again. Dimitri rolls over onto his back in an attempt to shove Sylvain away while the redhead’s attack proves its giggly effect. 

“See Felix!” Sylvain throws another quip at the blue-haired noble on the sidelines, “Look how fast I took him down!”

Felix huffs out a short laugh. He points at Dimitri, who looks ready to fight back. “I think you might regret that though.”

“Nah, it’ll be fine—” 

The prince suddenly tackles him backwards, strong-arming his way through the attack. Sylvain’s back hits the dirt with a thud. Before he knows it, Dimitri uses one hand to pin his chest down and the other to plunge his fingers into Sylvains ticklish stomach.

“ACK! Hehehehey!” Sylvain wriggles under the weight of Dimitri’s pin, attempting to twist away from the leader’s nimble fingers while Dimitri moves his hand around to scribble at his sides.

“So that’s how you want to play it, huh?” Dimitiri says with a smile. “Then it’s your turn to face a tickle attack!” the leader exclaims, now diving in both of his hands to scribble into Sylvain’s torso. 

“AH! Hahaha! Nohohoho! Wahahahait! Yohohour highnehehehess!” Sylvain attempts to tug Dimitri’s hands away as he squirms from side to side through his swelling laughter. His plan severely backfired.

Ashe lets out a soft chuckle of his own. He was worried about Sylvain's scheme at first, but he’s relieved to know that it resulted in them playing. In addition, the game looks fun.

Leaving his spot on the sidelines, Ashe dashes over behind Dimitri, then gives a quick squeeze to the prince’s sides. The leader’s back arches straight up with a yelp. Ashe giggles and Dimitri playfully whips around to try and catch Ashe, but the silver-haired boy jumps back. Realizing his mistake, Ashe starts making a run for it. 

“Get back here Ashe!” Dimitri chuckles and chases after him, leaving a winded Sylvain to plop back onto the ground. 

Felix lets out another short laugh at the scene. He heads over to a sprawled out Sylvain, who’s just beginning to recover. The redhead holds out a limp hand towards Felix’s direction, thinking his friend is going to help him up.

“Thanks…” Sylvain responds when Felix grabs his hand, but Felix suddenly pins his arm on the ground next to the side of his head. “Huh?!”

“Who said anything about helping you up?” Felix smirks. Sylvain’s eyes go wide and he immediately squirms backwards, his free hand up in defense. 

“Oh no! F-Felix! Wait! Not you t-OO!” Sylvain yelps and explodes back into laughter when Felix uses his free hand to scribble into the redhead’s torso.

“Hey, you were the one that was so confident you could take the boar down.”

Sylvain shakes his head from side to side. “Whihihihich I rehehegret nohohow! Hahaha!”

Meanwhile, Ashe makes a sharp U-turn across the training grounds while Dimitri charges behind him at full speed. The prince quickly closes in on Ashe. As fast as a speeding wyvern, Dimitri snatches up his friend in a tight hug and lifts the smaller boy off his feet. Ashe giggles and playfully kicks his legs in the air as Dimitri easily carries him back over to where they originally were. Aware of the possible fate that awaits him, Ashe attempts to free his trapped arms, knowing that Dimitri’s hands can ambush his sides at any moment. 

“Your highness! Let me explain—Eek!” Ashe squeaks and releases a few giggles when Dimitri gives a quick pinch to his side. 

“An explanation won’t be necessary to get you out of this now, Ashe! Now, prepare for your revenge!”

“Dimitri, wait! I might fall—AH!” but the hand positioned at his side finally strikes and Ashe bursts out into giggles, kicking his legs widely in the air.

Dimitri places the squirming Ashe back on his own two feet, still keeping him in a tight hug. He scribbles a little farther up to Ashe’s ribs, and the boy lets out a giggly shriek, nearly doubling over in Dimitri’s hold. 

“Dihihihihimitri!” Ashe’s face flushes a little under his freckles.

The house leader chuckles at his friend, then looks over at the other two Blue Lions. Seeing Felix distracted with a laughing Sylvain, Dimitri releases Ashe from his hug, allowing the smaller boy to wrap his arms around his own middle, then runs over to the others.

Quickly coming up behind, Dimitri gives a sudden squeeze to Felix’s sides, causing the noble to jolt in place. Felix shoots his hands down to pry Dimitri’s hands away that start wiggling into his sides, while also swallowing down the bubbly feeling of laughter rising in his chest.

He growls through his gritted teeth, “Oh no you don’t!” The blue-haired noble quickly retaliates by spinning around in Dimitri’s hold and tackling the house leader to the ground. It isn’t long until Felix is able to find an opening through Dimitri’s defenses to scribble at his friend’s ribs.

“AH! Fehehehehelix!” Dimitri returns to his state of giggling.

“Trying to get a hit on me on me? I don’t think so!” Felix grins.

“Here, let me help!” Ashe races over, then kneels down next to Dimitri’s other side to scribble at his stomach. The house leader jumps and attempts to curl up his middle, using one arm to shield his body while the other tries to playfully shove them both away. 

“Hohohohold on yohohohou twohohoho! Quihihihit it!” Dimitri exclaims through his laughter. He lets out a little snort and plops back into the dirt, his face now faintly blushing pink at the sound he just made.

Felix can’t help but chuckle. “So the boar snorts while being tickled? How fitting.”

Suddenly, Felix is tackled to the ground by Sylvain and slams down on his stomach. Before he can throw the redhead off of him, Sylvain grabs his wrists and pins it behind his back. Felix lets out a startled gasp, knowing he’s in prime position for Sylvain to get what he’s looking for: revenge.

“Sylvain!” Felix snarls and tries to reach his other hand behind in any attempt to shove Sylvain away. “Don’t you even think—” 

With no hesitation, Sylvain dives his free hand down and claws into Felix’s wide open side through his academy uniform. Felix yelps and attempts to suppress the laughter quivering in his smile, but he soon bursts into laughter like the others. 

“Sylvahahahain!” Felix exclaims through his bubbly laughter, squirming from side to side to nudge away Sylvain’s fingers, only for his laughter to increase when Sylvain crawls his hand up to his underarm.

“Well well well, look who’s laughing now,” Sylvain smiles. The redhead then releases his friend’s arm to use both of his hands to attack, resulting in Felix squirming around onto his back for a better chance to defend himself.

Allowing Dimitri a break, and for the fear that the Blue Lion’s house leader will soon retaliate, Ashe scoots his way over to Felix to assist Sylvain. While redhead goes for his ribs, Ashe slides in to attack Felix’s sides, causing the usual stoic noble to jolt with more laughter. 

However, in the midst of Felix’s squirming, the noble strikes back. He flings himself past Sylvain and clings onto Ashe’s sides with nimble wiggling fingers, effectively halting Ashe’s attack as the younger boy breaks out into giggly squeaks.

“I’ve gotcha Ashe!” Sylvain exclaims as he tickles Felix’s underarms, making Felix release Ashe and flop down to the ground in his own laughter again.

Ashe lets out residual giggles. “Phew. Thanks Sylvain.”

“Oh, don’t thank me yet,” the redhead says with a sly grin, aiming the look right towards Ashe. 

Ashe gasps. “Uh oh—AH!” he screams when Sylvain pounces towards him. He’s yanked backwards into the redhead's hold where Sylvain’s fingers start to poke and flutter into his sides.

“Hehehey! I thohohohught we wehehere on the sahahahame sihihihide!” Ashe squirms around and kicks his legs in the dirt while Sylvain holds him captive in a second tickle hug.

“Not in a tickle fight, Ashe! That was just a temporary truce. You have to be quick!” Sylvain smiles behind Ashe’s shoulder. 

“Then think fast, Sylvain!” Dimitri comes up behind Sylvain and hooks his arms under the redhead's, pulling him away from Ashe. Felix then swoops in towards his front, immediately diving his fingers into Sylvain’s torso for one last attack.

“Ohoho nohohoho!!! Wahahahahait!” Sylvain bursts into giggles again, letting out a shriek of laughter when Felix scribbles near his hips. 

“You brought this upon yourself, Sylvain!” Felix grins while he unleashes his counterattack.

Dimitri moves his hands into an already squirmy Sylvain’s underarms. “Ashe, want to help?”

“With pleasure!” Ashe holds his hands up with wigging fingers in the air. Ashe then jumps in with his friends, scribbling into the rest of Sylvain’s torso.

“Hehehehey!!! Threehehehe ahahagainst one ihihisn’t fahahahahair!!!”

“So then, do you yield, Sylvain?” Dimitri smiles.

“Yehehehes! YES! Okahahahay!” Sylvain giggles and pulls himself free from Dimitri’s hold, flopping belly first on the ground. The force of his tug takes the rest of his friends down with him, all of the lions crashing in a pile on top of the redhead. The four can’t help but giggle.

“Point for Dimitri,” Ashe jokes after everyone’s laughter subsides.

“What? That counted?” Sylvain begins to sit up as the rest of his friends also pull themselves out of the pile they collapsed in. “If that counted, then I definitely scored a point every time I took you down.”

“Oh yeah? Then what’s the score?” Felix returns to his knowing tone.

“I…lost count,” Sylvain admits.

“Back to square one then,” Dimitri ruffles Sylvain’s hair for a final act of payback and Sylvain chuckles. The leader returns to his feet, “Come on, you three.” 

The four Blue Lions return to their training, surprisingly still brimming with energy even after all their play fighting. 

[themetaphorgirl]

hi could u pls write me something with big brother morgan protecting reid! i love ur writing so much❤️

(ahhhhhhh I hope you like this!!! it’s from my boarding school AU that I’m working on and I really love writing in this verse)

----------

Spencer had been looking forward to attending his new school, but if he’d known it would be like this he might have changed his mind. Being the youngest and smallest kid in his class wasn’t anything new to him, but back home in Las Vegas he could slip through the cracks and make himself invisible. In his new private school it was harder to hide. And it wasn’t even that he was the only ten-year-old in the ninth grade. It was the red emblem on his secondhand uniform that marked him as one of the “trouble kids” in Lincoln House.

He turned a page in the notebook opened on his crossed legs. At least his classes were more challenging here than back home in Las Vegas. Even if he hadn’t made any friends yet, he was having fun in class.

He looked at his textbook, frowned, scribbled down another note in his childish scrawl. The wind ruffled at his hair; it was so much colder here in September than he expected. Maybe he’d see snow soon. That would be nice, he’d never seen snow before. 

His notebook slid abruptly off his lap, dumping his dull pencil to the ground. “Hey!” he protested, scrambling to catch it, but his protests died in his throat.

One of the older students dangled the notebook over his head, grinning wolfishly down at him. “Well, little Spencer Weed,” he drawled. “Hard at work, aren’t we?”

“That’s not my name,” Spencer argued. 

The senior riffled through his notes. “My, aren’t we advanced?” he said. “Quadratic equations, huh.”

“Give that back, that’s mine,” Spencer said, but he didn’t move to try to take it back. He was half the size of the senior, a quarter of the weight, not even a fraction of the muscle. Fighting was out of the question. And besides, even if he tried to fight back, the senior boy had a blue emblem on his crisply ironed blazer. He was one of the day students from Kennedy House. Nobody would bat an eye if a rich kid roughed up a freshman on a hardship scholarship.

The senior eyed Spencer’s scribbled equations. “You’re throwing off the curve, Spencer Weed,” he said. “Making the rest of us look bad. You know what that means, right?”

Spencer shook his head. The senior’s cheshire cat smile widened, and he ripped the pages from the notebook.

“Give that back!” Spencer shouted, his shoes digging into the grass as he struggled to his feet. That notebook was supposed to last him the whole semester, he couldn’t afford a new one. “Please, give it back!”

The senior dropped the page, letting it float in the air like a damaged snowflake. “I don’t think so,” he said. “Might be good for you to fail a test or two.”

Hot tears threatened to fall but he stubbornly dug his fists against his eyes. Crying was babyish and he wasn’t a baby. “Give it back!” he bellowed, and he lunged for the older boy.

He knocked Spencer to the ground with a sharp blow of his elbow. All the air knocked out of his lungs as his back hit the close-cropped turf. He wheezed, trying to catch his breath.

“Hey!”

He forced himself to sit up, stars dancing in his vision. The senior took a step back as another kid approached him, fists clenched.

“Hey, leave him alone! What’s wrong with you, man, he’s a kid!”

“Fuck off, Morgan.”

Spencer squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again. He did recognize the other kid, a tall older boy in a football jersey. Everybody on campus knew who Derek Morgan was. 

“He’s half your size! Come on, you really gotta pick on a baby to make yourself feel better?”

“Shut up!”

Spencer gritted his teeth. He wasn’t a baby. 

“Just because you’re in Kennedy House, you think you can do whatever you want and get away with it.”

“Well, you think you can get away with shit just because you’re on the football team.”

“Yeah, well, I earned my place on the team, I didn’t need my daddy to buy my way like yours did!”

The notebook dropped to the ground as they argued. Spencer crawled between them and grabbed it, then quietly gathered up the rest of his things and shoved them into his tattered backpack. If he could just make a break for it-

“Whoa, slow down, slow down.” Spencer obeyed, shouldering his backpack and glancing back. Derek Morgan towered over him, scowling, his arms folded. The senior was storming away, his uniform blazer clutched in his fist. “Where are you running off to, pretty boy?”

“My dorm,” Spencer said meekly. 

Derek frowned. “It’s almost time for dinner,” he said.

“I’m not hungry.”

Derek knelt down so he was eye-level with him. “Are you okay?” he asked. He rubbed the pad of his thumb under Spencer’s eye, brushing away dirt. “McLaughlin knocked you over pretty hard. He hurt you?”

Spencer shrugged. “I’ve been hit worse,” he said. He shouldered his backpack. “Thanks. But I’m fine.”

He turned to leave but Derek straightened up fast and caught him by the arm. “Hold on,” he said. “You can’t say that and just walk away. Who’s been smacking you around?”

Spencer squinted up at him. “I’m at least four years younger than everyone in my grade,” he said. “Trust me. It happens.”

Derek laughed, but it didn’t sound like he was making fun of him. “You got me there,” he said. “How’s your notebook, huh?”

He held up the torn pages. “Also could be a lot worse,” he said. “I can probably tape it back in place.”

“Aw, don’t worry about it,” Derek said. “I’ll get you a new one.” 

Spencer looked down at the ground. “I don’t think I can pay you back,” he confessed.

“Don’t worry about it,” Derek grinned. “I got my ways. And besides, us Lincoln House kids gotta stick together.” He tossed his arm around Spencer’s shoulders like they were friends. Spencer froze for a moment, but Derek started walking him back towards the main building, keeping his strides slow enough for his short legs, and he relaxed, hugging his notebook against his chest. Maybe his new school would be a little less terrifying if Derek was around.

[be11atrixthestrange]

Wendell Wilkins

Ludo Bagman meets a peculiar man at a bar.

It seemed like a normal bar. A normal muggle bar. And he really needed some normal right now. Ludo figured it unlikely there was anyone from the Ministry waiting to arrest him in an Australian muggle bar, so he took a deep breath, and stepped inside.

He took a seat at one of the barstools and noticed his reflection staring right back at him. He observed his appearance from a few different angles in the mirror on the wall behind the bar. His self-transfiguration was holding up pretty well. The red tint of his hair still looked relatively natural, or at least, like a natural attempt at an amateur hair-dye job, which made him look even more like a muggle. His eyes were unrecognizably brown, and his stature was exactly the same, because he knew that a completely different appearance would look suspicious to a British Auror.

Ludo had gotten himself into quite a bit of trouble back in England. As it turns out, it's hard to hide magic from muggles, especially if you're married to one. Eleanor's gullibility only took her so far, and when she caught Ludo levitating objects around the house, he couldn't explain himself.

He did his best to convince her it was all in her head, but unfortunately, gaslighting her wasn't the savior to his marriage he'd hoped it would be. When he came home to find her standing in their empty home, bags packed, he knew he'd never see her again. So he pulled out his wand, and wiped himself from her memory, even though it broke his heart to do so.

He was almost relieved to receive that letter from the Ministry notifying him of his crime— breaking the statute of secrecy. He laughed when he read it. If that was the only crime they had records of, good on him. He wasn't concerned about getting caught, he was concerned that they finally knew his address after all these years. But he was grateful. It was the perfect excuse to flee the country, and finally leave the memories of his happy marriage behind him. Another fresh start.

"I'll have a Newcastle," said a familiar accent beside him.

Ludo stiffened in his seat. He wasn't expecting to hear another British accent in a Melbourne bar. The likelihood of randomly sitting next to an incognito Auror was so small, he convinced himself not to worry. At least not yet.

The man next to him appeared about ten years older than him. He had dark but greying hair, thick glasses, the appearance of someone who had just gotten off an airplane, and was trying to kill time before checking into a hotel. His clothes looked expensive, but it also looked like he hadn't changed them in days. It was a peculiar appearance.

"What's the name for the tab?" asked the barkeep.

The man next to Ludo paused before he answered. "Wilkins."

Fake name, thought Ludo. He would know, because he frequently had to pause in order to remember his alias of the day.

The man named 'Wilkins' accepted his Newcastle, thanked the barkeeper, and then pulled out a notebook from his bag. Ludo turned to observe the man more closely. The notepad was already covered in neat, tiny writing, and he squinted as he read it again, a thoughtful look on his face. Ludo thought it unlikely that he recognized him, and figured his best approach would be to make conversation with the man. Worst case scenario, he'd know quickly if he had to make a run for it. Best case, he'd find out the man really wasn't a British wizard in disguise.

"Did you just fly in from London?" asked Ludo.

The man turned to look at Ludo, eyeing him up and down before shaking his head. "Been here a few months. You're from England?"

Ludo nodded. "First time in Melbourne." He extended a hand toward the man. "Leo Wilson," he stated, offering a fake name.

The man looked him in the eye before accepting his handshake. "Wendell."

Wendell Wilkins, thought Ludo. It still sounded fake, but then again, so did Leo Wilson. "Nice to meet you, Wendell," he said with a nod. He turned back at the barman. "I'll have a Newcastle too."

When he had his drink in hand, he raised his glass to Wendell. "To England," he said. The two men clinked glasses and took a sip.

"What brings you to Melbourne?" asked Wendell.

Ludo shrugged. "A change of scenery," he said. "What about you?"

Wendell paused and took a long swig of his beer before he answered. "Honestly, I'm not sure. I guess me and my wife just wanted something new." Ludo narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the man. It sounded like he hadn't quite thought through his backstory. Wendell diverted the question expertly. "Do you have a wife?"

"Had."

An empathetic look crossed Wendell's face. "Sorry to hear that."

Ludo shrugged. "It happens. What about you?"

Wendell nodded. "Monica. But if it makes you feel any better, things with her haven't been great since we came to Australia."

This sparked Ludo's curiosity. "That's too bad," he said insincerely. "Problems with the ladies. That calls for another round, I believe." He had an ulterior motive of course. Maybe if Wendell drank just a little bit more, he would reveal whether or not he was a threat. He ordered them each a second beer, and the men toasted to their marital problems, and drank.

He listened intently as Wendell recounted his relationship issues. Evidently, things had just felt off between him and Monica since their arrival in Australia. They couldn't quite remember why they decided to move, and they argued about it constantly.

There were some weird things they couldn't explain, like the general fogginess, the forgetfulness, and the constant deja vu. They couldn't seem to agree about very simple aspects of their former lives, such as what town they used to live in, where they worked, and who their friends were. Something big seemed to be missing, and neither of them could put a finger on what it was.

They blamed it on each other, and assumed what was missing was passion. Love. They decided they had moved to Australia to reignite the missing flame of their marriage, but clearly, it wasn't working.

Wendell had other theories, but they didn't sit well with his wife. His theory was that something was missing from their lives, it had nothing to do with their marriage, and it wasn't an accident. Wendell thought something sinister was going on, but Monica thought he was crazy.

"Be honest," said Wendell after draining his second beer. "Do you think I'm crazy?"

Ludo motioned to the bartender to order a third round. "No, I don't think you're crazy."

It was true. Ludo didn't think Wendell was crazy at all. And unless Wendell was a particularly gifted actor, he definitely wasn't a wizard in disguise.

Wendell was a muggle. An obliviated muggle. Ludo was sure of it.

There was no recognition in Wendell's eyes as he talked about his past life. It was the same empty stare he saw in Eleanor after he wiped himself from her memory, and it broke his heart. Seeing that same fog in Wendell's expression broke his heart all over again.

"What's the notebook for?" asked Ludo, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Wendell looked hesitant at first, before sliding the notebook over toward Ludo. "Sometimes, when I drink, I remember things, and I write them all down. I draw them if there aren't words."

Ludo studied the writing on the page before him. At first, it looked like gibberish, but he started to decipher patterns in the letters. The letters "HJG" appeared over and over.

"What is HJG?" he asked.

Wendell glanced around him as if he was concerned someone would overhear him. He shifted closer to Ludo before he answered. "I think they are initials."

"Your initials?"

Wendell shook his head. "Although Wendell Wilkins doesn't feel like my real name, I've given up trying to remember my own initials. I think those were the initials that I was meant to forget."

Ludo scowled at the paper. He turned to a previous page, where Wendell had drawn a picture of a large orange tabby cat. He turned the page again, this time revealing four words in a slanted scrawl that repeated across the page.

Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus

Ludo felt his breath catch in his throat. "What does this mean?" he asked, although he knew perfectly well what it meant.

Wendell sighed. "It's Latin for 'never tickle a sleeping dragon'. It sounds mental, I know." He took another sip of his beer before shrugging. "It felt important."

It was important. Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus was the Hogwarts school motto. There was no way Wendell had written that down by coincidence. The motto was part of the school emblem, which appeared on the uniforms, the school post, and any memorabilia that a student might take home to their parents. Ludo remained certain that Wendell was a muggle, because even the most skilled obliviater couldn't wipe their own magic from someone's memory. There was only one other way Wendell would know the school motto.

"Wendell, do you have any children?"

Wendell sat up straight and looked Ludo in the eye. He appeared to study him, as if determining what answer he should give. He must have seen an earnest expression in Ludo because he eventually nodded. "A daughter. At least I think I do. I just can't quite remember."

They sat there in silence for a while. Ludo couldn't help but think about his wife— ex-wife, and wonder. Where did she go when she walked away from him with that blank stare in her eye? Did she have a notebook full of scribbles that hardly made sense to her? Was she currently sitting at a bar trying to remember her marriage? Was she also living in a constant fog, questioning her own sanity?

He had never once stopped to think about the lasting effects before he wiped her memory. Instead, he naively assumed it simply erased his problems, and moved on. But now, watching 'Wendell', sipping away at his third Newcastle, he was faced with a harsh reality. This man clearly hadn't been home in days. He looked like he hadn't slept in longer. He was three drinks deep on a weekday morning, scribbling nonsense into a notebook, and telling a complete stranger about his forgotten daughter. He clearly wasn't doing well.

Ludo was positive he'd never see Eleanor again. He'd never be able to help her. But maybe he could make up for that, by helping Wendell right now. He'd already broken the statute of secrecy once, what would be the harm in doing it again?

"Wendell, do you want to find her?"

He squinted at Ludo, assessing his seriousness. "That's what I've been trying to do."

Ludo nodded and looked straight at Wendell's somber, yet hopeful eyes. He took a deep breath. "I can help you."

Wendell narrowed his eyes skeptically. "How could you possibly help me?"

Ludo took another sip, as if to fill him with more courage. He was good at lying to muggles, but not telling the truth. He tried to ignore the feeling of foreboding that came over him, telling him that this was a bad idea. If he couldn't give the truth to Eleanor, he owed it to Wendell.

Wendell needed a friend, and so did he. This would be good.

"I can help you, because I'm a wizard. And I know what happened to you."

There was a prolonged silence. Ludo stared directly at his Newcastle, but he felt Wendell's eyes on him, burning a hole through him. He reluctantly turned to face him.

Wendell's expression was unreadable, but the blankness that characterized his eyes before had all but disappeared. His face was filled with recognition.

Was it hopefulness? Sadness? Shock? Ludo couldn't tell. After all, he didn't really know Wendell. He was a complete stranger. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything at all.

Then Wendell spoke softly and stiffly, as if it required a great effort to steady his voice. "You're capable of making people forget?"

Ludo sighed. Then nodded. "I'm also capable of helping them remember."

"Are you the one who did this to me?" he nearly whispered.

Ludo shook his head firmly. "No."

"Did you do this to your wife?"

Ludo froze, regretting sharing any information about Eleanor. Although he never answered affirmatively, his hesitation confirmed Wendell's suspicions.

"Shame on you."

"Wendell, just trust me—,"

"No!" Wendell shouted, loudly enough that a few people looked up. He looked around self-consciously and whispered, "I could never trust you."

Ludo studied him. Anger, and fear. That's the expression he read. He saw the same emotions on Eleanor's face right before he obliviated her.

"Everything ok here?" asked the barman, clearing both Ludo and Wendell's empty bottles.

"Yes," said Wendell, still glaring at Ludo.

"Ok then," said the man, before disappearing behind the bar.

"Don't talk to me anymore," said Wendell, who swiped his notebook back, and turned to face the bar.

Ludo could have left it at that. He should have left it at that. But his moral compass had never pointed due north, and he couldn't stand the thought of someone else knowing he was a criminal. Especially someone who didn't trust him. He was supposed to be in hiding.

Maybe he could fix it. He fished for his wand in his pocket, making sure to slip it almost entirely up his sleeve before pulling it out. He pointed his forearm toward Wendell, who must have felt Ludo's gaze on him, because he turned toward him.

Wendell's gaze drifted down to Ludo's sleeve, and his eyebrows shot up. "What the hell are you—"

"Obliviate," muttered Ludo, and he watched the anger and recognition fade from Wendell's eyes, and they were suddenly strangers again. Wendell turned back to the pages of his notebook, and ran his fingers over the words Draco Dormiens Nunquam Tittilandus. Ludo felt his stomach sink as he mourned the loss of a potential friendship. Part of him wanted to try again, because he really could help Wendell, and Wendell seemed just as lonely as Ludo. He opened his mouth to speak, and almost introduced himself for the second time.

But he didn't. Even though his moral compass wasn't always correct, it sometimes got close, and at this moment, it seemed like the right thing to do was to let Wendell be. So he held his tongue, and hoped he would find his daughter someday. Ludo fished his wallet out of his pocket, and left enough muggle money on the bar to cover Wendell's last three drinks.

"I'll have a Newcastle."

It was the last thing Ludo heard Wendell say, before he stood up, and left the bar.

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

The absolute worst part of going from Ace Attorney to Fire Emblem is fucking......drawing the characters, like I can draw wacky anime hair all day, no problem, but the fucking outfits. Ace Attorney the trickiest things to draw is like, Edgeworth’s neck ruffles. Everyone’s just wearing suits or whatever. I need to make sure the neckline on the Kurain robes goes the right way. Nahyuta is the only major character whose outfit has a fuckload of stupid tiny details. Fire Emblem? Everyone has stupid tiny details. If I want to draw the FE3H academy uniforms there’s so many lines on it. I can cheese it with Dimitri’s armor by scribbling some lines and shading the whole thing in, and that’s like, that’s it. Byleth is wearing a clusterfuck and I can’t figure out how the sleeves are supposed to drape any time, and there’s just armor pieces everywhere. Why does Chrom have three belts. Robin has two belts and a fuckton of buckles and tassels on their robe that I am looking at with vitriol and malicious intent. I hate every single one of you.