#whispering willow book

[artisticbunny]

Aaaand the updated character refs I made for this years artfight as well! :3

My beautiful Whispering Willow babies! ^

Clink, my baby boi that I play in dnd! ^

And my sona!

I hope you guys like them! I think I've improved a lot since last year :3

[a-dumb-bitch-apparently]

my back hurts so bad that I can't sleep but I know that sleeping is what's gonna fix my back

[magicalyaku]

Yeah yeah, it's been a while between reading these books and me writing about them. Things were happening (namely too much work and a lot of Lies of P to counter it). Anyway, back then I was smart and made notes as I was reading, so here you go! In anticipation of my own new self-published novel I only picked up indie books for the month. I didn't even get through half of the list I made, so maybe there's gonna be more of them later. :)

Wildfire (Shania Renaud): Other than most books this month, I had this on my list for a while before. Finally a good excuse to buy it! And it's good! I have some issues with the writing. It's narrated in 3rd person, which I prefer but it's not always working well. Most of the time it's limited to Lucian, the protagonist, but sometimes switches suddenly to someone else, wchich would be fine, but's it is sudden and for just a few paragraphs and that felt weird. Luckily it didn't happen too often to put me off. Other than that, I would have loved to get a little more worldbuilding. None of the cities have names, for instance, and I'm not sure, the distances the people travel work out. Their travels just take as much time as is convenient to write about. I like things to be consistant and logical. :I And speaking of convenient and logical: Why didn't they just travel all the way to the place the wall ends? And how can Lucian sit there tied up and only be freed with two guards around after 5 days when … how did he pee and shit? And other inconvenient things? Anyway, I did like the way he was written. He actually felt young and inexperienced but not stupid. And there are some nice questions being raised about the way humans und human society think and live. (There's also a heavy dosage of slave trade and the resulting abuse, so content warning for that.) I liked it!

Hymn of Memory (S. Jean): This one was nice. Sweet and sad at the same time. I admit, I teared up a little several times. The loneliness and warm moments were just very palpable. The amount of modernisation vs the magic of the Divine was unexpected. I'm so used to my fantasy books being old-timey and contempories having no magic at all, that the mixture actually surprised me. :'D What did not surprise me were the revelations towards the end. But having your suspicions confirmed is good, too, and I was still eager to know how it would turn out. Overall, I really liked the book. I think it has good exploration of its characters and themes and I dare say I felt the love.

Of Knights and Books and Falling in Love (Rita A. Rubin): After bruising my tender heart I needed something easy. This was definitely it. Sweet and cozy and low-key, but still with some adventurous interludes. The characters are nice, they have some cute interactions and there's a cat. Do you know the Atelier Games? I only played the Arland and Dusk trilogies, but this reminded me of those: A laid-back protagonist who builds affinity with their friends by doing little adventures with them while collecting and crafting items. There's no item crafting in the book, but a bookstore, so … I really can't say much more than that. I just had a really enjoyable time reading. :'D

Wolf Willow Witch (The Gideon Testaments 2) (Freydís Moon): I admit, I was kinda lost during the first ~20 pages. Beforehand I thought, I remembered Heart Haunt Havoc quite enough, turned out I didn't. :'D I also had trouble liking the protagonists which is so weird of me, because I always crave badass heroines and then … I end up not liking them ... Which in this case is just because in real life the contemporary witch woman with her pet rat would just not be the person I'd approach. I also don't have any connection to religion so everything about this book felt far away from me at first. It got better as the story progressed and they found a goal to reach. In the end I was honestly curious how they would solve their situation. And also next volume promises to be interesting!

Whisper of Shadows and Snakes (vol 1) (J.S. Burn): (Haha, ok my notes for this one were sparse. Do I remember anything … :'D) This is the opening to a big adventure story with a whole party of friends ending up in a different world. Didn't expect that! Everyone gets their unique powers and training arcs and all that. There were some questionable plot things like, is there no public transportation in your city? Why do you have to walk all the way home? And also there just was an earthquake, so maybe don't go through a crater area in the dark which grounds you don't know? Phew. Also, with the money they'll need to pay for new shoes they could probably have shared a taxi. :'D Overall, I enjoyed reading it. It's aiming pretty high, but if I remember right, it felt like there was a lot of work put into it and it was done pretty well. :)

A Searing Faith (The Heart Pyre 1) (Audrey Martin): This is difficult. I did not really enjoy this but most of that was because of me rather than the book itself. It's a serious story which was not quite the best choice for me when I'm tired from work and spending all my free time gaming instead of immersing myself in reading. I think the story premise is interesting. I liked the worldbuilding and the writing style. It's not often authors describe the little gestures of characters while they're talking. It comes naturally to me because after drawing manga for many years my head is always in storyboard mode even when writing, so I'm always thinking about how the characters look and what they are doing. Not that I dislike usual dialogue scenes, mind you, but here was like "Oh! Nice!" What I didn't like was the heroine … (I probably always have expectations how I want my heroines to be and then am disappointed when they act differently.) Objectively, she is probably written well. Bad things happened to her and she has very little time to process. Also, she's only 16 and had a bunch of younger siblings, so many of her decisions are probably a result of that and yet … In August I talked about how much I like Will's brash attitude in The Will Darling Adventures. Rena is basically the opposite, so … :'D Overall I liked the story and I am considering to read the next volume when it comes, even though the ending didn't really catch me. I wish there was some sort of tiny tiny hint as to why it is Maya and not anyone else. Unfortunately being utterly clueless doesn't really create anticipation for me. Oh well. I do love the cover!

A Charm of Magpies Trilogy (KJ Charles): Okay, these ones are definitely not niche anymore, but they're still indie, right? I just needed a little break and read most of the three books on a Saturday curled up in my bed, like under the covers. I probably got up to get food, but otherwise … What to say about the books … They're fun and adventurous with nice characters and easy to read? KJ Charles just has this way of writing that gets me immersed and amused easily. This trilogy is not my favourite of her books from what I read so far, but I had a very good Saturday reading these. uAub

If you need more recommendations for indie books, some others I read this year and loved are: The Devil's Luck (L.S. Baird), Of Feathers and Thorns (Kit Vincent), The High King's Golden Tongue (Megan Derr), Oracle of Senders (Mere Joyce), Rowan Blood (Kellen Graves) and The Tarot Sequence (KD Edwards)!

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I stumbled on this article about 29 Western Gothic Nursery Ideas and I'm so impressed. These ideas can be used for baby, but why not for inspiration for older children's room and adult decor? You gotta see these. This one is called "Mythical Creatures." According to the article, it introduces fantastic beasts like griffins and unicorns into a nursery. Deep jewel tones mixed with soft pastels create a magical yet calming space, perfect for stimulating imagination.

Moonlit Haven brings the peaceful charm of a moonlit meadow indoors. Soft blues and silvers mimic the glow of the moon, while plush moon-shaped pillows and serene meadow-themed wall art enhance the tranquil atmosphere.

Twilight Magic captures the whimsical charm of twilight. Deep purples and blues set a mystical tone, while twinkling fairy lights and mythical creature toys spark curiosity. 

Starry Enchantment brings celestial wonder, combining deep navy hues and silver accents. Star-patterned walls and a night sky ceiling inspire dreams of galactic adventures, while plush star-shaped cushions add comfort and charm.

Mystic Moonlight creates a dreamy nursery, using pale colors and silvery moonbeam motifs. Delicate, floating fabrics and lunar landscapes inspire a sense of wonder and calm.

Gothic Grove brings the charm of an ancient garden indoors. Rich greens and earth tones, paired with floral and vine patterns, create a lush, calming atmosphere. Dark wood furniture and soft lighting enhance the theme’s historic feel.

Eclipse Dreams features a theme inspired by the mystery of an eclipse. Dark colors contrasted with gold accents mimic the sun’s corona, while celestial patterns create a cozy, restful space.

Nightshade Nursery embraces deep purples and soft blacks, creating a secret garden vibe. Subtle botanical prints and shadowy decor inspire storytelling and imagination, while plush rugs ensure a cozy, magical space.

Willow Whispers brings the gentle grace of willow trees. Soft greens and earth tones create a serene atmosphere, while willow branch wall decals sway peacefully, making it the perfect setting for a soothing nursery.

Windy Whispers captures the gentle flow of the wind. Airy fabrics and soft, flowing designs bring a dynamic element to the room, while soft blues and grays create a serene space.

Celestial Dreams brings the night sky indoors. Starry patterns and glow-in-the-dark ceiling stars create a soothing, cosmic environment.

Fairytale Dungeon offers a playful twist, transforming the space into a whimsical medieval fantasy. Castle-like furniture, dragon toys, and soft, ambient lighting create a space full of adventure and charm.

Gargoyle’s Lair incorporates mythical Gothic elements with gargoyle figurines and rugged textures. Stone-gray tones and plush gargoyle toys create a unique space. 

Castle Dreams transforms a nursery into a storybook castle with royal murals, plush thrones, and regal fabrics. Purple and gold accents add a touch of nobility.

Midnight Meadows features calming nocturnal murals. Large wall art depicting moonlit scenes sets a peaceful tone, while indirect lighting enhances the magical nighttime atmosphere.

Gothic Spires draws on cathedral architecture, incorporating pointed arches and soft gray tones for a serene, collected space. Angelic motifs and stained glass details add to the calming environment.

Enchanted Sanctuary creates a magical nursery filled with mystical books and lantern-like lighting. Soft, muted colors and luxurious textures make the space feel warm and enchanting.

Ghostly Playroom introduces playful ghost motifs that create a fun, cozy atmosphere. Soft, pale colors and plush ghost-shaped pillows add whimsy without being spooky.

Lavender Maze brings intricate patterns and soft purples. Labyrinthine designs on wallpaper or rugs add a touch of charm, while simple furniture keeps the room calm and soothing.

Wraith’s Playground is a whimsical take using light, ethereal fabrics to create an airy, magical space. Pale colors and ghostly motifs make the room playful and calming.

Shaded Comfort focuses on muted grays and soft blacks, creating a subtle, shadowy atmosphere that’s perfect for quiet comfort. Soft, plush materials provide both coziness and sophistication.

Cheerful Spirits brings friendly, playful ghost motifs. Bright accents and ghost-shaped pillows add fun to the room, creating a stimulating yet cozy environment.

Twilight Cuddles captures the soft light of dusk. Dusky purples and shimmering fabrics evoke a peaceful, twilight sky, perfect for soothing before bed.

Storybook Charm brings classic fairy tale elements. Deep colors, ornate frames, and vintage toys create an enchanting, adventure-filled space.

Peaceful Tombs embraces the serenity of Gothic architecture. Arched doorways, soft lighting, and muted earth tones create a tranquil, retreat-like environment.

Mystical Reflections uses mirrors to create a sense of depth and magic. Reflective surfaces paired with enchanted forest-themed decor add an element of surprise and wonder.

Raven’s Haven brings the mysterious beauty of ravens into the room with dark, rich colors and plush raven toys. Artwork of ravens in moonlit trees adds a touch of Gothic elegance.

Sapphire Dreams creates a Gothic nursery with deep, calming sapphire hues and silver accents. Dark wood furniture with Gothic detailing completes the serene, magical space.

Gentle Guardians softens the traditional gargoyle motif into playful, friendly figures. Stone-gray tones and whimsical gargoyle toys create a balanced, inviting space.

https://learncalifornia.org/western-gothic-nursery/

[novaursa]

To Save Us Both

- Summary: Aegon was your shadow ever since you were a child. And once you come of age and Viserys gives your hand to Lord Tyrell's son, Aegon makes a decision that would save you both—and ruin you all the same.

- Pairing: sister!reader/Aegon II Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

You had always been the quiet one, the shadow lingering just outside the gilded glow of your family’s attention. As the second daughter of King Viserys and Queen Alicent, you lived in the space between your mother’s careful plans and your father’s indulgent dismissiveness. Helaena had her dreams and riddles, and Aegon—your elder brother—had his bravado and recklessness. And then there was you.

From the earliest days, Aegon sought your attention with a peculiar intensity. At first, it was innocent enough. He would seek you out during lessons, deliberately sit beside you at the long table in the Red Keep’s library, or tug on your sleeve when you were absorbed in your Valyrian texts.

“Y/N, look at this!�� he exclaimed one day, barely past eight, holding a wooden dragon he had carved—or at least claimed to have carved. It was crude, the wings uneven, but you smiled at him regardless.

“It’s… unique,” you replied, your voice soft, careful not to wound his pride.

“Unique?” His face fell slightly before he puffed up with exaggerated bravado. “I think it’s better than that. It looks like Vhagar, doesn’t it?”

“It’s a little smaller than Vhagar,” you teased gently, a rare flicker of mirth dancing in your eyes. Aegon’s pout faded into a grin, and he sat beside you, his body leaning just a little too close.

It was always like this with Aegon. He thrived on your smiles, craved your laughter, and seemed to falter when you turned away from him. When Helaena pulled you into her world of strange, whispered riddles or Aemond showed off his knowledge of dragons to impress you, Aegon’s mood would darken.

One afternoon, the court gathered in the gardens for a brief reprieve from the heat of the Red Keep. You had found a shaded spot beneath a weeping willow, a book of High Valyrian poetry resting in your lap. Aemond stood beside you, his expression serious as he recited lines from memory, his voice low and earnest.

“Se perzys ipradagon ziry ry,” he said, his pale gaze fixed on you. “The flame consumes it all.”

You nodded thoughtfully, your lips curving in approval. “You’ve improved,” you said, your voice warm, and Aemond’s face lit up with quiet pride.

From across the garden, Aegon watched, his jaw tightening. He drained his goblet of wine in one swift motion and made his way toward you, his steps purposeful.

“What’s this?” Aegon interrupted, his tone light but sharp around the edges. He flopped down beside you, ignoring Aemond entirely. “High Valyrian poetry? How dull.”

“It’s not dull,” you said, looking up at him with a small frown. “Aemond has been practicing.”

“Oh, Aemond’s been practicing,” Aegon mocked, his voice dripping with exaggerated awe. “How impressive.” He reached over and plucked the book from your lap, flipping through it carelessly. “You should do something more fun, Y/N. We could go riding or—”

“She doesn’t have time for your games,” Aemond said coldly, stepping closer.

“And you don’t have time for your lessons, apparently,” Aegon snapped back, his smile sharp. “Run along, little brother.”

“Aegon,” you said, a note of warning in your voice. He turned to you, the sharpness in his expression softening instantly.

“What? I’m just saying we could have more fun.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “You’d rather spend time with me, wouldn’t you?”

Your brows knit together, and you glanced between your brothers, torn. “Aemond and I were having a conversation.”

“But I’m more interesting,” Aegon pressed, his grin widening as he tilted his head, his violet eyes searching yours.

You sighed, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“Only for you, dear sister,” he replied, the words carrying a weight you didn’t fully grasp.

As you grew older, Aegon’s attempts to claim your attention became bolder. When suitors began to glance your way at feasts, he was quick to position himself between you and them, his arm draped casually over the back of your chair, his voice louder, his laugh more boisterous.

One evening, a young lord from the Reach had spent far too long at your side, his compliments earning your shy smiles. Aegon, seated nearby, clenched his goblet so tightly that the metal bent under his grip.

When the lord finally excused himself, Aegon slid into his place, his eyes narrowing as he looked after the retreating figure. “Do you actually enjoy listening to that drivel?” he asked, his tone laced with disdain.

“He was kind,” you said simply, glancing at him.

“Kind? He was duller than a broken sword,” Aegon retorted, his gaze fixed on you. “You deserve better.”

“And who would that be?” you asked, your voice carrying a note of challenge.

His smirk faltered for a moment, his expression turning uncharacteristically earnest. “Someone who knows you. Someone who’s been by your side all along.”

Your breath caught, his words lingering in the space between you. But before you could respond, he laughed, the moment breaking as quickly as it had come. “But not him,” he added, his usual arrogance slipping back into place. “You’re mine, little sister.”

You blinked, unsure whether to laugh or scold him, but the possessiveness in his tone left an unspoken promise lingering in the air. Aegon would always vie for your attention, no matter who tried to steal it away.

The announcement had been made during a routine gathering of the family, with King Viserys seated at the head of the table, Alicent by his side. His words were spoken with the offhandedness of someone making a trivial decision, though the weight of them crashed into Aegon like a hammer.

“It’s time we secure another alliance,” Viserys had said, his gaze landing on you. “Lord Tyrell has expressed interest in a match between his eldest son and our daughter.”

You sat frozen in your seat, your wineglass trembling slightly in your hand. Across the table, Aegon’s face darkened. His lips parted as if to protest, but no words came. Instead, he stared at Viserys, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the edge of the table.

The conversation moved on, Viserys discussing trade agreements and naval concerns, but Aegon heard none of it. His mind was a whirl of chaos, his heart pounding so fiercely it drowned out the voices around him.

Later that evening, he stormed into Alicent’s chambers, his face pale and his violet eyes wild. She was seated by the hearth, embroidering a handkerchief with practiced precision. When she saw him, her calm expression shifted to one of concern.

“Aegon?” she asked, setting the embroidery aside. “What’s the matter?”

“I need to speak with you,” he said, his voice strained. He paced the room, running a hand through his hair, the usual air of arrogance stripped away. “It’s about Y/N.”

Alicent’s brow furrowed, her motherly instincts kicking in. “What about her?”

“They can’t marry her off,” he blurted, turning to face her. “Not to the Tyrell boy. Not to anyone.”

“Aegon,” she said softly, rising from her chair. “It’s a good match. Lord Tyrell is powerful, and his son—”

“I don’t care about his son!” Aegon interrupted, his voice rising. “I don’t care about alliances or power or any of it. She belongs here, with us. With me.”

Alicent froze, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied her eldest son. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying I can’t let this happen.” He took a step closer, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “Mother, you have to stop it. You’re the only one he listens to.”

She reached out, placing a hand on his arm to steady him. “Aegon, you’re being irrational. Y/N’s future—”

“My future doesn’t exist without her!” he cried, his voice desperate. “Don’t you see? She’s the only thing in this world that matters to me.”

Alicent’s lips parted, her expression shifting from concern to something more conflicted. “Aegon…” she began, but he cut her off.

“She’s everything to me,” he said, his voice softer now, trembling with vulnerability. “When she laughs, it’s like the sun breaks through the clouds. When she looks at me, I feel like I’m someone worth being. And the thought of her—of her with someone else—” His voice broke entirely, and he turned away, his shoulders shaking.

Alicent watched him for a long moment, her mind racing. Finally, she spoke, her tone measured. “You care for her deeply.”

Aegon let out a bitter laugh. “Care for her? Mother, I love her. I’ve always loved her. And if they take her from me, if they marry her off to that Tyrell boy or anyone else…” He turned back to her, his face etched with anguish. “I’ll die. Do you hear me? I’ll die.”

The rawness of his words struck Alicent to her core. She had always known Aegon’s feelings for you went beyond brotherly affection, though she had hoped it was a passing infatuation. But the desperation in his voice, the tears brimming in his eyes—it was undeniable. This wasn’t a childish crush. This was a man willing to set the world aflame for the one he loved.

“You must speak to Father,” he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Convince him. Tell him it’s not the right match, that she’s too young, that the Tyrells aren’t trustworthy—anything. Just stop it.”

Alicent hesitated, torn between her role as a mother and her duty as queen. Finally, she nodded, her voice firm. “I will speak with him. But, Aegon…” She stepped closer, placing a hand on his cheek. “You must tread carefully. This path you’re walking—it’s dangerous.”

“I don’t care,” he said, his voice resolute. “I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her by my side.”

Alicent sighed, pulling him into a brief embrace. “Then let us hope the gods are merciful.”

As Aegon left her chambers, a flicker of determination replaced the despair in his eyes. If his mother couldn’t stop the betrothal, he would find another way. He would fight, scheme, beg—whatever it took. Because losing you wasn’t an option. Not now. Not ever.

The candles burned low in Aegon’s chambers as he paced the floor. The wine on his table sat untouched, an unusual sight for him. Tonight, Aegon’s mind was too sharp, too focused, to indulge in his usual vices. The Tyrell betrothal still loomed like a sword over his head, and every moment that passed without a resolution tightened the noose around his heart.

He had spoken to Alicent, begged her to intervene, but her assurances felt fragile against Viserys’s iron will. His father had grown increasingly indifferent to the pleas of his children, too consumed by his own decaying health and dream of uniting the realm. If Alicent couldn’t sway him, Aegon knew he needed to act. He needed to ensure that there was no choice but to keep you by his side.

The idea had taken root in his mind slowly, twisting and growing until it consumed him entirely. It wasn’t honorable, nor was it kind, but Aegon was neither of those things. He was desperate. And desperation made monsters of men.

That night, as the Red Keep grew silent and the court retired to their chambers, Aegon found you in the library. You were alone, the firelight illuminating your soft features as you poured over a book. It was a scene he had seen a hundred times, but tonight it struck him differently. Tonight, he couldn’t afford to wait, to hope that things would somehow fall in his favor.

“Still reading?” he asked, leaning casually against the doorway.

You glanced up, startled but not displeased to see him. “I could say the same to you. It’s unusual to find you here without a cup of wine in hand.”

He smirked, though the humor didn’t reach his eyes. “I suppose even I have my moments of sobriety.”

You smiled faintly and returned your attention to the page, but Aegon didn’t move. He stepped closer, his boots soft against the stone floor, and you glanced up again, your brows knitting in confusion.

“Is something wrong?” you asked.

“Why would you think that?”

“Because you’re hovering,” you said plainly, though there was no malice in your tone.

Aegon chuckled, but it sounded hollow even to his ears. He sat beside you, closer than usual, his knee brushing yours. “I wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?”

He hesitated, his fingers tracing the edge of the table. “About the Tyrell boy.”

You stiffened slightly, your gaze dropping back to the book. “Father has made his decision. There’s little point in discussing it.”

“Do you want to marry him?” Aegon pressed, his voice low and urgent.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” you said, your tone soft but resigned. “My duty is to the family, to the realm.”

“That’s not an answer,” he said, leaning closer. “Do you want him, Y/N? Do you want to leave the Red Keep, leave me, and go to Highgarden?”

You turned to him, your eyes wide with surprise and something else—confusion, perhaps. “Why does it matter to you?”

Aegon swallowed hard, his throat dry. “Because I can’t lose you. You’re mine.”

“Aegon—”

“Listen to me,” he said, his hand reaching out to grasp yours. “You don’t belong with him. You belong here, with your family, with me.”

You tried to pull your hand away, but his grip tightened. “Aegon, you’re not making any sense.”

“I love you,” he blurted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “I’ve always loved you, Y/N. And I can’t let them take you from me.”

Your lips parted, shock evident on your face. “You’re my brother.”

“And that makes it wrong?” he challenged, his voice trembling. “Our blood of the dragon is the same, our bond stronger than any lord or knight could ever offer you. Don’t you see? We were meant to be together.”

You stared at him, your mind racing, but before you could respond, Aegon leaned in, his lips brushing against yours. The kiss was soft at first, tentative, as if he were testing the boundaries of what you would allow. When you didn’t pull away, he deepened it, his hand moving to cup your cheek.

You pushed him back abruptly, your eyes wide with a mix of confusion and anger. “Aegon, this is madness.”

“It’s the truth,” he said, his voice raw. “And I’ll prove it to you. If they try to marry you off, I’ll stop them. I’ll make sure you stay here, with me.”

“How?” you demanded, your voice rising. “What are you planning?”

He hesitated, the weight of his scheme hanging heavily between you. “If Father won’t listen, then I’ll give him no choice. If you’re mine, truly mine, he can’t send you away.”

The implication of his words hit you like a blow, and you took a step back, your chest heaving. “You mean to ruin me,” you whispered, horrified.

“To save you,” he countered, his expression desperate. “To save us.”

You shook your head, tears brimming in your eyes. “Aegon, this isn’t the way.”

“It’s the only way,” he said, reaching for you again. “Don’t you see? I’d burn the whole world to keep you.”

You turned away, your heart pounding, and fled the library, leaving Aegon alone in the flickering firelight. He stood there for a long moment, his hands clenched into fists, his mind racing.

If you wouldn’t accept his love willingly, then he would ensure there was no other path for you to take.

Whatever it cost, whatever it took, you would be his.

[shalomniscient]

ever so often, arlecchino finds you outside in the house's sprawling garden surrounded by the children. at any point, you could be showing them any manner of creature you've somehow managed to grab (gently, of course). just the past week it was a crimson finch that had accidentally flown into the window, and before that it was some lizard (green horned, she can almost hear you say indignantly) that had unfortunately not managed to scurry away from you in time. the children all watch with rapt interest as you cradle the little critter in your palms, softly relaying the assortment of miscellaneous facts you have stored somewhere in that brain of yours. it's an endearing sight, and one that arlecchino indulges in whenever she has the time, or feels the fatigue of staring at inane documents press against the backs of her eyes.

today, however, she watches sat beneath the shade of a willow tree, one leg crossed over the other and fingers curled around the handle of her teacup. it is a rare day of reprieve, and she spends it here in the mild fontainian mediterranean sun, her typical uniform shed in favor of a billowy white shirt and slim-fitting, high-waisted breeches. something has piqued yours and the children's interest, and all of you gather near the garden wall. she can hear the children whisper excitedly as you crouch down, and then they gasp as you stand up.

she raises a brow in interest herself. whatever it is your holding, it seems a little larger than your usual finds. however, with the crowd of children around you, it's difficult for her to actually see what it is you're holding. you spare her a glance over your shoulder, then a minute tilt of your head. a wordless invitation; come. and she does, easily, a thorny bloom to the sun, setting her teacup down with barely a sound and rising to her feet. her heels have been traded for something more casual, and her typical imposing stature has reduced somewhat--though the children still obediently part when she approaches.

"anything of note?" she asks. she studies your face carefully; from the curl of your lip to the creases at the corners of your eyes to the slope of your brow. of all things, she finds it is mischief that inhabits your expression, and she mentally prepares herself for whatever ridiculously endearing thing you're about to show her.

that 'ridiculously endearing thing', as it turns out, happens to be a rabbit--a rather plush, black-and white rabbit, sitting perfectly content in your arms. you're supporting the creature with one hand beneath its chest and the other beneath its hind legs, holding it close to you. some of the children gently pet the downy fur along its back, and the rabbit's black-tipped ears twitch in response, almost pleased.

"we found a little guest beneath the hedge line," you answer, glancing down affectionately at the creature. "the children were hoping they'd be allowed to keep it."

arlecchino snorts. "the children, or you?"

"rude," you shoot back, though the smile on your lips is still present. "come now, we've already thought of a name."

"is that so?" she drawls, her eyes narrowing a fraction at the rabbit. its own eyes, previously closed in contentment, open, and almost seem to challenge her. her fingers twitch behind her back.

"it is," you say, and there's a lightness to your tone that arlecchino knows is a harbinger of some form of mischief. her eyes meet yours, and they gleam with mirth. arlecchino wonders if the sun is ever envious of the way it is outshone. "would you like to hear it?"

she sighs, looking away. "proceed."

"thumper seems rather cute, no?" you answer innocently, batting your lashes, and internally arlecchino cringes. thumper. a name from a popular children's book, one that even a woman as cruel as the former knave would keep in stock in her library. a name, famously, that was attributed to the companion of the book's titular character, bambi.

bambi, which was also the name of the spider she once had as a child.

you notice her brief foray back into her memories, and draw her back with a soft laugh. thumper's ear twitches, and the little beast nuzzles closer against your chest. "no? well, we could always name him after you. you both seem to look quite alike, wouldn't you say? hm, how about per--"

"thumper is fine," arlecchino cuts you off, exasperation underlining her tone. there is an almost-scowl on her face, though the relaxed line of her shoulders gives away her true feelings. "the... creature, can stay. so long as it is properly cared for."

the children whoop and cheer, and your eyes soften into a thankful, tender look. thumper, now thoroughly loafing in your arms, wags his stubby little tail. perhaps he is somewhat cute, arlecchino muses, extending a hand to smooth down his fur--

--only for the traitorous little beast to lean away, cracking open an eye to glare almost witheringly at her. you coo as he presses close, and arlecchino's eye twitches. she doesn't know if rabbits have the capacity to make smug expressions, but she's willing to swear upon the tsaritsa's name that the damn creature is making that exact expression at her right now.

in hindsight, it's been a while since she's had rabbit stew.

[torpublishinggroup]

We’re advertising a book for readers of adult romance and fantasy: The Coven by Harper L. Woods

WHAT’S IT ABOUT

This is a sexy, deliciously imaginative fantasy romance where The Magicians meets Ninth House with vampires.

Raised to be her father’s weapon against the Coven that took away his sister and his birthright, Willow would do anything to protect her younger brother from suffering the same fate. Her duty forces her to go to the secret town of Crystal Hollow and the prestigious Hollow’s Grove University—where the best and brightest of her kind learn to practice their magic free from human judgment.

There are no whispered words here. No condemnation for the blood that flows through her veins. The only animosity Willow faces comes from the beautiful and infuriating Headmaster, Alaric Grayson Thorne, a man who despises her just as much as she loathes him and everything he stands for.

But that doesn’t mean secrets don’t threaten to tear the school in two. No one talks about the bloody massacre that forced it to close decades prior, only the opportunity it can afford to those fortunate enough to attend.

Because for the first time in fifty years, the Coven will open its wards to the Thirteen.

Thirteen promising students destined to change the world.

If the ghosts of Hollow’s Grove’s victims don’t kill them first.

[grace5425]

and the rain won't make a difference?

You had known Theodore Nott since you could walk.

Along with the other boys—each of them bound by last names that carried more weight than any of you cared to admit. Friendships had been forged in the ways that mattered most, through scraped knees and whispered secrets, childhood heartbreak and late nights spent staring at the stars, talking about everything and nothing.

You had seen it all. Kissed bruises when fists flew too hard, wiped away stray tears before anyone else could see, held them just a little tighter when the weight of expectation became too much to bear.

But with Theo, it was always different.

You gravitated toward him first. Reached for his hand without thinking. Interlocked pinkies and sealed promises with kisses on the thumb, as if that alone could make them unbreakable.

And now, as you lay beside him beneath the sweeping branches of the great willow tree by the Black Lake, you found yourself watching him again—admiring him the way you always did.

The three freckles high on his right cheekbone. The faint scar beneath his jaw. The beauty mark just below his lips.

You watched the way he chewed his lip when he didn’t quite understand whatever he was reading, the way his brows furrowed in quiet concentration. His fingers absentmindedly traced lazy patterns against your knee, his touch warm even through the fabric of your skirt.

You should have been studying. You knew that. But instead, you were memorizing him.

"Are you gonna keep staring at me, or actually study, Bella?"

His voice was soft, low—just for you.

You huffed out a small laugh, tilting your head to the side as you continued to watch him. “Haven’t decided yet.”

Theo let out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head slightly before finally looking up from his book. His eyes met yours, warm and familiar, like a place you’d always belonged.

"You’re impossible," he murmured, though there was no bite to his words—only quiet affection.

You grinned, propping yourself up on one elbow. "And yet, you still keep me around."

Theo hummed, closing his textbook with a quiet thud before turning fully toward you. “Yeah, well... somebody’s got to keep you in check.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The world around you felt still, the quiet hum of the lake and the rustling leaves above the only sounds filling the air. Theo’s fingers were still on your knee, his touch featherlight, absentminded.

And then, so casually it almost startled you, he reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers lingered for just a second longer than necessary, his thumb grazing the side of your face.

Your breath caught.

Theo noticed—of course he did. His lips quirked the way they always did when he was amused, but there was something softer in his expression, something unreadable in the way he was looking at you now.

“Careful, Bella,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “Keep staring at me like that, and I might start thinking you actually like me.”

Your heart stuttered in your chest.

He was teasing. That was what Theo did—he teased, he toyed, he danced around words that meant too much. But there was something about this moment, about the way his fingers traced the curve of your cheek so lightly you almost imagined it, that made your stomach twist in a way it never had before.

It started to drizzle, tiny droplets of water falling from the sky, cool against your skin. They speckled the open pages of the forgotten textbooks on the ground, smudging ink and soaking into the parchment, but neither of you moved to save them.

And suddenly, you weren’t sure if you wanted to keep pretending.

“What if I do?” you asked, voice barely audible.

Theo’s hand stilled. His breath hitched.

“Bambina, you deserve better than me.” His voice was quiet, laced with something raw—a small breathy laugh leaving his lips like it could mask the insecurity that creeped into his voice.

You hated that. Hated the way he spoke about himself like he was something broken, like he had to shrink himself down to fit inside a mold that was never meant for him.

“Teddy, don’t do that,” you murmured, your voice gentle but firm as your eyes searched his.

“I’m serious, cara mia,” he insisted, his jaw tightening. “I’m too—damaged. You need someone better. Someone a whole lot different than me.” His tone wavered between frustration and something more fragile, something afraid.

The rain picked up, coming down harder now, drenching your tied-up curls and causing the droplets to gather on your eyelashes before falling, one by one, down your cheeks.

For a moment, you just stared at him, wide-eyed, before a laugh bubbled out of you—loud, disbelieving, utterly incredulous.

Theo flinched, his body instinctively shifting away, like he’d been bracing for a hit that never came.

Your laughter faded, replaced by something gentler, something raw. You reached for him again, cradling his face between your hands, forcing him to look at you.

“Theodore Nott,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you’d been holding in. “I have loved you for as long as I can remember. Before I even knew what love was, before I understood what it meant to care about someone so much it physically hurt. And nothing—nothing—is ever going to change that.”

His breath hitched, but you kept going, your thumb tracing the sharp angle of his cheekbone.

“I don’t care what you’ve been told, what you’ve convinced yourself to believe. You are not broken. You are not some burden I have to carry. You are the person I choose, every day, over and over again.”

The rain came down harder, a storm now raged on, rain hammering against the Black Lake, wind howling through the trees. But you only leaned closer, pressing your forehead to his, your lips ghosting over his skin as you whispered,

“And the rain won’t make a difference. I’ll still be here. I’ll always be here.”

[artisticbunny]

pokes head in

HIIII ANYWAYS hiii this was that thing I was working on I hope u like it >0<

tumblr butchered the quality but for context I made a lil oc named willow a couple weeks ago and I started thinking about Whispering Willow because of that (fun fact, one of the runner up names for her was Brook lmao) and I just lost my mind because THEY WERE NOT SUPPOSED TO MATCH NAMES and I do SO much tweaking with every character I name’s name and this coincidence was kinda scary-

SO I wanted to draw Brook with her— they’re talking about her talking knifey knife :3 I’m sorry for any details I fudged or missed- I had it lined by the time you posted the new designs and I dropped and resumed this project a lot- but I’m glad with how it came out, and I hope you enjoy it!

(sorry for any incoherence btw, it’s 3am I’m going to sleep right after this ask sends lolol)

WAUGH!!! OMG I LOVE LOVE LOVE IT!!!! THEY LOOK SO CUTE QWQ

BROOK LOOKS AMAZING YOU DID SUCH A GOOD JOB WITH HER AND IM HONORED YOU TOOK THE TIME TO EVEN THINK TO DRAW HER EEEEEE!!!! I LOVE YOUR CHARACTER TOO SHE LOOKS SO COOL!!! If you wanna tell me more about her I'd love to hear it 👀👀👀

It's such a fun coincidence with the names too!!! And don't worry I understood what you were saying completely!!!

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR DRAWING MY LIL ANXIOUS BEAN MOOG!!!

[willosword]

the end of all things is kinda reminding me of the viltrumite war in that it's sorta just a lot of battling that i dont rlly care about

[a-dumb-bitch-apparently]

it's so fucked up that my library app has a certain amount of borrows every month

[writingpandagoth]

hiii i have been enjoying your writing so so much, i love the style of it and the way you write Severus makes me mellttt <3

I have a request hehe, i was wondering if you could write a severus x hufflepuff reader. I have sadly devoured every single fic like that that i have been able to find and i swear it would be a DREAM to read something like it in your style T-T

Maybe a slowly bonding over their passion for knowledge of certain herbs and other potion ingredients type of thing? Whatever you’d like to do would be incredible <3

I have to say, I totally get what you mean. I suck up on all these Hufflepuff Reader stories even though Imma Slytherin.

I have written this with much Love and Fluff for all you amazing and wonderful Hufflepuffs❤️ and of course for those who enjoy that dynamic just as much.

Enjoy!

Beneath The Willow

You spot him by the Black Lake, half-hidden in the shade of a sprawling tree, a book balanced in his long fingers. It takes all your courage to walk over. Your shoes crunch the grass too loudly in your ears. You stop just short of him, heart hammering, and lightly tap his shoulder.

Severus Snape turns his head, surprise flickering across his sharp features. His dark eyes meet yours, guarded but curious.

"I—" you start, then falter, cheeks already burning. You glance down, clutching your robes tighter around yourself. "Some older students… they threw my bag into a tree. I can't reach it. Could you—?" You gesture vaguely, unable to meet his eyes.

For a moment he says nothing. Then he stands, unfolding himself from the ground with a grace you wouldn't have expected. He's tall — taller than you by quite a bit — and when he follows where you point, he spots the bag almost immediately.

Without a word, Severus strides over, stretches up, and plucks it from the branch with ease. He turns back to you, holding it out.

You beam, your relief so big it overflows before you can stop it. You throw your arms around him in a spontaneous hug, your bag dangling awkwardly between you. You freeze just as fast, realizing what you’ve done. You stumble back, flustered, stammering, "I’m sorry—! I didn’t mean to—"

Severus is staring at you, wide-eyed, and for a second, he almost smiles. It's small — just a twitch at the corner of his mouth — but it's real.

You fumble with the bag, pulling out the book you'd been carrying — a thick, worn volume on medicinal herbs and their magical properties. He catches sight of it immediately.

"You study herbology?" he asks, voice low and a little rough, like he's not used to starting conversations.

You nod, still pink-cheeked. "I love it. Especially how it ties into potions."

Something shifts in his expression — a flicker of genuine interest. Instead of walking away, he sits back down under the tree, patting the grass beside him in a silent offer.

You sit. Carefully. Heart pounding.

Before you know it, you're both leaning over the book, knees brushing. He points out ingredients he's used in potions, tells you how the properties change depending on preparation. You add insights about plant growth and harvesting methods he'd never considered.

The afternoon slides by unnoticed. The lake sparkles, the leaves whisper above you, and for the first time in a long while, you feel like you’re exactly where you're supposed to be.

And that’s how it all began.

After that first afternoon, it becomes natural — expected — to see Severus every day. Sometimes it's studying by the lake. Sometimes it's passing notes between classes. Sometimes it's just sitting together in comfortable silence, the air between you light and easy.

You don't know when exactly the word friend stopped feeling big enough.

One afternoon, you're standing outside the Herbology greenhouses with a few of your housemates when you spot him walking toward you. The sun catches in his hair, the light making his black robes seem even darker.

You barely have time to wonder why he looks so determined before he's standing in front of you, clearing his throat awkwardly. In his hand is a single flower — a small, wild one, a little crumpled from his grip.

Your friends fall silent, exchanging wide-eyed looks and barely suppressed giggles.

Severus holds out the flower. His ears are pink. "Would you... maybe... want to go on a date with me?" he asks, voice stiff like he had rehearsed it a hundred times and still wasn't ready.

Your heart nearly trips over itself. You take the flower with shaking fingers, your voice so soft it almost disappears. "Yes. I'd love to."

The moment hangs between you — so much unspoken, so much hope — before Severus nods, almost stiffly, and retreats like he's worried he'll ruin it by staying too long.

As soon as he's out of earshot, your friends break into hushed squeals, huddling around you like you just caught the Golden Snitch.

Your first date is by the Black Lake, of course. When you arrive, Severus has set up a small, slightly lopsided picnic. The blanket doesn't match and the food is simple — sandwiches and pumpkin juice — but it's perfect. It's him.

You sit together, knees brushing, talking about everything and nothing. He listens so intently when you speak, as if every word you say matters. When he talks about potions or obscure magical plants, his hands move with rare animation, and you hang on every word.

Time blurs. The sun sinks low. Neither of you moves to leave.

The sun is almost gone when you realize you should head back. The air between you hums with something delicate, trembling, about to change.

Severus looks at you — really looks — and you see all of it. The fear. The wonder. The wanting.

Slowly, hesitantly, he leans in. You meet him halfway, heart in your throat.

The kiss is soft, unsure, just a brush of lips but it’s enough to make the world tilt around you. When you pull back, Severus is looking at you like he can’t quite believe you’re real. You tuck your hand into his without a word and neither of you let's go.

A few weeks later, you're officially dating — no awkward conversations needed, no labels declared out loud. You simply are.

You walk the halls hand in hand, shy and careful at first. Soft kisses are pressed to your forehead before class. In the mornings, Severus is always waiting outside the Hufflepuff common room to walk you to breakfast. At night, he walks you back, his hand finding yours in the quiet, flickering corridors.

The rest of your House notices quickly. At first, it's small things — knowing smiles when you walk into the common room together, whispered jokes passed between friends when Severus waits patiently outside the entrance every morning.

Then come the badges. Homemade, a little crooked, charmed to flash your initials intertwined with tiny, floating hearts. They start appearing on robes, on schoolbags, even on a few proud Hufflepuff scarves. A silent, joyful celebration of the two of you.

Severus notices the first day they appear — you see the way his eyes catch on the badges, the way his mouth twitches, caught between exasperation and something much softer. But he doesn't say a word.

The younger students giggle behind their hands whenever he shows up — your tall, dark Slytherin shadow — especially when he blushes just from you smiling at him across the corridor. It’s an open secret now, this devotion between you, and no one can pretend otherwise.

He never tells them to stop. Never glares, never sneers, never pulls away. He just keeps looking at you — like you're sunlight breaking through a storm — and lets the whole world see exactly what you mean to him.

And you love him all the more for it.

--

By Seventh Year, there’s nothing shy about you and Severus anymore. The awkward glances, the blushing silences — all long gone. Now, you move through the castle like two halves of the same whole.

Severus still waits for you outside the Hufflepuff common room every morning. He still walks you back every night, even when he’s exhausted from studying or brewing or tutoring first-years who can't tell wolfsbane from wormwood. And he still looks at you like you're the best thing that's ever happened to him.

Maybe that's because, to him, you are.

With Severus, love is something you feel before you even see it.

The Black Lake glitters in the late afternoon light, the water a sheet of soft gold and silver. You're walking toward your tree — the one that holds the beginning of everything between you and Severus.

He’s already there, standing a little stiffly with his hands behind his back, reminding you so much of how he first asked you on a date years ago. His face softens the moment he sees you, and without thinking, you start to smile. It's instinct now — like breathing.

You reach him, and he clears his throat, shifting on his feet. You can tell he’s nervous — not because he doubts you, but because whatever he’s about to do matters. It matters so much to him.

"I made you something," he says, voice lower than usual, almost rough.

Before you can say anything, he brings his hands forward. Nestled in his palm is a delicate silver chain, and hanging from it is a small, iridescent charm — a tear-shaped stone that seems to shimmer with its own light.

"It’s enchanted," he says. "It changes color depending on what I’m feeling... and it warms when I'm thinking of you."

You reach out, fingers brushing his, and the charm flares instantly to a warm, steady purple.

"What does Purple mean?" you look at him waiting for his answer, you already think to know the answer to.

"Love." he replies, like it’s something obvious, something ancient and true.

You stare at it, blinking back the prickling heat in your eyes. The charm is already warm — not burning, just alive, just him.

"You’re thinking of me right now," you say, voice catching on a laugh.

He smiles — openly, brilliantly — no hesitation at all. "Always."

You turn without a word, gathering your hair up in both hands. Severus moves carefully, fastening the clasp at the back of your neck with fingers that are almost trembling. When he’s done, he lets his hands linger, resting lightly on your shoulders.

The charm glows brighter, and you laugh, tipping your head back against his chest.

"I love it," you say, meaning it more than anything you've ever said before.

"I love you," he says, like it’s the simplest, surest truth in the world.

You spin to face him, rising on your toes to kiss him — a soft, lingering kiss that tastes like sunshine and lake air and everything you’ve ever wanted.

And when you pull away, he’s smiling at you again — not the cold, rare smile the rest of the world sees, but the real one. The one that's just for you.

The castle corridors are busy later that evening, students flooding toward the Great Hall in waves of black robes and clattering shoes. You don't notice any of it.

All you notice is Severus — the way his hand finds yours so naturally, fingers threading together like they were made to fit. The way he’s smiling — not smirking, not sneering — just smiling like he’s been waiting all day to be next to you again.

"You're clingier than usual," you tease, bumping your hip into his.

He just tightens his grip on your hand, pulling you a little closer until your sides are pressed together. "Get used to it," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple right there in the middle of the hallway.

You laugh, cheeks heating up, but you don't pull away. You lean into him instead, loving the way he smells — a mix of old books, fresh parchment, and the faint, sharp bite of potions ingredients.

"You’re obsessed," you say, teasing, even though the truth of it makes your heart feel too big for your chest.

He stops walking for a second, pulling you around to face him fully. There's a spark in his dark eyes, something playful and wicked and completely in love.

"And you aren't?" he challenges, one eyebrow quirking up.

You pretend to think, tapping your chin dramatically. "Hmm. I guess you're alright."

Severus snorts — actually snorts — before ducking his head to hide his grin. You can feel the rumble of his laughter under your hand where it rests against his chest.

"You’re insufferable," he mutters fondly.

"And you love it."

"I love you," he corrects instantly, without even blinking.

You barely manage a breath before he’s pulling you into a kiss, quick, soft, but somehow enough to make your knees wobble.

His hand tightens slightly at your waist, his head dipping again, clearly about to steal another kiss but you pull back at the last second, grinning up at him mischievously.

"If you really love me" you tease, voice light, "you'll have to catch me first."

And before he can react, you’re laughing and darting down the corridor, robes flying.

Severus freezes for half a second — scandalized, betrayed — before huffing out a low laugh and chasing after you, long strides eating up the distance.

He catches you easily, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you straight off the ground. You squeal, laughing helplessly as he tosses you over his shoulder without breaking stride, carrying you down the hall like a prize he has no intention of letting go.

The corridor erupts around you. A cluster of Hufflepuff girls squeal and clap, flashing their 'Team (Y/N) & Severus' badges proudly. A group of Slytherins mock-gag dramatically, one of them calling out, "Merlin, get a room!" — but they’re laughing, not cruel. A pair of Gryffindor boys wolf-whistle, and even a Ravenclaw girl near the wall claps a hand over her mouth, giggling.

Up ahead, Professor McGonagall steps out of a classroom, eyebrows arching so sharply they nearly disappear into her hairline. She opens her mouth — clearly about to scold — but then pauses, catching the rare, genuine smile tugging at Severus’s mouth as he shifts you gently over his shoulder.

Instead of saying anything, she just sighs quietly and mutters under her breath, "Young love," before turning briskly on her heel.

Professor Sprout, passing by a few seconds later, catches sight of the two of you and simply beams, looking every bit as proud as if she had organized the entire spectacle herself.

Severus doesn’t even pretend to be embarrassed. He just keeps walking, completely calm, carrying you through the chaos like nothing in the world could matter more than keeping you close.

And you — laughing breathlessly, half-hiding your face against his back — don’t mind one bit.

Nothing else matters except the feel of his arms around you and the easy, certain way he loves you without ever trying to hide it.

And honestly? Nothing else ever will.

--

Potions class used to be a battlefield — noise, explosions, students panicking over melted cauldrons. Now, it feels like a secret world where only you and Severus exist.

You sit together, of course — always have since Fifth Year — but now there's no awkward tension, no stolen glances. You sit so close your robes brush, your legs touching under the shared table.

Today, Professor Slughorn assigns a particularly tricky potion — Amortentia, of all things — and the room buzzes with poorly hidden excitement and giggles.

Severus barely reacts. He sets up the cauldron with precise, practiced movements, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, revealing the pale skin of his forearms.

You’re supposed to be helping — handing him ingredients, checking measurements — but mostly, you’re just... watching.

And not very subtly.

You prop your chin on your hand, openly admiring the way he works: the furrow of concentration between his brows, the way his mouth twitches slightly when he's focusing, the easy confidence in every movement.

"You're staring again," he says, voice low enough only you can hear.

"And you're very distracting," you shoot back without shame.

He doesn't look up. He just smirks — that soft, real smirk that’s only for you — and adds a pinch of powdered moonstone into the cauldron, the potion swirling and brightening into shimmering silver.

"You’re supposed to be helping," he reminds you, reaching blindly for the next ingredient.

You hand it over without looking, still making heart-eyes at him.

"Can't help it," you murmur. "You look hot when you’re brewing."

This time, he falters just slightly — enough that the edge of his mouth lifts higher.

"You’re impossible," he says, warmth threading through every syllable.

Then — glancing quickly to make sure Slughorn isn’t looking — Severus leans over and steals a kiss. Quick, soft, but devastatingly affectionate.

You blink at him, stunned for half a second, before grinning so hard your cheeks hurt.

Severus just returns to brewing like nothing happened, his cheeks faintly pink but his smirk firmly in place.

By the time the potion is done, it’s perfect — a shimmering, opalescent swirl rising from the cauldron.

Slughorn moves around the room, praising and teasing students about the scents they smell. When you and Severus lean over the cauldron, you catch it instantly, a whiff of his scent, familiar and grounding.

Old books. Fresh parchment. The faint sharpness of potions ingredients.

He breathes in as well and his smile grows wider, softer.

"You." your voices came out at the same time.

You both grin at each other, so openly and ridiculously in love that a few students nearby groan and make gagging noises. Others just giggle, exchanging knowing looks.

Even Slughorn chuckles, shaking his head fondly.

"Love" he says cheerfully. "Quite the potent brew itself, eh?"

Severus just laces his fingers with yours under the table, holding on like he never plans to let go.

And you know, without a doubt, that he never will.

Potions leaves both of you a little giddy. It’s easy, to fall into step together as you head toward your next class.

And if Severus is at his best with a cauldron and a wand, you’ve always been at your best with living, breathing magic — the kind rooted deep in the earth itself.

The greenhouse is warm and fragrant, sunlight filtering through the glass walls in hazy beams.

You're in your element here — sleeves rolled up, hair pulled back, hands deep in the soil with a confidence most students can only fake. Professor Sprout beams at you every time she passes, clearly proud.

Severus is supposed to be working alongside you, re-potting a particularly temperamental batch of Screechsnap plants.

Supposed to be is the key word.

Instead, he’s doing a lot of standing there, soil-stained gloves dangling uselessly from one hand, staring at you like you personally invented sunlight.

"Mr. Snape," Professor Sprout calls gently, an amused lilt to her voice. "Your partner could use a little help."

Severus startles slightly, blinks, then mutters an apology and turns back to the task.

For about three seconds.

Then you're explaining something about proper root trimming, your face alight with focus and excitement, and he’s lost again — watching the way you gesture, the way you bite your lip when you concentrate, the way you talk about magical plants like they're old friends.

Across the greenhouse, a few girls start giggling behind their hands. Severus doesn't even notice.

He reaches for a spade blindly, missing it by a good six inches.

Professor Sprout sighs — not annoyed, just fond — and walks over again.

"Mr. Snape," she says, "I know she's a hard one to look away from, but if you’re finished swooning, you might want to rescue your Screechsnap before it decides you’re lunch."

You fight to keep a straight face as Severus blinks again, color rising in his cheeks.

He mumbles something unintelligible and forces himself to focus on the plant — for about five seconds this time — before his gaze flickers back to you.

At that, Sprout just laughs under her breath, throws her hands up, and moves on to help another group of students.

"You’re hopeless," you whisper, elbowing him lightly.

"I know," Severus says without shame, leaning closer. "And it’s entirely your fault."

By the time class ends, Severus hasn't managed more than five minutes of real work — and you haven’t stopped smiling once.

It’s easy to slip away after that, hands brushing, laughter still warm between you. The afternoon stretches lazy and golden across the grounds, and without needing to say a word, you both find yourselves wandering back toward the Black Lake — toward your tree, your place.

It’s too perfect a day to waste inside.

The Black Lake shimmers lazily under the afternoon sun, the air warm with the slow, sleepy promise of summer. The Tree offers shade, its wide branches swaying gently in the breeze.

You’re supposed to be studying.

Technically.

A textbook lies open across your lap, half-hearted notes scrawled along the margin but it’s hard to focus when Severus is behind you, sitting with one arm holding him up, legs bracketing yours, other arm looped casually but securely around your waist.

Every few minutes, he presses a kiss somewhere along your neck, soft, lingering kisses that scatter your concentration like leaves in the wind.

"Sev," you laugh "I’m trying to study."

He hums, entirely unbothered, nuzzling into the curve of your shoulder like he belongs there. Which, really, he does.

"You can study later," he murmurs, mouth brushing your skin. "besides you’ve been focused on school all day,"

"I have to get through this chapter—" You huff, more amused than annoyed and try to read another line. You get as far as herbaceous properties of before his lips find the spot just below your ear, and you dissolve into giggles.

"You are very needy today" you chuckle wriggling away half-heartedly.

He tightens his arms around you, pulling you flush against him, and growls low against your skin:

"Do you have any idea what you’ve been doing to me all day?"

You freeze, heart stuttering.

"Every time you laughed, every time you looked at me—" His voice is rough, almost wrecked. "I wanted to pin you against the nearest wall and kiss you until you couldn’t stand."

Your book slips out of your hands without you even realizing it.

Severus presses another kiss just below your ear, slower this time, almost reverent — and it’s the last push you need.

You give up. With a playful growl, you turn in his arms and push at his chest until he tips back onto the grass with a low, surprised laugh.

Before he can recover, you're straddling him, hands on either side of his face, grinning like a fool.

"Fine," you say, leaning down until your noses brush. "You win."

He opens his mouth to say something — probably something smug but you cut him off with a kiss.

Deep, slow, unhurried.

The kind of kiss that says you’re mine without needing words.

Severus's hands find your hips, steadying you like he’s afraid you might disappear if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

The world around you fades — the lake, the breeze, the distant sounds of students — all of it slipping away until there’s only him, only you, only this.

You lose track of time. You lose track of everything but the way his fingers thread through your hair, the way he kisses you like he’s memorizing every detail.

At some point, you end up lying tangled together in the grass, his forehead resting against yours, both of you laughing breathlessly for no reason at all.

You don’t need a reason.

You have each other and that’s enough.

It always will be.

[butlervibesonly]

𝐎𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐮𝐩𝐨𝐧 𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 | Prince Austin Butler story

• Summary: A little princess was used to be chased by little prince. They liked each other, but as they grew up, they both changed. Until one day their paths cross again.

• Pairing: Prince! Austin Butler x princess! reader

• Warnings: just fluff I think 😭

• Proofreader: my star @eternal-love ⭐️🤭

• Note: GUYS? I just came with a random Austin prince fic and… ugh, please, let me excuse myself in advance if this is way too… fairy talesish-? 😫

The royal garden is stretched like a dream, with winding paths of silver stones and blossoms that glow in the warm afternoon sunshine. Roses are curled along marble archways, their petals whispering secrets in the evening breeze. Somewhere in the distance, a fountain sang with the gentle sound of falling water.

At the heart of it all, beneath the shade of an ancient willow, are sitting you. A book rested in your lap, its pages fluttering just slightly by the summer breeze. You are completely lost in between the words of the story that the book tells. You don’t even hear the quiet footsteps behind you.

“You seem lost…” you hear all of sudden. You turn sharply, gaze meeting a pair of eyes as deep as the bluest sky. A boy stands behind you, dressed in simple clothing, though something about the way he carries himself feels…different.

“I am not lost,” you reply simply. “I just prefer to be somewhere where no one expects to find me…” A lite smile tugs at the corner of his lips. “That makes two of us.” He slowly walks around to stand in front of you.

You study him, searching for some familiarity, but find none. The sun’s light softens his features, making him seem almost like something out of the stories you love to read. “And what brings you here, stranger?” you ask, closing the book, watching him.

“Escape,” he admits easily. “And you?” You hesitate before answering: “The same.”

Your both eyes hold a gaze for a moment, something unspoken passing between you. Neither of you know the other is royalty. The wind is carrying the scent of blooming roses, the world fading into nothing. And you stand there, two souls seeking freedom in the same enchanted place.

“Mind if I join you?” he asks, pointing to the place beside you underneath the tree. You nod with a soft smile, gesturing for him to sit down. You watch as he sits down beside you, and the moment you feel his presence this close, it’s as if something shifted. “What are you reading?” he looks at the book curiously.

“Some story about two people… They are fated to be together, but they have to find each other first.” you explain, stroking the books cover. He nods, eyeing the title. “How come they have to find each other?”

“They don’t know about it at first. They just live every day, hoping to meet their other half. Until one day they do.” you explain, placing the book aside. “And do they? Fall in love? I mean-“ he asks, as if interested in the book. You never met someone as interested about books as he is.

You nod, with soft smile. “They do.” His eyes never left you, as if memorizing the way your lips shape the words you say, the way the sunshine glow makes you seem almost unreal. He did not know your name, nor you his, but for him, something about you made the world feel more alive.

Your eyes never leaves his until then, your reach for a rose blooming beside you and pluck it gently from its stem. Its petals shimmer faintly, as you twirl it between tour thumb and index finger. Without any word, you hand out the rose to him.

He looks at you, then at the rose, as if it is a gift far greater than anything he had ever been given. Slowly, he reaches out and takes it, his fingers brushing against yours for the briefest of moment. “You never told me your name,” he murmurs, watch the flower in his hand. “And you never told me yours," you counter.

He chuckles and nods. “My name is Austin,” he starts but doesn’t know if it’s all he wants to say or if he should add that one thing. Austin hesitates but eventually takes a breath and adds, “Prince Austin.” You look at him with wide eyes, realizing what he just said. “And you are?” he asks finally.

“I… I am… I am Y/n. Princess Y/n.” Austin looks at you, as if not believing his ears. At this moment, as the rules says, you both should probably bow to each other, but neither of you do, realizing that the one thing you both escaped from is royalty.

“Well, then. Pleasure to meet you.” Austin says, taking your hand in his and kisses your knuckles. You smile finally again. “Pleasure is mine, Austin.”you say, smiling. Now you finally know why is he the way he is. He, deeply inside of him, carries the same weight as you do.

The weight of endless rules, endless lectures and listening to “Your Royal Highness!”. He sighs deeply, twirling the rose between his fingers, before he looks at you. Austin eventually takes the flower and tucks it behind your ear. “You look better with flowers than I do.”

Your stomach flutters with millions of butterflies. With a blush and smile, you secure it behind your ear more.Princess! Princess, where are you?” you stiff suddenly, hearing the guards call out your name.

You turn to him, lips parted as if to say something, but no words come out . What could you say? That you don’t want to leave? That you feared the moment you stepped beyond the garden walls, this would all become nothing more than a dream? He leans loser, hesitation flickering in his gaze. “Will I see you again?”

The question hangs between you. “I don’t know…” you whisper. You eventually untuck the flower from behind your ear, placing it into his palm. He exhalez softly, as if he had expected the answer but had hoped for something different. He glances down at the rose cradled carefully in his palm. He tucks it into the folds of his coat.

“Then I’ll keep this,” he murmurs. “Until we meet again.” Your heart clenches, as somewhere beyond the hedges, the voice calling her name grows closer. You turn to leave, then hesitate. Just for a second. Then, before you could change your mind, you reach for his hand, squeezing it lightly, before pulling away.

Your eyes meer his eyes one last time. “Goodnight, my prince.” And with that you’re gone. Austin stands there long after you left, still feeling your touch on his hand. And for the first time in his life, he wished he wasn’t a prince at all.

“Goodnight, my princess…”

Weeks later after day by day dreaming about the prince you met, your father, the King, arranged a ball. Your palace shimmers with golden light, the grand ballroom alive with music and laughter. Chandeliers dripped with crystal, casting glow over the twirling gowns of others as they danced in circles.

But you’re feeling none of it.

You’re standing at the edge of the dance floor, smiling where you’re expected to, nodding politely at lords, but your mind is elsewhere—again— back in the garden, in a moment that felt like a lifetime ago. The memory of him still in front of your eyes like the ghost of a dream.

You still see him so vividly, his rosy cheeks, eyes as blue as the sea you could drown in. His sandy blonde hair, locks almost too perfect to be true. And here you are again… Daydreaming about him, wishing to be with him again. Feel his warmth and presence just like you did before.

You move around the dance floor, your long and sparkling gown flickering in the light. Looking at the faces around you, none of them are familiar to you. It’s your father’s partners, lords from other countries that cooperate with your kingdom. But then… suddenly…

Standing at the entrance, dressed in royal attire that should make him feel like a stranger at your kingdom, but it doesn’t. It is him. The boy from the garden. Prince Austin. Your eyes meet almost immediately, and the world stills. Neither of you move, as if afraid the moment would fade away if you move only a little. The laughter, the music, the dance — all of that disappears. Only he remains. Only you remain.

He then, slowly, steps forward. “You look…” He stops just before you, his voice quieter now, almost breathless. “You look so beautiful...” he adds, too stunned by your beauty. You hardly try to find words, but find none. Instead, you let yourself look at him. Truly look at him. He is here. Prince Austin is here, right in front of you.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” you swallow, finally speaking. He smiles softly, looking into your eyes. “I was beginning to think the same.” You both chuckle, as if relieved to see each other again. For a moment, neither of you speak. There is too much to say, too much to ask. “May I have this dance, my princess?” he holds his hand out to you.

With a wide smile you nod, taking his hand in yours as you did in the garden. Austin leads you on the dance floor, his hand still holding yours, while the other rests on the small of your back, pulling you a little closer to him. “You dance as if you’ve done this a thousand times,” Austin teases, guiding you effortlessly through the steps.

You playfully raise tour brow. “And you seem surprised.” you tease back, looking at his precious face. “Not surprised,” he says, twirling you, so that you’re pulled away and then her brings you back to him. “Just impressed.” You laugh softly. “Is that flattery I see, Your Highness?”

“Just honesty,” he corrects you, holding your gaze. “And if it happens to sound like flattery, well… I don’t mind if you don’t.” You shake your head, but smiling. “You haven't changed.” you murmur.

“Neither have you… only you’re even prettier than I remember.” Your eyes hold, and in this moment, it no longer feels like a grand ballroom filled with royalty. It feels like the garden again. Just the two of you. Across the room, high on their thrones overlooking, the King and Queen, your father and mother, observa quietly.

“Look at her," the Queen murmurs, tilting her chin toward their daughter. “She is glowing…” she smiles widely, watching you dance with the prince. The King follows his wife's gaze, watching the way their daughter moves so freely, how her eyes softens when you look at the prince. “I’ve never seen her look at anyone like that before.”

The Queen nods, smiling knowingly. “And the prince?” The King studies the prince for a moment, recognizing his features from somewhere. He sees the way he looks at you, the way his eyes light up when you smile… “It seems,” the King says with a chuckle, "our daughter has fallen in love."

“And with the son of our dearest friends," the Queen adds, grinning wildly, seeing her daughter in love completely and smiling at the sight. The King exhales, shaking his head. “I think they don’t even remember the times when they were little and chased each other on our garden. I remember the time when prince Austin gave Y/n flower.”

The Queen smiles again, remembering this little moment. You both met before. But neither of you know. “Shall we tell them?” The King smirks, pointing his finger up. “No, let them believe they found each other on their own. It makes for a much better story…”

Back on the dance floor, you and prince Austin have slowed your steps, simply swaying now, lost in each other’s presence. “Do you think this moment will last forever?” you whisper, fingers tightening slightly in his.

He lets out a soft laugh, the one you love so much. “If forever exists, please, may it be with you.” You look up at him, heart fluttering at the promise in his voice. You believe him. You trust him.

The ball continues but for you and prince Austin it’s night full of stolen gazes and knowing smiles. But none of it matters. Not when you feel like this now… Fingers touch his, lightly but briefly. “Come with me,” he whispers suddenly, his voice barely audible over the waltz.

Your heart skips, but don’t hesitate. Without a word, you let him lead you away, slipping through the grand doors and into the cool night air. The garden welcomes you both, the soft glow of lanterns swaying gently in the breeze. Above it all, the sky is like canvas, painted with a thousand stars that flickered like tiny, beating hearts and bright moon.

He doesn’t stop until you reach the willow—you both’s willow. The place where it had all begun. You sigh almost happily, tilting your head up to the sky. “Look at them,” you murmur. “The stars seem brighter tonight.” Austin follows your gaze, his hand still wrapped around yours. “Perhaps they shine so brightly for you.”

You laugh softly, shaking your head in amusement. “Flatterer.” you say again, teasing. “Truth teller.” he fights back, chuckling teasingly. A comfortable silence settles between you, the kind that doesn’t need anything else. “I wish we could be constellations," you whisper, voice barely more than a breath.

He turns to you, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Constellations?” he asks curiously. You nod still staring at the sky. “They never change. They never have to part. They just… stay. Forever, side by side.” A strand of hair falls into your face by the light breeze.

Slowly, he lifts his hand and brushes that strand of hair away from your cheek, fingers lingering for just a moment, longer than necessary. “Then let us be constellations,” he speaks finally, breaking silence. “Even if the world tries to pull us apart, let’s find a way back to each other. Always.”

Your breath hitches as he says it. Austin is close now, the warmth of him pressing glowing, beating the night’s cold air. “Promise.” you whisper, looking into his eyes. He smiles, tilting his forehead to rest against hers. “I swear it on every star that lays in the sky above us.”

Your heart beats faster, and you wonder if his does the same. You gently lay your hand over his chest, feeling his heart beat the same way as yours. And as the stars watch the witness from above, he closes the distance between you two.

The kiss is soft, hesitant at first, as if testing if you will pull away or not. But when you melt into him, when your fingers curled into the fabric of his coat, he deepens it, gently but certainly, almost like a vow.

The wind carries the scent of blooming roses, and in that moment, beneath the endless sky, you and Austin are infinite. Just like the stars. Just like the constellations. And like so, prince and princess, who chased each other in the same garden as little kids, found a way to each other again.

Just like the heroes from the book she read when they met for the first time.

"What are you reading?" he looks at the book curiously.

"Some story about two people... They are fated to be together, but they have to find each other first." you explain, stroking the books cover. He nods, eyeing the title. "How come they have to find each other?"

"They don't know about it at first. They just live every day, hoping to meet their other half. Until one day they do." you explain, placing the book aside. "And do they? Fall in love? I mean-" he asks, as if interested in the book. You never met someone as interested about books as he is.

You nod, with soft smile. "They do."

[hpttoni]

prologue:The unexpected hearth

Dedication

For those who were told they could never be more than what they were forged to be. For the warriors who dared to rest, the leaders who learned to love, and the broken men who became whole again through small hands and softer mornings.

This arc is for the hearth that flickers behind the armor. For Madara — not the legend, not the ghost, but the father, the husband, the man who stayed.

And for every reader who believes that even the fiercest flames can find peace when held gently enough.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ ENJOY ♥

The streets of the village were dusted in gold. Morning light filtered through branches of the tall willows that lined the main road, where vendors had begun unpacking their stalls—fruit, herbs, paper charms, sweet dumplings still warm from the steam.

Madara Uchiha walked down that road with a basket in one hand and a sleepy toddler on his hip.

He ignored the looks. He always did.

At first, the villagers had stared because they were afraid. Uchiha Madara—once whispered as a monster, warlord, demon in a man’s skin—was living among them now. Not as a ghost in the mountains. Not as a tyrant demanding obedience. He lived in a modest home on the village’s edge with a garden, a patient wife, and two children who adored him.

Now, the looks were of something else. Curiosity. Confusion. And, for some, admiration.

Because Uchiha Madara—the man everyone swore would die by his own hatred—was... thriving. Gentle. Devoted.

“Papa,” the toddler murmured sleepily, head resting on his broad shoulder. “Can I have the dumpling with the honey again?”

“You already had two yesterday,” he replied, smoothing her hair back. “One more and your mother will make me sleep in the garden.”

“She likes you too much for that,” she mumbled, cheek smushed against him.

Madara chuckled. A low, rare sound. But his daughter, like his wife, could always get that out of him.

He stopped at the dumpling stand. The old vendor didn’t flinch like he used to. In fact, he smiled now—tight, polite, but it was progress.

“For the little one?” the vendor asked, already reaching for the honey glaze.

Madara nodded. “And one red bean for my wife.”

“She likes the seasonal kind?” the vendor asked, wrapping them neatly.

“She likes whatever I bring her,” Madara replied with a hint of pride. He accepted the parcel and handed over coins.

A few years ago, no one could’ve imagined this scene. Least of all him.

Flashback — Five Years Ago

The village was still healing after the wars. Hashirama’s dream was finally realized, but the trust between clans was fragile. Madara, bitter and disillusioned, had retreated to the outskirts of the Hidden Leaf. He didn’t want peace, not really. He didn’t believe in it.

Until he met her.

A civilian woman—strong-willed, with laughter that broke tension like glass shattering. She had no chakra to speak of, no bloodline, no interest in politics or power. She was kind, but never naive. Sharp, but never cruel.

She saw through him. Not through his Sharingan, not through battle stories. Through the weariness he wore like armor. She spoke to him like he was just a man. Not Uchiha. Not traitor. Just... Madara.

He was suspicious at first. Why wasn’t she afraid? Why did she talk to him like that?

One evening, while he was helping repair a broken irrigation canal, she brought him tea.

“I don’t need your pity,” he grunted.

“Good,” she said. “Because this is jasmine. I’m not wasting it on someone who can’t appreciate it.”

He scowled. But he drank it.

Over time, she brought more tea. Then books. Then idle conversations that turned into long, thoughtful silences. Madara found himself smiling—genuine, unguarded—more than he had in years.

Then, one morning, he realized something terrifying.

He wanted to stay.

With her.

Present Day — The Village

Madara arrived home to the small house with warm wood beams and vines curling along the trellis. A breeze rustled the wind chimes. His eldest son was sitting cross-legged in the garden, carefully sketching something in a worn notebook.

“Takes after his mother,” Madara murmured.

He stepped inside. The smell of sweet miso and herbs greeted him. His wife stood at the stove, hair tied back, humming. When she turned and saw them, her eyes softened.

“Good morning, grumpy bear,” she teased, kissing her daughter’s forehead, then Madara’s cheek. “Did he behave?”

“She’s already negotiating for dumplings before breakfast,” Madara said, handing over the parcel.

“A criminal mastermind,” she said dryly, giving their daughter a mock-serious glare.

“I learned from the best,” the child said, grinning at her father.

Madara raised a brow. “Flattery won’t save you.”

“But dumplings will,” his wife said, slipping one into the child’s mouth with a wink.

Madara pretended to sigh, but his heart was light.

Midday

They sat on the engawa—wooden porch—watching the clouds drift. His wife leaned against his shoulder, her fingers idly stroking the callouses of his palm.

“You know, people still don’t believe it,” she murmured.

“Believe what?”

“That you—Madara Uchiha—are out here folding laundry and chopping vegetables with a toddler on your back.”

“Let them disbelieve,” he muttered.

She laughed. “I think it��s cute.”

“I am not cute.”

“You are when you’re holding baby chicks for our daughter’s class trip.”

Madara glared at her, but it had no heat. “I was protecting them from those gremlin children.”

“They’re five.”

“Exactly. Vicious age.”

She laughed again, and he let himself fall into the sound. How had this become his life? So domestic, so soft, so... alive.

Later That Day — Village Center

Madara didn’t go to the village often, but today he volunteered to help at the academy festival. Something about sparring demonstrations and a tug-of-war competition.

When he arrived, other parents looked at him with varying degrees of awkwardness. But the children—oh, the children adored him.

He was tall, intimidating, and could lift four of them at once. The boys all wanted to spar with him. The girls were obsessed with his long hair and his patient way of explaining stances.

During the tug-of-war, Madara took his place behind a team of squealing ten-year-olds, pretending to strain while the rope barely budged.

“You’re going easy on them,” one parent whispered.

“Of course,” Madara said. “This is a battle of wills, not strength.”

The kids won. They erupted into cheers. Madara was mobbed like a hero returning from war.

His wife watched from the sidelines, arms crossed and smiling fondly. “You love it,” she said when he finally made his way over.

“I tolerate it.”

She slipped her hand into his. “Thank you for coming.”

He squeezed her hand. “You and the kids are my clan now. Where you go, I follow.”

Evening — At Home

The children were asleep. Madara sat by the low table, sipping tea. His wife curled up beside him, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Do you miss it?” she asked softly.

“The wars?”

“No. The power. The command. The... fear people used to have when they said your name.”

Madara was silent for a long moment.

“I used to think power was the only way to protect my clan. That fear was the only way to gain respect. But now…” He looked at her hand in his. “Now I think... being needed is more powerful than being feared. And I am needed here. Wanted here.”

She looked up at him. “You’re loved here.”

That silenced him. That word always did.

Because it still scared him sometimes. That someone could love the darkest parts of him without flinching. That children clung to his cloak like he wasn’t once a man soaked in blood. That peace hadn’t broken him—it had healed him.

She leaned up and kissed him.

“Happy?” she whispered.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close.

“I never thought I’d live long enough to be,” he murmured. “But yes. I am.”

Midnight — In the Garden

Madara often wandered the garden at night when sleep evaded him. Tonight, fireflies blinked between the rows of plum trees. He paused by the pond, watching the koi stir.

He heard soft footsteps and turned to see his son.

“Can’t sleep?” Madara asked.

The boy shook his head. “I keep thinking about that painting I’m doing. I can’t get the sky right.”

Madara crouched beside him, gazing at the stars above.

“You don’t have to get it perfect,” he said. “Just honest.”

The boy tilted his head. “You sound like mom.”

“She’s wise. I learn from her.”

A pause. Then, “Will you stay here forever?”

Madara looked at his son, his quiet eyes, his calm demeanor, so much like his own—before the world had hardened him.

“Yes,” he said. “I will stay as long as you need me. Longer, if I can.”

His son nodded, leaning against him for a rare moment of vulnerability.

And Madara, once feared for his ruthlessness, held his son with infinite gentleness.

sunrise-

The village awoke slowly. The smell of cooking rice drifted through the streets. Chickens clucked. Wind chimes rang. Another peaceful day.

Madara stood at the gate of his home, hair loose, arms crossed, watching his family emerge behind him.

His daughter skipped past him into the yard. His son followed, notebook in hand. And his wife—his anchor—came to stand beside him.

He looked at all of it—the garden, the village, the lives blooming where once there had been only war.

And he smiled.

Not the cold smirk of a warrior. Not the arrogant sneer of a clan head.

A real smile. Warm. Content. At peace.

The kind of smile no one ever thought Uchiha Madara was capable of.

End.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ THE END ♥

Im still working on this series but I have the first couple of chapters written so I'm going to post those later or tomorrow.I hope you enjoyed this preview of what the story is going to be like.

[storiesoflilies]

based on this request for @ichore <3

satoru gojo was acutely attuned to the air of melancholy.

more specifically, when it was hers.

although he exuded flashiness and a sort of fashionable confidence, made from all shades of purples and reds, there was an underlying natural blue to tie it all together. above all, satoru understood that particular color and all of its woes. it haunted his eyes, slowly seeped through the fabric of all his clothes, and stained his nails with a cold bite of loneliness when everything became too much for him to bear.

and because he knew exactly how it weaved its toxic web of sadness, satoru knew exactly what he needed to do to stop it from getting any worse.

unfortunately, his love wasn’t so good at it.

it would start with a long, aching sort of sigh and a slow stretching of her limbs still heavy from sleep. she wouldn’t say a word, sitting at the edge of the bed like she’d lived through a thousand years and more. satoru quirked an eyebrow at her, reading glasses balanced on the tip of his nose, and winced as her bones snapped and crackled like the bent spine of his book.

“you alright there?” he broached, although he knew already that she wasn’t really.

of course he knew.

you see, there was that red ribbon tying them together in a pretty bow. satoru would always know.

she only hummed once, blinked twice, then sighed again before pulling herself out of bed and clicking the bathroom door shut on him and the whole world. satoru pinched the side of his glasses to take them off, tiredly rubbed some life back into his dry eyes, before purposely getting up with a single-minded mission on his mind.

make his love smile again.

to polish the sole ardor of his heart into a sparkling diamond, brighter than the sun, brighter than everything in the whole world.

but the sight of her all crumpled up on the cold tiles made his heart split and crack.

satoru cooed, “oh, my pretty girl. what’s happened to you?”

his knees creaked as he squatted down to her, and she sniffled, “i think i’m not doing so well.”

“no? my poor baby, but you need to tell me why.”

she stifled a sob, wiping a tear with the back of her hand. satoru instinctively sat down and curved his body over her like a gentle weeping willow. he hushed her softly, hoping it would be a soothing wind easing through the leaves of her mind.

and she did tell him, in a sopping mess of salt and crisscrossed lines of blue doubt. she told him how she felt lost, floating around in a giant hot air balloon that wasn’t going anywhere. how she didn’t understand why someone like him was with a silly girl like her. how it was so hard for her to just say how she was felt, because the words were just so heavy and difficult to even push past her lips.

“it’s not your fault, toru,” she said quietly, a shameful whisper. “but i just don’t understand how to tell you sometimes.”

“well… i think you did perfectly there, baby,” satoru smiled, his hand brushing featherlight touches on her forearm.

she perked up a little at that. “you think so?”

“i know so.”

the ghost of a puppy smile made her lip quirk upwards, and satoru affectionately tapped her nose. “let me run you a bath.”

she nodded wordlessly and let him guide her as always, allowing him to delicately peel her clothes from her skin. she melted into his hands as he lowered her into the gentle embrace of the pearly bubbles floating atop the warm water, letting him carefully wash away the blue melancholy of her soul.

the sheer amount of trust she had in satoru made him seriously swoon sometimes.

and while he may not always be able to scrub away all the stains of his own blues.

hers?

satoru would always wash out it all out.

©storiesoflilies 2024, all rights reserved. please do not plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my work on other sites! i only post on ao3 and tumblr.

[rafayelgod]

🔞WARNING 21+ 18+ ADULTS CONTENT🔞

NSFW, Not For Kids. 💋🔞💦 OC Fanfiction Lads Rafayel

Rafayel: Secret Library💦

You are a Princess of Philos, a kingdom known for its serene landscapes and wise rulers. But your world, vibrant and full of laughter, wasn't just defined by royal duties and courtly life. It was intertwined with Rafayel, the Prince of neighboring kingdom. From the time you both could toddle, Rafayel was a constant presence in your palace. He’d arrive with a mischievous glint in his dark purple eyes, his playful charm filling the halls with energy. You were his Princess, always, and he was just Rafayel, your dearest friend, a whirlwind of dark hair and playful smiles. You, with your own blooming beauty, found in him a kindred spirit, someone who understood the unspoken language of childhood dreams and shared adventures. Your days were filled with games and study, side-by-side, shaping a bond that felt as natural as breathing.

Part 1

"Race you to the maze!" Rafayel's voice, always a melody to your ears, pulled you from your embroidery. Sunlight streamed through the palace windows, beckoning you outdoors. "You're on!" you laughed, dropping the needle and thread onto the silken cushion.

You both burst through the palace doors and raced towards the sprawling garden, a kaleidoscope of colors and scents. The maze, a tall, green labyrinth, awaited your playful chase. You dodged and weaved through the leafy corridors, Rafayel’s laughter echoing close behind. "Not so fast, Princess!" he called, his hand reaching out to playfully tug at your trailing ribbon.

Finally, you reached your secret spot, a small clearing hidden deep within the maze, a place you'd discovered as children, shrouded by fragrant jasmine and whispering willows. "Home base!" you declared, collapsing onto the soft grass, slightly breathless. Rafayel dropped down beside you, grinning. "Still the best hideout."

"Always," you agreed, leaning back against a willow trunk. "Want to play hide and seek? Like old times?"

"Of course, Princess. You hide first." Rafayel covered his eyes with his hands, turning away, and started counting. You giggled, scrambling behind a thicket of roses, their petals brushing softly against your cheek. Silence fell except for Rafayel's muffled counting. Then, a sharp crack echoed through the garden.

Before you could react, the ground beneath you gave way. A startled yelp escaped your lips as you tumbled downwards, the scent of earth filling your nostrils. Darkness enveloped you, and you landed with a soft thud on something cool and dusty.

"Princess!" Rafayel's voice was laced with panic, echoing from above. "Amara, are you alright?!"

"I… I think so," you called back, your voice trembling slightly. "I fell… in a hole."

Moments later, a shadow fell over you, and Rafayel's worried face peered down into the darkness. "Are you hurt?" he asked urgently, clambering down into the hole, landing gracefully beside you.

"Just a bit shaken," you replied, brushing dust off your dress. Your eyes adjusted to the dim light, and you gasped. "Rafayel, look!"

The hole had opened up into a small, stone-lined passage. It was clearly not a natural cave but man-made. Curiosity replaced your fear. Hand in hand, you and Rafayel cautiously stepped into the passage. It sloped downwards, leading you into a surprisingly spacious basement. Dust lay thick on everything, cobwebs draped like ghostly curtains, but there was a strange sense of forgotten history here.

Following the passage further, you rounded a corner and stopped dead in your tracks. Before you, bathed in a soft, ethereal light filtering from some unseen source, was a library. Shelves lined every wall, reaching up into the shadows, overflowing with aged books and scrolls. The air smelled of old paper and forgotten stories.

"A secret library," you breathed, your eyes wide with wonder.

Rafayel was equally awestruck. "In your own palace garden? How is this possible?"

Excitement bubbled up inside you both. You and Rafayel had always been avid readers, spending hours lost in the pages of tales of bravery, magic, and faraway lands. A secret library? It was a dream come true.

Part 2

Days turned into weeks, and the secret library became your shared sanctuary. Every afternoon, after your lessons and duties, you and Rafayel would slip away to the garden maze and descend into your hidden world of books. You catalogued the collection together, marveling at the ancient tomes and forgotten histories.

One afternoon, while exploring a dusty corner, you stumbled upon a book unlike any you had seen before. It was bound in dark, unmarked leather, with no title on its spine. It was heavier than it looked, and the pages felt thick and strange beneath your fingers. "Your Highness, come look at this," you called, your voice hushed with intrigue.

He joined you, peering over your shoulder as you carefully opened the heavy book. Instead of words, the pages were filled with intricate drawings and paintings. But these were not illustrations of knights or dragons; they were depictions of men and women, intertwined in ways that made you blush, though you didn't quite understand why.

"What is this?" you whispered, your brow furrowed in confusion.

Rafayel tilted his head, studying the images with the same innocent curiosity. The drawings showed couples embracing, kissing, and then… other things. Limbs tangled together, bodies pressed close. Some drawings were clearer than others, showing male and female bodies in explicit detail.

"They're… hugging?" Rafayel ventured, pointing to a picture of two figures closely entwined. "Very… tightly."

"Yes, but… look," you pointed to another image, where the figures were positioned differently, their bodies joined in a way that seemed… strange. "What are they doing here?"

"Maybe… it's a dance?" Rafayel suggested, though his tone was uncertain. "A very close dance."

You both exchanged puzzled glances. Neither of you had ever seen anything like this. Words were often inadequate to describe the complexities of the adult world, but these images… they were even more perplexing. Yet, despite the confusion, or perhaps because of it, you found yourselves drawn to the book. You continued to turn the pages, studying the drawings, trying to decipher their meaning with innocent eyes.

Part 3

The images from the strange book lingered in your minds long after you left the secret library. You found yourself thinking about them during lessons, during meals, even as you drifted off to sleep. Rafayel, you knew, was equally intrigued. It became a shared puzzle, a mystery that drew you back to the library day after day.

"Maybe we should try to understand it better," Rafayel suggested one afternoon, his voice thoughtful. You were sitting together, the heavy book open between you, studying a drawing of a couple kissing.

"Understand what?" you asked, tilting your head. "What they are… doing?"

"Yes," he replied, a hint of daring entering his tone. "Maybe… maybe if we try to do what they are doing, we will understand."

You considered his words, a flutter of nervousness and excitement stirring within you. It seemed like a strange idea, and yet… curiosity was a powerful force.

"Like… like the kissing?" you asked hesitantly, pointing at the drawing.

Rafayel nodded, his dark eyes meeting yours. "Yes. Like the kissing."

A blush warmed your cheeks. You and Rafayel had shared innocent pecks on the cheek before, as friends, but this felt different. The drawing depicted a kiss that was… closer, more intimate.

"Okay," you whispered, your heart suddenly beating faster.

You both leaned in, hesitantly at first. Your lips met, softer than you expected, a gentle pressure. It was strange, unfamiliar, and yet… not unpleasant. You stayed like that for a moment, then pulled back, glancing at Rafayel.

"Well?" he asked, his eyes wide with anticipation. "Do you understand?"

You giggled, a nervous, shaky sound. "Not really," you admitted. "But… it felt… different."

"Different how?"

You shrugged, trying to find the words. "Strange… in my belly. Like… butterflies?"

Rafayel chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Butterflies? I felt something too. Maybe we need to try again?"

"Again?" you repeated, your voice a little breathy.

He nodded, leaning closer once more. This time, the kiss was less hesitant, a little longer. A warmth spread through you, a tingling sensation that wasn't just in your belly. The air in the library seemed to grow hotter, charged with an unspoken energy. When you finally broke apart, you were both slightly breathless, your cheeks flushed.

"Mmh, Still… butterflies," you managed, your voice a whisper.

"And… hah, and something else," Rafayel murmured, his gaze fixed on your lips. "Something… hot."

Part 4

You turned the page, your fingers trembling slightly. The next drawing was even more explicit. It depicted the male and female form in detail, pointing out… things you had never seen so clearly before. "That’s…" you stammered, your eyes wide.

"That’s… where babies come from, maybe?" Rafayel guessed, his voice low. "I think I read something about that once, in a very old book."

The drawing showed a man's… part, and a woman’s… part. And it showed them… together.

"They are… taking their clothes off," you observed, pointing to the next picture. "Should we… take our clothes off?" The thought made your heart race, a strange mix of fear and excitement churning in your chest.

Rafayel’s gaze flickered down to your dress, then back to your eyes. "Just… just the bottom ones?" he suggested hesitantly. "Like in the picture?"

It felt daring, almost forbidden, and yet the curiosity was overwhelming. With trembling fingers, you reached for the ties of your undergarments and loosened them, letting them fall to the dusty floor. Rafayel, his face flushed a deep crimson, fumbled with the buttons of his breeches, his own undergarments soon joining yours on the ground.

The next image showed the man positioned above the woman, their bodies pressed together. "Okay," Rafayel breathed, his voice husky. "Like this."

He moved closer, his body hovering over yours. You lay back on the dusty floor, the rough stones surprisingly cool against your skin. You could feel his breath warm on your face, his heartbeat thumping against yours. He positioned himself as in the drawing, his legs between yours. You felt a strange pressure against your… there.

"This is… strange," you whispered, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Yes," he agreed, his voice strained. "Very strange."

He moved a little, and suddenly, something pushed inside you. A sharp, unfamiliar sensation shot through you, a brief sting of pain. "Ahh!" You gasped, your eyes widening.

"Princess- A-are you alright?" Rafayel's voice was filled with concern.

"It… mh, it hurts a little," you whispered, tears pricking at your eyes.

But then, something shifted within him. "Ah, princess," A deeper, more primal instinct seemed to take over. He didn't stop, didn't pull back. Instead, he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, and began to move.

A low moan escaped your lips, involuntary, surprising even yourself. Rafayel made a similar sound, a guttural groan that vibrated against your skin. The initial sting faded, replaced by a new sensation, a throbbing ache that was… strangely not unpleasant.

He moved again, and again, his body pressing into yours, a rhythm taking hold. You gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into the fabric of his tunic. The air grew thick, heavy with the scent of dust and something else… something musky and intoxicating.

"Your highness, ah, mhh," you gasped, your breath coming in ragged bursts.

"Princess…" he groaned, his movements becoming faster, more insistent. He seemed to be losing himself in the sensation, his eyes half-closed, his face flushed and strained.

The pain was still there, a dull ache, but it was overshadowed by a growing heat, a building pressure deep within you. You felt yourself arching against him, your body responding in ways you didn't understand, couldn't control.

"What's happening?" you whimpered, your voice barely audible.

He didn't answer, just tightened his grip on you, his movements becoming frantic. Then, a wave of intense pleasure washed over him, a shudder racking his body. "Mhh! ahh," he cried out, his voice thick with raw sensation. He hugged you tighter, burying his face in your neck.

And then, something… exploded inside you too. A rush of heat, a wave of overwhelming sensation that made you cry out, your body clenching around him. A warm, thick liquid pulsed deep within you, filling you with a strange fullness.

Rafayel collapsed onto you, his weight heavy, his breathing ragged. You lay beneath him, panting, your heart pounding like a drum against your ribs. The world seemed to spin, the ancient library fading into a hazy blur.

After a long moment, he rolled off you, lying beside you on the dusty floor, still breathing heavily. You both stared up at the shadowy ceiling, the silence punctuated only by your gasping breaths.

Finally, you turned to him, your voice still trembling. "Was… was that… good?" you whispered, your cheeks flushed.

He turned to you, his purple eyes dark and intense. A slow smile spread across his face. "Yes, Princess," he murmured, his voice husky. "That was… very good."

And you knew, in that moment, with a strange certainty, that he was right. Despite the confusion, the pain, the strangeness of it all… it had been good. More than good. It had been… something else entirely.

Part 5

Days melted into weeks, and the secret library remained your hidden world. The strange book became your guide, its explicit drawings no longer perplexing, but rather, a map of uncharted territory. You and Rafayel explored its pages together, with a mixture of innocence and burgeoning desire, experimenting with the positions, learning the language of touch and sensation that the book so vividly depicted.

You learned about kissing that wasn't just pecks on the cheek, but deep, lingering kisses that stole your breath away. You learned about touches that sent shivers down your spine, about places on your body that hummed with pleasure when caressed. Each visit to the library was an exploration, a secret shared adventure that deepened the bond between you and Rafayel, transforming your childhood friendship into something far more complex and intoxicating.

The dusty basement became your private playground, the ancient books silent witnesses to your growing intimacy. The secrets you discovered within those pages, and within each other, became your own, a shared language of pleasure whispered only in the hushed silence of your hidden sanctuary. And you knew, with a thrill of excitement and a touch of forbidden knowledge, that this secret, this hidden library and the passions it had awakened, would forever remain yours and Rafayel's alone.

- The End - 🌚💦🔞

© Melody (Follow for more hot stories) 🌚💦💋