#Muriel Periwinkle

[purzelsims]

One of my favourite things about restaurants is seeing other (played) sims eating there as well.

#TS4Gameplay #TS4 #ts4vanilla #ts4 vanilla #TS4BACCR19 #family gil #gil gen 3 #Eve Periwinkle #Faramir Butterfield #Muriel Periwinkle #Knox Dewitt #Kayla Flemming

[courage-doodles-blog]

What If Barry was in Ball Of Revenge (CTCD Fanfic)

(CW⚠️ VIOLENCE, VERBAL ABUSE, ATTEMPTED MURDER, TORTURE, GASLIGHTING)

(Characters: Courage, Muriel, Eustace, Barry(OC), Katz, Le Quack, Cajun Fox, Weremole, Black Puddle Queen, Clutching Foot and Freaky Fred[cameo])

(This is a What If... of CTCD episode "Ball of Revenge." The episode is the same but instead Eustace and the villains didn't come up with the revenge plan to kill Courage, instead the villains enter the basement themselves and find Barry in here, they added him to their revenge plan with the use of gaslighting)

(It starts with Muriel knitting a blanket, Eustace was sitting in his chair and Courage was watching Barry playing with his two plushies)

Muriel: Almost done, I thought that periwinkle would be a wonderful colour but oh the mellow yellow would be wonderful

Eustace: Yellow schmellow! Hurry it up! I'm freezing!

Muriel: And done! Oh look how lovely it is!

Eustace: (tosses his black blanket away) Come to papa! (As he reaches for the blanket)

(Muriel places the blanket on the floor)

(Courage has the blanket covering his body)

Muriel: Gorgeous!

(Courage sees Barry hugging his plushie, though he doesn't want him to feel left out, so he places the blanket over him too. Barry smiles at Courage and the two began to snuggle in the blanket together)

Muriel: Oh Courage, how generous of you, giving your blanket to Barry

Eustace: Muriel! What are you doing? Giving my new blanket to that filthy dog and that filthy cat!

Muriel: Oh Eustace, you have that perfectly comfy chair to sit in. And what does Courage have? Only a wee blankie and he has been so generous to share his blankie with Barry

Eustace: Courage, Courage, Courage. That stupid dog gets all the good stuff around here. I hate that stupid dog!

(Courage looks at Eustace after he hears his response, which hurts his feelings. Barry looks at sad Courage, he stands up to talk to Eustace about this)

Barry: Mr Bagge, why would you say that to Courage? He is your dog and you should treat him with respect-

Eustace: Shut it you stupid cat, your like that stupid dog except your more of a coward than him because your always scared of everything like him. I wished that stupid dog wouldn't "babysit you" ever again!!

(Muriel and Courage gasp by this, as Barry stood still by Eustace's response. However, Barry began sniffing and tears began rolling all over his face)

Eustace: (sarcastically) Great. Your crying already. Give it a rest stupid cat-

(Barry raises his toy gun at Eustace which shoots a cork right at his face)

Eustace: (get hits by a cork) Ow! You stupid cat!

(Barry stomps his foot and says to him angrily)

Barry: (angrily with tears over his face) WELL YOU DESERVE IT!! MAYBE YOU MIGHT TO GIVE IT A REST TOO!!!

(Barry begans sobbing, Courage tries to comfort him but Barry runs out of the living room then to the basement door, shutting it)

(Courage and Muriel look at Eustace, Muriel was mad at Eustace for what he said to Barry with Courage having an paranoid expression on his face)

Muriel: Eustace Bagge! How could you say such horrible stuff to poor Barry! You made that poor cat cry!

Eustace: Whatever! We can't have another pet like the stupid dog.

Muriel: You don't understand that Courage has helped Barry's family by babysitting him everyday

(Courage worryingly hears the two argue over Barry which worries him even more, so hides underneath his blanket until it ends)

Eustace: You can give it a rest too Muriel!! I'm going up now while you two go off helping that stupid cat (goes upstairs to his bedroom and shuts the door)

Muriel: Hmph!

(Muriel looks at Courage coming out of the blanket, whining and worrying about Barry)

Muriel: Oh Courage, I do hope Barry is ok right now... Hmm, I know! Why don't we head out to groceries so we can get something that might cheer Barry up?

Courage: Mmhmm

(Then it cuts to Barry in the basement, sitting on a stool, rubbing his tears, snffing and cradling his legs)

(Then it cuts again to the outside of the Nowhere, where six figures walking close to the farmhouse

???: This might be it, right here!

???: That's a farmhouse see

(The six then look at the farmhouse and one of them sees the door to the basement)

???: There's a door right here, let's see where it leads us too

(One of the figures open the basement door and heads down, along with the other five)

(The six figures reveal themselves to be Katz, Le Quack, Cajun Fox, Weremole, Black Puddle Queen and Clutching Foot as they look around the basement)

Cajun Fox: Your quite sure this is a good hideout for our revenge plan cat

Katz: Yes

Le Quack: Well look around you renard, there are chairs and a table

(The six then sat around each chair except one)

Cajun Fox: Huh, there's only one chair left. But who's gonna sit here

(The six then hear sounds of sniffing and little cries, they get up and check)

(Then they all see Barry with tears over his face, rubbing each of them. Cajun Fox walks to him, placing his hand on his shoulder)

Cajun Fox: Hey cat, what's sobbin' here? you lookin' pretty sad all over your lil eyes

Barry: (looks at each of them staring at him, then he jumps in fright and he almost falls off the stool since Cajun Fox picked him up and place him back onto it)

(Katz walks to Barry with a glare on his face)

Katz: Now tell us… what are you doing in here before we arrive

Barry: (sniffs) It's all because of Mr Bagge, he was being really mean to me all the time. He said that I'm a stupid cat and he wished that i… would never be here ever again…. Then I got upset at him and ran out immediately crying over here. Then Muriel became upset at him and then she and Mr Bagge argued a bit! (sniffs) why is this happening to my life right now?

(Katz sighs as he sits by and looks at Barry)

Katz: Dear boy, These "people" are arguing about you, you see. They won't accept this if you're acting too much of a coward. They are not the people you shouldn't be around because they will think that you are a coward. And they wouldn't "accept" you because of it. Maybe it would be best if you will never ever, ever talk to these "people" ever… again

Barry: But… then I wouldn't meet anyone and make any friends

Cajun Fox: Hey cheer up cat, We six right here can be your new buddies

Barry: I don't know about that, I don't think I should trust you guys-

Cajun Fox: Yeah you can, we're all great pals and believe me, we never caused a teeny weeny lil argument in our gang. So, Whaddya say cat (raises his paw out)

Barry: Well… ok

(Barry raises his paw out and the two handshake)

Katz: Perfect!

(It cuts to the six and Barry sitting on chairs)

Barry: (looks at each of them) So, why did you guys came in the basement for

All (except Barry): Revenge!

Barry: Revenge?

All (except Barry): Revenge on that stupid dog!! (They all laugh evilly)

Barry: (feels shocked about this) You're gonna get revenge on Courage?!?! But he's my friend-

Katz: (places his hand on Barry's mouth with a serious expression) We don't… want to hear that! (Takes his hand out of Barry's mouth)

Barry: Oh, sorry

Katz: Don't you apologies

Barry: Yes sir… So how is the revenge plan gonna work out

(The six discuss the plan together with Barry listening and writing the plan down)

Barry: That can work out

Le Quack: That's more we like it (pats Barry's head)

Cajun Fox: Hey since we are all a group, we should give it a name, like The Sin Seven!

Katz (annoyed): There is one like that you stupid fox

Cajun Fox: Oh

Barry: Maybe… The… Revenge Seven

Le Quack: Ooh la la~ parfaite(perfect), petite chat(little cat)

(Barry looks at the each of them with an anxious look as they laugh sinisterly)

(Then it cuts to Muriel and Courage who came back from the grocery store)

Muriel: I'm sure Barry would be happy that we brought some chocolate rabbits for him

Courage: Mmhmm

(Muriel and Courage head to the living room, to the basement door. Muriel knocks it)

Muriel: Barry! Barry! Are you alright?

(The Revenge Seven look at the door, Barry stood up)

Barry: Let me get it! (heads upstairs and opens the door) Hey Muriel, Hey Courage

Muriel: How are you feeling now Barry?

Barry: I'm fine, it's just that i-

Revenge Seven (heard offscreen): Destroy that stupid dog!!

Muriel: Barry? What was that dear?

Barry: Uhh, (shakes anxiously) Uhhh… (quietly) what do I do…

Cajun Fox (offscreen): Lie man, lie!

Barry (quietly): How?

Cajun Fox (offscreen): Say that we're your new friends and your part of a friend group

Barry: (quietly) Ok! (Turns around to Muriel and Courage) These are my new friends and I'm part of a friend group and… (looks at Courage) sorry Courage, no dogs allowed (shuts the door) (Then he opens the door slightly again) Oh and could you bring in six sandwiches and cut one of them into five slices

Muriel: Why sure Barry dear

(As Muriel made the sandwiches, Courage stirs the pudding)

Muriel: Keep stirring the pudding Courage, we don't want it to burn

(Then to the basement as Barry comes downstairs, the Six started their revenge plan)

Le Quack: So how does our plan gotta be settled like this

Katz: Yes, something cunning and something that brings her terror to her flesh

Barry: Hmm… maybe we would-

(Muriel is seen coming to the basement, with a tray of five sandwiches)

Barry (has his arms flapping): Muriel's coming!!! Huh? (however he realises that they are holding newspapers as he looks at them confused)

Muriel: (places the tray down on the table) well, everyone help yourself to a finger sandwich (she then stands beside Barry and rubs his head) Oh Barry dear, I'm sorry about before. Eustace can be like this mainly

Barry: It's alright Muriel, I'm sorry-

(As Barry was about to apologise, Black Puddle Queen places the newspaper down, takes the sandwich and bites it, then she goes back to reading the newspaper. Barry looks at Puddle Queen nervously)

Barry (whispers): Your sirenness, we can't have Muriel see you

Muriel: Barry, who is this friend you have?

(Barry shakes nervously at Muriel)

Muriel: Barry, are you feeling alright dear

(Barry shakes as he sees a cup of juice by Cajun Fox, he raises his toy gun which shoots a cork right at the cup, spilling onto Cajun's lap)

Cajun Fox (madly): Hey! What gives!

Barry: (points at Muriel) She did it! Seize her!!

Muriel: Barry, what's going on- (muffles as she is covered by a burlap sack)

(As Muriel wakes up, she is chained above a cauldron of boiling oil)

Muriel: Barry, what's going on in here

Barry: Sorry Muriel- (when he walks to Muriel, he was stopped by Le Quack)

Le Quack: Don't you apologies petite chat

Muriel: So, for all of you six, this is one of those deadly friends group isn't it

Big Toe: Forget that, we want that dog now get screaming see

Muriel: No, I won't do it

Katz: (by the washing machine) Allow me! (Puts red and white clothes into the washing machine while sinisterly laughing)

Muriel: No!!! Don't mix the colours!!!

(Katz pours bleach into the washing machine and slams the door while sinisterly laughing)

(Muriel then screams in horror to which Courage hears it and rushes to the basement only to be stopped by the Foot crushingly stepping on his body)

Big Toe: Yeah, remember us

Pinky Toe: Yeah, remember us

(The five remaining villains step forward to glare at Courage)

Courage: Oh no!

Big Toe: You licked us good see

Cajun Fox: Cooked us good too, remember that

Barry: Courage!!

(Katz gives Barry a glare in order to stop him from helping Courage get back up. Barry backs up, intimidated)

Muriel: Oh, what are you going to do with Courage

Big Toe: Now we're gonna put you the squeeze on you, see

(The Foot squishes Courage, Barry gets behind the group, though he turns back as he couldn't watch the pain)

(Katz walks to Courage and kneels down)

Katz: Care for a bit of sport before you slowly die dear boy? Let's play… (holds a red ball) dodgeball

(Courage screams, along with Barry, who is feeling very worried about this)

(The lights go off and on, forming a stadium field. Le Quack, wearing black and yellow striped referee outfit)

Le Quack: (blows his whistle) These are the rules. Le ball, she is round. Le loser, she is dead (laughs)

(Courage stands at the end, he wears a white jersey with a blue "O" and matching shorts, sneakers and headband)

(Barry sits by the stairs, worried)

(Katz and the others wear green and white uniforms with white numbers. Then the match begins. Katz gets a headstart as he throws his ball at Courage, his ball unleashes spikes which hits head across the wall, then his head began to pop out)

Barry: (watching this) Ohhh that's going to hurt

(Weremole holds his dodgeball and eats it, Katz becomes shocked by this)

Katz: Who invited this undefined beast?

(Weremole belches, Cajun Fox walks with a giant spoon besides Foot, he pulls out his spicy Cajun pierogies)

Cajun Fox: My spicy Cajun pierogies are known to pack up a wallop

(Cajun launches the pierogies at Courage's mouth, causing his body to burn from the spiciness)

Barry: (places his hands on his mouth) Oh… god

(Courage goes over to a water bottle and drinks it but then he spat it all out due to the colour)

Courage: Pooey!

(Black Puddle Queen rises from the puddle of sports drink, holding out sea creatures. Courage dodges the jellyfish and coral, but gets hit by a clam which is stuck on his head)

(The villains laugh at Courage's misery, while for Barry, watching at it just makes him feel bad for Courage)

(Katz holds a lot of dodgeballs, placing them down for Foot to straight up kick them all Courage, this hits him in the face and stomach. Suddenly, the buzzer on the washing machine goes off and Courage has his arms out in a shape of a "T")

Courage: Time out! Time out!

(Whistle blows as Courage goes over to the washing machine by placing fabric softener onto it)

Muriel: Good boy Courage! Go get 'em!

Barry: (smiles at Courage) Yeah Courage! Get 'em good! Go get 'em!

(Katz hears Barry cheering on Courage)

Katz: Excuse me!

(Katz glares at Barry, which the latter got intimidated and keeps watching)

(The whistle blows to resume the game, Weremole burrows himself underground and is tunnelling his way towards Courage. He emerges and attacks Courage, shaking him back and forth like a dog chew toy. Until Le Quack blows his whistle)

Le Quack: Le halftime

Barry: Halftime?

(The lights show two of the Duck Brothers playing instruments and singing the song)

🎵Halftime show! Halftime show! Yeah, yeah, whoa, whoa! Halftime show!🎵

(Barry claps along to the tune and gave it an applause. Duck Brothers move out of the room, which closes by darkness)

(Cuts to Katz lighting the cannon with fire, which fires right at Courage, who is battered and tired. Courage screams, causing to get the cannonball in his mouth. He holds it in, but then suction cup darts are thrown at his head, causing him to drop the cannonball. Then the piano falls down on his body and a water balloon is thrown at him. Courage is completely damaged from all of this)

(The five hold weapons out. Katz has a flamethrower, Foot has a spiked club, Cajun has a cleaver, Puddle Queen has a shell which launches a rocket and Weremole has a flyswatter. With it all, they attack Courage with them, causing him to get more in pain by this. While Barry is covering his eyes as he couldn't bear to watch this moment)

(Courage whimpers)

Katz: Now we would like someone to give you that dear boy. (snaps his fingers at Barry) Come over here

(Barry comes downstairs and walks to Katz)

Barry: Yeah

Katz: So we seen that you hold a gun around, yes

Barry: Yeah, but it's a toy gun-

Katz: Good, then let us show you this

(Katz holds out a red gun to Barry)

Barry: What's that

Katz: A flare gun. One bullet, one shot right into the dear boy's chest (loads it and gives it to Barry) Now keep your eyes on the target

(Barry stands still, eyes straight onto Courage while holding the flare gun, the five villains watch him retrieve Courage's final moment)

(Then Barry drops tears out of his eyes, this is all because he doesn't want to kill the one who he cares mostly)

Barry: (sniffs) I-I… I can't do this…

(Barry drops the flare gun and buries his face with his hands)

(The villains are shocked by this except Katz who's downright upset at Barry's attempt failed. He came to Barry with a sinister glare and begins to grab him by the neck)

Katz: You… ungrateful, disappointing CAT!!! YOU WERE SUPPOSE TO SHOOT HIM GODDAMMIT!!! HE IS OUR ENEMY!!! THINK CAT!!! THINK OF YOUR OWN FUTURE YOU COULD HAD!!!

(Katz brutally tries to choke Barry as he pressing his neck really hard)

(Courage witnesses this and feels shocked by this, he whimpers)

Muriel: Come on Courage! You can't give up! There must be something that you can do!

(Courage looks at Barry, choking)

Muriel: Come on Courage! What can you do!

(Courage thinks and he gets an idea)

(Courage takes a step forward and inhales a deep breath. Then he unleashes his longest scream ever, which shakes the entire house, cracks started forming in the walls, ceiling and floor of the basement)

(Barry drops down to the floor, since Katz lost his grip because of the floor shaking. He runs over to Courage screaming his lungs out)

(The villains either cover their ears or cringe in pain from it. Weremole sees Puddle Queen's clam, hops inside and closes it. Then the cauldron underneath Muriel, cracks apart and breaks

Muriel: Ooh!

(Courage, while screaming, tears off his jersey. The villains now lost their footing, as they all fell to the giant cracked hole to their demise. Finally after 41 seconds, Courage stops screaming. He sighs and then collapses to the floor, sweaty and exhausted, but victorious. Barry goes close to Courage and hugs him. The shackles securing Muriel crack and break, which allows her to fall on her bottom safely)

Muriel: Oh!

(The timer on the washing machine buzzes. Muriel rushes to the machine and sets the dial to "Gentle." The laundry is saved)

Muriel: (wipes her brow and sighs deeply) Oh, my! (runs to Courage and Barry) Courage, what big lungs you have. The winner! (She lifts both Barry and Courage and raises Courage's arm in a victory pose)

(Courage laughs deliriously and waves to the audience. along with Barry, who also waves to the audience and then he looks at him with a smile)

Barry: Muriel, I'm sorry that I… got a bit upset. And i'm sorry for causing you and Mr Bagge to argue

Muriel: (hugs Barry) Oh, Barry. It's not your fault dear. You know how much I love you like how I love Courage as the child I would've had

(Barry smiles and hugs Muriel back)

(Cuts at night-time, Muriel is folding a blanket, then it goes to Barry and Courage cuddled up together in Eustace's chair with the blanket over them. Even Barry holds his plushie along with him)

(Courage holds the remote and presses the button to turn on the TV. The TV turns on and it only shows Freaky Fred, holding his electric razor)

Fred: Courage…

(Cuts to the outside of the farmhouse, Courage and Barry both scream, causing the upper half of the house to fall apart and crush the foundation of the house)

#ctcd #courage the cowardly dog #ctcd oc #katz #courage the dog #fanfic #story #le quack #eustace bagge #muriel bagge #cajun fox #black puddle queen #freaky fred #clutching foot #weremole #cat oc

[teeth-farie]

Just For You

Muriel/GN Reader

Notes: rimming, lingerie, 0.5k

There’s never been a sight quite like this. He’s only for your eyes and you drink in every detail, no matter how small or mundane he may think it is. Lighting in your home has always been warm—burnt oranges, mellow reds, and a cool periwinkle when night falls and they dance across the contours of his face. Such strong features, yet soft at the same time. As much as you love his face, and you could stare at it for eons, you love the way his body twists and turns, softer around the edges now; healthier habits and allowing himself guilty pleasures. His back is strong and broad, tapering into his waist. It took him a while to show his back to you, dozens of scars criss crossed over the expanse of his flesh, all markers of the bad times. You take your time and kiss over every inch of warm bronze skin and rub salves and lotions and oils into the scars and stretches across his body, gentle, delicate.

Perspiration gleams on his body and a nightly breeze slips under the cracks of the door, chilling his skin. Muriel presses his face into the pillows, muffling the sounds that come from him, guttural and wanting.

Your hands hold his hips, fingertips tracing over the muscle covering bone and the softness of it all. Silken lace clings to his hips, tailored just for him, sage green and indulgent. You pull it aside, lathing your tongue over his rim and basking in the shuddering wave of his body, the jolt of his bones, the deep whine he tries to muffle with the pillow clutched within his grasp.

When you first suggested it, Muriel wore the face he usually did, red faced and flustered, steam practically pouring from his ears. Yet..

“Uhnff..hnn..” Ah, those were the sounds you liked to hear. You take your time, drinking in the sight of him, the fee of him. You give a little tug on the elastic of his garment, a light snap against his skin—electrifying to the senses. It doesn’t hurt, you’d never hurt him; the feeling is teasing, playful, a snap back to the moment that has Muriel’s mind reeling.

When your mountain man starts rocking back against you, your brain nearly short circuits. Historically timid and restrained, Muriel lets himself go, basking in your love and seeking out what makes him feel good. It’s unbelievably addicting, hearing him fall apart ever so slowly. Just for you.

You replace your tongue with your fingers, kissing over his hips and ass, a teasing nip here and there. Muriel found he liked the feeling of your teeth against his skin—though never breaking the surface, only holding, possessive, he felt the curves of your teeth melding against his flesh, a pleasant pressure and not a brutal tear. He’s laid out for you, trusting and obedient.

A crook of your fingers, the glide of body oil, a murmured praise just for him, your adoration coating his senses in a wave of comfort—he’s unraveling, just for you.

Not that he would have it any other way.

#spicy #muriel #dom reader

[apprentice-maliya]

soft and wounded and the night

pairing: asra/mali’ya cw: nightmares, amnesia word count: 3.4k song: solovey by go_a

In his dreams she’s always singing, though Mali’ya only hums.

I gathered the flowers, braided them into a wreath

She was facing him with her back in that memory, her attention to the sink while honey curls swayed gently under the green kerchief at every tilt of her head. 

She’d let hair down, he noticed. That was rare. Once, she’d told him it would always get in the way when she was working.

Her hands washed the dishes in circular motions, slow and careful not to let one slip. Alone in her thoughts, Mali’ya breathes out the songs of her childhood in soft whispers and Asra wonders, each time they meet there, in the empty boundary between memory and reality, how could he ever forget that silvery sound?

He had heard her talk in her native language before, when she wasn’t yet fluent in Vesuvian and the confusion in her mind came out of her lips with frustration and embarrassment; he remembered the words being harsh and intricate and mysterious when she spoke to her aunt, words that crashed one against the other and merged together in a way so foreign to him that Asra could never completely understand.

But when Mali’ya sang, nothing else mattered anymore. All things faded out, all worries and thoughts, all shapes and colours; washed away by songs she knew by heart. It was then, only then, that Venterrean forgot all about its hardness, maybe lost to the water running down the sink or still lingering in her mouth in words of unspoken terrors. 

Braided them into a wreath, the rue and the periwinkle flowers

Even after all that time, Asra could never really give a name to the feeling. He was sure, though, that there was nothing more enticing than the way Mali’ya’s voice would die out like candlelight.

After securing the last plate in the cupboard, Mali’ya turned to him with that indulgent smile of hers he so much loved. 

“Don’t you ever get tired of it?” she asked with curiosity, thinking about the days he would overhear her from his booth on the other side of the backroom’s wall, her own bedroom at the time. “It’s not the loveliest song. Or language, even.”

Nightingale, nightingale, do not sing so early

Shaking his head no, Asra mirrored her smile from the kitchen table where he was sitting. “Actually,” he replied, lips up in a playful smirk, “It’s very, very lovely, if you ask me.”

Happiness was bright in the curve of her mouth as Mali’ya approached him, jade eyes dissolving for a moment into a line of thin golden lashes, pressed down in disagreement under her furrowed brows. He couldn’t help it. Instinctively, perhaps a bit too eagerly (but who was he to deny her?), the moment she made way between his parted legs to get closer and her hands ran up to cup his face, Asra leaned in to meet her touch.

Oh, how he’d missed this. The gentle palms, and the smallest hint of calluses on her fingertips; her thighs, too, which he held on to steadily, still so soft and welcoming as he remembered them. The scent of her freckled skin, something faintly floral, embracing him from every angle like a protection charm.

Carding her fingers through his hair in a way that it would give her free access, Mali’ya bent down to lay a kiss on his forehead. Her lips lingered there for a moment, as if unsure of what to do, and Asra tilted his head up to welcome what would come next.

So Mali’ya kissed him with no hesitation, her lips on his and his heart on a sleeve, the beats loud and attuned to hers, to the song her aura let out when their souls would meet.

It felt so right, it always did. It was the place to be. Always, forever, as long their bodies would last before turning to dust.

She smiled into the kiss and slowly began to pull away, while the smell of rain gathered gently around them. It was the same as when she enchanted her chamomile tea before going to bed, Asra recalled, hoping that the memories wouldn’t come back to devour her in her sleep; the same as when she found out about the kids, and healed the wounds on their knees with a simple ghosting of her fingertips. It was the smell of storms and worry, but she always looked hopeful when it rained.

I’ll stop soon, and you’ll be able to play outside again, she would tell Luz.

Asra wraps his arms around her. The song echoes,

My heart can’t feel good about this

Don’t go. Don’t go.

“Asra,” Mali’ya called, tender as ever. Any tinge of joy in her voice was gone already; and although she was trying to sound serene, and he couldn’t see the sadness in her eyes, he just knew it was there. He had learnt everything about her during the time they’d spent together; every gesture, every change in her behaviour when she would push aside what she truly wanted. And Asra knew this was for his sake alone, too. He’d been foolish to hope things could change; as if nothing could ever change, at last in his memories.

So he kept quiet.

Her hands were still caressing his nape when Mali’ya spoke again. “You have to wake up, love,” she murmured, returning his hug just as urgently.

She rarely called him that, Asra thought. Because she had grown up believing love was to be found in the little things, those unnoticeable acts of service towards the ones she cherished, Mali’ya had never been one for pet names or clamorous displays of affection. She would rather trust, offer, provide; pour her heart into everything she touched.

Love.

Four silly letters for one silly word. Asra still remembered a time before her in which it was just a meaningless concept he and Muriel did not dare to share with the world. But when she called him that, she made it sound like the poets had been right all along.

“You know you can’t stay here.”

“Why not?” He sounds like a whiny brat, of that much he’s aware. He holds her closer. Can’t they just go back to being kids? Can’t he make it right once and for all, can’t he make up for what he had destroyed with his own selfishness? Mali’ya squeezes her arms around him one last time.

In the distance, someone sings a song of longing and fear.

“Take care, love,” is her parting whisper.

Then Asra blinked and she was gone again, like smoke, bringing any trace of sunlight away with her. It was as if she’d never been there. As if he’d abandoned her once more. Shut her out. The one that had tiptoed so gently into his world, cradled his heart and soul in her hands asking nothing in return. She, Mali’ya, who was made of chopped roots and timid branches and radiated so much warmth he could drown in it. He’d taken her for granted from day one, apparently, because there was never a time in which she’d beg him to stay.

As though all strength had been drained from him, Asra leaned in on the table as the room dissolved around him, arms covering his face and fingers gripping his hair in a punishing hold because you killed her, Asra. You killed her and she’s never coming back. Never. And it’s all your fault.

It gets cold in the nightmare. The wind howls, scentless and cold, and this time the whiffs don’t carry any songs with them. Asra stays still. There are no tears he can cry; he dried them all a long ago, digging his hands until they bled on the black shores of the Lazaret.

If it hadn’t been for you, Mali’ya would still be alive. Breathing.

It took him but a second to put a face to the voice echoing in the void of his mind. It wasn’t like anything he had heard before, because now Mrs Heralia sounds angry, and disappointed, and her thick accent makes way among the words like it’s meant to stab him through his heart. And she would have all the reasons to do so.

Why did you leave, Asra? Why did you leave my niece alone? You promised you’d take care of her on my behalf. I entrusted her to you. Tell me, do you have any idea of what she must have gone through while you were away, warm and healthy and very much alive? Do you, Asra?

The voice was growing louder in his ears. Asra felt like his head was about to explode, but it was a blessing that his teacher wasn’t real, not physically there to make him stare into her soul and force him see all the hurt he’d caused to her only niece— The same he saw in his eyes every time he looked at himself in the mirror, a pretty wicked thing worn out by selfishness and anguish.

“I— I never wanted to— I thought she would—”

That she would come after you when you left? Oh, but do you know why she didn’t? Can’t you possibly imagine why she stayed?

Heralia let out a sigh, low and disappointed. Sharp. Asra could tell she was aiming for her killing blow.

Has she ever meant something to you more than a shadow that would follow you everywhere and console you in the dark?

Water gathered in Asra’s throat, setting it aflame as an apology fought its way out. He jumped up, forgetting about the chair he was sitting on; which, without making a single sound, fell quickly into the darkness rising at the edge of his consciousness.

No, he meant to tell his teacher. A last defence against the hatred dripping from her chin. She was more than that, so much more. But a choked sob came out instead, before another followed, and another, and another...

Suddenly he feels like a child again, out in the cold. Alone. Mrs Heralia has vanished, too, and in the wide, scary unknown around him that’s slowly drifting from pitch-black to candid shades of white, Asra feels it; death’s touch like ragged paper on his skin, passing him by, so his lungs are full of air again and his heart pumps louder in his chest. It could be heaven, just floating around aimlessly in pure light.

The first thing he hears is the familiar sound of cutlery clinking before him.

Asra opened his eyes, waking up to the small kitchenette on the shop’s first floor. Nothing had changed a bit since he came back from… Well, he couldn’t really remember. But small bouquets of dried herbs still hung above the stove, where the salamander was sleeping soundly, and familiar, colourful jars filled the cramped shelves.

Then he hears her. She’s singing, of course she is. She’s calling him back to her. And she must’ve been so close he thinks, maybe climbing up the stairs or folding some clothes in the other room, because her voice was all around him and he would have looked for her everywhere if only the kitchen hadn’t started spinning like crazy, merging colours and shapes and taking his breath away in heavy gasps���

In the end, like always, the dream takes over the memory too quickly to linger anymore. So Asra gives up. There’s no hope to win against his guilt, to pacify it once and for all. And he’s so tired. Tired of wishing for her to remember him. Or what they had. Her past, their past, the days spent together climbing trees and learning magic and holding hands. He’s tired of trying. 

Asra falls in the cold, again, curled up in the white nothingness around him. 

Take care, love.

That voice again. Just now, someone was calling out to him in the distance. But who? And from… where…?

All of sudden, memory and sleep parted from him. The cold, too, had disappeared. There was something warm and delicate holding his face, though he couldn’t tell what. It was soft and a bit rough around the edges, shaped like it was meant to be cradling him, and strangely enough, the air smelled like damp soil after a long night’s rain. His body felt heavier than before as well, out of his dream-like state, while his lungs still struggled to catch up with his frantic pants.

“Master? Can you hear me? I’m here, Master. You’re safe— Please, please wake up.”

A hand, that was it, carded through his bangs, pushing them aside so that his forehead could freshen up. As a matter of fact, he did feel a bit hot. Asra slowly cracked his eyes open to take in his surroundings.

He was in their bedroom. It was probably late night, or maybe early enough for the sun to rise. Not like he could tell. Fireflies swirled silently around him—no, not fireflies, but tiny spheres of light. Gentle hands cupped his face, thumbs slowly stroking his cheekbones.

A few inches above him, Mali’ya let out a long, relieved sigh. She was kneeling on the floor, probably feeling a little sore by now, nonetheless she smiled reassuringly in his direction. Her braids were messy, Asra noticed. A few golden strands curled on her cheeks, framing her eyes. How could anyone be so beautiful?

“It’s okay,” she murmured, a bit startled the moment their eyes interlocked. Asra couldn’t really see it, his vision hazy from the dream, but he knew of the hint of a blush that was about to spread on her face at the sudden realisation of their close, if intimate, proximity. Despite that, she didn’t pull away. If anything, Mali’ya’s aura grew warmer. “It was just a nightmare.”

Asra propped himself up on one elbow, but regretted it immediately. To leave him more space to move and stretch, her hands intertwined on her lap.

“’M sorry I woke you,” he blurted out, still fighting the remnants of sleep.

Mali’ya shook her head as to shush him, lips still up in the gentlest smile. “Don’t say that,” she coaxed him, but then she stopped, unsure, fidgety fingers playing with the hem of her nightgown. “Is there anything I can do? Like…”

Staring at her with an expectant look, Asra felt his heart flutter. He couldn’t help it, not with her being so thoughtful and sweet in her shyness.

“Like a cup of tea. Or I can brew you some chamomile, if you want, or...” Jade eyes pierced right through him like arrows from Cupid’s quiver, soft and sincere and always, always agonizing to stare into. “Would you like… a hug?” 

Asra sat up, fully awake now, smiling teasingly as he raised an eyebrow. “A hug. You sure make it sound important, do you?”

“You always hug me when I have nightmares,” Mali’ya replied, not taking any of his playful tone, although the red deepening on her cheeks said a lot about the embarrassment coming from his remark. “Fine,” she sighed, stumbling back up to walk to the kitchenette. “The tea will do.”

Asra chuckled. She’d never been comfortable with displays of affection, had she? Even before this whole mess it had taken her a while to step out her bubble and hold his hand just because, or kiss him on a whim, let alone anything like listening to her body when the words would fail them. And Asra had been happy, oh, so happy to witness the rewarding growth of her blooming confidence.

When he stepped into the small kitchen, Mali’ya was already crouched down beside the stove. She was saying something in a quiet whisper, looking apologetic, and a moment later she got up to pick a flower from the ones he’d brought her from the forest a couple of days ago, for her to dry. She knelt down again, offering a wild amaryllis to the salamander, and beamed.

“Thanks. And sorry for troubling you, little one.”

“He must have a soft spot for you,” Asra pointed out as he sat at the table. “I never seem to bribe him right.”

Mali’ya let out a small laugh, adjusting the teapot on the stove. “Oh, it’s not hard to please him. After all, everybody wants to be pampered once in a while.”

Resting his chin on the inside of his hand, Asra hummed quietly. “So do I get to be pampered, too?”

There is a thin line between this and mere selfishness, he thinks, but his heart speaks before his mind can catch up and properly elaborate his thoughts.

“Will you sing for me?”

Abruptly, Mali’ya stopped in her tracks, her hand coming down from the shelf where their cups rested. She didn’t turn around. “I’m sorry, I… I can’t think of any songs.”

I’m sorry I can’t remember.

Asra felt his heart sink in his chest. “No, it’s—”

“Do you… do you have any suggestions? They say you can make a song out of anything.”

She still wasn’t looking at him, now busying herself with the steam rising from the pot, but the resolve in her voice was strong as ever. From the moment she’d first woken up from her slumber, Mali’ya had made so much progress; she was curious, determined to learn and catch up to normalcy, and stopped at nothing. There was always a way with her. She’d always been like that.

“Master?” she called out to him, their mugs in hand, and Asra quickly snapped back to reality.

“You remember the song,” he started, carefully threading each word so as not to prompt one of her devastating headaches. “That I would sing to you when you couldn’t sleep? It’s been a while, though, you probably—”

“The one about the lovers and the nightingale. Yes,” Mali’ya cut in, gently pouring the tea in his cup before filling hers. She nodded, then handed him the honey jar. “I remember that.” A small smile that barely revealed her dimples curved up her lips as she blew on the infusion. “It’s one of my favourites.”

“Ah,” Asra said. Was it just a coincidence? That she liked the same song she once used to love? His attention returned to the mug before him. “Is it?”

“Of course. You said you heard it from a traveller, right?”

“Something like that.”

Mali’ya looked down, pondering something. A tea leaf floated in the greenish drink in her hands, its corners burned by the hot water it had been thrown into. She tentatively took a sip. “Were they native? From—where does the song come from?”

“Venterre. I translated it,” Asra explained, though it wasn’t exactly how things had gone. There had once been a time in which he had been the one asking her to share the secrets of her mother tongue. A request Mali’ya couldn’t refuse him, no matter the difficulty of those foreign sounds. “And yes, they grew up there... but left at a young age.”

Mali’ya closed her eyes for a moment, lost in thought. Hadn’t she been smiling in the while, Asra would’ve thought he’d said too much. So he did the same. “Something’s on your mind?”

“I was wondering, what does Venterrean sound like? I’ve never heard anybody speak it,” she confessed with a shrug, and took another sip from her cup. “Though I suppose it’s not the loveliest language.”

“It’s actually very, very lovely,” Asra replied.

Beyond the curtains the sun began to rise, idly bathing the kitchenette in its warm and golden light. Mali’ya still pondered something, chin on her palm as she looked over the window. And just like the first time they’d met, two strangers in the Market District fighting for their lives in their own way, Asra couldn’t stop looking at her as she glowed before his eyes, ethereal and strong and beautiful in the fiery red of dawn.

With a quick motion of his fingers he pinched the tip of her nose, causing Mali’ya to snap out of her train of thoughts. “I can teach you some words, if you so wish,” he suggested before taking a long sip, and lowering his gaze. “Although I must tell you, it’s not the easiest language either. It might take some time.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Mali’ya shook her head, a smile carefully concealed between her lips. “We have plenty.”

Nightingale, nightingale, do not sing so early My heart can’t feel good about this Nightingale, nightingale, what do I do now? I came to love him once—and cannot forget him.

#the arcana #asra alnazar #asra x mc #asra x apprentice #🏷 book i: mali’ya #💌 : can’t stop you putting roots in my dreamland #i published this on here and ao3 like exactly one year ago does it ever draw you crazy how fast the night changes #dani writes

[chamberofwords]

preview of my upcoming fic - 'yellow'

this was 0.9k words btw. obviously, this was not proofread yet!!

Periwinkle was the colour of the twin’s swaddling blanket when Molly and Arthur Weasley brought their newborn twins home from the hospital. The bright blue contrasted against the dull maroon of their beaming parents’ outfits. The shade also served as a clear indication of their twins’ gender. The same blue followed them as party decorations that adorned across their warm living room when Molly and Arthur held a sip & see party for their friends and relatives to celebrate their childs’ arrival together. It seemed that the guests had the same idea of wrapping their push presents with the colour blue – because at the end of the day, their dining table were drowned by the various hues of blue thanks to the stacks of presents they received. Unwittingly, the day Fred was born was also the first day that the colour blue was introduced into his life.

Ever since then, Fred had always showed a preference for the colour blue. It was the first colour that Fred has associated himself with, mainly because he was taught to just accept it as a colour that represented him. Molly had decided that the eldest twin would be colour-coded blue while the youngest would be green – just so that the rest won’t have a hard time to differentiate the twins together. That would mean that while Fred’s jumper comes in lapis blue, George’s was basil green. When Fred’s bedsheet was dyed in oxford blue, George’s was in emerald green. Heck, even their undergarments were colour-coded; Fred’s was tinged in a shade of teal while George’s was in forest green.

Even at a young age, Fred has always been known as someone who preferred to live life easily. He was a child who just accepted facts without knowing its rationales, so he could easily say that blue was his favourite colour without questioning himself why. However, as the years passed by and Fred starts to grow a little taller and older, he decided that it was time that he paid more attention to what he likes and dislikes.

Just during the period when Fred was about to start his first year in Hogwarts, Fred silently declared to himself that from then onwards, his favourite colour would be orange. After all, it was the colour of the hair that runs in the entire family, and dare he say, the entirety of his house (Molly would probably deny this if he confronted). Fred doesn’t tell anyone, but he’s convinced that the colour of his blood and the rest of his family members is orange and not red like what his anatomy books had told him.

To further commit to his stance, he made sure that the clothes he bought for the upcoming school year were mostly orange. It can’t be helped that his wardrobe still contained traces of blue, since it was the colour that he grew up with. Furthermore, it’s too wasteful to throw it all away. Also, he’s sure that his mother would nag his ear off if she were to ever find his old clothes lying in the trashcan.

Fred also secretly bought a pot of orange ink to use for school without his parent’s knowledge. He decided to use the money he got from Aunt Muriel who had gifted the cash to him as an early birthday gift. Though honestly, he was unsure if he would ever get a chance to use the bright orange ink in school. Mostly because students are only allowed to use black ink for writing. But hey, Fred made a commitment - and he was going to stick to it.

Unfortunately, Molly found the jar on the day before Fred was supposed to get onto the Hogwarts Express for the first time. Fred was never a neat person. So when Molly came into the twin’s room to help them pack properly for school, she had accidentally kicked something hard under the pile of Fred’s clothing that he had set aside near his trunk. Thinking nothing of it, Molly only wanted to pick up the item that she had accidentally kicked and put it back into place out of respect. Consequently, that led to Molly picking up the jar, and realizing instantly that no one in the family had orange ink in their possessions. Only until when Molly turned the glass over to read the tag under, she yelled out the older twin’s name out of anger and pure shock. At that moment, she simply could not believe that her son Fred Weasley had spent a large amount of money on a small jar of coloured ink under her damn nose. In the end, Molly Weasley did nagged his poor ear off. Literally.

Clearly, Fred Weasley was truly committed to the colour orange.

It became a huge part of his daily life now – the jumper under his robe, his quills that he use for school (somehow, he managed to dye it even), the orange candies that were scattered on his desks, his everything. Yet somehow, there was a tiny part of him that was still unsure if he loves the colour orange. Maybe, if he was feeling bored, he would go with the colour red just to mix it up a bit. The reasons were simple; it was the colours of his house. His tie, his robes, his dorm – red was a colour that was impossible for him to avoid.

Still, Fred wasn’t exactly sick of the colour orange. The word ‘sick’ is too strong of a word to describe such a feeling. He would just say that he was so used to see the colour orange that he got numb to it. He wouldn’t mind living in a world of orange. He was just comfortable, yet never satisfied.

This phase lasted until his fourth year, just when his fifteenth birthday was round the corner.

#reminder that this is not PROOFREAD!! #it's like 2am for me rn so i'll just edit it tmr and what not #SORRY IF THIS SEEMED CLICHE LOL #hopefully this would be ready by tmr pals <3 #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley ff #fred weasley x yn #fred wealey x hufflepuff reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley oneshot #harry potter #harry potter imagines #wealey twins #the weasley twins

[rons-hermiones]

Come Find Me

Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Ten

Christmas came quicker then anyone had expected. 

Soon after his talk with Harry yesterday, his mother had walked in on Ron attempting to tackle Bill to the ground, but she soon stopped it and they all ate dinner. 

Hermione was absent for the meal. Ginny said she was pretty worried about the lack of response from her parents so she was going to write again. Thankfully, Molly didn’t push, understanding she needed her space. 

When breakfast came the next day, there was no pressure for them to eat as a whole, the same for lunch. The reason being, is that his mother forced a few of them to see great Aunt Muriel before dinner. 

Ron hadn’t been one the fortunate ones to get out of it. 

Harry and Hermione had no pressure to go for obvious reasons. Anyway, it was for the best knowing how Muriel was. Fred and George decided to open the shop just for the morning in hopes to get last minute buyers and Charlie somehow convinced his mother and the twins to go. 

So just after one o’clock, Ron, Ginny, Fleur, Bill, and his parents apparated back to the Burrow. 

“Merry Christmas dears! We had gone before you woke.” Mrs. Weasley quickly clambered into Harry, pulling him into a bear hug. 

“Merry Christmas.” He said back embracing her, “thanks for having me.” 

“Always dear, always.” She tells him with a kiss on the top of his dark hair. Then Molly whips around and grabs for Hermione, making her drop that book, “and you too Hermione, Merry Christmas.” 

“Happy Christmas Mrs. Weasley, thank you for putting up with me.” She whispered hoping Ron wouldn’t hear. 

She pulled away and kept her at arm's length, brushing some curls from her face, “nonsense Hermione, you’re family and we’re here for you.” 

Soon the brunette's eyes gloss over as Molly pulls away telling them she needs to start on dinner. 

With quick well wishes to Harry and Hermione everyone vacated the room, save for Ron. This being the first time the three of them have been alone together. 

“Happy Christmas Harry,” he turns to the witch wearing an uncertain expression, “Hermione.” He says softer.

Harry stands for a moment, a little unsure of what exactly is about to happen. 

“Happy Christmas Ron.” There’s a soothing quality to her voice, something he hasn’t heard in months. 

They just stare for a few moments before Harry feels the need to break it up, “um you too Ron. Hermione, did you still want Hedwig?” 

She shakes her head, breaking their gaze, “please.” The brunette admonishes lightly. 

“Why do you need Hedwig?” He blurts out before he can help himself. 

She answers nonetheless, “to write to my parents. I haven’t heard from them, but I wanted to wish them a Merry Christmas.” The bushy haired witch replied, lips in a thin line. 

“Oh I’m sorry.” He replied soundly. 

Briefly remembering her conversation with Fleur, she eyed him, trying to get a read. He did seem sincere. 

“It’s okay.” She tries to give him a smile but it falters. 

He notices the attempt and can’t help but beam in return, his chest feels like it’s on fire. 

Seeing this as a good sign, he pushes his luck, “hey I was hoping that-” Ron begins nervously. 

“Here she is!” Harry comes down with Hedwig on his arm, interrupting them. 

“Ronnie, come grab this for me! I can’t reach!” His Mum yells as soon as Harry enters. 

He looks to her apologetically, letting her know he wants to stay. 

And shockingly, she seems to understand, “it’s okay Ron, tell me later.” Hermione said voice both quiet and soft. 

At this he smiled again, liking the fact there was a promise for later. 

...

Dinner, though delicious, went by very fast. With eleven people scarfing down a lovely meal and the promise with gifts after, everyone ate rather quickly. 

Normally the Weasley’s opened presents in the morning, but because of the impromptu trip to Muriel’s they decided to follow up dinner with gifts. 

So far everything had gone off without a hitch. 

Everyone enjoyed the gifts from Hermione. Mr.Weasley had been marveling at the alarm clock for the past twenty minutes as the Muggleborn finished explaining batteries best she could. 

Same goes for Harry, who was able to finally give back the family, dousing them in some of the best Wizarding products. This earned a scolding, yet grateful look from Molly herself. 

Now it was time for Mrs.Weasley to pass out gifts. She always made sure everyone opened them one at a time, in order to revel in their smiles. 

“Here Fleur, this ones for you dear.” Molly says softly, pushing a wrapped present in her hand. 

“You shouldn’t have!” The blonde exclaims a bit breathless at the gesture. 

Mrs.Weasley tuts, “nonsense dear, you’re family now.” 

With watery eyes, she ripped open the paper to reveal a soft jumper. Unfolding it, she held it up to see what it was. At the sight she squealed. 

Fleur turned around the navy blue thing to reveal a large periwinkle ‘F’ sewn onto it. She knew what these meant to her fiancé’s family. 

“Wicked Fleur, we’re twins!” Fred announced holding up his own jumper, a dark green with an orange ‘F’. 

“Hey!” George exclaimed, feigning hurt. 

“Oui Fred! Des Jumeaux!” She said excitedly. 

“Oh that’s just so precious,” Molly gushes, “I have to get a picture.” She’s up and scrambling for her camera. 

“Mum!” Bill exclaims, embarrassed. 

Fleur however is ecstatic, standing up and pulling the thing over her head proudly. 

Hermione couldn’t help but beam at the sight. The first genuine smile she’s felt in a while. She’s so glad Fleur is finally feeling at home here. Since their talk that day she can’t help but appreciate the woman even more. 

“Hey,” a voice low in her ear breaks Hermione’s revere, “I got you something.” 

She turns to find Ron leaning over, blush on his cheeks. 

“Oh.” Is all she manages to say, pretty shocked. She clears her throat, “I uh, I got you something too.” 

“You did?” He asks, surprised. 

“Yeah,” she begins sheepishly, “well it was before...” 

“Right.” The ginger says stiffly, not allowing himself to indulge in such a thing for too long. 

“I do still want you to have it though.” The witch feels the quick need to assure him at the shift in his tone. It’s mad she’s so worried over the littlest things about him, while he’s got her a wreck. 

“Alright well how about we go to the garden, yeah? Away from everyone.” He suggested bravely. 

She contemplates this. Being alone with Ron feels a little dangerous as of late. “I don’t know...” Hermione says after a minute. 

“Please,” he pouts a little, “believe it or not Hermione, I want to do something nice for you.” He tells her with conviction. 

She sighs, unable to turn away those blue eyes, “okay.” The brunette agrees defeatedly. 

A grin works its way onto Ron’s face as he soon pulls a parcel from behind a nearby chair, like he planned it. 

“I reckon we should slip out while they’re distracted.” They peer over to find Fred and Fleur smiling for Molly as Bill looks thoroughly embarrassed. 

So caught up at the scene in front of her, she doesn’t respond, worrying Ron. “What I mean is that I just don’t want anyone to say anything to make you uncomfortable, or I guess that-” he rambles on. 

Easing him, Hermione cuts him off, “I understand Ron, I just need to get it from my trunk.” 

He nods in understanding. The pair stand up and part ways. Hermione to Ginny’s room and Ron to the garden. 

On his way out he runs into Lupin, who practically interrogates him as to where he’s going. His former professor has been nothing but paranoid as of late, thankfully, Tonks eases the man just in time for Ron to slip away. He just hopes Hermione doesn’t have a similar problem. 

And for once, luck appears to be on Ron’s side, as he watches her emerge from the kitchen door just a few minutes later, now donned in a baggy blue jumper to fight off the cold. 

“Hi.” The brunette announces, nervously picking at the ribbon tied snugly around his gift. 

“Hey.” He replies, incredibly soft. 

They just stare at each other for a few minutes, taking one another in. 

When the gaze becomes too heavy, the redhead clears his throat, “wanna go over there? I know how much you like it.” Ron points to an old bendy oak tree just meters away. 

Hermione blushes at this and is more than thankful Ron can’t see as much in the moonlight. Slowly and silently they work their way there. 

“You go first.” He says a bit flustered. 

Nodding, she pushes the present into his arms. As he takes it, he can’t help but note how heavy it is, curious, he eyes her. 

“Well go on.” She teases lightly, he’s missed this from her. 

Eager, he tears open the orange paper and sloppily unties the golden ribbon. 

The first thing that catches his eye is the engraving on top: ‘Property of Ron Weasley’, this beckons him on as he slides off the wooden top to reveal a shiny new wizarding chess set. And sitting on the board, is a small card. 

‘Something to call yours, Happy Christmas Ron. 

Love, Hermione.’ 

He’s not sure how many times he reads it. It must’ve been a while because Hermione eventually breaks him from the daze. 

Love, Hermione. 

“I just thought well, it’s silly, but once in fourth year you told me that you’d never had anything to call your own. You probably don't even remember it now but I-” she rambles, taking his silence as discomfort from the gift and note. 

Love, Hermione. 

“No, I remember,” Ron is soon to assure, “I remember it perfectly well, you uh, you’d told me that you were mine. Just mine.” His ears glow pink, he doesn’t know why he said it. 

And Hermione, she doesn’t know what to say back. Well, she knows what she wants to say, but not what Ron wants to hear. 

But for Ron, in all honesty, a call back to such a special moment for him coupled with the way she signed that card, well it awoke something in him. It wasn’t quiet confidence, more like courage. 

“Look Hermione, there are so many things I want to,” he pauses, “no that I need to tell you, that you deserve to know.” A shaky breath pushes past his lips as he runs a hand through his shaggy hair, “Merlin, I dunno where to start, I guess maybe with-” 

Crack. 

They jumped, Ron’s gift for her, that he had been holding, toppled onto the grass. 

“What was that?” Hermione asks suddenly startled, hand reaching into her waistband for her wand. 

Sensing her unease, he’s quick to calm her, despite his racing heart, “I’m sure it’s just Lupin and Tonks leaving, yeah?” He offers. 

Slowly, she nods, relaxing the grip on her wand. 

Taking another deep breath, he starts to go on again, “look, as I was saying, I just wanted to-” 

Crack.

Suddenly the sound of sloshing water filled the cold air. 

“Ron, I really think we should go make sure everything’s alright.” Her voice was shaking. 

He nodded in understanding, lightly grasping her hand and pulling her back toward the house. Merlin, he was ready to curse whoever the hell interrupted him this time. 

As they approached they found the entirety of the Weasley’s, plus Lupin, Tonks, Fleur, and Harry, with their wands drawn. 

At the sight of Ron and Hermione, all wands were pointed to them. This made the ginger nudge Hermione behind him, her hand still in his. 

“It’s just us.” He announces. 

All wands are lowered. They seem to think the noise came from the pair. 

“But we heard it too. It sounded like apparition.” Hermione soon clears up, putting everyone on edge again. 

Then, as if a product of everyone’s nightmares a shrill cackle fills the air. 

“I killed Sirius Black!” The familiar voice of Bellatrix Lestrange sings from nearby. 

“It’s her.” Harry whispers gruffly. 

“Harry don’t.” Lupin warns fiercely, grabbing at the chosen one's hoodie. 

He seems to respond to this and stays rooted. After all, Sirius was Lupin’s friend too. 

Another set of heavy footsteps crunches atop dead leaves as a low growl permeates the already tense air. 

Ron’s grip on Hermione’s hand only strengthens, as they use their free ones to draw their wands. 

“What do we do?” Ginny stage whispers to the group. 

“Go inside.” Arthur tells his daughter. 

“Dad,” the younger girl goes to protest. 

Her words die in her throat as a shadow makes its way out of the tall grass into the open space around them. 

“Merry Christmas!” Bellatrix shouts in mock cheer and she stands in the open space. 

Hermione can’t help but shutter. She hasn’t seen this mad woman since the Department of Mysteries, since she killed Sirius. But she has dreamt about her. About how she beckoned Dolohov to curse her, the laugh that escaped her as he did. 

“Now let’s see what we have here,” she smiles sickeningly as Fenrir Greyback joins her side, “Greyback I do believe you’re already acquainted with some of these folk, but let me remind you.” 

Hermione swears she sees Lupin tense at the sight of the vicious werewolf. At his creator. Bill is wearing a similar expression. 

“Well if it isn’t my niece!” She says looking to Tonks, “there we have Sirius Black’s best friend, you know him, don’t you Greyback?” She pauses as the werewolf licks his lips, “oh and of course, Sirius Black’s godson! Hi there Potter.” The curly haired witch grins. 

Harry lifts his wand higher, ready to curse her. This does nothing but elicits a cackle from the mad woman. 

“Stupid boy, now where was I? Oh, well, anyone with red hair, now that’s a blood traitor. They go by the name ‘Weasley’ these days.” 

Molly tightens the grip on her wand. 

“What the hell do you want?” Tonks is the one who dares to ask, being most familiar with Bellatrix. 

She ignores her, “ah wait, I almost missed that one.” 

Her dark eyes land on Hermione’s terrified ones. 

“Surprised you’re still kicking around. Thought Dolohov got rid of such filth last spring. No matter, Greyback does filthy blood satisfy you?” She teases, making Hermione shiver. 

Ron’s grip on her, if possible, got tighter, as he raised his wand. Ready to use a more damaging spell then ‘eats slugs’. 

The larger man licked his lips, “Mudblood is usually sweeter.” He claims. 

And not even caring if they were two death eaters, Ron spoke up, “you leave her the hell alone.” He all but growled, tone rivaling Greyback himself. 

“Oh!” She squealed excitedly, “brave boy you got here Arthur! I remember this one well from the Ministry too. Not surprised he cares for such a thing. Look at the lot of you!” 

“Ron.” Hermione warned as he started to step forward. 

“Enough chit chat, incendio!” The witch exclaimed, expelling a ring of fire around the group. 

Then, she begins skipping away, “I killed Sirius Black. I killed Sirius Black.” Her ear splitting voice echoed through the air. 

“Don’t,” Hermione and Ron hear Lupin warn as he grasps at Harry, but it’s too late, he’s running through a small opening in the flames. 

“Harry no!” Hermione yells to the Boy-Who-Lived. 

Running on nothing but adrenaline, worry, and instinct, in one swift motion she pulls away from Ron and races after him. 

“Hermione!” He calls out moving to grasp at her again. She’s too quick, escaping into the tall grass. 

Frantically, he peers between his family and the small opening flickers to a close in the fire. Giving them one last look, he makes his decision. 

“Ronnie don’t.” Bill says weakly. 

“I’m sorry.” Is all Ron says before he’s trampling his way through the hot flames.

#ron x hermione #ron weasley #ron and hermione #rons-hermiones come find me #hermione granger #romione #romione fanfic #hp #hp fanfic #sixth year

[otheliame]

Day 4: “A Man In Love”

thank you @gentapprentices for such a fun week so far!! im loving seeing everyone’s masc folks having a fun time!

I actually wrote a fic on this, Shift about my apprentice Jamie coming to Vesuvia and meeting Asra for the first time, and then later Nadia, Muriel, and Lucio before the Plague. It’s stinking cute, and here’s a little segment from the first chapter, the Magician, when the fated two meet in the most cliche of circumstances. It’s written from 1rst person POV, 9 years before the canon.

The sun glimmers brightly overhead as I make my way down the crowded streets, weaving between shoppers while keeping close to the fringes of the walkways. I cusp around the edges of the multicolored stalls to avoid the majority of foot traffic, but it’s proving hard as it’s a particularly busy day in the market, everyone is out and about, not just buying but lingering, talking over each other with excited voices in large clusters spanning the entire street. Something’s happening in Vesuvia today, something special. As much as I’d like to know what that something is, I don’t want to get caught up with the crowd… it’s been a long day. 

Today of all days I feel my patience is shorter, Isaac was a bit more of a hardass than usual and it makes the above-average bustle of the street that much more difficult for me to handle, every voice seems to multiply and reverberate in my thoughts like the vibration of insect wings. I’ve lived here for a month now, trying to get by and make a living and it’s been alright thus far, especially since Ksasthra took me in; here is better than there and there was worse than that, so long and so forth, unimportant details now because this is better. Vesuvia is going to be better for me. I can feel it. 

A colorful stream from a showcased scarf plays in front of me on a caught breeze as I try to make my way through the market stalls heading towards the lower district, I have to duck to avoid the hawking shopkeeper so I don’t get drawn into a purchase. Luckily, the multitude of customers I have to dodge and weave to get through keep them busy enough to not pay me the slightest attention. I just finished my shift at the local community theatre, doing basic backstage work for all sorts of performances, and right now I want nothing more than to hide away in my small, shared apartment by the waterfront and rest, especially while the one who agreed to house me, Ksasthra, is still back at the theatre for work until much later. The work I did today wasn’t particularly stressful or anything, but being around my coworkers just made me tired. I still feel like there’s hot breath on the back of my neck wherever I turn, and even now it’s still a hard thought to shake. 

I originally questioned my own decision in living in a city - I’ve never lived in an area with more than a hundred people in a given spot - but at the time I made the choice, I thought I had no choice. There just aren’t any jobs out in the foothills, and I never learned how to live off the land alone. Though, mostly it was the fact that my attempts to blend in or hide in the vast, sparsely populated, wintry lands of the deep northeast proved largely unsuccessful. Soon I had the realization that my best bet of finally being left alone was to find someplace where I could melt into a crowd. And in order to melt, one must first find a crowd, so to the city I had to go. Vesuvia was the largest, farthest city I could’ve gone to without taking a boat, so it was to Vesuvia I went to escape… to escape. It helped as well that the further south I went, the less people’s gazes would cling to my shoulders, which I quite liked. A lot. I’m not sure why though, for I’m certain I stick out like a sore thumb anywhere. Up north it was the… things… I could do. Here it’s the fact that everyone is colorful and loud and I’m not.

I don’t like being around people, usually because people also don’t like to be around me. I’m… weird, for lack of a better word. I have certain… abilities that other people don’t have, and in my experience if you have something that other people don’t they either envy you or fear you, and both of those things are the worst emotions to see on other faces. But here, in a city full of so much vibrant color, varient life, people of a hundred different types… I’m just another uninteresting face. That’s what I wanted when I came here. It’s thoughts like this that keep my grounded when I get too overwhelmed by citylife around here, such as now, when I’m just trying to get home. Before I came to Vesuvia, I would see the amount of people on this street alone over the span of several months. It’s still very… difficult to get used to this new atmosphere, even three months later. Almost to the street corner, almost there, then I’m home free… Maybe I can finally finish that book Ksasthra gave me… 

Suddenly, over the jumbled voices of the shoppers on the street, loud, victorious trumpets resound through the air, stealing all eyes from their tasks to the mouth of the street far down the way. I look up and peer through the heads and shoulders of onlookers to try and see what it is that’s causing such a disturbance before I realize that regardless of whatever it is, this is the perfect opportunity to escape through the crowd to the lower district. Quickly I turn and make my way there, but as I grow close to the corner I realize that whatever is happening is also happening on this end of the street; I see mounted soldiers in gleaming silver armor bearing unfamiliar emblems on tall, colorful standards and shining trumpets, using both of these items to loudly announcing the presence of someone important, someone that I now realize is about to enter this street. 

Other shoppers quickly seem to realize this as well, and like a tidal wave people start to shove others from the middle of the street into the outskirts, pressing shopkeepers back behind their stall counters and pushing everyone in their way into the wooden fixtures. I barely get out of the way just as a burly masculine figure makes his way through but I get caught up in the wave as others start hurrying out of the street’s center, I scurry to keep upright. 

Suddenly I get shoved back by a gaggle of inattentive shoppers trying to get out of the way right as I try to duck between stalls. I trip and lose my footing, I let out an innately sharp cry as fear of being tramped leaps into my throat but before I hit the ground I smash straight through a market stand’s doorway, which was just a wooden bar draped with a velvety, purple cloth hemmed with gold trim. My shoulders smack the cobblestones as a multitude of things fall on me from the counter’s surface, ripped down from when I took the tablecloth with me. I hold up my hands as I’m hit with a waft of rich, heady herbs and dried grasses, then with strange light smacks, like a small stack of papers just fell on me. 

Hands reach under my arms and pull me a little farther backwards into the stall I had fallen into, the touch startles me so much I flinch, making the hands immediately disappear. An intimate voice like honey and wind gasps by my ear over the loud din of the rowdy street, “Are you alright?” 

When the strange hands touch me I snap back to attention and regain my bearings like the flare of a starting fire, I sit up and blink as I try to figure out where I am right when I meet the stranger’s gaze… layers of periwinkle, lavender, and lilac, glimmering like stardust in the evening sunshine. They appear masculine presenting, young like me, definitely not old enough to be considered fully gown, with hazelnut skin that gleams like bronze armor and thick, fluffy, silver-white hair that hangs over those starry eyes in wild, soft curls. Starry they are in more ways than one, because the stranger stares at me with such an awestruck expression I suddenly feel incredibly self conscious half-lying on the floor of their stall - it must be their stall, as they’re the only one behind the counter… The counter I just fell through getting pushed by the crowd. 

“I…! Oh no, I’m so sorry!” I stammer in embarrassment, brushing myself off as I perch my feet in preparation to stand, though as I do I realize I’m covered in all kinds of herbs, dried flowers, and other reagents that I must’ve accidentally taken with me when I ripped this cloth off the counter in my fall. There are also a dozen or more rather beautiful cards scattered on the cobblestones, though they are like no deck of betting cards I’ve ever seen, even at a passing glance and I can tell as such. An array of masks also accompany this strange collection, the first two I see is one that depicts a fox with little ornamental gems hanging from the ears, the other that’s rugged wood configured in a bear’s face with runes carved into its realistically crafted fur. The stranger’s hands linger no longer on but near my shoulders as I pull myself upright, he continues to stare at me with wide, owlish eyes as I speak so fast my words bumble over each other, “I didn’t mean to, that was completely on accident, please forgive me-!” 

“It’s alright!” The boy quickly speaks again with that same gentle, sweet tone, gripping my shoulders to return my gaze to his lavender hues rather than to the cobblestones now littered with his stall’s offerings, and this time I don’t flinch. His lilac eyes flicker across my features then down over my form, checking for injuries as he mutters, “You’re not hurt, are you?” 

I shake my head, kneeling down as I try to gather the fallen reagents and masks onto the purple cloth and recollect the fallen, oriental cards, “I’m fine, I’m fine! I’m so sorry, I should’ve been paying better attention, let me help-” 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay.” His hands, with long dextrous fingers, smooth palms and marble-carved knuckles breach my vision and stall my hands where they are hovering over the cloth, returning my gaze back to his. I start when I feel the sparks under my skin where we touch, but now that I’m paying better attention I realize it’s not simply just me being startled by the touch, but rather it seems to be some sort of… energy… coming from this boy. A deep torrent of something, power, internal lightning, vitality, runs under his palms like I plunged my hands into the rush of a waterfall. 

He smiles at me when I remeet his gaze, a warm and amicable smile that showcases a handsome dimple in his left cheek as he hums, “Really, it’s alright.” 

I let out a slightly relieved breath, and look back down at our conjoined hands over the spilled tablecloth. Does he feel it, too? I’ve never felt someone’s aura so tangibly before- 

I realize this must be strange, how I loiter over his hands, so I quickly clear my throat and pull mine away. “Erm… What do I owe you for your lost goods?” Idly to distract myself from the embarrassment I pick up a small fallen herb between my thumb and forefinger, I think it’s a rose petal as that’s what it smells like, then one of the fallen cards; it depicts a plain with a sun hanging overhead with long, golden beams down onto the grass, a numeral 0 at the bottom to show which way is up or down I suppose. It looks hand painted too, very ornate and intimately crafted, it’s incredibly impressive, did he paint this himself? I hold these two things up with a curious hum, I glance back up at the stranger after a moment and tilt my head to the side,  “What’re you selling, anyway?”

The boy looks at the rose petal in my hand, then at the card, and then back at me with that same owlish look as before right as the air rings with more trumpets, and the crowd just outside of the safe haven of the stall begins to warble. Intrigued, the both of us rise up to look over the counter just in time to see a carriage driving by through the carved path in the streets that the people have rushed to clear. The carriage is richly ornamented, emblazoned with the same colors as the crests the armored knights accompanying it carry, and obviously is not Vesuvian made, drawn by one white, one black horse with thick, luxurious manes. In the open windows the pulled back, rich violet drapes reveal a regal, female presenting person inside. I only get a few seconds to see her through the crowd, though just by her long, royal facial features and her stature alone I know that she must be some sort of powerful noble, most likely from a far away land. 

Once the carriage passes and the knights fall in on her, the crowds bustle and burst with noise, people whisper amongst themselves theories of who this newcomer is. I idly recall that there was supposed to be some big summer festival happening soon, so perhaps she’s here for that. Though, I’m not very keen on politics or current events beyond that a war just ended, so I don’t know much beyond that. And, frankly, it’s a miracle I know that much. The politics of this land are very different than they are back up in the depths of the northeast. There things are… very different. 

In my peripheral I see the stranger moving again, so I turn towards him just as he lifts the herbs, the masks, and the cards, which we had collected onto the fallen tablecloth, back onto the counter. Then he lifts a hidden leather satchel from within the stall’s inner walls and pack them away inside it, slotting the cards carefully in his palm as he goes. The movements of his arms draw my gaze away from his face for the first time and instead to the layers of colorful cloth around his person; his half-buttoned baby blue tunic that reveals his sternum and a little more above a dark magenta scarf with gold fringes that hangs across one of his shoulders and around his neck. He also dons a vibrant pink, blue, and peach overcoat without sleeves covered in radial patterns, and black trousers that his blouse is loosely tucked into. I swear I see something move around his waist beneath his coat but before I get the chance to investigate further he turns in my direction. Beneath his scarf I catch a glimmer of gold, a choker; it’s engraved with waved designs and somewhat blends in with the rich hues of his skin. Below that a turquoise pendant on a leather chord around his neck hangs over the bared part of his chest in a manner that makes it gleam like the depths of the sea in the sunlight. Richly adorned with beautiful baubles, just like everyone in this city, yet somehow… different. Unique. 

Suddenly I realize just where my eyes are lingering so I quickly snap my attention to his face, where it should have been this whole time. As soon as I do he fixes his gaze to mine and speaks in a low hum, “It doesn’t look like anything was damaged, no need to worry.” A sudden, sly smirk slightly plays the edge of his lips as he catches my gaze, I wonder idly if he caught me looking over his form as he adds with a more heartfelt touch, “I’m glad you’re alright.” 

I blink at him in surprise and feel another rush of crimson snaking its way to my face, I have to clear my throat and rein in my thoughts to pull my attention back to the present. “Right! Of course… Yes. I mean, good. That’s good to hear. That nothing was damaged, I mean…” Jamie, please. I glance over at the broken wooden shards on the ground and paw them with my boot as my mouth continues to run, “Not even something for the stall door?”

The amusement in the boy’s eyes lights like sparks flying from a blacksmith’s hammer as he regards me, a small chuckle escapes his lips as he begins to fold the now-empty tablecloth on his now-barren stall. “If you’re truly so troubled…” He pauses as if he’s reconsidering his words but after the moment’s hesitation he continues, his expression morphing from teasing and playful to curious and… hopeful, almost. “I was just going to close up shop anyway to get dinner… I wouldn’t be opposed to company. Would you consider that a form of ‘repayment’?” He says this with a lilt of sly humor, the light of the evening sun making his gaze seem to truly dance with entertainment.

Now, I am no fool, but for a moment he almost had me thinking that I was one, as my mind reeled and somersaulted over itself trying to figure out what he was implying, but once it finally hits me like a clock striking midnight I blink with a stunned hum as I nervously worm my fingertips into the strap of my satchel around my shoulder. “... Oh!” 

The boy’s gaze softens, quickly adding after a moment as he folds his tablecloth in triangles, “Only if you want to, of course. It’s not every day that someone falls into my stall… I simply can’t help but think it’s a sign of some sort. I’d love to know what kind of sign it is by getting to know you a little.” 

I raise an eyebrow at the other in surprise, thumbing my satchel idly as I respond slowly, tasting my words, “A sign?” 

He looks back at me with an amused raise in his lips, and only then do my thoughts suddenly jog and dig into the scene I find myself in. The herbs, the curious, colorful attire, the cards… cards unlike any playing cards I’ve ever seen. “Oh.” I murmur, flickering my gaze back to his bemused expression, “Are you one of those fortune tellers? Do they let you do that so young?”

The boy smiles and chuckles, placing the tablecloth in his satchel before he splays out the cards in his palm before him, I can see him counting them with his thumb as he answers, “I suppose some would call me that. Though I don’t think there’s an age limit on reading cards…” Content with the amount of cards he has, he returns them into a pile and slides them into a hidden pocket in his apparel before his hand sweeps before me and gentle takes up mine, before I can react he brings it to his lips and kisses my knuckles with a gentlemanly bow, I can feel his lips move on my skin when he speaks in a playful hum, “But you may call me Asra.” 

I swallow thick on a sudden knot of roots in my throat, I smile shyly and chuckle as he releases my hand and straightens back upright. Nervously I laugh a little, simply out of nerves because no one has done that to me before. “... Right. Okay, uh… Asra.” 

There’s a beat of silence as Asra the fortune teller regards me with what I think to be an expectant look, after a beat’s pause he tilts his head to the side with a raise in an eyebrow, “And you are?” 

“Oh!” I blink and laugh awkwardly, rubbing the back of my neck as I feel the heat return to my cheeks, “Right. Names. Introductions… Er- I’m Jamie.” 

“Jamie.” Asra echoes, nodding in response as he seems to savor the vowels on his tongue before he gives me a soft smile, “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

I start slightly when someone jostles the stall, apparently on accident as they were attempting to get by a group of people wagging their jaws. When I look back at Asra I see his gaze is flickering across my features with a pensive expression I’m not quite sure what to do with as he moves like water around me towards the hole in his stall where the latch once was. “Have you ever been to the bakery down the block?” He asks suddenly, pausing in the entrance and looking back at me over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. I shake my head, prompting the fortune teller to smile with genuine amusement as he holds out a hand towards me, an open invitation. 

I hesitate, looking at him then at his hand for a long pause. Of course strangers are never to be trusted, but he is rather visually unassuming in terms of combat skill so I have faith that I can handle myself if this one were to try anything. I have been able to protect myself plenty of times in the past. But paranoia aside, I can’t lie, I am a little intrigued by their… disposition. I do find myself wanting to get to know them better, and this aura of theirs… I simply must know more. And I hadn’t exactly had other plans for the evening… 

This may as well happen. 

I slowly take his hand. 

...

Wanna know what happens next? Keep reading !

#gentapprentices #gentapprentices week #thearcanagame #the arcana game #the arcana #asra the arcana #asra the magician #asra alnazar #the arcana asra #my apprentice jamie #the arcana apprentice #asra x mc #asra x apprentice

[myrrheart]

(song)

Hi there! Thank you for sending something in ‪♡‬ I decided to try my hand at a possible reversed ending for his route, I hope that’s ok! Enjoy~

—

Muriel’s days are much the same as they had been before.

He rises with the sun. He feeds the ladies their breakfast. He makes sure Inanna’s hide is brushed and clean. He patrols the forest. He whittles.

If he embeds his existence deeply enough into these mundane tasks, it’s almost as if it is not he who exists, but an empty husk of his former self; a husk who’d never had to fight a day in his life; a husk who had parents and a home to speak of; a husk who had never crossed paths with you.

Of course, he’d always been burdened by the curse of remembering. To live in a world where you exist for none but know of all is a fate little would desire, and even fewer would be able to shoulder. It’s a good thing he’s always been exceptionally broad.

It wasn’t so bad at first. Asra was there, and so was Inanna, and the hens found his backyard one day and refused to settle anywhere else. So. That was his social circle. After a lifetime of being forced into senseless violence and gore, a gentle, quiet life spent in the company of a few animals and one (1) other person was exactly the kind of reprieve he’d needed. The addition of the memory loss charm was an added bonus.

For about ten years, that was all he knew: solitude and aloneness and confinement. Looking back, Muriel knows he wasn’t happy, not truly. He’d been relieved, sure, maybe even a little grateful for the blessed quiet of the forest — but not happy. Never happy. What an alien concept that was, happiness.

You had been quick to try and introduce it to him, however. He hadn’t had the damnedest clue why — why him? Why was it him you’d chosen to cling to? It could have been Asra, or the Countess, or even the strange, stupid doctor man that seemed to follow you around like a lovesick puppy. It didn’t make sense. He’d wasted so much time trying to convince you otherwise, steer you away.

Oh, if only he’d known. If only he’d known.

You’d taught him how to fight again; not for bloodshed, but for love. You’d taught him that affection was not something to be deserving of, but instead something bestowed upon him with no intentions other than to make him feel good. You’d made him feel good. Never before in his life had Muriel ever been able to grasp the concept of ‘goodness.’ Not until you.

And even though all of the goodness had been concurrent with the fighting, the wild goose chase for the Count, the danger, the relentless and repeated obliteration of his comfort zone... it was still good. You also taught him that goodness can exist within the bad. The two were not mutually exclusive, as he’d been lead to believe.

By the end of it, he’d come to appreciate your goodness. To desire it, even. Not just from you, but from himself, as well. For once in his life, Muriel wanted to be good. To do something good.

Even if that meant sacrificing everything.

If it meant guaranteeing your safety, he’d make a deal with the Devil. If it meant protecting these strange people he’d come to call his first-ever ‘friends,’ he’d resign himself to a damned fate. If it meant preserving the image of your goodness, the quality of it, the spirit of it... Muriel would do whatever it took.

And he had.

So. Muriel’s days are much the same as they had been before.

He rises with the sun. He feeds the ladies their breakfast. He makes sure Inanna’s hide is brushed and clean. He patrols the forest. He whittles.

The hooves are a new addition that took some time getting used to, but they weren’t nearly as cumbersome as the wings. He’d felt too-large all his life, like he’d taken up too much space simply by existing, but with the added features that were supposed to convey grace and beauty, yet instead hindered him and rendered him clumsy and off-kilter...

He’s never felt bigger.

The peryton had been a beautiful harbinger of life and fertility in the forest. Its soul has no business being intertwined with his own. He looks oafish, as though dressed in an ill-fitting costume in front of an audience pre-programmed to heckle and crow no matter what it is that he does.

He can’t possibly guard the forest as it had. He can’t do anything but exist as he always did, as what had served him best: alone.

All around him, the once-beautiful forest of Vesuvia wilts and brittles, rots and decays, dies off in a crude impersonation of his own internal reflection. And Muriel watches it all from the inside of his hut, stoking his fire and taking care to make sure no stray embers spark off into his wings, haunted by the strange feeling that someone, somewhere, is disappointed.

It follows him, sometimes, that feeling. The odd sensation of deja vu — not that he’s been here before, but that there is someone he knows out there, outside of the woods. They are never more than an idle itch in the back of his mind, but their memory still leaves him feeling bereft.

In a pouch at his waist, one of the last surviving blossoms of the forest lays pressed, dried. His fingers caress the forget-me-not and he allows himself to wonder, as he usually does in moments such as these, if he’s ever been loved.

One of the periwinkle petals crumbles to dust in his grasp. He supposes he’s found his answer.

#god i hope that read more works #the arcana game #muriel fic #muriel the arcana #muriel x you #the arcane muriel #muriel x apprentice #muriel x reader #muriel headcanons #the arcana writing #the arcana headcanons #muriel route #angst #reversed ending #my writing #mine

[apprenticeofcups]

arcana astrology masterpost🌟

astrology readings are officially CLOSED. here’s a compilation of all the wonderful apprentices i’ve met! 

Asra ♊

♈ Hiwa | ♊ Vincent • Kailani • Saffron (♎🌙) | ♋ Kayla | ♌ Vera | ♎ Libra | ♐ Aneya | ♒ Lyra • Aquarius (♋🌙) | ♓ Dion | ♓/♈ Cusp

Julian ♓

♈ Kamile | ♉ Taurus 1 • Taurus 2 | ♊ Sile • Lyra | ♋ Navam • Ali • Cancer (♈🌙) • Canis/Lucio (OT3) | ♍ Virgo | ♍/♎ Cusp | ♎ Libra | ♏ Anatole • Ellie | ♐ Annie | ♑ Capricorn | ♒ Cya | ♓ Colin • Pisces (♑🌙)

Nadia ♋

🗣💪Nadia Mercury + Mars Signs

♈ Hera | ♉Taurus •  Madeline | ♌ Kiri (♋🌙) | ♍ Virgo | ♓ Pisces • Periwinkle (♌🌙) •  ☀♓🌙♎⬆♐💋♑💪♐

Muriel ♍

♉ Castiel | ♋ Grace | ♎ Libra | ♏ Alejandra | ♐ Ariadne | ♑ Laurel • Cam | ♒ Aquarius (♍🌙) | ♓ Aquila 

Portia ♒

♊ Belladonna • Gemini (♊🌙)

Lucio ♑

♈ Verbena (feat. Julian) | ♉ Celine (♎🌙) | ♋ Canis/Julian (OT3) • Cancer | ♎ Libra | ♐ Althaea | ♏ Errol (feat. Julian) | ♒ Waverly • Lyra | ♓ Esther

Valerius ♏

♋ Lactarius | ♐ Althaea | ♓ Esther

Other

♎Libra + ♓Pisces | ♏Scorpio (♊🌙) + ♈ Aries (♈🌙)

🌠Signs & Planets 💫About Natal Charts 🌠How To Read A Natal Chart ✨Main 6 Star Charts 🌙Main 6 Moon Signs 🌠Main 3(+) Rising Signs 💋Main 3(+) Venus Signs

#the arcana #the arcana game #arcana astrology #masterpost

[ren-of-the-arcana]

Let me tell you a story...

My apprentice Ren's story before he died of the plague. It's something that I've been working on, slowly, since I started the Arcana months ago. Ren has a twin sister that is featured heavily, as well some other family members. I plan on writing short snippets of what happened in greater detail, but that's not here yet.

This paints Count Lucio as a really despicable person, as a fair warning to Lucio fans...

I'm on mobile, so I apologize in advance for the super long post....

Warnings - death, blood, mentions of unwanted sexual advances

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Ren 'of the Sea'

- the apprentice with a point to prove to the world.

Favorite Food - Pomegranates

Favorite Drink - Earl Grey tea with cinnamon

Favorite Flower - Periwinkle

- As children, Ren and Jazmine were regaled with stories of their clan. Of ancient ties to dragons and magic, of desperate battles and travel. Though the Dragons of the West were a peaceful clan, full of magicians, bards, and healers, they were feared by many for thier power and influence. As the years passed, it became sport to see who could defeat them. And though the clan tried to avoid conflict, they were hunted and killed like prey. The Dragons were scattered; but, slowly, faction by faction, they were taken out. Until the only ones left were Ren, Jazmine, and their father, Jolon. Their mother, Illiana, had been murdered at the hands of Morga Eirsdottir of the Scourge of the South, shortly after the twins were born.

It was an understanding between Jolon and Illiana that if either of them was killed, the other would take the children to safety and not seek revenge. And Jolon was always a man of his word, no matter the circumstance. The three settled on the coast, far from any town or city. Jolon thought they were safe. That was until Montag Morgasson found them.

Ren and Jazmine were only five years old when Montag learned of their small family's continued existence. It had been his mother who killed Illiana, and had been unable to finish the job. As a mercenary on the run from Morga, Montag saw this as the perfect opportunity to spite her. Finish what she had been unable to.

It was a chilly spring evening when Montag came to their door. If it had been any other family, he may have succeeded in his quest. However, Jolon had foreseen Montag's arrival, and would not let anything come of his children if he could stop it. Knowing that they would be hunted to extinction, Jolon sacrificed himself. He sent Ren and Jazmine out to sea in the family's small fishing boat, begging the gods to lead them somewhere safe. He stayed behind to face Montag, swearing that it would be the last death in this fickle tirade of clans.

Ren still has nightmares of that night, knowing he would never see his father again. Watching the flames engulf his childhood home, the twisted grin of his father's murderer flashing before his eyes, the vague echo of a promise to keep his sister safe and not seek revenge.

The small boat came upon a terrible storm, rattling it to pieces. Jazmine had been struck by a board, many of her memories fading into oblivion as Ren kept her from drowning, afloat on part of the broken mast. With next to nothing but the clothes they wore, and a tattered book, the twins washed up on the shores of Vesuvia.

They were found by a kindly female magician named Ilana. She took them in, and raised them as her niece and nephew, in her modest magic shop. Under her tutelage, Ren became a master magician; and though Jazmine was just as capable, she found her focus on herbology, and became an expert herbalist.

Ilana was an older, willowy woman. Her dark hair was heavily streaked with grey, often worn in a long braid down her back. She had a grey sheepdog as a familiar, named Fenrir, who was as old and ageless as his master. Though she was strict with the twins, she was lenient enough with them to let them explore and develop themselves, sending Fenrir to accompany (follow) them. This led the twins to getting in trouble...often.

Ilana kept the book that the twins had arrived with hidden in a secret space upstairs, beneath a floorboard, along with many other important things, warded with the strongest spells Ilana could conjure. They would only reveal the contents when the time was right.

Much like their father, Ilana was able to see the future. Often she would foretell the day for the twins, as well as in-depth personal fortunes. Ilana once told Ten that he would die when the beetles came and his soulmate left him. But, he should not worry, for it wasn't his true end, and he would return. It made little sense to Ren, and he struggled with it for years before coming to accept it.

Often, the twins went to the docks to play with the other orphans, or to tell them the tales that were passed down from their father. More so, it was Ren who told the stories to Jazmine, and she recited them for the orphans, due to Ren's social anxiety. It was in this way that the twins crosses paths with Montag again; though this time, his name was Lucio, and he had become the Count of Vesuvia. The twins were around ten years old at the time. Hearing the tales of the Dragons of the West, Lucio thought that perhaps he had failed in his goal of eradicating the clan (which he had). Confronting the twins, as well as a young Muriel and Asra, Lucio tried to start a fight, or at least arrest whosoever they learned the stories from. It came out that Jazmine had learned the tales from Ren, but at that point it didn't matter. Lucio had tried to hurt Jazmine, harming Muriel and Asra as they tried to intervene. That didn't sit well with Ren. He didn't speak much, or even defend himself, but when someone he cared about was threatened, it was on. He attacked Lucio, and in the process, Lucio had clawed at him with his alchemical arm. Three bloody cuts trailed down the left side of Ren's face, close enough to his eye that, due to the magic of the gauntlet, changed the original blue/grey color to a bright seafoam green. Ren attempted to curse Lucio then, to forget the interaction, to forget the stories he heard, and to forget he had even seen the four of them at the docks that day. The curse worked long enough to get Lucio to leave. However, it also caused Asra and Muriel to forget they were friendly with the twins, making then strangers, coming to the docks to tell interesting stories and nothing more. Curses were not Ren's strong suit. The curse backfired, not lasting nearly long enough. Lucio didn't permanently forget his interaction with the twins, and laid in wait for many years to exact his revenge. Ren and Jazmine were able to escape, and Fenrir took them back to their Aunt's shop. Though Ilana scolded them for being so careless, she still attempted to heal the damage Lucio had caused. While the wounds themselves healed effortlessly, the scars would never fade, a constant reminder of the day.

Into his early teens, Ren often hung around the docks. He earned a small wage helping the ship crews ready their ships, rigging and loading cargo mostly, or helping fishermen with making and mending nets. One particular traveler, a wandering bard by the name of Icarus Jobe, recognized the storyteller in him. Late at night, when Ren wasn't needed at the shop, he and Icarus would sit together on the beach, and the bard would tell Ren stories of all the places he had traveled to. They became fast friends, and Icarus became an almost father-figure to Ren. Ren managed to develop a slight crush on the seafaring bard, and learned many lessons along the way.

Nearly a year after their comraderie began, Icarus was accused of high treason against the court by Lucio, though there was next to no evidence to support this. He was sentenced to death via hanging. Icarus wasn't frightened of death, his only regret being that he wouldn't see what type of man Ren would grow into.

Ren was present for the hanging, knowing there was no spell he could find to save his dear friend in time. When the floor dropped out from beneath Icarus, his hat flew into the crowd. Ren caught the hat, placing it on his own head with finality, another blow to Lucio. The old pirate hat served as another reminder that Ren had a story to share with the world that hadn't been written just yet.

It wasn't until after Icarus Jobe's death that Ren learned he had been a close friend to his mother....

Death followed Ren like a lost dog, always begging for scraps, the lives of his loved ones.

When the twins were fourteen, Ilana passed under mysterious circumstances. It was then that they learned that Ilana was actually their biological aunt, their father's sister. They received a modest inheritance, as well as access to the hidden materials beneath the upstairs floorboard of the shop, thier father's grimoire and writings of their clan's history.

Jazmine was heartbroken, and couldn't bring herself to stay at the shop. Despite her fear of the sea, she left Vesuvia on a ship, taking Fenrir with her, to travel anywhere but home. Ren took over the shop, staying to carry on Ilana's legacy. It was in the years that followed that Ren started his relationship with Asra. Jazmine periodically visited, but mostly she sent letters and herbal lore from the various places she had been.

When the Red Plague came to Vesuvia, Asra wanted to leave, and Ren knew he had to stay. With tears in his eyes, he told Asra to go, but it wasn't goodbye, because he knew Asra would return when it was over, of that Ren was certain.

In the months that followed, Ren worked at the Palace under Lucio, in the Count's campaign to find a 'cure' for the plague. Ren became friends with Doctor Julian Devorak, and Jazmine returned to use her herbal knowledge to help. Eventually Jazmine and Julian started a relationship, often fighting and getting on one another's nerves, but somehow made a great couple. Ren could see the red strings of fate binding the two, knowing that they would eventually make it on their own path.

During one particular low point, when Ren was thinking about Asra, and Jazmine had left Julian and Vesuvia for at least the second time, they went to the Rowdy Raven together, and Ren let slip that he was destined to die soon. He ended up erasing that particular memory from Julian's mind, though it would inevitably be returned through his deal with the Hanged Man.

Working in close proximity with Lucio and his courtiers, Ren was constantly harassed by Lucio, who had developed a twisted crush. Ren was still very much in love with Asra, attempting to contact them intermittently, and would have none of it. In his down time, Ren would tell the stories of his people to the children stricken with the plague, trying to keep their spirits up with the tales of magic and dragons. Lucio often listened in, never straying far from Ren.

Ren learned by mere chance that the plague was the result of a deal Lucio had made in his youth, and that the only real cure was Lucio's death. Though the Count had given Ren many reasons to kill him, he was reluctant, and tried to find another way. After one too many times of being harassed and cornered by Lucio, Ren finally snapped, telling him to leave him alone or else. Lucio revealed to Ren that he knew who Ren was and how Ren had gotten his scars. He knew that Ren had discovered his secret, and was paranoid that Ren was going to kill him any day. Trying to escape the library where he had been cornered, Lucio pinned Ren to his chest with his alchemical arm so that he couldn't get away. Lucio crushed a plague beetle into dust and forced Ren to inhale it, knowing it was an almost absolute guarantee that Ren would catch the plague. Ren was so angry that he cast one last curse, knowing that this one would actually take without fail. He cursed Lucio to catch the plague, that Ren's end would be the beginning of the end for Lucio.

Terrified, Lucio locked Ren under the Palace with the other plague doctors to work, accusing Ren of attempting to give him the plague at the same time. Ren was scheduled to be burned alive at the Lazaret if he didn't find a cure in time. It took several days for Ren's symptoms to become apparent, Julian not even noticing until it was too late. Ren tried one last time to contact Asra, but they still wouldn't respond.

Ren managed to escape the Palace, merely wanting to settle his affairs before the guards took him to the Lazaret. At the shop, he was interrupted by Muriel. Ren ended up telling Muriel everything, but then took the memory away so that if the guards found him, he wouldn't be labeled as an accomplice to Ren's supposed murder attempt. Leaving Muriel passed out in the shop with letters for Asra and Jazmine, Ren met the Palace guards at the shop's doorstep and calmly went with them to his death.

While Ren was with Muriel at the shop, Jazmine returned, going immediately to the palace, and learning Ren's fate from Julian. Julian had attempted to stop Ren, but even he knew it was too late. Jazmine felt the moment Ren died.

Asra returned within hours of Ren dying, having felt it themselves, cursing themselves for being too late. Jazmine let Asra stay at the shop, unable to care for it herself with all the death tied to it. She stayed with Mazelinka, coming and going frequently like before.

Once Asra foiled Lucio's ritual, and Ren returned, Asra warned Jazmine that she couldn't see him. The potential that the memory of her might kill him being the strongest factor. But Jazmine, being Jazmine, didn't listen. She let herself be seen in the marketplace, around the city, all but stalking Ren. Eventually they became friends, without Ren realizing that she was his twin, though he had suspicions, especially with his dreams at the time.

It was during Asra's last trip that Ren learned the truth, but he couldn't be mad at Asra. Ren understood why they did it. He kept the knowledge a secret from Asra until the events of the Lazaret, telling Asra he had been ready for a long time to recover his memories, and had been doing so, slowly and carefully over the last several weeks.

At some point after the events of the game, Ren and Asra stumble upon the burned out remains of Ren's childhood home. Inside they found a strange grey egg, that neither could identify. Taking it back to home to Vesuvia, Faust and the stove salamander help Ren hatch it. It turns out to be a dragon egg. That dragon hatches a vivid lavender color, and becomes Ren's familiar, Veritas.

Appearance -

Pale complected, with short, dark hair. Roughly 5'8", with a narrow, sturdy build. Born with blue/grey eyes, but the left eye turned seafoam green after being attacked by Lucio as a child. Many scars from random fights, but the most vivid being the scars near his left eye; he grows the top of his hair slightly longer than the rest to cover them. Usually wears a black three-quarter sleeves shirt, green and blue scarves, black pants and boots. Wears an old pirate hat wrapped with a grey scarf when traveling.

Random Things -

Ren wears a dangling silver sun earring in his right ear, and Jazmine wears a dangling golden moon earring in her left ear to represent their twin and their connection.

At home, Ren is almost always wrapped in a sea-colored shawl, with a cup of tea and a book in hand.

Ren and Jazmine both tan very easily, but of the two, Ren is paler.

When they were young, the only way to tell Ren and Jazmine apart was through their eye color.

Before the plague killed him, Ren identified most with the Moon Arcana, seeing through illusions and the hidden aspects of life.

Ren owns a magical shawl. One side is teal with a compass rose embroidered in it so that they never get lost. The other side is black with a white lotus embroidered on it to protect them from death. When Lucio trapped him and forced him to inhale the plague beetle, the shawl fell from his shoulders, allowing the plague to take hold.

- That's all for now. I know it's a mess, and not always easy to follow, but I will be fleshing out more of Ren's story as I go. As well as other small details and sketches I have made of him.

#apprentice ren #apprentice backstory #fan apprentice #death #long post #to be continued... #the arcana

[purzelsims]

Corinne aged up to child. After she heard about the treehouse in the Periwinkles' garden, she convinced her father to take her to Newcrest for a visit.

#TS4Gameplay #TS4 #ts4vanilla #ts4 vanilla #TS4BACCR19 #family bagmann #Corinne Bagmann #Muriel Periwinkle

[cloud-quackery]

REDESIGNS >:3

Isadora marigold Katrina Rebecca De spell-Quackery

Age: 12

Conditions: mutism and claustrophobic,acrophobia

Personality:quiet, caring, intelligent,bookworm,trustworthy,kind,sweet, adventurous,honest, loyal,elegant,wise,hopeless romantic,friendly,optimistic,innocent

Siblings/cousins: Nerida (younger sister),Dylan (older brother but doesn’t visit often),Alex,Alina,breeze,Leon,robin,Athena,Cassidy (cousins)

Parents: Brayden (for now I’m making him a single dad)

Nicknames: isa, Izzy,Mari, Katty,Dora,silent girl

Likes: books,her cousins,the family secret,her family,her dad,singing,dancing,magic,quietness,researching,hero’s,school,arts, ballet,science,literature,psychology,geology,water,ocean,sea,rain,waterfalls,rivers,merducks,sirens,oceanography

Dislikes: bullies,her evil self,evil magic,romantic stuff, Rude people,people

Inherited most of her dads powers

Was born a mute

She could sing

Speaks Spanish

Has social anxiety

Doesn’t have friends and doesn’t want any

She acts strange on a full moon

Thinks friends are distractions

Some people are afraid to talk to her

She’s mostly like her dad

Studies and take cares of unusual creatures and does it with her dad

Doesn’t want to be in a relationship

Either writes or uses sign language to speak

She can read minds (but also with her cousins) they can speak in their minds

Is the top singer at school

Does well in school and has good grades

And obviously she’s a siren

Arabella periwinkle Nerida Muriel de spell-Quackery (But uses Nerida as her name)

Age: 8

Conditions: cold Urticaria (also known as cold allergy), aerophobia,driving phobia,arachnophobia,diabetes

Personality: mostly any sweet personality

Siblings: Isadora(older sister),Dylan (older brother but never met him),Alex,Alina,breeze,Leon,Cassidy,robin,Athena (cousins)

Parents: Brayden

Nicknames: Nerida(original name),Neri,Ara,peri,Bella,Muriel, flower

Likes: mostly anything

Dislikes: people from the internet,people bullying her sister,her brother (the fact that she never met him),evil stuff,snow,cold,loud things,doesn’t like much romantic things,boys

Translates for Isadora

Nerida isn’t her real name but she uses it as her first name instead of her last

She wants to know the people who Brayden liked in the past

Arabella is her real name

Has some powerful powers

Speaks Spanish

Has a good singing voice

Doesn’t think about love to much

Likes to help her sister and her dad with the creatures

She’s homeschooled so she doesn’t have much friends

Obviously a siren

She sometimes gets emotional and gets panic attacks over little things

Tries to not get in peoples ways or business

Doesn’t like bullies

Has diabetes so she tries to get a hold of herself when it comes to candies

Doesn’t know who gave her the headband

Leon acacia William Greyson Robert de spell-Quackery

Age:15/14

Conditions: none

Personality: calm,popular,sweet,smart, intelligent, trustworthy, caring, loyal, flirty, friendly, kind, manly, optimistic, calm, open minded,adventurous

Siblings: none

Parents: Bridget

Nicknames: lee, will,grey,rob,Robby

Likes: his family,his mother, his cousins,the photography club,adventures,romantic stuff,green,movies,tv,singing,dancing,magic

Dislikes: school,evil magic,cartoons,girl stuff

Inherited his mothers powers

Doesn’t know his biological father

Popular at school

Doesn’t like school but has good grades

He’s apart of the photography club

Attractive to most girls and some guys don’t like him

Doesn’t have a girlfriend

His father left before he was born

He was only 1 when his mom graduated from college

He got the shirt from this one family he doesn’t know but he dyed it green

For some reason his vision blurs out

There’s this one girl he likes but she’s already taken

Basically the next Cupid XD (Like his mom)

And that’s all

#ducktales 2017 #brooke quackery #my oc isadora #my oc nerida #my oc leon #isadora quackery #nerida quackery #leon quackery

[n3v3r-l3ft]

what are weird little things your MC's do? like funky little habits or mannerisms?

Ooooh! This one is super fun ^^ I didnt do everyone because i have so many, but i did a few!

Oleander

- wiggles their toes when they're excited or anxious

- picks at fabric when thinking or nervous

- always sounds flirty because they are at least if you're muri

- hates most clothes because of the textures (so they swim nude often and wear minimal clothes)

- they wash their hands twice everytime, "it just feels cleaner"

- they tend to make a lot of eye contact which makes Muriel blushy

Jem

- lots of hand fidgeting

- ends sentences with question marks

- tends to mumble to himself

- swallows constantly when nervous

- says "uhm" a lot

- rubs neck when he's embarrassed

- easily scared

- shakes like a leaf when he's scared

- talks to plants, animals, and inanimate objects

- insomnia

Periwinkle

- stutters when anxious

- scared of storms

- c-ptsd

- stims with most emotions

- pets Cermet for comfort

- soft humming sounds when happy

- flappy hands (happy)

- concerned eyebrows 24/7

- hates shoes

- squints a lot

Nizar

(undecided pronouns so I'm defaulting to they/them for now)

- whistles when doing tasks

- wrinkles nose when arguing

- laughs to fill uncomfy silence

- bites fingernails

- bouncy

- stands too close to people when interacting

- rocks back and forth on their heels

- talks to plants, including grass

- adjusts glasses a lot, always with the middle finger or, the index and thumb

- will chew all lapels on sweaters to hell

Dipti

- needs her familiar around always emotional support

- uncontrollable leg shaking when anxious

- voice gets breathy when anxious, until she kinda loses it

- cracks knuckles

- pinches at her skin when she's having a hard time (mental health)

- picks her nail polish off subconsciously

- tells terrible lies really well

#about my mcs #about my mc #about jem #about oleander #about nizar #about dipti #about peri #about periwinkle #mc oleander #oleanderthemagician #apprentice oleander #apprentice periwinkle #perithemagician #apprentice jem #mc jem #jemthejonasbrother #nizarthemagician #dipticutegothwitch #mc dipti #apprentice dipti #apprentice nizar #mc nizar

[definitioncfcursed]

       “You’re more grotesque than I expected.” The young witch looked into the computer screen, periwinkle eyes narrowed at the much older woman on the other side. Laurel had one true grandmother, the one for which she was named and she was a wonderful woman who took in her father and loved him unconditionally. But then there was her biological grandmother; Muriel. She had nothing but HATRED for her. This is the woman who put her father through absolute hell, trapped a man in the ghostly plane and committed who knows how many more horrendous acts.

               ( @newxfairytales )

#newxfairytales #( thread ‣ laurel. )

[undermounts]

Nine Years Ago

note: this whole thing was based on the idea that asra used masks to try and figure out the apprentice’s familiar and then it got out of hand oops

There was a tangible feeling of excitement in the air. The whole city was bustling, preparing for the night’s festivities. The Count’s birthday celebration was tonight, and it was promised to be even more spectacular and thrilling than each of the last. But more thrilling than that, there had been rumors, murmurs of a visitor from far out lands.

People moved about, carrying baskets of various goods and chatting excitedly amongst themselves as they crammed through the narrow, cobblestone streets of of Vesuvia. And yet, amidst the cacophony of the titillated crowd sat a small booth in the middle of a near-deserted alley. Constructed of mismatched pieces of colorful, patterned cloth and the occasional fur the setup was something of an eyesore. A homemade sign advertising tarot reading and masquerade masks hung crooked on the outside, haphazardly placed and threatening to fall at any moment.

Asra sat behind a small table covered in shimmery blue cloth with his chin cradled in the palm of his hand as he rearranged the hand painted masks he had laid out before him with poorly disguised boredom. Every now and then, his violet eyes would flick up at the sound of footsteps echoing through the alley and he would straighten in his chair, calling out to the stranger half-heartedly. “Mask for the Masquerade? We’ve got an incredible variety of...Okay, no masks...How about a tarot reading? Three card? Perhaps a love reading?”

No one ever stopped.

Asra sighed, turning to Faust as she curled around his shoulders, tongue flicking out to playfully touch his cheek. “What about you Faust? Do you want a mask? Maybe Muriel and I could make you a little one. Wouldn’t that be adorable?”

Muriel, Faust thought fondly.

“I know, I wish he was here too, but you know he doesn’t really like other people,” Asra murmured, scritching under Faust’s chin, much to her delight. “Not that there’s really one around,” he sighed dejectedly. “Maybe we should move somewhere else?”

Hardly a second later, the sound of trumpets cut through the air, a royal herald, and the underlying murmur of voices that had served as the background track to Asra’s suddenly grew to a deafening roar. He stood, leaning across his table to peer down the alleyway as Faust hid, nestling into the folds of his clothing. Like a wave, a sudden influx of Vesuvians crowded down the alley to make way for the palace-bound caravan.

For a few seconds, it’s absolute chaos. Far too many bodies are suddenly crowded into the booth, sending masks tumbling to the floor where they are quickly crushed underfoot.

“Hey, watch it!” Asra cried, edging his way around his table to herd people away from his display, heart falling to the pit of his stomach as he catches sight of the trampled feathers and sequins that once adorned the masks he and Muriel had spent days crafting. “You can’t just come in here --oh!”

Another body was suddenly thrust towards him, knocking the air from his lungs as he blindly stumbled back. In an attempt to stop himself and this stranger from falling, he braced one hand on the table, his momentum shoving it back a foot with a loud groan, as the other pressed into the small of their back.

Immediately, Asra’s senses were sharpened and he became hyper-aware of the energy, the magic, that pulsed beneath his hand. It was nebulous, expanding, and consuming, with a core of dense space matter that pulled him into orbit.

When he looked down, he was surprised to see that the source of this was a small woman, her flustered face surrounded by a halo of periwinkle curls. Golden eyes stared back at him, widened in surprise and saturated with apologies.

“I’m so sorry, I--” she started, but was quickly cut off by more shouts from the crowd as it surged once again, vacating Asra’s booth to border the street for a better view of the royal caravan.

The woman turned away from him, curiosity pulling her towards the mouth of Asra’s shop to glimpse the visitor. She looked back at him and beckoned him forth before pointing in the direction of the crowd. “Come look.”

Compelled not by the visitor, but rather the alluring young woman who now stood before him, Asra joined her at the entrance, peering over the top of her head to see the succession of guards, each donning a helmet with the likeness of various animals. These, Asra’s noted, were the Count’s guards. But mixed among these were other soldiers, clad in less bulky armor and more freely-flowing, breathable fabrics. These, Asra assumed, must belong to the visitor. Whoever that was, must be important.

A carriage followed Lucio’s knights, flanked by less gaudy guards. If Asra squinted, he could just make out the strong and undeniably beautiful profile of a young woman with flowing purple hair.

“Who is that?” he questioned, shifting his gaze from the carriage to the stranger in his shop. Her eyes were still trained on the caravan, enabling Asra to study her without the fear of being trampled.

“A princess,” she murmured, leaning up on her tiptoes. “The seventh, I believe. Nadia Satrinavas of Praka. She’s lovely, isn’t she?”

“Quite,” Asra agreed, although his eyes never stayed from the stranger’s face.

“It’s been said that the Count’s masquerades have a reputation throughout the kingdoms for being so legendary, the princess wanted to see it for herself,” she continued, glancing over her shoulder at Asra with a smug expression. “But, in my opinion, that sounds like something the Count himself made up. My aunt says it’s an arranged marriage. Lucio needs more stability in his rule and he doesn’t seem to be one to settle down quite yet. I think she’s right.”

“She sounds like a smart woman, your aunt.” Asra smiled slyly. There was no love lost for him either when it came to the Count.

The woman grinned back at him. “Oh, yes. Bit of a gossipmonger, that one. But one of the brightest women I know. In fact,” she said, gesturing to the wall behind Asra’s booth, “this is her shop. I came by to visit and bring some herbs for her store. I was just on my out when I was crowded down here…”

Her eyes fell from Asra’s face to the masks that now littered the floor, many of them crushed to pieces. A deep frown formed on her lips as she stooped to pick up a broken bear-faced mask. She dusted it off, running delicate fingers along the intricate designs that adorned the mask.

She looked around the booth, eyes skimming over the torn fabric, dirtied furs, and the trampled sign before falling upon Asra, sympathy and shame clear on her face. “Your shop… we’ve ruined it.”

Asra’s eyes followed the same path hers had previously taken and he was surprised to find that the ruins didn’t bother him nearly as much as it should have. He had a feeling the woman’s presence had something to do with that. How could he care about a few masks and dirtied blankets when something so profoundly exquisite stood before him. His hand still tingled from when he’d touched her. Asra wondered if she practiced magic. She seemed to be made of it, the human embodiment of its very essence.

“Oh, it’s not so bad,” he shrugged, kneeling before her to take the mask from her hands. He turned it over, eyes flicking up to meet hers. “I can always make more.”

The woman stared back at him for few more seconds before standing and holding out her hand to him. “I’m Cassandra.”

Cassandra, Asra thought, tossing the name around in his head. Cassandra,Cassandra, Cassandra.

He quite liked it.

“Asra.” He stood, dusting himself off before taking her hand to shake. Immediately, he was flooded with her magic again, swirling and expanding in his chest like a newly formed galaxy.

“Well, Asra,” Cassandra said, releasing his hand to attend to the ruined fabrics that had come loose from the shop’s structure. “At least let me help you fix this up. It’s the least I can do.”

Asra opened his mouth to protest, but she had already busied herself with tidying up his booth and he had a feeling she wouldn’t listen anyway if he asked her to stop. Instead, he joined her, the two of them working together to fix what had been broken. He was surprised by the ease with which they worked together in the small space, often brushing up against each other without being invasive. It felt natural, as if they had been like this for years.

So many questions gathered on the tip of his tongue that he was aching to ask. Was she from here? Did she practice magic? What kind? Did she have a familiar? What did she like to eat? Where had she been all these years?

He stayed silent though, sensing that by breaking this silence, comfortable as it was, would break whatever spell had fallen upon them, and that once he did that, they would be brought back to reality, time would stop standing still for them, and she would eventually have to leave him.

“These are lovely,” Cassandra said softly, suddenly. Asra turned, fixing the sign on the wall before coming to stand by Cassandra’s side. She was inspecting the masks again. “You made these yourself?”

“Well, not entirely,” Asra smiled faintly, gazing over at her. How had he gotten so lucky to end up here? “My friend Muriel helped. Would you like to have one?”

She looked up at him, lips forming a perfect “o.” “No, I couldn’t possibly…” Her hands went to the pouch tied at her waist. “I only brought enough for the market today.”

“I don’t want your coin,” Asra promised, shaking his head and turning to his display of masks. “You’ve already done so much to help...It’s the least I can do.” Asra skimmed his fingers across the masks laid out on the table before selecting a peacock feathered one. He held it up for her, the silky green ribbon tickling the inside of his wrist. “Try it on.

“I...if you’re sure,” Cassandra said hesitantly before turning around. Asra fitted the mask over the bridge of her nose and tied it off. “How does it look?”

“Beautiful,” he said softly, averting his gaze as he felt his face flush. To distract himself, Asra entertained the idea of Cassandra having a familiar. She didn’t seem to have one with her now, he didn’t even know if she practiced magic and wasn’t sure how she’d react if he asked. Some magicians, Muriel included, liked to keep their practice a secret, for not everyone reacted kindly to those who use magic.

As Cassandra took off her mask, Asra picked up another one and encouraged her to try on, curious to figure out what animal could be her familiar. They went on like this for a while, Cassandra trying on different masks as Asra smiled softly at her from where he now sat behind his table again, reveling in these stolen moments between them.

“I look like a monster in these, don’t I?” Cassandra laughed, eyes sparkling as she took off another mask. “That’s why you keep giving me more to try on, isn’t it?”

Asra laughed, a light tinkling sound that inspired a smile to blossom on her lips. He cradled his chin in his hands, gazing up at her.  “You look beautiful in every single one, Cassandra.”

He’d complimented her numerous times, but there was something different in his voice now. Asra realized it a second too late, after Cassandra’s cheeks had flushed and she glanced away.

“I...thank you,” she said softly, looking down at the fox faced mask in her hands. Golden beams of light fell across her tanned skin, marking the setting of the sun. It was getting late and the spell had broken. “I should go. The masquerade is tonight and I should get ready.”

Asra nodded, straightening in his chair as he tried to smother the twinge of disappointment he felt in his stomach. “Of course.”

“Thank you,” Cassandra told him again, holding up his craft as she slowly backed away. “For this, and well… everything.”

Asra smiled kindly. He wanted to protest, ask her to stay, but he knew not to overstep. He didn’t know exactly who Cassandra was, but he could feel that she was someone. She was important. He might never find out how, but he knew that she was more than he could ever deserve. Instead, he shook his head with a passive wave of the hand. “I should be thanking you.”

Opening and closing her mouth a few times, as if deciding what to say, Cassandra finally settled on a smile not unlike his own before she turned around and slipped away.

Alone again, Asra was left with a feeling of contentment, but also yearning. Somehow, in his brief time with Cassandra, he had been exposed to the possibility of having more than what his life currently had to offer. More than a cold cottage in the middle of the woods, more than a ragged booth in a deserted alleyway, more than a lonely life on the streets. Asra knew better than to want what he couldn’t have, he’d be damned if he didn’t want this now.

Faust slithered out from wherever she had been hiding to curl around his arm. She nudged his chin with her nose and he smiled softly, giving her scritches.

Cassandra.

“Yes, Cassandra…” Asra sighed echoing Faust as he wondered if he’d ever see the young woman again.

Would he?

The Count.

Asra made a face, looking down at his familiar as she twisted her head to look at him upside-down. “What does Lucio have to do with this?”

Faust uncoiled himself from his arm and looped around the masks on the table. Masquerade.

“Masquer...Faust! That’s genius!” Asra cried, scooping the purple snake into his arms. “She said she’d be there. Do you really think I could find her there?”

Without waiting for a response, Asra began to pack his masks away, pausing when he came across another fox-faced one, not unlike the one he’d given to Cassandra. As he gazed down at the mask, tracing the shape with slender fingers, his brows furrowed. A sudden thought,  came over him. How odd...that she should choose that mask, without even thinking. Could it just be a coincidence?

Asra pulled his deck from his pocket, feeling the familiar, magical hum of the cards as he shuffled them. He felt Faust’s gaze on him, her curiosity pressing in on his consciousness through their bond.

“I think the cards may be able to answer this one for me, Faust,” he told her, closing his eyes as he laid them out and held his hand out, trying to find which one called out to him. Biting his lip in anticipation, Asra chose a card and flipped it. His heart skipped a beat as his eyes fell upon the robed fox, created by his own hand.

The Magician.

Faust squirmed against him in excitement. Cassandra.

Asra nodded. “Cassandra.”

He would find her.

#asra #the arcana #the magician #the arcana game #book x #wheel of fortune #my writing

[peachychip85000]

*cries at how long this is going to be* @punk-rock-pixie

1. Name? Surname?

Iris Ortensia

Giselle ???

Timothy ???

2. Any family?

Iris has a mother and 3 older sisters

Giselle has no known family members

Timothy has both parents, a (slightly) older twin sister, and a younger sister and brother. His younger brother, Aaron, is @balancedpluto‘s apprentice, Aaron (who is romancing Asra)

3. Any familiar?

Iris: A pale purple kittyh with light blue points, and a pink crescent shape on her forehead. Her name is Iridescence.

Giselle: A glittery, white chameleon named Crystal.

Timothy: A sugar glider named SweetPea.

4. Asra, Nadia or Julian?

Iris: Julian

Giselle: ASra

Timothy: Nadia

5. Best strength in magic?

Iris: Potion brewing

Giselle: Uses her magic to heal plants and talk to animals.

Timothy: Trying to become a cryomancer, or someone who manipulates ice with magic.

6. Favorite color?

Iris: Lavender

Giselle: Light Green

Timothy: Periwinkle

7. Favorite number?

???????

8. Sexuality?

they’re all bi/pan

9. Weird hobby?

nothing weird lol

10. Favorite season?

Iris: Autumn

Giselle: Spring

Timothy: Winter

11. Favorite weather?

Iris: Rain

Giselle: Bright and sunny

Timothy: Cold/Snowy

12. Favorite place in Vesuvia?

Iris: Portia’s cottage. Pepi is there.

Giselle: The forest, when its not haunted by dead count goat ghost

Timothy: The palace, because Nadia’s there

13. How do their laught sounds like?

Iris snorts

Giselle giggles

Timothy asgdfjsdhfkj

14. How do they look like when they cry?

ghibli tears

15. What do they like to wear?

Iris: Loose corsets and flowy skirts

Giselle: Flowy dresses

Timothy: Comfortable things, but if its any shade of blue, its in his wardrobe.

16. What are their fears?

Iris: Something happening to Julian. Also spiders.

Giselle: Lucio

Timothy: Being alone

17. What do they like to do Friday night?

They all like to spend time with loved ones, getting food, and playing games.

18. Do they use makeup?

Yes

19. Favorite food?

Iris: Cheesy fettuccine alfredo with chicken

Giselle: Victoria sandwich

Timothy:Pizza

20. Favorite drink?

Iris: Strawberry lemonade

Giselle: Green tea

Timothy: Peppermint hot cocoa

21. Zodiac sign?

Iris: Libra

Giselle: Aries

Timothy: Sagittarius

22. Day of birth?

Iris: October 15th

Giselle: April 3rd

Timothy: December 12th

23. Favorite movie?

Iris: Barbie Island Princess/Rapunzel/Princess and the Pauper and Tangel, because she relates to Rapunzel a LOT.

Giselle: Ferngully and Don Bluth’s Thumbelina

Timothy: Star Wars, Fantastic Mr. Fox, and Cats Don’t Dance

24. Favorite music genre?

Iris: Everything, but especially Pop and 80s music.

Giselle: New Age (Enya/Celtice Woman/etc...) 

Timothy: As a music enthusiast he loves everything, but Big Points if it sounds electronic and/or 80s.

They all love musical and movie soundtracks.

25. Favorite song?

Iris: Moonlight by Ariana Grande

Giselle: May it be by Enya

Timothy: He can’t choose a SONG but his favourite video game soundtracks are Undertale, Mega Man 2, and Kingdom Hearts.

26. Favorite tv show?

Iris: Parks and Rec, Chopped, other baking shows.

Giselle: Cosmos, Round Planet

Timothy: Mystery Science Theater 3000, Twilight Zone, and Stranger Things

27. What is their style?

Is this for, a Modern AU? If so then...

Iris: Hyper feminine and geeky

Giselle: Feminine and hippie/hipster. Lots of dresses and floral print.

Timothy: Cozy. He likes hoodies though.

28. Any mental health issues?

Iris’s MH started to decline when her father passed away. Her mother was never the most nurturing, especially towards Iris, who is the youngest of 4. She developed a lot of self worth issues, anxiety, and depression due to her mother’s verbal and emotional abuse.

Giselle has anxiety, but if she has any other issues she’s very good at hising them

Timothy has a lot of body image issues, as he’s considered short (5′5) and is also very lanky.

29. Any health issues in general?

Timothy is anemic and underweight.

30. Are they human?

yeah dude

31. Favorite book?

Iris: Ella Enchanted

Giselle: Harry Potter

Timothy: King Killer Chronicles

They all love Lord of the Rings and The Hobbit as well

32. Favorite book genre?

If you couldn’t guess they all love fantasy, but Timothy also loves sci-fi as well.

33. Favorite time of the day?

Iris: Dusk/Twilight

Giselle: Mid Day

Timothy: Night time

34. If they weren’t magician, who would they be?

Iris: Pastry chef

Giselle: Zoo Keeper or someone that help at animal sanctuaries.

Timothy: Musician/Composer.

35. Do they believe in ghosts?

Yes

36. Do they believe in aliens?

Iris wants to believe they’re real

Giselle doesn’’t, but she likes the idea of them

Timothy does, yes.

37. Do they like sport?

Neither of them “Sport” except for Iris, who does ballet.

38. How do they look like?

39. What is their biggest motivation to solve the Lucio’s killer mystery?

Iris: Wants to clear Julian’s name

Giselle: She was asked to, and became more curious as the case progressed.

Timothy: It’s important to Nadia, so it’s important to him.

40. What do they think of Lucio so far?

>:O

>:O

>:O

41. What do they think of Nadia so far?

They all love and respect her. Timothy thinks she’s a goddess and has Heart Eyes.

42. What do they think of Asra so far?

Iris: Close and trusted friend

Giselle: *blushy face*

Timothy: Very good friend. Considers him like a brother, considering his brother is going out with him.

43. What do they think of Julian so far?

Iris: im love my dumb husband

Giselle: He’s funny!

Timothy: hello??? if i was straight before I am Not Now.

44. What do they think of Portia so far?

Iris: Future sister in law and best friends

Giselle: She’s a sweetpea and I love her

Timothy: She’s cute and important to NAdia. Wants to get to know her better.

45. What do they think of Muriel so far?

BIG BOI

46. Do they like animals?

YES

47. Are they allergic to anything?

Timothy is allergic to grass and shellfish

48. Do they have any talents (except magic)?

Iris: Cooks, bakes, dances, and as been known to sing well.

Giselle: Jewelry making and making flower crowns

Timothy: Plays numerous instruments and can sing.

49. Do they get drunken easily?

They are all lightweights!!! Giselle doesn’t like alcohol, and Iris and Timothy are picky about their drinks. They like sweet drinks.

50. What is their personality type?

Its hard to answer this question because none of them fall under a certain archetype.

51. What is their worst negative quality?

Iris: Crybaby and hyper sensitive.

Giselle: Extremely naive.

Timothy: Empathetic and generous to a fault

52. What is their best positive quality?

I think for all of them its their willingness to help and caring nature.

53. What is their position to fall asleep?

Curl like a kitten

54. The most uncomfortable moment they ever experienced?

Iris: Telling her mother she was moving to Vesuvia.

Giselle:

Timothy: Finding out his brother and Asra were banging, to which Aaron responds with “well why are you banging the Countess?” Fair point.

55. Their happiest memory?

Spoiler the most recent update: Iris: Finding Julian alive and well.

Giselle: Finding her familiar, Crystal. They’ve been inseparable ever since. 

Timothy: Nadia having feelings for him as well. He’s not confident in himslef, and having someone like Nadia even look at him makes him smile.

56. Do they blush?

Yes

57. Are they clumsy?

YES

58. Do they like jokes?

everyone likes jokes

59. How do they flirt?

Iris: Compliments Julian until he’s a blushy mess

Giselle: Makes flower crowns, or bracelets for Asra

Timothy: Nervously makes jokes. Nadia see’s he’s trying tho and finds it charming.

60. Favorite fruit?

Iris: Strawberries

Giselle: Apples

Timothy, through tears: What do you mean blue raspberries aren’t a real fruit???

Note: I had to redo this bc my laptop shut off on me right as I finished it the first time!! ; 0;

#long post #this has 60 questions #hayden y would u do nthis to m #the arcana #the arcana game #fan apprentice #iris #giselle #timothy