her cauldron

Jan Van de Velde the Younger - The Sorceress, 1626.

“The Sorceress” is an engraving by Jan Van de Velde the Younger sometimes referred to as ‘The Witch at her Cauldron Surrounded by Beasts’. The image shows a topless Malefica, accompanied by a goat, pouring material for her potion into a boiling cauldron from a horn. Opposite her lie various creatures and goblins, the most curious of which is adding his own spice to the mix from two smoking pipes in his anus. Other creatures are smoking the same pipes more conventionally in their mouths, while one breathes fire from his eyes and nose to heat the brazier.

scorpio ~ a woman that is born with centuries in her eyes.
full of trouble and full of sacred light. potent ingredients of mars and pluto mix in her like a cauldron of indigo storms. she constantly enters the silence, and she can vividly imagine physical death. on the 18th path of the tree of life is the snake, symbolised through the sign of scorpio.
jung says that the snake expresses the conflict between intuition and the conscious mind, and the great motion of nature. her physical body that rests here is not hers, and she knows this

Originally posted by inhale-respire

Give me Nesta Archeron, Warrior Queen.

Give me Nesta Acheron so fucking pissed off at the world for making her Fae that she decides she’s going to destroy Hybern and those mortal queen and goddamn Cauldron with her own two hands. Give me Nesta stopping at nothing until she is capable of destroying the whole world.

Give me Nesta Archeron training in an Illyrian war camp with the Illyrian females. Give me Nesta standing up the camp lords and getting herself and all the other females trained right now, not after chores. Give me Nesta knocked down over and over and always getting back up. Give me Nesta oh so slowly gaining the begrudging respect of the Illyrian warlords and the admiration of the Illyrian females.

Give me Nesta Archeron, the best in her unit, taking out all that rage on whoever dares oppose her. Give me Nesta with a sword in her hand and magic crackling in her blood and the deadly focus of a viper. Give me Nesta in Illyrian fighting leathers sparring with men twice her size and knocking them on their asses. Give me Nesta, unofficial commander of the women’s fighting unit, both loved and feared by her comrades-in-arms.

Give me Nesta Archeron learning how to control her power from Mor. Give me Nesta going toe-to-toe with Amren and not backing down. Give me Nesta gaining something like respect from Amren for not flinching in the face of Amren’s power. Give me Nesta learning from both of the most powerful Fae in the Night Court. Give me Nesta surprising them with how much she is capable of.

Give me Nesta Archeron shocking Cassian with how deadly she’s become while he was recovering. Give me Nesta sparring with Cassian and nearly knocking his head off because dammit, he was not expecting her to be that strong. (He should have expected it. Archeron girls are made of diamonds and steel after all.) Give Nesta and Cassian training every day in the ring atop the House of Wind because he needs to recover his strength and she needs to refine some of her moves.

Give me Nesta Archeron shouting at Rhysand in the war room because that idea is idiotic and it would be much better if he did it her way. Give me Nesta’s jaw dropping when Rhys agrees with her and changes his strategy. Give me Nesta getting inviting to the next strategy meeting and Rhys valuing her opinion just as much as he would any of the others in his Inner Circle.

Give me Nesta Archeron taking command of the Illyrian women whose wings were clipped during Amarantha’s reign. Give me Nesta training her girls to be weapons without wings and holy terrors on the battlefield. Give me Nesta refusing to lose even a single soldier and fighting like hell in order to keep her girls safe.

Give me Nesta Archeron, second-in-command of the Night Court’s armies. Give me Nesta Archeron more comfortable in armor than in a gown. Give me Nesta Archeron, never seen without a blade on her hip and a sword down her spine. Please, someone give me Nesta Archeron, warrior queen.

What if!?

I have two things in mind that could happen in AcoWaR:

1.
What if the king of Hybern uses the caldron’s power to mind control Feyre, because we know it can! What if we have to see Feyre mindlessly throwing fire and water and wind and ice at her friends because the cauldron is being told to tell her that. But eventually Rhysand breaks through and bring her back. She’s horrified that she almost hurt their friends and almost promise to never use the powers again because she’s desperate to have them safe after that. What if the king of Hybern then tries to mind control Feyre again, but this time Feyre is able to keep herself sane by staying far enough away from the cauldron.

2.
Feyre’s beast form. I imagine her as a gray wolf with Illyrian wings on her back. But unlike Tamlin’s feline wolf form, she’s just wolf. So Tamlin locks Feyre in the manor again because he won’t let her go to war, she breaks out and goes to the battlefield. Rhys and Tamlin is in the middle of fighting, both is in their beast form and Rhysand is winning. Then Tamlin does something she can’t make out and Rhys falls to his knees. Tamlin is just about to kill Rhys when a gray winged wolf tackles the sping lord away. Everyone stops fighting and stares as this gray wolf attack a high lord. When Feyre manages to injure Tamlin enough to check on her mate, she finds out he’s okay now. He places his hand on the wolf’s head and she leans in. He smiles and tells them it’s time to win this war.

happy valentine's day, wolfstar shippers ♡

the whole room is decorated with magical heart-shaped confetti that floats down like snow.

sirius picks some out of his cup with a frown while the witch on the radio sings something about her cauldron full of love that he’d really rather not think too deeply about.

he throws a side-ways glance at the reason why they’re here - james, sat in the next booth, eyeing a certain redhead who’s stood at the bar, ordering a cup of tea.

sirius wishes james would get a move on so he and remus - his “back-up so it doesn’t look like I’m desperate for a date” - could get out of there and find somewhere more secluded.

remus has a smear of chocolate in the corner of his mouth that he’s positively aching to kiss it away.

lily starts looking around the café for one of her friends to sit down with and james fidgets in his seat, but doesn’t get up or wave her over.

sirius narrows his eyes at him, finally turning back around with a sigh when james pays him no attention.

“merlin, i bloody all hate this romantic sap.”

remus grins, licking the cream off his fork. “yet you agreed to come along to madam puddifoot’s, with me, on valentine’s day.”

sirius makes a show out of rolling his eyes and shrugging. “yes, well, you bloody love that chocolate cake.“

remus gives him a small smile. “hmmhm, it is some bloody good cake. sure you don’t want to try it?”

sirius takes another sip of sugary tea. “no, all these straight couples snogging here have permanently ruined my appetite.”

remus bites back a grin and kicks him fondly under the table. “you know, if you really think it’s so awful, you could’ve let me accompany james on my own. he did say one back-up was enough.”

sirius snorts. “what, and let some bird chat you up? you’re dreaming, lupin.”

he catches remus’ foot between both of his, watching the blush rise into remus’ freckled cheeks.

remus leans in as far as he dares, breathing a flirty “only of you, black” into sirius’ ear.

… to be honest, sirius is quite content with valentine’s day at this horrible romantic place as long as he gets to spend it with the curly-haired chocolate junkie in front of him.

Professor Slughorn had assigned yet another “in class” potion that week. He’d made a draft of living dead potion that same week and thanks to the half blood prince’s potion book, he was able to successfully brew the potion, thus earning him the vile of liquid luck. Today, they were to brew a boil-cure potion. Hermione, as usual, set right to work. She neatly placed her ingredients next to her cauldron and opened her book to the correct page. Harry observed her best friend. She added the ingredients one by one and every once in a while, a strand of her hair would fall down to her face. She tried to blow it off but her hair would bounce right back. She huffed in what seemed mild irritation and set down her ingredients. Hermione reached into her robe pocket and pulled out two items. One seemed like a black band and the other one was pink. She grabbed as much hair as she could muster and put it in a bun. She then grabbed the black band and tied her hair up. She smiled and a single strand of hair fell to her face. Harry looked away. He had to focus on his potion… Hermione moved, action that made Harry look at her again. She grabbed her pink item that she’d withdrawn from her robe pocket and she grabbed her single strand of hair. She then put it up and clicked the pink item to her hair. She sighed happily, her hair finally out of her face. She then happily resumed her potion. Hmm.. girls. Harry thought. As he began his potion, he noticed that some strands of his raven hair were starting to cover his eyes. Harry blew it off, but it wouldn’t help. He growled in frustration and he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned and he saw Hermione smiling at him. “Is your hair bothering you? Here, let me get that for you.” She said. She reached into her pocket once more and pulled out two of those pink clips. She then reached towards his hair and set to work. Harry frowned, not understanding what she was doing. “There!” She said, moving back and admiring her work. “What did you do, Hermione?” He asked. “I placed hair clips on your hair. You look pretty.” She mused. Harry frowned and he felt himself blush profusely. Hermione crossed her arms and smirked, a faint blush appearing on her face.

Credits to @upthehillart for the beautiful Hp illustration/drawing! Please follow her blog!! 💕

Siren Song - 9

“Now go get our ingredients,” Draco commanded Y/N.

The Slytherin girl stared at him blankly. “Are you being serious right now?”

Draco answered her with unrelenting silence.

“Why would I want to help you when I’m competing against you? And also, I’m not doing anything for you if you demand me to do it.” She turned away from Draco and moved to collect the ingredients for the Girding Potion.

Disregarding what she espoused, Draco called after her, expecting her to comply, “Make sure you get my ingredients too, L/N.”

Y/N approached the table at the front of the room where Snape had rounded up the lesson’s necessary items. Gathering what she needed for her potion, she returned to her seat with sticky doxy eggs, pale dragonfly thoraxes, dried flying seahorses, shimmering fairy wings, and more. She lined her ingredients up neatly in front of her cauldron and organized the tools she’d need to prepare the varying components of the potion.

Draco glared at Y/N, “Where’s all my stuff?”

Y/N was aghast, “Did you really expect me to get all this for you?”

“You’re a sad excuse for a Potions partner, you know that?” Draco had almost assumed she would bring him the ingredients he needed to begin, and when she didn’t, he returned to insulting her. “Crabbe and Goyle were far superior. They always went and got everything for me. You’re pathetic.”

She giggled in amusement at his childish rhetoric. “Then you’re spoiled, and I’m not going to further contribute to that tragedy.”

He wasn’t use to being laughed at and it struck a nerve. He spat with derision, “Dirty blood traitor.”

“Clever, aren’t you? Shouldn’t you be hurrying up rather than talking to me? Tick tock, Malfoy.” She shot a snarky grin to her partner. He glared at her before storming off to the front of the room.

Now concentrating on the assignment at hand, Y/N read carefully over the directions that Snape had written on the board. Wanting to make sure that she followed the steps precisely, she didn’t rush her efforts. She had just begun to add the iridescent fairy wings to her cauldron when Draco appeared back at his seat, with his ingredients, visibly annoyed. A stand of his hair fell in his eyes and he pushed it out of the way sourly.

Draco and Y/N continued to work quietly for the next several minutes until the former broke the silence, “You know, it’s not like I’m useless here.”

He had been bothered by Y/N calling him spoiled, and he felt the need to justify himself. “Crabbe and Goyle always went to get everything for the potions because I was the one always doing the bulk of the work. When we worked in groups, I made the potions because it was apparent I was the best at it. Even when we worked alone, I still helped them. It was a tradeoff. And I’m a good friend. An I’m good at making potions. I do quite an actual bit in this class, and they wouldn’t have the grades they do in here without me.”

Her initial reactions was to shoot some saucy remark his way, but she thought better of it. Y/N recognized his defensiveness and eased up being so combative. “Great, I’m happy for you,” she voiced indifferently. “Now leave me alone. I’m trying to win.”

Draco scoffed, “Trying would be the key word, L/N.”

Choosing to ignore this comment, Y/N didn’t provide Draco the gratification of a response. Concentrating instead on the low-bubbling brew in her cauldron, she watched her potion change from a brilliant turquoise to a deep fuchsia. So far, so good.

Y/N, in all honesty, enjoyed and appreciated potion making. Although she preferred subjects like Charms or Defense Against the Darks Arts (magic that appeared more spectacular to her), she felt that there was something methodical and calming about creating a potion. The magic was initially more subtle, but often potent and powerful in the long run. Potions, after all, could revive life or extinguish it, and Y/N respected and appreciated that fact.  

Halfway through the steps that Snape had listed on the board, Y/N, out of the corner of her eye, quickly assessed the progression of Draco’s potion. His potion was a shade darker than her own, and she tensed ever so slightly when she realized that he was now a step ahead of her. How exactly had he managed not only to catch up, but to also surpass her? She frowned in his general direction upon realizing that his work seemed to be accurate and well-crafted.

Faintly frustrated, it was now her turn to interrupt the silence, “What happens if our potions are equally good? If Professor Snape doesn’t make it clear who has the better potion?”

Draco studied Y/N and then looked at her now astonishingly violet potion and smirked, “I suppose the obvious answer is whoever completes the potion first, that person would be the winner.”

She nodded, a bit begrudgingly, because she knew his suggestion was legitimate and fair. And then she found her gaze drifting to his smirk. If she lost, kissing Draco Malfoy wouldn’t be the worst thing that had happened to her. If Malfoy in fact decided to pick himself to kiss her… she didn’t know who he’d pick of course. With a bat of her thick lashes, she met his gray stare again. “That’s fine.”

With that affirmation, Y/N turned back to her work. She embraced tunnel vision while brewing her potion, and even though she knew she was behind Draco, she continued to work at her own pace and hoped that her precision and meticulousness would outshine her rival’s dexterity and swiftness (or whatever the hell it was that catapulted him ahead of her). She took her time because she believed in doing things the correct way, the first time (if she could help it). She didn’t like to be wrong (and it was rare that she was).

Focused on creating a flawless Girding Potion and beating Draco, the rest of the classroom and its inhabitants melted away. It wasn’t until her black robed professor appeared next to Draco and began to speak that Y/N realized he was finished.

Snape inspected Draco’s work, checking its color, thickness, and various other attributes.  “Very well done, Mr. Malfoy. I would expect nothing less from you. This is a successful Girding Potion and would most certainly enhance the user’s endurance.”

Draco basked in the professor’s praise and sent Y/N a smug smirk.

“The only way you could improve this potion would be to thicken it up,” Snape went on. “Let it boil just a little bit longer and your potion could be that much stronger. The side effects might last an additional couple of days then. But nonetheless, a splendid example of a Girding Potion. Bottle up your work and you may clean up your area. And please continue to aid Ms. L/N when she needs it.”

“Thank you, Professor, yes, I will.” Draco’s voice brimmed with conceit.

As the greasy haired professor strode away, Y/N pretended that she hadn’t been listening in on Snape’s conversation with his favorite student. She didn’t want to get distracted by Draco’s gloating and make some sort of careless error with her potion.

“Well, L/N, top that.”  

She wanted to ignore him. Her better instincts told her not to respond, but she couldn’t help herself, she felt compelled, “I will, Malfoy, don’t worry.” The banter between them just flowed naturally.

The blonde sneered at the girl and began to clean up his workspace, “Doubt it,” he muttered under his breath.

Twenty minutes ago Y/N had been confident that she would make a better potion than Draco, but now doubt was creeping into her mind. Draco’s potion had been nearly perfect, and Y/N had underestimated his ability.

But then again, she reminded herself, everyone always underestimated her, and her potion was pretty damn close to perfect as well. She was going to win, at least she told herself this.

Y/N was the penultimate student to finish her potion, but she knew her effort afforded her a solid Girding Potion. More than solid: exceptional.

Seeing that she was finished, Snape rounded on Y/N and peered in her cauldron. He grasped the spoon and stirred her potion, inspecting its viscosity and texture. The thick liquid’s hue, one of dirty pollen, was exactly what Y/N had been aiming for. “Well, Ms. L/N, I’m rather impressed with your potion work.” He praised her directly. “Whether or not this creation was a fluke has yet to be seen. However, since you are a Slytherin, I’m certain you will prove your prowess.” Snape shifted his attention to Y/N’s partner, “Mr. Malfoy, take note of the thickness of Ms. L/N’s potion. Slightly thicker than yours, this can be achieved by letting your potion brew longer. This is what you should aim for.”

Draco shot daggers at Y/N. Her eyes flashed triumphantly back at him for she knew Snape’s words were the nail in the coffin of her victory.

“Well done, Ms. L/N. It seems that you and Mr. Malfoy work well together. A talented Slytherin team with a propensity towards potion work. A strong pairing, I believe.” Snape narrowed his eyes, examining his students. Y/N couldn’t tell whether her professor was being sarcastic or not.

“Mr. Malfoy, help Ms. L/N with cleaning up. Good work, the both of you.” Snape left the pair quickly to help a flustered Neville. He was the only one still working on his potion and his cauldron was beginning to billow fetid black smoke, the acrid smell already clinging to the oppressive and heavy dungeon air.

When Snape was out of earshot, Y/N faced Draco Malfoy with a grin spanning from ear to ear. “So I think you own me my wand now.” She held out her empty hand, her open palm facing skyward.

Draco said nothing as he placed the unusual wand in the girl’s hand.  The wood was dark with intricate designs and contrasted against the smooth handle inlaid with glinting mother of pearl.

For the second time today, Y/N L/N had wounded Draco’s pride. His face was hard and stoic, but his eyes shouted indignation.

Indulging in her victory, her wand now back in her possession, Y/N unexpectedly blew Draco a kiss for the second time that day. This time, unlike in Charms, no magic happened.

Draco was surprised at her gesture and furrowed his brow in consternation.

“Thank you,” Y/N spoke sincerely, “for keeping your end of the deal.”

“I’m not a liar.” Draco defended himself.

“I never said you were,” rolled off Y/N’s tongue. “Now help me clean up like Professor Snape told you to,” she grinned at him, knowing she was testing his patience. Draco Malfoy was an asshole, that fact was still certain. Y/N, however, thoroughly enjoyed taking him down a notch and thought, if she had the chance, that she wouldn’t mind doing it again.

💖Amortentia- Marauders Era: Sirius

Request:  hi!! I love all the Valentine’s Day prompts you’re doing—they’re so cute! could you do a sirius/reader drabble? amortentia would probably smell like spearmint, cinnamon, and coconuts to me; I’m a slytherin/pukwudgie; and I love science and Shakespeare. I’m not sure if that’s what you wanted for the drabble requests, so if I need to change anything, please let me know! have a great day!

“I really doubt that’s what a this is meant to look like,” Y/N states, baffled at the bright red liquid bubbling in her cauldron. 

“That’s exactly what it’s meant to look like, Y/N,” Lily gives her a nod of encouragement.

“But it’s so… bright. I thought it would be a little cloudier,” she thinks out loud, continuing to mix the liquid slowly, looking closely at the instructions on the worn out book that lay open on the table, following them with her finger.

“Ah, Miss Y/L/N, a perfect example of amortentia right here! Have a look everyone,” Professor Slughorn’s voice startles her, making her flinch slightly as she drops the ladle she’d been stirring with. 

“What does it smell like Y/N?” Lily whispers in her ear, and she leans closer over the boiling cauldron, letting the steam enter her nostril. 

“Cinnamon… Coconut… and, spearmint? I think it’s spearmint anyway,” she shrugs brushing the pleasant scent off as insignificant. Professor Slughorn takes her cauldron and carries it to the front of the class, and she thinks nothing of it, nothing at all… Until she realises that the comforting scent lingers by her, and glances over her shoulder to see who stayed behind as the rest of the class follows the Professor to the front of the class, her eyes coming straight into contact with brilliantly grey ones. Ones crinkled into a smile. Ones belonging to Sirius Black. 

When I was kid, this scene is when I realised that those sons of bitches Huns had murdered that little girl, her family, and her entire village, as well as the soldiers. I suddenly realised that her body was lying out there in the snow, probably burned like the village.

I legit realised that they seriously killed innocent people and little kids in wars. And I got chills.

If you didn’t think this scene was the saddest and most real sh*t as a kid, then you’re a fucking liar

Reminder that Nesta Archeron unnerved the King of Hybern

Nesta, who saw past Tamlin’s spell so that they would believe Feyre was fine

Nesta, who hired a mercenary to take her to Prythian in search for Feyre

Nesta, who starved herself to death so that their father would save them

Nesta, who had been assaulted and never found her closure

Nesta, who sent the letter to the Mortal Queens despite her hatred of Faes

Nesta, who tried to protect Elain as Ianthe kidnapped them for the King

Nesta, who demanded Rhys save the mortals on her side of the wall

Nesta, who damned the King of Hybern before the Cauldron transformed her

Nesta unnerved the King of Hybern, who had destroyed Fae and mortals eons ago in a bloody war, raised Amarantha as his general, and has the power to block communication between Feyre, the High lady of the Night Court, and Rhys, the most powerful High Lord in existence. What does this mean exactly for Nesta? 

anonymous asked:

Who is your favorite Disney Villain and Princess?

I’m an orphan and I work for the Mafia, do I look like I watch/ed Disney movies? 

The Horned King & Tiana.

Black Hermione Headcanons

During her third year when she takes Muggle Studies, she suggests Professor Burbage use a book she bought from the muggle book store about slavery and the anti-black racism in the class. Professor Burbage is fascinated and they both have discussions about it often. Hermione is heart broken about her murder some years later.

Her time in Muggle Studies and her discussions with Professor Burbage about racism fueled her outrage of the enslavement of house elves, explaining why she took S.P.E.W. so seriously during her fourth year.

Hermione never really knew how to take care of her big cloud of hair during her first years at school, but she decided to change up her hair style for the Yule Ball in her fourth year. [She wore fake locs in an updo] and during her research she realized all the hair care she had been missing, and soon becomes a pro at twist outs, knot outs, and protective styles.

She became a natural at styling her hair using magic, and even concocts hair serums in her cauldron. She starts selling her oils and conditioners to other natural girls at Hogwarts.

Ron is fascinated with her new hair regimen and often asks her questions about why or what she’s doing. Hermione gladly explains it all to him, eager to share her newly found knowledge.

She lives in a very racist neighborhood, so not only does she deal with people snarling m**bl**d under their breath in the wizarding world, but also people calling her a n***er in the muggle world.

ACOTAR Prompt Tag 2

Rules: Write five prompts (however detailed) for the ACOTAR fandom that you want to see, and then tag five people. If they choose to accept, they have to produce a piece of fanwork to fill one of those prompts. Once they have agreed/vowed to fill a prompt, they should reply/message you to say they’ve accepted, then they can make their own five prompts and so on. Prompt fills can be anything, from a 100 word drabble to a ten foot oil painting. People can be tagged multiple times, and if they produce multiple prompt fills, can make multiple sets of requests!

My Request Prompts:

  1. Illyrian!Nesta - Soon after her rebirth in the Cauldron, Nesta discovers when she undresses that two wings are starting to grow from her back. Feyre was right; She has not just been made fae. She is different. 
  2. Azriel x Elain - I’d be really interested in seeing some comfort fic for these two. 
  3. Feyre x Rhys - A retelling where Feyre saved herself from Tamlin. Rhysand never saved her when she was trapped - instead she herself killed/incapacitated Tamlin and made her own way to the Night Court. Can just be a small piece of what the world would be like if this happened. Bonus points if she DID kill Tamlin, and it’s explored how that would change her, how she truly did commit an act of murder post UtM. 
  4. Rhysand x Amarantha - MESS ME UP YOOO - Give me that dank angst fic. This would be dark. kinkmeme style bonus points: dub-con, non-con, BDSM, biting, degradation, humiliation, dehumanising. 
  5. Female!Lucien x Elain - This is one of my new favourites and argh I have a MIGHTY NEED 

I’m doing a second one of these because there are so many ideas I want to see explored and have no energy/time to get to myself - and everyone in this fandom is so stupidly talented! Like immediately after I posted the first I started freaking out going ‘NO HOW DID I FORGET THIS PROMPT?!?’. So. Also if you are going to use any of these prompts please reply to this post / message me or something because if not I might try and fill them myself when I can because I NEED these to exist in the fandom. 

I am tagging the lovely: @nightinsurgent @ilikebookstomuch @cruel–wickedthing @illyrian-high-lord AND @bookwormlovestoread

Also if anyone else wants to fill these prompts, please do, and please tell me so I can fangirl and await whatever you come up with - you don’t understand how much I would love any of these prompts to be filled :P 

If anyone I haven’t tagged would like to use this tag, go for it! Please tag me in it though because I love filling prompt requests even if I’m slow as anything at the moment xD

                                           CERRIDWEN

Ceridwen (pronounced [kɛrˈɪdwɛn] Cer-id-wen ) was an enchantress in Welsh medieval legend. She was the mother of a hideous son, Morfran, and a beautiful daughter, Creirwy. Her husband was Tegid Foel, and they lived near Bala Lake (Llyn Tegid) in north Wales. Medieval Welsh poetry refers to her as possessing the cauldron of poetic inspiration (Awen) and the Tale of Taliesin recounts her swallowing her servant Gwion Bach who is then reborn through her as the poet Taliesin. Ceridwen is regarded by many modern Pagans as the Celtic goddess of rebirth, transformation, and inspiration.

Originally posted by skullzombie23

scorpio ~ a woman that is born with centuries in her eyes.
full of trouble and full of sacred light. potent ingredients of mars and pluto mix
in her like a cauldron of indigo storms. she constantly enters the silence,
and she can vividly imagine physical death. on the 18th path of the tree of life is the snake, symbolised through the sign of scorpio.
jung says that the snake expresses the conflict between intuition and the conscious mind, and the great motion of nature. her physical body that rests here is not hers, and she knows this

-C.

Moriel Dancing Fic

This fic is for Day 1′s prompt Dancing for Moriel Week hosted by @acotarshipweek. Yes, it’s a Starfall fic. Kill me now.

The First One

I found her sitting all on her own on one of the balconies high above the House of Wind where she could watch the party below her. She was neither a part of it nor outside of it. Merely a spectator unable to move closer. She wouldn’t let herself tonight. It was a wonder any of us had even made it without…

I sighed, feeling the shadows grip my pulse to soothe. We were all dealing in our own way. Amren hadn’t bothered to show, nothing unusual for her to miss Starfall. Cassian had given half the night his best go before giving in to the liquor and retiring early. And Morrigan sat watch above it all wishing the crown was on Rhysand’s head where it belonged and not her own. Cauldron only knew what he was up to Under the Mountain with her.

But Morrigan knew she couldn’t leave Velaris without someone to look to for encouragement tonight even if she stood apart from the crowds to do it. Rhysand would want her there both for the sake of his court and herself. He’d want her to be happy. He would want all of us to be happy even if we couldn’t really be. Not tonight.

A good hour went by in which I stood against the stone wall just watching Morrigan sit and idly drink her champagne. The glass was still half-full by the time I moved closer as if she were so heartbroken to spend a Starfall without her cousin - the one she teased and tormented mercilessly on a normal day - that her appetite wasn’t interested. Even the dress she wore of deepest black, though it sparkled like the night sky above us, seemed to suggest a state of mourning.

She kept her gaze firmly ahead of her as I sat down on the hard stone bench. She’d fixed it somewhere between the souls plummeting through the sky and the fae dancing below, only appearing to take it all in when really she was trying desperately to ignore it. But her shoulders gave a little shake that told me she was fully aware of my presence and maybe feeling a little too vulnerable tonight. For a moment, I wondered if it were a mistake to invade her personal space on so intimate a night as Starfall when I knew what it was costing her and would continue to do so for the next fifty years. But an hour watching her stoop lower and lower into her depression was too much.

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anonymous asked:

Prompt: Before their first year, Molly goes to Diagon Alley, she's nervous but accidentally bumps into Sherlock and his father. Kindly Mr. Holmes is happy to show & explain everything to Molly and Sherlock makes his first friend.

Molly Hooper was quite frankly terrified at this moment.  Why?  Because she was an eleven year old standing alone in a bustling street full of people in cloaks and pointed hats, holding a list of items she needed to go to a school that was going to teach her magic.  She was lost and completely out of her depth.  Her poor, withered Muggle nan was waiting for her outside the Leaky Cauldron, a pub the old woman couldn’t even see, leaving Molly to find all of her school things on her own.

Nobody here in Diagon Alley accepted Muggle money, which was all she had.  A plump witch in a tartan pointed hat had been kind enough to tell her she needed to go to Gringotts Bank, but she had no idea where that was, so she put her face in her hands and did her very best to stop herself from crying from being so overwhelmed.

“Are you alright, my dear?” a kindly voice asked and Molly looked up, blotchy-faced, at raven haired middle-aged man wearing a soft yet concerned expression.  Beside him stood a boy who had to be his son.  He appeared to be about Molly’s age, but had a much colder demeanor than his father and his hair was curly instead of straight.

“I-I-I’m lost,” Molly managed with a sniff.

“Where’re your parents?”

“She hasn’t got any,” the boy chimed in and Molly’s eyes went wide, wondering how on Earth he knew that.  “And she’s a Muggle-born.”  Still more astonishing was the way the father immediately took him at his word.

“Oh dear.  What’s your name?”

“M-Molly Hooper.”

“Well, Molly, I’m Siger Holmes and this is my son, Sherlock.  He’s just starting at Hogwarts too.  Why don’t you come along with us and we’ll help you get everything sorted?“  Molly gave a timid nod at this and Mr. Holmes smiled warmly.

“Can…can you take me to Gringotts, please?” she request politely and he agreed, leading the two children off towards the white building at the end of the lane.  Mr. Holmes talked Molly through exchanging her pound notes for galleons and sickles and whatnot.  He was very patient with her, reminding her of the values of each of the coins as she began to buy things for herself at each of the shops they thereafter visited.

At first, Sherlock was rather quiet and only opened his mouth to make snide remarks, but he seemed to soften when it became clear that Molly was not put off by him.  By the time they’d been to the apothecary, he was chatting her ear off about all sorts of fascinating things that he was clearly quite passionate about.  He was very eager to explain things to her when she had questions and though he could be blunt and downright rude, she found that she absolutely adored him.

Once they’d gotten all the things off their lists, it was time for Molly to go, although Sherlock seemed reluctant to part ways with her.

“If you need a place to sit on the train next week, I expect my compartment will be otherwise empty,” he offered quietly, as if he didn’t want his father to hear.  Molly beamed and shook both his and his father’s hands.

She was, at that moment, blissfully ignorant of what she had just signed up for.

helenheaven-blog  asked:

Hi, I might be imagining this but were you writing a dark!Ginny Slytherin!Ginny at one point? Think the description was about when Lucius slipped the diary into her cauldron. It doesn't seem to be on your page anymore. If you have taken it down for some reason and I missed all the memos than I am sorrysorrysorry for bringing it up. I just thought it sounded amazing and couldn't wait to read it :) <3

Yes, I deleted it. Ginny in that one was an unapologetic blood-purist, and before the last US election, exploring the character of a racist and how she’d react to Voldemort was more interesting to me than it is now. Given the current political climate in the US, I just don’t want to write about, or enter the mind set of, someone probably comparable to a Jeff Sessions.

I had put it on hiatus, but people still asked about it, and I decided I just didn’t want that story attached to me at all so I removed it.