silver goblet

Girls like me love ancient thinking, we wear robes stained with yesterday’s wine, we wait for an ascension to heaven while standing in line to get into the martyr club, our chests studded with arrows, our hands seared with ink, we dance in golden tesserae, legs flashing neon while smoking cigarettes, we drink from silver goblets left out for the prophet, we are abandoned, in love with our gore, the heavy door propped wide open to let the night in, to let the lions in.
—  Hannah Cohen, “The Martyr Club,” published in Yes, Poetry

Originally posted by felipemilckman

Nessian Part Two by L.J. Lafleur

Glasses and goblets clinked, bursting laughter filled my ears. I shook my head to rid the noise, at first it worked but then it only grew louder. A gurgling growl erupted from my stomach, an acidic churn twisted around my insides. Instinctively, my hands braced myself against the bed post. It wasn’t my power, just hunger. The laughter grew louder, knives cutting against vegetables and porcelain. A distant headache formed in the back of my head.  

My stomach growled again, this time louder than I had ever heard before. “Curse you,” I muttered to myself, staring down at my stomach, covered in a jade chiffon dress. My sleeves came down to my wrists, trimmed with embroidered golden leaves. It was my first time wearing a color other than black-since the war. Since everything changed…again.  

I tilted my head trying to remember when I last time ate. It’s not that I didn’t eat anymore, I just didn’t eat with company. I raised my chin, straightening my back and headed towards the dining room. They were all there, all enjoying one another’s company-even Azriel had simpered as he passed a plate of what looked like green beans to Elain.

The room hushed, even Elain silenced herself when I trudged closer. I hadn’t seen some of them for weeks… including Mor, not that I wanted to see her any sooner than necessary.

Rhysand, with an unwavering smile, gestured towards the empty seat saved for me. “Nesta, I’m so pleased you could join us.”

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I Despise You - Edmund x Reader (Pt.3)

Warnings: none

Characters: Edmund, Lucy, Peter and Susan Pevensie and (Y/N)

Setting: The Golden Age, Narnia

Blurb (???i think???): (requested by @alwaysinnarnia) The reader is a Swordswoman/Knight of Doorn and visits Narnia, soon getting off on the wrong hand with King Edmund. She stays in Narnia and they train together, and they become friends and maybe something more…


There was only one thought itching at the back of (Y/N)‘s brain.

“Come on, you’re too slow.” The king laughed as she was once again knocked to the floor.

Killing King Edmund.

She huffed a piece of hair away from her face and leaped back up, her knees were bent and she held her fists in front of her chest. The young king, in response, positioned himself and began to throw punches towards (Y/N)’s upper torso.

Peter’s order for King Edmund and (Y/N) to spend some time together to train was an absolute waste of time. She could have more affective progress training by herself, let alone a king she despised.

(Y/N) had been planning to rest until at least until noon to catch up on sleep she had missed on her travels here. Yet, there was a thunderous knock on her door at dawn and she had opened the door to a wide awake and annoyed looking Edmund Pevensie.

“What are you doing?” The King had asked as if (Y/N) was doing something utterly disgusting.

“Sleep,” she croaked underneath the pile of blankets she drew over her head.

He had scoffed with one eyebrow raised and shoved a set of tunics, trousers and two pairs of training boots into her arms.

“Be outside in five minutes,” he demanded to (Y/N) who was half disoriented. “We’re going for a run.”

“For a what!” She whisper-screamed furiously. “At dawn?!”

King Edmund rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You’re helpless.”

(Y/N) obviously went with him to prove him wrong, only to see that he was a much faster runner than her.

There were certain things about this king that made her want to strangle him. She couldn’t think of any at that moment though, because he had just punched her in the gut.

(Y/N) tried to ignore the pain and keep fighting, but she needed a break. She held her side and began to limp towards the bench area of where they were training. With her mouth set in a straight line and her teeth gritted together, she took a seat and let out an exhausted sigh.

King Edmund approached the bench and wiped his face with the ice cold water he had collected from a river nearby.

(Y/N)’s stinging stomach made it clear that he had bruised her. But she didn’t say anything about stopping; then he would think she was a quitter.

“We could stop if you want.” The King said. “I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.“

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” She winced as she pressed her finger around her bruise. “For me to give up.”

He lowered his head and chuckled, the rays of the bright sun caught in his hair and lightened his dark eyes. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat as he squatted down in front of her.

“No,” he replied, his lips slightly upturned. “I thought you’d want to check if you had any broken nails.”

(Y/N)’s eyes widened and her heart began to pound with fury. She shoved him onto his back and stood to keep a foot on his chest.

“Patronize me again and I swear I’ll kill you.” She said with a tone of terror in her voice.

“I was kidding.” He grunted. “Get your foot off.”

“No, no I don’t think I will.”

The king looked up at her, dead in the eyes, and said, “Are you seriously-”

“Edmund!” Someone called out, and Lucy approached them with a skip in her step. “Breakfast is ready! What are you two doing?”

“Sparring. With our fists.” (Y/N) smiled as she clapped her hands together. “Isn’t that right, King Edmund?”

He grinned towards his younger sister who also added, “Oh and (Y/N); a letter arrived from Doorn.”

“Thank you, Lucy.” The swordswoman responded with a wide smile on her face.

“Don’t be late!” Lucy called back as she ran towards the castle.

(Y/N) drew her gaze back to her opponent who now had his hands underneath his head. She took her foot off of his chest and unwrapped the bandages from her knuckles.

“You haven’t learnt to fist-fight in Doorn.” King Edmund pointed out.

“No, we haven’t. It’s pointless.”

“What if you didn’t have a weapon in combat?” He asked.

“I would use anything else but my fists.”

“But let’s say you don’t have anything else.”

(Y/N) pulled her boots on and stood in front of him. “I don’t need weapons. Give me one piece of rope and I could kill someone in more than five ways.”

“You really are up yourself, aren’t you?“

“You really want me to kill you, don’t you?”

He flashed a smile as he stepped forward, making the space between them slightly shorter. She kept her eyes trained on his dark, yet playful looking ones. She felt something brush her waist and soon realized it was hand. He felt the new bruise located there and (Y/N) held back a wince.

“Sorry about that…” he said quietly.

(Y/N) ignored her slightly rapid heart beat and drew away from him after stating firmly, “Think about where you hit next time.”

He laughed softly. “I will.”

She rolled her eyes and turned away from him to walk back up towards the castle.

She still felt his fingers on her waist.


(Y/N) took her time bathing and grooming herself. Her room began to smell like the fig and vanilla scented soaps, filling the air around her and making her sink deeper into the tub.

She hasn’t gotten around to reading the letter from Doorn yet, and her mind began to wonder as to what her parents could possibly want. (Y/N) had often taken care of businesses that her parents couldn’t solve. She was intelligent and an excellent problem solver.

Although, she couldn’t figure out why the young king was acting like that during their training session. When he touched her waist, it felt strange; and it wasn’t because of this bruise he created there.

(Y/N) was confused by that sudden action and why he did it. She had thought it was to catch her off guard, which worked.

She drew a hand through her tangled, damp hair and began to dry herself off and dress for breakfast. She settled on a long sleeved, white tunic and a crimson floor length skirt. The stitching of multiple flowers with a golden looking thread made it seem more vibrant.

(Y/N) shut the door of her chamber and pulled on her shoes.

“Lady- I mean (Y/N),” she King Peter’s voice to her right. A smile appeared on her face as she greeted him.

“You and Edmund seem to butt heads quite a lot.” He laughed as he guided her to the dining area. “I hope this training has done any good. You know, making you sort out problems between you.”

(Y/N) scoffed. “It’s difficult to talk to someone so ignorant.”

“I wouldn’t say he’s ignorant; just very stubborn.”

“Well, if you say that then you must be correct. I should make him a friendship bracelet to express how sorry I am.” she stated sarcastically, earning a laugh from Peter.

They arrived at the doors of the dining room and entered. (Y/N) was greeted by Lucy and Susan who both complemented her on what she was wearing.

“You know, if you really like the skirts I could get more for you,” Susan said kindly. “They look beautiful on you.”

(Y/N) smiled. “Thank you very much, Susan. I’d love that.”

“Sorry I’m late,” someone stated from behind her. She rolled her eyes as she recognised it as King Edmund who walked to the empty seat across her.

Just as he took a seat, two fauns appeared into the room and began to distribute the almost unreal looking dishes.

“You make it look like you’ve never seen a pancake before, (Y/N).” Peter chuckled.

“I haven’t,” She stated truthfully.

The sound of sputtering surprised her and she turned to King Edmund who was choking on water, his younger sister patting him on his back.

(Y/N) sent a death glare his way and he responded with another cough mixed with laughter.

“Come on, Ed.” Susan sighed, exasperated. “You should at least understand that she’s new to a lot of these things.”

“Oh, yeah.” Edmund held back a laugh. “I know all about that.”

(Y/N) let out a bitter laugh. “Oh, do you now?”

“Mhm,” he hummed confidently. “You really are something special.”

Silence fell across the room as she gripped her fork tighter, all the while having a stare down with the Just King.

He took another sip from his silver goblet as the fauns disappeared from the toon. (Y/N) leaned forward and placed her elbows onto the table, a sarcastic smile on her face.

“Oh, then do tell, your Highness. Maybe you should also address how abnormally thick-headed you are.”

“Oh look!” Lucy exclaimed worriedly. “Eggs.”

The king retorted, “But you definitely outweigh that supposed thick-headedness of mine. It wouldn’t be fair to not address the queen of big heads.”

“Um, guys we should start-” began Peter, who has then interrupted by (Y/N).

“You’re inconsiderate and annoying, and honestly the only way that it could be worse is that you don’t know how to treat other people.”

“And earlier today?” He said, his eyes dark and the corners of his mouth drawn in a straight line.

(Y/N) stopped suddenly. She put aside her rage for a couple of seconds and remembered how he touched her. “What?”

He scoffed. “Nothing. Because apparently I don’t know how to treat other people.”

“Alright you two, stop it.” Susan demanded. “Whatever it is that is going on, you should discuss this later.”

“I’d rather not.” Edmund Pevensie said. “Definitely not.”


(Y/N) felt the day go by extremely quickly; her training and sitting in the library made her lose track of time. She was now sitting by the fireplace in her room with a cup of tea by her side, reading about the history of Narnia.

Of course, she knew her own history. But she didn’t necessarily know the history of Cair Paravel, and how the Pevensie siblings came around to becoming kings and queens of this country.

Sunset seemed like hours ago, and as soon as dinner was over she approached her chambers and hadn’t come out ever since. She definitely didn’t want to face ‘him’.

(Y/N) hadn’t seen King Edmund all day after breakfast what happened at breakfast, and dinner seemed much more quiet and peaceful. She did feel quite guilty about saying how he didn’t know how to treat others. But she also knew it was somewhat true.

(Y/N) closed the book and turned to her tea which, she noticed, had gone cold. She sighed and removed herself from her comfortable armchair with the teacup in her hand.

As she exited the room, she heard the sound of crickets and the coldness of the castle hit her hard. She shivered in her nightgown and hurried faster towards the closest kitchens of Cair Paravel, the candlelights along the wall guiding her.

Upon arriving, she noticed how large the kitchen was. With multiple benches made of marble and shelves filled with hundreds of cutlery and plates. As soon as she found a small pot, (Y/N) immediately began to prepare some herbal tea.

She began to wonder around the kitchen in search for biscuits and some sugar before she heard the door open. In a panic, she grabbed a small knife hidden under the sleeve of her nightgown and leaped towards the door silently. The figure who had entered had her knife pressed underneath throat. The swordswoman then discovered who it was…

“What are you doing here?” King Edmund whispered.

“What are you doing scaring me like that?”

“I asked you first.”

She let out a quiet sigh a removed the knife from his neck. “I was just making tea.”

“No, I mean what are you doing up so late?”

“What’s it your business?”

He moved towards a cupboard on the left, taking out something. He placed an intricately detailed teacup besides (Y/N)’s before jumping on the counter himself.

“You wouldn’t mind pouring me some, would you?” He inquired quietly.

(Y/N) still couldn’t see his face in the dim candlelight.

“Are there any more candles around here?” She asked.

“Yeah, in the cupboard beneath you.”

She found a small candelabra sitting in the cupboard with stubs of candles. It was just decent enough to last for a couple of hours. Not that they were doing to sit here for hours.

“You put sugar in your tea?” King Edmund asked.

(Y/N) nodded in response as she lit the candelabra. She placed it on a large counter in the centre of the room and noticed that the king was now off the bench and looking in a cupboard.

He was wearing a white shirt and a pair of breeches, and his hair was sticking up in all directions. (Y/N) noticed sweat marks on the back of his neck which plastered his hair down.

“Did you go for a run?” She said.

He turned around and looked at her calmly. He looked different; like he was off guard and tired. What happened to him? He doesn’t look like this usually.

“No,” he replied.

(Y/N) began to hear the whistling of the pot and rushed towards it, careful not to burn herself. She removed the kettle from the fire and took it out as the king asked her how much sugar she liked.

She didn’t imagine herself in this situation; pouring tea for someone she deeply disliked.

“I was reading.” (Y/N) answered his question from earlier in the dead silence as she stirred her tea.

King Edmund sipped his tea and began to break his biscuit into little pieces. “What were you reading?”

She shrugged. “Just some history.”


(Y/N) peered towards him. “And you, King Edmund.”

He looked at her with his dark eyes that somehow looked golden in the candle light. “I was sleeping.”

“You’re sweating and it’s freezing in here. You probably had some dream about training. I reckon you were doing terribly.

He chuckled softly as (Y/N) added, “I was definitely beating you, I could tell.”

She smiled softly and felt her stomach drop a bit. This wasn’t a conversation she imagined having. Was he messing around with her to get her off guard?

“No,” he said in response, snapping her out of her thoughts. “It was just some nightmare.”

“Oh,” she said.

“Listen, (Y/N).” He began, scratching the back of his neck. “I apologize for today; I’m not usually like that I was just worked up.”

“Is that an excuse for every insult you’ve thrown at me for the past three days?” She said angrily.

“No,” he stated. “But I apologize. I shouldn’t have said stuff like that.”

His tone of genuineness surprised her and she brought up what happened earlier. “And when you touched me?”


(Y/N) mentally screamed at her rapidly beating heart to calm down. “When you touched the bruise you gave me, why did you do it?”

He peered at her with kind eyes and placed his hands around his teacup, his long fingers intertwining. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, I just wanted to see if you were alright.”

(Y/N) stayed silent, debating whether she should apologize to him or leave it be. But she spoke up: “I’m sorry for what I said today at dinner; I didn’t mean for it to go that far.”

“You were only saying what was on your mind.” He stated moving just an inch towards her. “It’s alright.”

(Y/N) looked away towards the candlelight and sipped her warm tea.

“Thank you, King Edmund.” She muttered almost under her breath.

She felt his eyes on her but she didn’t turn to him, instead she looked down and smiled. “You still have a big head though.”

“Like I don’t hear that everyday,” he laughed. He then placed his teacup on the counter and stated, “Call me Edmund.”

anonymous asked:

Whys she looking through his sea chest? 👀

I know, right??

Nosy Swan!

You know what? I’ve just woke up and i’ve still got sleep in the corner of my eyes but fuck it! I’m gonna drabble it!

She digs the stray sock out from underneath the bed that had somehow worked its way towards the centre and tosses it into the hamper wit its companion.  She rises to her feet again and places the two stray books on the cabinet back on the shelf. 

Living here, she knew she’d take pride in it. It was her home she refused to treat it like one of her old apartments in Phoenix; this wasn’t some stopping pit she knew she’d barely take care of because she knew she’d bare;y be in it long enough to get attached. This was her forever home. And she was going to treat it as such.

She picked up the spyglass that perched on the windowsill and smiled, remembering the way Killian had eyed the waves two mornings before.

“Morning love. The waves are rather choppy this morning, i’d say harsh winds and a bit of rain might be on their way.” 

She moved across the room and opened his large chest to put it away, taking care of his small collection of worldly possessions. Emma was hit with the scent of Oak and leather as the lid creaked open.

She couldn’t help but be curious. This box was all him; his life collected in small artefacts in this chest and she wanted to know him more than she did- she always did.

She placed the spyglass to the side and began to take a peek. 

She smiled fondly at the old yellowed book filled with charts. Something told her this was Liam’s as she knew his cabin had been filled with charts just like this, yet he felt this one in particular was to be kept close. 

Her fingers brushed over the leather back of a familiar signet that lay next to it. 

A decorative dagger in a velvet box, two silver goblets wrapped in a chiffon cloth, a folded square of chick embroidered fabric - all these items looking so delicate and antique, with centuries of stories to tell.

A medium sized compartment sat near the bottom, plain and partially open. Emma lifted the lid to find it filled with gold doubloons. 

My pirate. She chuckled softly to herself, knowing this was probably nowhere near his complete loot, but knowing it was enough to keep them going for the year. 

A small black box sat on top of the coins. Emma could tell it was new; modern in design with no aged fading or damage. it held no otherworldly mystery to it. This box screamed ‘Land without magic’. She retrieved it from its hiding place and popped it open, gasping in shock as she saw the diamond ring that nestled inside.

Emma felt her heart race and her cheeks grow hot. she plucked it from its holding and held it; gazing at it with awe. It was a simple ring but beautiful non the less… but emma wasn’t focussed on what it looked like, it was what it meant. 

Killian wanted to marry her. 

And staring at this ring, she knew with absolute certainty that she would say yes.

She sat back against the footing of the bed and continued to play with the piece of jewellery, smiled widening as she dreamt. 

She was going to be Mrs Emma Jones. 

She was going to wear a white dress and say ‘I do’ with her family and friends around her. She was going to dance until her feet hurt with the love of her life, and drink champagne til she was dizzy. She was going to come home to the house they shared together and wake up together, as husband and wife. Her husband. The pirate. The hero. The lost girl was going to live, in her big white picket fence house, with her husband and her son, her family. Her happy ending.

“Emma, you home?”

Her heart stuttered its rhythm at his voice. She placed the lid on the chest back down and stuck the ring in the front of her jeans pocket. Thoughts about finding it while snooping flew out o her head - in that moment she didn’t care, she’d own up to it. She just wanted to get to him, too excited for the question she wanted him to ask, and too eager to begin the future that sat waiting in the pocket of her jeans.

She bounced down the steps and launched herself into his arms, happy to welcome her future husband home. 

Missed Moments

It’s been so long since I wrote fanfiction. Literally years! Like, a decade ago. So forgive me for any errors or mistakes as I’m slowly getting back into writing. I read the books a long, long time ago so I don’t remember much. I don’t have a or AO3 account, so Tumblr will have to do.

Here is my first ever Jonerys/ JonxDany fanfic.It’s not very fluffy and I have to build up the courage to write smut LOL It turned out more angsty than I hoped but well, I tried to stay as true to the characters as I could. Hope you guys enjoy it!

This will be the first part of… many parts lol. Just a similar idea to what others have already done. My own version of off-screen events or moments I wished we could have seen on the show. 

This takes place on Dragonstone before they set sail for White Harbour in 7x07. Spoilers, beware!

Missed Moments Chapters: 1.5A , 2 , 3

Here is the story below the cut:  

Keep reading

A Court of Witchcraft and Wizardry: Part II

The ACOTAR Hogwarts AU that nobody asked for.

A/N: Thank you all so much for the kind comments and feedback! I hope this chapter lives up to the previous one. I am very sorry to say that I am currently on vacation and will therefore not be updating for about another week or so. (It will probably be next Friday or Saturday that the next chapter is posted.) Again, please feel free to comment/leave constructive criticism. Enjoy!

Part One | Read on Ao3

Cassian woke before the sun. He sluggishly rolled out of bed, dragging himself down to the Quidditch pitch in the early morning light. He woke himself up by flying laps around the field, looping and swerving and practicing all the maneuvers he’d learned over the summer. By the time the fog had lifted and breakfast had been served, a gaggle of groggy Gryffindors with broomsticks in hand had joined him for tryouts.

In the Great Hall, Rhys and Feyre languidly filled their plates with toast and eggs. Mor, despite school policy, was still in pajamas. With a yawn, Mor said, “So what’s the plan for today, Rhys?”

Rhys hummed pensively. “I’m not sure. Maybe Az can sneak us into the Shrieking Shack. Any opinions, Feyre darling?”

“We should all go down to the lake for lunch. We can practice nonverbal spells,” Feyre suggested.

“Or maybe,” Rhys purred, nipping at Feyre’s ear, “We could stay behind and practice something else, just the two of us.”

Mor rolled her eyes and poured a glass of orange juice. “Seriously, Rhys, save it for the bedroom. I don’t want to hear about your sex life, especially not at eight in the morning.”

“My apologies, cousin,” Rhys said with a grin that suggested otherwise. Arm wrapped tight around Feyre’s waist, he continued, “Although, speaking of romance…has anyone caught the Morrigan’s eye, recently? Any hot guys?” He wiggled his eyebrows teasingly at the last part, taking an amused sip of coffee.

Mor and Feyre exchanged an uneasy glance. There were still some things that had yet to be revealed among their Inner Circle, despite how often Feyre assured her friend no judgements would be made. But Rhys, oblivious to whatever secrets were being kept, did not pick up on the glance shared between the two women. He looked at Mor expectantly.

Pushing a long breath between her teeth and forcing a strained smile, Mor said, “Not yet.”

There was a jarring clatter as Amren slammed her silver goblet on the table, red liquid splashing out over the rim as she jammed herself into the sliver of space beside Mor. “Gods, Amren,” Mor said sourly, “Don’t bother asking before you sit.”

“I never do,” Amren quipped.

Mor scowled, using her napkin to soak up some of the spilled drink. Peering at the stained cloth with mild disgust, she asked, “What the hell even is this stuff?” If she didn’t know better, she’d say it looked like blood.

Amren gave a feline grin, sharp as knives. “Juice,” she answered vaguely.

“Ever the drama queen,” Rhys said wryly.

“Worried I’ll steal your title?” Amren taunted. She patted his hand with false comfort. “It’s okay, Rhysand, everyone knows the queen has more power than the king anyway.”

Rhys snorted, but it was Feyre who replied, “And don’t let him forget it.” The three girls clinked their goblets together in a toast and burst into laughter.

Nesta was waiting by the entrance of the locker rooms when Cassian walked off the pitch, his new team lagging behind. “Nesta,” he said when he saw her, surprise coloring his voice. He leaned his broomstick against the wall and combed his sweaty hair back, tying it in a sloppy bun.

“You,” she acknowledged, sounding tired.

Cassian seemed to notice that the usual venom in her tone was lacking. He frowned, eyebrows furrowing with concern. “What’s wrong, Nes?”

“Don’t call me that,” Nesta snapped on instinct, her spine straightening. Any hint of previous vulnerability had vanished, leaving only ice in its wake.

“Sorry,” Cassian said with a grin, holding his hands up in mock surrender, “Old habits.”

Nesta pursed her lips, but decided against arguing any further. “Elain told me that you didn’t eat breakfast so – here.” Her words were rushed, as if nervous, though her face revealed no emotion. In her hand, held out as far from her as possible, was a sandwich wrapped neatly in foil. Cassian tried to catch Nesta’s gaze, but she refused to meet it, opting to stare intently at a spot just above his shoulder.

Taking the sandwich gingerly, Cassian let his fingers hesitate on hers. He watched her delicate throat as she swallowed, her eyes now drawn down to where his hand dwarfed hers, the rough callouses of his palms snagging against her own smooth skin.

Then, quick as lightning, Nesta yanked away sharply. “Okay,” she announced, straightening her already pristine robes, “That was all. Goodbye, Cassian.” She spun around to leave.

“Wait!” Cassian called out after her, taking a few stumbling steps forward as if to follow.

Nesta glanced over her shoulder, a single eyebrow arched. “Yes?”

“I –” There was a pause as a jumble of words got stuck in Cassian’s throat. He finally settled on asking, “Where are you going?”

“The library,” Nesta answered. “Morrigan and the others will be expecting you at the lake for lunch.” And with that, she disappeared back inside the castle.

Cassian let out a long sigh. He wondered if he would ever get to see Nesta Archeron as she truly was, without all her armor and defenses. He couldn’t explain why, but he desperately wanted her to trust him – gods knew he already trusted her with his life.

“That’s not fair!” Mor bellowed, face flushed with embarrassment. She was still recovering from Amren’s silent cantis jinx, the thunderous laughter of her friends echoing in her ears.

Amren smirked. “You really are wonderful singer.”

Mor growled, arcing her wand above her head in a counterjinx. A quick shout of “Protego!” came from Rhys before any damage could be done, leaving the two females to glare at each other from their respective side of the invisible shield.

“Well, well,” a silky voice slithered over the group and a blonde with calculating turquoise eyes emerged from behind a neighboring grove of trees. Everyone instinctively tensed, and Rhys subtly moved to stand in front of Feyre. “Having issues within the Dream Team, are we?”

Bristling, Feyre pushed past her boyfriend. Now mere inches away from the other girl, she threatened, “Get lost, Ianthe, before I hex your toes off.”

Ianthe wasn’t fazed. She shrugged. “I’m not scared of you, little mudblood.”

“Maybe you should be,” Feyre snarled, wand sliding out of her cloak sleeve and into her palm. Her fingers gripped the wand handle so hard her knuckles were turning white.

“Feyre darling,” Rhys began with an air of warning.

Pursing her lips, Ianthe peered over Feyre’s shoulder. With a sigh, she bemoaned, “Oh, how disappointing. I thought for sure my dearest Lucien would be hanging around you lot.” She grinned wickedly. “Lucien and I have recently become quite…close.”

With a ferocious battlecry, Feyre abandoned her wand and launched herself at Ianthe, opting to tackle her to the ground instead of using magic. Feyre’s knees rested on either side of Ianthe’s hips, fingers seeking out the blonde’s throat. Ianthe choked out a laugh, provoking Feyre’s grip to tighten.

Azriel and Rhys dove at Feyre, tugging her away by the back of her cloak. “Don’t you dare,” Feyre spat, absolutely venomous, “Don’t you fucking dare talk about Lucien ever you filthy –”

“Feyre,” Rhys murmured, his thumb ghosting across her cheekbone, “She isn’t worth it.”

Still laying on the ground, Ianthe rasped, “Go on, mudblood. Run away like the coward you are.”

It took all of Az and Rhys’s strength to hold Feyre at bay, though neither of them would have been particularly heartbroken if she had gotten free and hurled herself into another attack.

In the end, it was Elain who stooped, grasping Ianthe’s shirtfront and forcing her to her feet. “Leave,” she commanded, so quiet and menacing that even Ianthe had the good sense to look afraid. Elain shoved the conniving bitch in the opposite direction, sending Ianthe stumbling off.

“Conniving bitch,” Mor declared.

“I hope she rots in Hell,” Amren agreed.

Feyre was still trembling with rage when Azriel released her. “You okay?” He asked.

She shook her head, feeling sick to her stomch. “No. What Ianthe does – it’s disgusting. It’s a violation and someone needs to stop her.”

Rhys gently wrapped her in a warm embrace, stroking her hair comfortingly. “We’ll talk to one of the professors. The headmaster, perhaps.”

“I’ve already tried,” Feyre sighed, “And nobody believes me.”

“We could always cut her hands off,” Amren suggested.

Unamused, Rhys instantly responded, “Absolutely not.”

Amren shrugged. “It was just an idea.”

“And it’s not half bad,” Feyre mused, tilting her head in consideration. Amren grinned.

Rhys let out a sound of exasperation. Placing a delicate kiss on Feyre’s cheek, he simply said, “Please don’t do anything stupid.”

Feyre drew back. “Are you calling me dumb, Rhysand?”

“No! I would never!”

As the couple bickered lovingly, Azriel drifted over to Elain. He knelt, plucking a small white daisy from the ground. He held it out to her in silent offering, and she beamed. Instead of keeping it, however, Elain rocked onto her tiptoes and reached up to tuck the flower behind his ear.

“Perfect,” she whispered.

Azriel’s lips parted as if he were about to say something, but then he clenched his jaw shut as he reconsidered. He took a step backwards. “Where’s Cassian?” He wondered.

Elain ducked her head, peeking through her golden eyelashes at Az with a mischievous smile dimpling her cheeks. “The library,” she answered.

Part Three

The Eight Schools of Magic and You

I’m a sucker for urban fantasy, so here you go. Really though, let me know what you think, cuz I’d really love some feedback on this.


In the modern cities, sorcerers find magic from within themselves. They are natural born bags of magic, and all of that magic just wants to burst out. This obviously can cause complications if the sorcerer is not informed about what they are or go untrained on how to control it.

The other denizens of the cities who aren’t blessed/cursed with this natural aptitude for magic must study and learn how to tap into the lay lines of magic that run beneath the asphalt and concrete.

Thankfully, the magicians of yesteryear have compiled every known magic practice into eight handy and easy to remember schools of magic. This guide will inform you of what these schools are all about and how they work in this modern age, as well as how to spot the practitioners of these schools.

ABJURATION: This school is all about protection. It is a school of defense, of protecting what is yours and stopping those that might try and take that which is yours. These spells can be as simple as putting up magical borders to certain targets, or as powerful as even banishing its target to another plane of existence. In today’s world, where the mortal races (humans, elves, dwarves, etc.) walk about rubbing shoulders with all the things that used to go bump in the night that now smile in the daylight, abjurers are very common to see. The spells contained in the school of abjuration, as stated before, can be quite simple as well as intricately difficult, so its a school of magic that most have experience in, but few have mastered. Because of their power and increasing rarity, master abjurers are sought after by just about everyone in the city. Most of these masters are employed by the wealthy and the famous as heads of security, layering spell by spell until a thick, nigh impenetrable defense system of magic is covering them and their assets. The easiest way to spot an abjurer in this day and age is to look for the charms. Abjurers are known for placing protection spells on trinkets like necklaces, bracelets, and bits of jewelry. To protect themselves from any wandering eyes or hands, abjurers usually have at least five of these trinkets on at one time.

Keep reading

Song of Nimrodel pt 2

Imagine Haldir being shocked that you have an interest in him, because he’s nothing like other elves. Imagine Rumil introducing you to his brothers.

Why do small drabbles suddenly demand more chapters??

word count 3026

Originally posted by timeladv

You were singing, a joyous tune flowing through the mallorn trees.

“You seem happy today, mellon,” someone said. You spun, a happy smile on your face.

“Rumil!” you cried, smiling at your friend. “You’re back from the southern borders!”

“I am, but that is not what put a smile on my nightingale’s face,” he replied. “Tell me why you are singing today, Curulaeril?” You smiled, picking up the skirts of your green dress in a formal courtesy.

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Hospitality customs by flight

Earth: Earth flight favors the old traditions, and will invite visitors to stay three days and three nights, offering them bread and salt to symbolize friendship, and denote the protection of the lair’s leader for as long as they stay. To harm a guest under one’s roof is a grave misdeed in an Earth lair, and can get the offender exiled. For the guest to offer violence to anyone under that roof is an equal crime, and they will find themselves unwelcome in any Earth lair, for so long as the long memories of Earth dragons recall their crime.

Nature: Nature flights tend to be either welcoming and eager to share their bounty, or hostile and unwilling to allow outsiders into their lair, depending on how close they lie to the ever-changing and contested border with Plague. If they welcome you effusively because “You’re just in time to be the guest of honor at the harvest festival!” leave before the drums start beating and everyone dons their mask.

Light: While they graciously welcome any distinguished visiting scholars or aristocratic guests, more common visitors may find themselves shunted to the side, and snubbed from the guest lists for high teas, scholarly lectures, and manuscript viewings. Snobbishness is the unfortunate flaw of Light’s high society. However, even a common dragon may win their favor by demonstrating an excellent knowledge, be it of proper manners and customs, or the subject of their choice, and find doors opening for them. When given, their hospitality is lavish and impressive.

Shadow: Shadow lairs are infamous for pranks on their guests, usually under the guise of providing over the top hospitality, such as bursting in on a peacefully bathing guest to offer them a bathtime snack or perfumed oils for the water. The guests are fully expected to give as good as they get. Those who play along with good humor often find themselves “subjected” to the finest and most generous of hospitality when they least expect it, but the ones too inflexible and haughty to be anything but insulted rarely come back for a second visit. 

Plague: These dragons are often seen as rude and stingy hosts, because they will not offer their guests anything, neither food, nor drink, nor sometimes even a place to sleep. However, this is custom. Plague is a land of scarce resources, and no native Plague dragon would dream of being entitled to a scant store of food or fresh water, or even a bed where there may not have been the materials to make a spare one. They do not take what their host doesn’t have to spare, eating their own supplies and curling up on their own bedrolls. To bring one’s host a gift, or be offered one, is a rare and potent gesture of friendship, and clans will go to war in the aid of one who was generous to them.

Arcane: A quaint custom of Arcane hospitality is the riddle game. Guests are “gifted” with riddles and koans, and given the honor of presenting the first answer, after which their host clan will discuss their answer, and present possible answers of their own. Arcane dragons believe that their answers to the questions (some of which have been passed down and puzzled over in the clan for generations) tell them everything they need to know about the dragon, who will find that the food, room, and entertainment offered to them will all be based around what was gleaned from their answers, although no one but Arcane dragons has any idea what criteria are used.

Wind: Wind dragons are the most friendly and welcoming of all flights, and almost any passing traveler will be gleefully invited in. However, they’ll likely find themselves paying for their lodgings in stories, as Wind dragons are insatiable when it comes to travel tales. If a certain dragon is well known for always having a good store of fresh and interesting tales, clans where they pass through will compete with each other to provide the best hospitality in order to tempt them into staying with them the next time they pass through. 

Water: Every visitor to a Water lair is greeted with grave hospitality. Their hosts are well aware that an unassuming visitor could be a great hero or villain to come, or one doomed to die on the morrow. It’s considered in incredibly poor taste to read a visitor’s fortune before they are ready to leave, lest you see misfortune befalling them. When they depart, visitors are given a charm made of shells meant to ensure safe travel and protect them from the dangers of the deeps.

Fire: Guests are greeted with a traditional invocation bidding them welcome to hearth (the center and heart of every Fire lair) and home, and by extension everything the lair has to offer. The phrasing varies from lair to lair, where some may pledge that they will never go hungry or cold while the clan is there to welcome them, others pledging their sharp claws and strong armor to guard them, depending on what is most important to that clan. A guest must spend a night tending to the hearth, feeding the fire and making sure it doesn’t go out, but that’s no hardship. Rather, it makes it easy for anyone who wants to catch up to find them after the day’s work is finished, and they are plied with soft cushions, smoky tea and fine food, and sweet incense to throw into the fire. 

Lightning: Because of the high native population of ridgebacks, honored visitors will often find themselves subject to reverse thieving, in which they’ll find certain possessions of theirs stolen, and replaced with nicer version. Water fixtures, a rare commodity in the desert, are another way of honoring guests, and elaborate fountains that show off both the clan’s innovation and how much water they can afford to waste often decorate the guest quarters. In a similar vein, to be surfeited with fresh fruit, and fresh fish, is a mark of esteem, and it’s a grave insult to turn them down or worse yet leave them half uneaten (but considered generous to offer to share them, a saving grace for dragons with small appetites.)

Ice: Ice and Earth are the two flights who hold fast to the old traditions the most, and in the Southern Icefields, hospitality is held sacred. In a landscape where a deadly blizzard could blow up at any moment, any guest who comes knocking must be offered shelter, and treated with generosity and respect. They will be invited to share a cup of mulled wine with the clan leader out of a special silver goblet, each drinking from the same cup to symbolize friendship (and a leftover from long ago when clans so distrusted each other that the only way to prove the wine wasn’t poisoned was to share the cup, made of silver which was said to tarnish where poison touched it.)

Let’s Bet on it ||George Weasley

Originally posted by imagine-the-universe

Pairing: George Weasley x slytherin!reader

Word Count:

Summary: You and George are really close even though you aren’t in the same house. You are a chaser on the Slytherin quidditch team. On the morning of your match against Gryffindor, you make a bet with George over who would win the game, but things don’t exactly end up in your favor. 

Warnings: major fluff as requested, stubbornness, embarrassing moments, quidditch

Request: Hi! I wanted to request a George Weasley imagine x slytherin!reader in which they both play in their house quidditch team (she’s a chaser) and are super competitive so they make a bet. The one from the loser team has to do something embarrassing in front of the whole school but when her team loses George says that he doesn’t want to embarrass her and fluff

Note: I really thought this was a cute request, so thank you for that. They aren’t together in this, but they end up together!! This takes place during Prisoner of Azkaban.


It was as normal as a morning in the great hall could be right before a quidditch match. Today was the great Slytherin vs. Gryffindor game. To say you were excited would have been a serious understatement. You were sitting at the Slytherin house table talking with your teammates about strategies for today.

For the most part, you loved the game. The only real downside of it was that it often leads to aggressive competition between houses that you didn’t really like. You were more for the playful side of competition and you really pushed your team to taking the game less seriously and just have fun with it. That wasn’t always received all that well especially by Draco Malfoy who just viewed quidditch as another way to try to beat Harry Potter.

When the conversation turned towards the crushing side of quidditch, you started to zone out and looked over to your “competitors” table. You saw the two, bobbing, red tops of your best friends’ heads. You smiled as you saw how animated they were about whatever story they were telling. You decided to join them.

You grabbed an apple before standing up and making your way around the large tables to the spot in between the jokester twins. The two moved so you could sit between them without a second thought. You really enjoyed the company of the Weasley twins. They were joyous pranksters, and you loved that about them.

No one really minded that you were at the Gryffindor table because it wasn’t really all the unusual for you to sit with there. You weren’t really a fan of the whole segregation by houses thing especially between Slytherin and the rest of Hogwarts. Slytherin was always perceived as this evil group of people, but you didn’t believe a whole house should be described by a few people who came from it.

Of course, you loved your house, but that didn’t mean that the other houses were awful. Just like your house, Slytherin, wasn’t evil, no house was what it appeared based on their very basic traits. You really judged people by who they were. For example, you weren’t Marcus Flint’s biggest fan. He was far too rude when it came to the way he coached your team. The littlest things like messing around with a fellow chaser, Adrian Pucey, got you in so much trouble that you had to sit out a whole practice while Cassius Warrington, who you were far superior to, got to practice in your place.

There were other people from other houses you also didn’t like. Percy Weasley being one of them because he was always getting you in trouble when you were with the twins. There was a girl your year from Ravenclaw, Juliet, who was always asking questions no stop in your arithmancy class. She made an hour-long class go into your lunch nearly thirty minutes more than once. There was also a boy in Hufflepuff, Douglas, a year older than you that would follow you around and ask if he could take your books all the time. No matter how many times you told him to back off he would follow you from class to class like a lost puppy.

“You ready for the match today?” you asked George as Fred took over the story telling. He looked at you with large smiling eyes. You could tell that he was excited for the match today. As you took a bit of your apple, he brought his gold and silver goblet up to his lips nodding slightly.

“I can’t wait to beat you,” He said chuckling. You laughed heartily. You pushed your shoulder into his causing his goblet move and some of its contents to spill out. The orange juice splashed onto both your legs.

Both of you jumped a little when the cold liquid made contact with your leg. You bumped into Fred on your other side. He stopped his story to look at the two of you.

“George, I told you needed to ease into asking her out,” Fred said. “When you jump right in, you scare the girls away. Play it cool, man.”

“Quit it, Fred,” George said. George’s cheeks tinted with red. It almost matched his pale red color. He reached around you to smack the back of Fred’s head. You looked between the two twins. Fred’s face was painted with a sheepish grin as he looked at his twin.

Fred had this long-standing joke with no one in particular that George was into you. It really wasn’t funny because it only ever seemed to make George embarrassed and made you quite uncomfortable. Truth be told you really liked George, but you didn’t want anyone to find out. There was no way that he would lie you back because you were a Slytherin and he was a Gryffindor.

“Sooo,” you broke the slightly awkward silence that had settled between the three of you. “When my house wins, what are you boys going to get me to celebrate my victory?”

“As I said earlier princess, I can’t wait to beat you,” George said bumping your shoulder like you had done to his earlier. You shock your head taking another bite of your apple.  

“Yeah there’s no way your team will win against us,” Fred chimed in. You looked between them and rolled your eyes. There were so many things you could have said right then.

“You wanna bet?” you snarked back after swallowing. The small crowd of fourth years that were listening to Fred and George’s story before you interrupted were all now starring at you as you challenged the rambunctious twins. The deal had caught Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell’s attention as well. They were sitting across from the twins and somehow you hadn’t noticed them until now.

“I don’t think that is a good idea Y/N,” you heard from a few people down.

You looked to find that Ron was the warning voice. He was the youngest Weasley brother and often got picked on by the twins. You had witnessed it too many times to count. You had heard numerous horror stories from Ron about their behaviors at home. You had a feeling you were about to hear another one.

“The last time I made a bet with those two…” Ron trailed off with a look of horror gazing over his face. “Let’s just say that they always win their bets. I’m pretty sure they cheat no matter what it is. Don’t put your stakes too high.”

The twins let out loud, bombing laughs that filled the surrounding area like a warm blanket. Angelina rolled her eyes, and Katie let out small chuckle. You looked to George who settled down and let a small smile grace his lips lightly. He placed a hand gently on your lower back. It was a feather light touch, but that along with his smile made your heart flutter. The touch was gone as soon as it came. He turned back to his place to shovel a bite of eggs into his mouth.  

“Okay, let’s bet on it,” George said after he swallowed his food and Fred settled down on your other side.

“And what Miss Y/N of Slytherin do you purpose the stakes be?” Fred chirped happily. You took a moment to think before concocting the perfect scenario. Fred took a swing from his goblet of orange juice as he waited for you to share your idea.

“When Slytherin beats Gryffindor, you boys have to sing This is the Night by Weird Sisters at dinner tonight in the great hall,” You smirked as you took a big bite of your apple.

Fred started choking on his juice cause a bit off it to splatter on Angelina’s fancy, she looked at him in disgust. You knew for a fact that Fred liked Angeline. There was a good chance his plan for asking her to Hogsmeade for the next trip were now damaged if not ruined. You gave Fred’s back a few hard pats to help him clear his airway.

“If you will we will sing the Weird Sisters in front of anyone, but,” George started once Fred had caught his breath.

“When Gryffindor wins, you have to ask Douglas the Hufflepuff out on the first date during dinner,” Fred finished.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see George tense as he brought another forkful of eggs to his mouth. You too stiffened. The idea grossed you out, but you were confident that Slytherin would beat Gryffindor. You had superior brooms, and you guy were on the field practicing as often as you could. You were more prepared for this.

“Deal,” you said offering a hand to each of the re headed boys. They both took the hand offered to them and all three of you shook on it.

“Deal,” They said together.

“The score is sixty to twenty. Gryffindor in the lead,” called Lee Jordan.

You were flying in the air doing your best to avoid the bludger that was heading toward your head. You quickly swooped down to move out of the pathway of the flying ball. A beater on your team, Peregrine Derrick, hit the bludger away before its path changed to head toward you again. You nodded a small thanks before continuing on you path.

“Fred Weasley hit a bludger in Marcus Flit’s direction.”

You snuck a brief glance in your captain’s direction to see him be smacked into with a bludger hard. It took you a second to recover from the sight and you moved toward the Slytherin goal posts where Angelina was preparing to score. You quickly flew to intercept the path of the quaffle as it left Angelina’s hand.

“Y/N Y/L/N has the quaffle.”

You rushed to the other side of your field maneuvering gracefully around bludgers headed your way. You went to throw the quaffle when you heard the Lee announce something you really didn’t want to hear.

“Harry Potter has caught the snitch! Gryffindor wins!”

You felt your shoulders slump in frustration. You lost. Your team lost. Slytherin lost. You returned to the ground hovering just over it. You couldn’t believe it. You were struck speechless.

Fred landed beside you and pushed your shoulder. He was saying something but you weren’t understanding it. You couldn’t think of anything besides that you had lost. You were so sure that you were going to win this. You had put n so much work. You didn’t understand how you had lost.

You didn’t even realize that you hadn’t moved. You hadn’t touched down. You still held your broomstick knuckles turning white, and the quaffle was tucked under your arm.

Not only had you just lost this game, but you lost the inter-house quidditch cup for this year. If you had just been able to score more points.

Slowly you lowered your broomstick the rest of the way to the ground and stepped off it.  You dropped the quaffle onto the grass and looked around the pitch the Gryffindor quidditch team was cheering with Harry on their shoulders. You looked at your team that was finishing the collection of the balls to put them away. They all looked disheartened. You looked back to the Gryffindor team and saw George who was watching you. He ran across pitch to you.

“Hey are you okay?” He asked. His voice was soft and steady. You felt a warm hand on your elbow that slowly moved up and down your arm.

“We lost,” you said. “I was so sure we were going to win. I practiced so hard; I even practiced on days off. I practiced with you and it still wasn’t enough. I can’t catch a break. Now I have to go ask out Douglas. He just creeps me out.”

You felt tears running down your face. They were warm, but a hand came up to your cheek to brush them away. That caused the tears to come down hard. The tears turned into sobs, and George pulled you into his chest.

“It’s okay, you did amazing out there,” He said as he ran circles up and down your back as you cried into his shoulder.

He pulled you off the pitch and into the throngs of people heading back to the castle. He guided you along with him into a small unused staircase off the side of the pendulum. You sat down on the window seal and he sat beside you holding you.

“I really don’t want to ask Douglas out.” You blubbered through your tears. “I know we made a bet, but he makes me really uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to. Fred will understand,” he said over and over again. You kept sobbing into him. Tears drenched his shoulder and as gross as it was there was snot there as well. He didn’t seem to mind as he sat there talking calmly and rubbing your back and arm.

“Thank you,” you said after about ten minutes. You had stopped crying and used your sleeve to wipe your nose. You looked up at him from your spot under his right arm. He took his other hand and wiped the remaining tears off your face.

“I wish you had told me how you felt about Douglas,” he said; his voice got quieter after every few words. “I wouldn’t have made that bet. I wouldn’t have let make bet. I would have walked you to class more. I’m sorry.”

The two of you sat in silence. His right hand still ran up and down your arm. You watched students slowly trickle in until there were no more. You knew that it was nearing the end of lunch by now, but you weren’t ready to face your team who would put all the blame on you or Fred who would expect you to go to Douglas and ask him out. You just weren’t ready. George seemed to know that as he didn’t speak he just sat next to you.

He placed a slow kiss on your head. When he pulled away you turned to look up at him. His features were softer than you had seen them before. He cared and that warmed you. He brought his left hand to your cheek and ran his hand under your eye slowly and gently.

“Thank you, George,” You said for the second time in an hour. He let a small smile dance across his lips. You felt his gaze shift between your eyes and your lips.

“This is probably not the time, but can I kiss you?” George asked. His voice was breathy and seemed to dance around in your head like a wispy cloud.

You nodded just slightly, but he got the message and shyly came in to press a gentle kiss to your lips. It didn’t last for more than a second but ignited everything in you. When he pulled away, a smiled stretched across your cheeks.

“This was worth the year and a half of Fred’s teasing,” He said chuckling. You let out a small giggle and brought your lips back to yours. Though you had spent almost twenty minutes crying over the stupid bet, you were glad you mad it. Had you not you wouldn’t be there kissing your dream guy, and maybe he would not have had the courage to confess his feelings that his twin had already spilled so many times.

When you pulled away this time, you were more out of breath. After a few seconds, you stood up from where you had been sitting and stretched your stiff limbs. George did the same before catching your hand in his. Your stomach let out a small growl that signified you were hungry that you both laughed at.

“Can we go get some food?” you asked softly. He just nodded as he gestured for you to lead the way.

“Can we do the kissing more often? I really liked that” George asked. You laughed at him as you pulled him out of the little staircase towards the direction of the great hall.

“Yeah, we can as long as we don’t make any more dumb bets,” you say. He just nods furrowing his eyebrows for a second.

“Unless it pertains to a prank?” George asked. You thought for a second before answering.

“Unless it relates to a prank.”

With that you walked to the great hall hand in hand.


“Ugh,” You grunted as you scowled in the mirror, adjusting the rigid corset tied around your middle, “I don’t know if this is right.”

“Huh?” Dis turned to you, her dark hair shone with a sprinkle of grey but still lush as it hung down in perfect braids across her back, “Oh, Y/N, I told you, it’s supposed to look like that…though it could be a bit tighter.”

“Tighter?” You whined and set your hands on your already constricted waist, “I don’t—Oh!”

Keep reading

Just something I noticed

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, chapter twelve ‘Silver and Opals’;

“‘Good idea’ whispered Hermione, clearly pleased that Harry was calming down. ‘Ron, what are you staring at?’

‘Nothing’ said Ron, hastily looking away from the bar, but Harry knew he was trying to catch the eye of the curvy and attractive barmaid, Madam Rosmerta, for whom he had long nursed a soft spot.

‘I expect “nothing”’s in the back getting more firewhisky’, said Hermione waspishly.

Ron ignored this jibe, sipping his drink in what he evidently considered to be a dignified silence. Harry was thinking about Sirius, and how he had hated those silver goblets anyway. Hermione drummed her fingers on the table, her eyes flickering Ron and the bar.

Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince, chapter twenty-one ‘The Unknowable Room’,

“‘And yet,’ said Hermione, coming out of her reverie, ‘I doubt you’ll find a woman who sulked for half an hour because Madam Rosmerta didn’t laugh at their joke about the hag, the healer and the Mimbulus mimbletonia.’

Ron scowled.’”

 This is just hilarious to read. Ron has had a soft spot for Madam Rosmerta for a while, something that Hermione is not especially pleased with (and she certainly makes her feelings known about it to Ron).

Ron and Hermione are clearly making their feelings more known to each other at this point, and it’s just funny to read them awkwardly trying to get the other to notice them. 

Also, Hermione- you are being super obvious. You might as well be wearing a t-shirt that says ‘I fancy Ron Weasley’. 

I can imagine Harry sat next to them for the second bit, and trying not to laugh at how obvious the two of them are being. Ron and Hermione are shooting daggers at each-other, but Harry’s over here like…

 I forgot to put these moments in my Romione seven-year retrospective, so consider this an honourable mention.

Tevinter slave

She couldn’t count the syllables in her name, a battle with an ultimate defeat. She traced the lines of her strong jaw, wondering if she was gifted any of her mothers features.
She caught her own eyes in the reflection of a goblet, silver on silver. The curved surface hid the true expression of her face; showing only the glimmer of her decorations, fused into her skin and hair. Another defeat.

Atelas, her younger brother, shared the stormy clouds that found refuge in their irises, a moving sky reflected in a tranquil sea. She wondered if her mother really fell for her father because he had told her that the ocean in her eyes was where his world rested; this is what she told Atelas when he asked her, dirt on his cheeks and cuts on the soles of his feet.
She told him she could remember them, the smell of cherries in late summer rain.
But she couldn’t even remember her own name.

“Galain!” It bellowed like doom down the hall, bells ringing, a known desperation settling deep in her gut; a snake, hissing.
She allowed herself a moment behind closed eyes, reminding the nervous cells in her skin that atleast she still was.
She was and she would still be.
Actus me invito factus non est meus actus.

“Galain!” He shouted again, and she knew, she knew and she withered, twice for a crime commited in negligence.
“Venio, messere” she resigned, collecting heavy books in her broken embrace.
The hall was great, silent, but for the clinking of her golden cuffs rushing ahead of her in a humiliating crescendo.
She settled with the dust as the tomes fell open to the floor, lifted againg by the three enchanters circling a group of young elves, worth naught more than a trial of recently discovered magic.

“Altiora etiam petamus,” they demanded as they cut her skin, prying it open to weep.
She focused on the same sentence of the chant she was forced to recite, blood swirling around her in a growing fog, consuming the lives of the young men; her hands begging for forgiveness as they rose towards the ceiling.

Na via lerno victoria - Only the living know victory.

100 Days of R/Hr: Day 14

Prompt: “Talk Too Much” by COIN

Prompted by: @hello-blue-roses

So, this one sort of came out of nowhere. I had never imagined this taking place at this point in DH before today, but thanks, song prompt! It borderline doesn’t fit into canon, but I read the RoR / Room of Hidden Things scene over again in the book, and you could possibly stretch the timeline while Harry’s separated from them + getting accosted by Malfoy to include time for this to go down. It was also the last place for them to have a very brief acknowledgement of their status before Fred dies :(

Hope you enjoy! x

They were rummaging through piles of junk, rusted old bottles and sconces, torn books, furniture missing a leg… The Room of Hidden Things seemed to stretch on endlessly before them, and they had separated from Harry to cover more ground. At least they had a plan and Harry had seen the diadem before, Ron reminded himself, as Hermione reached up to push a small stack of filthy, wooden boxes to the side to see what was behind them.

“Ron… I’m sorry,” she sniffed, not looking at him, “f-for, you know, kissing you like that.”

These weren’t the words he wanted to hear after the best few moments of his life, but he hadn’t entirely ruled out this possibility, so he managed to answer her, trying to stay at least partially distracted by their search.


“It was a bad time to- but I just don’t care about that anymore.”

She shifted stacks of torn parchment atop a small mound of what basically amounted to trash, sighing.

“Yeah, I-”

“But those fangs could have killed us,” she interrupted again, “and I don’t know what’s wrong with me… why I’ve got to find the worst possible moment for everything. We were living in a tent for months, then all those weeks with your brother and Fleur…”

He couldn’t really bring himself to admit that he hadn’t even thought about the fangs, completely oblivious to the potential for one of them to stab through a leg in her haste to throw herself against him. He waited in silence for another moment, correctly suspecting that she hadn’t finished talking yet.

“I just wasn’t thinking,” she sighed again. “Sorry.”

He busied himself with a shuffle through a small collection of scorched cauldrons until he sensed that she was actually done this time, and he scratched the words out through his raw throat, more worried about leaving her to feel like she owed him anything than he was focused on the way his heart was sinking to the pit of his stomach, wondering why she thought she needed to be sorry in the first place… that maybe she’d made a mistake.

“I get it. We might die. You just… did something spontaneous.”

“What?” she half-whispered, moving toward him before he could comprehend what she was doing.

Her eyes flashed over to his, and a strange sort of deep gaze penetrated him, like she could read his mind. Perhaps he wasn’t hiding it well at all, too distracted with their task, aisles and aisles of endless rubbish, with the sounds of distant fighting echoing through the stone walls. But he tried to hold on to the way her lips had felt, her arms around his neck, rather than showing her how scared he was that she’d done something she didn’t really mean, in the middle of a war…

She pushed him back against a crumbling column, and, for a second, he tensed, thinking it might collapse under their sudden weight. Her hand was on his chest, which he tried not to focus on as she almost glared up at him.

“You think that’s why I did it?”

He licked his bottom lip, at a loss for what to say. He didn’t know what the correct words were, and he was too full of adrenaline and dust to think straight.

“Well, it’s not,” she answered for him.

“But you just said… Look, I’d understand, if it was.”

He thought back over her apology, not quite ready to commit to believing he might have missed something. The important thing was that they had to focus on the bloody Horcruxes, and she really had picked a terrible time to snog him and then say she was sorry for it…

“We can talk later, when all this is over, if- if we survive,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter right now.”

“Doesn’t matter?”

“I just mean… bloody hell. Honestly, if we are gonna die, I’d rather just think you wanted to do it ‘cause you-” He broke off and cleared his throat. “Y’know, that you’d have done it whether or not we were in this shit right now. I should just tell you, anyway, that I’m fucking glad you did it. I mean, you know me. I’m not sure I’ve done that great a job hiding it lately, but I’ve fanc-”

Her fist tightened in his shirt and she tugged him toward her, kissing him again. It took him several seconds to comprehend what was happening before he gripped the back of her neck with his right hand and kissed her back. She pressed her body all along the front of his, standing up on her toes to reach him. And then, too soon, it was over. He opened his eyes and blinked down at her flushed face.

“I didn’t want to say the wrong thing again and confuse you,” she whispered, trying to excuse herself. “And, we’ve got a Horcrux to find.”

He was finding it hard to remember how to breathe, but she’d immediately pointed out, without needing to explain in words, that all his doubts about how she felt were entirely self-driven. Her apology now looked like something different. They could have spent months together, if they’d just done this before, when they’d had an endless stretch of quiet nights together in a tent, weeks of safety at Bill and Fleur’s. Now, they’d managed two effing kisses, and he might not live to see the sunrise.

“That’s twice you’ve done that now. Isn’t it my turn?”

“I can’t believe you thought it was just spontaneous.”

“We were in the middle of a conversation. Both times, actually.”

“But does it still count as spontaneous if I’ve been wanting to do it for about three years now?”

He felt his lips twitching, the dread that had lodged in his stomach earlier had completely dissipated, and he was pretty sure his arms were coated in goosebumps. They really ought to be searching for the damn diadem…

“Diadem, snake, Voldemort, Prefect’s Bath,” she said quietly, clearly agreeing with his unspoken words, reluctantly letting go of him and backing up a small step.

His grin spread slowly across his face as she shyly chewed her lip and abruptly turned around, rummaging through old jewelry boxes as they could finally hear Harry moving on the other side of the aisle again. Ron walked up behind her to reach a tray of silver goblets over her head. Evidently surprised by his proximity, she turned around under his arm, gazing up at him. He kept his eyes on the silver he was looking through as he felt her watching him.

“Not up there,” he said.

He reckoned they should both really stop taking so much and start just doing what they actually wanted to do. So far, that had worked out far superior to all the overthinking and jealousy they’d gone through for years. And he was free, knowing she returned the feelings that, for him, had grown to surpass love, even.

“We have to win,” she said.

“We will,” he answered, and she ducked under his arm to break free, opening cabinet doors across the aisle and peering inside.

“Not here either.”

They might not have time to put words to everything it meant, but he wasn’t even sure if they really needed them, anymore. He took hold of her hand and ran his thumb across her knuckles, encouraged by the way she smiled, determinedly tugged him further down the aisle to keep on looking.

The Bible and Witchcraft: Part Four

Last time we talked about Joseph and his use of oneiromancy. This time we continue with talking about Joseph and another type of divination. Strangely, this is the one occurrence of witchcraft in the Bible I have seen anti-witchcraft preachers and bloggers actually flip out over and try and explain away. I’m not sure why the earlier mentions from Parts 1-3 don’t get the same treatment.

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