Collab with @littleraccoondemon with some of our characters as Undertale characters. Spot (as Sans), Strawberry (as Papyrus), and Cedric (as a hot dog) are mine :3 Kiwi (as Frisk), Tanuki (as Undyne), and Bear (as spaghetti) are hers!
Finishing it off by getting stuck in an elevator on the way home
is shockingly not the worst thing that’s happened so far. It’s
just where he’s at right now.
Kind of awkward to be stuck here with with a stranger though.
He's not big on approaching strangers, but he'll make an exception in the event that he's desperate for a smoke. Which, as misfortune would have it, he very much is. This guy's got the unmistakable reek of a smoker hanging off of his clothes; he's got a lighter on him somewhere.
❝ not to be rude, but i don't think i know you,
and i'm kind of used to having this table to myself. ❞
Company during lunchtime had become a rare occasion, since
he had transferred schools. The change wasn't entirely a bad thing.
Peace and quiet was fine with him.
[Haven't posted this up yet, and it's still in the works. This is going to be fun!]
Luna Lovegood had just turned seventeen when she decided that she had to leave Great Britain.
She had to live somewhere without so much death, where the blood of her friends and family no longer clung to the soles of her shoes as she walked (and oh, the spirits around her would grieve those that had passed away, lost in the violence and to never cross into the Undying Lands), where she could no longer feel the ambiance of jubilation and loss that pervaded the air and clung to her skin like a cloud blanketing the sky.
She knew her friends wouldn’t begrudge her escaping the mournful magic that had carved its way into the very rocks Hogwarts had been built upon. The battle had taken its toll upon the history of the school, and she knew that the wounds of 1998 would never be forgotten by anyone, nevertheless by those who had fought in the battle.
Wounds, after all, would heal, but scars remained until the very end.
Luna also knew for a fact that Harry Potter wouldn’t tell her to stay: he had been the one to tell her to leave Britain in fact.
Harry Potter, the first to choose her as a first and not a last option, had urged her to seek her Crumple-Horned Snorkacks, and to capture one of Fudge’s hidden Heliopaths; to explore the world and to find life elsewhere from Britain. Luna had laughed at him, telling him not to be silly: Heliopaths wouldn’t have stayed now that Fudge wasn’t in position!
He’d smiled oddly at her, fondly and wistfully, before walking away. Each step filled him up with more and more courage, and she could see the Nargles surrounding him slowly drop off one by one, freeing him of any earthly burden he carried with him as he joined three figures off in the distance.
Even as the last Nargle fell away silently, she knew that they had to be Ronald Weasley, James and Lily Potter.
The four of them were so beautiful together, faces clear of all tenseness and pain and hurt, and she wouldn’t help but smile widely at them.
Ronald had given her a small wave, and mouthed to Luna an apology for his baby sister and family. James and Lily Potter had smiled back at her with gratitude in their eyes, telling her to live so that when she finally joined them, she would’ve lived enough for not only herself, but for all those who had died in the battle.
She’d waved at them as they disappeared, smiling as resolved finally settled in her heart. She’d left to tell her father that she would leave his home to travel to Europe, to Asia, to America, to find herself again. She would return, but she didn’t know when. Would he be willing to wait for her to come back?
Xenophilius, eyes misty and lacking sight from his time under the Death Eaters, had pulled her into a hug, crying tears into her hair like moonlight. But he’d let her go, giving her his blessing and a gentle kiss on her forehead. The last time he’d kissed her that way had been the night before her mother had passed away.
Gently turning away from her father and the hovering spirit of Pandora Lovegood, she had left Ottery St. Catchpole for Diagon Alley. There she had found at Gringotts’ something left to her from Harry Potter.
The Peverell vault once belonging to Ignotus Peverell had been left for her. In it, no money was to be found. Instead, a lonely Grimoire, accompanied by a dusty monocle and several black diamond beads, were lain out, waiting for her to take them.
The Wrackspurts had fallen silent for the first time when her fingertips touched the vellum that covered the Grimoire. Human skin, she noticed belatedly, stretched over de-scaled dragon pelt. However, the skin had none of the regrets or pain or memories that magic usually etched into the dying, and instead had felt like—home.
Carefully prying the book open, her fingers had ghosted over ancient parchment, stirring magic that had stagnated over the centuries of being untouched. Under her fingers, it had awoken much like a cat would from a long nap, fur bristling and back arching under the unfamiliar touch.
She had breathed life back into the book as she flipped through from front to back, moon-silver eyes focusing on the unknown words that were scrawled across each page. Upon closer inspection, she had noticed that each letter inscribed onto the ancient parchment was composed of smaller, archaic, runes, all written in a blood-saturated ink.
But it hadn’t mattered to her that she couldn’t read the Grimoire, nor decipher the runes. She would merely have to learn whatever she needed to learn to understand what Harry Potter had bestowed upon her in his deathbed.
It would merely be the first of the numerous things she would need to learn to live like James and Lily Potter had charged her to.
Placing the book into her pouch, the monocle was settled over her eye, where it hovered without assistance or support. The beads were threaded into her messy hair, braided and tangled until they were lost under her blond locks, settling against the back of her left ear like a reassuring weight. It was Harry Potter’s last gift to her, and she would treasure them no matter what.
The monocle and the beads had thrummed excitedly in unison as she left the Peverell vault, left Gringotts, left Britain for the last time in a long time.
Luna Lovegood had just turned seventeen when she decided that she had to leave Great Britain.
She wouldn’t return for another century and a half, when her hair had paled from a dusky blonde into a moonlight-silver to match her timeless features, ever youthful despite her age, her hair beaded and threaded with numerous trinkets, and runes etched into her wrinkled skin.
