#dare to write

[tender-indifference]

icon

was that a flash of the divine? your face catching a halo as you cupped your windchapped palms a small, brave flame. touch your lips to it. in the shadows, shrug a shoulder of ash across your knuckles. try again.

[maya-doolali]

Living Dead 10: The Annihilator

high blood pressure is a contest.

my layer cake inside me it’s supposed to chill like autumn but

haven’t paid the electricity bill in three months and by now

there’s no difference between filling and frosting.

inborn hostilities, congeal licks at contention please whisk

it again. i am soft jawed for a boy but still

pregnant and, mum! this is a filled pastry clotting

- Maya Doolali

[uwa-so-frisk]

Muffet in a kind of x reader prompt?

#328 - Equinox

Going on a hike up Mt. Ebott on a warm spring day seemed like a good idea when Muffet asked you to join her yesterday, but today you remembered you were allergic to everything.

“Dearie, are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” you say, eyes running from the high pollen count, opening the second travel size tissue package you had in your bag. “It’s just allergies.”

The lines of Muffet’s mouth fall into a frown, her fangs dropping back behind her lips. All five eyes focus on you and blink in sync once. It’s a little unnerving since they normally blinked in random patterns. Muffet tried to explain once that it was another form of communication between spider monsters and different patterns meant different things, but as someone with only two eyes that normally operated at the same time, you couldn’t reciprocate those messages.

You can tell she’s confused before she has to ask, so you explain that your body reacts to otherwise innocuous outside stimulus like pollen and dust in a very extreme way.

“I do not understand human anatomy,” Muffet says as she pulls you closer to her.

You laugh quietly. “I don’t, either.”

The muted sunlight outside through her gauzy curtains bathes the entire room in a soft purple hue. You admire the way it shines on the hard black chitin that protects her, running your hands along one of the arms closest to you. She shivers under your touch and sighs into the top of your head.

“I am sorry you’re so miserable, my dear.”

“I’ll be fine, one more day of staying indoors and taking medication and I’ll be right as rain.” You hug as much of her as you can for reassurance. “Besides, the equinox is important to you, it’s the anniversary of leaving the Underground.”

“That is not more important than your comfort.”

A little warm spot blooms inside of you, right where you know your Soul is, at the conviction in her words. You feel safe, loved, and protected with Muffet. Sometimes it’s overwhelming how attached to each other you are now after meeting a year ago.

“How about a compromise?” you say, holding one of her hands to your cheek and leaning into it. “Next year I’ll take the allergy medication before venturing out into a forest doing its best to suffocate me?”

Pressing her face against your neck and speaking softly into your shoulder, Muffet nods and says, “That is an adequate compromise, dearie~. Now stop resisting and let me nurse you back to health.”

Her breath tickles you in the most delicious way possible and you wish you weren’t so stuffed up and miserable or you’d take this further. Unable to speak, you agree by giving into the soothing feeling coming from her Soul to yours.

Prompt Me!  | Inkstay’s Dare to Write Challenge

[writingnoe]

my bones are hollowed out filled with sand of polluted seas

(you are so) heavy (i'm) sinking like a sabotaged ship

my mouth is sewn up

my teeth chew implosions like shards of glass they rip apart my throat as i (am expected to) swallow

inspired by the prompt “shards of glass” @inkstay 

[mega-happy-trash-collection]

“And I will leave my past behind me, not because I’m running from it, but because it has nothing left for me.”

The Beginning is Near

[idreamofdraco]

Part 15 Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14

Yes! A new update for my Pansy story! A short one this time because I really should be finishing my exchange fic (I actually need to be asleep) and because I’ve been meaning to get something added to this for the last year. I finally settled on a title as well! SOS (Save Our Slytherins). Each of these posts will be tagged as such.

No idea who all would be interested in these updates, so let me know if you’d like to be tagged when I post a new part. Or not tagged. Or whatever. Let me know things.

@noeycat07 @weasleymama @tinyyellowdragon

Title: chameleons Author: idreamofdraco Rating: K/PG/Not Naughty Compliant With: All But Epilogue Era: Post-Hogwarts, Post-War Length/Status: 861/TBC (maybe??) Warnings: None Summary: Pansy and Draco convince Harry to let them help in the search for Astoria.

Draco stood with Potter, Granger, and Weasley in the foyer, clearly in the midst of a disagreement.

“I’ll disguise myself!” Draco said. He tugged on Potter’s scarf, preventing Potter from donning it and demanding his attention at the same time. “Glamour me, give me some of your clothes. I’ll pretend to be a Muggle!”

Potter’s jaw clenched. “It’s dangerous for you to go out alone. If you get picked up, everything we’ve worked for will be ruined.”

Pansy stepped forward, too aware of Daphne’s sobs echoing up the kitchen stairs and Theo’s soft attempts to comfort her. Ginny, Luna, and Millicent crowded behind her, all grim.

“Let him go, Potter,” Pansy said. “Let both of us go.”

The censure of his green eyes landed on her, frustrated, frightened, a little furious. “You don’t understand. We need—”

“I do understand, actually. I understand that Astoria is fifteen. She’s spoiled and traumatized and she misses her home. I understand that we are her family, and she will be more likely to trust Draco or me if we confront her than she would any of you. We understand what’s at risk, but we need to find her as soon as possible.”

Potter stared at Pansy, silent and considering. She didn’t flinch under his gaze, even though a part of her wished to. In the last year, he had changed. He was a man grown, burdened with responsibility and honor, sick with them. His round glasses did little to obscure the purple bags tattooed under his eyes, and even at such a young age, Pansy thought she could see the shine of premature silver in his hair.

If Pansy had aged a decade in appearance due to the ordeal she’d been through, how old must Potter be, then?

Granger put a hand on his arm, drawing his attention toward her so they could have a silent conversation through raised eyebrows and scowls. It was annoying to watch, so Pansy was grateful when Ron spoke up.

“They aren’t prisoners here. Let them help.”

Before Potter could agree, Granger raced up the stairs, her feet pattering up each step for a comical length of time until a door opened at the very top and then, a few moments later, slammed closed. She raced back down again, arms laden with clothes, which she divided between Pansy and Draco.

Ginny, Luna, and Millicent shoved Pansy into the unused dining room and helped her change out of her pajamas and into the jeans and sweater Granger had given her. As material flew through the air and onto the floor, Ginny went to work on the hair she’d just cut, charming it into flowing locks several shades of brown lighter than Pansy’s own. The weight of her new hair was foreign, the ends tickling her shoulders strange. She didn’t have time to find a mirror or accustom herself to the feel of her new self because she was unceremoniously shoved into a pair of trainers and just as suddenly discarded back into the foyer.

“Oh, they fit perfectly!” Granger said, clearly focusing on the clothes she’d let Pansy borrow.

Potter, on the other hand, was staring at her face, his expression pinched.

“What?” Pansy snapped.

He glanced away. “It’s nothing.”

If Potter hadn’t been a virtual stranger, a rival, a master, if he’d been a friend, Pansy would have demanded a better explanation for his staring. She would have touched her hair in a self-conscious gesture and said with a self-deprecating sort of smile, “It looks stupid, doesn’t it?” And Potter, as noble as he was, would have refuted such a claim; he would have complimented her on her new hair. Maybe he would have fumbled in his attempt, but he would have made the effort.

For some reason, the thought that he would have tried to reassure her, even if she’d fabricated the whole scenario, was reassuring in itself. Pansy wasn’t that girl, though. Not anymore, and definitely not around Potter, Granger, and the Weasleys, so she stayed quiet as she waited for Draco, her arms crossed over her chest, her chin tilted imperiously.

When Draco reappeared, Pansy had to smother the laughter that immediately bubbled up her throat. He’d been made a brunet, too, his hair quite a bit darker than Pansy’s. His eyes were a flat, uninteresting brown that made fifteen-year-old Pansy cry at the loss of his natural gorgeous eye color. In jeans, trainers, and a Muggle coat he looked completely unremarkable, except for the way he held himself. He looked like a pauper who thought himself a prince.

Ron followed Draco out of the room in which he’d changed clothes and scrutinized both of their disguises. “Perfect,” he said with an air of both sarcasm and approval, “you’ll fit right in.”

Potter opened the door, inviting in a blast of frigid air that had Pansy shivering in her own coat and wishing for a warming charm.

“Remember what I taught you,” Ginny said, her attention intent on Draco, her gaze blazing.

Pansy didn’t know what that meant, but he nodded, his fists clenching at his sides.

And then they were stepping outside, rejoining the ruined world.

Part 16

[celestiologies]

And what of Azazel and his bared throat and the chapped skin of his wrists? What of how he reaches out towards the light from the candle in the corner of the room like it could match the fire of Raphael’s fingers? Close enough to touch, to taste the heat of a bruised spine his brother draws a fallen feather from head to heart and does not ask. Nothing holy wants his answer.

Bedroom Hymns