Just vibing with my multiple ships

The little jokes inside are so hilarious

Hermione from Invictus ❤️

A comm for Tippilo inspired by her fic “Scent of Surrender” on AO3 ❤️

Hello Everyone! Welcome. Here's a peek at my new story. I've returned to fanfiction writing after a decade.

Comissioned music by Adriano Caballero :)

commissioned cover art by sunrise https://www.instagram.com/ssunriseart/

Please look forward to the first chapter drop this week of

The Lament.

"He is not a god when he falls from a brilliantly painted sky. His stygian feathers disperse in waves as his wings melt like oil held to a flame, no longer held together by one emotion. He tries to reach for the sun, stars, and clouds above, and any signs of her warmth flow through his fingers and disappear. Sound poised at the end of his tongue with words left unsaid, never to be ripped from his throat, the taste of obsession on his lips, and a lament in the cold recesses of his dark aching heart. His red eyes closed, and down he fell, tumbling into the violent sea below."

A Dark Lord and a High Priestess of Hekate cross paths in the 1950s.

art by Vagrant Lungs https://www.instagram.com/vagrant_lungs/

“Could she hear his heart thudding away in his chest? He was still in his Quidditch kit. He probably stank. Why was she so fragile-feeling? Her breath was warm. Her arms were a sweet pressure around his ribs. The feel of her head pressed against him was unspeakably precious. The feel of her chest, expanding and contracting against arms as she breathed was a thing rare and to be treasured.

It was pleasure and it was misery, holding Granger in that embrace. It broke through whatever fortifications he’d created in the last month with a crystalline shatter. It made him want to say things, blurt out things, tell her that he’d missed her and that he wanted to – to be with her more, whatever that meant. That he was quashing things because he wanted no part of those things, but they existed still, a teeming, roiling, unspeakable mess. That these things tormented him in the small hours of the night, when the world was quiet and he was alone with his thoughts. That he would voice none of it, because he was too afraid of risking the thing they had right now – this dance at the tip of a fulcrum, this equilibrium.

He couldn’t tell her. This was not the time. And besides – he wouldn’t risk it. It would change things. And he loved whatever this was, right now, more than he hated the feeling that it wasn’t enough.” - Draco Malfoy and the Mortifying Ordeal of Being in Love, Chapter 23: Draco Malfoy, Notorious Auror, by @isthisselfcare

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Draco: *looks at Hermione*

Hermione: *nods*