31 Days of Fear, hosted by @hp-fearfest

Day 31: Alone (read on AO3 here)

Fic: Wormwood (Regulus, Mature) (chapters 21-31)

Onwards with chapter 21 under the cut.

Prompt 21: burn (i'm sorry)

Regulus sat with his father during the summer evenings. Incense was burning constantly in his room now, the scent so thick in the air, Regulus could still smell it clinging to his skin hours afterwards. He took to bathing right away after leaving his father's bedside. Worse yet were the moments when the incense couldn't mask the smell of his father's rotting flesh. 

Regulus found the memory in the family library. He'd been looking through scrolls of parchments his great-grandfather Cygnus had collected during his lifetime. There were very few places like the Black library left that still harboured jewels of the old knowledge. Conserved behind warding charms, the library held some of the earliest known Latin transcriptions of the Tabula Smaragdina, fragments of the original manuscript of Secrets of the Darkest Art and early writings of Godelot. Even Hogwarts paled in comparison because it denied the wisdom found in the Dark Arts. There could be no light without the dark. 

It came through the keyhole as a long thin snake, black as the night, sliding its sinuous body into the darkened room, the only sound a faint barely there slither of scales on the carpet. It scented the air with its tongue: ink and parchment, dust and magic and a hint of old dried blood, and a slumbering boy. 

The boy was dreaming. Dark dreams, vicious dreams, full of shadows and screams in the night: they smelled delicious. The whole house smelled like beautiful nightmares. It had come to the right place.

It slithered over to the dreaming boy. He lay on a bed, one arm hanging down, his fingers grazing the carpet. So helpful. Such a good boy. The snake used the boy's arm like a ladder, winding its way onto the bed and then onto the boy.

There, on the boy's back, it shook off its snake body and crouched low, growing larger and larger, and heavier and heavier. It sprouted thick black fur all over its body, strong arms and legs and long fingers. 

The boy made a sound, pitiful and weak, trying to move away from the thing on his back. 

But the thing held on tight. It wound its clawed fingers into the boy's dark hair, riding the struggling body underneath, riding the waves of delicious nightmares. The boy's dreams were like a feast, it couldn't get enough. It had to be careful not to grow too heavy, to crush the boy too fast, to end the feast too soon.

The boy was gasping now, desperately trying to cling to life. He was waking up, twisting and turning, fighting against the rider on his back. 

Regulus woke with a start. He'd fallen asleep over his books again. Next to him, the page showed pictures of small monkey-like furred creatures crouching on people's chests while they slept: Nachtmahr, the book called them. Muggle tales to scare small children, no doubt.

Regulus put the book aside, and got ready for bed. It was his last night at home before returning to Hogwarts for his final year. As he walked to the bathroom, he felt strangely light-headed and out of breath, and his ribs ached as if bruised. When he looked in the mirror, his hair was a tangled, wild mess.

Back in his room, he found a single small scale on his pillow, as black as the night.

@hp-fearfest prompt 25: feed the beast, hunger

Regulus was in the air when the call came, flying in lazy circles high up above the castle. He wasn't training. Regulus had resigned from his position as Seeker at the start of the term. Focusing on his N.E.W.T.s was an easy enough excuse to make, and it wasn't even an outright lie. The best lies held a grain of truth, after all.

In the end, it was Bellatrix who provided the excuse to leave Hogwarts when the next summons came, acting as the family's bearer of bad news. Everybody knew about Orion Black's unfortunate illness, even if the true circumstances were kept carefully concealed.

"Master—" The pitiful croaking voice of Kreacher roused Regulus from sleep. "Kreacher is sorry."

Every surface of his room was littered with leather-bound tomes, parchments and articles ripped from the Daily Prophet. Regulus didn't sleep, he barely ate. Kreacher brought him tea and Ephedra potion to keep him focused and alert beyond his body's natural limits.

The strangest thing happened. Regulus was ostensibly in the greatest danger of his life, but he wasn't afraid. All his life, he'd tried to hide just how terrified he was.  Now, for the first time, Regulus knew exactly what he needed to do without anyone telling him first. 

The book was large and heavy, bound in thick elven leather that's grown dark from age and countless hands. Each corner had ornamental metal bosses nailed into the wooden boards and the leather binding was decorated with the Black crest under an inlaid iron firmament of the Behenian stars. A thick metal clasp held the book closed.

Life, Regulus found, was a bitter thing, and dying was a little like living. It only hurt as long as you struggled. There was peace in having no more choices. Kreacher stood by the crystal basin, the Horcrux clutched safely to his chest, a silent witness. The elf would fulfil Regulus' mission, a loyal servant until his last breath. His family would be safe, and the Dark Lord would be mortal once more.

HP Fear Fest 2022

Day 17 - Bloodsuckers || Hunt

Hi, yes :’)

Happy Samhain, first and foremost! I have STRUGGLED to finish prompts for this fest, but I really wanted to at least get this one out there because it’s my favourite! I kid you not… I finished it last night :’) Well, technically today at 3am xD But, GOSH! This idea was so neat :’) I have a whole idea for a fanfic based off of this. When I first saw the prompt list I knew I wanted to have RonNev VampireAU! and I started thinking of a fic xD But you can have art on it NOW! ;) (I’m so sorry for adding more fic ideas to our list, @bubblemuggle​!! Ahhhhh!)

Anyways, glad to be posting this on Halloween because it feels very appropriately like ending the month with a BANG! :) I had 3 more drawings planned for the fest, so maybe I’ll still finish those and post them even if the fest is over? :b Cheers! Enjoy some deets below:

Weiterlesen

Fic: Wormwood (Regulus, Mature) (chapters 21-31)

Onwards with chapter 21 under the cut.

Prompt 21: burn (i'm sorry)

Regulus sat with his father during the summer evenings. Incense was burning constantly in his room now, the scent so thick in the air, Regulus could still smell it clinging to his skin hours afterwards. He took to bathing right away after leaving his father's bedside. Worse yet were the moments when the incense couldn't mask the smell of his father's rotting flesh. 

Regulus found the memory in the family library. He'd been looking through scrolls of parchments his great-grandfather Cygnus had collected during his lifetime. There were very few places like the Black library left that still harboured jewels of the old knowledge. Conserved behind warding charms, the library held some of the earliest known Latin transcriptions of the Tabula Smaragdina, fragments of the original manuscript of Secrets of the Darkest Art and early writings of Godelot. Even Hogwarts paled in comparison because it denied the wisdom found in the Dark Arts. There could be no light without the dark. 

It came through the keyhole as a long thin snake, black as the night, sliding its sinuous body into the darkened room, the only sound a faint barely there slither of scales on the carpet. It scented the air with its tongue: ink and parchment, dust and magic and a hint of old dried blood, and a slumbering boy. 

The boy was dreaming. Dark dreams, vicious dreams, full of shadows and screams in the night: they smelled delicious. The whole house smelled like beautiful nightmares. It had come to the right place.

It slithered over to the dreaming boy. He lay on a bed, one arm hanging down, his fingers grazing the carpet. So helpful. Such a good boy. The snake used the boy's arm like a ladder, winding its way onto the bed and then onto the boy.

There, on the boy's back, it shook off its snake body and crouched low, growing larger and larger, and heavier and heavier. It sprouted thick black fur all over its body, strong arms and legs and long fingers. 

The boy made a sound, pitiful and weak, trying to move away from the thing on his back. 

But the thing held on tight. It wound its clawed fingers into the boy's dark hair, riding the struggling body underneath, riding the waves of delicious nightmares. The boy's dreams were like a feast, it couldn't get enough. It had to be careful not to grow too heavy, to crush the boy too fast, to end the feast too soon.

The boy was gasping now, desperately trying to cling to life. He was waking up, twisting and turning, fighting against the rider on his back. 

Regulus woke with a start. He'd fallen asleep over his books again. Next to him, the page showed pictures of small monkey-like furred creatures crouching on people's chests while they slept: Nachtmahr, the book called them. Muggle tales to scare small children, no doubt.

Regulus put the book aside, and got ready for bed. It was his last night at home before returning to Hogwarts for his final year. As he walked to the bathroom, he felt strangely light-headed and out of breath, and his ribs ached as if bruised. When he looked in the mirror, his hair was a tangled, wild mess.

Back in his room, he found a single small scale on his pillow, as black as the night.

@hp-fearfest prompt 25: feed the beast, hunger

Regulus was in the air when the call came, flying in lazy circles high up above the castle. He wasn't training. Regulus had resigned from his position as Seeker at the start of the term. Focusing on his N.E.W.T.s was an easy enough excuse to make, and it wasn't even an outright lie. The best lies held a grain of truth, after all.

In the end, it was Bellatrix who provided the excuse to leave Hogwarts when the next summons came, acting as the family's bearer of bad news. Everybody knew about Orion Black's unfortunate illness, even if the true circumstances were kept carefully concealed.

"Master—" The pitiful croaking voice of Kreacher roused Regulus from sleep. "Kreacher is sorry."

Every surface of his room was littered with leather-bound tomes, parchments and articles ripped from the Daily Prophet. Regulus didn't sleep, he barely ate. Kreacher brought him tea and Ephedra potion to keep him focused and alert beyond his body's natural limits.

The strangest thing happened. Regulus was ostensibly in the greatest danger of his life, but he wasn't afraid. All his life, he'd tried to hide just how terrified he was.  Now, for the first time, Regulus knew exactly what he needed to do without anyone telling him first. 

The book was large and heavy, bound in thick elven leather that's grown dark from age and countless hands. Each corner had ornamental metal bosses nailed into the wooden boards and the leather binding was decorated with the Black crest under an inlaid iron firmament of the Behenian stars. A thick metal clasp held the book closed.

no stranger

[30102022, tomarry, M, @hp-fearfest – xix, hunger games crossover, inspired by the poem/song The Hanging Tree, cw: MCD, a corpse that sings and talks, semi-graphic description of death by hanging, nothing too gory]

•

Round midnight, Tom comes to the tree. He finds Harry sitting cross-legged amid the undergrowth, as always, with a guitar on his lap. Lost in thought. Darkly, the saplings and wildflowers rustle to his distracted thrums.

Tom’s footfall is hunter-quiet, but that doesn't keep Harry’s eyes from snapping up, from finding him – they never seem to have trouble finding him, and neither does the generous bursts of light in Harry's smiles; and neither does Harry's touch, warm, in a good dizzying way; or his lovely songbird voice.

Are you, are you

Coming to the tree?

The forest goes quiet. Vastly focused, the little bugs and animals stop in their tracks just to listen as Harry sings.

Where I told you to run,

So we'd both be free.

But he sings to Tom only, and every word feels like a kiss on his split knuckles, on his soot-cold lips. 

-

A snowstorm in December blankets the steady coal fire of hope in Tom’s chest, and Harry’s trust bruises so easily in the cold, promises from last summer tender like a fruit, long frostbitten.

It’s ludicrous that Tom had thought running off together could be the answer, and he tells Harry as much.

The two of them, of all people, should know that fairytale kisses cannot seal fairytale fate. Suppose they run. Suppose they leave everything behind – then, what?

A lifetime in hiding, and that’s if they’re lucky.

... Are you, are you

Coming to the tree?

Still, Tom shows up before dawn. He shows up in white, two stolen names in his pocket, wet whip on his belt; behind him: a dark red trail on snow.

Where the dead man called out

For his love to flee.

Tom shows up late. Hours late, or perhaps days. He finds Harry waiting for him at the edge of a harsh, blind world.

His Harry, his love – why won't he untuck himself from the shadows and, as always, illuminate Tom's bleak, grey world? Why won’t he smile? Tom's gotten revenge on the Peacekeepers, gotten them a future in the Capitol out of it. Surely that is good news.

"Tom –" Harry's voice cracks, and on instinct, Tom sways forward, wanting to comfort him.

A branch creaks above, a fatigued noise. Fear and anguish cross Harry's face – does he not recognise him?

Exasperated, Tom begins softly,

Are you, are you

Coming to the tree?

He can't sing like Harry, but it's their song, their morbid little in-joke. He knows the lyrics like he knows his own name.

Where they strung up a man

They say who murdered three.

Harry’s face screws up in a broken, soundless scream. He drops down to his knees. In the thickening snow, he scrambles closer and fiercely hugs Tom to himself, face buried into Tom’s elbow.

His Harry, alive in his arms, but Tom can’t feel a thing. It’s as if he’s a thousand feet down the mine again, where the weighty buzz of his carbide lamp is real and his body is not.

Run, my love, Tom whispers, slowly, painfully, finally remembering. Himself as the bait, thirteen lashes before he found the right moment to twist his wrist out. Three down, but more was coming. The bullet they put in his thigh tore at his muscles as he tried to outrun time, outrun death …

Splintered rope, scratchy and unrelenting around his neck. Gravity silenced him, inch by inch; he watched, his last exhales bleaching the sky hoary.

Harry, run, they’re –

But Harry just hugs him tighter, hugs him with a terrible sort of finality and doesn’t – “Never,” Harry chokes, “never again” – furiously, doesn’t let go.

•

Death is a slow process.

First, the heart stops beating, blood flow ceases, oxygen withers and fades into nonexistence. Cells burst, veins rupture. Limbs become stiff; laughter lines freeze in place.

Then, the abdomen swells, bacteria crawl into every limb—every crevice—and consume their fill. Muscles become liquid; dreams become nightmares.

Finally, the insects arrive. They colonise empty cavities, lay their eggs, and feed their young with rotting flesh. Bits of skin are gradually chipped away, all features lost to the inevitable turn of the Earth. Bodies become bone, a disquieting reminder of a life once lived.

Death is a slow process. Undeath is much the same.

Death and Undeath

Fred/George, Harry/George, E, 3.1k

Tags: Necromancy, Necrophilia, Graphic Description of Corpses, Death, Dark Magic Rituals, MCD, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Smut, Angst, Twincest

Summary: George digs up Fred's body because he just can't let him go.

Go read it on AO3!

31 Days of Fear, hosted by @hp-fearfest

Day 30: Book (read on AO3 here)

CW: death

Fic: Wormwood (Regulus, Mature) (chapters 21-31)

Onwards with chapter 21 under the cut.

Prompt 21: burn (i'm sorry)

Regulus sat with his father during the summer evenings. Incense was burning constantly in his room now, the scent so thick in the air, Regulus could still smell it clinging to his skin hours afterwards. He took to bathing right away after leaving his father's bedside. Worse yet were the moments when the incense couldn't mask the smell of his father's rotting flesh. 

Regulus found the memory in the family library. He'd been looking through scrolls of parchments his great-grandfather Cygnus had collected during his lifetime. There were very few places like the Black library left that still harboured jewels of the old knowledge. Conserved behind warding charms, the library held some of the earliest known Latin transcriptions of the Tabula Smaragdina, fragments of the original manuscript of Secrets of the Darkest Art and early writings of Godelot. Even Hogwarts paled in comparison because it denied the wisdom found in the Dark Arts. There could be no light without the dark. 

It came through the keyhole as a long thin snake, black as the night, sliding its sinuous body into the darkened room, the only sound a faint barely there slither of scales on the carpet. It scented the air with its tongue: ink and parchment, dust and magic and a hint of old dried blood, and a slumbering boy. 

The boy was dreaming. Dark dreams, vicious dreams, full of shadows and screams in the night: they smelled delicious. The whole house smelled like beautiful nightmares. It had come to the right place.

It slithered over to the dreaming boy. He lay on a bed, one arm hanging down, his fingers grazing the carpet. So helpful. Such a good boy. The snake used the boy's arm like a ladder, winding its way onto the bed and then onto the boy.

There, on the boy's back, it shook off its snake body and crouched low, growing larger and larger, and heavier and heavier. It sprouted thick black fur all over its body, strong arms and legs and long fingers. 

The boy made a sound, pitiful and weak, trying to move away from the thing on his back. 

But the thing held on tight. It wound its clawed fingers into the boy's dark hair, riding the struggling body underneath, riding the waves of delicious nightmares. The boy's dreams were like a feast, it couldn't get enough. It had to be careful not to grow too heavy, to crush the boy too fast, to end the feast too soon.

The boy was gasping now, desperately trying to cling to life. He was waking up, twisting and turning, fighting against the rider on his back. 

Regulus woke with a start. He'd fallen asleep over his books again. Next to him, the page showed pictures of small monkey-like furred creatures crouching on people's chests while they slept: Nachtmahr, the book called them. Muggle tales to scare small children, no doubt.

Regulus put the book aside, and got ready for bed. It was his last night at home before returning to Hogwarts for his final year. As he walked to the bathroom, he felt strangely light-headed and out of breath, and his ribs ached as if bruised. When he looked in the mirror, his hair was a tangled, wild mess.

Back in his room, he found a single small scale on his pillow, as black as the night.

@hp-fearfest prompt 25: feed the beast, hunger

Regulus was in the air when the call came, flying in lazy circles high up above the castle. He wasn't training. Regulus had resigned from his position as Seeker at the start of the term. Focusing on his N.E.W.T.s was an easy enough excuse to make, and it wasn't even an outright lie. The best lies held a grain of truth, after all.

In the end, it was Bellatrix who provided the excuse to leave Hogwarts when the next summons came, acting as the family's bearer of bad news. Everybody knew about Orion Black's unfortunate illness, even if the true circumstances were kept carefully concealed.

"Master—" The pitiful croaking voice of Kreacher roused Regulus from sleep. "Kreacher is sorry."

Every surface of his room was littered with leather-bound tomes, parchments and articles ripped from the Daily Prophet. Regulus didn't sleep, he barely ate. Kreacher brought him tea and Ephedra potion to keep him focused and alert beyond his body's natural limits.

The strangest thing happened. Regulus was ostensibly in the greatest danger of his life, but he wasn't afraid. All his life, he'd tried to hide just how terrified he was.  Now, for the first time, Regulus knew exactly what he needed to do without anyone telling him first. 

31 Days of Fear, hosted by @hp-fearfest

Day 29: I Know What You Did (read on AO3 here)

CW: mind control, drugging

31 Days of Fear, hosted by @hp-fearfest

Day 28: Undead (read on AO3 here)

HP Fear Fest 2022

Day 14 - A Seance || Silence

Yes, I know I know… It didn’t hit me until I started colouring her skin blue that this is basically Sally’s colour palette from the Nightmare Before Christmas, okay? xD I’m sorry! I know it’s kind of funky, but since I’m still playing around with fun colour palettes, it just happened and I apologise; but also… Sally?! How fitting with the thread angle I took to the Silence prompt :b

Also… YEAAAH, I did both prompts from day 14, soz! :b I just got inspired from both, so there you have it, hehe. Hope you guys enjoy this work, regardless of my silly choices. Cheers!

For the @hp-fearfest​

Fic: Wormwood (Regulus, Mature) (chapters 21-31)

Onwards with chapter 21 under the cut.

Prompt 21: burn (i'm sorry)

Regulus sat with his father during the summer evenings. Incense was burning constantly in his room now, the scent so thick in the air, Regulus could still smell it clinging to his skin hours afterwards. He took to bathing right away after leaving his father's bedside. Worse yet were the moments when the incense couldn't mask the smell of his father's rotting flesh. 

Regulus found the memory in the family library. He'd been looking through scrolls of parchments his great-grandfather Cygnus had collected during his lifetime. There were very few places like the Black library left that still harboured jewels of the old knowledge. Conserved behind warding charms, the library held some of the earliest known Latin transcriptions of the Tabula Smaragdina, fragments of the original manuscript of Secrets of the Darkest Art and early writings of Godelot. Even Hogwarts paled in comparison because it denied the wisdom found in the Dark Arts. There could be no light without the dark. 

It came through the keyhole as a long thin snake, black as the night, sliding its sinuous body into the darkened room, the only sound a faint barely there slither of scales on the carpet. It scented the air with its tongue: ink and parchment, dust and magic and a hint of old dried blood, and a slumbering boy. 

The boy was dreaming. Dark dreams, vicious dreams, full of shadows and screams in the night: they smelled delicious. The whole house smelled like beautiful nightmares. It had come to the right place.

It slithered over to the dreaming boy. He lay on a bed, one arm hanging down, his fingers grazing the carpet. So helpful. Such a good boy. The snake used the boy's arm like a ladder, winding its way onto the bed and then onto the boy.

There, on the boy's back, it shook off its snake body and crouched low, growing larger and larger, and heavier and heavier. It sprouted thick black fur all over its body, strong arms and legs and long fingers. 

The boy made a sound, pitiful and weak, trying to move away from the thing on his back. 

But the thing held on tight. It wound its clawed fingers into the boy's dark hair, riding the struggling body underneath, riding the waves of delicious nightmares. The boy's dreams were like a feast, it couldn't get enough. It had to be careful not to grow too heavy, to crush the boy too fast, to end the feast too soon.

The boy was gasping now, desperately trying to cling to life. He was waking up, twisting and turning, fighting against the rider on his back. 

Regulus woke with a start. He'd fallen asleep over his books again. Next to him, the page showed pictures of small monkey-like furred creatures crouching on people's chests while they slept: Nachtmahr, the book called them. Muggle tales to scare small children, no doubt.

Regulus put the book aside, and got ready for bed. It was his last night at home before returning to Hogwarts for his final year. As he walked to the bathroom, he felt strangely light-headed and out of breath, and his ribs ached as if bruised. When he looked in the mirror, his hair was a tangled, wild mess.

Back in his room, he found a single small scale on his pillow, as black as the night.

@hp-fearfest prompt 25: feed the beast, hunger

Regulus was in the air when the call came, flying in lazy circles high up above the castle. He wasn't training. Regulus had resigned from his position as Seeker at the start of the term. Focusing on his N.E.W.T.s was an easy enough excuse to make, and it wasn't even an outright lie. The best lies held a grain of truth, after all.

In the end, it was Bellatrix who provided the excuse to leave Hogwarts when the next summons came, acting as the family's bearer of bad news. Everybody knew about Orion Black's unfortunate illness, even if the true circumstances were kept carefully concealed.

"Master—" The pitiful croaking voice of Kreacher roused Regulus from sleep. "Kreacher is sorry."