impeachy

Latest Posts by impeachy

Shen Yuan is, of course, a sweetheart of a cat that is totally, entirely, wasted on that acerbic Peak Lord who named him.

That is, of course, until a demon attack on the sect includes the use of True Heart Vial Rose and shows exactly what Shen Yuan is thinking.

Which happens to be rampant and increasingly creative expletives as he hisses, batting fiercely at the downed demon.

"Fuck your mother!" the cat yeowls, scratching at the demon's eyes. "You dogshit, peh! Curse your family! Your ancestors and descendants should feel shame having you in their bloodline!"

He quickly changes gears as he runs over to Shen Qingqiu, rubbing against his legs. "Jiu-ge, Jiu-ge~ That thing is filthy! Hurry and salt this wretched corpse lest it spreads some sort of miasma!"

Shen Qingqiu is, of course, more than a little pleased to do exactly that.

Shen Yuan, it seems, is utterly unaware of the fact his thoughts are understood. It doesn't help that he doesn't actually understand much of human speech (yet), so even if he's understood, he can't do the same for them. And that means he's very honest about whatever he thinks at all times.

"Is this supposed to be a gift? It's crude. It's bloody. It's exactly the kind of thing that dogfight Bai Zhan Peak would consider a prized possession. Its liver should be impeccable for qi restoration, and its bones, once in a fine powder, can help heal meridians. It's a good gift. Jiu-ge should take it." It's that commentary over the large corpse sitting outside the bamboo house that A) helps Shen Qingqiu realize it's not a threat and B) realize who it came from.

Also, apparently the cat has some sort of instinctual knowledge of beasts like itself. How curious.

"Going out of their way to misunderstand. Hmmh. Don't mind them, Jiu-ge. They aren't worth the effort. A waste of space and breath, they are."

The Peak Lord can't help a little laugh as he agrees, watching the cultivators accosting him turned red in the face at being dismissed by a cat.

"Aiyah, what am I going to do with you..." He purrs softly as he helps Shen Qingqiu calm from another, increasingly infrequent qi deviation. "You can't keep getting hurt like this. If you can't stop, I guess this Yuan will have to watch over you for as long as I live."

If Shen Qingqiu starts looking into how to help a cat become a spiritual beast after that, well, that's no one else's business.

"Jiu-ge cultivated demonically first. Of course cultivating the spiritual way only will cause an imbalance! Qi is qi, none is good or evil on principle, just like people and demons. Jiu-ge should keep using demonic cultivation to balance his energies! Fuck Wu Yanzi, there's tons of demonic cultivators better than even those from 'righteous' sects!"

If Shen Qingqiu begins improving in leaps and bounds, well, that's also his own business.

By the time Luo Binghe arrives, Shen Qingqiu is much more settled in himself and doesn't bother spiting Liu Qingge by taking a promising, fluffy-looking child on the day to pick new disciples. Though, Shen Yuan starts trailing over to Bai Zhan to go stare at the child, and in turn, Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge end up spending more time around each other...gross.

"Aaa Jiu-ge, don't be so shy. You clearly brought that Thousand Silver Teardrop Tea to help Qingge-ge through his bottleneck. Why act like this, ah? You're so hopeless. I suppose this cat will have to keep you company forever. Haaah."

Well, there are times he mildly wished A'Yuan would shut up. But his thoughts do end up getting the other peak lords to relax more around him.

Liu Qingge, having heard the cat's thoughts time after time, starts talking to Shen Qingqiu and treating him better. Repulsive. Do it more.

--

Anyway, I just thought this would be cute.

I now live in the Mulan au please forward all mail to this address

Like to charge reblog to cast

Reblog to make him lose another 200 billion, like to make him lose 1 billion

Therapy is expensive but drawing 999 YJH is free

Discrepancy #26

Interestingly, the excerpt from TWSA is different.

Yes. I know is probably a translation thing. But I treat translation differences as what was intended.

[ORV Novel, Chapter 5; ORV Webtoon, Episode 4]

You have to squint to see what the words in the Webtoon say, but the final paragraph is different. Here’s it typed out for your convenience:

Novel: He didn't feel any guilt. Everything was fleeting. He looked at the people with merciless eyes. After a while, his fingertips moved, and fire rose. Then it all started.

Webtoon: It will all be over in a moment. He skimmed through the people’s faces. Soon […] flame sparked from the […]

The novel’s version feels a bit more poetic with a writing style that I think matches Joonghyuk better. It’s important that they’re emphasizing his guiltless demeanor.

He feels no guilt. His eyes are merciless. This is important. Why? My favorite thing: first impressions.

Joonghyuk has been a mysterious figure this entire time. He still has yet to be named. He’s only been referred to as ‘He’ and there’s only been a silhouette of him in the Webtoon so far.

Joonghyuk’s lack of empathy is a big part of how the novel wants to portray him. It’s setting him up for the bridge scene.

At most, the Webtoon says he has no remorse. Which like. Okay. Let’s look at word choice.

[Merriam-Webster Dictionary website, definition of remorse and guilt]

Guilt is a much heavier word than remorse is. Sure, remorse is the feeling of guilt so the Webtoon is getting across the same message. But ‘guilt’ is heavier.

Guilt is an acknowledgment of a crime. Guilt has a heavier connotation and works much better. The novel is saying that he has no acknowledgment for the crimes he is committing—the lives he is taking.

Word choice is important and it’s why I treat most translation errors the way I do. It’s more fun to look at it like this rather than acknowledge that it’s two different translations.

My 999th turn Uriel design. She’s literally called [the living flame] I can’t believe there’s not more fanart where she’s made up of fire.

Anyways I really love how this came out

Beastmaster

Fun fact, "Tell me you fool if I continue to regress will I ever get to meet you again?" isn't exactly mistranslated the way y'all think.

Yes, "Tell me you fool" doesnt exist in the korean text however Yoo Joonghyuk does use his signature "you fool" petname in this line, and however else it was tled, it would've flown poorly in english.

However theres one other word that doesn't exist in the korean and that is "again."

AND ALSO

The line is actually tied to Yoo Joonghyuk's previous line to Kim Dokja: "I heard that the scenarios exist not just for the Incarnations, but for the Constellations, as well. Maybe, it was the same for you."

So the final line could easily be just

"I heard that the scenarios exist not just for the Incarnations, but for the Constellations, as well. So, tell me you fool, if I continue to regress will I ever get to meet you?"

0th Yoo Joonghyuk is using regression as a means to remain in the scenarios because that's the only hope he has to meet 51% Kim Dokja at the end of his long and arduous journey.

it was meant to be just a sketch but I got carried away again I have no time for that I can't do this anymore 😣

Harry wasn't allowed to be friends with Tom in the end.

when she says she doesn’t send nudes

i didn't say it was good, i said it has bewitched me body and soul

"i like your tattoos" theyd look better on your bedroom floor

Tom Riddle in an AU where he is the Minister of Magic literally:

quick one for kdj day

when mpreg turns you into a better person canonically

WHY DID THE SKIN HAT ADD EVOLVE TO A WIZARD

i love the phrase "which could mean nothing" i think its my favorite thing to come out of the internet ever i love saying it. it could mean nothing but we all know better. we know the truth.

wip, 4k , tomarry (accidental baby acquisition)

(or) Harry just wants to be taken care of, for someone to take the weight of the world off his shoulders and raise his child in peace.

There was a child running through the store.

Actually, there was a toddler running on their pink onesie through the Herbology store, touching plants and big petals with a care and gentleness people in double digits could not even begin to fathom.

Most peculiar of all, their hair was mostly green, matching perfectly with some of the plants they so softly touched with a chubby hand, except for two strands up front that stood jet black against their honey colored skin.

Finally, they seemed to run out of fuel as they bumped into Tom.

Two big green eyes looked up at him with slow blinks, mouth opening and closing like they were about to speak. Then, two chubby arms reached up, demanding to be lifted.

Tom stared incredulous at the small child. Where were their parents? Why were they free roaming the store full of plants that could be potentially harmful to such a small kid? And why in the world did they have green hair of all things?

Said kid patted his legs where he could reach, before extending their arms up again.

Tom looked one way, then the other, hoping the parent would appear out of the woods, but no luck.

Finally, he reached down to take the toddler into his arms.

Two big green eyes stared at him intently now that they were face to face. A small button nose stood between two soft full cheeks, small lips pursed as they scrutinized Tom with intent.

Then the imposible happened.

Magic rippled across the toddler's skin like waves on a calm lake. It left Tom's arms feeling electrified.

Their eyes changed, from deep forest green to dark ocean blue, an exact match to his. His skin paled, and his hair grew a tiny bit and turned to a dark chocolate full of tight curls. His button nose stayed, as did the small round face full of chubby cheeks.

A metamorphmagus.

A baby Metamorphmagus.

The baby seemed satisfied with the turn of events, and proceeded to lay their head on his shoulder with a content sigh, small thumb on their mouth.

Tom stood deadly still for fear any wrong movement would startle the child.

The baby sighed again, and nuzzled into his chest and promptly seemed to fall asleep.

Tom blinked.

Then, from around the far corner of the store a harried looking man with the biggest, most familiar green eyes appeared. His eyes were searching the room, somewhere low to the floor like he expected a baby to run from between the legs of the exhibition tables. It wouldn't be far from the truth.

Finally, and without Tom needing to put any input, the man locked eyes on him.

He startled half a step, eyes horrified and cautious all in one. His posture changed from concerned parent to an aggressive stance, defensive almost.

His wand didn't appear on his hand, but Tom feared he wouldn't need it.

He looked half a step away from punching Tom in the face, and the only thing stopping him was the baby asleep in his hold.

"Give me my baby back," he said, voice strangled somewhere between anger and concern "please" he added, almost as an afterthought.

Tom didn't have any reason to hold onto the child.

And yet.

The man before him was beautiful. Tan skin scattered with freakles and moles like galaxies. His hair was long, pushed away from his face on a bun held together with a long wand. His eyes were two green emeralds.

He had the biggest eye bags Tom had ever seen on his life. Deep, purple and dark, pulling down at the skin around his eyes like living weights, sucking his deep green eyes like a vortex. Despite the tan of his skin there was a green parlor to it that spoke of sickness.

His stance remained guarded, but his shoulders were tense and slumped forward, like they couldn't hold the weight of his body properly.

"My baby" he repeated, and his voice trembled somewhere between anger and tiredness.

Tom rolled his shoulders back and squared his spine.

"Why did you let your child run around the store? Are you aware of how many dangerous plants are within reach of their small hands?"

The man bristled at the jab, even as his bottom lip trembled.

"I didn't—" he sputtered, "I set him down for one second to pay and—it's non of your business!" He approached them cautiously and reached his hands out to the child. Tom turned, contrite.

"And how do I know this child is yours?"

"What do you care? Give him back." He reached again, this time slapping away one of Tom's hands with his own.

The moment their skin touched a tingle went down his back, powerful and insistent. The world came to focus for one second, colors brightening in a way they hadn't since he—.

The child was out of his arms before he could regain his wits.

"Teddy, you shouldn't go running like this. What if a bad man grabbed you?" He glared at Tom from above the child's head, green eyes narrowed. Teddy sighed deeply as he snuggled into the man's coat.

He turned, leaving Tom standing alone in the middle of the Herbology store between plants that watched on like gossiping ladies amongs themselves with the shake of their leaves.

Working Borgin and Burke's was both a blessing and a curse.

The owners left Tom mostly alone at the store, a fact for which he was greatful, as he could stand neither man for more than a glance.

The heavy feeling of the dark artifacts nestled into every nook and cranny of the store soothed something in him like a balm, something that had broken and become jaded when he tore his soul open.

He arrived early and went home late, looking to hold onto the heavy darkness of the magic settling in the store for as long as he could.

The man and his little child walked in a random Friday, two weeks after he had first encountered them at the Herbology store.

The child was strapped to the man's chest with a long navy cloth filled with small stars embroidered in silver. There was a green onesie on him this time.

Tom watched the man walk between the shelves in the section where they kept most of their books, a skinny hand running across the spines of several of them without the fear of a curse sticking to his skin. Most of his regulars knew better than to touch.

The child's green eyes were fixated on Tom, a curious look about him.

Tom smiled a bit, and let the magic around his own eyes fall like a veil, dark blue eyes durning a burgundy red like wine.

The child squeaked in delight, arms and legs moving up and down excitedly. His own eyes switched from green to red in a single blink, small mouth stretching into a toothless smile.

The man glanced down at his child with a frown. He found two red eyes gazing up at him.

His mouth opened in surprise, before accusing eyes rose to throw daggers in Tom's direction.

"Don't encourage him! Do you know how hard it is to keep them one singular color?"

"And why would you force him to stay a certain way?"

"People ask questions."

"Oh?" He walked around the counter, steps slow and measured. The man's shoulders slouched, arms coming around the baby. Tom took in the sight of them together, huddled in his store. The man looked as tired as he had the last time they had crossed paths.

Surely a metamorphmagus would not be a cause for concern from the general public.

Then it clicked.

There was only one family, at least in Britain, to be associated with this type of magic.

The House of Black.

If the man was trying to keep his child away from them it meant he had possibly already pulled their interest.

To say Tom abhorred the House would be an understatement.

He had been classmates with both Orion and Lucretia Black for seven years, sorted into the same House, frequented the same circles. And yet.

Yet, after they graduated they had left him behind in the dust.

They strode around Knockturn Alley sometimes, and they looked down at Tom from beneath their noses like he owed them something.

And this man had unwillingly attracted their attention.

He could work around this, if only to get close enough to him to feel alive again.

"You shouldn't have to hide beneath a smoke screen to feel safe," he said, smile gentle and eyes concerned.

The man narrowed his eyes at him, suspicious. What good instincts, Tom though, to not be deceived by a kind face in between the darkness, and rather looked at him like the snake that had been provoked and ready to bite.

Tom was willing to lend a hand, however.

"What are you looking for? Maybe I can be of assistance."

The man hesitated, looking down at his child. He pulled at his bottom lip, before sighing and meeting Tom's eyes.

"A book on baby werewolves" he muttered, arms protectively wrapped around his child and eyes averted. Like he waited for a storm to blow over.

Tom's eyes widened, looking down at the toddler with new eyes. There was nothing about him that could call to attention, other than the obvious magic that settled on his skin like a well worn coat.

A baby werewolf.

"You won't find any here" the man's eyes snapped up to him, face pinched. "Britain is notorious for their dislike of dark creatures, and the Ministry has been on a war path to burn any and all books they get their hands on since Grindelwald fell." Tom watched as despair settled around the man, mouth pulling down and eyes closing in resignation.

Then he looked down at their clothes, pristine and well pressed, of a good quality and well fitted. The man was clearly well-off, if alone, going by the tiredness around his whole being.

"There are countries," he started, tentatively "that don't hold the same teachings. Romania. Bulgaria. Hungary, to name a few."

"I don't even—how do you go about—and I only speak English—" the man stammered, thoughts going a mile a minute.

Tom watched the thought sink in.

Going to a new contry where he wouldn't be questioned about his child. The possibility of finding a community of dark creatures where he could blend in and help his kid.

Anonymity. Security. Community.

"I can be of help," Tom insisted. The man's head snapped up to him, suspicion settled into every fine line of his skin. "I speak several languages. It wouldn't be a problem."

"Of course you do" the man muttered. He took a deep breath and let it go, eyes settling once more on his child, where he snuggled into his chest with a stubborn hand on his mouth. The good seemed to outweigh the bad, the suspicion on his shoulders giving away to hope. Finally, his green eyes settled on red. "And what do you get out of it?" Good man.

"I get out of here."

The man's mouth opened in surprise, eyes disbelieving. Then his expression gentled somewhat, an understanding settling deep within his bones.

Like calls to like, after all.

"Okay."

"I'm Tom. Tom Riddle."

"Harry" he said. And left it at that.

There was a tiredness to Harry that spoke of something greater than a simple case of lack of sleep.

His eyes turned vacant sometimes, far away and lifeless as he stared into a void somewhere off to the side. The green tint to his skin didn't leave, and the hollowness to his face stayed no matter how much food Tom tried to pile onto his plate.

His appetite was little and scattered, pulling food in small bits and often taken from Teddy's own plate when he couldn't seem to stomach more solids, still preferring a bottle of sweet milk.

Little by little, as days turned to weeks of filing papers and paying people to forge documents, Harry seemed more and more willing to leave Teddy in his vicinity.

Teddy was fascinated with Tom.

Finally, after three weeks of sharing space and looking for all the possible ways and contries they could land in and would be welcomed with open arms with a werewolf cub between them, Harry fell asleep in his presence.

They were sat together on the same loveseat, and Teddy sat by their feet on the floor, playing with a unicorn plushie Harry had unearthed from the mokeskin pouch he held around his neck.

Tom was bent forward, reading through paper clippings and letters from people he had contacted on several countries, looking for properties away from the main cities and where the largest communities of dark creatures lived.

Before, he'd had no motivation to leave Britain. Nothing to bring back the feeling of being alive and not regretting each step he took, nothing to hold dear to him and make him look at the world with anything less than contempt, grey and dark and dull.

Now, Harry sat by his side, head dropping from time to time as he fought to stay awake, sleep and exhaustion threatening to pull him under.

Finally, his head landed softly on Tom's shoulder, cushioned by layers of soft clothing that had once long ago been gifted by Tom's knights.

Tom stayed as still as he could, flipping pages and letters and letting the cold magic that clung to Harry seep deep beneath his own skin.

Teddy, at some point, grew bored of playing and stood on unsteady legs to reach for Tom.

It was the work of a simple wave of his hand to wrap a warm spell around the toddler and bring him up into his lap, letting the little cub snuggle into his chest and fall asleep as he kept sorting through the mountains of papers.

Harry woke some time later, groggy and heavy but with the quickness of his breath that said he had walked away from a nightmare. His eyes looked through the floor, searching for Teddy, before settling on Tom's form beside him, where his child stood snuggled into his sweater.

He let out a shaky breath, the urgency banishing slowly from his eyes as he took in the sight. Finally, green eyes settled on red.

"Sleep some more, darling" he couldn't help the slip of tongue even if he tried. When he went to protest, he added, "those maternity books of yours say you should sleep when your baby does."

An offended look crossed Harry's features, a pout pulling at his lips, before his eyes settled on the baby so soundly asleep on Tom. A resignated huff left his mouth, as he brought his legs up on the loveseat, and snuggled into the cushions.

His green eyes were heavy as they locked gazes, pupils blown and eyelashes long as they brushed his tan cheeks. Finally they closed, and his body relaxed beside him.

If anyone where to ask, they were a family traveling home.

Harry spoke little to any Official that would ask, seeking the refuge of Tom's shadow and charms to nestle himself and Teddy in. After all, their forged papers could only do so much if the story they had made up fell apart on their faces.

The story went something like this:

Tom was a romanian man who had married Harry, a man of british origins. They had been dislodged by war and famine, but were finally coming home and looking to settle down with their son, Teddy.

They had lived in England for a time, believing they would be safe from Grindewald's war in the home country of the only wizard who had been able to match him. But now.

Now, they wanted a home.

The Officials ate the story up with kind, concerned eyes. After all, they had heard similar stories countless of times.

There was no reason to look any deeper. Not when the two of them looked like a lovesick couple, huddling close in the line of people seeking to enter the country. Not when they stood protectively around a son that could only be theirs, a perfect mix of his parents with a pale face and green, green eyes.

They were let in the Contry and out of the Romanian Ministry faster than they could blink, with a pamphlet that held information on where to exchange local money and get necessities for the first days in the Country. Another piece of paper, smaller, had been slipped into their hands too.

A man with yellow eyes standing guard at the entrence of the Department that held all newcomers had taken one long sniff at their son and had given Tom a piece of paper with the name of a street and a number. He told them to come once they were settled, the yellow around his eyes glowing like a halo.

Their stay at the house they were directed to by the werewolf was brief, but informative.

They were given toys charmed to last through the teething process, clothes that would not rip once the claws came in, charms to hide any unwanted signs that the child was anything but human to the public eye. They were given books upon books that held knowledge both trivial and necessary. From a balanced baby diet to how the phases of the moon would affect his moods.

The witch upfront had been firm but kind as she told them everything they needed to know, things to expect now that they were moving and how the change would affect the baby.

When they told her they where not planning to stay in the city, and were interested in finding a home somewhere close to a forest and away from the main magical communities, she had been delighted.

She had taken the time to explain all the little communities of dark creatures (and not all exclusively werewolves) that lingered in various villages. Where magic was strongest and what forest lest dangerous for a small cub.

Harry had looked on with a gleam on his eye that said nothing short of his death would stop him from acquiring a cottege at the edge of a forest for his small child to live a happy, healthy life away from anything that would want him dead.

Tom smiled and stood closer to them, his front against Harry's back, a familiar touch between them that had began as a necessity to keep unwanted attention on them. Tom could feel the magic between them like a creature alive, so full and warm and protective, making the world around him sharper, more colourful.

He didn't need the darkness of dark artifacts to sate the hunger that had been left behind by the Horcrux. He didn't need to soak himself in the depths of black magic to feel alive again.

He needed only to stand by Harry and let the world come into focus.

He slept.

He slept, and as such, he remembered.

The nightmare pulled him under with sinking claws, unforgiving and hurtful as they clung to his skin.

The War had come to an end.

By the time all was set and done, Harry was about dead on his feet.

People kept trying to talk to him, to reach him, touch him, faces exhilarated and happy with a joy he couldn't feel.

He grabbed the wand that wasn't his and apparated away.

Andromeda's little house on the hill waited for him, mostly nestled between tall trees and round bushes. Wild flowers had been steadily growing out in the front garden, left unattended and now that it was something closer to summer they were full of little insects flying about.

Andromeda herself sat on a rocking chair out front.

She took one look at him, silver eyes sad and piercing. She stood from the chair with a small bundle in her arms.

There was a tiredness to her face that spoke of the hours without sleep, pulling down bags around her eyes and on her mouth.

She knew.

Her husband was dead. Her daughter was dead.

Now all she had was a child she couldn't care for, and the remains of another child at her doorstep.

She ushered him inside, steps slow and magic sluggish.

Harry could feel her fading even from where he stood on the porch.

He took big steps inside, strides long and determined.

"Give him to me, 'Dromeda." He said, gently, hands reaching for the child in her arms. "It'll be okay."

"You need to shower. And sleep. You cannot hold him like this." The specter of a smile reached her face. She had said those words countless of times in the last month.

"Andromeda. Give me the child." His hands reached insistently for the bundle of blankets.

"I don't have him." Her smile was painful now, sad and revolting all in one. She was turning more and more transparent by the minute.

Harry, alamarmed, pushed past her.

He couldn't be dead.

It hadn't been more thank a fair few hours since anyone not his grandmother saw to him and—there she lay.

She was forever asleep on her day bed, on her side and hand reaching towards the bassinet by her. Inside he could hear babbling sounds and sighs of who could only be Teddy.

"You need to shower. And sleep. You cannot hold him like this." She repeated, like she couldn't help herself.

A new ghost to haunt another house. Perhaps she would pass on properly once Harry got the wits about him to take Teddy.

Perhaps.

He nodded once, assured she would get him with whatever little she could say if Teddy was in trouble.

He took the fastest shower he could manage while trying to scrub all the dirt and blood from his body.

He had died.

He had died on the forest floor before the most powerful wizard alive.

Then he had killed him.

And now Andromeda too was dead.

And he had a child not a month old to care for.

He feed and changed Teddy, burped him and rocket him to sleep in between the spaces of the living room, and when the baby finally succumbed to the world of darkness, Harry set him down gently on his bassinet.

Then he sat by his side and sobbed.

Burying Andromeda, with the amount of cooling bodies in the afterneath would be near impossible. Instead, Harry dug a shallow grave by hand by the altar she had placed for her husband in her garden.

She did not have his body, and therefore could not bury him in the proper way, but she had built a small thing out of wood and magic.

It was where the wildflowers grew the most.

Digging her grave by magic felt improper, too impersonal. So, he transfigured a chair into a shovel and started to dig.

Teddy had been placed in the shadow of a tree nearby, close enough to hear if he cried and far out of the house and the body that was starting to smell, no matter the amount of cooling and preservation charms he wrapped around.

He laid Andromeda Tonks on a bed of flowers, right by her husband's altar, and took it upon himself to build her one too.

He was sweating and crying by the time he finished, the afternoon sun unforgiving on his back.

Teddy had not cried once, content to watch the leaves flutter in the wind. Butterflies had come and gone around him, and each time one touched his skin his hair changed color to match the wings.

He took Teddy with him when he finally rose from his kneeling position by the grave, ready for another shower and sleep.

Flowers bloomed at his back, wild and in all the possible colors of the rainbow to match the grave by it's side.

Showering with a baby was challenging.

He had to leave Teddy close enough to hear if he cried but far enough so he wouldn't get swallowed up by the steam of the water, so he compromised.

It wouldn't be the first time he showered with cold water, anyways.

Teddy was a peaceful child, all in all.

He only cried if his nappy had been dirty for too long, or if his tummy hurt.

If he had any say about it, Teddy would never go hungry, or cold. He would never grow unloved or shoved in the spaces between the walls where he didn't belong.

Letters upon letters started banging on the windows, owls upon owls lining up to drop them at his feet.

Harry took an entire day to raise wards upon wards around the house to keep them out. To keep anyone out.

Most of the time he spent walking through the woods with Teddy in arms, pointing out plants and animals and watching the small baby take in the world like it was magical and full of life.

His eyes changed from yellow to green to silver often enough for Harry to expect it now.

Often enough when Harry rocked him to sleep, slow and steady while they locked eyes they would remain as green as the forests outside. Just his exact shade too.

Two months of solitude with only Kretcher's help around the kitchen to get the necessary supplies and Teddy's constant cuteness was enough for Harry to reach a decision.

He had sat one day with all the letters to read them one by one.

His friends, for one, were worried about him. After all he had disappeared right after the battle and so far no one had been able to reach him.

The Ministry, of course, demanded his presence in any and all of his capabilities. The first letters had been congratulating him, the tone praising like he was a god amongst men. Informing him he had been accepted in the Auror Academy should he wanted, there was an Order of Merlin Medal with his name on it and a date for a ceremony that would take place just for him alone. The Hero.

And when no news or confirmation or thanks had left his lips, then. Then they turned angry. They demanded his presence, and to know where exactly had Harry sequestered himself, what he was thinking disappearing from the eye of the public when they most needed him—then they accused him of trying to amass power, the next coming of a Dark Lord and. And Harry was so done.

(No one seemed to remember Teddy).

Harry sat and cried most nights.

The night he read the letters he sat in cold stone silence, Teddy's breathing his only company.

He wanted to get away.

Away from any people he knew, away from anyone who viewed him as a weapon first and a teen second, away from the public and their demands, away from the Ministry and their hypocrisy.

He stayed long enough to save Draco Malfoy's head from rolling on the ground, the witches and wizards proceeding his case dead silent when he strode up the Chamber, green eyes blazing.

They stood silent as Harry laid down the facts. Draco Malfoy had helped him and his friends escape the clutches of the Death Eaters, of Voldemort.

And when the sentencing turned on his favour, he walked right back out.

He dissapeared beneath the cloth of his father's cloak, of Death's cloak, never to be seen again.

He got on the train with Teddy in his arms, the cloak at his back, wand on his pocket and stone around his neck.

He felt hollow.

Like a piece of himself had been ripped apart with bloody hands and all that was left was the shadow of who Harry could have been, once.

His magic begged to be reunited with that which had been his for sixteen years.

So he boarded the train.

waiting for their ride 🚌

if I don't draw him getting his shit rocked am I really a fan

LOOK AT THESE FREAKS!!!!

(also im!! posting these to my new ig account which is why i put the watermark there,,,,, should i still post them here even tho the watermark dont match my username here or just stick to posting on ig what do yall think 😭)

LOOK AT THESE FREAKS!!!!

(also im!! posting these to my new ig account which is why i put the watermark there,,,,, should i still post them here even tho the watermark dont match my username here or just stick to posting on ig what do yall think 😭)

happy year of the snake!! a snake miku to celebrate :-)