“Everything you’ve done, I know now. For me, for Camelot, for the Kingdom you helped me build, I want to say something I’ve never said to you before … thank you.”
○ Merthur S5
Every Thursday has become an exciting yet anxiety filled day for me.
Here’s some more art. Print!
I can’t your art. Mel plz. You’re killing me here with all this beauty.
Like a butterfly, a wild butterfly
I will collect you and capture you
Phrixus Malfoy was often teased by his only-slightly-older brother, who was the heir, about the differences between them. Phrixus did not mind; the power with which he had been gifted wasn’t something that could be channelled with a wand, and the charm he cast was far more lasting than any ordinary spell.
‘I get to go to school to be a proper wizard,’ Nero would taunt, ‘while you must stay at home and have tutors, like a baby.’
‘But there is no dormitory for my sort up at school,’ Phrixus would reply. ‘I am neither one nor the other. Where would I sleep?’
Or Nero would say, ‘I inherit the house and lands, and I’ll pass on the family name and titles, while you will be forgotten.’
‘But I have no need for the house and lands, as I cannot pass on the name. I shall travel, and when I am forgotten I will be long dead, so it won’t matter.’
Such fanciful creations, people altered for pleasure alone, were falling out of fashion—times changing, the dreaded Muggle Influence creeping in and overthrowing even the most respected magical traditions—and thus Phrixus was one of the few castrati left, a living work of art and an attractive-yet-antiquated addition to his family’s social assets. His music was entrancing, sweeter than the lightest draught. With one note he could heal, invigorate, or kill, and with each aria he perfected Phrixus understood himself to be a far more formidable wizard than his brother would ever guess.
(written and submitted by malacophilous)
Prompted by a convo with Girabbit about Legolas’ apparent wearing of eyeliner in Desolation of Smaug.
They can have conversations with ghosts.