#“Put Imprisoning War on AO3”

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Man the crazy, silly intrusive thoughts are going bananas today

[avonne-writes]

How about [SHARE] for clegan ? ❤️

Thank you for the prompt! ����❤️ I decided to explore this idea of Gale struggling post-war.

On AO3

[ SHARE ] sender, seeing that receiver is cold, wraps their jacket around them.

Bucky whistles an idle tune to himself as he finishes patching up the roof where a late summer storm tore into it. He hopes it was the last one to wash over the land this year - it's starting to feel like his favourite blue skies are playing a joke on him, making him climb up the ladder week after week. But, for now, he’s done. The sweat rolling down the dirt on his arms in tickling lines feels like satisfaction, and the ache in his muscles makes him feel alive. He enjoys the sunshine pinching his cheeks pink and the cooler breeze that combs through his curls. It helps put the war out of a man’s mind.

On most days, anyway.

With a deep, tired sigh, Bucky steps off the ladder and gathers his tools to put them away. As he circles around the house, he can hear the muffled buzz of the radio through the kitchen window, an upbeat song playing. For a moment, it fills him with hope. Perhaps, Gale found it in himself to get out of bed and cook. It wouldn’t be the first time that he turned his day around. Hooked onto that spark that held them all up through war and cold and imprisonment. He knows it's still there on Gale’s bad days too.

It's with this hope swelling in his chest that Bucky rounds the corner, but his steps falter when he spots Gale in an old chair he must have dragged down from the porch to the driveway, where the setting sun still warms the ground. His messy, too-long hair looks golden in the light. There’s a book on his lap, but he’s not reading it. His head is tilted down and turned to the side, as if he's listening to a noise only he hears.

From the way things have been lately, he probably is.

He seems unaware of the world around him. Like a ghost, he’s stuck between realms, but the teeth of his trap are the present and the past. It has been like this since they came home three years ago. Every now and then, Gale forgets that he’s still among the living. He stares into nothing the way he used to stare in those quiet moments of despair when there was nothing to do in the stalag, and when Bucky touches him, he shivers.

Nowadays, Gale can tell when he's going to have a day like this and he doesn’t even get up from their bed. Bucky can’t make him - he's just as stubborn about it as he used to be about taking the left seat in the cockpit. It’s the shame, Bucky figures, because he knows it himself, the shame of being too weak to fight those shadowy memories. The shame of not being whole. He's surprised that Gale is trying to push himself out of it today.

“Finished the roof.” He raises his voice as he approaches.

No reaction, but he expected that. He’s used to filling Gale's silences. Enjoys it, even, unless that silence is born out of pain. He puts his toolbox down on the porch steps and grabs the jacket he draped over the railing when the sun crept high enough in the morning for him to be in his shirtsleeves. For a moment, he lets himself thumb at its soft lining and remembers his white sheepskin, the one Gale hated so much. Nostalgia lingers bittersweet in his mouth. They aren't the same men they were back then, and they never will be. That jacket wouldn’t fit Bucky the way it used to anymore.

He shakes the thought out of his head and crosses the patchy lawn to Gale.

“All my fingers made it this time.” He chuckles, referring to the nasty cut he gave himself with a wrong move a few weeks ago.

Gale is so far gone in his head that he doesn’t seem to have heard Bucky's voice at all. His arms are trembling. Just faintly, but Bucky can tell. He wonders which part of Germany it is this time, which month. The first winter? The march into walls of ice and snow? The run Gale made without him, through cold mud, blood and fear?

It doesn't matter. The war is long gone, and if Gale needs it, Bucky can pile all their warm clothes on him until his body remembers that it's still summer. He has the means to give that to him now.

With his tired, work-roughened hands, he drapes his jacket over Gale’s chest and arms. He makes sure it covers Gale where his skin is bare, where his body might mistake the breeze for a knife. As he pulls back, he lets the back of his right hand caress Gale's scarred cheek and the stubble dusting his jawline.

Gale's sad eyes blink, then turn away from the barren ground to look up at the sky. Blue reflected in blue, and golden light.

When his gaze finds Bucky's face, Gale smiles.

[hd-tarot]

🔮 [FIC] Rusty Cage (E, 20.5k words) by Anonymous 🃏

Harry Potter is not okay. Someone else who’s not okay? Draco Malfoy, but he's doing time in Azkaban for his heinous crimes.

But what if Draco isn't as guilty as he's been made out to be? Everyone knows that Harry is a sucker for righting injustice, including Hermione, who is more than prepared to meddle in order to help her best friend.

Or, when Harry visits Draco in prison and things don't go quite as expected.

Tags: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue, Post-Second Wizarding War, Draco Malfoy in Azkaban, Draco Malfoy Needs a Hug, Draco Malfoy is Not Okay, POV Harry Potter, Harry Potter is Not Okay, Lucius Malfoy Being an Asshole, Harry Potter Needs a Hug, Harry Potter Needs Therapy, Draco Malfoy Needs Therapy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Agoraphobia, Eating Disorders, Anxiety, Panic Attacks, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Neglect, Smut, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Rimming, Happy Ending, Inspired by Tarot, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Sentient Magical Houses, Sentient Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Cooking, Wrongful Imprisonment

Tarot Card(s): Eight of Swords

Notes: Eight of Swords Upright: imprisonment, entrapment, self-victimization Reversed: self acceptance, new perspective, freedom Thank you so much to the fest mods for organising this fest. I knew exactly which card I wanted for my prompt, the story was just there waiting for me! Thank you P for stepping in and beta reading for me, particularly for cracking down on my cavalier use of commas. Sorry to Draco and Harry, I put you through it in this fic but you know I ❤️ you both! 'I'm gonna break my rusty cage and run' - Soundgarden

✧ Read HERE on AO3 ✧

[dracopias-bloodbag]

Bewitched By Bloodlust | Dracopia x F! Reader | IV

Chapter IV: The Scars Inside You

The day after your bloodstained tarot reading, you wake having to face the reality of your situation– of your future and your fate. The realization that no one is coming for you sets in and sends you spiraling with no one around to help pick up the pieces... or so you think.

chapter content: 3.8k words. 18+, enemies to lovers, slow(ish) burn, eventual smut, kidnapping, imprisonment, brief passive suicidal ideation, suicidal thoughts, mental breakdowns, toxic family dynamics, trauma, hurt/comfort, canon divergent (see masterlist for details)

Recommended Listening:

Cirice – Ghost

Previous Chapter ☽𖤐☾ Next Chapter

Masterlist ☽𖤐☾ Read on Ao3

After you lose consciousness, Copia is left staring at the bloodied card in his hand.

He’s warring with himself, a part of him is tempted to toss it aside, leave you there and forget about the reading. He’s bound to live a lonely, immortal, life. And though it had taken him some three hundred years to accept it, he had made his peace with his fate. He doesn’t need a deck of cards to tell him his fate.

But being centuries old he has come across witches and psychic readers before. He knows how revered the tarot is to people all over the world, and he knows that when done by the right person, these readings can be terrifyingly accurate.

He looks down at your limp form in his arms, his eyes scanning over your face. What he said was true. Prior to the night in the forest, there had been whispers amongst the ministry’s advisors of a coven of witches that was planning on trying to kill their beloved Papa. They had rushed to inform Sister Imperator that there was a witch amongst their ranks being trained for the task. 

When the news had reached Copia, his interest was immediately piqued. Any time he hunted for blood, he usually ventured into a local town in search of yet another creep who was testing someone’s boundaries, but it attracted too much attention for The Clergy’s liking. In the more recent years he had stuck to feeding from volunteers in the ministry, but he had grown bored. The thought of hunting someone who was hunting him made a shiver run up his spine. It fucking thrilled him.

Copia spent the summer months observing you, having found your coven easily in the middle of the forest. He had expected you to be older, wiser, more experienced– the last thing he was expecting was someone as young as you.

He watched from the shadows for months as you trained with the other witches. They put you through the motions, making you train in the summer heat, testing your endurance, testing your ability to hold your own. And yet despite everything they threw at you, you were determined. Your body moved with ease when you sparred with the other witches; you learned to dodge various types of attacks and how to use your opponent’s strength against them. You were quick, he gave you that, and that would make you interesting prey. 

He had chuckled at the notion; sure you would have made a formidable foe to a human man, but the coven underestimated his strength.

Sometimes late at night he would find you sitting on the porch of the cottage you shared with your covenmates; pouring over the ancient tomes you had been provided to study. You usually had your grimoire in hand, scribbling away as you wrote quickly, taking notes under the light of a single candle.

Other times he found you at a nearby stream, tucked away from your coven sitting on a rock with your tools spread out around you. Concocting potions and spells, burning herbs and candles anointed in oil as you muttered incantations under your breath. 

Most times he watched you, you were away from the rest of them. He couldn’t blame you, he didn’t miss the dirty looks they’d flash you, the whispered words amongst themselves. Unless you were doing spellwork they asked you to do for them, you mostly isolated yourself from them. Your loneliness was almost palpable, but you were resilient, he could see that much. You took your craft seriously, and he respected that about you. So much so that the thought of killing you after you had worked so hard to prepare had almost made him feel guilty.

Almost.

But you were a threat to the ministry and he had a duty to protect what he and his family had built, which is exactly what had led you both to this very moment.

Copia looks down at you again and in the low candlelight of the dungeon, your face looks peaceful. You are a true witch, both by blood and by practice. He can hear your heart beating steadily in your chest, your ancestors’ blood coursing through your veins and thrumming with their ancient power.

He moves you so that your legs aren't bent uncomfortably under you before pulling a handkerchief from his coat pocket. He uses it to carefully wipe the blood from your chest, before wiping down the card and stacking it with the rest of the deck.

His mind wanders as he considers the reading, finding himself wishing he had spent at least a small fraction of his inhuman life branching out and learning more about the tarot. But the final card was self-explanatory enough. 

Copia sits and watches your chest rise and fall for what feels like hours as you lay unconscious in his arms, and he can’t escape the thought that enters his mind for a split second as he looks upon you. 

You were beautiful.

He freezes, shaking his head as if trying to physically shake the thought from his mind.

What is happening to him?

He clenches his jaw, an almost pained look in his eyes as he lays you down on the cot before carefully placing your deck of cards next to it. His eyes linger on your face before he turns and leaves your cell.

The first thing you hear when you wake is the sound of the birds chirping outside. You sit up, your eyes slowly adjusting to the sunlight that shines in through the tiny window.

There’s a platter of food at the cell door, and you stand on shaky legs trying not to lose your balance. The only thing on your iron-deficient mind is getting some kind of sustenance, and you spend a few minutes in blissful ignorance of the events of the night before. But as your body slowly regains its strength you begin to come to your senses, and the memories of the night before begin flooding back.

He had fed off of you again– you knew that much. Your hand trails up to your chest as you remember the feeling of your blood dripping down it, but there’s nothing there.

Your eyes land on your tarot deck stacked neatly next to the foot of your cot, and you can feel the anxiety rising in your chest as the memories come flooding back.

Eight of Swords, The Tower…. The Lovers. Sheer panic shoots through you, like a white-hot iron being shoved through your system.

You had hallucinated it. 

There was no way he had actually done that, there was no way you had actually done a fucking tarot reading while he fed off of you.

You were going mad, surely that had to be the answer… 

But deep in your gut you knew– it was all real.

Shaking your head, you reach for your cards.

They had been wrong before. Readings weren’t always accurate, the future is never set in stone.

Surely you were off your game, you didn’t choose with your intuition. It was in the heat of the moment, he was drinking your blood for Lucifer’s sake, surely that had something to do with it. Something was off. The cards had to be wrong.

You make quick work of preparing the cards, knocking on the back of them, and shuffling them the way you always do. Your hands are sweating, but you take a deep breath, trying to ground yourself.

Focus. 

You trust your instincts and stop shuffling the cards when the time feels right. You carefully cut the deck into three equal stacks, laying them out carefully in front of you.

Focus.

You stare at the stacks in front of you for a long moment, before trusting your instincts and choosing the one that seems to be calling out to you.

You carefully take a card from the top of the stack focusing only on your future, shutting your eyes as you draw the card, gently laying it out, before cracking one eye open.

No.

The card is laid out in front of you like it’s taunting you. The Lovers… again. You stare back at it, your mouth agape as you try to wrap your head around what the hell is happening. It was unmistakable, the young naked couple on the card seemed to be smirking up at you, and you felt your heart sink.

You shake your head, grasping the cards in your hand roughly as you begin to shuffle them once more. Preparing yourself to do the reading again…

This time you spread them out, laying them out in front of you in a fan shape. You trace your fingers over the cards, before stopping when you feel it’s right. You draw the card and…

The Lovers. Again.

You grunt, angrily grabbing the cards and shuffling them again, making sure to be as thorough as you can. This time, when you’re done shuffling, you grab the first card that’s on the top of the deck.

What the fuck?!

You shuffle the cards again.

And again.

And again.

Every single time without fail, you pull the same card.

You throw the cards across the room from you, and the sound of them scattering across the stone is the only thing you can hear aside from your labored breaths. You’re angry that you failed, you hate that goddamn Satanic pope that’s holding you here, and you hate that your dagger is gone. Because if you had it right now and he walked through the door, you’re certain you’d be able to kill him this time.

Fisting your fingers in your hair, you slump against the wall, tugging on the strands as you shut your eyes.

You hate him.

You hate him…

But if you hate him so much, then why were you left breathless anytime he touched you? Why did you wake up after every encounter with your mind flooded with thoughts of only him?

Again– you were going mad.

You want to kill him just for the effect he has on you.

But in this moment all you can think about is how he would pin you to the wall, his body against yours, his gloved hands holding you in place as he drank from you. Your mind swims with the memory of the feeling of his breath on your skin, and the way his gaze always bore into yours– his mismatched eyes seeming to look directly into your soul. His grip on you was always firm, but held a gentleness to it at the same time as if he was holding himself back from crushing you.

You shut your eyes, trying to push away the thoughts as you wonder why he has such an effect on you, but as you inhale, you swear you can still smell his cologne on you, and you can’t help the soft sigh that escapes you.

Oh.

Oh.

You were going to fucking die.

You need to get out of here, away from this godforsaken abbey, away from whatever path the universe seems to have put you on.

You needed to find a way out, but you were out of options, with no visitors showing themselves aside from Copia himself and the occasional ghoul. And the chances of escaping either of them were little to none. A part of you was still holding out hope that someone from your coven would come looking for you– it would be your only chance at escape.

The more time passes the more you feel that hope slowly beginning to slip away. You had spent months training for this, and yet you still had failed. You thought back to when your High Priestess had called upon you to inform you of your sacred task. She had assured you that you were the strongest witch for the task. You remembered how excited you were to finally be recognized for your talents, rather than used for them and pushed around by the other witches.

Yet thinking back on it you realize how ill-prepared you truly were. How no one had even considered that the fucker would be wearing gloves. How they trained you to use his strength against him despite the fact that he was stronger than any human could possibly hope to be. How you were told there would likely only be a couple of Ghouls patrolling the area, not eight of them.

Maybe their lack of a plan would have been understandable if they truly believed you would be successful, or if you had died trying. But you had failed at both.

But they had failed you by sending you here without a rescue plan. Memories of hushed whispers between coven members as they watched you prepare to leave flashed across your mind. You had caught the way they laughed amongst themselves, eyeing you like you meant nothing to them. Like they were praying for your demise.

They had never expected you to return, in fact, they were probably counting on it.

Tears well up in your eyes at the thought. 

You are completely alone, and you have always been alone…

You can’t help the tiny sob that escapes you as the realization washes over you, and you sink down to your knees as you finally let yourself feel all of your emotions. There’s a weight on your chest that you can’t shake off, and you feel like you’re being suffocated as your breaths become ragged and uneven in between sobs. Your hands find the cold stone floor as you bow your head, your hair falling around your face as your tears fall to the floor.

You’re so lost in your own thoughts, that you don’t even hear the door down the hall opening. You don’t even realize that Copia is watching you from the darkness.

He had noticed it as soon as he entered, the scent of your saltwater tears hung heavy in the air, the sound of your sobs and rapid breaths filling his ears. By the time he’s in front of your cell you’re damn near hyperventilating.

He freezes, not sure what to do. He was so used to keeping up the cruel facade, to being the one who made you shudder underneath him and made your heart race.

So why did it bother him to see you like this?

He doesn’t think twice, and his body moves almost as if on instinct as he unlocks the door.

You don’t know he’s there until his hands are on you. You practically jump out of your skin, trying to shuffle away from him as a scream threatens to worm its way out of your throat. He cups his hand over your mouth and holds you gently in place with his other hand.

“Shhhh…” Copia whispers. His eyes scan your face carefully. Your cheeks are flushed, and your eyes are red and puffy from crying. He releases his hold on your mouth before bringing his gloved fingers to cup your chin. His grip is firm but there is something gentle about the way he holds it. Your knees are now pulled up to your chest in a fetal position, and for some reason he feels his heart wrench at how helpless you look.

“Breathe…” He murmurs. “Deep breaths strega, don’t pass out on me again.”

Your head is fuzzy as you try to make sense of his words, of what he’s doing. You can’t fathom why he’s being so kind to you but you’re so deprived of oxygen at this point that you listen, taking a deep, slow inhale before exhaling.

“That’s it, just like that…” He pauses, his eyes lingering on the tears streaking on your cheeks. “Non piangere...” 

The words are foreign to your ears, but the way he says them, it’s almost gentle. If you didn’t know any better you’d think he was worried.

“I don’t– what the hell are you doing?” You snap as you try to wrench yourself free of his grasp. But his grip remains firm and he holds you in place.

“Tranquilla...” He murmurs, as his hand slowly trails up your cheek.

Copia isn’t even sure why he’s doing this, he doesn’t fully understand it but something in him is screaming at him to comfort you. 

You want to shove him away, you want to scream at him and tell him to leave you alone to rot in this cell for the rest of time. But the pit in your stomach is gnawing at you, and you feel another sob rising in your chest. The feeling of his hand on your cheek is the only thing keeping you from completely spiraling.

“Please, just kill me.” You whisper into the darkness.

His grip on your face tightens slightly, his jaw clenching.

“No one has ever wanted me around, I’m a failure. You should just take my life and be done with it, then I won’t be a burden to anyone anymore.”

His heart breaks at your words. It was one thing for him to want to kill you out of instinct, and his duty to protect The Ministry, but to hear you wish those things about yourself made his stomach churn. No one deserves that.

He rubs his thumb over your cheekbone and wipes away your tears. It’s odd, he’s different, you can tell something has changed by the way he’s touching you. You realize then that your captor is showing you more kindness than your entire coven ever did, and that thought alone makes your chest feel tighter.

“Why are you crying?” His voice is soft, almost as if he’s afraid of scaring you away.

“Why do you care?” You try to snap at him, but your voice falters and cracks as you look at him with your glassy eyes.

He hesitates at your question, unsure of what to say, he opens his mouth to answer but you cut him off with a sigh, too mentally exhausted to fight anymore.

“I just– I keep wondering if my coven will send for me, or if they’re even looking for me. But I know they’re not. I’ve lived with them as long as I can remember, and yet I’m realizing I’ve somehow still been alone all my life.”

He watches you carefully waiting for you to continue, and when your eyes meet his you realize that he’s actually listening to you. The fact that he seems to care, or is at least pretending to is strangely comforting.

“You were right, you know? They may have raised me, yet they never treated me as anything more than a servant. They forced me to do the most taxing spells, I would practice the darkest magic for them until my energy was drained and I had to sleep for days to regain it; and I did it all without questioning them.”

Copia looks at you for a long moment, before slowly reaching out and taking your hand in his, and you swear you stop breathing at the contact. 

“They used you.”

“Yes, I suppose they did. I kept telling myself they were just testing me, and that one day they’d treat me as one of their equals.” You take a shaky breath. “I was actually excited when they sent me on this quest. I figured this was it. If I succeeded, they would finally see my worth. I kept thinking that maybe then they would treat me with respect.  But it’s like they knew I would fail, it was just a way for them to get rid of me for good.”

He’s silent for a moment, his eyes focused on the way your hand fits in his– how your soft skin is a sharp contrast to the rough leather of his gloves.

“Mi dispiace– eh, I’m sorry, strega.” His apology is fully unexpected, and you stare up at him in shock in the dim light.

“Are you seriously apologizing for…  not letting me kill you?” 

“I suppose I am,” The corners of his lips twitch, and for the first time you think you see the beginnings of a smile on his face. 

He releases your hand from his grasp and gently cups your cheek. 

“I truly am sorry, cara. They used you for your talents, for your wisdom, and you did not deserve that.” He strokes your cheek with his thumb. “The world is cruel and unfair, and there will always be individuals who will try to take advantage of that.”

You can’t help but narrow your eyes at that

“That’s rich coming from you.”

Copia is taken aback by your words, his hand dropping from its place on your cheek as an unfamiliar feeling washes over him, gnawing at the pit of his stomach. It takes a second before he realizes that it’s guilt.

“I’m sorry, Goddess help me, I need to learn to shut up.” You mutter under your breath, trying to backtrack before you piss him off again.

Only he’s not mad, instead he just looks at you with a combination of guilt and shame in his eyes.

“No, you are right, strega. I’m no better than them.” 

He surprises you when he stands up, and your eyes widen slightly as you watch him cross the room to the cell door and unlock it, before stepping back. 

“You are free to go.”

Your eyes flicker between him, the door, then back at him.

“You’re joking.”

He shakes his head. “I, eh, wouldn’t joke about this kind of thing, it would be cruel, no?”

Your eyes remain fixed on him as you slowly stand and walk towards him, your steps cautious, as if you’re waiting for him to lunge at you, but he never does.

“When you get down the hall one of my most trusted ghouls will escort you out of the abbey and back to the forest. So long as you swear to leave us be, we won’t follow you”

You hear his words but your feet won’t move, but you feel like there’s something holding you back, and for some reason, the thought of leaving makes your stomach churn. Where would you even go? 

Copia senses your hesitation. “What’s wrong, cara?”

“I don’t want to go back to my coven, and if I don’t go back to them I have no one.” 

Copia ponders for a second, his eyes wandering over your form as he feels that unfamiliar feeling in his chest again. His mind wanders back to the tarot reading, to the taste of your blood on his tongue, the way your body felt when it was pressed up against his, how your heart raced anytime he had his hands on you, to the way you had curled into his arms while you cried, almost as if it was second nature. He knew exactly what was happening to him; whether it scared him or excited him, he wasn’t sure. But he was sure of one thing;

He wanted you– needed you. His eyes seem to darken as he steps towards you, holding his hand out to you; the words leaving his lips before he can stop them or second guess himself.

“Then stay with me.”

Thank you as always for reading, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it! All I can say about this one is.... oh boy we're really in it now...

Comments, kudos, and reblogs are always appreciated! ‪‪❤︎

Translations:

strega/streghetta –witch

non piangere – don't cry

traquilla – calm down

mi dispiace – I'm sorry

cara – darling

[faroreskiss]

The Power of Understanding / Pilot (Part 1 v2)

Rewritten to v2 on: 2023/09/10

Cheat Sheet

Read of Ao3

Chapters: Pilot, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9

Summary: You have been with the Chain for a while now, as their "scholar" and translator. You know everything about them, because you are from our world. But do *they *know the truth about how you can understand everyone?

A little introduction and world building concept for the Translator!Reader and her adventures. Check notes below for more info!

Non-linear fic.

AU fic, prior to TotK (instead of TotK, chain events happen).

Loosely based on the same reader in my NSFW fic, which is a very loose prequel to this one, and a work in progress.

More background info to come, if I feel like it :D

Warnings: None, maybe some cussing, but nothing is censored. SFW content.

Points of interest: This is your thing if you are into the mystery of chain being able to talk to each other. I am an actual trained linguist IRL, hence this HAD to be written!

You were daydreaming in the middle of the day about him again, amidst the smell of horse shit around you, when you're supposed to be finishing the work you have until the end of the day. Or until a new portal pops up to swallow you all to Goddess knows which Hyrule this time. Damned black-blooded monsters. At least, this gave you some break.

You, coming from our own era, have been acting as the scholar of the Chain for the last couple of years, while hopping from world to world with them. Knowing this, Malon put you to work on the books of the ranch, instead of letting you deal with the cows or the horses, even though you really didn’t have anything specific to do with maths. You thought she was being kind to you, not letting you deal with dirty ranch work, you guessed? She was a sweetheart either way.

You wanted to hang out with Twilight at the same time, so instead of using the little study Malon offered, you took the books and went down to the stables. You continued with your own stuff, while he was taking care of the horses.

There was also this little thing: you were the only one who understood every single one of them, (almost) very clearly, comparatively speaking. Sure they could communicate without you just as well, but due to a bunch of coincidences, you were the closest thing to the “translation magic”, if you can call it that. Maybe it was your Hoshi Sato gene*. Maybe it was the fact that you actually stayed with Link & Zelda in the post-Calamity world, around two years prior meeting the Chain**, maybe a bit of magic was also involved. Hylia works in mysterious ways! Did it almost cost you your brain? Yes. Was it worth it? Absolutely. 

Some Links, of course, understood each other better than the others, especially when their eras were, linguistically speaking, not that far. Time and Twilight were just fine. Legend and Hyrule were already able to understand each other, even a little bit better than Time and Twilight. Sky was a bit further away and had a “funny way of saying things” (according to the Sailor), almost gibberish, but when you listened and when he spoke slowly enough, you could at least get the gist of what he was trying to say. Wind, Time, and Warriors already knew each other from other “incidents” before the Chain, so they already had a way of communicating. 

These worlds also did not have many invasions and wars by “outsiders”, if you don’t count things like the Triforce War, Imprisoning War, Sealing War, and of course, anything that had to do with Demise, Ganon & co. and their horrible reincarnations. This meant, not a lot of language change.

In the end, what happened was that over the two years you have been together with the group, you helped them understand each other better. They adjusted their accents, and somehow warped the Hylian they speak in a way that the group would understand (and especially you), when the dialogue was still within the group. Of course, the Old Man would speak more “naturally” with Malon and vice versa, and some of the chain would adjust better (e.g. Twilight or Smithy) to the language of the era they are in. After some point, communication was not that much of a problem. You learnt it all in the end. 

Writing? 

Funny enough, Wild, Sky, and Twilight had similar scripts. Time and Wind had more similar writing systems. Wild, Wars, Legend, Time, and Rulie were also better at understanding the scripts of their respective eras. Overall, other than a couple of hiccups, most understood the others’ script to an extent. 

And then there was Wild. Also known as “The Cook” nowadays. The rest of the chain didn’t know you called them the Chain in your mind, and had your little nicknames for them. The nicknames most likely revealed a bit too much, and even though most of the secrets were out nowadays… You knew better than to risk more. You have caused enough damage, you would think sometimes. Even though you just couldn’t resist the urge. 

Anyway… Wild, his case and communication issues… were complicated.

According to the rest of the chain when you guys first met, whatever he was saying (and vice versa) was almost complete gibberish at first. Some terms and special names like “deku,” “korok,” “Hylia,” “Hyrule,” “rupee,” and such were still there, albeit with a different accent, and they helped, but it was not enough. You only found out later that it was kind of… your fault. 

In the end, he was also able to communicate with them just fine. Each Link had their own… language variation and accents, so to say. Some of them did not even have the difference enough to call it a “dialect” comparatively. As you thought, language change is a slow enough process, and with the lack of ‘conflicts’ (for lack of a better word) compared to your world, no wonder they were still somehow able to understand each other. . 

The Goddesses work in mysterious ways indeed.

How did it work for you, though? There was this little secret that… First time around, when you first dropped into Wild's Hyrule, “Hylian” was basically a weird mesh-up of English and Japanese to your ears, after the enchantment from the Great Fairies you have received. It was “so you could slowly understand and grasp and communicate”, you were told. 

Oh boy, it really felt like a genie granting you a wish, but in its own twisted way. You found that out later though. 

Second time around when you first met the rest of Links, though? The first enchantment… kind of messed everything up. Second time around, you actually ended up learning real Hylian. At least, the Hylian that was used as a lingua franca between you guys. 

Of course, some learning skill enchantment was definitely not out of the deal this time as well, thanks to Rulie & Time and their fairy friends, and of course the Smithy. But what a disaster it had been! Well, it wasn’t your fault that the first time the enchantment was made, nobody calculated that you would meet the Links from other eras.

You also naturally know the reason behind why Links in kind of irrelevant eras could decipher each other's texts, even when they didn’t understand the words all the time. Some were based on the Latin alphabet, and some were on Japanese kana. No way you could clearly explain it to them.

“Oh, by the way, you are made by a game company called Nintendo, and this guy is called Miyamoto…”

Yeah, no. That didn’t go well last time. Nobody even understood what you meant. 

That was a battle to fight for another day… Now, you need to focus on the budget of the Lon Lon Ranch. And not be distracted by Twilight’s statue.

________________

Notes:

Fanciest and most OP translator you will ever know. Star Trek Universe. 

"You” already spent three years with Link and Zelda in Wild’s world and were enchanted by the Great Fairies (with Zelda’s involvement) for the improvement of learning abilities.

[cashewpilk]

Speaking to No One:

The Reality of Ultra Personalization

For nicer formatting check this out on AO3

The voices which seek to stand up for laborers in the ever present class war are being silenced by techno fascist propaganda and ‘tools’ such as AI. Notoriety culture is killing us all, creatively and in some cases, literally. The aspiring writer or artist is a dying concept as the existing ones are put in the position of competition over collaboration, and the quality of both human and machine written media continues to wane as a result. Repeat that for artists.

Consumers are being pitched the concept of custom art and writing for little to no cost via AI, but prior to that and even if it is just a fad, which is increasingly seeming unlikely, it follows another trend that has decimated communities for years, from services like Fiverr to the custom character artist trend of the last two and a half decades that has trended with the popularization of anime and Dungeons and Dragons, the customization market is AI’s predecessor, and in some ways the reason so many people opt to skip the human element all together when seeking these products. Why wait days or weeks for a human to do what AI propertedly does in seconds?

There is a quantity over quality issue in consumption that is only becoming worse over time. With everything from TV shows to news articles, the speed at which we cumulate information and products have skyrocketed exponentially. The predecessor of the ultra customization issue was the internet itself in some ways. As the cost of access to the resources it provides has decreased the larger it gets, the more prevalent technology becomes, the cost of the resources to create things without it has exceeded the value of the instantaneous. People have called into question what we are losing with each of these steps forward, often being met with the critique that it is nostalgia alone that makes them pine for the days when we had to put in more effort for less results.

I'm not here to say we aren't made for this, but in the face of all of these factors, we must consider that we are not headed for a brighter future for most people as a result of this. Loss of income, loss of homes, loss of entire cities worth of people as we ourselves become commodities rather than human beings, this is not something we are consciously choosing by using these tools the way that we do, but it is something we are actively choosing by not demanding better.

In the Run the Jewels 4 song ‘walking in the snow’ El-P wrote:

“Funny fact about a cage, they're never built for just one group

So when that cage is done with them and you still poor, it come for you

The newest lowest on the totem, well golly gee, you have been used

You helped to fuel the death machine that down the line will kill you too”

When he said this he was referring to issues like systemic racism and literal imprisonment of political opponents and migrant families, but as with any well written metaphor, it applies to so much and unfortunately it means the same thing. The link between the death of accessibility in the arts is inextricably linked to the class war that the laborers in our country are losing. By necessitating the possession of a skill and proof of that skill to gain enough leverage to earn a livable wage, we are ensuring that there will be a day when possession of that skill will not be enough to provide the same leverage. People in trades and those whose skills demand physical labor may not be the most quick to see the chopping block, but imprisonment and automatization are the building blocks of enslavement, the draining of resources from the average person, and ultimately the enslavement of ourselves and our children to the wealth controlling class. We have been caught in a cruel joke where our manufactured divisiveness is more than just a tactic of political power seekers, it is the fundamental end of all we know.

The fact that people deserve to be compensated for all labor of all types in a capitalist society is such because without the existence of leverage exploitation is inevitable. By taking away the need to create and by devaluing the labor of creation we spell our demise. It shouldn't be the job of consumers to bear the costs and responsibility of funding creative works alone.

Governments and states of societies more functional than our own have bore the cost of funding the arts and companies have given creative workers comfortable compensatory packages in the past because people are unhappy without these things. The creation of a pale imitation of the things that make us human sold as a good enough alternative to placate the people who do work that holds the fabric of our society together is going to proceed something. What that is is dependent on us. The idea of taking revolutionary collective action and making change without being met with immediate violence is a fantasy, not a thing of the past.

We must go beyond just offering our limited dollars as a means of supporting the arts, the fight against AI and technofascism as a whole is not going to be won with the statement ‘anti-AI’ or the consumption and creation of more algorithm friendly media, it is unionization, the defying of productivity quotas on mass, work stoppages, general strikes and community participation. It is the restructuring of who is and isn't worthy of participation in collective action. It is the process of showing up, both offline and online, the process of allowing ourselves to experience things we find uncomfortable, allowing inexperience to be celebrated and met with guidance rather than annoyance.

There are actions, large and small, that we can take to be better, we just have to decide to take them. For more and more people, the stakes aren't just discomfort, they are lives stolen, rather than lived.

The ultimate goal of this statement is not to add to the endless supply of fear mongering. Hopelessness is not an option. We have to fight to stay patient with the people we see every day, we have to fight to be kind to the people we interact with, we have to contribute to the cultural consensus that people deserve to exist without fear of the violence of impoverishment as a punishment for any number of intangible factors.

If you don't have the emotional capacity to continue to watch innocent people die as outrage entertainment, consider that you can make a difference in the world by using your voice, time, and energy to support the arts. Question people and things that don't use larger audiences to spread the privilege to create to more people, and above all else, if you have the privilege to create without compensation or the greater privilege of being compensated to create, do so without guilt or shame. Show the world who you are everywhere you can for yourself and try to make connections and tell others they can too, even if for a while you're speaking to no one.

[wizardingworldlibrary]

Polyamory (No Smut) Masterlist

Bullying? No, Terrible Flirting (ao3) - bearwithmeasitryandfinishthings james/tom/snape G, 13k

Summary: (James unwillingly develops a crush on the two most studious, socially separated Slytherins in his year)

Claiming (ao3) - EscapeInMyBookshelf draco/theodore/ginny M, 250

Summary: Ginny Weasley and Theodore Nott arrive at a Gala hosted at the Malfoy Manor, so her other boyfriend Draco Malfoy is forced to reveal their secret relationship.

Cookies for Four (ao3) - Aureiya sirius/remus/james/lily T, 1k

Summary: Lily makes Remus cookies after the full moon, Sirius want some and James is just along for the ride.

Dance Until the Future Fades (ao3) - Hyperfocus_Frog regulus/james/lily M, 15k (WIP)

Summary: Regulus Black has always found James Potter rather fit. His personality is obnoxious though, so he made a deal with himself to kiss Potter before the boy graduates. The only issue is how to do so without ruining his own life.

James Potter has always thought Lily Evans is gorgeous, with her wavy red curls and sparkling green eyes. He's gotten detentions for hexing bullies that make fun of her weight several times. So at twelve years old he vowed to kiss her before he graduates, which is now only one year away. He has to do it, or he'll regret it for the rest of his life.

Lily Evans has always found Regulus Black charming. Ever since he discreetly hexed Mulciber for calling her a Mudblood during Slug Club in her second year, she's been trying to figure him out. Yes, he's the Slytherin Prince. But in their Secret Study groups, when it's just her and Remus, he's kind, funny, and quite clever. Lily Evans has fallen in love with Regulus Black, and it's ruining her life.

Things change when Hogwarts hosts an end-of-year dance, forcing Lily to find someone to take her in order to avoid a big embarrassing ask from Potter. Lucky for her, Regulus needs a date too, and they might just work something out together.

Dandelions Are Pretty Weeds (ao3) - whoopsiesnodaisies regulus/james/lily T, 327k

Summary: Lily Evans navigates Hogwarts in a time when being a Muggle-born is deadly. It's difficult to stay on top of her classes, deal with her incredibly difficult sister, maintain her friendship with Severus, and understand the new whirlwind of emotions and magic she's encountering.

don't wanna be the bad guy anymore (ao3) - haveufoundwhaturlookingfor draco/goyle/blaise G, 980

Summary: Blaise, Draco and Goyle get split up during the battle, and when they find each other again, Draco realizes that he doesn't want to fight Voldemort's fight anymore.

Do You Mind If I Stay? (ao3) - orphan_account draco/harry, viktor/ron, hermione/luna/ginny, seamus/dean T, 17k

Summary: Ten years post war, and Harry Potter has been making some Big Changes to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Including putting all of the wrongfully imprisoned through real trials to fix the mess that his predecessors had created. Several of the Marked Slytherin students were the first to be released from Azkaban Prison, including one Draco Malfoy. Harry volunteers to house him until his trial, but of course, gets himself into yet another life threatening situation when a delaying potion nearly causes him to bleed out. Can they find the antidote in time AND crack a case that's eluded the DMLE for years? Probably.

Happily Ever After (ao3) - runrarebit james/lily/snape M, 4k

Summary: James is in the kitchen, struggling through the process of cooking them dinner the way he keeps on insisting on recently, helpless in the face of that urge to both provide for them and prove his upbringing hasn’t rendered him completely useless. It’s taking a while, as it does, and they’re doing him the courtesy of not lurking around and observing, correcting, the way it’s so tempting to, so for now there’s just quiet. Quiet and peace. She and Sev sitting and reading in the sitting room of the lovely terrace house their in-laws gifted James when he came of age, this now invaluable private paradise of their married life. 

In another universe (ao3) - St4rthegh0st regulus/james/lily N/R, 2k (WIP)

Summary: Regulus, Lily and James are in a polyamory relationship but does everything go smoothly? What happens when mental health, jealousy and homophobia gets in the way?

In Between Ley Lines (ao3) - Aeliius orion/abraxas/harry M, 68k

Summary: His magical education had missed many things. Ley Lines, he learned, one of the most important of them.

The past was confusing and foreign, and the war awaiting him threatened to destroy all that he had built in it.

Love wasn't easy, living was outright hard. Good thing Harry Potter didn't know how to give up.

Percy (ao3) - Explicit_Lightsaber_Wh00sh percy/oliver/marcus/bartemius N/R, 17k

Summary: Percy Weasley is, essentially, a prostitute to Lucius Malfoy because his family is broke and Percy has already slept with the pureblood once before, so what's the harm? Not like his boyfriends (that's right, he's got three) are against it /that much/.

The Reveal (ao3) - Ghostofafruit regulus/barty/james/evan T, 1k

Summary: Sirius has spent the day studying for his newts and thinking about housing arrangements, today is not the day for news to come out. Of course Regulus, Evan, and Barty, didn't get that memo and several days later he finds himself running after his best friend and cursing him out.

The Seventh Year (ao3) - siriuslynotfunny neville/luna/ginny G, 47k

Summary: It's Neville's 7th year and Luna and Ginny's 6th. The remaining students at Hogwarts are terrified as Death Eaters roam the school grounds. How did the Silver Trio survive the year without Harry Potter to aid them?

Here's the untold trauma of the 7th year at Hogwarts.

Triad Trials (ao3) - Misty Shadowbrook (Dagger_Stiletto) draco/harry/snape N/R, 3k

Summary: Draco can feel their happy world starting to crumble, but he and Severus are determined to keep their love afloat, no matter what it is that's trying to destroy them.

[stargazing-sapphire2]

The Devil's Gambit - 1/?

Summary:

When Anya Orlova turns her back on everything she fought for, her treason is swiftly met with imprisonment, left and forgotten by those she once called brothers. Trapped in the gulag and with no way out, Anya finds herself with a cellmate in the form of John Price, both sharing an equally nasty history with Vladimir Makarov.

With no other choice, the two are forced to rely on one another in order to survive the brutal and harsh environment they were forced into, surrounded by those who would see them dead, and a world slowly crumbling into war.

Cross-posted from my AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58033795

*************************

The stone wore down hours ago.

Or was it days? Weeks?

Perhaps it had even been months.  Time never seemed to pass in this dingy cell she had become accustomed to. The only way she could track it was marking tallies into the wall with a loose stone she had come across not long after being tossed in there.

Anya stared at the tiny speck which could not even be constituted for a pebble in her hand. Her eyes flickered up, her gaze turning disdainful as she stared at the crudely drawn lines. She tried her best to count every single tally she had scraped into the stone walls, but the more she looked at it, the more the anger, frustration, and sadness boiled up inside her.

She threw the pebble away, the small rock bouncing off the left side of the wall pathetically. She walked back over to the bed that lay tucked in the corner, slowly sinking onto it as she buried her head into her hands.

Although Anya had long accepted the fact that she was going to die here, rotting in this God forsaken cell…it could not lessen the pain of being forgotten, that she was nothing more than a prisoner.

That thought alone caused a sob to escape her, although she did her best to clamp down on it.

No amount of tears will change a damn thing. Get over yourself, she scolded herself.

She sniffled, lifting her head to rub at her face with her sleeve; although, the smell that assaulted her nose immediately made her grimace and she quickly put her arm down.

When the last time she had been allowed to bathe?

Anya was embarrassed as the thought crossed her mind.

Her daily routine was always the same thing; wake up while shivering her ass off, walk around the cell while the guards exchanged shifts outside, and while they never usually acknowledged her, there were some that would sneer and taunt her; calling her a traitor, a whore, and all sorts of unfavorable things that would bear no repeating.

Part of her wondered what would she be given to eat today, or if it would be the same stale bread and cold soup. Starving would be preferrable to that, although Anya suspected that was what they were trying to do.

A spark of defiance would force her to swallow it down, despite how painful and disgusting it was; but she would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her break.

How long would it last, though?

It was something Anya had always dwelled on ever since she was dragged here. Either Vladimir had simply forgotten about her and left her to her fate, only concerned with his own goals.

Or perhaps he was only prolonging her suffering, being the sick and twisted bastard he was. After all, he had promised her that she would know horrors beyond her comprehension when she had spurned him.

She betrayed him…she had betrayed all of them.

And now, she was paying the price for it.

How could I have been so stupid?

Anya was unsure of when that little heel-face-turn had happened. Perhaps the seeds of doubt had been planted when Zakhaev had eaten a bullet three years ago, or when Vladimir had risen up and taken over, declaring that he would avenge his predecessor and usher in a new age of strife for all of Russia.

Or maybe the masks had simply fallen off, revealing the monsters that Anya had been too naïve to see.

But worst of all, she thought of Yuri. Was he still out there, wondering if she was still alive?

He had not been present when Vladimir had played judge, jury, and executioner with her on deciding her fate, but Anya had no doubt he had informed Yuri of what she had done, how she betrayed them and the cause they fought for. No doubt he had said she got exactly what she deserved.

Such was the price for filth like her, she supposes.

A commotion from outside the cell drew her attention, pulling her out of her miserable stupor. She glanced up, turning her head to stare at the door. There was yelling on the other side, and she could make out a jumble of Russian and English, but what was being said she was unsure, as the voices were muffled behind the thick, concrete walls.

The door was opened with a loud screech, and Anya could only watch as two heavily armored soldiers made their way in, dragging another person inside.

“Rise and shine, Orlova.” One of them threw a sneer in her direction, as they carelessly dumped the poor bastard on the ground. “Got a little cellmate for you; make you play nice.”

The two snickered as he said this, before they left the cell, sealing the door shut behind them with a loud thud.

Unsure of what to make of the situation, Anya could only sit there, staring in bewilderment as the man (her new cellmate, she supposes) scrambled to his feet. A string of curses escaped him, and he stormed over to the now locked door, slamming his hand against it.

Anya watched as he seemed to test the door, looking for any weakness in the structure, for some way out. It almost made her snort, but she held back. Seconds passed by, before she grew tired of the futile attempt at escaping.

“There’s no way out, you know.”

The man whirled around to look at her, and the first thing Anya noticed was a pair of startingly blue eyes.

Gray eyes skimmed over once she got a good look at him. The man seemed to be ten years her senior, with brown hair that was starting to gray around his temples, and a ruffled, thin beard covering the lower half of his face. She took note of the bloodstains in his clothing, although the implication of what had happened, she had no need to ask.

There was a heavy silence in the air, and the two stood there awkwardly, staring each other in the face and waiting for the other to speak. When the man did not reply, Anya took the incentive to continue.

“You won’t be able to open that door, and even if you do, well…” She clicked her tongue. “Good luck getting passed the armed guards outside.”

The man’s eyes narrowed.

“Is that right?” He rumbled out, and Anya picked up on the British accent that rolled off his tongue.

“And just what,” he continued, his voice deadpanning, “are you in here for? Did they get tired of you and threw you in this forsaken shithole of a room?”

Anya was unsure of how to answer that, as she did not want to be strangled to death by some possible madman, without any means to defend herself.

She shrugged, brushing a lock of blonde hair behind her ear.

“They don’t like me anymore than they don’t like you,” she answered.

His eyes narrowed again, and he stared coldly at her. His face seemed to indicate that he contemplating asking for more details, but Anya was relieved when she watched him huff in return.

“Fair enough,” he conceded.

Silence fell over them again, as the man leaned against the wall, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He hand a hand through his hair, grimacing and opening his eyes to look back at her again.

“You got a name?” He questioned. “Or do I start calling you Nameless?”

A small snort escaped Anya.

So you Brits do have a sense of humor, she thought amusedly. Dry as it may be.

“Anya,” she told him. “Anya Orlova. And you?”

The man hesitated, and for a moment he stayed silent. His eyes glanced at the wall, arms folding over his chest.

Anya raised a brow as she watched him. Is he just the strong silent type, or is he just shy?

“Well?” She prodded. “Do you have one? Or should I call you Nameless?”

The man scoffed, shaking his head.

“It’s nothing,” he grunted out.

“Then what is it?” She questioned. “If we have to share this cell, then we should at least be on a first name-basis with one another.”

A humorless chuckle escaped him, and finally he turned back around to full face her.

“John,” he responded. “John Price.”

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Don’t Go Blindly Into The Dark

Summary:

To hide that he can't read, Jan Van Eck has been forcing his son to pretend he's blind since he was eight years old. Wylan is now attending Ketterdam University, and meeting Jesper Fahey may very well be about to change his life. But is he safe to tell Jesper the truth? And what will Jesper say if he does?

Jesper is struggling to weigh up his life in the Barrel and his life at the University of Ketterdam, and there's a good chance that his growing debt is about to make the decision for him. He hasn't attended class consecutively for months, but maybe that will change when his newest project includes partnering up with Wylan Van Eck. But can he really leave the Barrel behind him? And how long can he keep up the pretence of who he thinks Wylan wants him to be?

Meanwhile there is a darkness growing in Ketterdam, and it seems a killer may be stalking the streets of West Stave. An unknown evil is closing its jaws over the city, and it’s starting to feel like nowhere is safe.

Tags: @justalunaticfangirl @lunarthecorvus @i-need-help-this-is-my-obsession @devoted-people-hater

If anyone else would like to be tagged let me know :)

Content warnings for this chapter: ptsd, violence, dehumanisation, kidnapping references, imprisonment references, trafficking references, implies sa references, blood and wounds, drowning/fear of drowning, death references, murder references, threats, spiders (a nightmare that involves a venomous one)

AO3 links

Chapter 53 - Nina

It was almost dawn by the time Nina reached the White Rose, and all she really wanted was a long bath to scrub this entire night off her. It seemed she was going to have to settle for sleeping first, however, and bathing later because the only bathroom in the place with an actual tub was occupied when she returned. There were two indoor bathrooms at the White Rose; the other had a shower that Nina wasn’t a fan of anyway, far less so because the building had no running water. She wouldn’t complain about sleeping, though, not a chance of that; as soon as she’d made contact with her settee she was drifting straight into slumber - and straight into unwelcome dreams. 

She was back on the ship, all those endless, terrible nights travelling from the Wandering Isle to Fjerda. Nina wasn’t even supposed to be there, not really, she was too young for such missions. But the Ravkan Second Army had been almost decimated by the Civil War; they needed soldiers, and, oh, how Nina had begged to be one of them. She’d travelled to the Wandering Isle with a small group, the only one she knew beyond in passing being Zoya Nazyelensky, in hopes of rescuing and recruiting more Grisha to join their cause. Nina had been alone when she stumbled headfirst into that Drüskelle camp, and out of any identifying uniform. She did not scream, she pleaded with them in Kaelish instead of Ravkan, not once did she cry out for help. She was terrified, yes, but she was more scared still to expose her team and their mission, of putting Zoya and all the rest of them in danger. She was bound captive on a boat headed to Fjerda, to the impenetrable fortress of the Ice Court where she knew she would be put on trial and then quickly afterwards put to death. Simply for existing. The boat had been horrendous, cages full of terrified men and women, beaten and bloodied beyond recognition, going days at a time without food or water, no way of washing and nowhere to relieve themselves, hands bound so tightly that Nina was left with horrible wounds on her wrists that she’d had to use her Grisha power to repair, and yet there was a strange, small part of her across the entire journey that had not wanted it to end. Because she knew that whatever lay on the other side of these weeks was going to be infinitely worse. 

They’d almost reached Fjerda when the storm hit, and Matthias accidentally saved Nina’s life. 

The dreamworld’s version of the ship was warped and changed before her eyes, but she knew instinctively to be in the same place. She was on the floor, her hands bound, the tall bars of an iron cage extending high above her head - impossibly high; elongated by the dream. There were no other captives here, so different from the cramped reality, but Nina was not alone. She was staring at a pair of boots, and before she’d even lifted her head she knew that it was Matthias who stood over her. He looked the same. He looked impossibly changed. 

“Nina Zenik,” his voice was cold. 

What did he intend to do? Apologise, demand apologies from her? Offer forgiveness, or pass sentence and carry it out? Did he intend to be her judge, jury, and executioner? She would never know. He moved as though to kneel before her and the scene melted in time with his step, changed its course to something new; the bars stood between them now, Nina was on her feet and even though he was left invisible by shadows she knew that Matthias was somewhere ahead of her. Was he the prisoner now, or her again? It was impossible to tell; each of them were surrounded by nothing but grey walls of stone, the bars stark and cold before their faces. 

She tried to tentatively call his name, but when she parted her lips a spider, almost as big as her own nose, crawled off her tongue and began to climb its way out of her mouth and up her face. Nina screamed, trying to brush the thing away as its thin, spindly legs found purchase in her flesh, and it was thrown by her hand straight through the bars in front of her. Breaths careened through her chest like runaway horses unmatched too soon from their carts as she stumbled backwards and tried to rebalance her footing. 

A hand stretched from the darkness and landed heavily on one of the bars, gripping it so tightly the metal might have warped beneath the fingers, and after a moment longer Matthias pulled himself forwards and into view. Nina gasped, rushing forward to him; their hands met between the iron, their fingers intertwined, their foreheads could almost touch. 

“Matthias…” she whispered, too many emotions to list imbued upon her tongue. 

“Nina,” he murmured, his thumb brushing across the skin of her hand almost rhythmically, soft and comforting, “Röedfetler,”

Little red bird.

“I’m here,” she nodded, pressing her thumb into his palm, “We’re… I’m here,”

She closed her eyes, tears that she both could and could not explain pouring onto her cheeks, an impossible weight collapsing into air inside her chest as though it had never existed in the first place. But then his grip was tightening, panic seized Nina as her eyes flew open and she saw the spider upon the bare skin of Matthias’ neck. It had bitten him; his flesh swelled in an instant, red and pulsating with hot anger. His grip had moved to her wrists now, tighter than she could stand, pinning her in place. She could imagine the bones snapping beneath his fingers with relative ease. 

“Matthias-”

The redness of the bite was spreading; his entire form was overcome by the furious fire. 

“What have you done?” he snarled, speaking Fjerdan, “What did you do to me?”

The swelling in his neck flared and his hold on her dropped away as he greyed into the hazy edges of the dream, keeling over and vanishing into nothingness. She screamed his name, scrabbled against the ground before the bars, tried to reach through them to find where surely he must be lying in the darkness, he had to be, he had to be, he had to be. Water began to rise from the floor, the room rocked and swayed. It was getting higher by the second, thrown this way and that by the rocking of what had transformed around her from a prison cell to the lower decks of a boat, threatening to rise above Nina’s neck. But she could not stop, could not move, could not stand; she continued to reach madly through the emptiness in front of her, where the bars had been was now empty but for the flood but still she could not find him. The pressure grew against her chest. The boat jolted; Nina was thrown across the space to careen into a wall and now the water was almost at her nose - when had it gotten so high. As she slipped beneath the surface, thrashing madly to try to move, try to swim, try to find a place that she could breathe, bonds began to weave themselves slowly around her wrists. No, no, no. Nina kicked her feet as best she could but now there was something tightening around her ankles as well. The boat jolted once more, the water sloshed, and Nina felt any distant dream of air, of Matthias, of breathing, to be a very childish fantasy. 

Matthias was gone. And Nina was drowning. 

Shipwreck.

She was thrown from the dream with a harsh crack, almost falling off her settee, a pounding in her head so loud it felt the walls were shaking. Wait, no… no, there was something banging here, in the world as well as inside Nina’s mind. She steadied herself, trying to shake her brain back into attention, and realised that someone was knocking on the door. 

“Nina?”

“I- yeah, come in!”

The door creaked slightly as Siobhan pushed it open, a long dressing gown draped over her and tied tightly at her waist, her red hair wet and straggling over one shoulder. She looked at Nina for a moment, a small furrow forming between her brows. 

“Are you okay?”

Nina tried to smile, pulling the scattered pieces of herself back into a shivering, temperamental whole that was sure to shatter in the next firm breeze that shook it as she stood to properly greet Siobhan. 

“I’m fine,” she managed, though by the look on the other girl’s face not very convincingly, “Thank you,” 

Siobhan nodded slowly, a little uncertain, a hand drifting up towards the damp locks of her hair. There was a small towel thrown over shoulder to keep the wet off her white, flighty gown and she began to fidget distractedly with its embroidered edge. Both the towel and the dressing gown were lightly imbued with a swirling pattern of roses along their edges. 

“Right,” she nodded, clearly not entirely believing her, “Well, I just came to let you know I was finished in the bathroom. You can go straight in, Petra brought in plenty of water; she said she’d start heating some more,”

Nina managed to smile and murmur her thanks, turning to the little wardrobe to find her own towels. She was only slightly surprised when she turned to see that Siobhan was still standing there; she was expecting her to be there in that she hadn’t heard he leave, but she wasn’t sure what she was waiting for. 

“Did you-?” she broke off, then tired again with: “I mean… that girl that they’re looking for, the one who broke her contract with the Willow Switch…”

Nina felt herself tense involuntarily, and hoped it hadn’t been noticeable. 

“It was her, wasn’t it, that you asked me about?”

“Asked you about?” Nina frowned. 

“A little before the arrest warrant came out,” Siobhan had now moved on to fidgeting with her sleeve, her neatly manicured fingers almost digging straight through the weave of the fabric, “you asked me if I knew of a girl at the Willow Switch and I’ve been thinking about it  and I’m sure… I’m sure you said Jeluna Kir-Mai,”

Nina opened her mouth, closed it again. Shit. What was she supposed to say now?

“You did, didn’t you?” Siobhan’s eyes scanned over her, studying her intently for every non-verbal response Nina was trying so hard to restrain, “I didn’t misremember? It was her?”

“Siobhan-”

Nina tried to step forwards and Siobhan took a frightened pace away from her. 

“Is she like the others?” she whispered, backing gradually towards the half-open door, “Like the Leopard? Amethyst?”

“No - well, no Siobhan, look - I can explain-”

“Oh Saints,” she’d found the door handle behind her, was trying to slowly manoeuvre her way into the hallway without taking her eyes off Nina, “Oh, Saints, Nina, it’s not true? Please say it’s not true. You didn’t… you didn’t…”

“No, Siobhan, I swear I didn’t do anything, I-”

“You knew,” she shook her head, still trying to find her way out of Nina’s room without turning, “You knew that she would… She didn’t run, did she? Did you tell them something? She… They… What did you do?”

Nina stepped forwards, arm raised in hopes of closing the door before Siobhan’s voice got any louder, and the girl released a strained yelp as she stumbled away from her. 

“Siobhan - I’m sorry - please, just listen-”

She turned and ran. 

In retrospect, chasing Siobhan through the White Rose into her own room and slamming the door shut behind her was probably not the best call, but in the moment Nina couldn’t think of anything else to do short of knocking her unconscious. 

Siobhan backed away into the farthest corner of the room, bumping up against her vanity, staring at Nina like a lost rabbit facing down the barrel of a hunter’s gun. She looked like she was very much regretting asking the question. 

“Nina, please-”

“You tell no-one this,” she hissed, which again in retrospect may not have been the most sensible thing to say, “You hear me? Not a single word,”

Siobhan nodded, over and over, so quickly it looked like her head was going to drop right off her shoulders. Nina watched her, walking slowly farther into the room as she ran her hand along the wall that ran alongside the corridor. She was looking for the peepholes. She knew there must be at least one; she needed to stopper it.

“Someone took her, okay? I had nothing to do with her first going missing, and I had nothing to do with Tara or Amethyst, alright? I promise you that. I don't know who it was, I don’t know what they did, but someone kidnapped Jeluna before that arrest warrant went out and they messed with her head. She doesn’t even remember anything. I found her in the Barrel a few days before the warrant went out, and I tried to keep her safe. I swear to you, I am just trying to keep her safe,”

“How… how did you know that she was gone? Before the warrant?”

Nina took a very slow breath. At least she was talking to her, at least she wasn’t running to find Feliks. She stood up a little straighter, no longer half collapsed against her little vanity, but her eyes were still wary. 

“You know I work for Brekker?”

Siobhan nodded. 

“After what happened to Tara - the Leopard - and Amethyst, I was worried. I asked him to keep tabs on things, and he told me that something was going on at the Willow Switch so I went to try and find out what was going on,” a slight stretch of the truth, but just barely, and a believable one, “One of the girls there, Kheja, told me that Jeluna was in danger,”

Nina had since been back to the Willow Switch twice, very briefly, with a note up her sleeve in search of Kheja, but she was yet to find her. Yet to pass on the very simple message, written on a curled up scrap of paper in mostly neat Shu characters: 

“I found her”

She needed Kheja to know that Jeluna was alive, that she was about as safe as Nina could get her, but after two unsuccessful visits had begun to feel concern sparking inside her for Kheja as well. She was just busy. She must have been. She’ll be back in the foyer eventually. 

But right now she had a more immediate problem at hand. Siobhan still looked nervous, and not entirely convinced. Would she go to Feliks, if she suspected Nina was involved with or maybe working for whoever orchestrated these kidnappings? Would she try to send word to the stadwatch? And in that case, had Nina royally fucked up by bringing Kaz and the Dregs into things? 

“And Dirtyhands just did you a favour?” she asked, incredulous, “Am I supposed to believe he’s keeping her safe somewhere as well?”

“I paid him,”

There was a brief pause. 

“I don’t not believe you…” Siobhan managed, her voice trailing and rising and drifting away like it was on a hike through a rocky mountain range, “You know you shouldn’t have gone to him, though? You shouldn’t get people like him messed up with girls like her. He won’t keep her unless he finds a use for her,”

Nina had nothing to say in response. Had those not been her exact concerns? Was that not the very reason she’d offered to add Jeluna’s debt onto her own? Kaz still hadn’t spoken to her about arranging that. 

“Do you think it was the same person? Who took Tara and Amethyst as well?”

“Yes,”

There were no two ways about that. Siobhan deserved the truth, anyway, or at least the closest approximation of it that Nina was able to give. 

“Is that why they’ve stopped? Because she ran?”

Nina hesitated. 

“I don’t know if they’ve stopped completely,” she said slowly, “and I don’t know how Jeluna got away. But it’s possible that they’re waiting until they hear about Jeluna, to find out if she’s told anyone what happened to her. I don’t… I don’t think that the threat’s over,”

Siobhan snorted a laugh, taking Nina by surprise, and flopped down onto her mattress as she said: 

“The threat’s never over, Nina. It just takes different forms,”

A moment passed as Nina tried to figure out what to say. Siobhan kicked off her slippers and pulled her feet up onto the bed, tucking them beneath her and picking up a throw pillow to clutch over her lap. 

“You’re not lying to me are you?”

Nina shook her head. 

“You swear it?”

“On my life. I have only tried to keep Jeluna safe,”

“Has… has Brekker told you about anything going on anywhere else?”

Nina swallowed. She stepped forwards and gestured questioningly towards the space next to Siobhan on the side of the mattress, who gave a casual wave of permission for Nina to sit down.

The room looked much like Nina’s, a square space with the same white walls, the same eaves, the same flowers on the table, but where the table was at the centre in Nina’s room Siobhan’s was pushed towards the near wall, displaying a tea tray surely to gaudy to actually be useable and only one slender white stool instead of proper chairs. At the centre of the room was the bed, its headboard pressed against the back wall, its white sheets arranged pristinely, usually with a rose-shaped throw cushion lying neatly in between the pillows but that was now sitting on Siobhan’s lap. The smell of the rose perfume was stronger here than in Nina’s room, and she noted the flowers studding the vanity and wardrobe. She also knew that, when in costume, Siobhan often wore the white roses in her hair. 

“There was a girl who went missing before Tara did,” she said, trying to keep her voice gentle, “who he told me about when I brought this up to him. I don’t know if it’s connected, but it might be. She vanished from one of the smaller houses, farther South, and was found dead not long after,” 

Siobhan nodded very slowly, not looking up to meet Nina’s eye. 

“I haven’t heard of anyone going missing since Jeluna,” she said, “When I asked you about her I only suspected something had happened, and was wondering if you might recognise her name. I was also having a shit day and I didn’t put a lot of thought into it, but-”

“Van Eck,” said Siobhan, as though she’d found sudden understanding. 

Nina frowned. That was exactly it. She’d had an awful time in court and then had Jesper walk her to and from the Geldstraat in wonderful timing for her to see just how much of a skiv Jan Van Eck was first hand. 

“I - sorry?”

“It was when you went to see Councilman Van Eck,” she said, “It put you in an awful mood; you had a go at Feliks,”

Nina nodded. 

“You know that put him in an awful mood?” Siobhan watched her for a moment, like she was trying to read something written in between Nina’s eyes in a tiny script, before she said, “I heard Van Eck asked you to go back,”

“Yeah, tonight…” Nina frowned, “I didn’t go,”

Siobhan started to say something that might have been “good” but then caught herself, and instead: 

“There’s rumours, you know? About the Councilmen,”

“Van Eck?”

Siobhan nodded. 

“And a few others; I heard the name Hoede, from someone who works for him,”

“What…?” Nina swallowed, “What are the rumours?”

“Well, maybe they’re just nonsense but…” Siobhan shrugged, “they’re saying there’s this drug,”

[themculibrary]

300k+ Masterlist

1796 Broadway (ao3) - rainproof, teaberryblue steve/tony, bruce/natasha M, 460k

Summary: Captain America respectfully requests that all complaints be addressed to him in writing. On paper, the nice old-fashioned way, because the computer screen hurts his eyes.

Put your phone down, Tony.

Ásgarðrian Galdr (ao3) - Valerie_Vancollie loki/sigyn T, 479k

Summary: What if Loki was able to warn his past self, so he did not lose control during his regency and was able to act as he normally would? What if he had been able to remain calm and in control of himself, and the situation?

"How?" Loki demanded.

"Betrayal," his future self stated simply, rage clear in every syllable. "But you must control your reaction and come to see me, or you will repeat my mistakes and we will miss an opportunity to take control and alter things in our favor."

It would have changed everything.

Bend Around the Wind (ao3) - Scyllaya loki/tony E, 403k

Summary: A few months after the battle of New York the God Loki appears back on Stark Tower under chaotic circumstances. This time however he is on the run. Tony Stark gets caught up in the crossfire and is taken along with the Aesir. Can the two of them ever make truce in order to get away? And even if they do, how does one escape from such a dark corner of the universe, when they are so very far away from the Nine Realms, that not even Loki knows the way back home. But first, they need to survive.

Blue Lips, Blue Veins (ao3) - romanoff steve/tony E, 300k

Summary: Tony Stark is Iron Man.

Before that, he was an man with bigger heart than brain. Before that, he was an asshole with a bigger mouth than sense. And before that, he was was a scared little boy. Not that it matters. Stark’s always have had iron in their backbone.

Do We Have a Deal? (ao3) - NaughtTEEChibi bucky/steve/tony, tony/other subs, riley/sam, clint/natasha E, 335k

Summary: Tony Stark was just looking for someone to give a damn. So he does what any other lonely teen desperate for affection would do, sign-up for a dating app. He could never imagine what he was getting into once he matched with Steve Rogers.

Steve Rogers and his partner, Bucky Barnes, love each other. But they have a problem, they are not sexually compatible. As two doms in charge of a growing underground empire they decide they want to look outside their usual offerings for a sub to complete their dynamic. Just their luck, they find Tony.

God of Mischief, Master of Death (ao3) - CrazyArtChic T, 449k

Summary: Loki gets a chance to change everything. The Norns, having become tired of Odin's meddling in the Weave, have decided enough is enough. Death sees this as a chance to plead their case, asking for Loki to go through the trials needed to become the Master of Death. In order to stop Thanos, Loki would agree to anything, knowing what is coming, and so he does. Hera Potter grows up not knowing who she'd been, what she is expected to go through, or that she's already fighting for something greater than herself. As the barriers fall between this life and the last, Hera will have to navigate through who she was to stay who she is. She was Loki once, but she is more than that now, and she will fight to keep it and the life she's made. If that means flinging her soul across time and space, or using the knowledge she has to navigate through a future she should not know, she'll do it. Who is Thanos to threaten everything she loves? Who is Dumbledore to think a child should be responsible to win a war? And where does Odin get off thinking he had any say at all?

Lightning Scars & Metal Hearts (ao3) - JessalynMichele peter parker/harry potter, pepper/tony, sirius black/stephen strange N/R, 417k

Summary: With Voldemort back, Harry returned to the Dursley house, and Sirius imprisoned ‘living’ at Grimmauld Place, Sirius decides to go check on his godson.

And when he doesn’t like what he finds at Number Four Privet Drive, Sirius decides to do something else- tell Harry a fifteen year old secret and send him off the the United States to meet his biological father.

Marriage and Mate Chases (ao3) - NotEvenCloseToStraight steve/tony, bucky/natasha, sam/clint E, 439k

Summary: A Regency-ish AU:

Strict, stern Alpha Captain Steve Rogers is firmly in control of himself, his army, and his life and intends to marry an Omega who shares the same ideals while wild, flighty Omega!Tony loves to flaunt Howard’s rules, society’s expectations and has no intention of settling down.

An arranged marriage forces Alpha and Omega together, but Steve’s constant disapproval and Tony’s refusal to compromise leads to anger and arguments, missed heats, harsh ruts and a lack of bonding bites. Vicious rumours fly about the Omega’s fidelity and the Alpha’s ability to control his mate and when Steve runs away to war to distance himself from his unpredictable husband, Tony turns to new friends and illicit activities to hide his hurting heart.

Steve returns from war a changed man ready to be a good husband, dedicating every minute of every day to winning Tony’s heart back, but Tony is tired of being ignored, busy with his own projects and unwilling to give the Alpha another chance.

With outside forces plotting to ruin what little happiness they have, are Steve and Tony doomed to be unbonded husbands, married but never truly mates?

Missing Links (ao3) - spagbol99 steve/bucky, pepper/tony M, 424k

Summary: The Rogues are back; Tony Stark couldn't even be mad about it - it was his idea after all. He's an Avenger and that means protecting the Earth at any cost - even if he has to deal with a certain star-spangled man and his sullen sidekick. After all, he's been through worse in his life; the loss of his wife and the disappearance of his son 12 years ago. Compared to that, this would be a walk in the park.

Bucky Barnes is back on US soil as a free man. But freedom is more than just physical. On top of that, Steve is desperate for him to be the man he was before. The only problem is; that man is long dead.

Peter Parker has been through the mill but he knows he just had to adapt, roll with the (many) punches and keep going. Spider-man is his safe place now, the one time he could truly feel like himself. Like he is making a difference. He'd make sure no one would suffer like he has, even if he has to track down the perpetrator himself.

Pieces of Echoes (ao3) - geekymoviemom T, 334k

Summary: When weapons designer and SHIELD consultant Tony Stark and his son are kidnapped following a routine weapons demonstration, newly defrosted World War II hero Steve Rogers is sent to find them.

But what begins as just another mission, a way for Captain America to reintegrate back into society, quickly warps into something more as betrayals are discovered, harsh, long-buried truths are finally brought to light, and Tony and Steve come to realise that their biggest allies are each other.

Poetic Justice (ao3) - Limmet loki/tony M, 311k

Summary: When the time comes to pass sentence on Loki after the events in The Avengers, Odin decides to go for the poetic justice angle. For his attempt to enslave humanity, Loki has his magic and powers bound, and is sent back to Midgard and given over to Tony Stark to be his slave.

This was not a turn of events Tony had ever seen coming.

Rock Me Gently (ao3) - enigma731, invisibledaemon gamora/peter M, 479k

Summary: “She is our–She is Gamora,” Nebula says. “There is only one Gamora and I know her better than any of you do.” She pauses and glares at Peter, clearly challenging him to protest that. For once, he doesn’t dare. “This Gamora has jumped forward in time nine years, but she is the same person at her core. Just as you are the same despite not having experienced the last five years I did. We are all just–out of sync at the moment.”

Sharpen Your Teeth (ao3) - STARSdidathing loki/tony M, 369k

Summary: A betrayed Tony Stark leaves the Avengers. He's angry and bitter but he's not about to stop being a hero. The problem is that not everyone is happy with his decision.

Show Me What I’m Looking For (ao3) - JamieB93 mj/peter, pepper/tony M, 381k

Summary: Peter Parker has spent the last year struggling to believe he has finally found a place he belongs. He has come a long way and whilst there is still a way to go, Peter begins to blossom and open himself up to the world. Which brings with it all the usual teenage dramas.

A touch damaged and more than a little rough around the edges, Peter is very often his own worst enemy. Still plagued by the scars of a traumatic past and newer challenges - it seems Peter’s happy ending might not be so easily in reach.

Sunrise in Exile (ao3) - Ragdoll (Keshka) tony/stephen E, 384k

Summary: Tony does the math and realizes their best chance to save the universe is by… not confronting Thanos on his own turf.

So he steals a wizard and a spider and a space ship. And he runs.

(Three humans and an A.I in space, the alien friendships they make along the way, and discovering how science and magic might coexist in a universe where they can be one and the same.)

The Days of Reckoning Are Upon Us (ao3) - Ana (Anafandom) M, 302k

Summary: Steve Rogers always does what he thinks is right. Unfortunately, believing he is right isn't the same as being right. Sometimes he's wrong. And sometimes he has to face the consequences of his actions.

Or, what if Team Cap was actually called out on their poor decisions and had to deal with consequences instead of being rewarded? A series of unrelated drabbles of what might have been.

And in case the tags aren't clear: this is not Steve or Team Cap friendly. If that's not your thing, just don't read it.

Until It Sleeps (ao3) - frickss75 steve/bucky M, 407k

Summary: Steve finally has Bucky back in Brooklyn with him, but he is finding out that his issues are deeper than he thought. His PTSD manifestsin many ways, including some very bizarre sleep behavoir. And Bucky is fighting internally with constantly returning memories and some deep seated fears about himself. Steve loves Bucky no matter what and is determined to prove it to him however he can.

Walking The Wire (ao3) - emquin N/R, 372k

Summary: “I knew your mother,” Tony said, figuring it was the right way to start. “You know this. She used to work for me and I liked her a lot. We were friends and she sort of reached a part of me that very few people could in those days. I think it was partly because she was brilliant and because she didn’t bore me like most people did. I didn’t love her – not like that, but I cherished her friendship.”

“Mr. Stark why are you telling me–”

“She left when she found out she was pregnant,” Tony said and had to glance up, “and didn’t even bother to tell me about it.”

-

It was a one night stand and Tony had a lot of them, but this one changed everything. Tony always knew Peter Parker existed. He had no idea that Peter would become Spider-Man, but he kept tabs on his son, even when he couldn’t meet him. Peter Parker grew up unaware of his superhero father, admiring Iron Man from afar and unaware that one day he would too become a super-hero - an Avenger. Spanning the entirety of the MCU , this fic covers a canonical view of what it would be like if Peter was Tony’s biological son dwelving heavily into the canon. AU post-Infinity War with an AU version of Endgame and with a Stony endgame.

whatever souls are made of (ao3) - atypicalsnowman tony/stephen M, 320k

Summary: Soul bonding canon divergence. Fourteen million futures and Stephen saw just one where they win. Tony has to soul bond to a virtual stranger whereas Stephen… Stephen is in love.

This is a story of how two broken men became friends, then family, then fell in love.

And saved the universe.

You’ve got a friend in me (ao3) - boleyn13 loki/tony, clint/natasha, pepper/tony M, 412k

Summary: After faking his death in the Dark World Loki is free to do what he wants. Instead of leaving everything behind Loki is driven by his thirst for revenge and won’t find peace before he destroyed every single one of the Avengers. This time though he won’t use violence, but the weapons of the God of Mischief: trickery, deceit and illusion. Loki decides to befriend the Avengers. However they won’t know it’s him. Not until he is close enough to strike. Unfortunately Loki didn’t consider the possibility that he might get too close.

[moonybemine]

WHO WANNA BE BESTIES‼️ i need someone to giggle over hp with. you HAVE to be a jkr hater tho bc i hate terfs and am agender(im just vibin tho all gendered terms i use by vibe alone)

MINORS DNI

i have some Opinions on a lot of things about hp and i have some fluctuating emotions on certain characters. i genuinely treat every hp character like barbies that i play with and put into Shenanigans and Situations.

i will reading bashing fics especially albus ones i hate the things he did but i on occasion have been known to enjoy a good albus fic including ones where he's less "we have to kill voldy!!" and more "you (platonically or romantically)Love someone, dont you Tom?" like that spongebob meme. i do not like sirius or remus bashing, it's always overly harsh and vilifies a man locked away in the harshest prison who's mental faculties have been horribly abused, and while The Prank was an incredibly stupid attempt of a prank due to the danger it put severus in and also remus i ultimately believe it would've never happened in the first place if albus and minerva properly chastised the marauders earlier for their treatment of snape. we also don't know when this happened in the timeline of the marauders, was it before or after snape and lily's falling out. in remus' case he's a man who's been treated as a monster his whole life who was allowed into hogwarts by albus who then used this BOY'S gratitude to make him go into enemy territory and spy on and try to recruit people to the other side of the war. not to mention that albus groomed them all to fight the boy he FAILED(ive got so many opinions on tom and albus) and then when remus who support network was either dead or imprisoned he was told he couldn't raise harry and was told to not contact him. albus did all he fucking could to make harry miserable and pliable so that he'd sacrifice himself to end a war like a pig to slaughter. ur telling me Great Albus Dumbledore defeater of grindelwald couldnt find a solution to the horcrux besides having him walk to his death not to mention that he could've probably figured out horcruxes decades earlier and tried collecting them and probably would've succeeded! also i hate that the whole marauders generation is completely wiped out jkr u nasty bitch!

my ultimate fav ships are nottpott and wolfstar. ive BEEN a wolfstar lover since i was literally a child. nottpott entered my life last year and proceeded to ruin me on drarry(and pretty much every other ship involving harry and someone else or theo and someone else) i used to hate dramione bc i was apart of a toxic forum back in the day but i have grown to enjoy it bc it usually goes hand in hand with nottpott. i am forever a fremione and a pansmione gurlie tho. i love a lot of marauders ships as well jegulus/jily/jegulily/wolfstar/marylily/dorlene/pandalily/rosekiller/etc

i will mention i have dipped my toe into tomarry. i have enjoyed quite a few fics with this pairing and while i have enjoyed mostly ones where they are both teens, i do not like or support ones where its oldie voldie and literal child harry. its a grey area with somethings with them because of a multitude of factors and it shifts from a fic to fic basis. im not one to judge overly harsh over liking ships but i will judge in cases of straight up pedophilia but it will mostly result in a block because im not a child that starts fights on the internet anymore. i also do not support bestiality or incest and i'm specifying these things in particular due to a intimate relationship with the harry potter ao3 tag i know what freaks and weirdos exist there. literally the only fuckin fandom thats got a UNIQUE BESTIALITY tag

anyways msg me if ur interested <3

[pluralsword]

Months Later, Earthspark...

So... we didn't forget about Earthspark.

How could we? We've said we think it's the overall best Transformers show so far in 2023 CE, we were very excited at how it tackled how gender and alt-mode can relate to each other (except the Jawbreaker episode was a disappointment what with how masculinity problems were basically substituted for dinosaurs and mixed up with what should have been a PTSD narrative for Grimlock separate from Jawbreaker's aesthetic journey, and on the subject of rage that came here you would sure think the warrior teacher gal Robbie's asks if she'd show her "beserker rage" would have had some advise), the prison abolition stuff is cool, Arcee was fantastic and so very clearly drawing on her IDW iterations to the point we were hoping she'd talk about gender stuff onscreen and it would unfortunately seem that is not likely to happen... So we were enthused, but also frustrated, with how the Terran and Cybertronian aspects of life are almost always only seen through the lens of anatomy, vague history, or the oppression they go through under an ICE allegory, and qualms that have been touched on how the Terrans are basically raised without connection or celebration of transformer societal practices along with false equivalencies of the Transformers to human immigrants to the USA and uh well... ...there were some things that squicked us about some of the threats the characters faced that reminded us of childhood traumas from media and socialization growing up and we don't feel like getting into it directly too much.

We wanted to write something that honored the parts we liked while navigating how we think the bots in-universe would feel about the stuff the show didn't cover or the traumas they were put through, and how they may have tackled that offscreen, if only because we feel the deep want to. So... several months ago, after writing part of the first chapter but not being in the emotional headspace to actually finish it what with other things in life going on, we got back to it in November:

All Souls' Reforging is Neverending, which you can read on Ao3, here's the summary:

After the events of Season 1 Episode 19 "A Stygi Situation", Grimlock and Jawbreaker are in the forest when Grim gets a call from his close friend and old revolutionary war pal, Arcee, who's checking on him and offering to hang out beyond the notice of GHOST to help with his healing process, as Grimlock had done for her twice in the past. Grimlock happily agrees, and Jawbreaker goes along as well. In the Autobot's hideaway, Arcee and Grimlock detail to Jawbreaker some of the depths of peaceful transformer history and society that overlap and differ from humanity, the hierarchy that disrupted that legacy, and the Autobot rise after. Arcee also gives him some tools to embrace his strength to be gentle. As a neurodiverse trans system with some gal gender stuff & a second generation immigrant background who navigated anger and rage and pain over otherness and alienation, it was a bit saddening to see how awkward the guy-gal dynamic was in "A Stygi Situation" and that Arcee wasn't present with her own insight on rage as a tool with reason and ethos. So we wrote this, Chapter 2 and 3 will be about Arcee, Nova Storm, & Skywarp navigating traumas from episodes after, and how they seek closure.

For people who are okay with chapter spoilers, you can find the chapter 2 summary below. we dunno when we're gonna write chapter 3, rather busy:

Nova Storm and Skywarp have been through a lot. Veterans of the war against Functionism, they fell from the ethos of solidarity then by helping fight for the Decepticon Empire. In the aftermath of that war, they ended up on the run from GHOST on an unfriendly world, had to turn to the cruel and hateful Dr. Mandroid for sustenance and vengeance, endured imprisonment, faced off against the terrifying and repulsively invasive Dweller of the Depths, and finally became part of the reckoning that brings down GHOST. Trauma hits differently for everyone, and for Nova Storm, her encounter with the Dweller has left her unable to enjoy embraces and kisses from her partner Skywarp, and she still struggles with anger and sadness over how helpless she felt. So, when the dust settles after the Season 1 finale, Nova Storm turns for help from one of her old combat unit friends among the Autobots, Arcee… and she and Skywarp realize almost immediately that the violation of autonomy by mind control that Arcee experienced from GHOST likely left her in need of help as well, so mutual healing and reconciliation is sought… along with resolve to make joy and mourn for all that has come to pass.

So uh, yeah, this chapter also deals with how icky the Dweller in the Depths episode was (particularly but certainly not limited to the way the Dweller held Nova Storm reminded us of sexual(ized) violence. to be honest) in a way that we think the characters might in retrospect.

Again, you can read All Souls' Reforging is Neverending, which you can read on Ao3. Also, please feel free to reach out to us about this writing or comment, we know it covers sensitive topics even if with a g-rated framework.

[dathomirdumpsterfire]

Chat writes the plot! Time for more 👑🐲🐟 KotD!

Want to be on the tag list? Have an idea for next chapter? Clicked the wrong option? Reblog or Comment! New? Check the very bottom for the Ao3 link. Latest chapter is down below the cut!🔥

~King of the Dragonfish: Chapter 5~

It hurts.

Obi-Wan curls in on himself where he kneels by the back wall, deeply regretting taking his tunics off to dry. They might've protected him from the creature's tentacles. Instead, one of it's long, sucker-lined arms has lashed across the skin of his back.

Breath stealing pain is blooming over the marks, around his shoulders and half way up his neck on the other side. He can feel the circles from the octopus’s suckers like they're on him even now, a brand of fire-and-ice.

“Breathe,” demands the sith who has imprisoned him here.

Obi-Wan tries, truly he does, but his efforts to inhale are choppy at best. The hurt is so profound he can barely think.

“Breathe!” Maul orders him.

“Huu- hu-... rtss…” he manages, vision going dark near the edges.

Without warning, it lifts.

Suddenly the pain is more than halved, something like a four of ten, rather than a nine. More than enough relief for him to finally gasp, dragging in fresh air like it was all he could ever ask for.

It takes Obi-Wan a moment to reorient himself, after the suddenness of it all. He had gone from a light doze, to waking up under attack, to fighting for his life, to being in incandescent pain, and then relieved of it. All within a span measured in minutes.

When he's refocused enough to get outside of his own head, the jedi master discovers he's half on top of the bloody -literally and figuratively- sith. He cries out, feeling scales under his hands as he throws himself away-

The pain returns like a lightning strike, like an electro-whip across his shoulders. It's so sudden and intense that Obi-Wan can't help but scream, losing all his air and finding himself unable to get it back. He hits the floor, hard, but past that he can't make sense of the world.

It hurts it hurts it hurts-

It lessens.

Obi-Wan drags in lungfuls of air, shaking in place as he tries to just be.

“Witless jedi! Be still,” Maul hisses at him.

He does, but only because he can do nothing else. Minutes turn over, and Obi-Wan regathers himself again. He is still in pain, significant pain, but not enough to blind him. The left side of his chest… hurts.

‘That is a very bad sign,’ the jedi thinks wearily to himself.

When he can see straight once more, Obi-Wan dares to assess where he is and what's happening before moving this time. The results are just as uncomfortable. Actually, no, they're worse. Where he had last been laid over the sith's scaled lap, now he was up against a muscular chest, that long tail fin running between his legs.

The jedi thanks the force, twice, that he hadn't decided to put his legging out to dry as well as his tunics.

“What-” he tries to speak, coughing before he can continue, “What's happening to me?”

The creature's touch… had done something to him.

Obi-Wan suddenly realizes that Maul, that Darth kriffing Maul, is cuddling him. One hand holds the back of his neck, pinning the jedi to his breast. The other clawed hand is… petting him, is the only way Obi-Wan can describe it. Gently, rhythmically, petting him.

He legitimately wonders if he's hallucinating.

“The gorogoro is venomous, and it stung no small section of your pathetically delicate flesh,” the sith underneath him explains scornfully.

“It… hurts. It hurt more before but…” Obi-Wan trails off, thinking sluggish, “... you're doing something?”

Maul makes a disgruntled noise. “If by something you mean reinacting an ancient sith rite of pain sharing to keep you alive? Then yes.”

The jedi makes three different faces trying to acclimate to that reality. “I'm. We're. What.”

"Connected. Sharing."

Obi-Wan fails to produce words, and has to breathe for a moment and just, parse everything. Then, he tries again, “That octopus stung me… with it's suckers…”

“Yes,” Maul confirms, “the pain is meant to make you seize, unable to breathe, then you die.”

“... kark,” he decides quietly. The sith scoffs, his claws slowly gliding back and forth across Obi-Wan's upper back.

Oh. He can feel it now. Where the sith's hand passes, the pain… much of it lifts from him. But where does it go? Wait…

“You said, this is a pain sharing ritual?” He asks to clarify, immediately feeling stupid. Maul had already said so, twice, and yet it answered very little.

“Ahhh,” the other man confirms, “Sharing of pain is sacred. Surviving pain makes you stronger. Passion overcomes weakness, proof that peace is a lie.”

Maul speaks like a true believer. Obi-Wan just thinks that all sounds like cultish hogwash, but sure. Not dying of indescribable pain is… good.

"And... you're not effected by the sting?"

"Mmno, zabrak are resistant to most toxins," he replies.

Obi-Wan glances at his ear-fins pointedly. "You're not exactly a zabrak anymore..."

Maul chuckles, and it's half way to being a threat. "I am half of one, as yet. I wonder who I have to blame for that."

The sith is, of course, complicit enough in his own choices to be equally, if not more, responsible for the results.

... but that isn't a fight he wants to pick right now. “You're feeling the pain you're lifting from me?”

“Mnnnn,” Maul hums, and oh, ye gods, he does not sound unhappy about it.

“You're enjoying this!” Obi-Wan accuses him.

The sith laughs like wind whistling through rusty pipes. “Yesssss.”

The jedi closes his eyes and just… checks out for a moment. Now he knows what that bulge underneath him is. He's not going to look at it, he's not going to think about it-

Wait, if Maul is half fish now, does that mean he has a-

No. no.

He is not going to think about it, he is going to focus, and- and-

Step one is figuring out if he absolutely needs to be draped over the other man in order to have his pain lessened. Yes, he's going to ignore what's happening in favor of being… clinical.

“Is this much contact really necessary for the… rite?”

“Hmmm?” the sith asks, like he's half high on the pain, no meds required.

Obi-Wan tries again, asking what he really wants to know more directly. “Can I be on the floor while you do this?”

“Mnh,” Maul replies, “I suppose.”

The dragonfish sith rolls them over, and it is ridiculous how graceful he is about it. Obi-Wan's left leg is nudged up and over, then he is rolled face first onto the cold ground.

Loops of tail coil over him, pinning his legs to the ground. Forearms brace on his midback, and a suspicious bulge nestles between his thighs. Obi-Wan draws his arms forward, and hides his face in them. This is... not even slightly better. Worse, actually.

“Is it completely necessary for you to be laying on me while we do this?” he spits.

Fingers slide into Obi-Wan's hair, grabbing it and wrenching his head back.

“Ungrateful!” the sith hisses, “Every word out of your filthy mouth should be gratitude that I would share such a gift with you.”

This is a horrible time for Obi-Wan to be reminded that he has a hair pulling… thing.

“S-sorry, sorry. My. My apologies,” he gasps.

The tension on his scalp is released, and the jedi buries his head in his arms again, just about coming up on being too emotionally overwhelmed to be sensible. The sith leans over him, covering him, claws still gliding over the slowly bruising sucker marks.

“Thank me for sharing your pain, Kenobi,” Maul whispers in his ear, threatening.

He just… doesn't have it in him to snark back like he wants to, and deal with the repercussions, not right now. “...Thank you.”

“Good,” the sith croons, and-

Surprisingly, the weight on his legs rolls away. Maul lays on his side next to him, petting his back slow and steady.

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan says again, softer.

“Mnnn.”

“... how long will this last?” he asks, subdued.

“... I do not know. I have never seen anything survive it.”

Obi-Wan emerges from the shelter of his arms to give the sith a horrified look.

Luminous yellow-green eyes meet his gaze, and the man snorts. “Most things stung die in minutes Kenobi. There is no reason for it to be long lasting, and even if it goes much longer, you will be fine. I will endure with you.”

“Oh… okay.”

“Say it back to me,” the dragonfish sith demands airily.

“... say what back to you?” he prevaricates.

Maul gives him a look.

Obi-Wan sighs, really not interested in actually engaging in a creepy sith ritual, but, well, the man was active life support at the moment, and doing it the hard way.

Er… the… the… something besides hard. Not the figurative hard way at all, actually, the other man was clearly enjoying it enough that he…

Obi-Wan is not going to look.

The jedi masters his curiosity by gluing his chin to the forearm beneath it. “I will endure with you?” he tries, uncertain.

The sith makes a pleased hum. Then, he whispers, “So attractive…”

Alarmed, Obi-Wan side eyes the sith, “Excuse me?”

Maul is leaning in, inspecting the circular bruising that stripes his back in the same way a jeweler would appraise a new shipment of precious stones.

“Your skin purples, and- and yellows…” The sith inhales, enraptured, “it is lovely. Like a painting of the damage.”

“Er… thank… you?” What the kriff is he supposed to say to that?

Maul lays his cheek down on the bruising he so favors, and the pain in that area fades to basically nothing. They both sigh in response, for very different reasons.

Hours pass like this, with sporadic conversation and pain sharing. By the two hour mark, Obi-Wan feels fine. A bit hungry. In want of a softer place to lay, as well, but fine enough. He begins to suspect that after a certain point, Maul started taking all of the pain. The jedi isn't going to complain about it though.

He does fall asleep, however, lulled to rest by the radiant heat of the lava orb, and gentle claws that stroke his back, even still.

-Tag list- (Comment if you want added!)

@obimaulartfire @savageopressbignaturals @icequeen8043

New? Start from Chapter 1! 👇🏽

🔥🔥 don't forget to reblog tysm! 🔥🔥

[dhr-ao3]

The Gallows

The Gallows https://ift.tt/P7U8dCv by gillianeliza Five years after the Battle of Hogwarts the Ministry of Magic has one more wizard to bring to trial: Draco Malfoy. However, it's not a trial they're after, it's a spectacle to celebrate the end of the Death Eater regime with the execution of their final prisoner. When Hermione realizes their plan, she halts the trial and invokes The Gallows Law — an ancient law that pardons any pureblood male without an heir if a witch will marry him. What Hermione isn't ready for is the reality of bonding a broken, shell of a wizard and her new life as she moves into Malfoy Manor as the new Lady Malfoy. Words: 2449, Chapters: 2/23, Language: English Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Categories: F/M Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Pansy Parkinson, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott/Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley/Blaise Zabini Additional Tags: Angst, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Draco Malfoy Has Long Hair, references to execution, Traumatized Draco Malfoy, Broken Draco Malfoy, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Draco Malfoy in Azkaban, Hermione is trying her best, marriage law, Slytherins adopt Hermone, Good Slytherins, Trauma, Unresolved Trauma, Agoraphobia, Suicidal Ideation, Suicidal Thoughts, Discussions of Suicide, Illusions to starvation, discussions of torture, Aftermath of Torture, Imprisonment, Discussions of death, Psychological Trauma, Grief, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Discussions of grief, PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, This one is gonna hurt, No Pregnancy, Explicit Sexual Content, like... eventually, Post-War Trauma, Slow Burn, Pansy Parkinson is a menace, Pretty much everyone is queer, Sassy Theo Nott, Maybe book an appointment with your therapist after this one, Eventual HEA, But you're going to work for it, DO NOT PUT ON GOODREADS via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/5UrRz3X May 23, 2024 at 07:18PM

[houxe]

Free Palestine

Listen, I understand that I am just a silly little fanfic creator and my work is often used as an escape for rl problems, but I am also someone who's made my stance on dehumanization and abuse of minorities (even in fictional works) extremely clear and what is currently happening, and has been happening for almost a century, to Palestinians is unacceptable. If there is anyone who follows me, or is in my little community on discord, AO3, whatever, that supports the state of Israel? Lose my account.

This is not a debate. This is not a discussion to be had. I will not be arguing with you in comments.

If you support the state and government of Israel and the war crimes, genocide, ethnic cleansing, and the imprisonment they're committing on the people of Palestine and Gaza, get away from my works, my art, and whatever small community I have made.

These are people. Living, breathing people who had hopes and dreams and futures they wanted to live. Palestinians deserve to live, they've done nothing to warrant the murder and ethnic cleansing of their people.

And the only reason they're facing this is because people think they're inferior. As something not human.

They're human. They're human.

I am not going to explain to you why imprisoning and killing thousands of innocent civilians (mainly children) is bad. Especially when the Israeli government has quite literally been spreading provenly false stories about things like murdered Israeli babies, human shields, and attacks to make themselves seem justified, along with propaganda portraying Palestinians as literal bugs. Calling them animals and dogs and rodents to be 'exterminated', and has been putting them in an open-air prison for years and then turned it into death camp.

It's disgusting, it's evil, is is quite literally a known practice for suppressors to do against their victims as an excuse to murder them.

I should not also have to say that me being pro-Palestine and anti-Zionism does not mean I am anti-Semitic nor do I support Hamas.

That is also propaganda.

I am not anti-Semitic nor do I wish or encourage any harm on Jewish or innocent people, and I do not support Hamas.

Palestinian people are also considered a Semitic people which means some of them are Jewish. Jewish people as a whole are not the Israeli government or state and should not be treated as such. It is blatantly wrong to say being anti-Israel (the state and government of Israel) and anti-Zionism is to be anti-Semitic.

Additionally, not all Jewish people are Zionists and not all Zionists are Jewish people. It's not a religion, it is a political ideology. Many, many Jewish people have spoken up against this and have been protesting against the state of Israel for their genocide of the Palestinian people in Gaza and for the colonization of their land.

What I am is anti-genocide, Zionism, dehumanization, apartheid states, colonization, literal war crimes, death camps, and ethnic cleansing. Just to name a few.

Again, if you support Israel, lose my account. Stay away from my community and any of my works.

If you'd like to learn more about what is happening in Gaza, the people of Palestine, and ways you can help, your best option is to go to TikTok and find these creators who speak and share videos of what is directly happening in Palestine.

vivafalastinleen

arabicmclovin

edwardmliger

thanaa89

clios_world

jamesgetspolitical

naleybynature

aljazeeraenglish

genzforchange

fakegyllenhalal

artlust

devotedly.yours (this link keeps getting removed)

palestine_mwm

rahimehramezany

rynnstar

5149jamesli

wonderlandnews

mxnonme

hippiearab

redauxdefective

brainsballsncigarettes4

super_soniq_m

simkern

dianalomani (this link keeps getting removed)

jamesissmiling

eyes.on.palestine (this link keeps getting removed)

More will likely be added to this list.

Places you can donate:

baitulmaal.org

map.org.uk

irusa.org

mecaforpeace.org

unrwa.org

Lastly, I will leave off with a few videos that should be seen.

Where you can learn specifics on the history and current events of Palestine.

And one specifically for writers of fantasy and sci-fi like me.

Edits: Added more CCs to the list, added a list of places to donate, added more videos, and clarified my wording more. I did take down the comparison just in case, but I'm leaving it to Jewish creators (Redauxdefective) to speak on it. Note, some links to CCs keep getting removed and I'm not sure why.

[chronicangel]

lavender moon: Act 1 Chapter 6

Link to this fic on AO3. Words: 4064 Date posted: December 31, 2024 Summary:

The Dersite royal family are famed for their powerful magic, but Prince Dave does not have any. Prospit is an insular nation who believes magic to be inherently corrupting and wicked, and yet Princess Jade has magic flowing through her veins. When their marriage is arranged to end a centuries-long war, they have a lot to figure out.

If there had been any doubt before, Jade has certainly never seen this many people in one place.

Growing up, the castle had served largely as what it was—a stronghold against outside invaders. Castles are not places where people live, they are fortresses where soldiers lock themselves in to hide and rest and strategize. There have been dozens of small, empty rooms throughout the castle Jade’s entire life that she knows would, in another world, be home to knights, squires, and pages, soldiers training and preparing for Derse’s next move. If her mother were alive, if she had not been born small and weak and wrong, then she knows they would live in the ostentatious palace in Skaia where her father was raised and his father before him and every generation of royals stretching back hundreds of years. As it stands, they had needed to put poor, sensitive Jade somewhere no one could get to her, and she’s been imprisoned here since.

Today, though, it flourishes with life in the way that she imagines palaces are supposed to. Under ordinary circumstances, a coronation would be held in the capital city. They would have traveled down to Skaia to show John off to the people as the new king, and then Jade and Dave would have been married in the same place her parents were. It would have been her first time ever seeing Skaia in person.

They didn’t think that Dad could make the trip. Most days, it is difficult for him to even get out of bed, let alone take a two-day carriage ride down to the capital city for a coronation and a wedding. So they had used the wedding as an excuse, explaining that the castle was closer to Derse’s border than the capital city so it would be easier for the prince’s family to come here. Jade thinks there had been an undercurrent of prejudice, too. Do you really want the Dersites in the capital city? Do you really think they can be trusted? When she looks around this room, she thinks she can still see flashes of mistrust directed toward Dave, though it is mixed with blushing young girls practically swooning over him. The servants and guards who have gotten used to his presence either smile casually at him or outright ignore him as yet another figure in the background, but it feels less malicious than it had months ago.

She recognizes a few of the faces, vaguely, as people she and Dave met when they were in the village. Off to one far side of the room, the artist who had sketched them for only a handful of coins stands behind an easel, likely preparing to capture the moment John is crowned. She thinks that most of the people in this room, though, are those who could afford to travel north from Skaia. Most of them are wearing nice clothes, perhaps not to the full extent of a noble, but middle class at least.

Above all of them, on a large dais, her father sits on a throne making his first public appearance in months. Jade thinks he looks like a facsimile of himself. While his attendants have done a decent job of masking his illness with looser-fitting clothing that hides how skinny he’s gotten, excusable due to the summer weather, and some amount of makeup to mask how pale he is, his cheeks aren’t the right color, his hands so thin, his face gaunt, and his eyes lack all of the bright blue lucidity she had seen in them in his room the other day. In fact, he looks like he must not know where he is at all. Dave keeps staring at him, and she feels guilt twist in her stomach as she wonders what he must be thinking. Can he see through the disguise, too? Does he realize now that she and John have been lying to him for months?

Speaking of John, before the ceremony starts he sits in a chair almost like a smaller throne to Dad’s right side. He’s been stuffed into the traditional navy blue and gold formalwear she’s seen on paintings her entire life, and she thinks it looks good on him even as she knows her brother well enough to see on his face how much he wants to run away from this whole situation. On Dad’s left side is an empty chair where she would traditionally sit as the second child, practically the only formal acknowledgement a daughter can get in the Propsitian royal family, which has been robbed from her so she can instead be seen with Dave in public.

It was important, Dad’s advisor had decided, for them to be seen in public together at least once before the wedding. It adds an element of performance to her brother’s coronation that she does not relish as she loops her arm through Dave’s, leans against his side with a bright smile, and spends every moment consciously thinking about how the people around her perceive them. Some are actually bold enough to approach them, congratulating them on their impending union and remarking on how excited they are for the wedding tomorrow. She tries her best to smile and nod, though Dave doesn’t acknowledge them at all.

When the actual ceremony starts, the crowd of people goes quiet to watch John take his vows to protect his country and rule fairly and all of the other empty words that make Jade want to roll her eyes. She loves her brother and she trusts that he will be a good king, but too many bad kings have made the same oaths. He will be a good king because he is John and he is good, not because of these meaningless words he swears to follow in front of a tiny portion of their citizens who, for the most part, already have every privilege they could be granted.

Many of the portions of the coronation that she knows from history books are supposed to be done by her father are instead done by his advisor. The only part of the ceremony that her father really takes part in is the ritual gifting of a sword and placing of the crown on John’s head, which marks the end of the whole thing. She holds her breath when she watches him get up from the throne, half-expecting him to fall down before he’s able to stand. And, granted, he moves a little more slowly than usual, but otherwise seems to get up without a problem even though he has no help. Dave glances at her when she can’t stop a relieved sigh, but he doesn’t say anything.

She makes a big show of saying goodbye to Dave when the whole thing is over so she can go talk to her brother. She holds both of his hands in her own and stares especially adoringly at his face and for a second she almost forgets that they are pretending when she tells him that she’ll be right back. He gives her hands a squeeze that sends a very real thrill through her chest, though he doesn’t say anything out loud then, either. She wants to stay and ask him if something is wrong, but there’s a group of girls who must only be teenagers standing nearby and swooning over him (or maybe them) and that reminds her that they’re being watched, so she just squeezes back and peels herself away.

John is surrounded by people. Nobles and advisors trying to put a stab in for places in his inner circle, she guesses. She can’t help but notice Vriska is among them, standing just a little too close to him and leaning toward him every time he speaks like he’s the most interesting thing in the world. She cuts in, barely keeping herself from grinning, “John, would you like to come outside with me?”

The expression that washes over him is purely grateful. “Please,” he says, with that tone he used to get when they were small children and their relatives would all fuss over him and Dad would ask him to guide Jade back to her room. She used to sneak out on purpose sometimes just to try to give him a break, though proportionally, this was much less often than the times she would sneak out just to try to feel normal. She threads her arm through his and leads him through the castle and out to the gardens. They don’t talk for a while, just looking around at all of the plants that are thriving under all her hard work. She wonders if they’re going to wither and die when she’s gone, or if someone will take over caring for them. Kanaya, she knows, is set to come with her to Derse, where Jade only hopes she won’t feel as isolated as Jade does here. When they get to the gazebo, they wordlessly take a seat on the little stone bench.

“So,” she starts, looking over at him with a teasing little grin. “I see that Vriska has finally taken an interest in you.” He groans, somewhere between embarrassment and frustration, and buries his face in his hands.

“Don’t say that.”

“Why not? You were so enamored with her only a year ago!”

He glowers at her, and she grins back. “Vriska isn’t interested in me. She’s interested in the king. If Dad had been a viable target she probably would have gone after him years ago. And I’m pretty sure she has something going on with Tavros.”

None of this strikes her as incorrect. That doesn’t mean that she isn’t his younger sister and doesn’t have at least some obligation to make fun of him.

“Well, you’re going to have to marry someone now that you’re king. It might as well be Vriska, since you were already obsessed with her.” His glare grows a little bit sharper, and she laughs.

“I wasn’t obsessed with her,” he eventually hisses, and he looks around like he’s worried someone else will be there to overhear him. Jade wouldn’t necessarily put it past Vriska to follow them to the gardens if she was that determined to have John’s attention, but if he’s right that it’s all a manipulation game, she’s also smart enough not to push that hard just yet.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll win her over,” she eventually says with a shrug. Then, with another wicked grin, she adds, “Maybe after you marry her.” He makes a sort of strangled noise at that and buries his face in his hands, and her laughter is loud enough that it echoes back at them off the stone walls surrounding the garden.

There’s a long moment of silence between them. Eventually, John pulls his face back out of his hands and looks out instead at the stars shining in the sky above them. They used to look at the stars together a lot, when they were younger. Grandpa would help them identify constellations. She always had an easier time remembering them than he did, but he had an easier time spotting them in the first place. They made for a good star-watching duo.

“What does it feel like to be king?” she asks, and she’s not sure if it’s curiosity or if she’s simply trying to redirect the emotions from her own nostalgia.

He laughs rather than answering her, and then asks, “What does it feel like to be engaged?” So much for redirecting. Whatever emotions she may have had about her childhood, the emotions she has about Dave and the arrangement with Derse are much more overwhelming.

“It’s not as horrible as I expected it to be,” she says eventually, and it feels like the truth. As much as she’s dreading going to Derse and potentially never seeing her family again, the engagement part of the arrangement has been… nice. Dave has been nice, which is more than she has ever been taught to expect.

“I could gather that much from your speech at dinner the other night,” he says, and her cheeks flush now. Before she has the opportunity to speak up and defend herself or even sink into the pits of embarrassment, he adds, “I’m glad that you seem happy. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other when you think no one is paying attention. Dad always wanted us to be able to choose who we would marry, and I didn’t want to lock you into a marriage you were going to be miserable in, even if you didn’t get to choose. So I’m glad.”

She considers this for a long moment. “It feels like I chose,” she says eventually, and John beams at her brighter than she’s seen him smile since their father first got sick. She feels guilty, but she hadn’t noticed how exhausted her brother seemed the last few months. He’d seemed so vibrant when he was talking to Dave. When she looks at him now, up close, there are bags under his eyes, poorly concealed by the same makeup they must be using to prop Dad up.

Before either of them can say anything else, there’s a rustling of leaves not far away, and she looks over to see Dave brushing a branch with a large purple flower out of his face. “So this is where you two ran off to.” John laughs and rubs at the back of his neck like he’s been called out for something.

“Are people looking for me?” he asks.

“Serket, maybe,” Dave says, and Jade shoots her brother another teasing smile. “Your father left. Not sure what sorta business a former king attends to right after his son’s coronation, but I guess he must have had something going on. I was looking for the princess, anyway.” She blinks a few times as she stares at him, and he grins. “People are dancing. I thought you might want to?”

She looks over at John like she’s asking for his approval, and he smiles at her before smacking his hands against his knees and standing up. “Do you think dancing with Vriska is going to cause some sort of national incident?” She rolls her eyes and elbows him in the ribs. “Hey! I’m the king now. That could be treason,” he teases, and she snorts.

“I would love to dance with you,” she says to Dave, and he holds out a hand toward her that she has to stride across the garden to take.

Much of the crowd from earlier has cleared out, and it makes it much easier to breathe. All of the villagers from the nearby town are gone, and she supposes that those who are going to the wedding tomorrow will need to be up extra early to get whatever chores or work they may have finished. The small orchestra tucked to one side of the room, perhaps half a dozen people holding string instruments, is in the middle of a song that many of the nobles around the room are dancing to. Vriska and her lady-in-waiting are nowhere to be seen, and Jade guesses they must be trying to find where John disappeared to. Karkat is gone, too, which is not especially surprising—he’s always hated crowds, had relished in the freedom his position as her personal guard had given him to escape them before he was a fully realized knight and he had obligations among the noble crowds she was forced out of.

Dave is still holding her hand, and he uses it to pull her in tight against him, slipping an arm around her waist. It is not a form of dance she is familiar with, but then, she doesn’t have a lot of experience with dancing. This is the first party of any sort that she’s ever been allowed to go to.

She’s never noticed how warm he is before. Her fingers have been cold her entire life, and his hands bleed warmth into her skin, but it’s more noticeable with the way the heat practically radiates off of his chest to her face. It invites her to sink her head down against his chest, and she lets herself fall for the temptation. He’s solid under her, but there’s still a sense of softness there, like a firm pillow. He’s not bony like she had for some reason expected him to be. She’s seen him with no shirt before, seen the muscular expanse of his chest, but when he’s all covered in formal clothing, he looks so lanky.

“Why did you seem so… detached, earlier?” she eventually asks, her voice low enough that she doesn’t think anyone else can hear it over the music, her head still against his chest where she can’t see his face. She can feel his breath hitch, though, and his hand tightens in hers ever-so-slightly. It feels like the seconds crawl on forever before he replies to her, his own voice just as low.

“We’re getting married tomorrow,” he says, and she holds her breath through the surge of anxiety that he’s having second thoughts because they’ve already had this conversation. After a moment of hesitation, he adds, “And then it’s off to Derse for the rest of our lives. Are you nervous?”

“A little,” she admits a bit too readily. He lets out a breath at that that she isn’t sure how to read, so she adds, “I think I’ll manage, though. I’ll have you and Karkat and Kanaya. I’ll miss John, but I’m sure he’s going to be so busy as king anyway that he wouldn’t have had time for me even if I’d stayed.”

“I can’t imagine him not making time for you,” he says, and there’s something about it that makes her feel like he’s trying to communicate something more than what he says, something that makes her heart squeeze in her chest. “Were you two… close, growing up?” he asks, and it strikes her as odd that they’ve never talked about it before.

“We… wanted to be. It was hard, with how locked up I always was. I did everything I could to make him pay attention to me or make him play with me, but especially when we were little, everyone always acted like I was so fragile, and then as we got older, he got so busy. I love him, but I’m not sure close is the right word for it. Were you and your sister?”

He pauses at this, like maybe he’s not sure exactly how to explain it. She can imagine the uncomfortable expression that she’s noticed he gets whenever his family comes up, and she wants to ask more but she doesn’t want to pry.

“When we were little, we were as close as two people could be.” For a minute, she thinks he’s going to stop there. She lifts her head to stare closely at his face and try to read into his every microexpression. It’s easier than it was three months ago, but it’s still not easy, especially with the way he refuses to look at her. “Eventually, when it started to become more obvious that I didn’t have any magic, our father started training me as a knight instead. He said that it was important I still find a way to be useful to our family. To be useful to Rose. She’s one of the most powerful mages Derse has ever produced, so it just made sense that she was the one who was going to inherit the throne, not me. We were less close, after that.”

Jade imagines for a moment a world where their father declared her the heir instead of John. She would be the first queen regnant in Prospit’s history. She wonders if John would resent her, in that world. He had spent so much of their childhood dreaming of some way that she might take the throne instead of him, but that was always in a world where she could never possibly do it. Would he feel differently if she could?

“Dad didn’t have favorites. I mean, it felt like he did, when we were children. Why was John allowed to run around and play and see people like a normal child while I was forced to hide in my room all of the time? Even when I was doing well, the only people my own age I was allowed to be around outside of our family were Karkat and eventually Kanaya, though even that was past the age where I really wanted to play games with other children…” She didn’t mean to complain, and she digs her teeth into her cheek for a second until her thoughts slow down again and she can force herself back on track. “But I realize now that he was just trying to protect me, in his own way. He was doing what he thought he had to to keep me safe.”

“I don’t think my father cares very much about keeping me safe,” he says bitterly.

“I didn’t mean…” she starts, but cuts herself off just as early. Being defensive isn’t going to help anything. She takes a deep breath and then cautiously says, “Our father is dying.”

The quiet that hangs over them after that feels oppressive. She’s finally done it—finally forced herself to admit the truth. How could she keep it from him, when he had been staring so intently at Dad all night? And she doesn’t want their marriage to be founded on a lie, anyway. The idea that this is just a political marriage so Prospit can get off scot-free without Derse realizing they could have won one over on them and so Jade can finally learn how to use the magic she was born with died weeks ago. Months ago, even. If Dave doesn’t love her, then she doesn’t want him to marry her, and that means that she doesn’t want to trick him, no matter what it costs.

“I know.”

And of course, all of that immediately turns on its head. He knows? Who told him? Why didn’t they tell her that they told him? “What?”

“I’ve known for a while. After my blunder at dinner that night that we went to the village, I started to suspect that something was up. I’m marrying the king’s daughter and he hasn’t even tried to talk to me? I’ve met farmers more protective of their goats than your father was of you.” She snorts, and then bites her lip to try to contain it. “After a couple of weeks, I asked John. And you know him, he couldn’t lie to me about it, so he told me the whole thing.”

She stares. He’s known for that long and he didn’t tell her? He’s known for that long and he’s still here? “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He shrugs, and they’re still pressed so tightly together she can feel it. “I figured if you wanted to talk to me about it then you would. If the only thing stopping you from telling me was that you thought Derse was gonna go to war over it, then once you got to know me and realized I would never do that to you, you’d have told me. So there must have been some other reason, and I wasn’t about to pry about it. Plus, I figured that John probably would have told you that he told me.” She sees one corner of his lip quirk up just slightly, and once her eyes are on his mouth, she can’t pull them away.

Slowly, carefully, she licks her lips and starts to lean up toward him. She’s close enough that she can see the outline of his eyes through his glasses, and she can see how wide they are, but he doesn’t make any move to pull away. She can feel his breath against her mouth when the sound of the doors opening suddenly echoes through the hall.

One of the guards with a deep, booming voice announces, “The royal family of Derse has arrived!” She feels every muscle in Dave’s body tense against her even as she reels back to stare toward the entrance. When she finally manages to look back at Dave, it’s as though someone’s ripped the soul from his body, leaving behind something… empty.