#hope you continue to enjoy my fics!

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

for favorite album: dear wormwood? I recently got back into the Oh Hellos thanks to your fics and I love the album! You could even do Through the Deep, Dark Valley if you'd like, too!

Aw, thank you about the fics! Glad to hear I reminded you of the Good ShitTM! Now onto the albums.

Dear Wormwood

Favorite: Am I basic as hell if I say Thus Always to Tyrants? I don't care, I listen to it all the time. One of the few songs that has ever made it past the Hyperfixation LoopTM and onto actual favorites. Second favorite is Where Is Your Rider, though Pale White Horse's vibes are IMMACULATE.

Least Favorite: I feel like Danse Macabre only because it's the one song they didn't compose/write themselves. But if I'm not cheating and have to force myself to pick one of the songs with lyrics (and I love EVERY song on this album, for context), probably Soldier, Poet, King because I have the least amount of personal connection to it

Through the Deep, Dark Valley

Favorite: Wishing Well slaps and slaps hard. I don't know why no one voted for it in that poll a few months back. Second Child, Restless Child is definitely a great second fave, though.

Least Favorite: The Valley by mere virtue of the fact that it was the only song from this album I never downloaded/added to anything. It's a perfectly fine song, I just didn't vibe with it.

[shesmore-shoebill]

new amangela fic!

"Two cheez-it packets and an apple is not dinner. You don't have any leftovers or anything in your house?"

Angela groans, leaning forward and balancing her forehead on the edge of her laptop screen. "I don't even have groceries right now, because I didn't have time to do a grocery run on Tuesday. I think the last time I looked in the fridge it was literally just condiments and a jar of martini olives." She pauses, and then, continuing to not look at Amanda, adds. "...And half a lemon."

"Half- why is it only half a lemon. What happened to- okay, you know what, not the important thing here. Babe, what the hell."

AKA: I said i was going to write a fic about the half lemon in Angela's fridge and i meant it.

It started from "i want this specific scene as a result of Angela kind of Going Thru It" and quickly turned into "how many acts of love and service can i feasibly cram into the before and after of this". Its VERY fluffy, consider it an exploration of "what can you do when your friend is overworking themselves to the point of being stretched very thin + a healthy dose of Amangela banter and love".

Its written in a way that I think is arguably platonic, but I mean, you all can decide that. enjoy!

also, a huge thank you to the other amangela fic/content writers on here- for directly or indirectly discussing, providing encouragement, motivation, etc, and also making their own stuff! Cool stuff makes more cool stuff.

[firenati0n]

who would've thought that a guy like henry would double as a superstar?

by firenati0n on ao3

T | 6.4K

tags: hannah montana au, crack treated seriously, crack, fluff, angst, crangst if you will, social media au, twitter elements, crack treated so seriously it's now fully fucking earnest

Henry never thought he’d become a global pop superstar. Millions of people screaming his name, hundreds of bras and boxers thrown on stage, so many records sold. A face full of glitter and a heart full of dreams. But no one really knows Henry. Not in a way that matters. Herny Mountana belongs to the fans. Henry Fox has to belong to himself, or else he'll vanish.

Or, Henry is Hannah Montana, and it's crack treated extremely seriously and earnestly. Have fun!

xoxo roop

p.s. thank you @anincompletelist for the fun graphic <3 <3

also i know i talked about this in literally february so tagging some folks who expressed interest in this in the past pls don't mind me <3 ilysm xoxo also tagging folks who had cameos in this LMFAOOOOO

@rockyroadkylers @flickertheory @duchessdepolignaca03 @ad-astra13 @myheartalivewrites

@littlestar2911 @anincompletelist @littlemisskittentoes @blueeyedgrlwrites @welcometololaland

@ships-to-sail @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @kiwiana-writes @itsmaybitheway @wordsofhoneydew

@getmehighonmagic @benwvatt @gay-flyboys @onthewaytosomewhere @violetbaudelaire-quagmire

@anchoredarchangel @eusuntgratie @bigassbowlingballhead @celeritas2997 @junebugclaremontdiaz

@suseagull04 @saturntheday @captainjunglegym @thinkof-england @sophie1973

@cha-melodius @dragonflylady77 @dumbpeachjuice @largepeachicedtea @whimsymanaged

@nocoastposts

[seyaryminamoto]

Fic-to-Art #39: Gladiator's ELEVENTH Anniversary! (+ BONUS: Fic-to-Art #36...)

And here we are! March 26th arrived and I did not forget about it, but I paid for my ambitious madness with my wrist and forearm. Somehow, I finished my intended pieces on time, but I do not advise that you ever try to make 9 artworks in 3 days. No, sir. Bad life decisions, that's what that was... but this fic, as anyone knows, moves me to do things I never thought possible, starting with writing the fic itself!

It's really crazy every time it hits me that I've been doing this for as long as I have. It's been a complicated, chaotic journey, with its many ups and downs, but ultimately, it has been our journey. For some people, this is just one more fic in the pile: for me, it's been the best adventure of my life so far. Everyone who has ever been touched by Gladiator, who has ever cherished this story, who's looking forward to the big conclusion, who wants to see how the chaotic war is going to end... you're all part of this crazy adventure along with me, and I can only thank you for joining me.

This year, I had no time to make as big a project as I usually go for. Thus, I did a sort of free-for-all edition of Fic-to-Art over at Patreon and challenged myself to draw as many scenes as I could, out of their suggestions. I even sprinkled in a few scenes I impulsively wanted to draw because I loved writing them or because I look forward to writing them... and this is the result!

In order, the scenes are as follow:

Sokka combing Azula's hair, a common occurrence throughout the story.

Azula watching over a convalescing Sokka in the Chase of Jeong Jeong arc.

The outcome of Sokka's final battle in the Superior Gladiator League, namely a moment where Sokka and Azula more or less gave away their relationship's true nature to the public by raising their hands towards each other...

And now, spoiler territory! Some were by my choice, some by Patreon requests:

An important moment shortly after Sokka and Azula reunite.

Azula confronting her father, with a LOT of backup.

Xin Long's long-awaited freedom.

The aftermath of the final battle.

The full-blown confirmation of their relationship to the general Fire Nation populace.

Sokka, Azula and Hotaru's first night together

And the big final one is ACTUALLY Fic-to-Art #36 but hahaha woops I didn't post it here on time because it was super hard to finish since I had a LOT of things going on... but here it is now! :'D it's a glimpse VERY far into the future of this fic's timeline!

Alright, that should be enough talking and explaining. Some things are vague, some things aren't, but ultimately I really hope you guys will be looking forward to the scenes you haven't seen yet, and to Gladiator's eventual outcome.

So now... with all this being said and done, I'm gonna go take a trip down memory lane and watch my Tenth Anniversary video once more! Feel free to do the same thing if you'd like to commemorate the fic, I think it's a good way to experience Gladiator all over again, hahaha.

Thank you if you read all this, and if you read all THAT: 5 million word landmark, here we come! Thanks for hanging out with me across ELEVEN years of Gladiator!

[arcadianmoonshadowjedi]

What did I do to Deserve you?

Rayllum Season 6 spoilery fanfic

Finally finished & posting this fanfic! It’s a fluffy hurt/comfort missing scene fic set between Episodes 6-7 (you know what I mean 😏) I would not recommend reading this unless you’ve watched up to the beginning of Episode 7. If you’re all caught up, I hope you enjoy! 😁🙌🏽

Chapter Summary: Rayla and Callum have finally kissed again for the first time in two years and have reaffirmed their love for one another. But there is still something Rayla wanted to talk to Callum about, the one moment in her life she wished she could change.

A few minutes later, Callum still held Rayla in his arms kissing her. Rayla’s hands were now around the back of his head with her fingers interlaced through his hair. Callum finally pulled away and sighed happily as he took his breath. Their faces were still pretty close though.

“We’ve been at this for so long,” Callum giggled. “Shouldn’t we get some sleep tonight before we head over to the Moon Nexus?”

Rayla jokingly groaned but still answered him. “We haven’t had a moment like this in two years, shouldn’t we be making up for all that lost time?”

Callum chuckled as she reached for a few more pecks. He then turned and guided her towards his hammock. He hopped onto it and patted right next to him gesturing for Rayla to join him.

“We should get some rest,” He told her softly and smiled. Rayla finally joined him and leaned into his embrace. They could hear Stella and Sneezles squeaking cheerfully from the hammock above sending the two lovers into complete laughter.

Read More on AO3!

[kentopedia]

it makes me so happy to see more people are starting to write multi chap / series fics on here again

[thebest-medicine]

64 with ler Fjord & either Caleb or Molly? 🥺 dealers choice, but as soon as I saw that one I immediately thought of Fjord being a bully

Prompt 64 - “Relax, I’m not gonna kill ya, I’m just gonna make you wish you were dead.”

A/N: i love this for fjord. OMG. also, so… there’s this 6k ler!fjord lee!molly slightly fjolly decently mean interrogation fic im working on for tickletober and this line fit into it reaaaally well for a part where molly is in the stocks and… well… consider this my fic preview hehe (I’ll tag it here eventually when it’s posted in oct.)

,,,

“EheheHEHEHEHEEHEE- YOHOHOU’RE KILLIN’ MEEHEHEHEHE!” Molly whines through frantic laughter.

“Oh relax, don’t be so dramatic. I’m not gonna kill you.” Fjord speaks calmly, as though soothing a child. “I’m just gonna make you really, really wish you were dead.” His voice is sweet as the words drip out like honey, and Molly shivers from more than just the tickling sensations lighting up his soles.

“PFFFAHHAAHFUCK!” Molly cries — both in the sense of crying out aloud during his cackling, and in the other—more literal—sense, as tears bleed into the cloth tied over his eyes. He clasps and unclasps his fingers. He presses deeply into the seat and strains uselessly against the stocks — all for nothing. His laughter rings out boisterously as Fjord continues to scrub the brush up and down his foot, then switch to the other. Back and forth. Back and forth. Overwhelming, but never enough to get desensitized to in any one place.

“PLEHEEHHEEASE!” Molly shrieks.

“What happened to that attitude of yours?” Fjord snickers, looking up from his feet to take in Mollymauk’s squirming, desperate form.

“Don’t knohohohHOOW! I dohOHON’T know wHERE—” Molly babbles incoherently, still trying to bargain with his captor.

“You don’t know where your attitude went?” Fjord laughs, pulling the brush away from his soles for the first time in far, far too long.

Molly heaves in deep, shaky breaths. “I- heh- I… What?”

Fjord hums, sounding amused. They sit in the ‘silence’ of Molly deliriously catching his breath.

“Maybe I should believe you…” Fjord says after a little time passes and Molly sounds less frenetic.

Molly tries to give his best hopeful, honest smile. It’s hard without the eyes.

Molly picks up the sound of Fjord getting up from his seat, a little relief washes over him.

Then the brush is back, and Mollymauk is wailing out a surprised bark of laughter. “WAITHAHAHA— WAIT!”

“But, on the other hand..” Fjord sighs, bringing his other hand to tickle along the sole of Molly’s right foot as he brushes up and down his left. Mollymauk almost wishes for a gag with how loudly he shouts and shrieks through desperate laughter. The hand and brush switch. They switch back a little while later.

“Hmm.” Fjord says, stopping again after a few minutes. “What do you think?”

“I thihihink I am going to die here.” Molly whimpers, smiling defeatedly.

“Not if you tell me the truth.”

“I am telling yohohohou the truth.”

“Well, I have to make sure you’re not lying.” Fjord says, and then the terrible brushing starts up again.

“Whyhyhyhyhy would I still behehehe lying- hehee?! Plehehehehease!” Molly argues as much as he can get out as he’s laughing.

“You tell me.” Fjord replies, not letting up. “Maybe you’re just a masochist.”

Molly definitely does not hate being on the receiving end of an evening like this, it’s true. He would take a moment to consider that if he had a brain cell that could focus on anything other than the incessant scrubbing of the hairbrush along his soles. It scrapes across the balls, the arches, the heel, up and down, up and down, over and over. The slick oily liquid covering his feet lets it glide with almost no resistance. All tickles, no resistance — yeah, Molly is probably going to die here.

He’s wheezing by the time Fjord stops again. He hesitates, half-pleading through his laughter, wondering when it’s going to start up again.

It doesn’t… And Fjord doesn’t say anything.

It still doesn’t… And then, finally, Fjord’s pulling down the blindfold. “Hey, there.”

Molly’s eyes adjust weakly to the light, the blindfold is damp with his tears. He mutters some kind of reply before closing his eyes again. “Fjord…”

“Mollymauk.” Fjord says, leaving the blindfold down around his neck and standing back up.

…

[UPDATE: read the full thing here!]

[more sentence starter fic prompts]

[other sentence starter fics]

[read further CR drabbles on ao3]

[saysflora]

Even the great Jack Kelly isn't immune to sickness every once in a while, no matter what he likes to say. This time around, though, he'd made the rookie mistake of fainting in front of David, and is suffering the consequences by being held captive in the Jacobs' apartment until they deem him better.

Actually, it might not be all that bad.

OR: Jack gets sick and recovers in the Jacobs' apartment, with no small amount of tomfoolery.

[sexynetra]

Hiiiii may I humbly ask you to write a little planymphia excerpt for us? I love your writing and I love this pairing ❤️

Hi bestie I am way ahead of you I already have multiple planymphia things in the works I tried to stay away but I got converted into it 🤭 here’s just a tiny little intro I wrote in my mind on my drive home from work today

~~~~~~

Jane didn’t believe in love at first sight. She didn’t believe in love at second sight either, or third. Honestly, love was never really on her radar. Until she met Nymphia, that is.

Nymphia shouldn’t have been anything special. She was just a girl, like all the rest. Another pretty girl for Jane to bring home from the bar and then never see again.

Sex wasn’t complicated. Hookups weren’t complicated. Jane enjoyed pretty women and they enjoyed her. But emotions were messy, and Jane didn’t do mess.

Nymphia was messy. Everything about her was chaos and impulsion wrapped up in a yellow-haired bow. Jane should have run when she still had the chance.

[rking200]

It's Sunday! A new chapter has found its way to The Red Room. Check it out to see why Connor acted how he did last chapter <3 Take a peek at @connor-sent-by-cyberlife's wonderful new render, and don't forget to check back later to show their post some love!

The Red Room (60070 words) by rking200 Chapters: 9/? Fandom: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor Characters: Hank Anderson, Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Original Chloe | RT600, Markus (Detroit: Become Human), Elijah Kamski Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Human, Stalking, Vomiting, Suicidal Thoughts, Top Hank Anderson, Bottom Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Connor is a Mess (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson is Bad at Feelings, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Missing Persons, Abduction, Manipulation, Death Threats, Mental Health Issues, Zlatko didn't do it, POV Alternating, Slow Burn, Sex at some point Summary: Connor Stern is a law school dropout who dreams of making it big in the music industry. He manages to get into a special apprenticeship program with the musical genius Elijah Kamski and, despite working two jobs and struggling to stay afloat, feels like his dream is finally within his grasp. When Hank Anderson stumbles into the lounge Connor performs at, The Red Room, he becomes entranced with him. As Hank falls in love with Connor's voice, he ends up entangled with conflicting emotions and delicate situations. Slowly, his nights are filled with Connor's songs and his closeness, even if he feels he doesn't deserve it. They reach several roadblocks along the way of getting closer, some more dangerous than others. A collaboration written alongside Connor-sent-by-Cyberlife for the Reverse Big Bang 2024, told with a POV alternating between Hank and Connor. Chapters added weekly.

[ssreeder]

i discovered the liab series super late but i discovered it indeed 🤭 just wanna say how much i love this series and how hard it’s kept me in a chokehold over the past couple weeks!!!! your writing is SO. phenomenal. im going insane. thank you so much for sharing this with the world!!!!

thank you soooo much!! I’m so happy you enjoyed it!! (I also saw you put it on your zukka fic rec list & let me tell you what an HONOR) I am obsessed with compliments so thank you for coming all the way here to tell me you enjoyed it seriously made my day.

[thatoneperson747]

Chapter three of A Ranger's Eyes is up on ao3!

I'm not sure how many of my readers see my tumblr account, but for those who do, thank you so much for being so nice to me! I did not expect my first fic to do so well, especially so early. I'm really excited to keep writing it! I hope you guys enjoy what I've got in store for you :D

[reimuineldyring]

for reimu’s first adventure on her new blog, a bunch of weird guys appear

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

Something different.

Frustration bloomed in the back of Harry’s throat wide enough to choke, unfurling until his mouth felt full and dry—though that could’ve been the third glass of wine. He didn’t understand what ‘different’ was, what had changed. The answer seemed shrouded from his sight, scarcely out of reach.

Or, Harry pondered, slouched comfortably in an armchair, his eyes locked on Voldemort’s candlelit form. Maybe not very far at all. He had an inkling it was hiding just behind the monster sitting before him—the wolf in sheep’s skin.

Delicately drafting missive upon missive, Voldemort fell to silence some time ago. Their steady back and forth lulled and gave breath to the ever-diligent scrawling, barely clear enough to hear over the crack and sizzle of the fire.

If Harry hadn’t grown so accustomed to Voldemort’s sudden breakthroughs and thoughtful quietness, he wondered if he’d be more offended.

His mouth curled like hands strangling, ripping weeds from the root; Harry would be much more than offended if he were anything like he used to be around Voldemort. He doubted there’d have been anything left of this humble study, and they’d be anything but—

Harry sighed… And there it was again—that frustration prying at his lips.

But—what? What were they doing anyway? The words at the tip of his tongue didn’t seem right, but Hermione would tell him not to fight it, that his gut reaction wasn’t typically too far off.

So…companionable? Is that what they were?

Friends? Or, at the very least, friendly?

Harry tasted bitter pollen and fresh dirt on the flat of his tongue, but his lips tugged wider. He couldn’t stop himself because this all seemed so absurd. Completely laughable.

“Why are you grinning like a fool?”

Harry’s attention pulled back to Voldemort, though he could hardly say it ever left.

Voldemort’s form was relaxed, never slouched but comfortable. He sipped his wine, eyes sharp over the rim of his glass, keen on Harry.

“None of your business,” Harry replied. It wasn’t biting or challenging like he meant it to be (like it used to be), but that didn’t matter.

Voldemort took everything as a challenge.

So Harry watched as Voldemort set his glass down on the desk, narrowed his eyes, and considered his options.

Harry knew from experience that Voldemort liked to try casting an imperio on him every once in a while to see if he’d suddenly lost his ‘immunity’ (Ron’s words). Or liked talking circles around him until he unknowingly answered everything Voldemort was wondering and more.

It was rarer when Voldemort attempted to glimpse his thoughts, but Harry knew he enjoyed trying.

It’s uncomfortable and oppressive, Voldemort had once told him. Sounding disconcertingly impressed. I have not seen anything like it during my time.

And Harry had nodded, understanding. He was well aware of the unusualness of his mindscape.

Yet, Voldemort had continued, It is not unfamiliar.

It turned out Voldemort’s curiosity was always more harm than good. Harry went weeks managing raging headaches from his many tests. The goal was ultimately to reveal Harry’s breaking point or, at the very least, find some of his hidden memories and thoughts.

All those headaches were endured to no avail as Voldemort was, and continued to be, dissatisfied.

Voldemort stood abruptly, and Harry startled. “Come,” he said as he walked to the door. He paused and held it open; Harry took that to mean ‘no’ wasn’t an option.

Hoisting himself up and finding his balance when the blood rush became less too-quick-standing-up and more maybe-one-less-glass-next-time-Harry, he quickly made his way out of the study. He waited for Voldemort to shut and ward the door before taking off after him down the long, winding halls of Slytherin Manor.

Voldemort had really gone all out after the truce. When Harry was invited to the newly constructed and stately home, he wondered if all purebloods used the same magical architects. There was a grace and a flawless connection to every room, a theme or some sort of thoughtful pattern, that Harry didn’t quite achieve with Grimmauld Place. There was something to be said about professionals, and those at the top of their field no less. For Voldemort would never allow second best.

Mindful of these small details, it was hard not to compare everything to the Malfoys’ manor, which housed all their meetings during the first two years of the truce. But Harry could hardly be faulted when one took in the tall and expansive windows and the spacious drawing rooms and grand libraries (yes, more than one), so close yet so vastly different to the Malfoys.

Harry had remarked upon this several times, of course. Unfortunately, it took Voldemort using the wards to forcibly remove him for Harry to realise that his comments went very much unappreciated.

Admittedly, the colour scheme was way darker here, though that didn’t surprise Harry. With their pale hair, pale eyes, pale walls, and paler peacocks, Draco, Narcissa and Lucius would stick out like sore thumbs here. Just like Voldemort, with his dark hair, dark eyes, dark robes, and darker humour, had in their home.

Nonetheless, with all the apparent beauty of Slytherin Manor’s interior, Harry quickly realised that nothing in these walls pleased Voldemort more than the gardens around it. And naturally, that was where Voldemort led them.

The season’s chill bit at Harry’s skin, and he watched as Voldemort’s breath spiralled out in clouds of white. It was the only proof Harry could find of Voldemort being affected by the cold. Even with his new face (or old? Harry supposed the similarities between it and Tom Riddle’s were too close not to assume), there was still an apparent…otherworldliness to him.

His motions were too graceful. His gaze was too precise. His voice was too melodious, like charming sleigh bells or an arresting church organ depending on his moods. Harry caught himself enthralled and appalled by Voldemort in equal measure. That may be why it seemed so impossible to Harry that they had gotten close. Because he still couldn’t entirely remove the man from the monster. But Harry was starting to realise he might be okay with that. Accepting Voldemort for who he was: both.

“Is this better?” Voldemort startled Harry out of his intense focus.

He frowned, “Is what better?” What was Voldemort talking about? Had he missed something?

Voldemort led them deeper into the sprawling gardens. Fairies fluttered about the grounds shimmering and shining in their transparent multicolours. They twinkled over the no doubt carefully selected winter flora and fauna; heather and aconite clashed for attention amongst the evergreens and large shrubs with dainty bell-shaped yellow flowers that dripped down arching branches like bundles of grapes. Harry couldn’t name half the growth scattered about, probably not even with Neville’s help.

They stopped in a small clearing home to a single (surprisingly tasteful) fountain. “The fresh air,” Voldemort finally answered. He was so quiet that Harry almost missed it. “Is it helping ease your mind?”

“My mind didn’t need to be eased?” Harry aimed for a statement, but it came out like a question.

Voldemort looked at him like he’d said something particularly idiotic. “Yes, because you often look one minor thought away from breaking everything in a room.” His light, sarcastic tone, sickly sweet, had Harry crossing his arms.

“So that’s why you ran us out of the manor,” Harry scoffed.

“Lord Voldemort does not run, Harry.”

“Lord Voldemort apparently does if he thinks Harry Potter will blow up his pretty little house.”

They each held their ground, eyes locked. But the tittering of the fairies was an embarrassing wake-up call, so Harry broke first. His snort huffed out and clouded the air, surprising Voldemort and himself. He completely gave in to his laughter after that. The sight of Voldemort’s shock was too funny to keep bottled up.

Voldemort shook his head like a silent prayer and waited for Harry’s giggles to die down, “I thought you were…upset. I felt it through the Horcrux, that festering feeling of something unresolved and annoying. You seemed frustrated.”

Harry didn’t really know what to say. He was taken aback that Voldemort could even tell something was bothering him. Though he had been strangely intuitive recently, Harry noted. Especially since that day at Grimmauld Place.

And Granger mentioned you may be depressed.

Harry shook his head to rid himself of…whatever that was. Voldemort continued when he wasn’t paying attention, “-decide to spend your holiday with your friends. I found that odd, considering you are all very close. Trouble in paradise?”

“What,” Harry frowned. How was it that Voldemort never failed to make him feel wrong-footed? Why couldn’t Harry ever catch a break? “No, nothing’s wrong. And that’s a muggle thing, you know? Trouble in Paradise.”

“So you’re celebrating Yule at my manor because you want to?” The very idea seemed unfathomable to Voldemort, judging by his wrinkled brow and scrunched-up nose. Though maybe his face was because Harry mentioned muggles, and that was still a touchy subject.

“Well, yes? No- I’m,” Harry stuttered and looked away. It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with the Weasleys or Sirius and Remus. Everything really was fine. It’s just, well, Harry didn’t feel comfortable tagging along this year. He’d gone missing for most of it, isolating as he did, and people still looked at him with this weird mixture of concern and pity and treated him like a spun glass ornament.

Voldemort never did that.

“I mean- Wait, you invited me here!” Harry shouted to some hellebore, his exclamation entirely misdirected.

Voldemort had invited Harry here! That’s right! It was under the guise of ministry paperwork, some dumb bill that required Harry’s approval too, because even though Voldemort had clearly been on the straight and narrow for years, people were still under the impression one couldn’t teach an old dog new tricks. Or, in this case, one couldn’t teach a Dark Lord the advantages of political warfare over guerrilla warfare. Stupid.

Harry glanced over at Voldemort, who had conveniently turned his attention toward the night sky.

But hadn’t they finished it hours ago? The documents were read, discussed (debated), and adjusted. They were resubmitted with the help of Hedwig, who was miffed to have to rush a packet of paperwork back to the ministry on Christmas of all days. She’d been bribed with a rather spoiled selection of meats—Nagini was very jealous.

So. Why was Harry still here? Why did he stay when Voldemort had offered him wine and refill after refill? Why did he feel like leaving was the very last thing he wanted to do? Why was he worried, reluctant to floo home, and suspiciously confident that Voldemort hadn’t wanted to bear the holiday alone either?

Why did Harry think Voldemort would be terribly sad if he left?

Harry wanted to break their silence. He pushed aside the growing weight in his chest, taking a deep breath to shake the overwhelm pressing behind his eyelids. He opened his mouth to maybe thank Voldemort for his thoughtfulness (because that’s what it was—Voldemort was always somehow considerate of Harry and his feelings) but accidentally blurted out the one thing that had actually been weighing his mind, “Are we friends?”

Horror. It was all Harry could feel. Shocked dumb, he watched as Voldemort stilled for a moment. His eyes left the shining expanse of stars and found Harry’s. He raised a single brow, “Friends?”

Harry’s face felt hot, and he wasn’t sure he could blame the wine. “Yeah,” in for a penny. “Friends. Are we?” He wanted to smack himself for being so short, words too stilted. But this wasn’t very comfortable, and Voldemort’s evident amusement wasn’t helping.

And Harry wanted the answer. He wanted it so badly that it scared him.

“We are not.”

The words echoed too loud in the night, which was ridiculous because Harry had only just been straining to hear Voldemort better moments ago. He couldn’t breathe. His heart felt like it had caught aflame. Yet there was no comforting warmth from its inferno, only an all-consuming blaze that turned Harry’s heart into ash from its fire.

He wasn’t sure when he’d turned away from Voldemort again. The sight of frosted grass was surprising when Harry registered it, along with the feeling of Voldemort’s hand cupping his chin and pulling his attention back to those garnet eyes Harry knew he was growing too fond of, too fast. They were much darker beneath the moon and stars, gleaming like the dried-up dregs of wine Harry left behind in Voldemort’s study.

“I do not have friends, Harry,” Voldemort’s eyes combed over his face. A brisk wind scattered his heart in the breeze, Harry shivered. “And you are so much more.”

The feeling of Voldemort’s magic, a delicate touch down the length of Harry’s throat, wrapping around and sinking in, chased all the cold away. A warming charm. Harry blinked once, twice, eyes wide. He felt light-headed.

“Let’s return,” Voldemort said. His fingers didn’t quite remove themselves fast enough, hesitant, lingering. Like Harry, perhaps they too wanted to remain just a little longer.

As Voldemort finally pulled away, the tip of his thumb grazed the edge of Harry’s lower lip. Harry felt a righteous anger then, justifying the heat still creeping up his face—he’s teasing me.

But as they continued back inside, chatter somehow more intimate and strictly the same as always, Harry came to the conclusion that Voldemort probably wasn’t. This was just as new and scary for him as it was for Harry, and though they may not be friends (and Harry wasn’t really sure what more would be), Harry knew they were definitely something.

Something different.

[thechaoticfanartist]

(banner by @arrthurpendragon )

Chapter 40: A Spark Of Light

"How is it not my fault if I failed?"

"Because there was only the slightest chance you could save us, but you took it anyway. You were not the one who caused this, you did all you could to prevent it," said Obi-Wan kindly.

Grim smiled softly. "You're right, and even though we lost this war, hope survives, the Jedi survive, for the Sith can't destroy the light. Thank you Masters." Grim hugged Yoda. "Thank you for letting me join your family."

Yoda hugged her back, and then Obi-Wan joined the hug. "Thank you for being a part of it," Obi-Wan replied.

The three Jedi stayed there for a long moment. They had lost so much. Yet there was still hope, there was still light.

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[meownotgood]

Hi!! This isn't an ask or anything, but I just have to say that. I love your writings!! I am lost in the sauce /pos

Keep up the amazing work! 😊

thank you, beloved anon 🫂💞