#i have decided to believe neither of them

[bloomshroomz]

I wish people would stop saying we are all female at conception. This is untrue! Sex cannot be discerned as either male or female at conception, because it has not yet developed as either.

We have our chromosomes, but we still haven't developed our genitalia, gonads, etc. It would be most accurate to say we're sex-neutral at conception, because our sex has the potential to develop in any direction.

We also produce neither the large reproductive cell (ova) nor the small reproductive cell (sperm) at conception. At conception, we simply don't have the organs necessary to produce our gametes; our gonads do not yet exist. Gonadal differentiation starts around 5 weeks after conception. If your body produces ova, this will happen in the womb, but not at conception. If your body produces sperm, this will not happen until puberty, well after being born. On top of all of this, it's entirely possible that you might not produce either of these.

The problem is, people like Trump think that chromosomes are the end-all-be-all of sex and gender, when this is untrue. Sex is made up of many different characteristics, and is neither binary nor immutable. Even if you have XY or XX chromosomes, you could still be trans, and/or be intersex (e.g. AIS, Swyer Syndrome, 5-ARD, 17-beta, LCH, etc). Chromosomes are also not inherently indicative of your ability to carry ova or produce sperm later in development.

Intersex people and trans people aren't going to be fully represented by our chromosomes. Our bodies might not necessarily align with our chromosomes in the way that would be "expected" societally, whether that is spontaneous or due to medical intervention.

In the case of intersex people specifically, they may not necessarily have XX or XY chromosomes to begin with. Though, in this case, they'd probably just say "If a Y is present, they're male, and if not, they're female" (e.g. XXY = male, XO = female, 46XX/46XY chimerism = male), because this form of intersexism already happens in medical literature. This is intersex erasure.

Trump would like you to believe that "has no Y chromosome = person belonging to the sex which carries eggs = female," and "has a Y chromosome = person belonging to the sex which produces sperm = male," when none of these statements are true. Or, I would say he'd like you to believe that, but that implies that I believe he knows anything about sex or biology in general. I don't think he has a clue.

All in all, Trump's EO is terrible, but not just because it's nonsensical. It's terrible because of what it aims to do to trans and intersex people. Not to mention that there is no good reason to deny people the right to self determination of their own gender, nor deny us the right to update our documents to affirm our genders, even if we don't choose to medically transition and are perisex. Each person should be entitled to decide which marker they want representing them on their own documents, whether that is M, F, or X.

We have mountains of evidence showing that gender affirming care, legal recognition, and inclusion saves lives. Trump's decision will kill people, and he has been told that we fear for our lives.

He does not care.

From Trump’s executive order — It basically declares everyone is now a woman.

All human embryos are female at conception…it takes around 6 weeks for fetal testes to produce androgen which counteracts the estrogen which produces male genitalia.

[sakurabraches]

thinking about how elphaba's narrative is a tragic curve that's subverted because of her relationship with glinda

act i is her (literal) ascent to the wicked witch. i think defying gravity is her high point in the narrative because elphie's finally come into her own. she's realized the truth about the wizard and decided that she's done playing by others' rules and she's going to trust herself and fight for what she believes in

she's at her high point, literally flying up in the sky. she's no longer weighed down by others' expectations and judgements or the desire for social approval. she's seems to be a genuine threat to the wizard's regime, and even though she's a fugitive, she's grown into her own

elphaba's flying free. she's defying gravity. she's unlimited

then comes act ii, where elphaba's rebellion clearly isn't going well. she goes to nessa because she CANT stand alone, and she needs some kind of support to go against the wizard. she almost goes back to the wizard in "wonderful," and only stops because she sees dr. dillamond

and even though it's not her fault, elphaba still starts to lose the people she loves as consequence for her rebellion. nessa gets killed to draw her out, boq blames her for his transformation, and fiyero nearly gets beaten to death

so at the end of act ii, elphaba's almost lost everything. she couldn't stop the wizard, she couldn't help the animals, and fiyero survives through magically chicanery. "no good deed" is her giving up, deciding that everything she fought for was hopeless and trying to make the world better is pointless

the melting can be seen as elphaba's fall. even though she survives and escapes oz with fiyero, everything she fought for was in vain. it's a tragic end, despite the fact that she survived

then enter glinda. she's the only one of elphie's loved ones who isn't dead or physically altered by the end of act ii. while this is partly because she doesn't get on the broom, she also never completely turns against her like nessa or boq do. her love for elphaba, while not always the driving force of her actions, is what motivates her to take a stand and go to kiamo ko

and because glinda loves her, and their relationship has changed glinda so that she IS willing to stand by elphaba at kiamo ko, elphaba can pass on her cause to her. her fight doesn't end in complete failure. glinda is able to banish the wizard and arrest morrible and likely restore rights to the animals

elphaba may have not been able to change oz, but she changed glinda, and that's enough

glinda literally rewrote her story

wicked is obviously still tragic cuz glinda and elphaba end up separated, neither of them fully happy, but while they're doomed by the narrative, the narrative is saved by their relationship

[just-shairahhh]

Wings and Venom

Pairing: Theodore Nott x Ravenclaw fem!reader.

Part: One of (Undecided Yet).

Summary: When Theodore Nott, a brooding Slytherin bound by his family’s dark legacy, and a fiercely determined Ravenclaw collide as Potions partners, sparks fly. What begins as sharp-tongued rivalries and cold glares slowly unravels into a connection neither of them expected. As secrets, prejudices, and insecurities surface, they must decide whether to let their differences define them or risk everything for a bond that could rewrite their stories forever.

A/N: Hi, everyone! I really hope you enjoy this story. This series contains themes of emotional repression, societal pressures, and the consequences of prejudice. Both characters are grappling with identity and self-worth. If you have any special requests you'd like for me to include in the storyline, let me know. And, I'd love to hear your views on this part.

------------------------------------------------------------

"If you’re so confident in your abilities, why don’t you take over completely?” Theodore snapped, his usual calm replaced with a simmering irritation.

For a second, you were taken aback. After all, you were just trying to help. But the surprise on your face was fleeting, replaced by a sharper undertone. “Maybe I should. We are, after all, being graded as partners. If you mess this up, it’s going to reflect on me.”

Theodore’s jaw tightened, his voice dropping a degree colder. “I’m not going to mess it up.”

“Really? Because your potion looks more like murky pond water than something worthy of Snape’s approval,” you retorted, your tone cutting.

Theodore’s temper flared. “You wouldn’t understand,” he muttered, “some of us don’t have to rely on everyone else for everything. Some of us actually know what we’re doing.”

Your eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. You've never had to rely on anyone for anything. You're one of the top students in your year, and you take immense pride in your hard-earned success. “What’s that supposed to mean? And what exactly would you know, then? Clearly, following instructions isn’t one of your strengths.”

Theodore’s voice dropped lower, his words coming out sharper than he intended. “You wouldn’t even know how to brew a proper potion if you weren’t holding someone else’s hand. Mudbloods like you don’t belong here.”

The words were out before he could stop them, and the instant they left his mouth, Theodore immediately regretted them. His gaze snapped to your face, and he saw the flash of anger —something far sharper than he'd expected. You two had always clashed, sure, but it had never escalated like this. It had never felt this personal. Maybe it was the letter from his father that he got this morning, burning a hole in his pocket, feeding that simmering frustration inside him. But even then, there was no excuse for what he'd just said. He didn’t even believe in the Mudblood and Pureblood nonsense, despite his family’s obsession with bloodlines and their obsession with the old ways.

Your hands clenched on your cauldron, lips pulling into a tight line. “You really think that matters?” you chuckle, your voice cold and tight. There's no humour in them. “That your blood status is somehow better than mine?”

Theodore opened his mouth, to apologize, to explain that he hadn’t meant it—but you were already a step ahead. Sure, you and Theodore had clashed since the very first day you were paired for Potions, but this was different. This—this stung. You hadn’t realized just how deep the poison of old bloodlines ran within him. This idea, this poisonous belief, had nearly obliterated your existence from the very first year, before you could even fight for it. You’d fought tooth and nail to carve your place, to prove your worth—and no privileged, entitled prat was going to strip that away. Not now. Not ever.

“Must be nice to have your precious little pureblood status to fall back on, isn’t it?” Your voice cut through him like a dagger. “But maybe you should worry more about whether your daddy's name will protect you when people start asking questions you can’t answer.”

The insult hit him harder than he expected. His father. Theodore had lived in that shadow for years—had been consumed by it—and yet he couldn’t escape it. The weight of the name was suffocating. Every step he took felt like it was tied to his father’s reputation, pulling him further into the depths of expectations he never asked for.

And immediately his mind drifted back to the letter. That morning, a letter had arrived, sealed with his father’s unmistakable crest, a reminder of everything he could never escape. The letter sat heavy in his bag, unopened, as it always was, but its presence alone burned through him. A letter meant to remind him of his place, his bloodline, the legacy that was already set out for him. And now, here he was, echoing the same disdain he’d heard for years.

But this time, it was different. The words he had spat at you lingered, an unforgiving reminder of the man he was trying—and failing—to avoid becoming. What was he doing? Theodore’s mind raced, a blur of confusion and regret. Who did he want to be? The man he had been taught to become—driven by family, tradition, and bloodlines—or the man he feared becoming—the man who followed those ideals blindly, without question, without thought of the consequences?

The world felt like it was choking him again, and for a moment, all he could do was stand there, paralyzed by the sting of your words. The weight of it all pressed down on him—his father’s shadow, his family's expectations, and now, the sudden realization that he had pushed you away. The worst part was that with those words, he had seen the respect you once had for him—his intellect, his hard work, his quiet dedication—fade away. It was replaced by the same look everyone else gave him. The look of someone privileged, spoiled, entitled.

And he didn’t know why it bothered him so much. Why it cut deeper than anything else. But it did. It hurt in a way he couldn't explain, a way he didn’t know how to handle. Maybe it was because, for the first time, you saw him exactly as everyone else did. And that scared him more than anything.

But he wasn’t going to let you see how much it hurt. Without a word, Theodore turned and walked away, his footsteps loud and defiant. He didn’t look back.

.

.

.

That day, you entered your room, slamming the door behind you, the weight of the moment crashing down in a final, thunderous sound. Your bag hit the floor with a dull thud as you sank onto your bed, your thoughts spiraling back to your first year. Back when Draco would make cruel remarks about your non-magical roots, and every word felt like a dagger. It had taken you time—so much time—to accept who you were. The proud daughter of two hardworking, brilliant, loving parents who had raised you with love and strength. And you’d never let anyone—anyone—make you feel ashamed of that again.

Your intellect, your kindness, had always been the things that carried you forward, the things that earned you respect in places where golden blood could never flow. A respect that comes not from your lineage, but from your knowledge. And yet, Theodore’s dismissal of it today stung in a way you hadn’t expected. You couldn’t for the life of you understand why it hurt so much. It was as if he had shattered something delicate—something you had worked so hard to build.

“Hey,” a voice pulled you from your spiraling thoughts. You hadn’t even noticed the door crack open.

Elena, your best friend, stepped into the room with a sympathetic expression, her blonde curls bouncing slightly with each movement. “Bad day?” she asked, already dropping her bag by her desk and crashing next to you on your bed, like the two of you had done, for years.

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you flopped back next to her, staring at the ceiling. “I don’t know why I let him get to me,” you muttered. “It’s like everything I’ve worked for, all the things I’ve fought to stand by… he just dismissed them like they were nothing.”

Elena raised an eyebrow. She was mad at Nott herself for treating you the way he did in class. “Still thinking about Nott?" She asked, her lips pressed in a thin line.

You winced at the mention of his name. Theodore and you were never friends, but after being partnered up, it's like the last few weeks had been a rollercoaster of awkward glances, clipped conversations, and sudden, uncomfortable silences whenever the two of you were together. There had been moments when you thought things might’ve changed, but the tension was always there, just beneath the surface.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I don’t even know why it matters. He’s just one person. But he—he just has this way of making everything feel… wrong.”

“Well, I mean, that’s Theodore Nott for you,” Elena said with a mischievous grin, her eyes narrowing slightly as she glanced toward the door. “The broody, annoyingly good-looking Slytherin with a chip on his shoulder.”

You shot her a look, but Elena just shrugged, her expression turning playful. “What? He’s got that whole ‘mysterious bad boy’ thing going on. I’m just saying, it’s hard not to notice. And even harder not to fall for.”

You rolled your eyes, but the teasing tone in her voice made your cheeks warm. “You’ve got a weird taste in guys.”

Elena laughed, unfazed. “I’m not saying I’m interested. But let’s be real here, Theodore Nott is NOT a "weird taste in guys". He's like....” Elene finishes her sentence with a deep sigh, pretending to swoon over that one guy, most girls in your year had tried getting with.

You smiled, despite yourself. “Yeah, well, I used to think he was just some grumpy guy who didn’t care about anything. But there’s something different now. It’s like... he’s always watching. Waiting for me to mess up or something.”

Elena gave you a knowing look and straightens up. “It’s because he’s an absolute idiot, and you’re way too brilliant for him. He probably doesn’t know how to deal with someone who doesn’t fit into his little Slytherin world. But, if you ask me, I think he’s a bit jealous. You’ve got this whole ‘I-don’t-care-what-you-think’ vibe that he could never pull off, and it probably bugs him.”

You shot her a half-smile. “Yes, because it's so hard for Theodore to pull off that vibe. Please. His entire personality says "I don't give a shit" or "I'm too cool for school". Except he is smart as a whip."

"And that bothers you? I don't even know how the two of you got into this academic competition thing anyway." Elena asks with a huff.

You chuckled, shaking your head at the memory. “You know, it actually started in first year. I remember it so clearly.”

Elena raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” you said, rolling your eyes fondly. “We were in the library—no surprise there—and I was working on a potion assignment. I had it all figured out, but then I heard this voice. ‘You’re not supposed to add the powdered moonstone before the powdered dragon liver.’ And I looked up to see Theodore, sitting across from me, looking at me with a straight face. Except, his face was flushed. I'm guessing from all that ego boost he was getting from this." You scoffed again.

Elena leaned forward, grinning. “Let me guess, you argued?”

“Of course I did,” you said with a smile. “But then I double-checked, and he was right. He’s insufferable about it.”

"And that was the start." Elena finsihes.

"Yeah" You continue. "Potions and weirdly, Charms was always his thing. DADA and Care of Magical Creatures was mine."

"And both of you are collectively bad at Divination" Elena supplies.

"Hey! We just don't believe in the concept." You defend.

"Riiiight" she drawls playfully.

Elena and you spend the night gossiping about your previous school years. You were so grateful for her. She always had her way of making you feel better about things and distracting you from what hurts you, when you need it.

.

.

.

The next morning, Theodore enters the Potions classroom and immediately notices that you’re not sitting at your usual desk beside him. Just then he heard a melodious laughter, from the back of the room. His eyes snapped to it immediately, as if his body had its own reaction to that laughter he had now gotten used to and somewhere, started to love. And there you are, sitting with another Ravenclaw, whatever-his-name-was, who was whispering something that made you laugh. You’re laughing—something that, only yesterday, he could have made happen with just a quiet remark, a sarcastic comment. The sight twists something inside him, a pang sharper than he expected.

He freezes for a moment, caught off guard by the unfamiliar weight in his chest. Why did it bother him so much? It wasn’t like you were friends. If anything, the two of you had always been at odds, sniping at each other over Potions techniques or study strategies. You were supposed to be rivals—partners by necessity, not choice. So why did seeing you so deliberately avoid him feel like… loss?

He’d spent most of the night replaying his words, hating himself for how easily they’d slipped out. A part of him had thought he’d come in today and—well, not apologize, exactly, but something. Fix it, maybe. Yet now, watching you sit so far away, the distance between you felt bigger than just a few feet. And for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why that mattered so damn much. So, in that moment, he did the only thing he could—he kept stealing glances at you. There wasn’t a single trace of yesterday’s storm etched onto your face. It was as if it had never happened. And yet, the ease with which you seemed to have erased it from your mind gnawed at him. He didn't want you to hold onto whatever he had let slip in a moment of weakness, he had spent most of last night trying to erase the memory of your hurt expressions. The fleeting vulnerability that passed through your face in that moment, stabbed at his heart more times than he could have counted. Yet, he didn’t understand—couldn’t understand—why this indifference bothered him so much.

What he doesn’t realize is that you’ve been watching him, too. Out of the corner of your eye, you see him hesitate, his posture tense, his movements less precise than usual. His uniform is rumpled, his tie hanging loose and slightly crooked, a stark contrast to his usual meticulous appearance. His dark circles are more pronounced today, as though he didn’t sleep at all last night, and his hair, usually tousled in a way that feels deliberate, looks like he’s run his hands through it one too many times.

Your frown deepens as you catch the way his jaw clenches and unclenches—a habit you’ve noticed he falls into when he’s agitated. He looks… off. Tired. Worn down.

You try to shake the worry off. He doesn’t deserve your concern, not after yesterday. Still, it’s there, lingering at the back of your mind like a whisper you can’t ignore. You tell yourself you’re just being observant—it’s what you do, after all. But deep down, a part of you wonders why he looks like the weight of the world is pressing on his shoulders. And why you care at all.

In an attempt to distract yourself, you turn towards Nathan and try to focus again on whatever he was saying, his voice a low hum against the storm of thoughts in your head. You nod absently, trying to piece together a response, but the weight of the tension in the room—of him—is impossible to ignore.

Nathan says something that might have been a joke, and you force yourself to muster up a smile, hoping it looks convincing. You don’t want him to notice your mind is elsewhere, but it is. Despite your best efforts, your thoughts keep drifting back to Theodore: his rumpled uniform, the dark circles under his eyes, the way his shoulders seemed to sag just a little more today.

You shift in your seat, gripping your quill tighter than necessary, willing yourself to stay present. Whatever this is—this inexplicable worry that keeps pulling at you—it doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. But no matter how hard you try to push it away, the image of him, sitting there in silence, keeps creeping back into your mind.

The bell rings, pulling you out of your thoughts, to signal the end of the lesson, and Theodore watches as you gather your things quickly, almost too quickly, like you're trying to avoid anything that might make your paths cross. You don’t even glance in his direction. It’s like he’s invisible, like all the moments, the words, the discussions you’ve shared have been wiped away in an instant.

But as you reach the door, something unexpected happens. You pause, just for a fraction of a second, your hand gripping the frame as though you’re hesitating. Theodore catches the movement, his heart leaping despite himself. He doesn’t know what he’s hoping for—an accusation, an apology, a glance, anything—but then you step out without looking back, leaving him sitting there, alone with his thoughts.

He stares at the empty doorway, jaw tightening as the silence in the classroom swallows him whole. And then, as if on instinct, his fingers brush against the letter in his pocket—the one from his father, the one he hasn’t stopped thinking about since yesterday. His gaze flicks to the spot where you’d been sitting.

“Tomorrow,” he mutters under his breath, so low even he barely hears it. “I’ll fix this tomorrow.”

.

.

.

[aboutcustardcreams]

For love, we gladly pay the price

Summary: As Lady Death struggles with an impossible choice (flashback), you and Agatha find yourselves entangled in a very awkward/ uncomfortable situation. The question here is: what does the Road really want from you?

previous chapter

You made your decision– one each mother, in your place, would make. Your son is going to regain consciousness any moment now. And you made it possible. With your incredible power and stubbornness, you gave the boy another chance in life, a proper one. But at what cost?

“Please–” Rio never begged, yet there she was. You’d barely recognize her voice if you listened to it. “I could not persuade her to let him go, if anything– I encouraged her to save him from the start,” she confessed in a pained murmur. 

In the dimly lit hall stood the three sisters, their expressions stoic, yet contemplative giving the illusion that they could still be convinced into changing their mind. They had summoned Lady Death and that alone couldn’t mean anything good. 

Atropos, the eldest, stepped forward. “We can’t ignore what she has done,” her voice echoed like a thunder, taking up the entire space. Rio flinched, but didn’t back away. “Her defiance comes with a price. I’m sure your job has taught you that much, hasn’t it?” 

The Green witch’s jaw tightened, her teeth grinding at the words. Of course, she knew. She had known the moment the Fates discovered her secret; how she had hidden Nicky away, shielding him from the River of Souls he was meant to cross at birth. The punishment had been swift and merciless. She had endured it all in silence. Not a word of it ever passed her lips, neither to you nor to Agatha. Because nothing could have been done to change that anyway so why bother you and Agatha too?

Despite everything, her lips curled into a bitter, defiant smile. “she fulfilled the purpose she was born for. Necromancy is her gift. You can’t condemn her for who she is.”

Atropos’s eyebrows shot up as her head lightly lolled to the side. She let out a sound between a scoff and a chuckle at Rio’s tenancy. For being a Celestial being she surely looked quite small now. The other two shared a glance, their eyes lingered as to decide which of them would speak second, in support of their eldest. 

Lachesis, the middleborn, took a soft sigh as she approached. Her long golden skirt swept over the floor, leaving a trail of sparkle in its wake. “I understand your concerns for her– my sisters do, too. In spite of what you might think, we’re not heartless.”

Rio didn’t let her guard down, nor did she allow those ‘apparent’ hopeful words to get to her head, before learning more. “If that’s true, then spare her life.” 

The eldest let out a quiet chuckle. Three heads snapped towards her. “Oh, you’ve definitely gotten sentimental, Lady Death.” 

The witch’s heart started pounding in her chest at great speed, her throat clenched almost painfully as she tumbled out, “it’s my wife’s life we are talking about. I’m allowed to be worried about her.” 

Her mind spiraled, imagining the ruin your death would bring and not just to her, but to Agatha and Nicky. Eternity was a long, unrelenting road to walk with a heart that was very likely to shatter into pieces and bleed forever. Agatha, she knew, would never forgive her. And Nicky, her sweet, pure-hearted Nicky would grow up with that same resentment festering inside him. He’d nurture it, shape it into something raw, something dangerous, especially now that he shared the same magic as yours. 

“This is my domain,” she said, hands turning into fists. “It’s mine alone to determine when a life ends. You cannot interfere with that–” 

“I believe there’s a little bit of confusion here,” Atropos argued. Her eyes flicked to Clotho, who had swiftly moved to sit in front of the chassis, her delicate fingers spinning the shimmering thread within with practiced grace. The motion was almost hypnotic. Rio’s face fell, her frown deepened. Could that be your life Clotho was holding? 

“We do not mean to take your wife’s life before its time,” the youngest admitted. Her voice didn’t match the depths of her power, the way her fingers could create as much as destroy. 

“Contrary to your lover, my sisters and I know where we stand. We would never interfere with something that doesn’t concern us, so I must confess you, it’s not death we wish for the necromancer, but life–” 

Rio blinked in disbelief. “I don’t understand–”

“A tormented life,” Atropos corrected, with a grin. “Something you experienced in a way, but not quite.” 

“I’m sure you’re familiar with our distant cousins, Lady Death,” Lachesis added solemnly. 

Rio’s mouth parted in slight shock, a bitter sound slipped for her lips, “and you said you are not heartless?”

“I take that as a yes,” Atropos replied. Clotho kept her eyes focused on the thread, Rio couldn’t be sure, but she spotted a glimpse of hesitation in her posture. She was touching that thread ever so gently as if she was lulling a baby to sleep. Maybe she didn’t agree with her sisters’ decision, but being the youngest of the three, forced her to submit to their will and play along with it. 

“Clotho, please—” Rio’s shoulders sagged. “It’s not right. You must know that– you–”

“Do not try to manipulate our sister!” The eldest’s voice came out so loud and sharp, Rio flinched and had to cover her ears. 

The youngest swallowed lightly, as she averted her gaze, “I’m truly sorry, Lady Death. If it’s any consolation, the torment will not last forever,” she glanced at her sisters. 

Atropos nodded with a wave of her hand, “sure thing, sister. What were you thinking? Fifty years?” 

Rio’s heart picked up, “that’s insane!” She cried out. Her magic crackled dangerously around her. “She would never survive that and you know it!” 

“A fair compromise for her not to lose her mind and die would be between two and five years,” she admitted carefully. “As we already mentioned, we don’t want to kill her, right Atropos?” 

She grimaced, clearly displeased with the proposition. 

“I suggest two years,” Clotho tried. 

“You’re too soft, sister,” Atropos scolded her. 

“Please–” Rio’s knees dropped at this point. A part of her knew you could make it, however that was not enough reason for them to put you through that. Their cousins were no joke– she had known mortals who had wished to die in less than a month. And out of mercy, she had taken them to the other side. 

“I will accept the three years, and considering you were so adamant into being punished in her place, I want you, Lady Death, to curse her.” 

She looked terrified at the idea. Horrified even. “I-I can’t… I don’t want to…”  

“Oh but you will–” Atropos’ lips curved in a sinister grin. “Or shall we ensure she suffers far worse than what we’ve promised?”

Rio swallowed hard against the lump in her throat.

She had known it would come to this. She had tried to warn you— both you and Agatha, but deep down, Lady Death couldn’t entirely blame you for ignoring her. Bringing Nicky back wasn’t a crime in your eyes, nor it broke the natural balance of all things. It was an act of love. The love of a mother. 

But the Fates didn’t see it that way.

This wasn’t about your actions, not really. 

No, their wrath wasn’t fueled by what you had done but by who you were and who you challenged without a second thought. You had challenged their authority and proved yourself more powerful than they dared admit, and they hated you for it. Well, Atropos sure did. 

Clotho gave Lady Death an apologetic glance, “behave wisely.” She didn’t speak, yet Rio heard her in her mind. 

“So, do we have a deal?” Lachesis asked, picking at her fingernails. 

Lady Death’s chest tightened as she stood. Those words would have haunted her for the rest of her existence, of that she was sure. “We do.”

-

Present time

“Feels like we just came out of Mount Olympus!” Teen muttered in awe, staring down at his robe-like ensemble: a rich blue tunic adorned with intricate golden embroidery around the neckline hem and sleeves. Underneath the tunic, he wore white, loose-fitting pants, cinched at the waist with a sturdy leather belt that held a small pouch and decorative golden chains. 

“Check me out–” Agatha purred, as she admired her reflection in one of the tall mirrors placed against the ivory walls. 

She wore an elegant chiton, a deep shade of purple that hugged her figure with effortless grace. Its fabric draped like liquid silk, hugging her waist and hips before cascading softly around her thighs. The asymmetrical shape of the chiton left one shoulder bare, which caused your mouth to go dry as soon as your gaze drifted there.

“Oh, I am.” You drew closer, a subtle grin on your face, as your arms draped around her waist, and your head peeped out her bare shoulder. 

You’re hidden behind her body– almost purposefully. You didn’t want to distract her with what you were wearing, not just yet. “If you’re not a celestial being, then I don’t know who is,” you purred, your lips a few millimeters from her ear elicited goosebumps to her skin. 

She watched your face, through the mirror and her cheeks darkened a bit. You’d recognize that look anywhere. She wanted to see you, needed to, so she spun around and as soon as she did, her mouth parted in awe. 

Your dress, though beautiful, had barely crossed your mind until now. But the way she was looking at you made you suddenly aware of every part of it. 

“Woah, I’m– you are…” 

You did a little twirl for her.  

“Not bad, huh?” you teased, a soft chuckle slipping from your lips. 

The top of your outfit fitted as if it had been sewn just for you: it was a white bodice with a V neckline, adorned with a thick belt of black and silver filigree. The balloon skirt, layered with a silvery overlay evoked the jew/elry in your hair and swirled like shadows over the black underskirt that peeked through with each movement you made. 

When her hand found the side of your cheek, you leaned in, eager for more contact, more of her warmth and she obliged, thumb tracing sweet patterns over your skin. 

“How can you be so beautiful?” She breathed out like in a daze. 

You pursed your lips at her compliment, then tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I could ask you the same thing-”

She pulled you even closer, taking a firm grip onto your waist. “You know, I think more and more that the Road appeared to test me, and only me.” 

A flicker of amusement flashed through your eyes. “We both know this trail is for me.” 

Her face dimmed at your words. The grip around your waist loosened a bit and you frowned. “Don’t do that,” you lifted her chin ever so gently, when she dropped her gaze onto the floor. “I’m fine. We’re both fine.” 

She tried to smile at your optimism, but her worries for you were eating her from the inside. “And let’s be real,” With your arms around her neck, you tried another tactic and pulled her in for a gentle kiss. “We make quite the hell of a team, don’t we?”

Her smile stretched into something far more genuine, making your heart swell with love at the sight. “The very best–” 

“Oh– There is wine after all,” Jen observed out loud, causing you all to turn towards her. There was a lovely cruet, sat invitingly on a low dining table. “And fresh fruits.” 

“Don’t touch it,” Lilia warned. “Could be poisoned.”

“Wasn’t going to–” she retorted, with an eye roll. “I’m not as desperate as someone else here…”

Your eyes narrowed at that jibe. 

Agatha shot an eyebrow at her and clicked her lips. “Careful there, Kale. Your obsession with me might be misunderstood as a crush.”

The witch made a ick sound, “Sorry to disappoint, but you’re hardly my type.”

“Course, I’m not,” she chuckled, with a wave of her hand. “That’s all the ladies say.” 

The others shared a quiet laugh, whereas Jen spun around and growled, trotting away from Agatha. 

You sighed and tiredly pinched at the bridge of your nose, before your eyes landed on Agatha’s again and you mouthed, “what was that?” 

She shrugged innocently, a playful grin tugged at her lips. 

“There’s something else here!” Alice called out after a minute. On an armchair lingered a piece of scroll, folded gracefully with a thin, red tape. 

You all circled the protection witch in a rush, eager to  figure out whatever was written on the paper she held. As she carefully unfolded it, the tension was palpable. Without realizing it, you leaned closer to Alice, your shoulder brushing against hers. You two shared a nervous glance before she started to read. 

She dared to grasp what none could hold. Each path and twist respond to our will. We wove the threads, but she cut the rope and stitched it back with cursed skill. The lies they spun must now unwind. The debt is due; your fate aligned. 

“What does it mean?” Teen asked, looking at each and everyone of you for clarity.  

“Well, I don’t know the details but you kind of challenged the Maiori, didn’t you?” Alice trailed, her voice soft, not accusing at all. 

It brought a tight smile on your face. At least she was trying to have some tact and tolerance. “I did, yeah. Or they challenged me. Depends how you look at it.”

Agatha’s brows met in a frown, as she surged forward to grab that piece of paper from Alice to take a second look at it. Was it a warning? A threat? What did it mean for you? Were you in danger?

Lilia and Jen shared a look, before the elder one spoke, “the cursed skill would be your power, commonly known as your silver,” she continued, giving a wave of her hand to help her reasoning. 

Your lips flattened. Correct, again. 

“It’s not cursed,” Agatha grumbled, flashing her a smarted glance. “It’s her. As simple as that. Her essence is necromancy and it’s about time witches– you all stopped harrowing her for it.”

“Lilia is just trying to help, Agatha–” Teen commented. 

“Exactly. I was merely paraphrasing,” the divination witch pointed out. 

“Of course,” Agatha mumbled, still looking irritated. 

You sighed, your fingers started to play with the tips of her hair. “It’s okay, really,” you added, calm as ever. “Plus it’s not that she wrote it. It’s just part of a puzzle…”

“I hate puzzles,” to Agatha’s remark, you couldn’t help but let out a quiet chuckle.  

“If I may interject–” Teen stepped in, snatching the scroll from Agatha’s hands, not without earning a glare from her. “I don’t think this is only your trial. I mean the message addresses a ‘she’ at first, that could be you, but then, it mentions a ‘they’ and a ‘you’ so it probably refers to more than one person,” he looks up at Agatha, eyebrows furrowing in thought. “Could it be you?”

She hesitated, “I’m not sure.”

“The lies they spun must now unwind–” Alice repeated the line, trying to make sense of it. 

You averted your gaze, eyes dropping on the floor for a moment. 

Jen’s head lolled to the side, suspicious. “Does it mean that… you lied to someone?”  

You gaped, then stuttered out, “N-no, what? It doesn’t make any sense,” a forced, nervous smile tugged at your lips. But it didn’t last. “It’s not clear… it’s–” you sighed, a tad exasperated. “We need more hints. This isn’t going anywhere.”

Agatha watched you closely, catching and worrying about your sudden discomfort. It was her turn to reach out to you. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Jen stepped in before you could formulate a response. “Maybe it wants you to tell the truth about what happened during the Salem days?”

“Yeah,” Lilia agreed, with a nod. “Since we were told the wrong version of your story,” she added, although both you and Agatha could grasp the hesitation as she stressed on the word ‘wrong’. 

“Sweet.” The succubi witch let out a short, dark chuckle as she shook her head. “And if we didn’t want to share our story? Then, what?” She dared to ask, in a mocking tone. 

Alice sighed and folded her arms over her chest. “There could be consequences.” The sudden seriousness in her tone made Agatha recoil. 

“What kind of consequences?” Your voice came out barely above a whisper. 

“I don’t know. Maybe your girlfriend should fill us in,” Jen shot back, rather boldly. All eyes turned to Jen, your collective frown deepening. “I mean, she’s been here before, hasn’t she? Or was that just another lie?”

“As I’ve already explained,” Agatha replied, her voice clipped with irritation, her eyes refusing to look at her for obvious reasons, “the road is never the same. It shifts and changes depending on the witches who walk it.”

“Oh, great. So basically, you’re useless,” Jen deadpanned, her tone dripping with exasperation.

“I don’t see how you’re making yourself useful here, Kale,” she hissed back. Hadn’t Agatha been powerless, she would have blasted that witch against the nearest wall, or mirror. Depending on how badly she wanted her hurt. 

“Guys, stop–” you stepped in, the faint beginnings of a headache pulsed at your temples. You pressed your fingertips to them, rubbing in slow circles as you fought to stay calm. “Can we not tear into each other right now? I thought I made it clear– we are supposed to be working together.”

“It’s a hard task with a witch killer giving you eyes,” she mumbled, though everyone could catch the bitterness behind her tone. 

“It’s a pity your vocabulary is as rusty as your magic,” Agatha quipped mockingly. 

Jen growled. 

“Not helping–” you gave her a pointed look. 

She lifted both her hands in surrender, “alright, fine. I’ll be good.” 

You blew a raspberry. She could fool them, but not you. 

“Umm, as you were when you killed your coven?” Jen inquired. 

Agatha stilled, her jaw tightened and this time she said nothing for herself.  The witch in pink had been dancing on thin ice for far too long, pushing and prodding without care. But this—this was the last straw. Resenting Agatha’s behavior in the present was one thing, but dragging up her past and passing judgment without knowing a damn thing about her reasons? It pissed you off. 

So you snapped. “Oh for fuck’s sake!” 

The room froze, Jen flinched, Agatha… well, she appeared pleased for a second, considering you successfully gave poor Jen a fright and were able to shut her mouthy mouth.

"You are, without a doubt, the most infuriating, insufferable witch I've ever had the misfortune of meeting. And yet, somehow, I’m not spending every single second we’re stuck here reminding you just how deeply you irritate me. Nor, might I add, am I blasting you through these walls like you so thoroughly deserve—” Your hands trembled, and before you could stop it, magic surged through your palms, a darkish hue of gray loomed over your outstretched fingertips, desperate to be lashed out, but you managed to contain it… sort of. 

Teen flashed Agatha a worried look, silently prompting her to do something. She groaned and muttered something like ‘spoilsport’ before walking up to you. That’s when she noticed your eyes turn silver. 

“Love, come on now, look at me–” her voice sounded so soft to your ears, your eyes darted towards her, but only for a mere second before turning back to Jen. 

With a sigh, Agatha stepped in front of you taking up all your front vision, and when she did, her hands opted to cup your cheeks instead of holding your hands. It was not because she believed you’d hurt her. Quite the opposite. Why? Because she was a succubus. It was in her nature to steal magic. And yours was very available and very tempting at the moment. 

“Hush, please-” she bored into those beautiful silver orbs of yours and you into her blue ones. You caught her lips curling upwards, then. “You’re sexy when you’re mad, I’ll give you that,” as she predicted, your anger dissipated, and turned into slight amusement at her evident joke. She always knew how to make you laugh, even in a situation like that. 

“Atta girl–” When magic vanished from your palms, she took a sigh of relief she didn’t know she was holding, and then pulled you in a hug. 

Once you pulled away, you looked at the others, at Teen in particular who had his lips pursed in a grimace. Had you gone too far? Had you scared him? “I’m sorry, I…” you stuttered, embarrassed. 

Teen gave you a shy smile as to tell you that no harm was done. Same did Alice and Lilia. 

Jen remained quiet. 

“You should apologize to both,” Teen told her. 

The potion witch gave him a quizzical look, “w-what?”

“I second that,” Alice quipped, with a nod of her head. 

“I hate to admit it, but you poked the bear,” Lilia continued. “Well, bears.” 

Both you and Agatha shared a look. You chuckled at Lilia’s choice of words, also pleased with the fact that finally someone was taking your side. At last. 

“Fine, ugh– whatever,” the potion witch rolled her eyes and waved her hands in mid air. “I’m sorry, alright? I went too far.”

Agatha hummed, torn. “Say that like you mean it, toots–” 

“Don’t push it-” that’s all she said, before walking away from her, and from you. 

“We will take that,” you conceded calmly. 

You knew you’d have a hard time gaining Jen’s trust, so for now you accepted her not-so-felt apology and moved on. 

Lilia’s eyes landed on something she was sure wasn’t there before, or if it was, had sat still till now, unmoving. It was an hourglass, whose wedged white sand had just started to trickle slowly. She nervously cleared her throat, then. “You know, I’d really hate it if demons, snakes or whatever ambushed us, so… whenever you’re ready…” 

“Shit… alright. Okay!”

You slumped back against one of the couches arranged in a circle around the table laden with wine and fresh fruit. “I will take a glass after all,” you muttered, with a quiet, humourless chuckle. “Maybe two.”

Agatha sat down next to you, at your right, Teen at your left, followed by Alice and Jen. Lilia took a seat across from you instead. 

Your lover gave the wine a skeptical look, as she tumbled out, “I hope this isn’t the cheap stuff,” the glass in her hand filled to the brim on its own. So did yours. 

“As long as it’s not poisonous…” you retorted, taking a long, large sip.

[petermaximoffsgirl]

pietro

summary – peter is upset after scott and jubilee tease him about his name. 

content – angst, fluff; self-esteem issues, swearing

words – 1.4k

“where’s peter?” you asked, glancing around the room at scott and jubilee. 

jubilee flushed. “no clue,” she said quickly. 

scott nodded. “yeah, i don’t know. no idea where he is.” 

you raised your eyebrows, then snorted. “yeah, right.” they were clearly lying, and you couldn’t help but wonder why. were they planning some sort of prank? 

scott grimaced and focused his gaze on his shoes. “if we tell you, do you promise not to flip out?” 

you groaned. “is he stealing that new pinball machine he saw at the arcade? there’s no way he’s going to get that out unnoticed.” 

jubilee bit her lip. “not exactly.” 

you laughed, then stopped immediately when neither of them joined in. worry began to swirl inside of you. “what happened?” you asked. “is he okay?” 

scott scratched the back of his neck. “yeah, i think so. we just…well, we kinda–well, not kinda, we totally fucked up the tiniest bit.” 

“it’s not that bad,” jubilee said quickly. “we just…we didn’t know he was going to get so upset.” 

anger bubbled in your chest. “what happened?” they both hesitated; you glared at them. “either you tell me what happened right now or i–” 

“okay!” scott said quickly. “so, jubilee heard that the professor had this folder with everyone’s birth certificates in it, and we thought it’d be cool to snag it. have a laugh at everyone’s stupid middle name, right?” 

“naturally, we had peter grab it for us,” jubilee cut in. “you know, since he has more experience in this area. and to be funny, we were going to tease him about his middle name.” 

“i thought it would be something like wyatt or otis,” scott groaned. “it’s not. did you know he wasn’t born here? somewhere in eastern europe, and i kinda fucked up pronouncing some stuff. i think we kind of ended up offending him or something, because he took the whole folder and ran off. he’s upstairs.” he hesitated, then continued. “and i probably shouldn’t have gone to ask him to put the folder back. i panicked, ‘cause i didn’t want the professor knowing we took it, but he threw the thing in my face and slammed the door. now he’s locked in his room. he won’t come out or say anything.” 

“we didn’t know it was going to upset him,” jubilee said, biting her lip again. “we didn’t mean to be rude, and we’re really sorry.” 

you glared at the two of them, shouldering by and making your way toward the stairs. you considered yelling at them, but there wasn’t really any point. they seemed sorry, and screaming wasn’t going to do anything to help peter, although it might make you feel better. you just couldn’t believe that they had been so blatantly insensitive. 

you slowly approached peter’s door, tears filling your eyes when you heard what sounded like muffled sobbing. you hesitated for a moment, wondering if it would be better to give him space, then decided against it. time moved faster for your speedy boyfriend. he’d probably already spent what you would have perceived as hours alone in his room. you knocked gently. “peter? can i come in?” 

you heard the telltale fwip of him speeding around the room. the door rattled slightly, indicating that it was now unlocked, which you took as permission to enter. you shut it again behind you, glancing around nervously. 

his room was in its usual state of chaos: twinkie wrappers piled on the floor, band posters threatening to fall off the walls, a plethora of stolen items stashed in various places, bed unmade, cassette tapes strewn about. peter had his back to you as he played pac-man, his hands blurring as he worked the controls. “what’s up?” he asked, not turning. 

if you didn’t know him so well, you wouldn’t have noticed that his voice was slightly strained, confirming what you had suspected: he’d been crying. you slowly walked over to him, gently wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him into a hug. his breath hitched as his entire body tensed. he was at a rare standstill for a moment, not moving until the stolen arcade machine flashed game over.  

suddenly, he vanished, tearing away from you and reappearing on his bed in the blink of an eye. you swallowed hard as you took in the sight of his red eyes and tousled hair. “do you want to talk about it?” you asked softly. 

he glanced at you, looking so miserable that you wanted to cry. “no,” he mumbled. you gasped as he sped over to you and pulled you over to the bed, carefully depositing you near him before he curled up into a ball. in a flash, he tossed you a crumpled up piece of paper. “d’you think it’s funny?” he asked quietly, picking determinedly at the sleeve of his silver jacket. “or…or stupid or weird or something? it’s okay if you do, i just…just want to know.” 

you carefully smoothed out the piece of paper, squinting as you took in the faded words: pietro django maximoff. the birthdate was too smudged for you to make out, but you could see that he was born in sokovia. “no, i don't. what would be funny or stupid or weird about it?” you asked. 

he kept picking at his jacket sleeve. “i dunno, maybe that it looks like pie-tro duh-jango maxi-moff,” he said angrily. “i don’t get why it’s so hard to pronounce. ‘s got nothing to do with pie, and it’s not duh, and it’s definitely not maxi. i don’t see what’s so funny, but it’s always been fucking hilarious to everyone.” he laughed bitterly. “my mom always hated that i wanted to be called peter, but it’s just easier than having to explain.” 

you gently placed your hand on his shoulder, smiling sadly when he quickly melted into your touch. “do you want to cuddle?” 

he nodded slowly, carefully crawling over to you and snuggling into your side. he fidgeted for a moment, then wrapped both arms around you so he could rest his head on your chest. “i know i’m overreacting,” he muttered. “it’s…it’s like i was a little kid again, having to ask the teachers to just say peter when they were taking attendance. i didn’t need to give everyone another reason to laugh at me. they were already going to, because i couldn’t sit still and i was the stupidest kid in the class and i didn’t have fancy new clothes every week, but i could get past all of that. this just…it always felt different because it’s my name, not me wearing the same shirt twice in one week.” 

you slowly ran your fingers through his untidy silver hair. “you’re not overreacting. kids can be nasty, especially to people like us.” you hesitated, then continued. “i don’t think scott and jubilee were trying to be mean, but they were way out of line. you don’t have to be okay with any of this. no one should get to be mean to you just because they want to or think it’s funny.” 

he shrugged, leaning into your touch. “nah, ‘s better to not care. if people think they can’t get to me, they stop at some point.” he smiled thinly. “i’ve never been good at acting like i don’t care though. the kids at school used to figure out how to get a rise out of me and land me in detention or some shit.” he groaned. “scott sure got a rise out of me today. i didn’t mean to totally flip out, but i wasn’t expecting it to make me so…upset.” 

“all of your feelings are valid,” you said. “it doesn’t matter if you’re angry or sad or frustrated or what. i’ll always listen to you, i promise.” 

he grinned mischievously. “even if i’m pissed off about the stupidest shit ever?” 

“even if you’re pissed off about the stupidest shit ever.” 

he went quiet for a moment, then glanced up at you. “thank you,” he said quietly. “i…i really needed to hear that.” 

you gently kissed his forehead. “i’ll always be here for you, no matter what you need, peter.” 

he sighed happily, snuggling up against you. “pietro.” 

you blinked, confused. “what?” 

he hesitated briefly. “my name. ‘s pietro,” he murmured. “you can call me that if…if you want.” 

you smiled softly. “i love you, pietro.” 

[princess-charlie-of-hell]

honestly the show should have gotten charlie to put her foot down and tell her dad that he can't permanently stay in the hotel because 1. He's literally the king of hell, any potential residents might be scared shitless of his presence and drive them away, 2. Again, he's the king of Hell, he has a job to do, running Hell, that he didn't do correctly cause he's been stuck making rubber duckies. I know he's in a state of depression due to Lilith's absence and it's reasonable that he's not in the right place but it's not an excuse to ignore his duty to fuck around the hotel and make his daughter, who he neglected for a long time, uncomfortable. He's a grown adult, I'm not gonna baby him because of his condition (unlike the majority of the fandom cuz he's their poor sad uwu baby 😒) and neither should Charlie. Forgiveness doesn't happen overnight, if Lucifer wants to do right for Charlie, then he should get off his sorry ass, take responsibility by being an actual king and help Charlie in any way he can while giving her the space she needs.

Hardly agree, I don't think that Lucifer living in the there is neither good for the hotel or his relationship with Charlie

Like you already he said he could scare potentially residents away and I think people there could be uncomfortable with having the literally highest ranked person living there, like image being an ordinary person and the king of England is living in the same hotel as you

Also Lucifer and Charlie barely had contact for 7 years and then suddenly living together again? Like the hotel is huge but it is still a huge change living in the same building as your parents. I have a good relationship with my parents and still live home with them but i image after not living together with them for years and then suddenly moving back together would definitely cause some problems

Was there even a conversation between them where the two talked about how it would be when Lucifer lives there or did he decided it by himself to move there and didn't even ask her? We didn't saw anything in the show, so i could image both happening

How he handled his duties in the 7 years is something i ask myself, I don't image that he took care of them in himself so did he told someone to do it for him? We see in Helluva boss that Satan took practically over as the boss in court but i don't think he took any other Tasks from Lucifer at least nothing we know about. And we know that Satan uses his absent to tell lies, like that he ruled before Lucifer so that kind of backfired

Like the other sins probably rule their specific rings themselves without Lucifer, i can also image that before Liliths disappearances she ruled over pride ring with Lucifer and took care of the sinners there as we see that Lucifer didn't really seem to care about them

I personally believe that the ars goetias and Overlords also have a huge influence in pride. I personally headcanon that Paimon took over many of Lucifer's tasks as in the mythology he was describing as his most loyal servant (off topic but why isn't there more fanart of Paimon x Lucifers this is the real old man yaoi and not RA) and is the only "King" from the goetias we see in hellaverse

That with babying of Lucifer is something i agree especially that in my opinion Charlie forgave him too fast but that probably was because of the fast pacing of the show. But i don't really want to criticized him too much because of his depressions because i am not an expert in it and don't want to say anything wrong. One thing which annoys me is just when people use the excuse that he is too hurt because of Lilith disappearance and there for completely blameless for his bad relationship with Charlie and blame anything on her and ignore the fact that She was Charlie's mother and Charlie is hurt too

But in the end i don't think that it is going to be a problem in the show, simple because the writers won't probably make it one. Like i think they want Lucifer too bad to be part of the main cast and will ignore the theoretically problems which he could bring with him. Why focusing on the female characters of the main cast who didn't had much spotlight in the first season, just let us add a new male one who will steal the spotlight from them anyway especially his daughter, remember Charlie? The actually protagonist of the show!

Like we will have 3 woman in the main cast (Charlie, Vaggie and Nifty) and 6 men (Alastor, Angel dust, Husk, Lucifer Baxter and Sir pentious). It are double so many man than women there. At least i think it was said that Baxter probably will take over Sir pentious place in the hotel and that pentious background how he ended up in hell will be showed. Remember when people said that helluva boss is a male lead show and Hazbin hotel a female lead one?

[starsofarda]

So, I was doubting myself for a hot second, and then I remembered "my blog my rules". So. Have a fic about Molinde finding Beach Cryptid Maglor on his eternal hike and bringing him back to Imladris.

I have nothing else to say. Thanks to @starshadeemilyart and @astral-aromance for the encouragement

And when Molinde found once again Lord Elrond staring pensively at the portrait of Lord Maglor as last seen before he disappeared, she decided that she had had enough.

Lord Maedhros had been confirmed dead, but Lord Maglor never was. And she had been following Feanorians and their deeds since the beginning of time, so she probably was the only one keen enough to recognize them, save Lord Elrond, who had been raised by them, but again it was not like the Lord of Imladris had all that free time, or resources, especially with Sauron still around.

But she had.

She had all the time she wanted - she had not been taking up a lot of jobs either, as she had started planning on sailing back to Aman.

If she could bring back Lord Maglor too, at least he could have a chance of healing too.

Therefore she packed a few things with her, asked one of her students to take good care of her cat Yaule whilst she was away and rode off, following rumours of a spirit lamenting their grievances to the ocean - to be completely fair, those rumours were just making her life easier, that truly sounded like the kind of dramatic action any of the sons of Feanor would do.

And so she headed to the Grey Havens through Bree and the Shire, where she met Old Cirdan. "Are you here to sail?" She was asked. "Not yet. I am not ready yet. I am heading towards shores where a grave spirit laments its grief."

And Old Cirdan frowned. "Child, you should not go and bother a grieving one." "I have reason to believe I can show them the way towards healing." "You should not dwell on those who have renounced hope." "Hope sometimes is the only thing we have. I have learned to wield it like a weapon, and like a shield I will use it now." "Then head North, child, towards the shores facing Tol Himling. May you find what you are looking for."

And with those last words she left, heading in the direction Old Cirdan told her to go, stopping by only to gather a few more blankets - if Lord Maglor was that far up north, then she would need any extra layer.

When she finally arrived, she was nearly swept away by the strong winds. She had to make sure her horse was safe and sound and that her baggage was well secured, before heading towards the shores battered by wind and sea.

The silence was unreal, the cold was making her freeze even though she was heavily covered - no one in their sane mind would linger in this place, but thinking again neither Feanorian had been completely sound for the longest of time. She came as close as she could to the shores, but saw nothing.

Only silence and the muffled sound of waves crashing on the sand could be felt.

Molinde felt her hopes wane - maybe Lord Maglor was dead, just like his brother.

She felt sadness washing over her, as a couple of tiny tears started falling down.

And it was then that she heard a mighty voice - a voice sweeping over the sound of the wind and the waves, full of sadness and regret. Like a cursed siren, that voice was singing.

She paid more attention on that song, trying to figure out where it was coming from and who it belonged to. And the moment she could discern a passage from the lost poem of the "Noldolante", she knew she had found who she was looking for.

She followed the voice and found him atop of a cliff, ragged clothes and hair swept by the cold wind. She nearly burst into tears there and then. She took in a deep breath and went closer, hoping that her voice could be heard.

"Lord Maglor!" She called out to him. "Lord Makalaure Kanafinwe Feanorion, Lord of the Gap."

The voice stopped singing abruptly, turning slowly towards Molinde. "No one has called these names in millennia. Who calls an Elf as such?" "My Lord. You may remember me as one of the seamstresses who crafted all clothing and regalia. My name is Molinde. I am perhaps one of the very few still alive since we first put foot on Middle Earth. I come on behalf of one who is as dear to you as a child."

Silence fell after these words, as if Maglor was still mulling over a response. And the response came. "He does not need me, or my council. I am but a shadow of a cursed past." "And yet, he misses you, my Lord, as a child misses his parent." "I can't come back, Molinde, seamstress of the Noldor. I have not yet paid enough for what I did."

Molinde sighed. A son of Feanor indeed. Stubborn to a fault. She held out a warm cape made of the finest wool and walked straight until she stopped in front of Maglor. With the carefulness she had as a seamstress, she placed the cape on Maglor. "I hope you can forgive my straightforwardness, my Lord. The world has changed since then. No one remembers the past. No one cares anymore. On behalf of the one who loves you like a father, please come home."

And Maglor and Molinde locked eyes for a moment, both pleading for different things. "Molinde, let me be here." "My Lord, you need and deserve healing. We all do." "I do not deserve grace." "And yet I will give up gladly what is left of mine, if there is any hope left."

And then, as if all tiredness had come all at once, Maglor slumped down, held up only by Molinde. She sighed softly, trying her best to hold him. "My Lord, I have clothes and food and a horse to bring us back, but we need to arrive there."

Slowly, Maglor started to stand up and whilst holding on Molinde, they both started walking away from the cliff and towards the repaired place where Molinde had left everything.

"Molinde, why did you follow us?" Maglor's voice came out a bit uncertain. "Because your actions and words swayed me." She replied gently. "Do you regret it?" "Sometimes. But that is why we have hope. We can't regret something forever."

The rest of the journey was made in near silence. She clothed properly Lord Maglor, she gave him warm food and let him rest until they both were ready to go back. Imladris would be a perfect place for Lord Maglor to start recovering.

When Molinde arrived to Imladris, she was not surprised to see Lord Elrond and his entourage looking at her as if she had appeared straight from the Halls of Mandos. She slowly dismounted from the horse. "Molinde Mudriel, have you not got a single thought in your head? We thought Orcs had taken you!" She heard and nodded. "I apologize and I will await for my punishment, my Lords, but before you deal with my actions, I have a guest for Lord Elrond."

And lo and behold. When Elrond saw Maglor, his heart skipped a few beats. "Atto." He softly whispered.

He looked at Molinde. "You…" "He needs healing, my Lord. The cold and the wind in front of Tol Himling has not been kind."

And Elrond left the situation as it was, instead having Maglor being carried to the infirmary for urgent healing.

Molinde was escorted back to her dwelling, where she was greeted by her cat purring like a storm. She was aware that she would not be leaving her house anytime soon, judging by the guard planted in front of her house.

And days passed.

Weeks even.

The guard was lifted from their duty afer the fourth day by order of Elrond himself, so she had gone back to her usual routine, and yet she had not heard anthing about lord Maglor.

But as if her thoughts had taken a shape, she heard a knock. "Molinde, sewing Lady of the Noldor. May I come in?" And she ran to open the door, and there she saw Maglor - still quite emaciated, but definitely better than when she found him.

His hair had been properly braided and he was wearing clothing in Imladris fashion.

She let him pass and before she could do anything, he took her hand. "Before anything, I would like to thank you. For everything." And Molinde's heart stopped for a moment. "Oh, my Lord, I have done nothing, really." "Maglor. Please call me Maglor. I am no lord here."

Molinde slowly nodded, as Maglor kept speaking. "I have been filled in on what happened, during these weeks here. Whilst it saddens me, I am most glad that you found me. I hope I am allowed to grasp the thin thread of hope you too are holding." "My L- I mean, Maglor. Truly, I just-" "I am most grateful. Thank you for not giving up. I do not know if anything good is left in me, but if I lose myself may I hold onto your hand?" "My L- Maglor, I would be most honored."

She hoped her red ears would not be noticed. She took in a deep breath. "Shall… Eh, shall I make some tea, my L- Maglor?" "Yes, I would appreciate it very much. I would like to know more details of this Third Age."

And in the yellow afternoon sun, as she brought a silver tray with tea and biscuits, and they both sat down by the window, she started recalling, and Maglor's gaze was soft and her voice gentle, and time stopped long enough for a new tale to unfold.

[into-fiction]

I'm interested in the time-traveling au ideas!!!

I've read a lot of Glinda time-travelling aus and they're all starting to blur together at this point lol, but I would still read it if you have something unique and interesting tho!! Like maybe time traveller Glinda still has anxiety and is over-thinking every little changes she makes, or maybe she decides <i>not</i> to befriend Elphaba and try to take down morrible and the wizard all on her own

I've never read a time travel au with both Glinda and Elphaba as time travellers before tho, that could be interesting!!

Maybe it could be them before For Good (song not movie), like maybe around the cat fight or before Fiyero went with Elohaba. Where they haven't seen eachother for years, where Elphaba thinks Glinda actually believes all the propaganda stuff she says in front of the crowds and she feels like she cant trust Glinda with helping her take the Wizard down.

Glinda and Elphaba going back to the quiet nights in the dorm room that were usually the filled with shared secrets, and realize they dont know anything about each other anymore.

They’re strangers with a history.

I saw someone say that in For Good (song), Glinda becomes someone who could have considered going with Elphaba in Defying Gravity while Elphaba becomes someone who would have considered staying.

This is before that, they time travel with a Glinda who still thinks they should work with the system to bring it down from the inside while this is an Elphaba who still thinks they should rebel. And they both disagree with each other because neither of them are seeing results from the other.

And maybe eventually, they'll see that it's necessary to try to take the system down both from the inside and outside, but they need to work together in an organized manner.

ooo i love your brain!

i have yet to read any time travel fics (on my list tho!) so I'm not sure what the overall themes are in this fandom! but i can try and say what I've been thinking so far (no true plot, just thoughts).

for glinda by herself:

i have a fondness for 'elphie trying to figure out glinda' stories and i think post-canon glinda is esp fun to play with. i have a few headcanons i'd want to throw in (that she's terrified of morrible, that she's still traumatized by elphie's death, etc). i think all my glinda's have anxiety so that's kinda a given.

if it were elphie pov, i feel it would be easier to explore the way a post-canon glinda interacts with the world and people around her.

if it were glinda pov, i feel it would be easier to explore time travel lore and themes of loss.

(there's a certain tragedy in just-glinda time travel bc even if there's a happy ending, it's not a happy ending with her elphie. I'm not afraid of a bit of tragedy tho)

for both of them together:

i had a couple people suggest they shouldn't know they both are back at first! which i could see being either a very funny or very angsty. either way, it would definitely add some obstacles.

the nice part about both together is that its the right elphie. and depending on where in the timeline you pluck them from, there's a lot of room to explore the gelphie dynamic both in and post canon.

also i get hooked on ages/timeline shit so the idea of them suddenly being in younger bodies, having the muscle memory & magical control that goes with that, etc is very fun to me.

your idea:

i feel like the concept of it being pre For Good gelphie is honestly really cool! if u don't mind, i actually think it works better as a time loop au over time travel?? in like a 'they both try their way and neither one works and they just keep trying till they realize they have to work together' type way.

but ALSO- a time travel fic where they lowkey kinda hate each other would be super fucking fun to explore.

[dramatic-dolphin]

nothing is more encouraging than when you're looking up if a wild plant is edible and sources in one language are like "we call it 'salad herb' :) just take the leaves and put them in your salad raw! we've been doing it for generations!" while sources in a different language are like "every plant in this family is poisonous as hell. if you eat a single leaf then god help you" thanks guys 👍

[bluegarners]

if i saw a bruce wayne or dick grayson type figure irl, i know exactly how i would react. i would stay away from them. i would go to the other side of the room and only sneak glances at them. i would be some overcome by their handsomeness and presence that i would pretend that they don't even exist. oh yeah, i saw those guys when i walked in here, yeah, but i don't really care what they're doing, nuh uh not at all, i'd rather go do this other thing while they're over there...

[baeshijima]

the itoshi brothers through the years ...

[ki1ldeer]

Little doodle thing of older Them™️ because I think about them sometimes (and it’s Finn’s canon birthday today. Happy canon birthday Finn)

[clowndensation]

x if anything about this feels like it doesn't fit, that's because you don't understand the profound effect charoum and gorty have had on each other.

[oh-poofywah-la]

i can't help but think this is the point tanya cemented the idea in her head that warren was becoming less of an ally and more of a potential liability that she'd need to get rid of sooner rather than later

[veunho]

I love love love drawing but I cannot draw poses in any circumstances

[blujayonthewing]

reflecting on how all of my other DMs have gone above and beyond to lovingly weave my and my friends' backstory elements into the larger worldbuilding of the campaign by contrast to all of the ways Elyss' DM has gone out of his way to suppress or excise any influences her family may have ever had on anything and I'm genuinely near tears over it