#i've gone through like every way i could rewrite them

[nyxypoo]

has the limit always been that little

why do my tags never work on stuff with kaji

[sabertoothwalrus]

hi !! just curious because i was looking at your adventure time episode guide and i love hearing other peoples adventure time takes !! how come you don't like finn's characterisation in together again?

I've talked about it before here and here!

But also I'm gonna say more and share some art I did in 2021 for a rewrite comic that I never got around to doing

So again to reiterate: Adventure Time is usually VERY good at making it feel like time passes, even when you're not watching. It's something about what they don't show that tells you everything you need to know.

Together Again did not do this.

It really really felt like they were avoiding showing Finn as an adult, as if they wanted to leave his post-show life ambiguous. Which, now that Fionna and Cake has shown us literally that, it makes Together Again feel even more wrong?? Like. imagine you have to pick a moment from your life that represents You™ the most. Together Again said that Finn, after living his whole life and dying as an old man, feels most represented by how he was at 17. I do not buy this. I am 25, and I cannot fathom identifying by my 17 year old self. I was a completely different person then, I was still cooking. I can imagine most people feel the same. And ok, so maybe Finn DOES for some reason feel stuck at 17? Explain to me why!! What needed to happen to him that made him feel that way?

And before you just say "it's because Jake died," there's still too much that was left out. How old was Finn when Jake died? What was Finn like, at that point? What else had they accomplished? What was he doing at the time that was on the forefront of his mind? Where/with who did they spend most of their time? Where were they living after the treehouse got destroyed?

It was like,,, it was like the story Together Again actually wanted to tell was about Finn's grief, and how poorly he copes, and how too much of his identity is tied to Having Jake, and how he struggles to move on. But that's not the story we got. I honestly think-- as interesting as it was-- everything with New Death and Tiffany and Lich just did a disservice to the focus, which was Finn trying to get over Jake.

I think Together Again should have gone like this:

Finn and Jake had always planned that whoever died first would wait in the dead world for the other to die so the two of them could reincarnate. Jake dies first. Jake would be able to "watch over" Finn as he lives the rest of his life, so Jake wouldn't miss Finn as much as vice versa, since he'd feel like he's still there with him. Eventually, Finn dies.

Finn's appearance would change with his emotional state. I thought it'd be interesting to show different phases of his life through the stages of grief.

There'd be a room where they could watch Finn's memories. Finn would walk Jake through the events of his life. We SEE exactly how Finn dealt with grief, with heartbreak, with love, with friends, with community. All the good and all the bad.

By the end of it, Finn is quiet. "Jake... when we reincarnate, will we.. lose all of this?" "Well, do you remember anything from any of your other past lives?" "No.. But that's the point. I don't want to forget you." Finn, despite their promise, despite Jake waiting for him all this time, declines reincarnating. He doesn't want to move on, because that would mean forgetting everything. He wants to say with Jake!! He JUST got Jake back!!

“What if— in the future— what if they forget about us? What if they don’t know about all the stuff we did?” We see Ooo in its current state. It’s changed, but it’s clearly been affected by the two of them. Every person they’ve saved, every civilization they helped build, every hero they’ve inspired. They’ve left their touch everywhere. “They’ll know,” Jake says with certainty. “We’ll know.” We see the future, with Shermy and Beth. We see the Finn Sword, and BMO with all their old belongings. Everything stays, but it still changes. Will happen, happening, happened. These have always been the themes of the show. They reincarnate, together.

[fameadventura]

The One Who Got Away

But that's the thing about life, right? It doesn't care about your plans. It doesn't stop to ask if you're ready or if you need more time. It just moves forward, dragging you along, leaving you scrambling to catch up. And now here I am, stuck in this awkward space between letting go and holding on, knowing that no matter how much I try to convince myself otherwise, it won't be me walking next to you. It's a cruel irony—knowing what you want, seeing it so close, but watching from a distance as someone else gets to live it.

And I guess, deep down, I knew. I knew that it wasn't going to happen. But there was always this tiny sliver of hope, a stubborn part of me that believed it could. That maybe, just maybe, you'd wake up one day and realize that I was right there, ready and willing. But that day never came, and now I'm left with nothing but these thoughts I can't shake. It's annoying, really, because how do you stop feeling something so strong? How do you let go of someone who feels like a part of you, even though you never really had them?

I want to be happy for you, I really do. I want to be the person who can smile and mean it when I say, "I'm glad you found someone who makes you happy." But I'm not there yet. I'm still tangled up in the 'what ifs' and 'could have been,' still hoping for a reality I know will never exist.

And the hardest part is knowing that, at the end of the day, you won't even know. You won't ever fully understand what you meant to me or how much it hurts to see you with him. Because I never told you. And it's my fault; it's on me. I don't blame you—I can't. Maybe I was scared; maybe I was just waiting for the "perfect moment" instead of allowing our perfect moment to happen.

Either way, it doesn't matter, and as much as I wish I could rewrite the ending, I'm not the writer this time.

And that's the hardest part—because, as a writer, I know how to create these stories and build worlds that don't exist. I get to choose who's happy, who gets hurt, who falls in love, and who loses. I can put together words to form the most beautiful images. I've really mastered that—except for this story. Our story.

I envision a million different ways it could have gone—a world where I was the one who renewed your faith in love, eased your hardest days, and brought sunshine to your cloudy skies. I was supposed to be the one who made you smile every day—the one who made you forget everything you'd been through. But those are just drafts of a story never meant to be told.

I thought I could pen my way out of this heartache, and if I wrote about it, it would make sense somehow. But this time, I'm just a character, an afterthought within the margins...

I really just said a bunch of words to say that I am truly happy for you; it's just that I wish it were me. 

[pinehutch]

When I say that I want to be evil

what I mean is I want to be powerful. What I mean is I want to be free.

Some weeks ago I spent more money than I should have on my first ever (ever!) two-piece swimsuit. You have to understand that as a child I was told I was fat, and as a teen I was told I was fat, and as an adult I've always been fat*, and you can't read your way out of the shame caused not strictly by the word but by its connotations.

(I know, because I've tried. I have been trying for almost twenty years. Looking for plus-sized fashion brought me to the digital 'fatosphere.' It made me a better person as I learned about another dimension of intersectionality and about power and oppression. It made me feel like I could wear clothing that I liked. It made me more informed about the diet and wellness industry. It's been over 20 years since I first read a critique of the BMI; it's been almost as long since I started wondering why gros/se in my close-second language didn't have the same (haha) weight to it as fat does, in my first.)

At the tail end of June, days long and scorching, I stepped into a two-piece swimsuit with a deep-v neckline and my whole midsection exposed and I spent the day in full view of dozens (hundreds?) of strangers. Cold, cold water on the joints; warm, soft pools for the evening. My hair got bigger and bigger. My neck and chest sunburned. My midriff stayed comically, blindingly pale, and everything else? It was lovely; it was fine. I rarely thought about my body, unless it was 'this feels nice' or 'my swimsuit is so pretty.' I took a selfie, even, though I deleted it. I was worried that posting it would count as thirst-trapping; shame has cored out and replaced so much of me. It was a good pic, though, and I wish I'd kept it.

What was true of me that day: I was a quite tall, very fat femme person whose feet swell with arthritis and whose hair takes up the entire frame and who's had cellulite since grade eight. What else was true: many people complimented my swimsuit. I looked out across the valleys and the mountains from the top of my almost-six-feet. I let my shoulders roll back and smiled at the sight of my bare skin gone blue-wavering-dappled beneath the surface. I stood tall. I made eye contact. I enjoyed delightful company, and let that enjoyment extend to the simple pleasure of having a body that felt fairly good, in garments I had chosen for the joy of it.

You can't read your way out of shame; it's only part of the equation. I didn't go swimming the next day with my family members, because I didn't want to feel them looking at my body and being disappointed that What A Beautiful Girl turned out like I did (though: if What A Beautiful Girl then why You Need To Watch What You Eat?). But for an entire day I felt like anyone else, gentle enough, good enough, in my skin.

It would have been good for me to swim with my family that weekend, because I'm finding that - as in all things - the practice is important. You can't read your way out of shame, not entirely, but in working with and through it there's maybe a chance to rewrite our stories.

There's a fallacy that I think a lot of us fall into, when we're trying to counter and challenge fatphobia, both culturally and in ourselves. It's the fallacy of the Good Fat. It's why I want to tell you about how two-pieces are maybe a better swimwear choice for me because of the drastic difference between my tits and hips vs my waist. It's why I wanted to post that selfie, so people could shoutycaps and fire emoji me on twitter. It's why I want to craft this post into a narrative where spending a single day mostly-unburdened by body shame has led to a hot girl summer, and I'm walking for miles every day and going to the pool four times a week. (I'm not. I still have a day job, and writing to do, and a physical disability, and the ol' depression. I'm more active than I was three months ago, and working to improve that, but still. It's not a lot.)

It is, simply, the same lie as we tell ourselves along so many different axes of marginalization: that as long as we are exceptional in a way equal and opposite to our marginalization, we'll be fine. It's the model that says you earn the right to exist fat and unashamed by being healthy, by being active, by being hot. Sorry my hip is squished against yours on the airplane; at least I've got a nice face and good hair and am well-dressed, wanna admire my hip-to-waist ratio about it?

There's no such thing as a Good Fat because we live in an inherently fatphobic world. I mean: airplane seats are too small for anyone average sized. I mean: 20 years ago I was a size 16/18 and couldn't fit into the newer lecture hall seats at my university without a lot of stress and embarrassment. I mean: I can't buy a compression sleeve for my arthritic joints at the drug store. If I ever needed to take Plan B, it might not work because I weigh (as do most adults of my acquaintance) more than 165lbs. You cannot be hot enough or active enough or well-dressed enough to escape from this; the only option is to be Not Fat.

But why on earth would we want to accept this? We know the system is fucked up and evil, and so: we want to be evil. Just a little bit, just enough. We want to be hot villains. We want to serve cunt and to be cunts. We want to nailcare emoji, fire emoji, crown emoji, and we want to take no prisoners unless it's between our thick thick thighs. Sit on their face; if they die, they die. It's fun and sexy, in a world where "everything is sex, except sex, which is power" to dig in and grab handfuls of what looks like empowerment, fuck the rest of it, get what makes you feel best.

It's a mirage; freedom doesn't live there.

Because of course fat people are hot. Fat bodies are desirable. Fat bodies are strong, sometimes, and athletic, sometimes, and powerful in whatever way you'd like to read that. That's true no matter what.

And yet (this will hurt) fat bodies are still (I'm sorry, I'm so sorry) not good enough. If the system is the problem, your individual empowerment is not the (whole) solution.

When I say that I want to be evil, what I mean is I want to be free. I want the strange rare days I've known I was desirable because I was desired, specifically and individually. I want the days where I grant myself dignity. I want the day where I lived peacefully in my mostly-naked body around hundreds of strangers, and went to bed happy.

Reading is input, it's taking in. I can't read my way all the way out of fatphobia, out of body shame because that's like trying to put out a forest fire 2000km away by throwing baking soda on your stove element. (Not harmful, but insufficient and misdirected.) It has been so helpful to know that other people wrestle with all of this, in ways that are more intelligent and expert than mine; it doesn't change material reality, though.

It's not the shame that's the problem, but where it comes from. It's not my internalized fatphobia or low self-worth or lack of body confidence that keeps people from life-saving medical care because their doctors were obsessed with their weight instead of their symptoms. My soft abdomen has never shamed a stranger on the internet, my calves (never in tall boots) haven't forced someone to buy a second seat.

Maybe it's time that I redefine what I mean when I say I want to be evil. I want to be a hot villain that was justified in their takedown of the status quo. I want to put a crown on every head. I want these thick thighs under me as I pull you into my lap and love you, and to use those fire emojis to make room for new growth.

I want us all at the pool together, celebrating as the sun sets.

*I'm using "fat" to here mean something like "size 16 US women's or larger," but there's no good definition

[joesalw]

Old swiftie here. I'm so over Taylor shading Joe. Like, I've always defended her because she, as an artist, is allowed to express herself and sing about her life, but she's literally just been taking cheap, coordinated shots against him for months now and it's just ugly. It's one thing for her to write about her feelings, another to shit talk him to her girlfriends, and a WHOLE OTHER THING to take every opportunity to blast him in front of the whole world. It's even worse to me that he really wanted to be private and now that they're over she's making everything public as a last laugh. He hasn't said anything, he's barely shown his face since the break up. All of this could have gone away by now, if she didn't keep bringing it back up. For someone who talked a whole lot about her accomplishments being diminished by the media in favor of her love life and how unfair that is, right now she's the only one to blame for it. She's really not missing any chances when it comes to talking about Travis and even worse comparing them being public to Joe. And I'm sorry, but some of the stuff she says is just hurtful no matter what unfolded. Wasted time? Really? I just don't get how someone can write such beautiful love songs, be so in love, talk for YEARS about how being private is the right thing and what she needed for their mental health, and then go "wow what a load of wasted time you were, and I gotta tell the whole world about it." She just flipped on him so hard and that's the kind of thing I always defended her from. I'm not finding her at all different from the likes of Kanye. That's not the kind of person I'd like to be around in real life and it definitely isn't the kind of person I want to be supporting. Idk I just really can't with the way she's rewriting history. It's like she forgot she disappeared for a reason and has now fully bought into the idea that he kept her locked in her basement or something. I always thought that if you really wanted to know someone's character you should put them on top of the world and see what they do with all that power and I'm sad to say nothing Taylor has done this year has made me think she's someone I should root for. Working with a rapist, dating a racist/misogynist/zionist then defending him, turning on someone she once implied save her life, the way she handled the Rio shows in Brazil (as a brazilian fan)... It's all just rotten. A real shame bc I've been with her since 06 but better late than never I guess.

A real shame indeed, because she's someone i used to defend a lot as well. But with everything that has happened this year have put such a bad taste in my mouth and also made me realize how her haters have always been so right. I used to think she has improved herself a lot both personally and professionally but to throw away all those character development as a wastage of time just because a relationship didn’t work out is so childish and embarrassing, like how can her fans not see through this?

[sophieinwonderland]

Well, I went through all the trouble of typing a response and then they just block me before I can post... if only there was a tag I could post my response in... 🤔

You’re the ones who invaded our tags first,

That's pretty clearly not true if you've been paying attention to anything happening over the past several months on this site and anti-endos constantly posting hate in inclusive tags.

Not only do you take away system resources,

What resources? Be specific?

Terms? Because again, besides Plural as a term, fictives and factives were taken from the endogenic soulbonders. In reality, vast majority of system terms in circulation came from endogenic and pro-endo systems.

Maybe you mean resources like Pluralkit and Simply Plural. You know, that are made by the pro-endos. And get many of their donations from endogenic systems.

Or, I don't know... do you think the non-trauamgenic systems and non-disordered systems are seeking mental help from your trauma therapists? 🤣

Come on! Tell me the resources! Don't just use this as a buzzword!

Tell me, you have no actual medical professions claiming endogenics are real and we have many claiming they aren’t.

Oh? You do, do you? Can you name them? I can name mine!

Here's Dr. Eric Yarbrough...

That book, Transgender Mental Health, was actually reviewed and published by the American Psychiatric Association, by the way!

Of course, if you want the opinions of an expert in DID, there are these emails from Colin Ross!

Oh, but what does he know? He's just one of the foremost experts on DID with 40 years of experience.

How about brain scans? Here's Dr. Michael Lifshitz, psychiatry professor of McGill University discussing some of the findings from his $50,000 study into tulpa systems, sponsored by Stanford University, which showed neurological changes in tulpa systems while a tulpa was controlling their limbs.

To be fair, the results haven't been published yet, so maybe you can hold onto the hope that this professor with many published papers on his belt is lying about the results. That will be a fun hope to see crushed!

And I could go on... and on... I have a long list and this is just a taste of it.

But anyway, you were telling me how these "many" medical professionals are claiming endogenic systems aren't real. Can you name them for me? Even just one? Come on. If there are so many, it shouldn't be hard!

People like you groom actual systems into believing their trauma “wasn’t bad enough” so they think they’re endogenic

"Punk" to you is apparently using authoritarian right-wing queerphobic tactics of misusing the word "grooming" to make people associate the out group with child abusers. (See every right-winger accusing LGBT people of grooming kids to be gay or grooming them to be transgender.)

Not to mention you stole the term syshopping from RAMCOA survivors.

Nope. That's a lie.

System hopping, as a term for traveling between different bodied-systems, existed since at least as far back as 2005.

The RAMCOA association came from one RAMCOA system in 2021. The system who originally said that later said their words were taken out of context, deleted the original tweet, and condemned anti-endos for using their tweet to spread hate.

I've gone over this before with sources in the post below, thoroughly debunking this lie.

There is zero basis to this whatsoever.

Although you bringing this up and reminding me how anti-endos are trying to rewrite history to take this term too is only increasing my motivation for taking the systempunk and syspunk tags.

Not to fucking mention, you steal actual therapists from us by trying to make them believe in endogenic bullshit.

Wait!

I thought you said no medical professionals believed us!

Now we're stealing therapists by making them believe in endogenic systems?

Which is it??????

never touch the systempunk tag again

Nope! Sorry! Too late for that now!

Anti-science hate groups don't get safe spaces. And the fact that you've created an echo chamber where you can safely spread lies like the systemhopping libel above is only evidence that I need to make more of an effort to correct the lies of anti-endos at their source.

No Safe Space For Hate!

[fortisfilia]

Promised Part 16 - Tom Riddle x reader

Info: This is a rewrite of a story I've posted on my old account years ago. If it sounds familiar, that might be why :)

Summary: In this story, Tom didn't grow up as an orphan, but with his grandfather and uncle. Reader's sister got very sick and the Gaunts offer their help. But not without asking for something in return.

Warnings: Arranged marriage, physical fights, mentions of torture (brief), blood and violence, character death. Read with care!

Word count: 4k

Masterpost | Masterlist | Part 15 | Part 17

Part 16 - 30 June 1945

The N.E.W.T.s had gone by so quickly, it felt like all the preparations, all those years in Hogwarts and all the worries they had brought, had been of utmost exaggeration. Of course, they had been challenging, but what the Professors had said about them in advance, how hard and draining they would be, how nervous every student had been, made it even more curious afterwards. It had only taken a few days after all. Some days of your life, which would most likely be forgotten in a few years. Just like any other week. And all that fuss for that? Well, at least they were over.

Tom, Camille and you had passed most classes with the highest grades. Freda had gotten some outstanding grades as well and even Avery and Lestrange had qualified, if only barely. The final evening in the Great Hall was filled with a strange kind of melancholy for the students of year seven. You had done it, all of you. Seven years in Hogwarts, school of witchcraft and wizardry. It was like your first year had only gone by moments ago, you could practically still feel the sorting hat sitting on top of your head. But alas, all good things come to an end.

Final points were given to all of the houses and, to most people’s surprise, Hufflepuff won the cup. Everyone knew headmaster Dippet favoured Slytherin and Tom and Freda had surely given their own house a few extra points here and there, but Avery and Lestrange’s robbery from Slughorn had cost Slytherin too many points to recover from. All Hufflepuffs were overwhelmed with joy and Ben even ran over from the Gryffindor table to kiss Camille on the cheek while she celebrated.

Walking through the halls one last time was strange, you couldn’t fathom that you would leave the castle ultimately. It had grown to be everyone’s second home and it would always remain so in your heart. Sadly, there wasn’t a lot of time for grief, as the antidote for Mors Grano was finally ready and waited to be filled into a flask to be used the following day. Tomorrow, June 30th would be your wedding day. A day you had dreaded but still couldn’t wait for. A day that was about to change everything.

And there you were. In an old chapel north of Ramsbury, a small muggle town, where no one knew who you were. The Gaunts had chosen the place themselves and had only told your family where to go the day of, most likely to make sure you couldn’t plan to mess with them.

The chapel was dull, as was everything else there. No guests, not even a priest or a registrar to wed the two of you. Marvolo had told you that he was to do it himself. The place was so small, it wouldn’t have even fit a lot of people, but you still wished that at least Camille could have been there to witness. And so, with a heavy heart, you stood in the tiny side room, where Mother’s wedding dress waited to be put on, while Elsie, your parents and the Gaunts waited in the chapel.

“You alright?” Tom asked as he fixed his tie in front of the mirror.

You watched him as you approached the dress, your fingers brushing over the silk skirt. He looked great in his tailored black suit, white shirt and dark green tie, there was no way of denying it. Freda Morris would have been just as green with envy if she had seen him, but still, not everything was about looks.

“I’m alright,” you said and took another look at the dress. “I have to change now. Put this thing on.”

“I’ll give you some privacy in a minute.” He turned to the table in the corner where a few things had been gathered, including a box he had put there. “I brought someone.”

He pulled off the top and you peaked inside. “Nagini! Marvolo allowed for you to take her here?”

“He doesn’t know,” Tom shrugged. “And it would be better if it stayed that way.”

“I see,” you said as you reached out your hand for the snake to smell you. “Well, at least one of my friends is here.”

Tom wore an unreadable expression when he closed the box again, his lips thin as he nodded slightly. “Do you have the antidote with you?”

“Yes,” you answered and pulled it out from your pocket. The flask was the size of your palm, small and translucent. The potion inside shone through the glass like a silver and lilac gloss.

“Alright then,” he said. “Give it to your sister as soon as you can. I’ll wait outside with the others.”

When he closed the door behind himself you heard Marvolo nagging about what was taking so long, urging for you to hurry. The bastard made everything about himself again, even on your wedding day, which should have been the happiest day of your life. You pulled the dress off the hanger with force, put it on and used your wand to adjust it here and there to make it fit better. When you looked into the mirror, it felt like staring at a stranger’s reflection. The dress was beautiful, but you didn’t come close to what a happy bride should look like. Hair and makeup had been done in a hurry, nothing was as perfect as it could have been. No traditions, no extended family or friends, not even a banquet. But what had you expected? It was clear from the beginning that the wedding wouldn’t be anything like you had dreamed of since you were little. It didn’t have to be like this though. Not as marginal, not as a means to an end.

Three hard knocks on the door pulled you out of your thoughts. “Are you done yet?” Marvolo’s muffled voice called. “Hurry up!”

Desperation turned into annoyance and your eyebrows furrowed even deeper. What did he want now? “I need a minute,” you answered as you opened the door only an inch. “Elsie, Mum, can you help me with my dress?”

Marvolo mumbled a few incomprehensible words while the two walked in. To hell with him, he could wait for five more minutes before he would get what he wanted. And you should get what you wanted too. Right now.

Mother looked you up and down with a smile. “You‘re a beautiful bride, darling. What do you need help with?”

“Come,” you told them quietly and took Elsie by the hand, leading her to the other end of the tiny room, so that the Gaunts wouldn’t hear you. “I have to tell you something.”

The two looked at each other and then back at you, waiting for you to explain.

“I found something out a while back. Tom told me, he showed me. The curse that hit you, Elsie, it wasn’t sent by someone who wanted to attack Father. It wasn’t meant for Father at all.”

Elsie's eyes widened as Mother put a hand on her shoulder. “What do you mean? Why would you tell us that minutes before your wedding?” Mother asked.

“Let me explain,” you went on. “Tom showed me that it was the Gaunts who sent the curse. That’s why they found a cure so quickly. And why they didn’t heal her completely.”

Mother gasped faintly as her hand wandered up to her chest. “You mean…”

“Yes. They chose Elsie specifically so we would agree to their pact.”

“I… I can’t believe it,” Mother mumbled.

“They made me sick?” Elsie asked, her eyes as big and round as marbles. “On purpose?”

You nodded.

“But why haven’t you told us sooner?” Mother asked. “We could have-”

“I did as much as I could without attracting too much attention. Tom and I, we both assumed that the Gaunts wouldn’t even lift Elsie’s curse after the wedding. And even if they did, I wouldn’t trust them enough to let her drink anything that they would give to her again. So we brewed the antidote ourselves.”

You pulled out the flask and held it up in the air. Mother took it and examined it for a moment. “You brewed that?”

“Yes. Elsie, take it right now. You will be healed completely then and the Gaunts won’t notice anything.”

“Are you sure it’s safe?” Mother asked. “And what then? What are you going to do?”

“Yes, I’m sure it’s safe. And then,” you looked at the door to the chapel and heaved a sigh. “Then I’ll get married. Stick to the plan.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Mother said as she handed Elsie the flask.

“Would you rather have her drink something that Morfin brewed up? If he would give her anything at all.”

“You’re right,” she said and shook her head.

“Quick Elsie,” you urged. “Drink up and we’ll be ready to go.”

Elsie nodded as she pulled the cork off the flask, then put her lips around the opening and took a small sip. She scrunched up her face into a grimace. “Gross.”

“Sorry, princess. They don’t make recipes for strawberry flavoured antidotes yet. Now drink it.”

Elsie exhaled sharply, then threw her head back and let the liquid pour into her mouth. One swig, two. She had it down almost completely when suddenly the door flew open.

“Excuse me, ladies, what is taking you so long?” Marvolo asked, standing in the door frame, with Morfin, Father and Tom behind him. Marvolo stared at Elsie, who was just gulping down the last drops from the flask. “What is that? What did you give her?”

The three of you froze, staring back at Marvolo and the other men. Shit.

“Just her vitamins,” you said. “To make sure she’s well for the ceremony.”

“No, no,” Marvolo huffed as he walked in. “Give me that.” He took the flask from Elsie’s hand and brought it to his nose. “Morfin, come here.”

Morfin entered the room as well, took a look at the empty flask and smelled it. Father and Tom took several steps in too, filling up the room almost completely.

“Stop,” Marvolo ordered and held his hand up to Father and Tom. “I didn’t tell you to come in.” The two halted and remained standing by the door. “Now, son. What is it?”

Morfin inspected the remaining liquid inside the flask, shaking it to see the single droplets hanging inside the vial. One side of his mouth pulled up into a ghastly smirk before he spoke through gritted teeth, “Mors Grano antidote.”

Marvolo brought his hand up to his neck, fumbling on the chain that hung there. That must have been where he carried their own flask with the unfinished antidote. It was still there, which visibly confused him. He remained calm, wouldn’t dare to show that he didn’t know how you had done it, though his eyes had turned dark.

“You little bitch,” he spat. “Morfin, take the child.”

Morfin did as he was told, quicker than any of you could have reacted and pulled Elsie to the middle of the room by the hand, then stepped behind her, one hand around her neck, his wand in his other one, pointed right at Elsie’s head.

Mother cried out when she saw what had happened to her daughter and turned to walk over to her, while Father ran towards Morfin and Elsie as well.

“Stupefy!” Marvolo called, his wand directed at Father, who fell to the ground immediately.

“How dare you, Gaunt,” Mother screamed, voice breaking, as she approached Morfin. “Let my daughter go!“

“Oh please,” Marvolo merely sighed, raising an eyebrow. With a swing of his wand Mother was knocked out as well, her body crashing to the ground with a thud. “I would have spared you, woman,” he said and shook his head. “Forced me to do it.” His eyes met yours as he used his wand again and with one swift motion, whisked your parents’ unconscious bodies to the corner of the room. “I told you not to step in. No one’s making a move now unless I tell them to.”

Silent tears ran down Elsie’s cheeks, who was still captured between Morfin’s hand and his wand. You had managed to pull out your own wand during the turmoil and looked over at Tom in the doorframe, who had done the same.

Marvolo noticed the looks you exchanged and heaved a bitter laugh. “You two, eh? Partners in crime? And what do you think you’re doing there, girl? With your wand out. Do you really think you can defeat me with your schoolbook magic?”

You gripped your wand tighter to prevent your hand from shaking, swallowed down thickly and frowned. There were a million things you wanted to say, thousands of curse words you could have called him, but Morfin still had Elsie between his fingers. “Don’t you underestimate me, Marvolo.”

He clicked his tongue, let his head fall back and laughed wholeheartedly. “Oh, juveniles. Graduated a day ago and think they’ll conquer the world. Well, I got some bad news for you then. But first, you’re going to tell me how you’ve found out about Mors Grano. And how you got a hold of an antidote that isn’t ours.”

You didn’t answer and only looked at Elsie, who breathed rapidly, her hands holding on to Morfin’s grip around her neck.

“I see,” Marvolo sighed and turned his head towards the door. “Tom, would you give us the honour then? Come, stand next to your bride.”

Tom walked over silently and placed himself next to you, his hand gripping yours.

“Oh look at that,” Marvolo feigned. “Tragically in love. Now, Tom, explain.”

Tom didn’t answer, only held your hand a bit tighter and you could feel something cold inside of it, something metallic, perhaps.

“No?” Marvolo asked. “You don’t want to tell us? Well, then we’ll have to motivate you. Morfin, go ahead.”

Morfin grinned but didn’t point his wand at Elsie anymore. Instead, he pointed it right at you. “Crucio!”

The pain that rushed through you was unbearable from the moment it had started. Falling to your knees, you opened your mouth to scream but couldn’t hear the sounds that escaped you over the static ringing in your ears. A million knives must have pierced your body at once, and they scraped off your skin with rusty blades inch by inch, while your head hammered and stung as if a lightning bolt had struck right into it. Your vision had left you from the pain, everything around you had gone white and you only heard scraps of conversation between the all-consuming buzz that rumbled between your ears. Tom was begging them to stop, you assumed, but couldn’t concentrate on his words, as the pain threatened to crack your skull.

Then, as quickly as it had started, it ended. You opened your eyes slowly, blinked a couple of times when your perception came back and felt a small hand on your cheek. Elsie kneeled above you, next to Tom.

“What happened?” you asked, your voice hoarse, while you sat up groggily.

Marvolo was still standing in his spot, looking down at Morfin, who lay on the ground, holding his leg with both hands. And attached to his thigh, was Nagini, pressing her fangs into him through his trousers.

“Nagini,” you whispered and as soon as you had said her name, the snake let go of Morfin and retracted.

“She crawled out of her box when he hit you with the curse,” Tom said quietly. “And bit him before they could have noticed.”

Tom helped to get you on your feet again and even though your legs were still shaky from the Cruciatus Curse, you stood in front of Elsie, to shield her from the Gaunts.

Morfin winced in pain and held his leg. Nagini’s venom spread quickly, Morfin’s thigh was twitching on its own. “Father,” he whined. “I need treatment. Help me get home.”

Marvolo looked down at his son, lips parted with an expression of sheer revulsion on his face. “Do you think I have time to take care of your little injuries right now? Suck it up.”

“But… But Father, I can’t feel my leg anymore,” Morfin panted. “I might die when the venom reaches my heart.”

Marvolo sighed and bumped his foot against Morfin’s leg, to which his son screamed. “Then leave.”

Morfin nodded, it must have taken all of his remaining strength not to pass out, and closed his eyes before he apparated, leaving only a few drops of blood on the floor behind.

“Now back to you,” Marvolo said and looked at Tom as if nothing more than a minor inconvenience had just occurred. “Don’t you dare lie to me. You know I can kill everyone in this room within a second.”

Tom still didn’t answer and placed himself in front of Elsie and you, which made Marvolo laugh again.

“Oh, boy. You’d sacrifice yourself? For this family and not your own? I know I’ve raised you differently. You’re a disgrace.”

“You want me to tell you everything?” Tom asked. “Then let me come closer, so I can share all of my secrets.”

Marvolo remained unimpressed at the thought - there was no spell he couldn’t counter. So he rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Come as close as you want, son. But keep your wand up, where I can see it.”

And so Tom went. One step, two, three, four, until he was face to face with his Grandfather. Marvolo still eyed Tom’s wand, gripping his own tightly. And then, Tom moved his other hand abruptly, jerking it toward Marvolo’s abdomen once. You couldn’t see from where you stood and only noticed when Marvolo looked down himself and opened his mouth.

“Imperio,” Tom said quietly while Marvolo collapsed.

Now that you could see what he had done, you put your hands over Elsie’s eyes, holding them closed. Marvolo was bleeding from his stomach and Tom held a bloody knife in his wandless hand.

“I’m just making sure you can’t apparate,” Tom said. “Like uncle did. The coward. I want to see how you die.”

Marvolo looked up at Tom, opened his mouth but didn’t say anything, tears edging on the corners of his eyes.

“No. You don’t get to talk now,” Tom went on. “Never again. You’re going to listen. And I’m even going to tell you what you wanted to hear. I found a way to tell her what you have done to Elsie. I stole Morfin’s book, and we brewed the antidote ourselves. Oh yes, before I forget, we also stole some Banshee tears from Morfin, while you were out. Scrook and Hokey were very helpful. I even learned some new things this year. Some of them from a muggle-born, can you believe? It got me thinking, you purebloods are so concentrated on magic, you wouldn’t even realise when I’d come up to you with a knife in my hand. And I was right. You didn’t. You called me a bastard so often and reminded me that my Father was a muggle. So I thought I’d remind you myself how much of a half-blood I am. Isn’t it awful dying the muggle way? So slowly, so weak.”

Marvolo laid to the side, impacted by the Imperius Curse and opened his mouth, coughing up blood, his eyes half-closed.

“And now, here we are,” Tom whispered. “You did this all to yourself. Good night, Grandfather.”

It took a while until you all had collected yourselves. Mother and Father had woken up some minutes after Marvolo had closed his eyes completely and you had brought Elsie into the chapel, so she wouldn’t have to see the body. Tom, your parents and you hadn’t decided yet what to do with Marvolo. You had thought about leaving him there, or to apparate him to Gaunt manor, where the elves would take care of it.

Mother joined Elsie and you in the chapel, so you took the chance to get some fresh air outside. Only out in the open did you notice that you were still wearing the white dress, now spotted with deep red stains. What scorn of fate it was to watch someone die by your groom’s hand on your wedding day. The door behind you opened again when Tom walked out. He had managed to remain composed better than the rest of you, despite what he had done.

He walked up to you, looking at the ground and only lifted his head when he stood right in front of you. A warm breeze brushed over your skin as the sun was setting. “Are you okay?” he asked.

You nodded. Physically, at least. “I think I am.”

Tom dipped his head once too and loosened his tie. “Are you scared of me after what you’ve seen?”

You looked him in the eyes, tilting your head slightly. His pupils were extended, brows sitting calmly above. “No,” you answered. “I would have done the same if I had to.”

He bit his lip and nodded, hands inside his pockets before he took them out, held you by your waist and kissed you. All the tension and stress seemed to leave your body for a moment, your shoulders finally relaxing and you wished you could hold on to him like this for hours. Tom stayed close for a moment, pressed his forehead against yours and sighed. “So,” he said as he took a step back. “The pact is done with. Elsie is cured. You don’t have to marry me anymore.”

A surprised gasp fell from your lips. You hadn’t even thought about that yet. He was right. “I guess I don’t.”

Tom pushed the tip of his shoe through the gravel, drawing patterns. “But I wanted to know,” he said. “Would you have gone through with it if this had turned out differently? Would you have married me and stayed?”

There was a moment of silence when you thought about it. What answer could anyone give to such a question? You liked him, yes, you would even dare to say you were in love with him. But would you have really married him this quickly if you could have decided yourself?

“Would you?” you asked, to which he smirked. The wind tousled his hair, just like when you had sat with him at the bench back in the Hogwarts’ courtyard. You pulled the engagement ring Marvolo had sent off your finger and handed it to him. “Why don’t you ask me? Properly, I mean.”

Tom’s smirk vanished. He took your hand in his, holding the ring as he inspected you. He opened his mouth but shut it again to clear his throat. Then he asked, “Do you want to marry me?”

A smile formed on your face, one that he didn’t mirror, as long as you wouldn’t answer him. “No,” you said, closing his palm.

Tom’s expression didn’t change, but when you looked closely, you noticed that the size of his pupils had decreased, his brows now hanging in confusion. He still held onto your hand but you could feel him trembling.

“Not yet,” you added, your smile still in place. “Not like this and certainly not today. Not on Marvolo’s terms. Not without my friends and not before we really get to know each other and both decide, on our own, that we want to do it.” You leaned forward, kissed him once and said, “So, ask me again in a year or two?”

And then, the rarest sight of them all, Tom Riddle smiling genuinely, was given to you. He looked so handsome wearing it and with the orange light from the setting sun on his face when he pulled you in.

“I promise I will.”

Masterpost | Masterlist | Part 17

Tags: @ariachaos @daardyrnitta

[theawkwardanglophile]

I got asked this question and loved it so much, I wanted to open it up to the group.

If you could choose 5 Chenford scenes to rewrite, which would you choose, and how would you rewrite them?

Thank you for the question, Becca! ❤️

First and foremost, I would save us all a lot of heartache and not have them break up in 6x06! I would've kept the angst, at least some of it, but show that Tim feels broken and doesn't know how to go forward, but Lucy would be there with him through it. I don't want to add much more to this here, because I'm still hoping to finish cranking out a 6x06 fix-it fic. 😉

Most of 5x16. Yes, the necklace, "fuel for later", and that one 10-second scene of them in bed together is all great, but there was so much lacking for Chenford in this ep, because they were trying to cram in a story for every couple, and there just wasn't room, and left a lot to be desired. I would want them to dive in more with the 5-player-trade discussion, instead of dismissing it so quickly. And then Noah giving them a golden opportunity to have a real discussion about UC, but nope. Plus so many unanswered questions! Did Noah come back and stay with them? Who told Tim about the trade? Was Tim feeling any jealousy toward Noah? And Lucy saying Tim hadn't called her Hot Pants is...a weird line. I'm sorry.

The scene at Nolan's in 5x13. It's adorable, yes, but it could've been so much more. It could have had Tim and Lucy come clean to everyone about secretly dating, and we could've gotten everyone's reactions. Maybe they don't get all the post-its down in time, so Tim questions her, and she comes clean on what they're doing (thus eliminating the 5x16 fight altogether), and the two of them start having this whole discussion in the living room forgetting everyone is listening, and ohhhh, I might need to write a fic.

The ending of 4x07 had us all scratching our heads as to why Tim suddenly called off the bet, with no real explanation, after two episodes of competition. It felt very incomplete. A theory I've had for a long time is Nolan being kidnapped brought back a lot of DOD thoughts for Tim, and he felt like he needed to get serious again. And for him to actually admit that to Lucy could've led to a really sweet, amazing moment for them.

This is going to be controversial, but the very end of 5x01. I would not change a lot of their talk in the hallway, but I would have found a different way to show there was romantic tension there without them being willing to cheat on their significant others. They have both been cheated on, plus Tim's dad cheated. I just don't like the implication, flimsy UC excuse aside, that they would have gone through with cheating had Chris not been bleeding out. And I hate that, because Tim walking into the apartment was such a clear, definitive action that showed his attraction to her. So I would hate to take that away, but maybe they could have had an almost kiss in the hall or something instead? I don't know.

[succulentlesbians]

Nat dying in endgame isn't canon? Her and Yelena are out living their sex in the city fantasy and bonding and making up for all the time that was stolen away from them :) I'm also rereading your fic again :D I'm deeply curious to know what it looks like from Yelena's pov, I've just gotten to the part where they've gotten on the plane but god just. The conversation about Hive. Tfw the one bright spot in your life is most equipped to understand you. But god it hurts they went through that too. </3

nat dying in endgame is absolutely so not canon To Me. her and yelena are out having the time of their lives, don't know how anyone could think differently.

saw you say curious about yelena pov and was like hmm what small tidbit could i give you that would be fun?

umm. rewrite of hive conversation, yelena pov:

Yelena turns to look at Daisy. Her arms are horribly discolored above her wraps and she's holding them precariously against her body as she lies on the bed, trying to prevent more pain.

Yelena hates it. This was avoidable, absolutely. Yelena could've taken out every person in that warehouse herself and they should both know that. Daisy is a spy now, she has to know that she needs to stay healthy. Doesn't she want to be healthy?

Yelena reaches out near unconsciously to Daisy's arm, as if she can make everything better though magic. She wishes she could.

"You don't have to tell me why," she says, "but I don't like seeing you hurt." She's not going to force Daisy into anything, but she needs to make her opinion clear that seeing Daisy in pain makes her hurt too.

She wraps her arm around Daisy's torso, hoping to offer comfort.

Daisy lets the silence go a for minute. "When I got my powers," she says finally, "I thought I was cursed."

She must have had to learn to control them. Now, Yelena can clearly see that she knows what she's doing. She hopes Daisy didn't kill anyone she didn't want to in her practice. She's not got much confidence in SHIELD, but they have to have better training practices than the Red Room.

“But I was convinced they were a gift by the other Inhumans.  And even when my mom died, I believed that I could do something good with the gift I’d been given."

Her mom had died? Another thing they have in common. Another unfortunate thing to have in common.

The rest of her words, that's the Daisy that Yelena knows. That's the girl she met who convinced her of good people in the world. Daisy is always looking for ways to help.

"So I kept working with SHIELD.  And—”

Daisy's voice cracks.

What happened to her? What made her hurt like this? If it's not already gone, Yelena is going to hunt it down and slaughter it. With delight. Great delight. And with excruciating pain.

"There was a thing with this bitch-ass octopus-looking fucker.  Hive.  He could do this thing to Inhumans—" he could do this thing to me, Yelena fills in with a sense of dawning horror— "where he made you feel like obeying him was the only thing you ever wanted to do in life.  Like there was something missing from your life and he could provide it.  Something to do with our brain chemicals, I don’t know the details.”

Yelena can't stop herself from a sharp inhale. It's obvious what happened.

Fucking mind control.

It sounds even worse than her own. Yelena, at least, hadn't been infatuated with Dreykov. She didn't know what her own feelings were all the time, if they were even real, but she knows it wasn't like that. She'd had uncharitable thoughts about Dreykov, even if she knew she'd never be able to hurt him. She'd at least had that choice. That Daisy hadn't is horrific. Absolutely horrific. Forced excitement to be enslaved is quite frankly, the worst thing Yelena can think of.

Daisy continues in a hushed voice. "I almost killed everyone. I hurt them.  Badly.  I threatened them.  Everyone in his path, I cleared."

It’s all the more devastating for someone like Daisy who cares so much about people. Someone who built up relationships with everyone she met, who did her absolute best to connect with them. It’s brutal.

Yelena grew up with killing. For better or for worse, she's generally unfazed by it. But Daisy? She may have changed from when she was Skye, but there's no way that death doesn't drag on her mind.

"When we finally took him down, good people died." Her voice wobbles dangerously. Her eyes begin to glisten as she fights tears. "So now I’m out here, trying to make up for everything I’ve done.  For all of the hurt I gave out.  The suffering I’ve caused.  And if it hurts?  It’s worth it.  And… maybe I deserve it.”

The worst part is, she sounds convinced of her words. Daisy genuinely believes she deserves it. The pain she's feeling right now, she thinks she deserves it.

It's complete bullshit.

Yelena could understand if there was no other option, that Daisy would need to use her powers. But she doesn't. So the only reason she's doing it is a misguided sense that she was somehow in charge of her actions while being mind controlled and therefore needs to suffer. Again, complete bullshit.

For someone as good as Daisy, just the fact that her body committed the action is enough to incriminate herself in her mind.

She reaches out to grab Daisy's hand, needing the comfort. Wanting to give comfort.

If there's one thing she's locked onto after getting free, it's that she was not in control of her body. Maybe she can extend that to Daisy.

"It's not your fault," she says as firmly as she can. "It wasn't us. It wasn't our choice. It wasn't your choice, Daisy."

A solitary tear begins to roll down Daisy's face. "But I did it. And I felt happy about it."

Hive, Yelena knows, is dead. She was able to find out that much. In the back of her mind, she's been stabbing him again and again. How could anyone do something like that to Daisy?

She recalls the emotionless state when she killed Oksana and the sudden onset of feeling afterward. She had gone from being glad to have completed her mission to abject horror as Oksana died in her arms.

She brushes the tears off of Daisy's cheek. "Even our emotions, they didn't belong to us." She won't ever forget the whiplash of that moment. But it reminds her— "But now they do. Now we can decide. We have our own thoughts and feelings."

Daisy tilts her head, ever so slightly. Indecision rolls across her face, crinkling her eyebrows. For a brief second, Yelena is reminded of her mother, comforting her just as she is comforting Daisy now. She would knit her eyebrows together like that too as she thought of what to do.

"You've been so brave. You’ve held onto this pain for so long.  It’s made you strong."

Pain only makes you stronger, Mama had told her the day she died. Yelena has held onto those words. She's been through so much and it's made her stronger. She's come out the other side of everything.

“Those things happened and they can’t be taken back."

There's a lot that Yelena's done that she could regret now and Oksana's death is at the top of the list. There's plenty of other deaths that cross her mind. She has to put that behind her. Oksana... she'll complete her dying request. She'll free the Widows. But she's going to experience being free too.

"But it’s okay to let it go.  It’s okay to want good things for yourself.  It’s okay to live your life.” 

It has to be okay. It wasn't her fault. She didn't choose any of her past. She can choose her future. She's going to choose her future. She's figured out contacting Daisy, she can figure out the rest of it too.

“We’re our own people now.”

Daisy's face crumples and she bursts into tears, turning to bury her face in Yelena's shoulder. Yelena strokes gently at her back.

"It was supposed to be me," Daisy mutters quietly. "Why wasn't it me?"

Yelena has no idea what she's talking about. It sounds like something she should disagree with on principle based on the other thoughts Daisy has been having about herself, but she's not going to act without knowing more. And she's pushed Daisy enough tonight. Getting the seeds in there is as far as she'll go.

So she doesn't say anything else that might bring up bad memories for Daisy. Instead, she starts to sing an old Russian lullaby, one that Mama had sang to her as a child. She waits as Daisy sinks into sleep, dried tears tracks on her face, before she dares to drift off herself, carefully holding Daisy. She's not going to let her do this alone. Not anymore.

[ferindencadash]

Six Song Soundtrack Playlist

Tagged by @average-mako-enjoyer (this was so fun, thank you!)

I'm going with Jessie Shepard from Stockholm since she has the most fleshed out back story (don't actually read the story, it's in desperate need of a rewrite and extremely dead dove 😅 so why did I link it? Shush, nobody asked you).

If you're tagged, make a new post with links to music and/or lyrics describing the following:

1. An event that defines your character's past

You probably thought that I'd never escape I'd be a rat in a cage, I'd be a slave to this place You don't know how hard I fought to survive Waking up alone when I was left to die

2. How your character sees themselves

Don't you breathe for me Undeserving of your sympathy 'Cause there ain't no way that I'm sorry for what I did And through it all How could you cry for me? 'Cause I don't feel bad about it

3. How others view them

She burns like the sun And I can't look away

4. Their closest relationship (platonic or romantic)

You're everything I want And I am everything you need This night is cutting in to me You tie me down, you watch me bleed And we risk everything

5. A major fight scene

My fruit is bruised and borrowed You thieving bastards You have turned my blood cold and bitter Beat my compassion black and blue Hope this is what you wanted Hope this is what you had in mind 'Cause this is what you're getting I hope you choke on this

6. End credits song

And I can hear her sing And I know she's giving up And I don't know what to do, how to help her How to bring her home And I can hear him break And he doesn't understand And I wish that I could take his hand But where I'm going is for me and me alone And I can her sing "If I don't make it back from where I've gone Just know I loved you all along"

It was really hard not to use In This Moment for every answer, because Jessie was literally built around the Blood album. 😅 But I tried to branch out!

I spent WAY too much time on this, so I'm going to be specific in my tags, and ask about some of my favourite OCs 🥺🙏 (if you're up for it of course).

@samuelroukin Any of your boys, I love them all (though you know my favourite 😌)

@marbobar for Mrinthyr please!

@s3rnielsen Horgrim!!! 🙏

@aleksxo Velen ❤️

@swordbisexual any iteration of Vissenta!

@gravedigg Virgil, if you're so inclined! 🙏

@rowansnaps Briar, of course!

[theicarusconstellation]

into the dark news + poll

i will also be announcing this in the notes of the next chapter update, but i just want to inform you all that i will be going back through and mass-editing/rewriting all chapters from act one (chapters 1-40). all throughout act one, i really let outside forces influence how i wrote this fic. i pandered to the fandom because i was afraid to make anyone upset rather than writing what i wanted to write. i saw people saying that their precious sirius would never do The Prank, so i made peter do it when i really wanted sirius to. i added 540957345 povs (most of which will stay because i do believe they shape the story) rather than just keeping it to regulus + james because i saw people saying that not giving each and every character an in-depth plotline in an mlm fic was misogyny and neglect. i came up with an elaborate scheme to keep lily alive on halloween 1981 because killing lily is misogynistic. (lily will stay alive on halloween like i promised yall because i have grown so fond of her and i know that you should kill your darlings but i've never been very good at that). i planned a lot of elaborate schemes to keep a lot of characters alive and spread myself thin trying to shove intricate plots for the black sisters, marypanlily, peter, remus, dorlene, rosekiller, etc. into this fic because i didn't want to offend anyone or make anyone upset. i truly do not give a fuck about james and sirius’ friendship, but i threw it in this fic's face since so many people regard it as The Holy Grail and i didn't want to disappoint them in any way. i wrote the black brothers way more tame than i wanted to because if regulus doesn’t want a relationship with sirius it’s framed as him blaming sirius.

the truth of the matter is, this is a jegulus fic, centered around regulus black, james potter, their relationship, and no one else. not lily. not sirius. not anyone. that isn't to say that i can't have complex plots devoted to other characters, because i can, i will, and i love to do it. every plot i inserted into this fic will remain the same, just with a few tweaks and possibly with less pagetime.

the biggest change will be that i am going back and rewriting The Prank. sirius will orchestrate it like god intended. i completely understand if these changes make this fic less appealing to you, and i absolutely respect that. DLDR is one of my biggest mottos and something i heavily encourage, so if you don't like this fic, it is totally okay to "don't read"/DNF.

i also want to draw more attention to pandora’s past sexual assault. it’s been quietly in the background, which was - in part - intentional since she herself shoves it down and blocks it out, but there are so many instances where it could have been addressed and wasn’t. idk i think id just like to have it be more front and center because it is such an important aspect of the story that im afraid gets lost in the sea of other plots in this fic.

again, there won't be very many "big" changes, but the little things will add up a bit yk? the rewrites won't be published until every chapter has gone through it, which won't be for a few months, but i will let yall know when they are.

i also don’t know how i want to orchestrate the rewrite. that’s what the poll is for because i truly do value your opinions as readers. once the rewrite has been completed in my drafts, im unsure whether i should just keep them in the original work, delete the original altogether and start from scratch posting the rewrite as its own fic, or leave the original up and post the rewrite as a separate fic (but still titled into the dark — rewrite)

[dicenote]

DN Fic Recs!!

Aight, I think the Death Note fandom could use some positivity. And I wanna be positive :D! So here is a list of fics with reviews, aka a thinly-veiled excuse to wildly ramble about brilliant fics made by incredibly talented people. A lot of these works inspire me, so I want to share them with others! If these fics sound interesting to you, I highly recommend that you check them out and give the authors lots of love :D

Anyway, here we go!

Fallout by Zaney HacknSlash Rating: M (FFN) Ships: (Not the main focus) eventual Matsu x Sayu, eventual Ide x OC, background Aizawa x Eriko, (kinda) Mogi x Misa

Dude. Duuuuude. If you want to see an action-packed, angst-filled joyride of a fic featuring the Task Force after Kira, this is it. This is a 10 year old rewrite of the original version of the fic, but it has a lot of the old fandom charm left over from the 2008 original. The plot is centered on the guilt Matsuda feels after shooting Light, and what he has to do when a mysterious enemy forces him to confront that guilt.

I like how the author gives us insight into every major character in the story. The flipping perspectives keep the story grounded in some places, but make it chaotic when it needs to be. Most importantly, I like how we see, inside and out, how tight-knit the Task Force has become after everything they've gone through. I also enjoy how each of the Task Force members have their own dilemmas and struggles that pay off by the end, all to do with loyalty. Overall, Fallout is an epic story with action, suspense, and plenty of original characters that don't overstay their welcome.

True Successor by @mapsareforbraindeads Rating: M (AO3) Ships: Beyond x Light, BeyondTsuda

I think this was the first fic that really helped me get the appeal of Beyond Birthday, and that's a feat all on its own. Here, Vari takes the original story of Death Note and flips it on its head with an idea that sounds like "crack treated seriously" on paper: What if L was dead before the events of the story? What if, instead, he were replaced by someone looking to, "realize what [L] could not"?

The portrayal of Beyond's mental state throughout is simply breathtaking. One standout (not-too-spoilery) example happens when Ukita dies as in canon. Vari does an incredible job of showing Beyond's frantic thoughts to the point where this part is actually stressful to read. I really wish I could go into more detail about how Beyond is portrayed, but it's really worth reading for yourself. Like I said, this fic helped me understand why people like B's story so much.

Even if you've never read the LABB book (I haven't yet), True Successor is an utterly fantastic work that you should check out.

Weakness by Airmid Rating: M (AO3) Ship: LawTsuda

I think I've talked about this one before, but it's worth talking about again. I think of this as "the" LawTsuda fanfic for a couple reasons, most notably in that it really makes the pairing work in a setting that's close to canon. I really adore the way Airmid characterizes L and Matsuda in this fic and immediately contrasts them from each other. The events of Weakness take place before L's death in canon, and the story asks some simple questions: What would have happened if L let himself confide in someone before he died? And what if that person was Matsuda?

I've read some of Airmid's other, longer, works, and while I enjoyed Happiness and Until the End, Weakness stands out to me because it feels a lot "tighter", if that makes sense. Using the bells from the anime, we get this very solid through-line of L secretly worrying and preparing for the inevitable... And then Matsuda comes in. This fic in particular continues to be a huge inspiration for a fic I'm writing, especially for the portrayal of Matsuda as equally earnest and impulsive.

Pretty much anything by Tallulah

Okay, I wish I could pick just one to talk about here. From the short and devastating Axioms to the very long and devastating Broken Hallelujahs, all of Tallulah's works—the smutty and the soul-crushing—have intriguing worlds and deep, dark characters. Just make sure you mind the tags before diving in, these ones get dark. As a MatsuIde fan, I've got to give a shout-out to Saviour. It took a while for me to "get" the style of the fic, but in the end I really loved the tone. The way Tallulah depicts the dissociation and trauma of these characters feels incredibly real, and when the fic drops its unique formatting to symbolize the characters "snapping out of it", you feel it. Broken Hallelujahs has a similar vibe, but its story has more fast-paced action. Ooh, and The End of Days is an incredibly solid, more "canon-compliant", work featuring Aizawa x Ide x Matsuda, a guilty pleasure ship for me.

Twisted Fate by TwilightMaster15 Rating: M (AO3) Ships: None tagged so far, background LawLight

If you've been in the DN fanfic scene, I'm sure you've seen (or maybe read) a "What if L was Kira?" fic. Well, here's a new one. What if Aizawa was Kira?

This is another fic that takes what could be a "crack" scenario and executes it super super well. Rather than getting a childish Kira who calls himself "God of the New World", we have Aizawa, who has become disillusioned by the justice system he works in. The fic does a really good job in setting up Aizawa's relationships, good and bad, with the other characters, as well as showing the very different choices Aizawa!Kira makes versus Canon!Light. Speaking of Light, his motivations and role in the story are very well-done. His inclusion feels incredibly natural, and I can't wait to see what he and L do next.

Kira's Guide to the Munchies by @palant1r Rating: T (AO3) Ship: MatsuLight

I've gotta end this list with a funny one, alright? This fic is an absolutely delightful treat. It's like digging into a nice, warm brownie... Oh, wait.

See, Palant1r doesn't just characterize Matsuda and Light, more like dissects these characters' essences, their weaknesses and fears and flaws, and lays them bare for the reader to see. And yes, this is also true for when Matsuda and Light are tripping fucking balls. This fic is so very silly, but we also get to see the way these characters think, even if their faculties are hindered by quite a bit of weed. A character study wrapped in a goofy concept, Kira's Guide to the Munchies is a ride that you just have to read to believe. Seriously. I was thinking about quoting lines here, but it works better when you don't know what's coming next.

[some-pers0n]

do you have any writing advice?? i LOVE your fics so much i cant comprehend how you’re so good at making them 😭😭

Awaw thank you!! And, as for advice? It's a bit tricky at times but generally here's some things I always recommend to people trying to write.

Read a lot. It's very unfortunate but you gotta be a good reader in order to be a good writer. I spent a lot of my time rewriting scenes from WoF cause either a) I thought they would be better had they gone another way or b) held a lot of appreciation for it. Of course not every writer is gonna wanna be a fanfic writer, but that's for me.

^ To follow this up, just generally try and read whatever interests you or you find to be fun. Your writing style is a mesh between styles you personally enjoy. Like I think it's kinda obvious to see Tui Sutherland's influences in my style, which, hey, makes sense given I've written so much. If you read, you'll also learn grammar and syntax, which is also quite important as well.

Write a lot. This too is quite unfortunate. There is no real trick or tip to instantly make your writing great. I had to get to this level after like four years of doing this. I didn't miraculously get this way lmao. You have to put in a lot of time and a lot of effort into getting here.

To go along with "read a lot" you also gotta develop a critical eye. Another thing that comes with practice sadly. This helps a lot with fanfic writing, but also with general character building, plot writing, etc and etc. Analyzing other stories and such. I mainly got my start by watching a TON of videos on Bojack Horseman and Arcane and their ways of character writing and storytelling.

For general writing advice channels? I'd recommend Hello Future Me and NEVER GO NEAR THOSE "Top 10 Writing Tips to Make Your Writing Instantly Better!! <33" CHANNELS. I jest, kinda. The advice those channels give are kinda basic surface level stuff that isn't bad at all, but I generally think it's better to understand why some stuff works better than others than to think that doing X, Y, and Z will instantly make your writing better. There is a lot of nuances with writing that is hard to define and you could be hindering yourself because some YouTuber said that audiences HATE it.

You can just go about your writing however you want honestly. When I was first starting out I felt pressured to make giant outlines, but I found them more daunting than helping. I personally work out my plot, characters, dialogue, etc and etc throughout my head through trial and error and seeing what works best. That's my way, but other people may cling to that outline. Other people may need cue cards and something akin to those bulletin boards with red string, connecting plots together. Whatever works best for you.

For more general stuff? For my fics I try to always analyze the characters I'm writing about as much as I can. Obviously my version of them will be different than canon, but I always find it best to understand what the character is at a fundamental level. Identify core characteristics. Why are they the way they are? What could have prompted them to say that? It's a lot of mental (or even physical) notetaking lol.

For more general and practical stuff, I used to like flipping on headphoes or putting in my earbuds and listening to ambience when it comes to more Out There locations. I also like pulling up pictures and trying to see how I'd go about describing it as a funky little practice for when I go and write it.

Lastly for this time? I'd say write and describe around things. Has an arrow plunged into the shoulder of a person? I'd describe the pain and such moreso in how the person reacts, with maybe one sentence dedicated to the actual pain and such. Emotions and such are a lot more relatable, and lines like "I pried his kneecaps off like a lid on a can of paint" hit a lot more if you're a little more generous with them.

[goddesspharo]

For the Fanfiction Writing Asks: 35, 36, 40, 46, 56, and 75. A lot, but you’re a fave and I’m so curious!

[fic writing asks!]

Thanks for asking!

35. What's your favorite fic you've posted?

Definitely can't fake what you can't break up with, which I will finish soon. (I think I'm so slow about writing-not writing the last chapter because there's a part of me that doesn't want it to end because it has been so much fun to write! It's been a ton of fun to take a very trope-y soapy concept (drunk married in Vegas, continued marriage For Reasons) and spin it out into all the things. It's also ridiculously long so this year when NaNoWriMo rolls around and I say that I can't do it because I can't possibly meet that type of word count in a month, it'll be a bold-faced lie.

36. What fic are you proudest of?

Probably not every conversation is a new grenade, a post-The Batman fic that was, up until then, the longest fic I'd ever written at like 16k (I wish I could keep things that short these days!) after like a five year gap of not writing any fic. There would be a point during the writing process in the past when I'd just get tired of writing a thing and finish it while leaving a bunch of things I wanted to incorporate on the cutting room floor, but I really saw this one through. I'd only watched The Batman once (maybe twice?) before sitting down to write this - it was pretty early into the theatrical release so WB hadn't kicked it onto Max yet - so I'm particularly pleased with how on point the voices were. I also love nearly every iteration of Bruce/Selina and therefore don't write them as much (it's the old Austenian "If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more") because I cannot be objective about how they should just be together, why won't you just let them be together, DC so probably the biggest accomplishment of all is that I even wrote this. It was also just a blast to do and gave me an excuse to bust out the 90s grunge playlist at the very beginning and then just listen to so much BANKS that I could not stop for weeks afterwards.

40. What is your favorite world that you've created for a fic?

The Bear as a band AU in put in in a zip-lock bag. Interestingly, a very natural stretch to transplant people from a chaotic kitchen setting to a chaotic, dysfunctional band setting. Mikey as a Kurt Cobain figure practically writes itself. Years of Behind the Music made this possible! I loved the experience of writing that fic and I loved that world! Everyone could be quietly devastated without burning down the kitchen (no promises about the Lollapalooza stage though).

46. If you could only write one type of AU for the rest of your life, what would it be?

I was going to say Enemies-to-Lovers, hands down, but that's not an AU, I guess. It would be boring to write one type of AU forever, but if I had to choose I'd go with the tried and true spy AU. (...she says as she still has her current spy!AU remains in WIP hell.) As Sydney Bristow has taught us, Spy!Barbie can be anything so you could theoretically have an AU within your one AU and game the system. Also spies are the best! All popped collars and dead drops and so much guilt about the things they've done and the people they've let down. God, we need Alias back and by that I mean put the original show on streaming with the original music since every replacement track they used because they couldn't get licensing for streaming is terrible.

56. Are there any fics that you would change or rewrite if given the chance?

That is one spiral I refuse to go down! Once it's out there, it is what it is. I've never wanted to go back and change any fics in a big way (I have gone back and fixed a grammatical error here and there that escaped notice during the editing process) because I wouldn't post it if I wasn't happy with it at the time. There are fics that I wish I had maybe finished before posting (ah, TGM!spy!AU, why are you so elusive?) because now they are albatrosses that I want to finish, know exactly how to finish, and yet can't finish.

75. Is there a particular fic that readers gravitated towards that you didn't expect?

I never know how anything will be received so I don't even try to guess. I operate on a "don't time the market" philosophy except about fic - it is beyond my control so why perseverate over it? I guess I was surprised by how much traction deflect and absorb got. I don't know why, but I think we were all riding the high of a new Jurassic Park movie after like fifteen years (longer if you ignore Jurassic Park III) and had yet to experience "The Worst Chris" burnout (ugh, he really is the worst though) when Jurassic World came out. It was definitely my big dumb blockbuster that summer! In 2015, it wasn't automatically guaranteed that everything would get a handful of shitty sequels so you could live in the space of just enjoying a movie for what it was without thinking about how they were going to mess it up by stretching it out past the expiration date.

[flamboyantly-incompetent]

OoTP, Chapter 3 - Your First Lessons

Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff!Reader

Warnings: none?

Masterlist

Word Count: ~4,800

Note: the length of this one kind of got away from me, can't lie. usually my method of proof reading / editing is retyping the whole thing from my text editor to tumblr but this was taking me days with all the other stuff I have going on, so if there are more weird typos than usual that's why and I'm sorry

Saturday morning came, and you woke up and groaned at the ceiling. You hoped that if you pressed your pillow onto your head hard enough you could go back in time to stop yourself from offering tutoring to the biggest git at Hogwarts.

Wilbur sat down on your chest and started purring.

"Gff mrng," you mumbled from under your pillow. He began kneading your chest. You sighed and removed the pillow. "I suppose you'd like some treats." He pushed his wet nose into your face, so you pushed back your bed curtains to find an open bag. Donna was awake too, stretching in bed.

When she saw you were up, she said, "You getting breakfast? I think Yvette is already gone - she said something about Quidditch before passing out last night."

"Nah, I've gotta get to the greenhouses. I'm tutoring someone today."

"Who?" She sat next to you on your bed, scratching under Wilbur's chin.

You grimaced. "Uh, you probably don't know him. He's a fifth year. A Slytherin."

Donna laughed, then said, "Oh, you're serious? Well, ha! Good luck."

"Thanks. Keep him company, will you?" You pulled on a pair of jeans and a lime green and peach jumper your mum had described as 'hideous, but warm,' and headed out the door.

Before the greenhouses though, you needed to make a stop in the library if you were going to help Malfoy rewrite his self-fertalizing shrubs essay, which, thankfully, was about as easy to find as the great hall.

Halfway down the corridor you heard Peeves singing at the top of his ethereal lungs, "Saturday! Ink hooray! Why are you working? Saturday! Time to play! Good luck without your ink!" followed by the unmistakable sound of ink bottles shattering against stone. To be fair to Peeves, that was the nicest thing you'd ever heard him sing.

A Gryffindor came sprinting round the corner, dripping in ink, followed closely by the Gryffindor ghost.

"Oh, hey Ginny. Rough morning?"

She scowled, "I don't know why I even bother. Scourgify." She tapped herself with her wand, and the ink melted into the think air.

"I'll go get the Bloody Baron," the ghost said before drifting off into the wall.

"You don't happen to have any spare ink, do you?" asked Ginny. "I've procrastinated too much on that nonmagical transportation essay for Muggle Studies."

"Yep, s'all yours. Is the library...?"

"I'd wait for Nick to get back. Peeves has totally blocked the door. He's actually trapped a couple students and Madam Pince inside."

"Great." You peered around the corner; inside the library Peeves was doing a jig atop a toppled bookcase leaning against the door and throwing books with every kick. Madam Pince repaired them as quick as he could rip them apart. You watched, horrified and baffled, through the windows lining the library until the Bloody Baron appeared a few minutes later. He drifted up out of the floor and bellowed at Peeves incoherently, who then disappeared into the ceiling in a fright.

You ducked under the fallen bookcase and gingerly stepped through the books littering the ground, glancing at titles. You found a few that would suffice and stuffed them into your bag, and left to find your way back out to the greenhouse.

A few other students were already there, milling around with watering cans and bags of fertilizer.

Draco Malfoy waited for you by the vegetable patches, wearing a green argyle sweater vest over a pristine white button-down -why he chose that to garden in a mystery you wouldn't venture to guess- staring at his shoes.

He looked up and met your eye; his mouth fell open but before he could speak, you said, "Did you bring your essay?"

He nodded sharply. "I wasn't sure you were still coming."

"Oh? And why was that?" you snarked, walking past him to greenhouse 5. He trotted to keep up with you.

"Well, you seemed pretty mad the other day."

"Don't know what you mean. Sit." You held out your hand for the essay. At the top you saw, "T- see me" scrawled in Professor Sprout's handwriting, and you began to scan through. It was truly dreadful, not only was it several inches too short, it made the argument that the shrub bore fruit that, when it fell, turned into excrement that put nutrients back into the soil. "Where did you get this information? Don't tell me you made it up!"

"She gave us homework the first day!"

"So did everyone else, small wonder this is so bad. I have brought actual, real sources for you to pull from in your new essay." You ripped the old one in half with a flourish. "And we'll never speak of this one again."

Draco huffed, "How is anyone supposed to come up with a foot of yammering about a shrub?" You shot him a dark look, your patience wearing thin. "Fine, fine. Where do I start?"

You handed him a tome entitled Carnivorous Flora - Reversal in the Food Chain and said, "Chapter three."

"Carnivorous?"

"Read," you commanded, pointing firmly at the book, "and we'll talk after you've got the broad strokes. I'm going to get some things set up for your snapdragons; Professor Sprout may be lenient and regrade that as well. They'll be on the O.W.L. anyway." You found the snapdragon; it wasn't difficult since the tips of its petals were still discolored from the acidic soil, and pulled down the limestone, as well as powdered moonstone, ground horsefly wings, and gargoyle blood. Draco was still skimming, so you took a moment to fill a watering can from the pump outside again, not willing to fail at that bloody water creation charm in front of him.

"Well?" you asked, setting the water down.

"This is absurd. These things eat people. There's a whole section about how to keep them from eating you."

You pointed at your bag, "In Travels with Trolls there's a fairly detailed account of an accidental encounter with one while Gilderoy Lockhart was searching for trolls in the caves of Sweden. There are pictures in that one there - Flesh-Eating Trees of the World - for reference."

"God, that's disgusting."

"Yep. Am I safe in assuming that you've written a passable essay before?"

Draco scowled. "Well, yeah, but where do I even start with this? I can't very well write a foot on how to survive a flesh eating bush attack for Herbology."

"Ok," you sat down next to him and pulled out some new parchment and a quill. "We can start with an outline, and you can do the writing on your own." You walked through the important sections - climate, soil quality, how best to care for the plant - and picked out various bits of helpful text.

You continued, "If you need more length after that, it's always nice to not why someone would want to cultivate a species. These produce seed pods that are rich in iron, used in various medicinal concoctions, see here?" you pointed to a page in the potions textbook for second years. "Otherwise, once you've covered the basics of having the thing in your garden, just find something about it that interests you and expand on it. That should get you to a foot of parchment, and at least an A."

You stood up and stretched a bit before moving onto the snapdragons.

They were whining in a weak, rather pathetic way. Draco watched with a creased brow as you explained how their petals acted as a pH test, and you could tell his soil was too acidic based on the green tinge around the petals' edges. You pointed to the things you'd pulled out and said, "The limestone is the gentlest way to raise the pH, but I think for you the moonstone should do fine. You want purple edges, if they turn blue you've gone too far - add some gargoyle blood. Works as well as leaf mold, but these things love blood."

He took a pinch of the powdered moonstone and sprinkled it close to the base of the stems. "How do you know so much about this?" The petals lost their sickly hue and softened into yellow.

"My mum runs a potions supply shop. We grow almost everything we've seen in class."

"And that's why you're in Herbology 5?"

"Yeah, Professor Sprout convinced Dumbledore to let me skip ahead a bit because I kept interrupting her in first year." Draco continued to sprinkle the moonstone on his firebreathing snapdragons, and their leaves finally turned the right shade of purple. "Stop! That's perfect. Now you want to annoy them until they start glowing red, then be ready to douse. I'll go get a bottle." He managed to rather cleanly bottle beautifully plum smoke right up to the brim, and despite your lingering distaste, you bloomed with just a little bit of pride at his success.

The sun had been climbing steadily during your activities, and by the time the bottle of smoke was tucked into Draco Malfoy's bag, along with the reference books you pulled for him, it was obviously noon by the way the rays beat down through the greenhouse's glass roof and the way your stomach rumbled with fervor. He thanked you rather brusquely, the conflict of Thursday apparently remembered, and strutted back off into the castle.

The next Herbology lesson rolled around, and while Draco refused to meet your eye during Professor Sprout's lecture on the screechsnap, on your way out the door you heard, "Y/N! Hang on!"

He had jogged out into the sprinkling rain, bag held above his head, and handed a roll of parchment to you. It was his rewritten essay, a hastily written "E" and smiley face at the top.

"She accepted the smoke too." Though good news, his expression remained rather stoic. You cocked an eyebrow. "I owe you one."

"Don't worry about it," you said before turning to walk away.

He followed you into the castle, "No, really, I owe you. I don't understand why else you'd offer-"

"Because I could. Is that not good enough?" You shook your robes off in front of a fireplace, eyebrows knit together. "And you desperately needed it. If you need any help with the screechsnaps let me know - they can be a bit nippy."

His mouth opened and closed a few times, a bit like a fish out of water. "You clearly don't like me though, no accounting for taste, but I don't-"

"I like you fine when you aren't being a git or ignoring me for no reason. Besides, this has nothing to do with-"

He got quieter, glancing around at the other students walking through the hall, "I just don't want anyone to know - just if my father found out I need help in Herbology, from a fourth year in Hufflepuff-"

"And what's that supposed to mean? Nevermind, I don't care. I have to get to Potions. Goodbye." You huffed away from him, fuming and damp, asking yourself repeatedly why me?

Though you had a sinking feeling that every conversation with Draco Malfoy would be a contentious one, Saturday morning after the third week of the academic year you were inhaling a muffin on your way to greenhouse 5. You weren’t sure if it was a good idea to continue tutoring, or if Draco would even show up, and your stomach was turning over at the thought of it. Yet, once you sat down at one of the benches, you saw that silver-blond hair glint harshly through the tinted glass and the knot in your gut loosened. He jerked open the door and paused.

You gestured at the bench across from you. “This time I wasn’t sure if you were showing up,” you joked weakly.

“Well, as you so deftly pointed out, I desperately need help.”

The morning was tense as you explained the homework - getting the screechsnaps to sing and harmonize - but by the end you thought you may have a way to lighten the mood. You just hoped you were right.

“So,” you began slowly, “you still owe me one?”

Draco’s eyebrows narrowed. “Yes.”

“I think I’ve thought of something. Do you know the water conjuration charm?”

He pulled his wand from his pocket unceremoniously, tapped the nearest empty pot and commanded, “Aguamenti.” The pot filled to the brim with perfectly clear, almost sparkling, water.

“I’m absolute pixie piss at Transfiguration, but I’ve had to use the hand-pump outside since forever, and I wondered if you could help me with it?”

“This is the favor you want from me,” he said, deadpan.

“Yeah,” you said, trying to sound casual. “That way no one owes anyone, and no one has to know.”

“And you’re ok with that all of a sudden?”

“Well I don’t love the idea, but it’s not like we need to be friends, right? This is just a mutually beneficial academic exchange.” He raised an eyebrow. “Sorry, I just can’t tell if you’re angry or not and I use big words when I’m nervous. But I can’t think of a reason why you would be angry, so I’m confused too. You gotta give me something here.”

He sat back on the bench and exhaled heavily. “No, I mean, I just thought, nevermind. Yeah, you’ve got a deal.”

“Great.” You shifted and looked at him expectantly, hoping he’d take the hint and teach you how to do the spell that’s been giving you grief since you read about it. McGonagall kept telling you it was “advanced” and you shouldn’t worry about it, but you’d show her.

Draco blinked a couple times. “What, now?”

“If you have the time, please.”

“Uh, alright.” He tossed the water from the pot onto the greenhouse’s floor and plunked it in front of you. “Let’s see what we’re working with.”

You took a deep breath, pulled out you wand, and cleared your throat, then said, “Aguamenti.” There was a long pause while nothing came out of your wand. You knit your eyebrows together and tried again. “Aguamenti.” There was another long pause and heat crept swiftly into your cheeks. You shrugged and looked at Draco as if to say, “See?”

“Don’t be offended by this, but have you ever transfigured anything?”

“How could I possibly be offended by that,” you said in disbelief. The absolute audacity. Though you hated to admit it, there was some truth there as you thought back to last year and your inability to ever correctly transform a teapot into a tortoise. “Like I said. Pixie piss.”

“Maybe we should start with something simpler. What was the last thing you did that seemed easy?”

You grimaced. “The match to needle spell in first year.” He snorted rather derisively, his cold grey eyes rolling in his stupid head. You crossed your arms, indignation rising hot in your gut. You blurted out defensively, “At least I’m not just a lazy, entitled muppet-”

“Now, see here-”

“No! Why is my inadequacy any funnier than yours?” He stood up, still gripping his want tightly, eyes angry and flitting to and from the door. You held your hands up in surrender, “Look, I’m sorry. But this is never going to work if we take turns insulting each other’s intelligence - it’s just school, so it’s normal to need help, right? Though I stand by lazy, I think that’s accurate.”

He sat back down in a huff. “How so?”

“You could’ve passed the essay if you’d done any research to begin with - it’s clear you aren’t stupid, but asking Professor Sprout to curve your grade because of whoever your parents are instead of just doing the work is my definition of lazy.” He mumbled something under his breath. “What?”

He grumbled, “I sort of see your point.”

You grinned cheekily, “What?”

“You heard me.”

“I did. Now, are you going to teach me how to conjure water or not?”

He rolled up his sleeves and cited the transformation formula - bodyweight, viciousness, wand power, concentration, and a fifth unknown variable - before gesturing to his own wand. “Hawthorn, unicorn hair. Sufficient wand power. What’s yours?”

“Oh, uh, chestnut, unicorn hair.”

He nodded, “Bodyweight and viciousness has nothing to do with you, so it must be the concentration component.”

You huffed, “Well that’s not helpful.”

“Would you just relax?”

“Sorry,” you grumbled.

“Transfiguration almost always works for me,” you rolled your eyes, “because, my theory anyway, I almost always believe it will. And I stay focused. So, instead of concentration, try confidence and focus.”

You squinted doubtfully; how could you possibly convince yourself that the spell which hadn’t worked would suddenly? Though, you had to admit it made some amount of sense. And Draco seemed to have some idea what he was talking about. The spell worked for him after all. A transfiguration spell. Wasn’t it just transfiguring air into water? Steam found its way and dissipated into the air all the time. Surely the things were related.

“Ok,” you said to yourself, “I’m ready.” You squared your shoulders and readjusted the grip on your wand. Draco nodded once, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. “Aguamenti.” You couldn’t believe your eyes. A healthy stream fell from the tip of your wand into the bucket. But then you looked up, excited, and it sputtered out.

Draco smiled smugly, “You lost focus. But better.” He stood up. “I think this will work. But if we can avoid it I’d rather not meet here every Saturday. I’ll find somewhere more secluded; I don’t want to have to explain what I’m doing in the greenhouses to every Hufflepuff pruning some vegetable.”

At first you were prepared to protest, but looking around, there were only going to be more people here on weekends as the term advanced - especially O.W.L. students. “Ok, some days we will need to be here, though. The conceptual lessons only go so far; Herbology is very hands-on. And I can’t imagine where would be a secluded place at Hogwarts on a Saturday that won’t be overrun with couples.” He waved a hand, “I’ll take care of it, don’t worry.”

“Alright, let me know when you’ve figured it out then.” You stood up to gather your things.

Draco, at the door, turned around and asked, “By the way, I never asked - did you make the team?”

“What? Oh, Quidditch. No, I’m a substitute though.”

“Ah, too bad. You’re a decent flier.” He left you standing dumbfounded in the greenhouse, uncomfortable and flighty heat flooding your cheeks.

The next Saturday Draco found you leaving the great hall after breakfast. He had been lurking behind the beveled arch of a window, and you yelped when he materialized from the shadow. He shushed you and pulled you around under the arch with him.

“Are you insane?” you whispered, poking your head out, wondering if Yvette had seen. It looked like her early morning Quidditch practices were doing you a favor - she seemed totally unawares as she slumped away back to the common room.

“I’ve found a place,” in addition to his usual school bag, he was carrying two boxes - one wrapped like a package, the other with holes poked in the top - he continued more quietly, “Meet me on the Quidditch pitch, at the base of the Professors’ stand, in fifteen minutes.”

Before you could ask any questions, he hopped through the open window and strolled out onto the grounds. Despite your confusion, you did arrive on the Quidditch pitch and found his head poking out from under the checkered cloth covering the stands.

He waved at you hurriedly, “C’mon! Under here!”

You followed him under, asking, “Here? What if we get caught? We’ll get in so much trouble.”

“Nah,” he said, brushing off his trousers and pointing to the pin on his lapel, “We won’t - I am a prefect, after all.”

Under the stand, a fairly large if short space, very little light filtered through the cover and the bare ground was patchy and hard, not to mention freezing. The first rafter nearly brushed the top of Draco’s head. “Oh, ok…” you said, rubbing your arms and trying not to shiver.

Draco smirked and picked up the box wrapped like a package. “My mum sent this to me this morning.” Inside was a perfectly round stone, which he set on the ground in one of the corners. “This should do the trick. Lapis Ignis.” A faint light grew from within the stone, and the air was warmer immediately - the light became a tiny, crackling fire trapped behind a thin layer of the stone. “It’s a portable fireplace. I told her I’d been getting cold at night. Our common room’s under the lake, so.”

The tenseness in your shoulders relaxed with the warmth. You set down your bag on the ground thoughtfully. “This could work. Next time I may bring a picnic blanket though.”

“I was getting to that. I did say I’d take care of it, didn’t I?�� He pulled a large green and black checkered quilt from his bag that looked far too nice to be putting on the ground, and tossed it into the air. You tilted your head to your right shoulder sharply. Draco didn’t miss a beat. He whipped out his wand and muttered something, and before the quilt started to fall it opened in ripples and settled itself neatly on the ground.

The borders on the quilt were all embroidered with little silver snakes.

“You really bleed Slytherin, don’t you?”

“It is the best house.”

You laughed, until you realized he was not at all joking. “Well, everyone thinks their house is the best house, don’t they?”

“They might think that. But, really, there’s no contest.”

Well, you disagreed there pretty strongly, but given he’d turned his attention to whatever else he brought with him, you decided there was no use in arguing. You rolled your eyes, “Anyway, do I wanna know what’s in that box?” You pointed to the one with holes poked into the lid.

“Right, this is for Transfiguration. I borrowed it from McGonagall this morning.” He opened the box and coaxed the thing inside out onto the blanket.

It was a hedgehog.

“Don’t worry, I’ll return it when we’re done here.” It’s cute little nose was working overtime, snuffling around on the quilt.

You knelt on the edge of the quilt across from him, careful to keep your shoes off of it. “Poor thing looks nervous. You didn’t bring any treats, did you?”

“Why would I have brought treats? We’re gonna turn it into a pin cushion, not invite it over for tea.”

“No need to get snippy,” you said, trying to rub a bit of your scent onto the quilt. Draco watched dubiously. Softly, to the hedgehog, you said, “No, no need to get snippy. You’re a cute tiny thing, aren’t you? Yes, of course.”

Draco cleared his throat.

“Right, sorry. We’ll start with Transfiguration, then?”

An hour later, you had succeeded in turning the hedgehog’s quills into pins, matches, and threads, but the hedgehog remained a hedgehog and never a pincushion. Draco’s brow had knit together furiously and he tried with growing fervor to explain the spell to no avail. Finally, he sat back on his heels and sighed, head thrown back.

“Well,” he said before a long pause, “it’s an improvement at least. Shall we move on to Herbology?”

“Oh thank heavens.” Your spine relaxed as you waved your wand and the hedgehog’s pins turned back into quills. “Professor Sprout tells me we’ll be getting to fanged geraniums soon; they’re not complicated but forgetting a step can get you bitten and that will scar no matter what Madam Pomfrey puts on it.”

Another hour passed, and you had taken off your shoes to sit cross-legged on the quilt, open book in your lap and happily napping hedgehog under a fold of your cloak. Draco had begun tapping his wand against his knee in frustration. “Remember,” you said, “they’re sentient beings. They really don’t want you to take their fangs - you have to reason with them.”

“How?” he said hotly, “How do I ‘reason’ with it?”

You shrugged. “A trade typically works. I’ve got one at home who likes acorns to decorate its pot. Or you could convince it that you need the fangs more than it does, like in Wandering with Werewolves.”

“This is absurd. I feel silly.”

You smirked, sensing a foothold. “And you’re going to let that stop you? I thought you wanted to be a… something?”

“I thought it could be fun to be a curse-breaker. For Gringotts.”

“Ah, and when you’re breaking curses all over the world, and you miss a trap because your tie gets crumpled and you need to make a blood-replenishing potion or you’ll bleed out, are you going to hesitate asking for a trade from the nearest fanged geranium? Or will you feel too silly?”

He paused. “You’re kind of an ass, you know?”

“Says the kettle. What do you do?”

But Draco never had the chance to answer, as the curtain began to lift. You shared a panicked look for a moment. A large eagle-owl came tramping into the space, feathers ruffled, carrying a letter on its leg. Draco held out his arm for the bird, “Here, Montague.” Montague settled himself on Draco’s shoulder and began preening, clearly affronted, and Draco plucked the letter from his leg. The parchment was gilded on the edge and sealed with inky black wax. His brow furrowed as he read. “I have to go,” he said, looking up quickly, “Now. I’m sorry.”

“That’s ok,” you picked up the hedgehog to return him to his box. “I can return him to McGonagall for you, if it’s urgent.”

He nodded, “Same place next week?” He tapped the stone and the light went out, the chill creeping back into your bones at once. You stood up and helped him fold the quilt before he stuffed it back into his bag along with the stone.

You sat back down next to the hedgehog’s box to pull on your shoes. “Sure. But don’t think we’ve moved on from fanged geraniums.”

He laughed shallowly, silver hair falling limply on his forehead.

“C’mon Montague.” He lifted the curtain and stooped to climb out, then looked back rather regretfully. “Sorry, thanks, uh… bye.”

“Bye,” you said to the closed curtain. “Lumos,” you whispered, and your wand lit up so you could tie your shoes. That was strange, wasn’t it? You brushed some dirt off your jeans as you stood and picked up the hedgehog.

The week following crawled on agonizingly slowly, and, to make matters worse, the stairs seemed particularly driven to keep you from any and all destinations. It had put you in a rather sour mood. So sour, in fact, that when Professor Umbridge made an unexpected appearance in Arithmancy, and proceeded to interrupt Professor Vector every two minutes to ask her to repeat herself in “more general language,” after class you couldn’t help but complain about it the second she was out of earshot.

“It’s like she has no understanding of the subjects she’s evaluating,” you moaned to Luna, the both of you on your way to Charms. “She doesn’t even have a grasp on her own subject, I’d bet any number of galleons on it.”

She nodded thoughtfully, “It does seem that way. But I don’t think Fudge cares much about her being a competent teacher.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well she’s clearly meant to be a competent spy.”

“Hey - Luna. Oh, hi Y/N,” Ginny came hopping up from behind, swinging an arm through each of yours. “Where’re you off to?”

“Charms,” you grumbled.

Luna’s eyes sparked with her sly smile. “Professor Umbridge sat in on Arithmancy. We’ve been discussing-”

“We’ve been complaining, Luna, tell it how it is.”

“Well it’s funny you mention her,” Ginny started, lowering her tone as other students passed. “How do you feel about the current quality of your education?”

Luna replied, “Not good.”

You said, “Pixie piss.”

“And how would you feel about learning from a more practiced source?”

You cocked an eyebrow, “Who?”

“Harry Potter.”

You let out a laugh, “Excuse me?”

Luna thought for a moment, her eyes glazing over, then said, “He should be a font of experience, theoretically. To survive He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named not once, but twice is quite a qualification.”

You felt Ginny’s gaze before you met it, her eyes searching and only a touch wary. You sighed, “Well I don’t know what happened last year but I don’t think he’s a murderer, or crazy. So I guess I believe him. What’s this about?”

Ginny, apparently satisfied, leaned in closer. “We’re having a meeting. This Saturday at the Hog’s Head in Hogsmeade. At noon. Just to talk things over.” She shrugged. “But you didn’t hear it from me.”

~~~ Taglist ~~~

@yeolsbubbles

@ronslovergirl

@snickersmee

[triumphantfury]

Hi!!! Just dropping by because I was missing your fics so I reread them and now I have to tell you how much I love you. I love you a lot, by the way. Like literally every time I read a chapter of yours I love you more because GAH the writing is so damn good. Ahem anyways thank you so much for the update on Wrapped in Red and I still have to fan myself every time I look at Upside, but I've been thinking the most about "To Suffer a Witch." I don't mean to put any pressure on you or anything but may I inquire on the next chapter's status? Or perhaps just request a snippet? Also when you asked the readers whether or not they'd like an eventual lemon I'd like to vote yes to the lemon. Please. Possibly-Demon Hiccup is hot as hell and I'm greedy. 😅

Thank you so much for sharing your wonderful writing with us and I hope you have a wonderful day, week, and at least a virtual cabin in the woods where you can relax, read, and at least think on writing!

Oh boy….

It’s taken me forever to get around to answering this ask, but as the new chapter update is almost complete (after way, WAY too many rewrites), I feel like I can finally post this reply with some measure of confidence. Sorry it’s taken so long. I wish I had a good excuse, but my brain sometimes just shuts me out.

Anyway, after much anticipation, and likely a little cursing, here’s an excerpt from the soon to be posted next chapter of TSaW:

*The next couple days seemed to drag by for Astrid. She felt trapped between a longing to see Hiccup again just to prove she wasn’t mad, and a strong urge to just write it all off as a delusion. Perhaps one brought on by some bad grain or curdled milk. Countless times she’d been sure she heard hoofbeats outside, only to have them grow into a roll of thunder the next second. Or she’d catch a glimpse of a dark shadow approaching on the road, only to have it melt from her sight a moment later as if swept away by the driving rain.

Some small part of her was starting to worry she was actually going mad. Her mood darkening as she channeled her other feelings into straight anger so as to help herself deal with it better. It wasn’t as if she could really speak of it to anyone, anyway. She was still too confused about it herself.

Resigned to bear this burden alone, Astrid had kept to herself as much as possible while trapped inside. Waiting impatiently for a break in the weather when she could distract herself with repairs outside instead. The Lord knows there was always plenty of work to keep her busy. That, and manual labour was better than wasting time dwelling on… Whatever it was that had occurred here the other night.

Fortunately - or maybe unfortunately - she’d soon discovered that the storm hadn’t done anywhere near as much damage as she’d expected given its ferocity. The house, shed, and barn had all weathered fair enough at least. An old tree had toppled near the back of the pasture though. She’d gone out to repair the section of broken fencing yesterday. Her brothers helping her as much as she would allow them to - which mostly meant keeping the opportunistic goats from escaping through the hole while she worked.

It had been while she was winding the last of the rope around the newly set post that Ruffnut had approached her from across the field. Somehow always keyed in to the local to-dos, Tuffnut had heard from one of their other neighbours that some people had started to fall ill in town. The worst of which was little Argh — Mr. and Mrs. Ack’s youngest son, who was not yet a full year into this world.

“Gunnar thinks it’s because of those witches that Trader Johan was talking about the other day,” Ruff stage-whispered over the fence. Her thumb gesturing towards the home on the far side of Mildew’s plot as she glanced around, as if to make sure no one else was within earshot.

“I’d be rather foolish to agree,” Astrid huffed. “It’s likely just been brought on by the rain. We all know that a chill in the air today sets a chill in the bones tomorrow.” Looking away from her gossipy neighbour, she dressed the knot as her father had taught her before pulling it good and tight. Then she stood and gave her work a proud once over. Nodding, as if to show her approval to the craftsman.

“Maybe…” Ruffnut’s hesitant reply trailed off thoughtfully, and she was chewing on her lip when Astrid at last looked her way again. It was almost as if she had something she wanted to say, but wasn’t sure if she should speak it aloud.

“Go on,” Astrid grumbled. “Whatever it is, spit it out.”

“Well, Gunnar told Tuff that Trader Johan said the evil, or what ever it is, would arrive first in the form of a black shadow on horse back…”

“Trader Johan has always enjoyed adding plenty of dramatic nonsense about ghosties, ghoulies, and other such things to his tales,” Astrid felt the need to point out. “He seems to think it makes the stories more exciting.”

“I know,” Ruff agreed. “Thing is, Tuffnut swears he saw a stranger dressed in all black when he was out in the woods yesterday. A stranger riding atop a huge black horse. When he tried to get a better look, man and horse were already gone. Maybe the horse was just really fast, but… Tuff said it gave him the creeps.” Her eyes were shifting all around again as she leaned closer over the fence, and she looked unexpectedly nervous.

“Oh, that was probably just…” Astrid’s words died on the way to her mouth as she thought better of it.

Astrid knew how Tuff felt. The unease of not being sure exactly what you had just born witness too. This did not mean that she should necessarily encourage him to repeat his tale. Especially when she didn’t yet know what to think of the whole thing.

Would it truly be wise to mention it to someone else? The twins had never been known for their discretion, and Astrid’s words would simply confirm Tuff’s suspicions — which he would then feel required to share with every person he came across. At best, it could cause a slight scandal that a young man had spent the night in their home. At worst, the superstitious townsfolk may think the Hofferson clan had entertained something entirely inhuman, instead.

No, it was best to keep what she knew of Hiccup Haddock to herself for now. Surely the others would learn of him soon enough. “Just… because Tuff was busy snacking on unknown mushrooms in the forest again.” Astrid finished awkwardly. Covering her near slip-up with an eye roll, just to be safe, and hoping Ruffnut wouldn’t notice.*

If anyone wants to read it, here’s a link to the rest of the story. Or at least the beginning…lol