#Chapter Drop

[geothewriter]

Vermillion Seas Cardinal Skies: Chapter 33 - Sunrise

The calm of victory is a fleeting, tenuous thing. After a terribly hard-fought battle, Zuko and Katara are recovering from their injuries. Aang is recovering from a world that is fending for itself, and the rest of team Avatar is anxious for them to be fully healed. Recovery is not always as simple as it may seem.

--

This is it, y’all. The penultimate chapter. 

Before I say anything else, I just need to say thank you to achillmango for her editing on this one. She made time in her busy schedule to help me make sure this chapter was in tip-top shape. So thank you, thank you, thank you, as always.

As for this chapter, we’re on the cusp of the endgame now. The titles of these chapters are no coincidence - for the previous few chapters - the night, the darkness, the dawn - and now Sunrise - they all pretty well show the vibe of things. 

Without any additional delay, please enjoy chapter 33 - Sunrise.

The morning sky glows with warm orange clouds, mingling amid the cool purple backdrop of the heavens. As he looks out to sea, the remnant reflections cast by Sozin’s Comet still linger on the mountainous ocean-bound clouds. By Shyu’s orders, Aang is to rest and spend at least a few days away from stressful activities and “be a kid.”  To recuperate. It’s the third day now, and he’s anxiously awaiting the arrival of a group of Northern Water Tribe healers. In the middle of the first night, they had received a message via fire hawk that the North was sending aid in case of serious injuries. They should be there soon. It’s a good thing, too. There were injuries. He wishes he could heal, but– Roku’s soothing tones fill his mind. “It is not your fault that they were hurt, Aang.” “No, it’s just. I think it would be good if I could learn.” Kuruk responds, “Then we will learn whether we can.” Yangchen adds, “It is a wise direction to pursue.” “And we will master it together.” Kyoshi finishes. The voices fall silent just as they rise. His reflections over the past seventy-two hours have led him to realize that his inner voice matches his dominant emotions. When he is calm, so are they. When he is frantic, they too overthink. They are him after all.  Today, the calm, quiet solitude enriches his surroundings as the morning light bathes his skin. He takes a breath, and for once, it washes over him without an underlying panic. For the first time, since waking up in the iceberg less than a year ago, he feels his true age. His eyes are tired as he scans the horizon. Then, just as quickly, a question forms in his mind that makes him feel young again. “Did we know Agni was an actual spirit dragon?” “We did not.” The chorus responds. He hums in contemplation and rises from his seat. He almost wants to know more about Agni, but all the same, he’s pretty sure he never wants to encounter the spirit again. He was incredible, beautiful, and terrifying all in one dragon-shaped being. No, he’d rather not entertain the idea of meeting the dragon again.  After making his way through the room in the far corner of the Royal Living Wing of the palace, Aang steps through the doors to an empty hallway. Sleeping here without a nightmare, without fear of retribution; it’s strange to him. Regardless of all the horrible thoughts he’s had involving the Fire Nation palace, well, just being here feels so incredibly anticlimactic. It’s somehow brighter in the physical hallways than the ones he’d spent nights frantically sprinting through in his dreams.  Turning to his right, he continues down the hall to take his shift guarding an unremarkable room made into both a prison and healing chamber. Sokka is probably going to be unhappy that he’s ‘taking away from his Suki time,’ but he can deal with it. Aang needed those few extra minutes in the morning light.  The unmarked door is imposing in its own right. Large, heavy, wooden, and inelegant, it holds a secret that only he, his friends, and the Fire Sages know. When he pushes it open, the brighter ambient light from the hall streams in, revealing Sokka’s glaring face. His friend strides past him, pats him on the shoulder, wishes him good luck, and closes the door behind him.  Aang isn’t sure who the room belonged to in the past, but everything is so plain that he’s certain it couldn’t be a high-ranking noble. He pulls open the curtains opposite the bed, allowing some of the morning light to enter the chamber, then takes his seat next to the bed.  “When I was growing up back at the Southern Air Temple…” He softly begins weaving his words.

Continue Reading on AO3.

[dapooh]

✨ Fic Update ✨ 📖 Chapter 5: The Vow of Protection

Threaded in Vows (Gojo x Utahime | Arranged Marriage AU)

“If my name is not enough to make them back down… then I’ll give them something they can’t stain.” “I’ll give her mine.”

Gojo doesn’t come to win. He comes to carry — her dignity, her future, her name. And Utahime? She walks through a festival of prayers toward a life she chose — not out of duty, but because she’s ready to stop belonging to everyone else.

Read: 🔗

[danganronpa96]

Chapter 6 Daily Life, come out, come out, wherever you are...

https://archiveofourown.org/works/36595735/chapters/162184225

[theboywhoarrive10minsearlier]

A Choice Made Twice

The Slytherin common room was still buzzing with laughter from Draco’s smut comment when the atmosphere suddenly shifted.

The fire dimmed slightly. The air grew heavier. And then—Snape entered. Conversation died instantly. The man had a presence that commanded silence. Even the older students straightened when he stepped into the room. But Hermione’s eyes locked onto something else entirely. The Sorting Hat. Tucked under Snape’s arm, its worn, tattered fabric barely moving, as if it knew what was coming. She swallowed.

"Granger." Snape’s voice was smooth, unreadable. "Follow me."

Draco and Harry exchanged a glance, but Hermione stood, feeling like her entire future hung on the next few minutes. Snape’s office was silent when she entered. He placed the hat onto his desk and motioned for her to sit. She did. Her hands curled into fists on her lap, heart pounding.

"As you are aware," Snape said slowly, "you were a Hatstall. Your placement was uncertain. You had equal traits of Gryffindor and Slytherin. And due to that…*" His dark eyes flickered to the hat, "you have the right to be re-sorted. But if you choose this… it will be official. There will be no further changes."

Hermione stared at the hat. A few weeks ago, she would have been overjoyed at this chance. But now? Now, she knew what waiting for her in Gryffindor—Isolation. Judgment. Loneliness.

She thought about her first week here. How no one in her own house had reached out. And then she thought about tonight. The laughter. The teasing. The effortless collaboration. How Draco had immediately called for help when she struggled. How Harry had effortlessly helped her in return. How, for the first time in her life...she wasn’t alone. She swallowed hard. Snape raised an eyebrow.

"If you accept, the hat will reevaluate you. If you decline, you will remain in Gryffindor."

Hermione hesitated. And then, in a steady voice, she answered.

"Put the hat on."

Snape’s expression remained blank, but something about his gaze… shifted.

Approval.

He carefully placed the hat onto her head. And the moment it settled, she heard the voice.

"Ah… interesting," the Sorting Hat murmured in her mind. "So much has changed… and yet… I see it now."

Hermione clenched her fists. "I—"

"You thought you would be safe in Gryffindor," the hat mused. "You thought it was the right place. The noble place. But you did not find a pride there, did you?"

Hermione’s throat tightened.

"No," she admitted.

"But here?" the hat continued. "Here, you learned what it means to grow together. To use strategy. To ask for help without shame. You have thrived. And now… "There was a pause. And then—

"I could not move you if I tried."

Hermione’s breath hitched.

"You have tasted Slytherin. And you do not want to leave."

She swallowed hard. "No. I don’t."

The hat chuckled. "Then why hesitate, Little Lioness?"

She exhaled sharply. "Because…"

Because of what people would say. Because of what Ron would think. Because of expectations. But then she thought of Draco’s smirk. Harry’s laugh. The hours they had spent pushing each other forward. And all of that fear? It vanished.

"Do it," she whispered.

The hat shifted.

"Then it is settled."

"SLYTHERIN!"

Snape removed the hat. His face remained unreadable.

But Hermione… Hermione felt it. The shift. The change. This was no longer temporary. She was one of them now.For real. Snape simply nodded.

"Return to your common room, Granger. You will receive your new house crest in the morning."

Hermione stood. Her heart was still pounding, but it wasn’t from fear anymore. It was from relief. From certainty. From the absolute knowledge that she had made the right choice. She turned to leave, stepping toward the door—But then—Snape spoke.

"Oh, and Granger?"

She turned. Snape’s dark eyes locked onto hers, something knowing in his gaze.

"Well done."

A shiver ran down her spine. And with that, she left. And she never looked back. Hermione’s heart was still hammering as she stepped out of Snape’s office. The common room was waiting. Her common room. The words echoed in her mind. Slytherin. Officially. No going back. She should have felt terrified. She should have been second-guessing herself. But she wasn’t. She felt… right.

As she turned down the hall, she glanced back—just once—through the crack of the office door before it shut behind her. And for the briefest moment— She could have sworn she saw it.

A smile.

Barely there. Faint. The ghost of an expression that should not exist on Severus Snape’s face. Gone in an instant. She almost thought she imagined it. Almost. Hermione stepped through the entrance of the Slytherin common room, still processing the weight of her choice. And froze. Because they already knew. The space was alive with movement—students weaving between each other, older years hanging banners, house-elves setting down trays of food, younger students running excitedly to join the preparations.

A celebration. A welcome.

Draco, lounging effortlessly near the fireplace, smirked as she stood there, stunned. "Ah, look who finally decided to make it official."

Before she could even think to respond, a fourth-year prefect appeared, nodding in approval. "Took you long enough, Granger. We would’ve just thrown you into the dorms anyway, but, well—formalities."

Hermione blinked. "You—wait, what?"

A girl adjusting a Slytherin banner near the bookshelves grinned. "Come on, Granger. Did you really think we’d be surprised? Snape had the prefects spying on his office door the second he walked in with the hat."

Hermione’s mouth opened—then shut.

Of course, he did. A second-year looked up from a tray of enchanted candles. "We just needed an excuse to party again," he explained, very seriously. "And since you missed the Sorting Feast, this works out perfectly."*

A group of older students nodded in agreement.

"Tradition," one of them added smoothly. "Every new Slytherin gets welcomed properly. We celebrate our own."*

The weight of those words hit her. Not just accepted. Celebrated. No whispers. No judgment. No cold stares wondering why she was here. This was hers now. Draco stood, stepping beside her, arms crossed as he took in the preparations with smug satisfaction.

"Well, Little Lioness? Feeling at home yet?"

Hermione exhaled. And for the first time since arriving at Hogwarts—She really, truly was. The celebration had been overwhelming in the best way possible. For the first time in forever, Hermione had been surrounded by people who wanted her there. Not because they needed answers, not because they saw her as a walking textbook, but because she was one of them.

And yet— Lying in bed that night, staring at the dark green canopy above her, a sickening realization crept in. How much time had she wasted? She barely spoke to anyone before. Not because she hadn’t wanted to—but because she hadn’t had time. All her time had been spent with Ron. Because he had been assigned as her tutor. Except… She had been the one doing the tutoring. Her stomach twisted as memories flooded back.

How Ron had struggled through every assignment, refusing to listen to her advice, brushing off her corrections, mocking her when she tried to help. How every study session had felt like a nightmare—her guiding, him ignoring, and her stressing over both their grades.

She had never questioned it. Because that was just how it was. But now?

Now, in one night, she had seen what real tutoring looked like. She had watched a third-year Slytherin prodigy teach her more in fifteen minutes than she had learned in weeks of struggling alone. Now, her assignments were done in an hour.Now, she had free time.

And Ron?

He had stolen that from her. Her jaw clenched. It wasn’t just that he had been her tutor in name only—it was that she had never even questioned it. Never questioned why she had been assigned to someone who wasn't equipped to teach. Never questioned why her academic life had felt like a fight against gravity when it clearly didn’t have to. Never questioned that she could have had a choice.

Her stomach churned with a mixture of anger and something close to betrayal. She had worked twice as hard as she should have—because no one had ever told her she didn’t have to. The next morning, Snape was waiting. Hermione had barely stepped into the common room when everything stopped. Snape’s presence did that.

Conversations halted. Backs straightened. Even the most confident Slytherins fell into silent respect as he gestured smoothly.

"Walk with me, Miss Granger."

Hermione hurried after him, still adjusting to being noticed by him at all—but the real shock came once they were alone in his office.

"As you have officially changed houses," Snape began, his voice smooth and clipped, "your tutoring arrangement has been reassigned. Malfoy is prepared to take over your education. However—" He studied her, dark eyes unreadable. "If you prefer, another student may be chosen."

Hermione blinked.

Wait.

She could… choose?

Snape arched an eyebrow.

"Yes, Granger. You can pick who educates you. It is, after all, in your best interest to be paired with someone you have affinity with, as most of your coursework—and your additional studies—will involve them."

Hermione’s brain stalled. "Affinity?"

Snape exhaled slowly, clearly weighing something.

"You are aware, I assume," he said, voice deceptively neutral, "that being Muggle-born is the reason you were assigned a tutor at all?"

Hermione frowned.

"Because I didn’t grow up with magic."

"Correct," Snape confirmed. "As Potter was Muggle-raised, he too should have been assigned one. However—" His expression darkened slightly.

"It appears that, due to his last name, the administration failed to process it."

Hermione’s breath hitched.

They had assumed Potter didn’t need one—because of his family name. Because Potter was a pureblood house. Because, on paper, he should have had everything taught to him from birth. But he hadn’t. Just like her. And nobody noticed. Nobody checked.

Her fingers clenched.

"So you’re saying Potter was just… forgotten?"

Snape’s gaze hardened.

"I am saying the Ministry has a history of overlooking things when it comes to Potter."

Hermione's mind reeled. And Weasley had been assigned as her tutor? A tutor who hadn’t taught her anything she actually needed? Had anyone ever checked the quality of these tutor pairings? Or had she just been assigned the first available student with zero oversight?

Snape—ever perceptive—seemed to recognize the moment she put the pieces together.

"I assume Weasley did not include any of this in his mentorship?"

Her fury was instant. Her entire education up until now had been set up for failure. Not just in academics—in everything. How to manage wizarding money? Never discussed.

How to navigate wizarding politics? Not even mentioned.

How to use wizarding etiquette, alliances, or even basic legacy knowledge? Nothing. But Ron had been taught. And nobody thought to tell her she should be too.

Snape’s silence screamed:

"What the hell did Weasley actually teach you?"

Hermione’s stomach turned. Because this? This was why Slytherins succeeded.

They weren’t just getting top grades—they were being taught how to wield them. And she had been denied that. On purpose.

Her nails dug into her palms.

"Granger."

She looked up, pulse hammering.

Snape’s voice was calm. Steady.

"You have a choice. Malfoy has volunteered. But if you would rather another—"

Hermione shook her head immediately. "No."

Snape blinked. "No?"

She straightened her spine. "I want Draco."*

Snape studied her for a long moment.

Then—ever so slightly—he nodded.

"Very well."

And for the second time in twenty-four hours, Hermione chose Slytherin. A sharp knock echoed against the heavy oak of Snape’s office door.

Draco stepped in smoothly, looking perfectly composed—as always. "You wanted to see me, Professor?"

Snape gestured for him to enter, his gaze flicking to Hermione. "Yes. Granger has accepted you as her tutor."*

Draco’s smirk twitched wider. "Smart choice, Granger."

Snape, however, was less amused. "I would hope, for your sake, that you have neglected your responsibilities with Potter…" His dark eyes narrowed slightly. "Even though I know you take your duties seriously. It shows."*

Draco inclined his head in acknowledgment, but the implication wasn’t lost on either of them. He might have a lot of reviewing to do.

Hermione crossed her arms.

"I’m not that behind, Malfoy. I—"

"You were tutored by Weasley," Snape cut in smoothly, his voice almost bored. "You are behind."*

Hermione gritted her teeth but didn’t argue. Because, honestly? Snape wasn’t wrong. Draco exhaled, shaking his head.

"Alright, fine. At worst, I’ll just invite her on a field trip for Yule. Nothing like real-life experiences."

Snape’s expression remained carefully neutral, but Hermione swore she saw a flicker of approval. Experiential learning. That was the Slytherin way. for the first time in her academic life—she had a tutor who actually knew how to teach.

To Snape’s credit, his warning had been far from the truth. Yes, Hermione was missing key wizarding knowledge.

Yes, she had a lot to catch up on. But Draco quickly realized that she wasn’t nearly as behind as expected. And it wasn’t because of Weasley. It was because of Potter. Harry, sitting beside her at their usual study table, was effortlessly filling in the gaps.

They had even given it a name.

"Muggle Translation," Harry explained with a grin. "Basically, I take whatever Draco’s saying and convert it into something Hermione and I understand."

Draco rolled his eyes. "It is not that complicated—"

"You literally called a shopping trip a ‘societal engagement for resource allocation and brand negotiation.’"

"Because that’s what it is, Potter!" Draco gestured dramatically.

Hermione snorted.

Harry just grinned. "See? Muggle Translation."

Things were going fine—until Harry asked the right question.

"Hey, Hermione—when were you assigned your tutor, anyway?"

Hermione blinked. "Oh. The Weasleys brought my letter to me. It was the first time I even knew magic existed."

Draco froze mid-page turn. Silence. Hermione and Harry exchanged looks. Draco’s face was… doing something weird. His breath hitched. His eyes twitched. His hands trembled slightly—Then—

"FIVE. MONTHS."

Hermione startled. "What?"

Draco shot up from his chair, absolutely scandalized, and shouted at no one in particular:

"FIVE. MONTHS."

Harry sighed. "Oh, here we go…"

Draco wheeled around, positively vibrating with disbelief.

"You have been in Hogwarts for FIVE MONTHS—and you were BARELY less clueless than Potter on the train?!"

Hermione frowned.

"I mean—"

"FIVE MONTHS, GRANGER!" Draco repeated, throwing his hands up dramatically.

"A WHOLE TERM. A FULL SEMESTER. AND YOU KNEW NOTHING?!"

"I wouldn’t say nothing—"

"This is an unmitigated disaster." Draco turned away, pacing.

"A father will hear of this. This is beyond incompetence. This is a crime against education. This is a lawsuit."

"Draco," Hermione sighed. "It’s—"

"NO. DO NOT ‘DRACO’ ME. FIVE MONTHS, GRANGER."

Hermione pinched her nose. "Harry, help."

The Calming Distraction: Letters

Harry cleared his throat, leaning back in his chair.

"Speaking of absurd Ministry failures—" he glanced at Draco, "—you remember those letters I told you about?"

Draco—still pacing, still ranting under his breath—huffed.

"What about them, Potter?"

Harry tilted his head.

"I had hundreds."

Draco stopped. Stared.

"Hundreds?"

Harry nodded.

"A lot of them. They started small, but eventually, my uncle locked down the house. Boarded up the letterbox. Covered the fireplace. They kept coming, though. More and more."

Draco’s eye twitched.

"How long?"

"Two months. Before they finally sent someone to collect me."

Draco blinked then,

"WHERE ARE YOU GOING?"

Draco whirled toward his desk, snatching parchment with the fury of a man possessed.

"Writing. An. Owl."

Hermione sighed.

"Here we go again…"

"This—this is beyond an oversight—this is neglect of duty, Potter! A LEGAL FAILURE! FATHER WILL—NO, MULTIPLE FATHERS WILL HEAR OF THIS!"

"Just one father," Harry corrected. "You only have one."

"WELL HE’S GOING TO HEAR ENOUGH FOR TEN!"

Twenty Minutes Later

Draco’s owl took off into the night, carrying a scathing letter to Lucius Malfoy that could probably be classified as a formal legal complaint.

Draco sat back, arms crossed, looking far too pleased. Harry and Hermione exchanged glances. Hermione sighed heavily, massaging her temples.

"Should we be concerned?"

Harry shrugged.

"Depends. Draco, how bad was it?"

Draco smirked.

"Potter. My father is going to have questions. Very unpleasant questions. Directed at very important people."

Harry grinned.

"Oh, excellent. Let’s hope someone loses their job."

Draco’s smirk widened.

"At the least."

[xamor]

Chapter 21 drop ♡ for DnG

Finally! Haha. I categorize this newest update as a transition point for the story. I hope you all enjoy the read. (:

Warnings: DDDE, Incest/Clonecest, traumatic scenes, SA. You are warned.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56131390/chapters/167792800

[delicateartisantrash]

Chapter Drop! Ch 14 "Certain"

Why The Caged Bird Sings - The Butterfly Effect Series, book 2

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60351889/chapters/163231531

Yep, even with life as crazy as it is, I still take some time to write. I will both go insane and burn out otherwise if I don't xP

Gladiators of Kaon, and Star of the Show, are next on my update pattern at the moment-- and dangit I feel SO CLOSE to releasing the next chapter for Travel Buddies let me write Star Wars funsies that are so removed from canon they might as well be their own original book at this point fuuuuckkk

So I'm not saying that this is a hint for future chapter content

but this is totally a hint for future chapter content and no it's not Lazerbeak reference though Beaky will probably be happy about it because friends

I mean what?

Hmm?

*runs away cackling*

[harmura]

They called him the Harbinger of the Flood — undefeated, unstoppable, untouchable. Until surrender cost him his fire, his wings, and his name. Now Damion kneels where once he stood tall — a chained lesson for the world that made him a weapon.

This is how Breaking a Warlord begins: a warrior’s pride stripped feather by feather, until obedience is the only armor left. Read the first chapter.

[tidesofsilence]

500+ HITS (WE DID IT)!! I am calm. I am composed. I am absolutely losing my mind in the tags.

MY BAD I FORGOT TO SAY CHAPTER 12 IS UP and by “up” I mean emotional devastation has been deployed.

Chapter 12: The Shape of TrustSummary: Trust gets messy. Naomi sets boundaries. Seven becomes a wall. Teska tries and fails to deliver a breakfast tray without getting vaporized by protective energy.

And if you’ve read this far… I have a new fic coming.

All I’ll say is: It starts with a rainy afternoon in San Francisco, a name spoken like a myth, and a kiss that was never supposed to happen again.

No spoilers. Not even the title. But if you’ve got room in your chest for old letters, long roads, and the kind of love that survives time, distance, and regret?

Start bracing now.

[aleksahidell]

After 35 days of basically ceaseless effort, I'm finally done with Track 4. This one was stupid hard, but it's stupid good. And also much more explicit, smutty, and queer. Jesus Christ I love being a gay writer.

Marina still hasn't 100% finished the printout yet, but she LOVES Paz, so that's good enough for me. I didn't want to go through ALL OF OCTOBER without a single update, so I'm prefiring here a little. Governor Connally can deal.

I'm gonna try to post more about Carpe Vitem on here. I know the right audience is here for it, I'm just not a born poster and I'm fumbling with finding that magic tag that helps it blow up. Anyway. Enjoy it, I know you will. Specific content tags in the chapter itself.

Run proud and free.

[astridsdreamspace]

Allison just wanted chicken, not a cryptic AI message from a ghost raccoon. Too late. 👀 Chapter 2 of The Dreamspace Chronicles is live next Saturday. Read it. Obsess over it. Question your reality. #DreamspaceChronicles #NeurodivergentVoices #CozySciFi #AutisticMainCharacter

[geothewriter]

Vermillion Seas Cardinal Skies: Chapter 32 - The Dawn

As one threat wanes, another rises, and Aang will have to face the consequences of his actions as a fight against the Fire Lord looms. And…just what are the Fire Sages up to?

--

Hi y’all! 

I had a few questions come in last time around about how that whole thing worked regarding Katara and her ‘abilities.’ The answers will arrive in due time - soon! Just know that the machinations behind everything have been in motion for far longer than it may be apparent. On another note, this week’s chapter is brought to you by the letter H. As in Holy shit. 

I thoroughly enjoyed all of your comments and the surprise in the last chapter, and I hope that as we power on through to the end that we reach a satisfying conclusion to this story together. 

As always, a major thank you and the biggest of props to the best beta/editor/friend/person/fruit there is - @achillmango. You legit make this possible every time, and no, I won’t stop shouting you out.

Now, without any additional delay, please enjoy Chapter 32 of Vermillion Seas Cardinal Skies - The Dawn.

Aang’s mind is in turmoil as he launches a chunk of mountain toward the distant airship. Blue fire? Zuko never mentioned that. Does the Fire Lord share Azula's sapphire flames? The ship begins to fall from the sky with its balloon torn asunder, and as it sinks, a plume of flame paints the sky above. A signal.   One by one, the flames cease from the other vessels, and the Fire Lord is rapidly approaching. He focuses on the fleet, and…they've stopped. A miracle? Except–  A stream of fire builds and roars toward him, closing in at breakneck pace. He takes a breath and launches himself into the air, just barely avoiding the azure flames as they bathe the rocky column where he was positioned just a second earlier.  “AHH!” He yelps, spinning around and pushing himself out of the way of dozens more blasts.  He’s on the back foot right from the start; he needs to buy himself time to assess the situation and come up with a new strategy. With a wave of his hand, he pulls a mass of wind from below and directs it toward the origin of the fireballs as he continues to dodge through the air.  It does the job well. The blast throws his opponent off balance, and as he lands on another pillar, the stark realization hits him like lightning to the chest.  “What are you doing here?!” He shouts as a sudden, angry frustration escapes him. “Where’s the Fire Lord!?”

Continue Reading on AO3.

[spiralstation]

📡 TUMBLR POST:

Broadcast 02: The Letter and the Missing Town (Chapter I of The Pilgrimage)

She didn’t open the letter right away. She swept around it. Waited for the pigeon. Let the walls talk first.

This is Chapter I of The Pilgrimage. A story about the long road, the echoing seal, and the people who carry letters not meant for them.

Featuring: 📜 A stairwell altar 🧹 A Pushwitch-blessed broom 🕊️ A pigeon with perfect timing 📼 The VHS Man 🌀 And a prayer that doesn’t open unless it seals again

You don’t have to know where home is. You just have to follow the thread. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

CHAPTER I: THE LETTER AND THE MISSING TOWN

Magnolia was sweeping the bottom step like she was trying to remember something she forgot. Same way she always swept—slow, steady, like maybe the floor knew something she didn’t. The cracked concrete slab below her knees held on to mildew like it was sacred. Baseboards had gone soft from too many rains and not enough repair. The walls leaned opposite each other like they’d been in a long marriage full of disagreement. But the stairwell rose straight through the building, open to the sky. That was the altar. The offering. The place where light poured in like judgment.

She muttered a blessing under her breath as one of the stair candles went out. “By Saint Kindling’s echoing grace,” soft and sharp like someone she used to love.

That’s when the man showed up. Didn’t climb the steps. Didn’t look her in the eye. Just stood on the landing like he was halfway between giving up and being given to. He had on a coat too heavy for the weather and kept twitching like his coat lining was whispering secrets.

“If you deliver it,” he said, like it hurt, “they’ll stop singing in my walls.”

He held out the letter.

Magnolia didn’t take it. Not right off. Just looked at it like she was sizing up a snake. The envelope was thick cardstock, wax-sealed with a sigil she swore she’d seen before. Maybe in a fever dream. Maybe in a gas station. Maybe carved into her own memory with a rusted nail.

She traced her finger around the edge of the seal. Slow. Reverent.

The wax was cool, but not dead. It held heat like an old grief.

It hummed at her—just behind the ear. A voice she half-knew, slow and syrup-thick, whispering backwards through time. She didn’t catch a single word. But her bones flinched like they'd been named.

“You better be worth it,” she muttered, tapping the wax with the bristles of her broom. “Pushwitch blessed this broom and I’ll swat divine secrets clean outta you if I have to.”

The letter didn’t flinch, but the man did.

She reached out. Not in fear—just... knowing. Just the way you’d reach for a crying baby you weren’t sure belonged to you. Her fingers touched the envelope, and the moment they did, he let go. Like he hadn’t meant to hold it this long. Like it had been asking to leave him.

It was hers now.

And as soon as she held it, she knew: it didn’t open unless it sealed again. It wanted to finish and begin in the same breath. Like a prayer you had to whisper and echo at once.

She thought—maybe that’s why folks kept passing it on. Never figured the timing right. Never stayed long enough to hold both ends of the loop.

He left without ceremony. No footsteps. No door creak. Just absence, the way ghosts leave a room.

She set the letter on the altar railing. A stair above where anyone ever looked.

The silence that followed wasn’t silent. It had texture.

Then came the bottle. Slow roll across the cracked floor. Clink. Bump. Stop.

She didn’t look. “Y’all’re getting lazy,” she muttered to the walls. “Do better if you’re gonna haunt me.”

It rolled back.

Then came the wings.

A pigeon, fat and ugly and perfect, fluttered down the stairwell like it owned the air. Landed on the mossy counter—her enough altar. Looked at her. Dropped a fat grub beside the letter.

She blinked. “That supposed to be an omen?”

The pigeon blinked back. Tucked one foot up and settled in beside the candles like it had all the time in the world.

She didn’t argue.

Didn’t touch the grub. Didn’t touch the letter again either. Just swept around them. Hummed as she worked. Not a hymn. Not quite. Just something that felt like remembering.

She stood. Took the letter in both hands.

The wax pulsed once. Not hot. Not magic. Just... known.

She opened the front door.

A polaroid fluttered from the stair rail. Blank. No face. No names. Just graphite scrawled in the bottom white strip:

"It used to be somewhere between Copper Still Springs and the guilt you forgot to carry."

She didn’t pack. Just left.

INTERLUDE: THE VHS MAN (THREEFOLD FOLDED)

The road didn’t make sense, which meant Magnolia was headed the right way.

It bent when it should’ve dipped. Looped when it should’ve ended. One stretch was carpeted in beige shag like a motel prayer. Another section blinked like static.

Then came the smell: old plastic, warm denim, and that ozone tang of TV snow.

He appeared like a channel changed mid-sentence.

Robed. Grinning. Stained T-shirt clinging like a confession. The letters across it read: I RECORD THE LOST.

“Now hold up,” he said, stepping out from behind a sagging billboard that read YOU’RE ALMOST REMEMBERED. “You got the look of someone carrying something that ain’t quite theirs. And I got just the format to help you not deal with that.”

He swung open one side of his robe.

Inside: VHS tapes. Lined up in neat little loops, hooked through plastic tags like fish on a stringer. Labels handwritten in glitter pen and gospel ink.

THE LAST TIME YOU KNEW WHERE YOU STOOD

BEE STINGS & DIVINE INTERRUPTIONS: LIVE FOOTAGE

HER NAME, YOUR VOICE (RECORDING INCOMPLETE)

THE DAY YOU ALMOST KNEW

Magnolia squinted. “You sellin’ tapes?”

“I’m sellin’ reminders,” he said. “Rentals, mostly. Nothing permanent ‘less it wants to stay.”

She didn’t reach. Just rocked on her heels. The letter in her satchel pulsed like a held breath.

“You ever deliver something that didn’t belong to you?” she asked.

He blinked like he’d heard it before. Maybe in a dream. Maybe in a sitcom rerun. Maybe from someone just like her.

“All the time,” he said. “But that’s not the question. The question is—when it finally opens, will you be the one holdin’ the seal, or just the wrapper?”

Before she could answer, a breeze swept between them. When she blinked, he was halfway gone—flickering at the edge of a roadside culvert, robe trailing like VHS ribbon in the wind.

He shouted one last thing over his shoulder:

“If it starts humming louder, don’t ignore it. That’s not danger. That’s the punchline coming.”

And then he was gone.

Or stepped away. Same difference. -----------------------------------------------------

[danganronpa96]

Guys... Chapter 5 Trial is right behind me, aren't they...?

[theboywhoarrive10minsearlier]

Chapter 1 – The Diagon Alley Aftermath

The tension in the house was suffocating. Harry couldn’t bear it anymore. Since returning from Diagon Alley, he had been given a room, but at what price? It was just a bigger prison.

Hedwig couldn’t even hunt to feed herself. She was displeased, ruffling her feathers irritably. Harry had tried to share some of his food with her—not that he had much to spare.He had had enough.He walked downstairs, determination hardening his steps.

He stood in front of Vernon Dursley and spoke."I need to go to King's Cross tomorrow. My train leaves at ten. We have to be there early," he said.

Vernon barely looked up from his newspaper. "Why would I do that?"

"Because you have to go yourself," Harry replied, keeping his voice even. "And the sooner you drop me off, the sooner you don’t have to deal with me."

Vernon squinted at him, considering the logic. He wasn’t wrong. Better send him off rather than risk that giant coming back."You’d better be ready early," Vernon said.

"I won’t wait a second for you. Now get back to your room."

Harry’s heart pounded with excitement. He was one step closer to a new life. Back in his room, he tried to read one of his books, just to pass the time. But he couldn’t focus. The minutes dragged painfully. He turned pages, but nothing registered. His mind kept drifting back to Diagon Alley. To the blond boy. Maybe they’d be friends.

He realized, with a jolt, that he’d never asked for his name.But he remembered him—the way he spoke, the way everyone in the Alley had treated him with respect. It was such a contrast to the life he had always known. His vault at Gringotts flashed in his mind. His fingers curled around the tattered fabric of his oversized clothes."If only I could stay in that world permanently," he thought.

---

The sun rose, golden light filtering through the curtains.Harry hadn't slept. He had spent the entire night replaying his trip to Diagon Alley over and over in his mind.He got up, ran a hand through his mess of hair, and grabbed his things.

One last day, he reminded himself. One last day of making breakfast. One last day of washing dishes. One last day of insults. One last hour.

True to his word, Vernon drove him to King's Cross. The man barely glanced at Harry’s ticket before letting out a mean-spirited chuckle.

"Good luck finding that platform, boy. I won’t claim you if you don’t." He smirked. "And if you disappear? We wouldn’t be happier."

Harry bit his lip but said nothing. He simply tightened his grip on his trolley and walked off. He found platform nine. He found platform ten. But there was no **Platform 9 ¾**. He swallowed thickly and approached a train station worker.

"Excuse me, sir," Harry asked, hesitant. "Could you tell me where Platform Nine and Three-Quarters is?"

The man gave him a strange look. "You having a laugh, lad?"

Harry's stomach twisted.Then he saw them.A tall man with long, sleek blond hair, dressed in deep emerald robes. A woman beside him, elegant and poised, her hair a contrast of black and white. And **him**—the boy from Diagon Alley. Harry's feet moved before he could think. He followed them.

"Why does that old fool insist on sending students through the Muggle world to take the train?" the man sneered, his voice rich with disdain.

"Is he aware that there are other ways to travel? Pathetic. Truly pathetic."

"Excuse me, sir," Harry spoke up. "Could you please help me?"The man turned.

So did the boy.Recognition flickered in the boy’s eyes. "Dad, I think he’s going to Hogwarts. I met him in Diagon Alley while Mother was finding me a proper wand."

"Is that so?" The man’s cold, calculating gaze landed on Harry.

He took a single step forward, his hand brushing a strand of messy black hair aside. His eyes widened slightly.

"Well, well, well."His lips curled into something resembling a smirk."Let me introduce myself, Mr. Potter. My name is Lucius Malfoy. This is my wife, Narcissa, and my son, Draco.He will also be attending Hogwarts this year."

Harry swallowed, overwhelmed by the intensity of Lucius’s gaze. Narcissa stepped forward, her expression softer, more concerned.

"What are you doing here alone, dear? Aren’t your guardians with you?"

Harry hesitated. "He left," he admitted. "He’s a Muggle… and he didn’t want to interfere with anything wizard-related."

Lucius scoffed. "Typical.""Come, boy," Narcissa said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"You are a legend in our world. We’ll help you."

Lucius turned. "Dobby!"A small, wide-eyed house-elf appeared at his side."Take Mr. Potter’s luggage. Ensure he is seated with Draco on the train."

Dobby hesitated but gave a small bow. "Yes, Master."

Draco turned to Harry, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Come on, Potter. Our compartment is ready."

Wanna keep reading?

Chapter 2

[half-a-life-left]

glad we all agree on those sprites btw