#I need to do a draft amnesty I think

[walkingstackofbooks]

Trying to clear out my drafts and have come across multiple barely-started thoughts that I'd forgotten about but also do want to finish 😅

this one's so devastating it needs to be a fic you don't understand no I can't elaborate

hell if I can connect these thoughts but it'll come to me someday probably I hope

I think this might have been the one that ended up with them sounding Julian and sucking him off at the same time but I actually can't remember ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

This sounds just SO familiar, did I actually end up finishing this post elsewhere or have I just imagined many variations on a theme? Idk

Finally, one I can delete! Yeah I have no idea what this meant either XD

[itissadbutitsmy-artblog]

pup gang crime list:

threw a basketball at jakes head once because he is old

htrew a strawbebby on the ground and was kicking it. it wasnt alive

pup gang punishment:

the princess speaks very nastily to them. publically.

they are not allowed to show their faces around her

also they offered to give up their rights as candy citizens and go live with lemongrab and it was not fun. its not really a punishment but everyone around them was treating it as one and they offered to take it so long as pb paid their mothers. i want to mention it.

marshmallow kid crime list:

set themselves on fire regularly to run at their enemies and then leave their melty skin on the ground

swindle over 500 dollars every day

fight the other kids off their street corners

scrape food off the ground and bring it to the charity orphanage sale

marshmallow kid punishment

camping with finn

encouragement to go to school which they accept delightedly

[hideyseek]

IM WRITING (<- willing it into existence by once more playing Public Accountability With Friends)

[defectivevillain]

attempts at amnesty

pairing: Harry & Reader (platonic)

the reader is gender-neutral. their race is ambiguous and no physical descriptors are used.

“You should get some sleep, Harry,” you suggest, changing the subject. “We have a long day ahead of us.” Harry’s face is pinched and he stares at you for a moment, before shaking his head. He won’t let his guard down, and you can’t really blame him. You take a deep breath, before trying to think of a way to assure Harry that he can trust you. “Here.” Harry stands at the object you hand him with thinly-veiled confusion and apprehension. “It’s my wand,” you explain, “A wand is a wizard’s most powerful accessory, weapon, and aid. I’m giving my wand to you to show that I mean you no harm.” “You trust me with your wand?” Harry whispers. “Yes,” you respond instinctually. You decide that more people need to show their trust and faith in the boy.

Canonically, Harry’s first introduction to the Wizarding World was wonderful and magnificent, but it was also jaded. He was left to make his own assumptions about magic from the behaviors of those around him. But what if Harry Potter had a trustworthy adult to teach him about the Wizarding World—one who always had faith in him, stood up for him, and protected him?

word count: 4k | chapters: 1/? | ao3 version

warnings: canonical child abuse

author's notes: I’ve been battling with myself to even post this fic in the first place, so please know that I am trying my best and taking the utmost care to assure that I am not upholding JKR's prejudices. And if you don’t want to engage with this at all, I completely understand.

This is a reader-insert piece primarily focused on the platonic relationship between the reader and Harry. The reader in this piece is gender-neutral—relatedly, the word “wizard” is used as an ambiguous, gender-neutral term that encompasses all gender identities. The reader will also be written as racially ambiguous & no physical descriptors will be used. In future chapters, they may be referred to with they/them pronouns.

This piece is going to tread the line between canon divergence and canon noncompliance, so there will likely be many canon inconsistencies. You may have to suspend your disbelief a *little* to enjoy this story. But it will still be largely centered around the events that take place in the seven books.

I have most of the general premise written for this already, but very few of the details and necessary transitions are written. I think this first chapter is a bit choppy, for example, but I don't want this fic to die in my drafts... so I'm letting it run free.

October 31, 1981

You’re having a strange day: a few of your top students completely forgot about the Ancient Runes essay you assigned; at breakfast, Headmaster Dumbledore announced that the next Hogsmeade trip would be postponed; you nearly got mauled by an unfamiliar owl... Things are just odd today. You don’t put much stock in Divination, but even Professor Trelawney’s ravings are starting to sound less mad than usual. Something is in the air.

As you’re walking about, you hear the whispered conversation of two Gryffindors in the hall. You’re not above eavesdropping, so you lean against the closest wall and listen. Besides, you could easily punish them for being out of bed after-hours; if anything, you’re doing them a favor by letting them continue to walk the halls unimpeded. 

“Did you hear? James Potter and his wife were killed by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named,” a third-year Gryffindor, Evelark, says.  

“Really?” their companion says, clearly suspicious. “Lily Evans, too? I heard they were both rather talented wizards.” 

“Yes,” the student confirms. "But there’s good news—great, even. Their child, Harry, survived the Dark Lord’s Killing Curse. Not only did he survive, but the curse rebounded and killed the Dark Lord."

“Seriously?!” the other student remarks.  

“Crazy, right?” Evelark exclaims. The elder Gryffindor looks skeptical. The younger student sighs and continues to speak. “They say Harry has a scar on his forehead to show for it.”  

“I don’t quite believe you, Evelark,” they huff.  

“That’s bloody fine,” the younger Gryffindor scoffs, clearly bothered by their companion’s suspicion. “You’ll see it in the Prophet tomorrow." 

“If you say so.” With that last remark, the two Gryffindors make their way back to their common room.  

You watch them retreat for a moment, before eventually letting them fall out of your sight. For a few moments, it feels as if you’re stuck to the wall. Eventually, you manage to peel yourself off of it and walk away.  Your heart pounds traitorously in your chest and a buzzing noise reverberates through your ears and into your skull. Surely the Dark Lord can’t be dead. Surely it couldn’t be that easy. 

You begin to walk down the hallway, suddenly burdened with the pressure of coming to terms with the supposed end of the war on your own. You mechanically make your way back to your office and, before long, you’re sitting at your desk. Admittedly, you can’t quite bring yourself to believe what the students were saying. Even if it were true, one unshakeable fact remains: Voldemort would not die so easily. 

Little do you know, at that very moment, in Little Whinging, Surrey, young Harry Potter is placed on the Dursleys’ front porch. In a few hours, the very ordinary Dursleys will wake up to a very unordinary sight: a baby on their doorstep. For now, James and Lily’s son sleeps peacefully—with no knowledge of the horrible, gruesome events that took his parents from him.

Meanwhile, you’re left to the solitude of your office, an uncomfortable tension lingering in the air. An inexplicable shiver rolls down your spine; and it takes you a long time to fall asleep that night.

Eleven Years Later

You know very little about Harry Potter—or, “The Boy Who Lived,” as the Wizarding World has dubbed him. Admittedly, you are pretty uncomfortable with how easily the wizarding population seems to idolize the boy. He’s just a boy, after all. The story behind his parents’ death and Voldemort’s defeat is painted out to be a heroic feat for young Harry, but you can’t see past the tragic nature of it all. You seem to be in the minority in that regard. 

These days, Harry Potter is somewhat difficult to track down. At least, that’s what you glean from your brief conversation with Albus Dumbledore regarding the boy’s Hogwarts letter. Apparently, several letters have been sent to the home of his Muggle relatives—but they have gone so far as to relocate to a shack on a deserted island to prevent Harry from receiving his letter. The thought is troublesome. Albus requests that you deliver the boy’s Hogwarts letter in person and take him to Diagon Alley—where you’re also supposed to check on a vault at Gringotts. You grit your teeth and sigh. You’re not usually the one who has to visit families on account of Hogwarts, but McGonagall doesn’t have the time to meet with Harry. You’re the second choice, apparently. 

Your conversation with Albus then prompts you to find yourself standing outside the aforementioned seaside shack in the pouring rain. After a moment, you cast a Tempus charm, finding that it is now midnight on July 31st—reportedly, Harry’s birthday. You glance through the front window, only to find a thin, bruised boy sleeping on a shoddy hardwood floor. That must be Harry. His relatives are nowhere in sight—they must be occupying the other rooms. Somehow, you doubt that they are sleeping on the floor. The thought of Harry’s relatives treating him so callously fills you with irritation. 

After a moment’s contemplation, you unlock the door with an Alohomora charm and find yourself on the business end of a rifle—courtesy of Harry’s uncle, Vernon Dursley. You huff a laugh at the Muggle’s pseudo-bravery; it fades quickly when you cast a spell that makes his rifle melt into a puddle on the floor. You immediately elect to ignore Potter’s relatives and instead address the boy directly. You tell him that he’s a wizard. Predictably, he doesn’t believe you. 

“I’d be happy to explain further, Harry, but not in this company,” you say, with a glance at his relatives. His aunt and uncle are hovering awkwardly over their son, who is panting heavily after you momentarily cast an Ebublio Jinx to stop him from speaking. You hadn’t actually intended to drown him, of course, but his parents don’t seem to care about your intentions. You sigh and turn back to Harry. “I’ll stay here for the night. We’ll depart in the morning and I’ll show you to Diagon Alley, where you’ll get your school things.” Any further argument falls on determined ears as you cast an impromptu ward that prevents the Dursleys from stepping any closer to Harry and you.

You don’t sleep well that night—and Harry doesn’t either. It seems he doesn’t quite trust you yet—and, from what you can glean from his upbringing, you can’t entirely blame him. Instead of waiting until the morning, you decide to explain the circumstances of his birth and Voldemort’s return. It’s certainly a difficult conversation—you believe you’re far from the best person to be explaining all of that to him. You soon find yourself troubled by the fact that Harry didn’t know how his parents died; the Dursleys’ “car crash” story was beyond disrespectful.  

“So Voldemort—” Harry starts, after you’ve explained the circumstances of his birth; Hogwarts and your role as the Ancient Runes professor; and anything else you thought pertinent to mention. 

“It’s generally frowned upon to utter his name,” you interject instinctively. Harry blinks at you. 

“Then why do you say it?” Indeed, Harry noticed that you hadn’t refrained from saying Voldemort’s name. You take a deep breath, still struggling to come to terms with the fact that you’re the one tasked with introducing the boy to the Wizarding World. Something about that doesn’t feel quite fair. You didn’t know James and Lily well—while you were in the same year at Hogwarts, you hadn’t been friends with them. Harry is still staring at you expectantly and you have to take a moment to refocus your thoughts.  

“There is power in knowing someone’s name—recognizing their power—and choosing to acknowledge it,” you begin. “Avoiding the Dark Lord’s name only transfers accountability, and furthers the false notion that he is too powerful to be opposed by anyone.”

Harry is staring at you blankly and his eyes are almost saying “I have no idea what you just said.”  You smile and reach out to ruffle his hair, before remembering that he likely wouldn’t appreciate the gesture. Your hand falls to your side again and Harry just blinks confusedly. 

“You should get some sleep, Harry,” you suggest, changing the subject. “We have a long day ahead of us. I’ve cast a spell that prohibits any of your family members from entering this space, so you will be safe here.” Harry’s face is pinched and he stares at you for a moment, before shaking his head. You take a deep breath. He really should get some sleep—the two of you are going to have a lot to do, what with the travel to Diagon Alley and the shopping for school materials. He’s only eleven years old, so he needs the rest. You try to think of a way to assure Harry that he can trust you. Suddenly, you get an idea. “Here.” Harry stands at the object in his hand with thinly-veiled confusion and apprehension. 

“It’s my wand,” you explain. “A wand is a wizard’s most powerful accessory, weapon, and aid. A wand is the extension of a wizard’s power; without it, they can cast very little magic.” You decide to negate the existence of wandless magic for now. That’s something you can explain later. “I’m giving my wand to you to show that I mean you no harm.”

“I advise you not to try using my wand, both because it will likely not work and because underage wizards aren’t allowed to cast magic. When we go to Diagon Alley tomorrow—or, I suppose, later today—we’ll get you your own wand.” You hate to overwhelm the boy with all that information, but you fear that he’ll be overwhelmed regardless. He was being raised as a Muggle, after all. Harry isn’t familiar with anything from the Wizarding World. You notice the wary expression on his face and wait for him to question you about the purpose of a wand, the spells a person can cast with one. 

“You trust me with your wand?” Harry whispers quietly. His voice is unsure and, upon noticing this, your heart breaks a little.

“Yes,” you respond instinctively. You decide that more people need to show their trust and faith in the boy. Harry likely didn’t hear that often—if at all—during his childhood. The Dursleys treat him like he doesn’t exist. The thought makes your blood boil, but you resign yourself to thinking about that later. “Anyway, I’m going to try to sleep a bit. Feel free to do the same.” You conjure up two futons before reclining on the first one and closing your eyes. 

Before you can drift off, you remember what you’ve forgotten. “Harry?” you ask. He hums. “Happy birthday,” you whisper before closing your eyes. Sleep comes quickly, preventing you from comprehending his response.  

Hours later, your wristwatch goes off and jolts you from slumber. You blink and slowly push yourself up to a sitting position before chancing a glance at Harry. Harry is sleeping, thankfully. Your wand is in his hand. You’re not quite sure how to wake him. You settle for saying his name quietly and he wakes within a few seconds. The thought that he has to remain vigilant, even when he’s sleeping, is deeply troubling. In the short time you’ve spent in this clumsily built shack, you’ve learned a lot more about Harry Potter than you would’ve liked to know. 

You didn’t originally foresee having to spend the night in the shack, so you didn’t bring food. You tell Harry that you’ll stop for food before shopping. Harry watches as you pack up your things. You almost urge him to do the same, before realizing that he has next to nothing, save for the clothes on his back. You grit your teeth. Did Albus know about the nature of Harry’s upbringing? The mere possibility sickens you. You push the thought aside. For now, getting the boy’s school supplies is the priority. [That, and the vault key the headmaster trusted you with. Then again, you’re not too happy with Albus at the moment, so you’re keen to let that slip to the back of your mind.] 

“Dumbledore made us a Portkey; it’ll send us over to downtown London,” you explain, gathering the remainder of your things before beckoning for Harry to follow you. “A Portkey is an item that transports you to a predetermined location when you touch it."   

“Hold on, Harry,” you tell him once the two of you are situated outside of the shack. Harry stares at you for a moment, before you reach out and hold the worn old boot sitting on the ground. Harry looks extremely skeptical, but he grabs onto it and the world begins to swirl around you. 

Moments later, you’re falling down to a wooded area on a side street. You take a deep breath and turn around to look for Harry, only to find him sprawled on the ground. You bite down a laugh and walk over to him, offering a hand. He takes your hand and you pull him to his feet. “Is it always that unpleasant?” Harry asks. 

“No, you’ll get used to it,” you say reassuringly. You take a quick look at your surroundings, happy that you recognize where you are. You will only have to walk a few minutes to get to the cafe for breakfast. “Now, let’s grab something to eat.” You motion for Harry to follow you and he does so, albeit while still being shocked at his surroundings. 

By the time the two of you make it to the cafe, the novelty seems to have worn off for Harry. You’re sure he must be starving. You settle into a small table in the corner of the space, pleased that it isn’t very busy. A waitress stops by your table and asks for drinks, but the two of you end up just having water. When she returns and asks about food, you encourage Harry to choose whatever he’d like. He eventually decides on a chocolate croissant and, when the food arrives, the two of you eat in silence. 

After your pleasant breakfast, you pay the bill and head out with Harry. It doesn’t take you long to notice the stress that seems to string his shoulders together. The boy’s brows are furrowed. “You alright there, Harry?” You question. He flinches for a moment, as if torn out of his thoughts. 

“You said we were going shopping, but—” Harry breaks off, looking embarrassed, “I don’t have any money.” Your heart sinks at the shame on his face. He shouldn’t be ashamed of anything. Even if he were to truly have no money, Hogwarts has a funding program. However, Harry does have the money his parents left him—and you’re quick to tell him that. 

“Sure you do,” you remark. “You have access to everything your parents left you. It’s all in a vault in Gringotts.” At Harry’s questioning look, you explain. “Gringotts is a bank in Diagon Alley. It’s one of the biggest wizarding banks in the world. Your parents have an account there—Dumbledore instructed me to show it to you.” You were given explicit instruction not to give Harry the key, but you’re apprehensive about that. The Potter vault is rightfully Harry’s and no one else’s; even the headmaster can’t control that. 

Before long, the two of you are standing a short distance from the Leaky Cauldron. You earn Harry’s permission to disillusion him—once you mention that he’s famous, he’s quick to take you up on the offer—and the two of you manage to make it to the courtyard within a few minutes. The disillusionment spell wears off and Harry murmurs his gratitude, before staring at the brick wall in front of you with thinly-veiled trepidation. You smile at him, before tapping the correct brick. The wall slowly falls away to reveal the twisting streets of Diagon Alley. Shops line the pavement and pedestrians walk about. There’s an energetic buzz in the air; evidently, you’re not the only one going shopping for school supplies. 

You chance a sidelong glance at Harry, delighted to see an awestruck expression on his face. After giving him a few moments to look at it all, you reach down and extend an arm for him to hold. Diagon Alley is chaotic, even to someone familiar with it; you don’t want to lose Harry in the crowd. Harry takes your arm and the two of you walk along the cobbled path. 

“We’d better go to Gringotts first,” you remark, breaking Harry out of his reverie. Harry nods, although his attention is quickly captured by all the shops and stores lining the street. You promise him that you’ll visit many of the different shops once you visit the bank first, which seems to appease him for the moment.

Harry’s jaw falls open once you both enter the entrance hall of Gringotts. Indeed, the building is rather luxurious—with long, elegant pillars and well-carved desks scattered around the space. The sound of quills against parchment fills the air. You allow Harry to follow behind you as you approach the service desk and ask for a goblin’s assistance. Within moments, a goblin by the name of Griphook is leading you towards a mine cart and closer to the vaults. You don’t realize that you’ve neglected to explain goblins and other magical beings to Harry until he’s asking you about them in a hushed voice. 

You try your best to explain goblins, vampires, centaurs, werewolves, and more to Harry to the best of your ability. Funnily enough, Griphook occasionally chimes in with his own remarks. By the time Harry and you are finally at the vault, you’re certain that his head is likely spinning from all the information. You smile and motion for Harry to open the vault with the key you gave him. The look on his face as the vault door opens to reveal the Potter inheritance is priceless. You linger outside the door, but try to advise him to only take as much as needed. Harry eventually decides on taking a small amount. You assure him that it’ll be enough to last him the school year. 

“We have one more stop to make, unfortunately,” you say to Harry once he’s done in the Potter vault. The boy looks at you in confusion. Griphook nods and, with a wave of his hand, the mine cart is shooting down the rails once more. You can tell Harry is resisting the urge to ask about the vault you’re going to. You decide to tell him that Dumbledore sent you to retrieve something. You don’t want him to think that you’re keeping secrets from him; unfortunately, you know you can’t tell him any more than that. 

Upon arrival at the vault, you realize there’s nothing in it, save for a rather flimsy bag. You take the bag in hand and step out of the vault. Griphook sneers and mutters something under his breath, but you don’t hear it. You notice Harry warily glancing at the parcel in your hand as the cart makes its way back up to the lobby. 

“Thank you for your help, Griphook,” you remark, once you are back in the entrance hall. You watch Harry nod and send him a small smile, to which Griphook rolls his eyes and walks away. You resist the urge to laugh at the visible fascination on Harry’s face. You don’t blame him, of course. He didn’t grow up in the Wizarding World, so everyone and everything he’s seeing today is entirely new to him. 

After Gringotts, you decide to take Harry to the bookstore to pick up his textbooks. Harry gets all his required textbooks and a few other necessities. After that, the two of you head to The Apothecary for his Potions ingredients. 

Next, the two of you walk into Ollivanders. Harry gets his wand, albeit after thirty minutes. Ollivander seems to be on the verge of having an aneurysm, but the confused frustration on his face quickly fades to wary fascination as Harry finally finds his wand. Ollivander explains that the wand had a brother—one other wand with the same core, a phoenix feather. The other wand belongs to He Who Must Not Be Named. Ollivander is about to continue speaking, but you cut him off and catch Harry’s eye, looking to the door. He understands and follows after you. The two of you leave Ollivanders and you take a deep breath. That was unexpected. Harry is regarding the wand in his hand with a mix of excitement and fear. 

“Harry?” You blurt out before you can stop yourself. Harry looks up to you in surprise, before nodding hesitantly. You bite your lip and try to find the right words. “You’re not worried about the wand being a brother to Lord Voldemort’s, are you?” 

Harry is silent. That is enough of an answer. 

“It’s okay,” you remark. “You share the same core and nothing more. Voldemort’s wand is likely made with different wood and is a different length. Besides, you’re not anything like him, Harry.” 

“Are you sure?” Harry murmurs, so quietly that you nearly miss it. It takes you a few seconds to recover from the emotional whiplash of that remark. 

“Positive,” you remark, your eyes suddenly burning for some reason. This boy… He deserves far better. 

And speaking of deserving better, it’s still Harry’s birthday. You get the feeling the Dursleys didn’t give him birthday presents. Harry has been rather pleasant company, and you feel that you should get something for him.“You probably didn’t have many pleasant birthdays with the Dursleys,” you start. Harry diplomatically keeps silent. “And, well, I’d like to get you something.” Harry blinks at you in disbelief. “I’m thinking I should buy you an owl; they’re really useful. How does that sound?”

“Brilliant.” Harry grins. You smile and lead him towards Eeylops Owl Emporium. Twenty minutes later, the two of you are exiting with a cage in hand. Inside, there’s a snowy white owl that chirps at Harry happily. The boy decides to name her Hedwig. 

“I hate to leave you, Harry,” you remark some time later, once you’ve left Diagon Alley and are outside the Leaky Cauldron. “But, unfortunately, I have to return to the castle and give this parcel to Dumbledore.” Harry nods as if he’d expected something along these lines. You frown. Despite your short time with the boy, you feel rather uneasy with the thought of leaving him to his neglectful relatives for the duration of the summer. You suppose you don’t exactly have a choice, though. If only there were something you could do for him… 

“I’m willing to bet those relatives of yours don’t know anything about magic,” you start. “So, they won’t know that underage magic is prohibited. I’m not encouraging you to perform any underage magic, but a gentle reminder of the fact that you can cast spells will probably be enough to prevent them from…  bothering you.” You nearly slip up and say “harm” at the end there, but you manage to save yourself. 

“Also, now that you have an owl…” you continue. “You’ll be able to send people letters. If you’d like, you can send me a few.”

“I’d like that.” Harry smiles. 

“Great.” You summon a piece of parchment and quill, before quickly scrawling out your address. “Just send Hedwig here. I have an owl too, so you can expect a timely response.” Harry nods and pockets the piece of parchment. “Now, let’s get you back to your relatives.” You hold out an arm and Harry takes it. 

Moments later, the two of you are standing on the sidewalk leading up to Number Four Privet Drive. Harry wobbles on his feet for a second before righting himself. You watch as Harry stands on the sidewalk, evidently not thrilled to be returning to his relatives. You can’t say you’re thrilled for him, either.

“Well, here we are,” you announce. You take a deep breath, wondering why you feel guilty for leaving the boy with his relatives. “I’ll see you soon, Harry. Enjoy the rest of your summer!” 

“Thank you,” Harry responds with a small smile. You hold your wand up and wink at him. His hand moves to his pocket and the smile on his face widens. You decide to wait on the sidewalk as Harry paces up to the front door and rings the doorbell. For a long moment, you’re convinced that his relatives won’t let him into the house. Eventually, his aunt steps forward and quickly ushers him into the house, glancing to the side as if making sure no neighbors are watching. Her eyes meet yours and she bristles, quickly shutting the door behind her. You grit your teeth and stare at the house for a moment, before shaking your head and Apparating to the Hogwarts grounds.

next chapter

endnotes: I can't believe I'm finally posting this!! My 71 page google docs draft is very thankful.

Despite that ^ I am not going to have any kind of update schedule. I'll post whenever I feel I've completed a chapter. No promises on when or how that will manifest.

I initially wanted to write Harry to be Sorted into Slytherin, but then I realized that would deviate too much and just end up making a whole murky mess of the timeline I already created. So... yeah.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed! I'm really looking forward to digging into this story. Mwhahahahahha.... AHHAAH... Whew, sorry. Had to get that out.

©2025, @defectivevillain | @defectivehero, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don't steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

thanks for reading! <3

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[copperbadge]

What do you mean by digital cleaning?

It's something I've been working on more this year because I had a bit more travel than usual so couldn't do actual home cleaning, but I always take a couple of days in the Month Of Cleaning where I'm focused on my digital life. It's good to make your physical home a comfortable place for yourself, but it's also good to recognize that we have "digital" homes that need attention. And often this is at least less physically demanding, so it's good to keep it in your back pocket for days when you're mentally okay but physically too tired or sore to do more of that kind of work.

In the shortest possible terms, digital cleaning is just making sure that your phone, computer, socials, and other digital "presences" are organized in a way that you find helpful, and that you take a moment to either answer those messages you've been putting off or give yourself amnesty on doing so.

This tends to make a lot of people extremely anxious in a way ordinary physical space cleaning doesn't, so I'm going to put the rest of it behind a cut...

So when I say digital cleaning, I refer to stuff like going through my likes on Tumblr and clearing them out, going through my drafts and turning them into queued posts, answering my asks. I spend time in my email inboxes, either responding to messages or removing them. I am not an "inbox zero" kind of guy, but I like to keep the read-but-not-answered messages to a minimum, and towards the end of the year that usually means a clear-out and amnesty. I clean my Google Drive -- delete old files I uploaded for others, move documents I'm no longer using into an archive, move documents I want to work on into a central work folder. I go through my catch-all folder on my hard drive and organize it; I sort through the year's photos and organize those, partly to archive them and partly because I make a scrapbook from them each year. I don't usually have a ton of tabs open but often have more than I'd like, so I go through them all and either read, bookmark, or get rid of them.

I look in my phone's file tree to make sure I delete files I don't need (mostly menu downloads, Restaurants Stop Making Your Menus PDFs Challenge 2K24) and I sometimes go through each app on my phone, make sure I still use it, and make sure it's set how I want it. If this sounds like a nightmare, bear in mind that I very rarely put apps on my phone to start with -- I think my mother has more apps open at any given time than I have apps on my phone ever.

Everywhere I clean, I look for files named things like "notes" or "deal with" or "random" and move them all into one place so that whatever is in them, I can sort through it and make sure it goes somewhere permanent. Logins go in the login/password spreadsheet I keep, addresses go into my contacts, story notes go into a "fiction scraps" file, random thoughts either get moved into a journal file or put into drafts to become Tumblr posts, etc.

If this sounds like I might have some kind of compulsion disorder, I get that; when I explain my digital hygiene systems a lot of people look at me like I'm spouting a mad but harmless conspiracy theory. But it's something I used to have to do periodically even before I created National Clean Your Home Month, because otherwise I could never find anything, and everything was just...harder. As I once told a boss who admired my organizational skills, "It was this or endless chaos."

Putting addresses into my contacts list means I always know that the addresses I have for my friends are up to date. Putting logins into a spreadsheet means that five minutes spent now will not result in five weeks of procrastination later because I can't find the login and can't do anything else until I do that. Going through my email and archiving old conversations means not only can I find them easily when needed, I don't have to look at them the rest of the time. Sometimes I even go through my various wish lists and remove old/purchased items, or clear out all my "save for later" carts.

There's no doubt this is stressful, but like every part of NaClYoHo, it's broken down into smaller tasks; I don't have to look at my computer and organize everything on it all in one day. I can answer a few asks, then sort photos (something I find very soothing up until the moment I Don't), then read and delete some emails, then I'm done for the day. I can spread "answer or file all your work emails" out over a couple of days. I can maybe empty out my Likes but just turn the ones I actually want to reblog into drafts for now and deal with them later in the "drafts" phase of cleaning. And if I don't manage to empty out my inboxes, at least they're emptier than they were.

I'm struggling this morning with having put a bunch of physical cleaning on the to-do list but not feeling physically up for it, so I did what I felt capable of doing (measuring cabinets for new shelf liners mainly) and later today I might sit down and start building this year's photobook. Or not -- I have to code Radio Free Monday, sort out a prescription and possibly go pick it up, plus a very full day of work and a couple of afternoon appointments I can't shirk, so today may simply be a "get through the day" kind of day. That's okay too; some days the spirit is willing but the schedule is full.

[eurydicees]

8?? (i hope you get motivated to write some of these or at least have a fun time thinking about them!!)

[wip amnesty ask game details] 

thank you so much!! it has actually been really fun to think through these wips in a way that i haven't been able to think them through--something about putting the descriptions of them into a tumblr post that other people can read and understand has been really helpful in trying to figure out how to look at the projects with fresh eyes.

anyways, wip #8, aka that goddamn thing about cages that i’ve been trying to write for *checks notes* three years, has been HAUNTING ME for three fucking years. actually no that’s not even true it’s been haunting me for four years, now that i’m looking at the original document history. fucking nightmare. i can’t get it to a place where i’m happy with what i’m doing, so it just sits in my drafts and HAUNTS ME. 

it started as a skts fic actually, and that turned into an original work, and that turned into poetry, and that turned back into a skts fic, and that turned back into poetry. i’m so miserable. i can’t figure out how to make it work how i want it to work, or how to make it say what i’m trying to say with it. 

it’s trying to be a study on neurodivergency, autonomy, growing up, falling in love, and learning to let yourself be loved. it’s a lot of themes that i’m really excited about exploring but that i can’t quite nail down into a cohesive narrative or cohesive book of poems. something about it just hasn’t worked for four years and i Do Not Know Why.

putting a snippet from the original skts draft under the cut because i AM proud of parts of this fic, i just…want it to be MORE. and i’m #struggling to get there. 

“So,” Atsumu says, leaning against his locker and crossing his arms. He has a towel around his neck and he’s not wearing a shirt. Kiyoomi refuses to look at him. Atsumu, though, keeps his gaze hot on Kiyoomi’s turned away face. “Are we going to talk about what that reporter said?” 

“No,” Kiyoomi says. He slams his own locker closed, turning away from Atsumu to take off his sneakers and put his street shoes on. “It’s nothing. He was just saying things.” 

Atsumu scoffs. “Didn’t sound like nothing.” 

“It’s nothing.” Kiyoomi finishes tying one shoe, and moves on to the other. He’s twenty four years old and he is not going to scream because the laces aren’t tight enough and it itches. His hands are not trembling. 

“It—” 

“I said it’s nothing!” Kiyoomi yells. “Let it fucking go, Miya.” 

Atsumu goes quiet for a moment, and Kiyoomi feels no guilt. Then, “If I tell you a secret, will you tell me one of yours?” 

Kiyoomi freezes. He stares at his shoelaces for a long moment, counting his breaths. In, out. In, out. Then, slowly, he stands up, straightening his back, and turns towards Atsumu, eyes still downcast. He knows what Atsumu is looking for at this moment. It’s just that Kiyoomi knows that what he doesn’t want to say out loud is the same thing as what Atsumu wants to hear. 

But Kiyoomi, despite himself, almost wants to tell Atsumu. He almost wants to hand Atsumu all of the broken puzzle pieces that make up his body and ask Atsumu to solve them. He almost wants to tell Atsumu the diagnosis he’s kept secret since he was sixteen and falling apart. He almost wants to admit to this integral piece of his own identity, the one he’s distanced himself from as much as has been possible. 

“Only if you go first,” Kiyoomi says. It’s quiet, but strong willed. He’s not giving in until Atsumu does: this is the push/pull of their game. This is how they have always needed each other: with unwavering wanting. “Then I’ll consider it.” 

Atsumu is silent. Kiyoomi looks up from his own hands, meeting Atsumu’s gaze. There’s something fiery there, something proud and bold that Kiyoomi has always envied. Even when they were high schoolers, Atsumu has always known exactly who he is and where he’s going. 

Kiyoomi has never had that sense of identity, not really. Sometimes he doesn’t even recognize his own body as himself. Everyone is a threat that he is afraid of because, if he lets his guard down for one moment, they will overtake him. He is an empty space, and if he lets other people’s words and skills and emotions in, he will disappear entirely. 

He’s expecting Atsumu to back out and pretend that he had never offered up this game in the first place. It almost seems like he’s going to, for a moment. 

Then, with a strength and a will that Kiyoomi doesn’t have yet, Atsumu says, “I’m gay.” 

Kiyoomi stares at him for a long moment. “Oh.” 

“Your turn,” Atsumu says, his words still bold. He doesn’t seem to care what Kiyoomi thinks of him. He doesn’t seem to be looking for any particular reaction, any particular acceptance. “I told you my secret, now you tell me yours.” 

“You already know it,” Kiyoomi says, keeping his voice even. Impartial. “You heard that reporter. Everyone knows it by now.” 

Atsumu shakes his head, straightening up and uncrossing his arms. He tugs at his fingers, still staring straight at Kiyoomi. “I want to hear it from you. I want you to choose to tell me.” 

“This doesn’t feel like a choice,” Kiyoomi tells him, but there’s no bite to the words. 

Atsumu licks his lips, his eyes flicking from Kiyoomi to the lockers to the bench to Kiyoomi again. “I can make my own assumptions about what the reporter said, or you can tell me yourself. Make it yours, Kiyoomi.” 

Kiyoomi hates that logic. He hates even more that he understands what Atsumu is really saying: take this back into your own hands, make it something proud, make it something you own. 

He exhales, long and silent, releasing every ounce of shame from his chest. He tells his secret.

[notaplaceofhonour]

Something I want to clarify about this:

“Even those accusing Israel of genocide, such as Ireland, acknowledge that their accusation requires broadening the definition of genocide to do so.”

I want to be extremely clear that the part of this sentence that Ireland is specified in relation to is the highlighted portion—the “acknowledge that the accusation requires broadening the definition of genocide” part, not the “accusing Israel of genocide” part.

Ireland is not the only, nor even the main, country championing this accusation. It certainly is not the first country I think of in relation to the accusation (that would be South Africa; they originated the case).

If we’re looking at who is responsible for this accusation, the case was brought forward by filings from South Africa, working with Palestine. The other countries that are involved are Belgium, Bolivia, Chile, Colombia, Egypt, Ireland, Libya, Maldives, Mexico, Nicaragua, Spain, and Turkey.

I also wouldn’t say Ireland is the most prominent or committed aggressor in this case, as (per the linked source) Ireland has indicated they would drop out of the case if the ICJ didn’t agree to their request to broaden the definition of genocide.

That’s not to downplay antisemitism in Ireland’s government or Irish culture, but Ireland’s “complicity” simply wasn’t the point of bringing it up. The only reason Ireland is mentioned in particular here is in relation to the filing that asked the ICJ to broaden the definition of genocide, because it illustrates an acknowledgment of the need to move the goal posts to demonize Israel. As far as I can verify, Ireland is the only country that made that specific request.

Initially, I thought Amnesty International might have made a similar proposal in its report determining that Israel was committing genocide, but when I was fact checking that draft, I couldn’t find any solid verification & just went with what I could verify. Which was Ireland’s filing.

It’s not inappropriate to refer to this filing as being made by Ireland, as it was made by officials acting in an official capacity to represent Ireland on the global stage. However, this is not intended to single out Ireland, and it absolutely should not be generalized to random Irish folks that had nothing to do with it. As explained in the linked article, “the move does not reflect the sentiments of most Irish people.”

you will not be surprised to learn that not only was the commercial spot in question not “about how we all need to stand with Israel”, but israel & palestine are not referenced or alluded to in any way whatsoever.

here’s the ad:

it’s not even an ad primarily about antisemitism. it’s a campaign called “Stand Up To All Hate” about standing up to racism, Islamophobia, homophobia, sexism, antisemitism, etc.—all hate, as the name suggests.

and, for a split second, there’s a kid wearing a kippah. that’s it. shaq appeared in an ad where a kid wears a kippah and that is what is getting him accused of “supporting genocide”

[catsnuggler]

Ticks me off that AMLO is weak on Palestine. If Genocide Joe gets it in his head that he needs to go to war with Iran and other WANA countries over this, but sees the military's recruitment numbers are low, and no amount of propaganda convinces folks to go to WANA once again and kill brown people for money and regional hegemony, and the running dogs in Congress go along with him on this, the draft might go back into effect. Guess who isn't yet 26, and is an able-bodied cisgender man? Yours truly. I'm closer to Canada, if I wanted to get out, but Canada would definitely extradite me. This wouldn't be Vietnam, this would be a war Canada's all in on. So, if I wanted to go overland, the only other neighbor is Mexico, and as I said, AMLO, and the Mexican government in general, don't support Palestine. So, if the draft comes back? My only options are sign up, or go to prison. If I have to go to prison, I'd rather do that than sign up, but it's not something I'd like to do. I wish I'd be able to flee if it came to it, and just try to hide rather than claiming amnesty, but I don't think I could hide successfully. Definitely not in Mexico, and even in Canada, I'd just stick out before too long, even if it isn't practically on-sight.

That's a much more distant worry than what Palestinians are going through right now, though. The horror stories I've heard - and they're real, too. I really hope Palestine will be free someday soon.

[youhideastar]

I don’t know how many of you were around in hockey fandom when the Pens visited the Trump White House. I was, and there was a bargain there that I was willing to accept at the time, but the terms of that bargain have become increasingly unpalatable. I have always worried about the number of folks who—100% out of love, and with the best intentions in the world—left comments saying my writing made them like Alex Ovechkin. I would think, I really hope they understand the character in this writing is not actually Alex Ovechkin, a person who has done and said some troubling shit, but rather a made-up, better version, selectively based on the real person’s public persona. That was too optimistic, and on some level I knew that, but this week has really shoved my face in it.

I had three remaining fics in the works in the To Be Seen Aright universe, and they would have ended the series. Instead, I think I’ll conclude it where it is, and edit the most recent story’s author’s notes accordingly. The drafts of the remaining stories will be posted in their current state as WIP Amnesty, for those of you who were interested. I will continue to take director’s commentary requests, but not on the Ovechkin pieces. As an artist, I’m proud of those pieces; as a human being, I need to get out of the business of making people feel warm and cuddly about a Putin apologist.  I’m sorry to speak so harshly, and I mean no disrespect to those of you who love the stories and found something meaningful and personal in them. I did, too, and honestly, I still do! But there just comes a point where the thought of continuing in that vein is too painful. I hope you can understand.

In the short term, this decision affects only TBSA – I’m still hard at work on Summer to Your Heart, and a new chapter is coming this weekend! In the long term... well, STYH will be my last hockey RPF. But during breaks in working on STYH, I’m working on some stuff I'm really excited about in a new (to me, old to the entire rest of the internet) fandom that’s probably not a surprise for those of you who follow me here. 😉 Thanks for all your support and kindness – you have made this fandom such a joyful place for me to be, and without that, I’d have left a long time ago.

[hopeless-nostalgiac]

2020 IN WRITING

tagged by @loudlooks 

tagging: I haven’t been around, so I don’t know who’s writing anymore *shrug* If you want to, go ahead!

1. List of works published this year:

With Finer Grit - Chapter 10

with all appliances and means to boot

2. Work you are most proud of (and why):

The update to WFG because it was so long in the making (4! years!). Really thought I’d never continue it. I liked the other piece, too, because I actually had fun writing it. Team Leader Tony is one of my favorite Tonys.

3. Work you are least proud of (and why):

The update to WFG because I see the flaws and I might have ruined it with that last scene. Welp.

4. A favorite excerpt of your writing:

They dozed together in the dark of her bedroom. They weren’t cuddlers, per se. Their connections left them too sensitive, sticky and unspooled. They stayed close, though. Touching random pieces of her to him, him to her. His head resting on her bicep curled closest to the mattress. Her ankle molded to the arch of his foot. Sometimes as conventional as their hands laid one atop the other, fingers loose.

5. Share or describe a favorite review you received:

Hmm. Not many reviews these days. I cherished all the feedback from @mcgeekle *hugs*

6. A time when writing was really, really hard:

Pretty much every time I sat down to write. 

7. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you:

Um. I attempted to write smut, but never got to the actual smut part of the ficlet, so...I don’t think it counts. Also I tried writing Orli, which was interesting, if ultimately futile. 

8. How did you grow as a writer this year:

I know for a fact I did not grow because I did not put honest effort into it. 

9. How do you hope to grow next year:

I’d like to find a way to write again, regularly and with pleasure. Not sure how to achieve that, yet. Might need to find fresh inspiration. 

10. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

@mcgeekle such a sweetheart, so helpful and motivating and gives great insight, only wish I could return the favor somehow *more hugs*

@loudlooks read drafts of my work (that didn’t even became a thing) when she wasn’t feeling tiva, now that’s a writerly friend *hugs*

11. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year:

Nope, and I think that’s part of the problem. 

12. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers:

Not really new, but...write ideas/characters/worlds that interest you, make you laugh, send you flying back to the computer to write whenever you have the chance. Write what makes you want to keep writing.

13. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year:

Maybe finish WFG for good? Blessing could be continued...if I was so inclined. 

Mostly, like @loudlooks, I have a ton of WIPs. Seriously it’s disgraceful. There was the smut thing (it’s a tiva shower fic cause we need another of those). I’ve been dabbling with a New Year’s Eve tiva ficlet--for a couple years now. There’s a Hanukkah fic which would indeed be a miracle if I could finish it. A random piece on post-S17 Ziva. A S11 AU that gets bigger every time I think about it. A post-elevator fic that’s also a puppy fic (don’t ask). 

Then there’s a category of WIPs I previously released as part of Tiva Amnesty, but that I go stare at on occasion to torture myself. It’s fun. The biggest culprits are: --Tender Curiosity (S8 AU Ziva is preggers, but it’s not Tony’s; angst and deep friendship exploration ensue) --The Villa (S12 AU Tony and Ziva reunite at an Italian chateau, but it doesn’t go the way he planned) --Land I Grew (S7 Ziva and Tony rebuilding, one mattress at a time)

If the middles and endings of any (or all) of those want to suddenly be fully formed in my mind, that would be great.

To be honest, I think I have outgrown writing Tiva and that’s why it’s nearly impossible to produce these works, and thus why my writing has stalled completely.  

14. If you could recommend only one work from yourself published this year:

with all appliances and means to boot because it stands alone, at least.

15. Year word count:

WFG chapter = 2,331

With all appliances, etc. = 3,261

Drafts upon drafts, random crap, fiddling with WIPs = infinite

[grifalinas]

I have a weird relationship with the Mackerelboys and TAZ but I think the thing that they've done that has had the biggest impact on me is giving me definitive proof that not only is the second draft going to be better, it's completely okay to change things and it's okay if the first draft is a mess

I picked up Balance last year after years of refusing on the grounds of... well, stuff I don't want to talk about (tl;dr fandom) and as much as I enjoyed it, and Amnesty as well, I can't... really relisten to them. I've listened through Balance twice and Amnesty once, I can't relisten to them because as good as the story overall is and as much as I enjoyed them, it's just. So poorly constructed.

I also own all of the graphic novels and I tend to reread those a few times through after I get them. I am hoping that Amnesty gets the same graphic novel treatment because I would love to engage with that as a graphic novel and more importantly, I would love to engage with that story after they've had a chance to iron out its many, many, so many wrinkles.

Are there changes that I wish they hadn't made to the graphic novel drafts? Sure! Obviously I'm going to be annoyed if parts I particularly enjoyed or lines I find particularly iconic ("No dogs on the moon. They just run right off the goddamn thing.") are left out or changed, but at the end of the day, those are just details. At the end of the day, the big picture is that the story is so much better constructed.

Which makes sense, because now everyone involved knows what's coming down the pipeline and what they have to prepare for. They're better equipped to put the story together with all of the pieces present, and if there's something they want to rearrange, there's no need to keep it for an on-show reveal, they can just talk it out, details and all.

And, as I believe Travis mentioned when the last one came out, when they're telling the story on the show there's as much a focus on being entertaining and making jokes, and this can lead them to slip out of character. There are choices that characters have made that I felt didn't line up with that character, because the person playing them thought it up in the moment and there was no way to go back and work that into the character as a whole. Now they do.

As a writer you get given a lot of advice about how you have to "kill your darlings", and it's solid advice but it's also hard advice to follow. I write this kickass line or scene or gave this character a development that, later on, didn't really work. And it was fun and I want to keep it but I can't justify it, it ruins the rhythm of the story and reads more as a big-lipped alligator moment, so it has to go. And that's so hard.

And here are the Mackerelboys, who let us hear the entire, years long construction of their first draft, and it's still available, and now they're releasing the second draft, and we can put the two side by side, and compare, and see all the darlings they killed, and the definitive proof that yeah, the second draft is going to be better.

And that's so important to me.

[seijch]

BY DAY, you attend classes and sling drinks at the campus cafe. By night, you’re known as the Harbinger, an individual with the Gift of shadow and darkness. Your two jobs have never had any reason to collide…not until the appearance of a fellow Gifted by the name of Ace, anyway.

[ read luck of the draw here !! ]

this is an extra post for me to infodump on all the worldbuilding details i never got to fit into my already obnoxiously large fic 🕺🏻🕺🏻 its holding my brain hostage so maybe posting this will help!!!

please read luck of the draw before clicking the readmore !! there are spoilers abound (and you probably won’t understand much of what i’m saying if you haven’t read the fic LMAO)

ABOUT THE CONCEPT

the very core of luck of the draw isn’t actually unique to kenji or to haikyuu in general; in fact, it was originally a part of a superhero!skz series i was planning to write but never got around to. the foundation of this fic -- kenji’s power and the idea of them being opposing forces that slowly draw together -- was originally given to stray kids’ hyunjin. i never went past the Thinking Stage with it, so it was fairly easy to hand the concept over to futakuchi when i moved fandoms.

the dynamic of this fic in general was inspired pretty heavily by miraculous ladybug’s “love square,” but i ... obviously wasn’t going to write all four sides of it so i stuck to the civilian identities (the reader and kenji) and the alteregos (harbinger and ace). in the kpop version of this wip, the reader and hyunjin were coworkers, but in moving from one fandom to another and reworking it for futakuchi, i decided to make them friends instead. they’re not particularly close (they’re definitely comfortable but not close Emotionally) to start with, but there’s potential for something to start!

ABOUT THE WORLD

in this universe, the city is ruled by two major factions that control much of the economy: seijoh, who controls the entertainment/tourism industries and has its fingers in most of the smaller businesses around the city (such as johzenji and dateko) and nekoma, who is partnered with the equally large fukurodani to control shipment of all kinds as well as the food industry (among others). nekoma has allies within the local government, and seijoh all but controls the law enforcement.

karasuno, on the other hand, works entirely from the underground to overhaul the way things are run in the city; it’s a bit .... corrupt as of right now, and they seek to change that. 

at the top are typically individuals blessed with special powers known as gifts. these gifts can be as mundane as the ability to make flowers bloom wherever you walk or as powerful as being able to alter the flow of time. there exist a series of regulations (and a shit ton of paperwork) that come about whenever an individual happens to manifest a gift. 

however, the city’s gifted demographic is incorrectly represented; a chunk of the gifted population are instead drawn to the allure of making money by doing illicit deeds for companies like seijoh or nekoma. these individuals’ gifts are never properly documented due to the traceability it lends itself to, should a job go wrong.

the government is supposedly in talks to enact stricter laws on the gifted, despite them making up a comparatively small percentage of the population. the head of the department of gifted individuals, ushijima wakatoshi, is a particularly overwhelming force in support of better regulation of his fellow gifted.

ABOUT THE CHARACTERS

in the first draft of luck of the draw, the sequence of events and relationship dynamics were MUCH different. in the final draft, you see the alteregos being drawn to each other first before you see the civilians come together. 

in that first draft, it was originally centered on the civilians getting together despite kinda-sorta being attracted to each other’s alterego? as a result, the kiss scene between the alteregos was still there but it was DRASTICALLY different. the whole idea of it and imo moral ambiguitity (kenji and the reader never went official with their relationship in the first draft) didn’t sit right with me at all; it felt a little like i was using cheating as a plot device which ??? no.

to make the long story short, the execution of that (tbh poorly developed) idea was.......less than stellar.

so i took a look at the chronology and basically upended the entire midsection to make the concept something that was less awful morally? that’s what i hope happened, anyway LJSKDFLSD

in the first draft, the reader (as harbinger) was also much less competent than they are in the final draft as a result of having been affiliated with karasuno for a shorter time. in truth, the harbinger’s origin story didn’t surface until i was in the middle of writing the second draft!

when it comes to the other characters:

oikawa doesn’t have a gift, which is rather rare for someone with their thumb sitting so heavily on the city’s pulse point

iwaizumi’s gift is entirely up to interpretation! him and oikawa making formal appearances in the story was something that only came up towards the end of draft two, so i didn’t have the space (word count wise) to really give either much thought

kyotani came into his gift without any control over it, and is only given amnesty because he was found hiding by iwaizumi

i really really wanted to talk about kyotani in this fic but ultimately it wasnt revolving around him + i once again didn’t have space to even tease an encounter with him (so in the fic proper he’s mostly there as a cameo + to scare you as you read into a potential action scene)

aone and kenji actually come from the same company that happened to come under seijoh’s control, so they’re more comfortable with each other than anyone else!

hinata has the gift of manipulation as long as you’re making eye contact with him; unfortunately, if he wills it, it’s rather hard to break eye contact once you’ve made it -- aone made the mistake of glancing at him during the takeover at seijoh hq, leading to his hold on harbinger loosening

kageyama obviously has the gift of ice/hail/snow manipulation to a rather strong extent, considering he can create it where there is none and lower the temperature of the air around him (the reader cannot create their own darkness, only manipulate what is around them)

he also has some beef with oikawa (or is it the other way around?) that involves him formerly working under seijoh -- not one of their many smaller companies, but seijoh itself (much like iwaizumi and after kageyama leaves, kyotani)

in terms of who’s been with karasuno the longest of the introduced cast, it’s tsukishima/three-eyes > hinata = kageyama > reader (but not by much)

MISCELLANEOUS

following the takeover of seijoh, tsukishima finds himself at wit’s end much more often LMAO

there are a good amount of deleted scenes and scenes that were only added in at the very last second!

among the deleted scenes is a scene where the civilians are at the park -- in the first draft, it happened in the middle, but in the second it was towards the end. it got taken out because come the end of the second draft, i realized it no longer fit ...

in terms of completion status, it probably ?? took a little over a month from this to go from Thinking Stage to the 14.2k monstrosity you see now? there were a couple of weeks early on where i did nothing on my ipad and laptop except outline and write, respectively

i definitely got burned out halfway through (which is abt the time i posted the xc2 au .. i NEEDED to work on smth else)

the idea of the clock tower wasn’t present at all in the first draft!! i only really came up with it in the second draft because i’d rather have them meet somewhere consistent and identifiable rather than some nondescript building

the running joke (?) of them getting drinks together wasn’t present until the third and final draft -- originally the scene where ace asks “do you remember our last conversation?” had a different beginning

in fact, a lot of the scenes that are a bit more...emotionally charged (see: every scene after ace’s unmasking as well as the movie night scene where the civilians struggle to define what their relationship has become) had to be overhauled dramatically

ummm i love kenji thats it! none of this would be possible if i didnt have the strongest mf brainrot for him so ... ! theres that LMAO

(theres probably more im forgetting to say ........ if any of you want to pick my brain regarding the chronology or the characters or why i had them say something or do something send me an ask! this post tbh is almost entirely for me but i didnt put this much thought into a fic that long to NOT share it with everyone else)

[anogete]

Untitled Fake Marriage (Post-Civil War AU) Wintershock - Update and Sneak Peek #1

What’s it about?

Two years after Civil War and the US government is relying heavily on Tony to defend against threats. It’s killing Steve to pull back and not help, but he and his team are wanted by the governments of several countries. Public opinion has turned from supporting the Accords to wanting their superhero defense team back, which makes General Ross parlay with Steve and offer a deal--come back and help us and we’ll grant all of you amnesty, among other things. Steve likes the deal, but he also wants Bucky (who has been living in Wakanda) included in the negotiation.  General Ross and his advisors are reluctant since he is responsible for some high-profile assassins around the world.  They question whether Bucky can be trusted to reenter the country and not disappear in the woodwork. Natasha attends one of the meetings and casually mentions that she doesn’t understand why they’d think Bucky would cut and run or do anything to jeopardize his amnesty since he’s married and trying to start a family.  General Ross and his team latch onto this and agree to include Bucky as long as he’s married and they can send a social worker over to check on Bucky and his wife every week for the first few months. Steve takes this to Bucky, but Bucky rejects it. Shuri finds out what Steve is trying to do and insinuates herself into the situation by contacting the woman picked to act as Bucky’s wife.  Shuri likes Darcy Lewis and thinks Bucky will as well.  Besides, she’s worried about the way he’s isolating himself and working until he passes out at night.  He definitely needs a life and he isn’t finding one in Wakanda.  With a little nudging, she convinces Bucky to talk to Darcy.  And Darcy convinces Bucky to give this crazy plan a shot.

What should you expect? 

Conversations and a resolution to the conflict between Bucky and Tony.  Sassy, fun, and wise Shuri.  Okoye rolling her eyes at Bucky being nervous to meet his future wife and also the clothing Shuri made the poor guy wear to the formal dinner.  A slow burn.  Fake marriage (which is legally a real marriage).  Lots of sexual tension and mutual pining.  Bed-sharing. Bucky struggling to find his place in modern western society with Darcy’s help. Darcy trying to not fall for this guy she’s getting paid to pretend to love.  Some awkward times, some overheard masturbation.  A road trip and a getaway.  A deceptive and heartless government.  A Bucky that would kill for this woman he’s come to care for, and a Darcy who is extremely protective Darcy who will burn down any organization who even tries to mess with her man.  It’ll be a long one.  Exactly how long I’m not sure.  Definitely more than 60k.  Probably more than 80k.  Maybe as much as 90-100k.  We’ll see where the story takes me.  I hope to have the first draft finished by the end of July and something to post within the first two weeks of August.  I can’t promise that at this point, but it’s my goal.

Where am I at?

A few pages into chapter 6 of the first draft.  I believe the word count is sitting around 27,000 right now. I have a general idea of where the story is going and the conflict that will begin to take shape, but I don’t have an outline just yet.  That won’t firm up for a few more chapters.

Where is the damn sneak peek?!

Oh, here you go:

“Do you always get up at this awful hour, Sergeant Barnes?”

Bucky closed his eyes when he heard Shuri’s voice behind him. She’d become like his little sister these past two years. He owed her a debt he could never repay, but she seemed to think his gratitude was silly. She’d been brushing it off since they pulled him out of cryo and she fixed his head. “Good morning to you, too,” he said.

She walked over to stand beside him, casting her gaze out over the hazy water. “How are you feeling?”

Looking up at her, he said, “Conflicted.”

Shuri looked down at him, the light catching on the ornate gold jewelry at her ears and neck. The sky was pink and the sun was cresting the horizon. It would be a hot day. “I hope my brother told you that you’re welcome to say if you wish to.”

“He did,” Bucky said. “Thank you.”

She stepped on the high grass growing next to him, flattening it out with her sandals before sitting down. “Do you think they are lying to you?”

Her question caught him off guard. “Steve?”

“No, the others. The American government.”

“Maybe,” Bucky conceded. “I trust Steve. I know he wants to help, but I don’t know if I want the help.”

“Don’t you want your life back?”

“My life is over.” The words were out of his mouth before he could censor them. People didn’t like when he said things like that even though he thought it all the time. His life was over. He was just going through the motions here in Wakanda. It was peaceful and serene and he wasn’t unhappy, but he wasn’t living. He was existing.

Shuri nodded slowly. “You do act that way, don’t you, Sergeant Barnes? Insisting on staying here in this hut and never talking to anyone.”

“You know, you only call me Sergeant Barnes when you’re sassing me, Princess Shuri?”

She glanced over and smiled. Bucky liked when she smiled because her entire face lit up like she was a little girl. She reminded him of his sister when she smiled like that. His sister was dead. She died at the age of eighty-two in a nursing home in New Jersey. Bucky hadn’t been there for her. At the time, he’d been HYDRA’s most prized asset and wouldn’t have even been able to tell you her name.

“Your life is not over,” Shuri told him. “Steve Rogers transmitted the paperwork his government wants you to sign last night. My brother’s advisors are not too happy with me because I made them review it into the early morning.”

“And?” he asked.

“It’s exactly what your friend said it was. They’d be breaking laws if they violate it. Of course, it isn’t like they haven’t broken laws before--their own and others.”

They sat there in silence for a moment before Bucky said, “I’m more worried about everything else.”

“Oh, living, you mean?”

He chuckled softly at her taunting question. “Yeah, living. They want me to pretend to be married. I don’t… I haven’t been around people that much here. I don’t know if I can do that. They’re going to expect me to fight for them and… I don’t know...”

Shuri nodded. “Evil men ask others to fight their battles.”

Her words cut deeply into him. Bucky felt all the emotions--all the frustration and fear and anger and hopelessness--well up in him, tightening his chest and making it difficult to pull in a breath. Unshed tears threatened to spill over his lower lids. He tilted his face up to the sky and blinked them away.

“If they try to force you to fight, then you will come back here,” she said, voice matter-of-fact.

“Shuri, that would put you brother in a bad spot. I’m a diplomatic nightmare now and him harboring me would be even worse.”

“Wakanda can protect itself. You are a friend to us, Bucky. You are not asking, we are offering.”

His chest hurt so badly. “Shuri, you can’t--”

“We can and will.” She looked over at him and smiled again. “I spoke to the woman who will be your wife.”

Bucky’s laugh was strained and lacking any humor. He turned his head away from her for a moment. “I can’t do that. I can’t… I can’t ask someone to give up a year of their life for me.”

“I like her,” Shuri replied, ignoring everything he’d just said. She really could be a brat sometimes.

Sighing in resignation, he caved into the little voice in the back of his mind that was curious about what woman Steve would pick, what woman would agree, and what woman Shuri approved of. “What’s she like?” he asked.

“Would you like to see her?” Shuri asked, grinning.

“No,” Bucky said, the answer almost jumping out of his mouth. “No. I’m not… I can’t do that.”

“You can’t see her?” Shuri asked, her expression some strange mixture of amusement and pity.

“I can’t go through with this,” he replied. “What she looks like doesn’t matter.”

[ladyfl4me]

A,E,F,G,I,J,K,L,M,N,O,P,Q,R,S,T,U,V,W,X,Y,Z ;o

Okay *cracks knuckles* let’s go! F, M, and S have already been taken from this list, so feel free to send in... B, C, D, or H, I guess. Yeehaw. This is really fucking long.

A: How did you come up with the title to [TMWCIFTC]? -- It started, as many things do, as a bad pun. The novel The Spy who Came In from the Cold was a cold-war spy thriller, about a British spy who goes over to East Germany as an apparent defect, except he’s actually there to spread misinformation and fuck shit up. He falls in love, becomes disillusioned with his superiors, and is shot dead over the corpse of his lover after climbing over to the east side of the wall. Needless to say, this is nowhere close to what happens in TMWCIFTC. I chose it early on because of the literal meaning: there’s a moth(man), he’s coming in from the cold WV weather, boom shaka laka, we have a title. Over time, though, it’s evolved into another meaning. Indrid himself is coming in from an isolated, lonely existence: he’s rejoining the family that cut ties with him, he’s in love, he’s warm and safe. The moth sure did come in from the cold, and hopefully he stays that way.

E: If you wrote a sequel to [TMWCIFTC], what would it be about? -- Hm. Considering my entire TAZ fic career is a tangled hairball of sequels and prequels, I kind of have this base covered. At the moment, TCOS - aka The Children of Sylvain, the sequel to TMWCIFTC - is about three things: a Pine Guard road trip race against time and the feds, the Spanish Sylvan Inquisition That Nobody Expected (least of all Jake and Hollis, who have to set aside their differences and past conflicts to save Kepler - and who knows, maybe they’ll fall in love along the way), and Alexandra the Interpreter getting woke to Sylvan politics and doing what she can from the inside to change them. In other words, it’s going to be a massive sequel that is the finale of the Amnesty alternate universe I’ve created. It’s this series’ Endgame. (That reminds me, I need an actual title for this collection of stories I’m writing. The “Tin Cinematic Universe” doesn’t quite have the ring to it that I’d like.)

G: Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order? -- eh, it kind of depends. It’s like a buffering bar on Youtube videos. I outline what I can until I run out of ideas, then start writing, then add outlines to the end, until the outline is complete and I just have to keep writing.

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)? -- I don’t have one for reading, but for writing, I fucking love structuring chapters around songs. Classical or otherwise, I love music. All my stories play in my head like a movie screen, and I just do my best to describe what I’m seeing in my head with an accompanying score. It’s not so much a guilty pleasure as it is a writing process. Frankly, I don’t think I actually have a guilty pleasure; the act of writing itself is all the happiness I need.

J: Write or describe an alternative ending to [insert fic]. -- An alternate ending for The Devil Went Down To Georgia would be... interesting. It ended with Boyd-as-Jersey-Devil scaring the pants off some poor broke college kid, who stole his worthless fiddle; then he changed back, and he and Ned went on their merry way to go break into Aubrey’s house and send everything down the drain. If there was one thing that I could change in there, it would be how fast Ned ran. If he ran a little faster, he would have seen the alley; he would have witnessed Boyd turning into the Jersey Devil, or at least turning back into himself; and he’d get a very rude awakening as to what Sylvans are and that his partner (in crime, and everything that mattered) was a fucking cryptid. God, that’d be a fun AU to write. Who knows, I might go do that someday.

K: What’s the angstiest idea you’ve ever come up with? -- At the moment, the only angsty idea that I’m actually conceptualizing is a Hollis/Jake angsty breakup for TSG. (Spoilers, I guess.) I once wrote a very grimdark ending to TMWCIFTC where everyone fell through the ice and drowned. It wasn’t fun. I’ve also mentally killed off each Amnesty protagonist and NPC in various ways, but I never felt comfortable writing them down. I only write angst with a happy ending because those are the kinds of stories I need to hear.

L: How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting? -- 9 times out of 10, I just throw it into the void. I write as much as I can in big chunks, and then kind of hope for the best. TMWCIFTC, for example, is a completely unedited, unbetaed vomit draft. I usually do a quick reread of my oneshots to catch grammar and spelling errors, but other than that I just trust myself that it’s fine.

N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you? -- Can I get some kind of resolution for To the Edge of Night? Can I please get some kind of resolution for To the Edge of Night??? I was 14 chapters into that bastard before I a) became a more casual MCU fan and b) discovered TAZ. It was such a niche fic with such a niche structure - LOTR as galactic Asgardian propaganda to cover up Odin’s mistakes - that at some point I lost interest in it. I just saw Endgame though, so now I might get some inspiration for stuff to bastardize.

O: How do you begin a story–with the plot, or the characters? -- Characters. When coming up with character backstories, I can usually find ways to slot their lives together that necessitate a plot. I love character-driven stories, where their actions actually do shit and their words actually mean something, in favor of getting dragged along behind the plot like tin cans behind a car.

P: Are you what George R. R. Martin would call an “architect” or a “gardener”? (How much do you plan in advance, versus letting the story unfold as you go?) -- I’m definitely an architect, but in a really messy way. My friends can attest that I do an insane amount of planning for each story - often in their DMs, sorry about that, Fae, Cro, Indy and Aline 😬 - and all that usually ends up in a stream-of-consciousness rant outline on Google Drive. Knowing where the story is going helps me a lot, but the planning I do is definitely just building flower beds in which to sow seeds. Or building a greenhouse. I plan the bare bones of a story, and things get really wild within it, but it does follow a logical plot structure.

Q: How do you feel about collaborations? -- I have a lot of respect for the people who can successfully pull it off, but idk if i’d ever want to do one myself. I get really possessive of my stories and ideas and like to be the one in charge of their execution. That being said, some collabs have produced amazing stories. I don’t mind reading collab fics, but actually being in a collab grates on me more than it should.

R: Are there any writers (fanfic or otherwise) you consider an influence? -- I’m definitely influenced heavily by Neil Gaiman. I read American Gods and Good Omens a lot while I was trying to write TMWCIFTC; not only was it a good brain break, but I was able to pick up a lot of tips on scene pacing, concise yet expressive language, and character interactions. My creative wriitng professors have always told us to read so we know what to steal - not in terms of content, but in execution. 

On the fanfic side, @miamaroo is a huge inspiration for me. I’ve been reading Northern Migration a lot recently, and I love how its canon divergence is so worldshaking and so complex, but is still familiar in nostalgic yet terrifying ways. I read it back in October, went, “Huh, I wanna do something that wild. And if miamaroo can do it then I sure as fuck can too,” and I started planning TMWCIFTC during that one month dead zone the McElroys took last year. Northern Migration is one of the best, most coherent, most stunning, and most incredibly written TAZ Balance AUs I’ve ever read, and if I hadn’t read it, I wouldn’t have been inspired to take the fuckall huge plunge into TMWCIFTC.

S: Any fandom tropes you can’t resist? -- Bed sharing and cuddling, hand kissing, wrist kissing, whump, sympathetic villains. Canon divergent AUs are my absolute favorite things to both read and write. Anything that would turn me into Charlie Kelly slamming his finger on a bulletin board screaming, “CAROL,” is a fic I would give my life for. 

T: Any fandom tropes you can’t stand? -- Not a fan of a) woobification and b) flat villain characterization, to the point where the story is riding on villain tropes instead of an actual person or plot. Character nuance is always something I look for when I read. I don’t usually get bitter about tropes, though; some stuff, when subverted, works really well. I fully subscribe to don’t like, don’t read, don’t write, which is why I don’t write anything that warrants AO3 content warning tags or an Explicit rating, in favor of focusing on plot. Every author has a reason for what they write and how - be it their level of experience, personal preference, or simply the joy of writing something and getting it out there - and I respect that. Within reason, of course.

U: Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much. -- 

@miamaroo, for reasons I’ve already discussed. My favorite TAZ Balance author hands down. Read Northern Migration and give it the love it deserves, or I’m replacing all the faucets in your house with silly straws.

@transagentstern. Fae has a bunch of absolutely incredible fics and an amazing grasp on characterization. We come from the same place with AUs, in that canon is but the bare planks on which we put the drywall of our plot an characterization. They structure AUs and character backstories from the ground up in believable and emotionally raw ways. Also they have great music taste. I especially like their interpretation of Indrid in Moth to the Flame; he, like all the other characters in the story, is far from perfect, and his character arc is explored in relatable ways that I love to read. 

@keplersheetz. Aline - theneonpineapple on AO3 - researches like a motherfucker and has a wealth of knowledge/experience/viewpoints to draw on, making author-author interactions with her an absolute delight. She’s also doing the lord’s work with rarepairs. Spin a wheel, find a ship, and she’s probably written for it or at least conceptualized it. Reading her character studies and stories of the old Pine Guard - aka Mama’s original crew, before the current PCs joined - is always a delight. I’ve also hashed out a lot of details for The Children of Sylvain, especially for Mr. Boyd Mosche, guilt-wracked Jersey Devil extraordinaire, with her help. 

V: If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose? -- Not gonna lie, I’m fine with a lot of stuff that’s out there right now. It’s been a hot few months since I’ve actually stopped to read fic, but from what I recall, most of the fics I’ve read have done a good job of keeping things intact.

W: Do you like more general prompts, or more specific ones? -- The vaguer, the better. With really specific prompts, it usually feels as if the story’s been written for me already; with vague, general prompts, I have more agency to explore my own ideas. Some accompanying detail is usually nice, though. For example, the coffee shop/college/flower shop AUs that @transagentstern​ wrote are my ideal prompt for drabbles: premise, a little bit of open-ended detail, clear explanation of what’s going to happen while leaving the rest up to the imagination. Good stuff. If it’s for a long-form piece, though, I prefer full agency, or even just some time to lie facedown in the dirt and wait for an idea to strike me.

X: A character you enjoy making suffer. -- Yes.

Y: A character you want to protect. -- Tim.

Z: Major character death–do you ever write/read it? Is there a character whose death you can’t tolerate? -- I do read lots of major character death, yeah, though not always for TAZ. There’s something cathartic about seeing a character die, but sometimes it sits wrong with me in ways that I don’t like. As for writing, I’d rather kill a character for a reason rather than for shock value/for the Feels, though said Feels can accompany the reason. 

[orderoftheavengers]

Winter Sorcerer

Summary: Bucky Barnes died in the war against Grinderwald, and was resurrected by dark wizards as a vampire.

House: Hufflepuff

Species: Vampire (formerly human)

Blood Status: Pureblood

Wand: Plumwood, 13 inches, unicorn tail hair

Broom: Prefers flying motorbikes

Artificial Arm: Pullled from a suit of armor and enchanted.

Patronus: White wolf

Familiar: Rocket 

Specialties: Defense Against the Dark Arts, Care of Magical Creatures, Pensieve use, Magical hat manufacturing, brooding

Sorting:

He has all the traits of Gryffindor, but is more defined by his loyalty to his country, friends, and sadly manipulators. He was friends with Steve back when Steve was a dweeb, and is overall a colossal cinnamon roll. While more than willing to fight for the right, Bucky always went into war like it was a duty that had to be done, not something he was particularly born to do. He did not admire pre-serum Steve's eagerness to get into fights. When he isn't needed, Bucky is glad to retreat into the safety and solace of his coffin. Finally, Bucky has a clear connection to nature, which is common in Hufflepuffs. For him it's not plants though, it's more animals. His nickname is White Wolf; he tends goats and thestrals in Wakanda; and he gets along with Rocket Raccoon.

Human Life:

Janus Ambrocius "Bucky" Barnibus was a middle-class, pureblood, American wizard at the time of Grinderwald. Bucky was a Prefect at Ilvermorny Institute of Magic, where he'd been in the Puckwudgie House--the House for "healers." Though Bucky never went into literal Healing as a career, his personality made him a good fit for the House. Bucky would later proove capable of healing himself, from wounds that would drive most wizards to permanent insanity or suicide.

Bucky looked out for his tiny Squib friend Stephanos "Steve" Rogers, who was rejected from all wizarding schools due to his lack of magic. Bucky once saved Steve from a literal troll, transforming the great horned, warted beast into a tiny flower-troll, and teleporting it to Central Park.

Bucky was drafted into the war against Grinderwald, before graduating school.  He was captured by Grinderwald's followers, and force-fed vampire's blood, as part of their twisted experiments. After Steve became the Superwizard, he saved Bucky, and the two attended Hogwarts--the school where the most important Auror students were sent--while continuing to fight the war. Here, Bucky was sorted into Hufflepuff House.

Death and Dark Rebirth:

During a battle on the Hogwarts Express, Bucky fell from a train car as it was rolling over a cliff. Before hitting the ground, something stopped his fall, and he found himself dangling from his left arm. Thinking someone had rescued him, he looked up at his rescuer and breathed, "Thanks pallie--" then stopped, upon realizing his "rescuer" was an Irish Whiskeybreath dragon. The drunk dragon bit down, taking Bucky's arm clean off, and munched away, while Bucky went back to falling. Bucky presumed dead by all of his comrades. In fact, he was dead... for a time.

But the vampire blood his captors had forced him to drink caused him to resurrect as a Nosferatu. Vampirism often causes major loss of memory and emotions, turning victims into monsters almost overnight. The Dark Wizards collected their new vampire, and began training him as their personal assassin. Since his arm had been lost before his transformation, it did not grow back as lost Vampire limbs do, and had to be replaced. The Dark Wizards enchanted an arm from a suit of armor, and eventually stamped it with the Dark Mark.

Regaining Humanity:

Steve Rogers was the first one to recognize Bucky, and help him remember his life as a human. Steve did this by refusing to fight back, and letting Bucky suck some of his blood, knowing that sucking blood allows a vampire access to its victim's memories. Bucky was far gone enough that none of his previous victims's memories--even those of his old friend Howard Stark--stuck with him. But Steve made sure to think about all the times Bucky told him, "I'm with you 'till the end of the line," and that did the trick.

Bucky fled from everyone and got himself a small apartment in Europe. There, he taught himself how to use a Pensieve, and began sucking the juice from plums to help boost his memory. At times, he would also find himself creating strange Wonderland-styled hats with his wand; a side-effect of the confusion his brain was going through.

But then one day when Bucky came home to find an owl waiting for him with a letter. It read:

Dear Mr. Barnabus,

It has come to our attention that you are not entirely dead, and have not yet finished your magical education. It is highly encouraged that you return to Hogwarts and once and continue your studies, unless you wish to continue living as a crazy-haired hobo.

Sincerely, Headmistress Minerva McGonnagal

Upon returning to Hogwarts, Bucky was sorted back into Hufflepuff, and rekindled his friendship with Steve and a rivalry with fellow Hufflepuff Sam Wilson. But a drunken Quidditch brawl caused everything to go up in smoke, and Bucky once again left Hogwarts. He transfered to Wakanda's wizarding school, where King T'Challa offered the vampire amnesty, a new arm, a vaccine against the Imperius Curse, and a comfy glass coffin.

Tired of war and violent sports, Bucky took an interest in Care of Magical Creatures. He spent his summer vacation in Wakanda on a Thestral farm, bonding with these creatures of death. Princess Shuri made Bucky a new enchanted armor-arm, with the Hufflepuff emblem on it, so that when his former Hogwarts classmates saw him again, they and Bucky both would be reminded of who he really was.

Irony... so much irony....

Contrary to popular belief, not all vampires disintegrate in the sunlight. That only happens to the weakest n00bs. Bucky had long since been crafted into one of the most powerful vampires on Earth, by the evil wizards who made him. When Shuri cured Bucky of the dark magic in his head, she assured him that he would still do just fine in sunlight. . And yet, at the end of the Battle of Wakanda, Bucky was shocked to see his metal arm dissolving into ash.

"Steve...I think my powers are weakening. I've literally never disintegrated in the sun before."

"Everyone's disintegrating!" Bruce cried. "Not just vampires! Thanos got all the Infinity Stones into his wand, and this was his goal!"

Bucky bellowed, "Oh you have got to be shi--" he was ash before he could finish his sentence.

Relationships:

Like most Hufflepuffs, Bucky has a long list of strong relationships, including:

The Winter Soldier: An annoying Alter Ego that occasionally still interrupts Bucky's thoughts, despite Shuri's best efforts. No longer in charge of Bucky's body, at least.  

Steve Rogers: BFF who helped him remember his pre-vampire life

Sam Wilson: Rival BFF for Steve

Helmut Zemo: A deranged squib Durmstrang reject, Zemo pitted the Order of the Avengers against each other by spiking their food with Firewhisky and Hobbitweed, and hexing all of their Quidditch balls into literal Idoit Balls. He also framed Bucky Barnes for a pumpkin bombing using a very blurry photograph, and naturally everyone was drunk enough to believe it. And to add insult to injury, Zemo used the Imperius Curse to make Bucky go on a blood-sucking rampage.

King T'Challa: Previously dead-set on killing Bucky, even when Bucky protested that he was innocent. But after coughing up all the alcohol and Hobbit hemp with a hairball, T'Challa sobered up, and felt horrible. He now provides for Bucky and pays for his magical education in Wakanda. Princess Shuri: Bucky's doctor, she created a potion for him to regularly take that would shield him from the Imperius Curse. She also made him his new Hufflepuff themed arm.

Mad-Eye Fury: Bucky tried to kill him, but that was before he regained his humanity. All the same, Nick can't walk past Bucky in the halls of Hogwarts without giving him some attention from his angry magical eye.

Tony Stark: Angst-bros, since Bucky was forced to kill Tony's parents, and Tony only found out when he was dumped head-first into a Pensieve with the memory playing on repeat, and then Tony tried to kill Bucky because he was standing right next to him and who the **** wouldn't, and both were already guilt-complex-driven characters, and so this relationship was obvious (whether canon addresses it or not)

Wanda Maximoff: Another former Hydra Death Eater, and one who specializes in mind-magic, she is someone Bucky has much in common with, and who could help him retrieve his memories. Very possible love interest; Bucky just has to wait for her to realize how boring Vision is.

Ava Starr: Another magical predator that used to be human, trained to help bad guys. Another possible girlfriend for Bucky.

Natasha Romanoff: Rumor has it they dated back when they were both villains, and many classmates are rooting for them to pick up where they left off

The Thestrals: Bucky fees, sheers, and snuggles with thestrals on his freetime in Wakanda

Rocket Raccoon: Bucky's love for animals doesn't end with Thestrals. He and Rocket--a raccoon/niffler hybrid--are badasses on the battlefield together. Being half niffler causes Rocket to be enamored with Bucky's shinny arm, solidifying the friendship.

Peter Parker:

"You have a robot arm? That is awesome dude!" 

"It's not robotic, it's enchanted armor." 

"You have an enchanted armor arm and you're a vampire? That is so COOL! Are you also a werewolf? Because your name is White Wolf. Are you a vampire/werewolf like in 'Underworld?' With a robot arm? Are you a vampire-werewolf cyborg? Can I base my World of Darkness character off you in my next campaign?"

"I'm not a werewolf. It's just a name."

"Cuz every night the whole Ravencalw commonroom does some tabletop games and Tuesday is World of Darkness Night, and I always try to come up with a cool character but I never can because I'm not really the creative type, except when it comes to science-stuff--"

"Parker I don't care."  

Eddie Brock: Another Hufflepuff/Puckwudgie guy with a sinister alter ego that won't shut up. Eddie and Bucky frequently complain about Venom and the Winter Soldier, who likewise complain about their goody two-shoes hosts.

Notes: "Harry Potter" canon has little to no information about vampires, other than brief mentions that they do exist in the Potterverse. So I just chose some cliched rules that fit with Bucky's story. You can expect updates on this, and all the other Avengers' Hogwarts descriptions, as more movies come out.

[ill-will-editions]

THE YELLOW VESTS IN SAINT-NAZAIRE: “WE’RE RELEARNING HOW TO BUILD TOGETHER”

Reportback on the Second Assembly of Assemblies in Saint-Nazaire (April 5, 6, 7, 2019)

(Originally published in Lundimatin #188, April 23, 2019)

Last month, April 5, 6 and 7, the second “Assembly of Assemblies” of the Yellow Vests was held in Saint-Nazaire, after the first one in Commercy in January. The following article is a partial reportback on these meetings, offering an enthusiastic, albeit ambivalent, assessment. When “limits” and “disappointments” are mentioned, the author considers them despite everything as being part of a longer-term process: “democracy must be conceived as a painful learning process.” However, according to echoes reaching us from other sources, it would seem to be the forms of democracy themselves that are at least in part responsible for making those few days painful: obsession with voting, exacerbated formalism, massive presence of veteran activists, etc. While we think it is vital for the Yellow Vests movement to be able to organize nationally beyond virtual channels (Facebook, Telegram, etc.), it seems a bit sad that this process, in many ways, insists on using the same codes of the democracy that we are familiar with: elected representatives who vote on texts and get bogged down in conflicts that no one understands. Why not simply take advantage of moments like these to talk about different local situations, forge a sharper perspective on the state of the movement and its different parts, and even, perhaps, coordinate a few pertinent actions?  —Lundimatin

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In late January, an initiative by some follks in the small town of Commercy in eastern France sketched out a basis for structuring the Yellow Vests. The idea was simple: to coordinate a gathering of delegates from local groups all over France, with the idea of working out a horizontal structure for the movement that would apply the principles of direct democracy. A wild gamble, and a response to skeptics.

Two months later at the second "Assembly of Assemblies" in Saint-Nazaire, the roundabouts seem to have taken up the idea, as nearly 250 delegations made the trip to speak on behalf of local groups in the debates. It signals a success for the Saint-Nazaire organizers, but also a logistical challenge. One after another, potential venues for the meeting replied with rejections. No matter! The organizers hit back with wild inspiration: why not hold the event at the Maison du Peuple (the “People’s House”), where popular assemblies have been held every night for months? Why not rip up the ground floor of the old sub-prefecture, knock down the walls and see if it works? As the organizers are well aware, the institution of the People’s House is a powerful symbol, one that has already captured yellow imaginations pretty much everywhere in France. There’s something dreamy about occupying an old seat of power (a sub-prefecture) on a whim and transforming it into a place of life and organization. To use it to host an assembly of assemblies, making it the capital of yellow dissent for a weekend, only sweetens the dish.  One power chases another.

Still, the context has changed. Two months have passed since Commercy. Along the way, that determination so common at the start of a struggle has had to come to terms, first, with fatigue, and then with doubts. The litany of “prefecture journalists,” combined with the banality of judicial and police violence, have worked tirelessly to undermine the struggle. For those who refuse to give up, Saint-Nazaire bears the vague promise of a new maneuver, a new front.

 “It’s going to be complicated;” “We’re going to experiment;” “Not everything will be perfect.”

Given the delegates’ impatience, the local organizers proceed cautiously. The magnitude of the task is immense, and the three days of discussion won’t be enough. Plenary sessions alternate with thematic working groups. Beneath the large tents and kiosks that line the building, the crowd divides and subdivides until it reaches a reasonable size. In a hurry, the most motivated among them push through the beating rain to move from one group to another. It’s a well-designed formula, leading otherwise strangers to relax and get to know one another. A new feature of this second meeting is that groups are able to propose their own topics for discussion: “Municipalism” for Commercy, a “Charter of the Yellow Vests” put forward by Montpellier, or “People’s House” from Saint-Nazaire, etc.

These small discussion groups place the emphasis on lived experience. The violence of the repression is countered with the relief of learning that one is not alone. Everyone narrates their actions, astonishing the person sitting next to them with their audacity or creativity. Blocking the economy, recreating local ties, producing for all, taking back the roundabouts, imagining a different way to organize life, targeting certain businesses, pressuring the authorities, developing popular education, fighting against bad housing, attacking the symbols of the disaster: everyone is pushing their emergency, hoping to win support.

Local experiences are mixed up in an immense melting pot of revolt and desire. Pages are covered in ink, meetings planned. Folks learn about practices they had no clue existed: blocked Airbus factories in the southwest; occupied tollbooths, liberating toll roads for several weeks on end; alternative “citizens’ markets” feature local, often organic, goods and services each week; etc. As one miffed delegate put it: “How did I not know? It’s weird that nobody talked about it. Shit.” The idea of a large platform for information is brought up again, to no longer depend on anyone. Of the 70 accreditations granted, a good portion of the red media badges adorn yellow vests: many Facebook Page editors, autonomous media crews and independent journalists and documentary teams are present. Criticism has turned into action: people telling their own stories, taking back control of their words, freeing themselves from all delegation. 

It’s in these smaller group that the pulse of the movement can be taken. More so than in Commercy, determination is on display and there’s nobody left who doubts the process. Four months of struggle have gone by and transformed even the most recalcitrant. There’s nothing left to do but get organized. Get organized, to believe again. The idea of a more thorough coordination is discussed at great length. An idea that wins support: remobilize, then attack simultaneously pretty much everywhere. The calendar promises its share of opportunities: April 20, May 1, the European Union elections, not to mention the G7 in Biarritz late August and the 2020 municipal elections.

But when all the delegates gather in the plenary assembly, the atmosphere is different. Here, they’re experimenting with the most complex, utopian aspects of direct democracy, and in Saint-Nazaire there are a lot more people present than in Commercy, maybe even too many. The first cracks begin to show in the assembly. The folks with the microphone try to be reassuring despite the time that flies by at full speed. Managing to agree on enough points to put out a call by Sunday evening appears complicated, but nobody wants to give up on it.

The first draft of a joint text is finally submitted to the assembly on Sunday around noon. Disappointing. A certain number of agreements from the working groups seem to have been left out. Some decry a scam, others commiserate in frustration. In fact, the text itself was intended to be minimal to get enough votes to pass, even if it means disappointing the more ambitious delegates. Other, more focused, thematic and concrete texts are proposed simultaneously that win votes more easily and are passed. Each issue has a different text addressing it: the European elections, repression and the cancellation of jail time, citizen assemblies and convergences with environmental struggles, etc. For the first time in three days, the rain stops — the sun gives smokers hope again.

Although the afternoon is well underway, the dream of a call from Saint-Nazaire still seems far off. Some refuse to give up on it, as a limited number of amendments are agreed upon. Do political prisoners need to be discussed? What about amnesty, or the annulment of sentences? A last-minute amendment is adopted without really any debate: the goal of exiting from capitalism. The text is adopted by a very large majority. Once more, the delegates’ voices can be heard rising in the main hall, “We are here, we are here…” But this time is different. Hundreds of sub-prefecture squatters vibrate with yellow fever. The call isn’t perfect, but it’s a symbol and it’s done, honor intact. A stubborn joy is palpable.

The consensus, however, lasts only as long as the chant. The last-minute amendment on capitalism doesn’t go over well: “a disgusting stab in the back,” according to one delegate. Poorly chosen words, too connoted, too divisive, not sufficiently representative of the yellow vests in their diversity. Others castigate the assembly for not formally putting concrete directions and strategic proposals into writing. In vain: the text has been voted upon, it’s final. But the memory of the consensus achieved in Commercy fades away.

This weekend of April 6, 7 and 8 was historic, but for those who placed their hopes in it, it served above all as a reminder: democracy must be conceived as a painful learning process. This is what the Saint-Nazaire team recalls a few days later in a message addressed to participants:

“Just like in Commercy, we can make these three days into something foundational, especially in the lessons to be learned, in the mistakes not to make again. This real democracy that we’re building and inventing happens in real time, in all its complexity, and over time, in all its lengthiness — not in the quickness of the time of those we’re fighting against. We only have four months of experience but what a long way we’ve come in such a short time!”

 Despite the disappointments, a plan is set in place for another Assembly of Assemblies in early June. Two groups have already offered to host and direct this third gathering, which promises to be decisive.  

[Edited 5.13.2019]