#fic: prophetic self destruction

[voxofthevoid]

Vore Wednesday#2—revamped 🦷

Tumblr ate my original post for this, which I found out last week while looking up that snippet for an ask response. Since it'll be July or something before your resistance, prophetic self-destruction goes up on Ao3, I figured I might as well reinstate the post.

For folks who haven't seen this before, here's the fic I started the WIP Wednesday snippets for. It's kinda wild remembering how quiet the JJK side of my blog was back then. For folks who have already read this, there's still new material since I've doubled the length of the excerpt.

(Links for Snippet 1 and Snippet 3)

Have some chosoita ft. Gojou and goyuu:

He mouths at a bruise, too much teeth for it to be soothing, but Chōsō pushes his chest into it anyway, his fingers curling into a fist in Yuuji’s hair.

Yuuji digs his teeth in harder before letting go, dragging his lips up to Chōsō’s shoulder. The skin there is pulled taut over straining muscles, and they flex under his mouth, almost a flinch. Yuuji can understand why, given what he did the last few times he set his teeth to Chōsō’s shoulder. But he also knows it’s not dread that’s trembling in Chōsō’s muscles but anticipation.

He sucks lightly, and Chōsō shudders against him, around him.

Yuuji’s mouth waters.

It’s fucked up. He shouldn’t like this. He doesn’t even know if he actually does. He sure as hell isn’t hungry. And he said he’d eat anything, but not like this—this isn’t power, it’s just pleasure. And it shouldn’t be.

Monster, purrs a voice in his head, infuriatingly familiar because despite ripping free of Yuuji’s body, that bastard is still here haunting his mind. 

But fine. Yuuji will be the monster.

He clamps his teeth around Chōsō’s flesh, tearing out a bloody chunk.

Chōsō jerks against him, crying out hoarsely. His dick’s leaking where it’s pressed between their bellies, making a mess of what’s left of their clothes. Yuuji swallows, mouth still pressed to the hotly bleeding wound at Chōsō’s shoulder. He’s keenly aware of Chōsō’s cursed energy mingling with his own, and it’s not the revitalizing rush it was back in Shibuya when Chōsō was making a concerted attempt to transfer it to Yuuji, but even in this passive state, his power is potent and it burns inside Yuuji—blood and rot, life and decay.

Under his lips, Chōsō’s flesh is starting to knit back together. Yuuji licks at it, blood wetting his tongue, and Chōsō squirms on his cock, scrabbling at Yuuji’s shoulders as if that will give him any leverage. Yuuji bites deep into the healing flesh.

Chōsō gasps his name like a curse and a prayer.

“Well,” says a voice that is distinctly not Chōsō’s, “this isn’t what I was expecting.”

Yuuji freezes, but so does Chōsō, and that’s a bad idea given the position they’re in. His dick doesn’t care that Yuuji’s veins just iced over; the blood fattening it up is as hot as anything, as the blood still slicking his mouth.

He lifts his face from Chōsō’s mangled shoulder, staring over it at the dark room. The only illumination is the faint moonlight from the open window, but Yuuji’s eyes adjusted to the darkness long back. He can see all too well the figure slouching in the darkness by the door—the still-locked door, which sure as hell didn’t open and close without either Yuuji or Chōsō noticing it.

But when has a paltry door ever stopped Gojou Satoru? How many times did Yuuji wake in his dorm room to find a body looming over him, a mouth stifling his shout before it could rend the air and probably bring Fushiguro running?

“Gojou-sensei,” Yuuji chokes out. “What are you doing? Why are you here?”

Gojou shifts, pushing away from the wall he was leaning against. He’s still not wearing his blindfold, and his eyes are eerily bright in the dark, as if they’re generating their own light. It leaves the rest of his face discomfitingly shadowed.

It’s perverse how the sight makes Yuuji’s dick twitch where it’s buried inside a frozen Chōsō.

And it’s Chōsō Gojou is staring at, appraising his half-dressed body with a hot, heavy regard that doesn’t feel sexual so much as predatory, and Yuuji feels his heart lurch to his throat when those gleaming eyes linger on Chōsō’s shoulder and slide slowly, inexorably to Yuuji’s gore-stained mouth.

“Six Eyes,” Chōsō hisses, voice low and furious; he’s turned his head, probably glaring at Gojou. “Get out.”  

A curse, maybe a warning, dies in Yuuji’s throat, his thundering heart still plugging it up. He stares at the taut line of Chōsō’s throat, then at Gojou’s dangerously bland smile. Back and forth, over and over.

“No, I don’t think I will,” says Gojou, and Yuuji knows the particular edge of that serrated amusement on his tongue, and he can’t help how his fingers sink into Chōsō’s hips, gripping hard enough to make Chōsō’s legs twitch around him. And it hits him then, more of a shock than it should be: Chōsō’s still on his cock, Yuuji’s still— “To answer your question, Yuuji, I came here—ran here, really, because I’m a good teacher like that—because I sensed your cursed energy doing some freaky shit. And him, of course. This isn’t what I thought I’d see, but you definitely don’t look like you’re in need of a rescue.”

His eyes drop pointedly to where Chōsō is seated on Yuuji’s cock.

The traitorous thing throbs.

Chōsō makes a soft, shuddering noise.

“I…” Yuuji tails off. What the fuck can he say?

I can explain? He can’t.

I’m sorry? He’s not.

And he can’t do that to Chōsō, especially not when Yuuji’s the one who dragged him into this.

“Yuuji’s brother, was it?” Gojou asks mildly, not a question at all. “Now, I don’t know how it is for curses, but among us lowly humans, this kind of thing is pretty pathological.”

“Sensei!” Yuuji snaps before he can help himself.

The full, furious force of Gojou’s attention descends on him, freezing him twice over.

Gojou takes a step forward, then another.

Chōsō grows impossibly tenser, warm marble in Yuuji’s arms and a molten constriction around his cock. But Yuuji can only watch Gojou’s slow, stalking approach with a strange sort of exhilarated horror.

Gojou comes to a stop right behind Chōsō, whose discomfort writhes in the air. Yuuji meets his eyes for a fleeting moment, helpless need crashing into helpless fury. There’s nothing Chōsō can do, impaled on Yuuji’s cock with Yuuji’s hands holding him down.

I’m sorry, Yuuji wants to say, but he already knows, doesn’t he, that Chōsō will forgive him anything?

Above Chōsō’s head, Gojou’s eyes blaze blue.

Yuuji runs into them headfirst.

An arm reaches over Chōsō’s shoulder, carefully not brushing skin. Chōsō tenses anyway, pulling a throaty whine out of Yuuji that’s crushed the next instant by the fingers curling around his jaw, too tender to be anything but cruel.

Gojou’s thumb wipes the blood off Yuuji’s lips.

For a moment, they all seem to stare at it.

“Six Eyes,” Chōsō growls, and it’s angry, almost as angry as he was the one and only time he tried to kill Yuuji, but underneath that, there’s something Yuuji can only label fear.

“Yuuji’s brother,” Gojou returns, calm and deadly. “Hush now. My business isn’t with you.”

Chōsō jolts, furious, but maybe he forgets he’s still sitting on Yuuji’s cock because the motion makes them both groan—Chōsō obviously failing to stifle it, Yuuji too far gone to even try.

Gojou’s pupils grow cavernous.

Motion, a blinding blur.

Lips press to Yuuji’s, and they don’t belong to the body now crushed against his own. It’s the most aggressive kiss he’s ever had, even if it’s close-lipped and three seconds long. He gasps into it, but Gojou’s already pulling back, and Yuuji doesn’t think it has anything to do with the spikes of blood erupting from Chōsō’s torn shoulder to shatter uselessly against Infinity.

Gojou pays them—and Chōsō—no mind.

He says, “Come find me when you’re done playing with your…brother.”

And then he’s gone, an absence more sudden and absolute than his appearance earlier.

“Fuck,” Yuuji says, softy and with feeling; his whole mouth is burning, electric.

“Yuuji,” Chōsō says tightly, “you need to—”

Let go, is what he probably plans to say. Pull out, maybe.

Yuuji doesn’t do either, doesn’t even let him finish, standing in a violent rush that strangles Chōsō’s words and Yuuji’s common sense both, and it’s a few, harried strides to the door, Chōsō’s back impacting it with a loud thud that reverberates in the too-quiet room.  

Chōsō’s answering shudder bites into Yuuji’s cock.

“What are you doing?” he asks, a strained, barely audible whisper.

Yuuji kisses him because he doesn’t have an answer, fucks into him because he doesn’t want the questions, and Chōsō gasps into his mouth and tightens around his cock, and Yuuji’s body knows how to take it from there, even if his mind is a maelstrom of white and blue.

Are you there, are you listening, is this what you—

A particularly harsh thrust makes Chōsō rake his nails down Yuuji’s back, and Yuuji hoists him higher in response, fingers digging bruises into thick, taut thighs, and it’s better, the angle, Chōsō held at just the right height for Yuuji to plunge madly into, and he growls, the sound half lost in their wet, open mouths, but Chōsō still claws him open and squeezes him tighter, and there’s a cry thrust down Yuuji’s throat—a hurt little noise.

What am I doing, why am I punishing him—

Why is he angry?

[thedrarrylibrarian]

Halloween Spooks!

I focused on creatures last year, so I wanted to give my attention to everything else horrific this year. Enjoy these scary and suspenseful recs! 👻

100 Words of Horror by @moonstruckwytch (3,100 words total, rated M)

A collection of Fear Fest Works. Each chapter is 100 words.

*I especially recommend chapters 5, 9, 10, 17, 20, 21, & 22

What is lost stays lost by @cavendishbutterfly (456 words, rated T)

Sometimes Harry leaves the castle in the middle of the night, and Draco follows him.

The Manor by @kittycargo (1,405 words, rated T)

There was something wrong with the Manor.

The mimic by @steampunkserpent27 (797 words, rated T)

Harry hears Draco (who he presumes dead) calling for help outside of his cabin one night. Only, something isn't quite right.

iterum by @moonstruckwytch (2,127 words, rated M)

dark magic keeps draco malfoy alive, even when he shouldn't be. unfortunately, to stay that way he's going to have to give something up—something important.

the tedious work of soothing grief with love by luminae (2,363 words, rated M)

Ginny doesn't like working as a medium. Never has, probably never will. The grief-stricken make for bad company and Harry, while handsome and kind, is no exception.

Cruel Blade by @wheezykat (2,572 words, rated E)

Drowning in his grief after the murder of his husband, Draco will do anything to bring him back.

But this is not Harry. This is something else entirely.

The Willing Flesh by @corvuscrowned (2,763 words, rated E)

Draco shows Harry how to do blood magic. Harry shows Draco just how powerful The Chosen One can become.

at the end of his tether by @helle-bored (4,280 words, rated M)

There's a worn page folded in an inner pocket of Harry's robes with a single underlined paragraph.

Discrete magical signatures have been observed after the destruction of a Dementor. Some scholars believe this implies that the souls of its victims persist as captives within its form, as opposed to undergoing immediate obliteration, and therefore serve the purpose of providing the creature with sustenance over a prolonged period of time.

Harry has carried it for nearly two years.

when god closes a door by luminae (4,400 words, rated T)

Harry usually cares far less about so-called haunted houses and ghosts. They aren't real, after all. Except when they ruin his evening.

Saltwater Stain by @the-starryknight (9,000 words, rated E)

Seven days stuck on a boat investigating a rogue ghost wouldn't be so bad if Harry didn't want Draco so much. Draco has his rules and Harry's content to follow them, but the air feels different away from the shore. Is it possible that the sea could offer Harry something impossible on land?

*be sure to check out last week’s Happy Hour Rec of this fic by @wolfpants as well!

Time and Time Again by @rainbees (16,316 words, rated T)

Draco doesn't know why he keeps stepping into his own future, nor why it involves a hallway covered in Harry Potter's blood.

it is not a house by luminae (43,388 words, rated E)

There are many stories that can happen in a forgotten house, in the middle of the Arctic. Heart-warming tales about human connection and finding the essence of the self. Epic love stories that defy reason. Warnings about the hubris of human explorations. This is both none of the above and a bit of all. This is a horror story.

Vis-à-Vis-à-Vis by @vukovich (49,999 words, rated E)

Harry's assignment was simple. Close out Draco Malfoy's missing persons case so he can be declared dead.

But who's making withdrawals from Malfoy's vaults? How is a death omen-turned-Unspeakable involved? Is an organization known as the Moirai to blame?

Harry brushes it off until he can't. Until The Prophet is flooded with sightings of dead people. Until Robards throws himself on his sword. Until Ron turns on his own family. Until Harry scarcely trusts his own reflection in the mirror and trusts the stranger in his bed even less.

Until all that stands between war and peace is Harry, a name plate, a stadium of murderers, and Draco Malfoy.

God save the Ministry.

Yours is the Earth (Hold On, Hold On) by chickenlivesinpumpkin (127,167 words, rated E)

After a serious accident in the Forbidden Forest, Draco's personality begins to undergo subtle changes. At first, Harry credits this to a new enthusiasm for life. But as the days pass and Draco's behavior becomes more and more mysterious, Harry begins to suspect that something bigger--and darker--is at work.

If you are looking for more Halloween thrills, please check out my Card Catalog! There I have Vampires, Werewolves, Darker Themes, and previous years rec lists for Halloween!

Trick or Treat!

❤️ As always, if you find a fic you enjoy, please remember to leave the author a kudos or a comment! ❤️

[crypticandmachiavellianaugustine]

In my defence, I have none

Elain Archeron x Lucien Vanserra

Summary: Elain deals with some ugly feelings in an unhealthy way. Elain centric.

Warnings: ANGST, hurt with only a tiny sprinkle of comfort, self destructive tendencies, mentions of alcohol, suicide ideation, negative self talk, toxic Elain.

Might delete this later, honestly I am not sure if I like it. I was writing a soft fic about them going on little dates but then this monstrosity appeared in my mind like a prophetic fever dream. English is not my first language so don't think too badly of me.

___

Elain Archeron was wandering around Velaris, emptiness in her heart.

She didn't know if what was plaguing her mind was a vision with some sort of significance; or if it was her imagination and the representation of the foul thoughts she had been having. Decaying overgrown gardens.

Seven months of courting. Seven months of letting warmth, like she had never experienced before, into her life. Seven months of Lucien Vanserra filling most of her days. Until her mind betrayed what they both had been nurturing between them.

She had thought of drastic ideas, the sort of things that had only occurred to her right after she had been made, when she had been uttering broken sentences up in the House of Wind.

Her name, as much as she tried to forget it, continued to form in her head as well as the hushed and soft voice of her mate as he talked about her.

And Elain's own voice, a malignant version of it that only spoke in her thoughts had whispered words of irrational jealousy in her ear. Even the seed of doubt could grow big and strong if her own hands tucked it gently in the land of her mind.

So she had avoided him, after speaking kind words of comfort for his loss. Not following him when Rhysand had sent him away to perform his duties as emissary. Making herself scarce every time he returned to Velaris, in a more effective way than before they had started courting.

Walking on the banks of the Sidra she wondered if anyone even thought that her sweet and forgettable self was capable of nurturing such dark concepts in her pretty little head. Elain had been a doll her whole life, she could disappear in the role until everyone simply believed that despair could not touch her in any way.

Was she something more than a beautiful thing? Had she ever been anything more?

As a human she had been a toy to dress up for her mother. And later in life, when she lived in the cottage dirt poor with her remaining family, had she been a doll even then? When men from the village watched her rapaciously, as if she was the defenseless little mouse she often felt like. She had felt their words sticking to her porcelain skin like mud. As if they had the right to taint her days, because she was in misery and with a father who could as well not exist, as if her circumstances made her a toy to break for fleeting amusement.

Then her life had turned upside down for the third time and she had given her heart and hopes to a man who would crush them under his boots not long after. After a king for an experiment had boiled her bones alongside her older sister's and forced them to become completely different creatures. The one offence she had been able to take revenge for.

Greysen had thrown her away. Azriel had called her a mistake. And Lucien... He was her mate but he already had his great love and it was not her.

Elain could not tell how many stab wounds her heart could take anymore, how her heart was still beating and not decaying like a bird fallen from its last flight. Would the end of things even gift a weightless flight to a small, disappearing thing?

Cold rain was falling on the city of starlight, a small kindness from the sky, a mask for her bitter tears.

Pride prevented her from walking to his apartment and look for comfort in his arms, pretending that her sorrow did not exist. That would have been easy and safe. Gentle, not jealous, not capricious, not possessive. Just like the Elain everyone saw and loved. No, the rain and the cold were small luxuries she would allow herself, to wash away her most abominable feelings in the anonymity of a city that was taking shelter from an unpleasant autumn evening.

It felt liberating and devastating, to know that no-one would come looking for her. She was the only resident of the Town House, she had avoided her mate for two weeks, her sisters were living their lives with their families. And when the morning would come, after a night of rain, she would tend to her poor garden and to her beaten heart.

Elain would be alright in the end, she would go back to her polite and cheerful ways. A few hours would be enough to swallow the bile of knowing that not even for her mate she was the most important. The one.

She felt ashamed of her jealousy against a female who had died tragically long before she was even born, but even all of her self awareness could do nothing against the sickness in her stomach at the very thought of her.

Elain felt like a child standing in front of all of her suffocating thoughts. Would anyone even understand why she felt that way, except for maybe her sisters? She was a high fae but her soul was still so terribly human. She still resonated like a mortal, all chaos and uncertainty. And there, in darkness and rain she felt as if she was still just a girl, living in a humble cottage, looking up at the sky feeling small and lost, wondering what will become of her.

Maybe if she found refuge in a tavern and drank herself empty, like Nesta had done in the past, she would understand something that she was clearly missing.

Elain needed something to stop her mind, or she would be forced to claw her heart out of her chest to make it stop hurting.

If she really wanted to be petty, she thought, she could always disappear. Run to the Continent and get lost in shimmering old cities. Would anyone look for her then?

Shame came again, taking her breath away and forcing her to lean her forehead against the cold black stone of a building. How could her pettiness make sense for such unwarranted fragility? She wished to be different, to be the actually kind person everyone always saw. Maybe if she had been different she would not walk the city in that weather, she would simply be with her mate in that rainy night exactly like the first one they had spent together, two months before.

Elain wished for a life of expressing her darkest feelings instead of allowing them to devour her from inside. She wished to not be a proper lady, to live like a wild creature in the woods, to show up at a ball where nobody knew her and be unapologetically herself.

For months she had acted like herself. Laughing wholeheartedly and talking without restraint, relinquishing in the fact that Lucien was her mate, starting to understand that he was meant to be her person, the one always at her side unconditionally. Her perfect other half.

She could easily ruin everything, make sure that between them there would be no winners. Hurt him like his confession, meant for sharing a full of agony page of his life, had hurt her. Would he even see it coming, from her? Probably not, he had been so trusting in sharing his story, handing her his heart and breaking hers in the same moment. Elain did not wish to live with a ghost from the past, she did not want to be the one he settled for and if renouncing to him would give her that kind of peace she was ready to consider it.

It was childish, she was aware, to think like that, to whim for a scenario she had made up. She had been simmering in her mind long enough to convince herself that if the other female would have still been alive, her mate, the one who belonged to her, would have chosen Jesminda and not even tried to pursue that bond so rare and sacred for his people. In another life Elain would have been unwanted even by the one who should always long for her no matter the circumstances. Maybe deciding to acknowledge him all those months before had been a mistake, maybe she was not ready yet and maybe she would never be mature enough to not feel betrayed for what did not happen.

Elain was exhausted, cold was settling into her bones and laying her to sleep like a snow covered flower.

Purchasing a bottle of wine and drinking it while wandering around seemed perfectly squalid and totally appropriate for the occasion. So she did. Wander and drink, thinking about all of the times she had bitten her tongue instead of saying what was going on in her mind, what kind of life was that?

In the morning she would go back, to the place she was calling home and to her quietude, after allowing herself the luxury of being inadequate for a little while. In the morning Elain would make something beautiful, to force life to be worth living again. If she had to perform then the world needed to perform for her as well.

At dawn she would be frivolous and soft for her audience and allow them to make anything they wanted of her. Elain the naive sister of the High Lady and the Valkyrie. The foolish gardener who existed on the periphery of everything as if she was already too old to live. The silly baker who, along with her pastries, often gave away pieces of herself for free.

And his heart, thunderous in her ears, would become a tolerable companion again. Soon she would gather enough courage to be in his presence and not viciously strike to kill. At the end she did have something in common with her sharpest sister. Until then she would retrace her steps to find where her damage came from, why was she so sweet and so vindictive.

As the rain started to hit her harder with its glacial drops Elain found shelter under a porticus, cold stone becoming the only bed she felt like she deserved at the moment. Would they send her away for being the cause of so much shame in only one night?

Anger flared up in her heart, inexorably directed at herself, at her family, at her mate and at his lost love. Chucking her bottle of wine against one of the pillars had felt good for a moment, Elain had never allowed herself to express anger in such a way. Even when some shards of glass flew back to her, scratching her skin, she continued to feel numb. That was what heartbreak did to an unwise girl, it made other kinds of pain disappear.

Sliding on the floor again, not minding the street's dust tarnishing her dress, Elain felt empty enough to fall into something similar to sleep, his heart tormenting her still. It felt as if the highs of alcohol were still clouding her mind when someone picked her up, the familiar rhythm of his heart now beating directly into her ear. Elain didn't bother to open her eyes. Maybe if she ignored him, his presence would turn out to be just a dream and she would be left alone to deal with her thoughts in any way she deemed necessary. Maybe the feeling of winnowing away and the warm lights of candles were only her imagination. Maybe the scent of cinnamon, books and apples of his apartment was just a deception from her weary mind.

And still Elain felt him lay her gently on the couch and walk away, the sound of flowing water coming from the other side of his home.

She laid there, pain and shame turning even the simple action of breathing uncomfortable. As she slowly opened her eyes, Elain found her mate observing her, the sorrow on his face clear as day.

Lucien seemed perfectly composed as he silently cried. She wanted to rage. Anger and disgust, those were the emotions she had expected to read in his expression; for her irrational jealousy and for her insensitivity. She did not want his tears nor his pity. Once again she contemplated doing the unexpected by ruining everything without an ounce of hesitation or regret. Elain did not speak as he cleaned the scratches she had caused by carelessly tossing away her wine bottle, nor did she react when he healed them all with a gentleness that was infuriating. She did not utter a single word as he carried her to the steaming bathtub on the other end of his apartment and set her down in the water after reverently taking off her the, by then, unsalvageable dress.

A few weeks prior they had chatted away and laughed in that bathtub together, as the sunlight, a rare occurrence in the Night Court, shone through the windows carrying a promise of tranquility.

Now there were no words or smiles, just silence and his hands gently washing her hair. Elain felt like crying as he poured warm water on her hair and back, the cold that had settled in her bones beginning to ease up. A sob escaped her lips as she whispered.

"Are you angry at me?" It was a question she had asked a countless amount of times during her life. And after Greysen had thrown her away, that sequence of words had become habitual on her lips.

"No," he whispered back, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She looked away, finding it almost impossible to believe.

"Please don't ever do this again, I would not be able to bear it," Lucien continued, his lips still pressed against her head.

"Your feelings had been devastating tonight, my lady. I had felt them all. Nothing that happened before I came to you matters. Nothing is more than you. You are my everything, don't ever doubt it again".

The pain in his voice was palpable, a stark contrast with his warm hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. Elain could not hold back her tears anymore, starting to sob softly and continuing until she was tucked away in the safety of his arms, wearing his clothes, surrounded by his scent. Laying on his bed and not on the cold stone she had planned to sleep on just a few hours prior. Still there was a part of her that continued to exist restless, unfamiliar with the concept of peace and wary of it. In the morning she would be herself again and he would spend the rest of their long lives proving her everyday that she was his to cherish, to unconditionally love. His heart would always belong in her hands.

[thornedrose44]

I actually very curious about one of your posts from a while back, where you shared a wip: fatin can predict the future (Canon Compliant-ish)

So does Fatin have foresight as a superpower here or just uncanny instincts?

Okay, so my thinking is like its a family power that isn't taken seriously. I imagine that Fatin has memories of her Grandma making wry, secretive statements that predicted events - though not like in a detailed way to prevent it - and no one else in the family took it seriously.

Anyway, Fatin's ability starts to manifest on the island - her's comes out in an actual phrases or jokes that leave a bitter taste in her mouth indicating them to prophetic statements (it takes a few occurrences for her to realise this).

This entire concept is inspired by Fatin uncannily predicting the future with some throwaway phrases: 'Shark week for Rachel' and the 'divorce' comment (pre-empting the Shoni get together and following break-up) etc.

The fic would quickly summarise/follow the events of the first two seasons then move into Fatin accepting her ability, sharing it with Leah and the outcome of all that.

I imagine it to be a long one-short similar to 'Self-destructive Girl's Masquerading Autobiography'.

Thanks for asking :)

[sitp-recs]

Hello Liv! I hope you're well 😌 I was thinking about how rarely I read witty Harry, like "you don't have to call me sir, Professor" levels of snark and wittiness. I thought I recalled you making a reclist for this, but I can't seem to find it on your master list.

Do you have any recs of fics that feature this kind of Harry??

Thank you!!

Hello my friend! I can’t find anything on this hell site either so who knows, maybe I did a list or maybe I didn’t 🤣 when it comes to sassy/witty Harry these great works come to mind:

Tense by Faith Wood (E, 3k)

Harry and Draco have sex. Very, very slowly. Seriously, this is, like, 3K of penetration.

Never Gonna Give You Up by InnerLilith (E, 5k)

Five times Harry rickrolls Draco and one time Draco gets him back.

The Page Eleven Wars by fireflavored (E, 8.5k)

In a gossip-hungry post-war Wizarding World, Rita Skeeter has a wildly successful column in the Daily Prophet known as Page Eleven. Naturally, her favourite targets are the poster boys of the two sides of the war: Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter. Bored and annoyed, the two take up tabloid baiting for sport and pleasure.

break the bad luck in my life by seaworn (E, 11k)

Draco and Harry are both brooding on Christmas Eve.

The Loathly Worm by Selden (E, 12k)

When Draco Malfoy is forced to go undercover among the remaining Death Eaters in the aftermath of the war, the last person he expects to find there is Harry Potter.

What’s My Age Again? by lazywonderlvnd (E, 12k)

Harry Potter has had enough of pleasing the public, and his reckless tendencies are finally getting out of hand. The Quidditch World Cup is only a week away; as Captain of the English National Team, Hermione has assured him that his immaturity won’t be tolerated by the Ministry.

Clouds That Veil the Midnight Moon by drarrytrash (E, 36k)

According to Harry’s personal narrative regarding the incident, he’d hooked up with Draco Malfoy for purely self-destructive reasons, or out of convenience, or by some unlucky accident. Looking at him, sprawled in the moonlight, Harry is devastated to recall that he’d hooked up with Draco Malfoy because he’s hot.

Reparo by amalin (E, 84k)

Voldemort's final defeat does not mean Harry Potter's troubles are over; far from it. In the aftermath of war, he returns to a Hogwarts that is fractured and divided, but this is no break that can be fixed with a spell. New owls, fading scars, surprising alliances—and along the way, the hardest task of all, to live with it.

Azoth by zeitgeistic (E, 88k)

Now that Harry is back at Hogwarts with Hermione for eighth year, he realises that something’s missing from his life, and it either has to do with Ron, his boggart, Snape, or Malfoy. Furthermore, what, exactly, does it mean when one’s life is defined by the desire to simultaneously impress and annoy a portrait? Harry has no idea; he’s too busy trying not to be in love with Malfoy to care.

Wild, orphaned (E, 92k)

“No,” Harry said, by way of greeting. Malfoy’s blonde head rose slowly, carelessly. “Get out.” “I feel as though we’ve already established this, Potter,” Malfoy responded. “And I feel that what we established was that you telling me to get out of places really doesn’t make me more likely to vacate them.”

[dewitty1]

Fic Recs Wrap Up -April 2022

you’ve got the antidote for me by Kandakicksass

When Harry Potter unintentionally severs their soulbond before it can fully form, Draco Malfoy resigns himself to a slow death and decides not to burden Harry with a soulmate he’s made it very clear he doesn’t want. He’s never been selfless before, but for Harry, he can try. Rec Post

Dress Me Up In My Finest Silk by Hatsonhamburgers @hatsonhamburgers

Draco has a secret. It's soft and lacy, and it hugs his body in a way that makes him feel so sexy.

Harry may have accidentally seen Draco's secret, and now it's all he can think about. Rec Post

Lessons in Grace and Decorum by GallaPlacidia

In Azkaban, Narcissa Malfoy gives Draco lessons in how to manipulate people into loving him. When Draco is released on the condition that he is bonded to Harry as his prisoner, he finally has a chance to put his newfound skills into practice. Forced bonding, eighth year (eventually), a Draco driven slightly mad by grief, a furious, self-destructive Harry, a whole lot of angst and a proportionate amount of comfort. Rec Post

Fast Forward, Two Steps Back by emmagrant01

Everyone knows that Draco Malfoy died in the Room of Requirement ten years ago. So when he suddenly reappears at Hogwarts ten years later, still seventeen years old, Professor Harry Potter’s life gets very complicated. Rec Post

Stupid Love by The_Sinking_Ship @the-sinking-ship

Harry Potter, how does Draco Malfoy hate thee? Let me count the ways. Rec Post

I Want to be With You (I’m Good at It) by punk_rock_yuppie @punk-rock-yuppie

Draco was banned from the wizarding world after the events of the war; he reintegrates himself slowly, with unexpected results. Rec Post

Accidental Magic by vivi1138 @penguinanimagus

After the war, Draco left the magical world. He doesn’t lead the easiest life, doesn’t sleep enough and has another mouth to feed. He doesn’t expect to be forced to go back early, but when his son’s accidental magic threatens the Statute of Secrecy, there’s only one person who can help.

Expectant by loveglowsinthedark @l0vegl0wsinthedark

After he accidentally gets Malfoy pregnant on a drunken fuck at a club, Harry doesn't anticipate that it'd be just as easy to fall in love with him. Rec Post 1, 2

Here are a few more fics I've read recently that y'all might like to check out as well! (ﾉ^ヮ^)ﾉ*:・ﾟ✧

Vis-à-Vis-à-Vis by Vukovich @vukovich

Harry's assignment was simple. Close out Draco Malfoy's missing persons case so he can be declared dead.

But who's making withdrawals from Malfoy's vaults? How is a death omen-turned-Unspeakable involved? Is an organization known as the Moirai to blame?

Harry brushes it off until he can't. Until The Prophet is flooded with sightings of dead people. Until Robards throws himself on his sword. Until Ron turns on his own family. Until Harry scarcely trusts his own reflection in the mirror and trusts the stranger in his bed even less.

Until all that stands between war and peace is Harry, a name plate, a stadium of murderers, and Draco Malfoy.

God save the Ministry.

DIY Messiah by scoradh

Harry stopped hating Draco Malfoy on Bring Your Kids to Work Day.

Harry Potter and the Chariot of the Sun by Philosopherscribe

Hot on the trail of a Dementor-worshipping cult, Harry plays a dangerous game with an old enemy.

Little Deaths and How to Avoid Them (or Draco Malfoy's Guide to Stop Dying and Start Living Instead) by dustmouth, nerakrose @greaseonmymouth

Malfoy is way too interested in coroner reports for somebody who's definitely not looking for ways to die, Harry wants to be friends with him, and Ginny wants to break up with Harry.

Features: Little League Quidditch, an abundance of bath bombs, happy endings, and gay robots in space.

The Garland Gay by Vaysh @vaysh11

Draco Malfoy has it all – – sex, money, power. But a family secret threatens to become the undoing of the successful head of Malfoy Bank. His troubles bring him to private investigator Harry Potter, who lost it all – girlfriend, Galleons, Auror career – – over a tenacious obsession with a certain blond. Both become entangled in the vengeful schemes of a stranger from the past. As much as Draco tries to resist, in the end, he must make a fateful choice for the man he is destined to love.

( •ॢ◡-ॢ)-♡

I hope you enjoy these as much as I have! Thanks, as always, for being here! ( ᵕ́ૢ‧̮ᵕ̀ૢ)‧̊·*

Happy reading, y’all!

xoxo Carey  

(◍•ᴗ•◍)♡ ✧*💜💙💚💛❤💗💕💖

[raymurata]

12, 13, 14 foooor Kelp?

Thanks for asking! You don't even know Kelp yet, so let me tell you a little about him. He's my most recent DND PC, which I'm playing in a friend's homebrew game called "Shattered Moon."

He's a Runechild Sorcerer Sea Elf and I've been having the biggest brainrot about him in the past week! I wrote three fics for his past, oops, lmao. Anyway, a bit more about him under the cut (two of my fellow players follow me here, but hopefully they won't see this post. but if you do -- you know who you are -- do not read under the cut XD)

So Kelp (then called Rhodoph) was born underseas, in a small farming, traditional community surrounded by kelp forests, and his father was a shaman who taught him all about the golden coral reefs (the corals of Luetkeana) that existed where they lived (the region of Pyrifera), and that his community believed to be the remnants of the spirit of the great primordial of the oceans (Luetkeana).

To cut a long story short, Kelp gets his runes when the moon cracks, and he starts having visions of catastrophe and destruction. At the same time, a powerful underwater empire that was trying to encroach into their territory starts extracting the corals, and Kelp is certain, through his visions, that destroying the corals (besides being a religious desecration) will hasten the end of the world, so he takes up arms and leads a resistance (later a revolution) to protect the reefs and his people from the Empire.

Eventually, the empire stomps the rebellion, and Kelp ends up sold to the surface to a sadistic mage who uses him as an arcane battery (because his runes store energy) for years, until he manages to escape, kill the mage, and that's when the campaign began (we started at level 6)!

Done! Now on to the questions!

12. Is your OC self-destructive? In what ways?

Extremely, but not in a self-sabotaging or self-hating kind of way. He's self-destructive because he made up his mind to fight for the coral reefs no matter what that cost him, and his life is a small price to pay for that ecosystem to survive.

13. If you met your OC, would the two of you get along?

We would, but we probably wouldn't be friends, just friendly acquaintances. Although we are politically aligned, he's a rural "take up arms and fight" kind of guy, and I'm an academic "write stories that inspire people to learn about and admire those who take up arms and fight" kind of guy. I admire him (and people like him) more than he would admire me (because he's free of our academicist bias/our eurocentric ideas of intellectualism).

14. How does your OC want to be seen by other characters?

That's a really interesting question because most of my OCs tend to care about what other people think and how they see them, but not Kelp. Kelp honestly, truly, doesn't give a flying fuck. He's already been famous -- loved and admired and revered as a prophet by some, hated and feared and slandered as a criminal, an outlaw, a demon-pacted mass-murderer by others. None of that matters. He doesn't like having a positive public image any more than he likes a negative one -- Both can be used though, so great. As long as he knows he's fighting to protect Pyrifera and the corals, people can think whatever they will about him.

[theworldwithoutmagic]

Fire in Your Heart - Haladriel Fanfic - Rated E

Disbelief quickly turns to anger after the eruption of Mount Doom. Anger turns into something else entirely.

Ao3 link

Guys I wrote a fic on thursday that kinda put a touch of what im feeling from this couple, and I FEEL PROPHETIC

The ANGER and self flagellation in Galadriel the entirety of episode 7 blew me away and its entirely what I felt would happen. Shes so full of emotion I actually cant handle it. I am ready to die for this couple already and I officially declare this ship SAILING with the confirmation that Celeborn is dead (or missing blah blah blah). 

Please check out my fic either way, these are the first lines!

Across the burning field in the moments after Mount Doom’s eruption, Halbrand caught her eye. His fury at the destruction enacted here was clear on his face. He stood tall and faced the mountain, sword in hand, ready to fight the land itself. He turned and his gaze met hers. She felt as if struck by lighting when the strength of his emotion hit her.

Looking into the mirror of Halbrand’s eyes and seeing her own rage and pain reflected back at her was too much to bear. In the searing embers of mount doom, Galadriel turned away. The others may be right to distrust the both of them if this is what they saw upon her face, she thought with a shiver running down her spine.

I don’t personally believe he is Sauron btw, I think hes just a guy with a dark past and a dark future most likely. Though I will accept it either way and if hes Sauron, im ready to ship Galadriel with fucking Sauron himself yall LETS GOO

[helisol]

ye s, well

it basically came to me like a prophet receiving a vision from an angry god. you know. like brian david gilberts video ideas but with more slow burn.

no really i wrote all this down in my phone’s note app because some nearly coherent things popped up in my head every time i was on the train or bus these last few days.

(after-actually-writing-this disclaimer/note: this is 2000 words of slightly edited rambling about Bagginshield in the Afterlife. i had to put it in a read more.)

so the gist of it

the botfa goes just as in the movie with minor details altered. like bilbo kissing thorin just before he dies which inadvertently causes a ripple in time and space that makes the valar curious of them both. you know. minor stuff.

so bilbo goes back to the shire, the war of the ring goes down, and the hobbit/elf gang sails to valinor at the end. classic stuff, not much alternating of universes here.

but here’s where things turn into the “my city now” meme because DUDE DO I HAVE A LOT OF THOUGHTS ABOUT VALINOR AND HOW THE AFTERLIFE WORKS

like, I’m sorry mister jolkien rolkien tolkien, but just putting people into a hall to await being judged like a hospital waiting room? snooze, that’s boring!

so first of all, and you can fight me on this, Yavanna Made The Hobbits And You Can’t Change My Mind.

it just makes sense for her to have been very saddened by the destruction of literally all her work on arda through melkor’s poison, so she made living, growing things that could protect themselves from harm. as opposed to the ents, by the way, which were made by Eru to protect all the other living, growing things. it was a nice gesture of Eru to make those, but not quite what Yavanna wanted or had in mind, i imagine.

as with the dwarves, Eru wasn’t all happy about the existence of another race he didn’t make but you know, whatever, ‘I’ll just let this married couple have their own kids aside from mine, it’s okay’.

so he hands both the dwarves and the hobbits independent thought and free will, but under the condition (and here is where the afterlife stuff comes into play) that Aule and Yavanna be responsible for their mortal creations after their death. meaning that both races have seperate afterlives from the halls of mandos, MEANING THAT ITS COMPLETELY FINE FOR AULE AND YAVANNA TO BE LIKE “oh look honey, these two are so very in love and remind me of us, shan’t we do something about that?”

so. they do something about that. more precisely, they rearrange their afterlife-realms so they’re next to each other and someone with enough willpower could cross through the barrier. because listen, they’re valar, they can do whatever they want just for kicks.

okay so after that tangent lets get back to the meat of the matter: gay dwarves. I know not everyone has read Sansukh, a 500k word mammoth of a fic, and I don’t really intend to copy any of det’s canon, but their version of The Halls of Mahal really inspired me. basically the dwarven afterlife is one big hunk of a mountain/underground city where they’re free to live their days until dagor dagorath doing what they do best in the company of their families and friends; like smithing, crafting, building and other JustDwarrowThings.

meanwhile the hobbit afterlife is Basically The Shire and instead of being given the materials to build things, all the hobbits who go there get to grow plants and do their gardening. they don’t have to- just like none of the dwarves have to craft stuff- since there’s always enough food for everyone, but they are just allowed to do what they do best if they so desire.

now when Bilbo arrived in the undying lands he was still Old As Hell and im sorry to put it this way, he definitely kicked the can after like, a week of living there. not really so undying, them lands, huh. anyway Bilbo bites the dust and LOOK AT THAT he’s suddenly young again, and another LOOK AT THAT he’s standing in a very comfy, but Not Quite Bag End hobbit hole that has a note hung up on the front door. you wouldn’t think gods could have handwriting but hey, again, they’re gods they can do whatever. the note just tells him that yavannah made this place special and just for Bilbo but that there’s another home waiting for him. very cryptic there, lady. he doesn’t leave at first because hey, his family is here. there’s a lot of reunions and celebrating and food because its the fucking hobbit afterlife, what else would you expect

it takes him a few days of Regular Hobbit Life in his new home to realise ‘holy shit, this is so boring’ so what does a Fool of a Took do when things get boring and there’s a note urging him to do something?

HE’S GOING ON AN ADVENTURE

so Bilbo runs through the whole not-shire, meeting all sorts of people he outlived on the way (looking at you, Lobelia), as well as some elves. because elves can definitely just waltz through all the afterlives. they can walk on top of snow, you think they wouldn’t walk around wherever they please in valinor? rip to mankind, but they’re different.

he gets to the furthest reaches of it eventually, and lo and behold, what awaits him but the view of a tall mountain, an invisible barrier and a very flustered Thorin who is at his wits end as to how Bilbo even got here.

now for thorin’s part of the story we’ll have to start after the botfa again. he basically woke up in the darkness like an episode of naked and afraid, and started talking to Aule. his maker, who loves him to bits by the way since he made thorin, just tells him he’s free to go wherever his heart takes him. again with the cryptic messages from the gods.

so thorin, still very self-loathing and bitter because of his actions right before his death, sees this as Mahal’s way of saying ‘please don’t step foot in my halls u disgusting litle creacher’, when really he just meant ‘please do some well deserved self reflecting and then come inside to be with your family, they all miss you terribly’.

after his chat with the maker thorin just spawns in right at the front gate of the mountain and he has a choice to make. go inside or stay outside. and we all know Thorin’s proclivity for drama so he basically spends LITERAL YEARS just living in self imposed solitary confinement.

oh also tiny hc here, thorin was said to have taken “any work offered to him in the towns of men”, and they showed him in a smithy, but personally I believe they meant it when they said “any kind of work”. so basically thorin is a jack of all trades, master of some. he definitely has master-level skills in certain areas though, enough to build a vaguely hobbit-hole shaped house. why is it hobbit hole shaped?

oh right, the part where Thorin is absolutely enamoured with Bilbo.

"Go back to your books and your armchair, plant your trees, watch them grow. If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.”- HELLO? GAY POLICE? I’D LIKE TO REPORT A CASE OF ‘DWARF KING REALISING THAT THE HOBBIT WAY OF LIVING IS A REALLY GREAT ONE IN CONCEPT / WISHING HE COULD HAVE HAD THAT KIND OF LIFE WITH BILBO’

anyway it’s a long 80 years until Thorin does get to meet Bilbo again, and in the meantime we have one of my favorite additions to any Hobbit fanfic ever: Frerin

For the uninitiated, Frerin is Thorin’s brother. They also have a sister, Dís, but Tolkien never specified when she died and she was a bit younger than Thorin and Frerin so I reckon she’d still be alive as an old dwarf lady somewhere?

Anyway, Frerin. Oh boy. Sansukh, again, does an excellent job at turning Frerin into a character with a level of authenticity that gets real fucking close to Genuine Tolkien™, so most of my own characterisation of Frerin is based on that in Sansukh. With the important omission of the dwarves not being able to see the present/their still alive loved ones in middle earth through a magic mirror pool.

so Frerin takes it upon himself to leave the mountain in search of his brother because he really does want him back. but also because Mahal has had it with Thorin’s antics and suggests Frerin fetch him so he can finally reunite with his family. Mahal doesn’t talk to the dwarves a lot because he’s like an awkward and distant dad, but he does actually speak to them.

so Thorin is supposed to go see his family, which he does, but not immediately. it takes like, a solid year of just brotherly (and sister-sonly) companionship for him to open up about all his anxieties and regrets and THEN he goes into the mountain to cry in his mother’s lap. as you do.

however Thorin still feels like he doesn’t 100% belong with the other dwarves in there, so he frequently spends long stretches of time outside, building away at his house, thinking about Bilbo. the company goes out to visit him sometimes.

more details on the house tho, cuz it’s Important; it’s built halfway into a hill near the mountain, like a proper hobbit hole would be, but the lower levels are built into stone. look, he’s had 80 years to work on constructing this. it’s near perfect in every way for both hobbit and dwarf standards and could definitely fit the entire company and more inside.

now about the barrier. elves can pass through without a second thought because they’re shiny little bastards who just get to do all the cool stuff, but the other races can’t just hop between realms like that; they really have to muster up the willpower. which usually means they can’t do it because a drawback for both dwarves and hobbits is that they favor isolation from other races even in death, and as such don’t want to mingle with each other.

unless you’re Bilbo Badass Baggins though, who simply runs through the barrier to yell at Thorin for leaving him sad and alone for 80 years. he is that bitch.

there’s gonna be some legolas and gimli shenanigans if i can fit them in (cuz i dont know when exactly they sailed west together), possibly a mention of tauriel because bruh peter jackson did us dirty by not giving her any closure besides ‘lol i guess she’s banished from mirkwood??’ and Mairon. because. I also have some thoughts about him.

also Fili and Kili as pseudo matchmakers because every fic needs that

and did I mention there’s gonna be hozier lyrics for chapter titles

i said this was the gist of it but i somehow ended up at ~1900 words. well, more power to me.

[shanie-the-toyaddict]

Shanie’s Dream Fic: A Masterpost

The following is a Masterpost of all my various finished, started, and sketched out dream stories. They are listed here as the dreams originally were, not as the stories the dreams became. Listings are by Saga/Series, Story Title, and Month/Year of original dream. Also listed are the fandoms of the dreams and any specific warnings the fics might carry. For the record, this isn’t a post really for anyone on here. It’s mostly for my own records. I do have a copy on my cloud storage but I’m putting it here as well on the off chance anyone is curious. BTW: I’m putting this here so that I don’t have to list it every time. As far as the WWE dreams go. Absolutely NONE of them are Kayfabe compliant. That’s the problem with not watching the shows regularly. I don’t dream about the TV side of it often. The Zowens dream is close though. It’s sort of a hybrid. The rest? Well, all of them are some level of NKC, but some are not only non-kayfabe, they are straight up AU.  BTW2: In every single one of these stories involving me I am some manner of queer. I’m pretty sure in all but maybe one or two. I’m either wlw, ace, or both. NOT ONE of the first person dreams contains romance between me and another character. The best you get is a single platonic fake-relationship story. (That one did have a smut scene in it but it isn’t romantic.)

Anyway, list behind the cut!

ADVENTURES IN DREAMLAND Master Post

SAGA   A Family Beyond Blood

Part 1 Darkness Fallen (August 2019) I find myself trapped in a world where I died as a child. Now as a spirit I must find a way to restore the universe to it’s proper order. (Somehow my young death caused the entire universe to splinter) *McMahon Family and MCU Dream* Part 2 Death and Life on Planet Earth (August 2019)

Having saved the universe but not ourselves, I vow to do whatever it takes to return Shane to his rightful place with his family. *McMahon Family and MCU Dream*

Part 3 A World Restored to Fall (August 2019)

The universe has been reset again, and I have been returned to my proper timeline. Or have I? There’re odd happenings in a local bookshop and it’s up to me to figure out how to stop them *Original Dream Featuring IRL People*

Part 4 World War Winter (August 2019)

Nuclear Holocaust has occurred. The world is at war with the machines. As a soldier in the CAMP forces, I must leave everything I know behind and face down the android army. But, maybe there’s a familiar face or two in CAMP after all... *McMahon Family Dream* *VIOLENT*

Part 5 Of Queens and Kingdoms (August 2019)

The world is reset. AGAIN. This time, it’s me, Shane and Marissa in a new land where the middle ages and modern times are happening simultaneously and women are the dominant gender. And, somehow, I’m the bloody queen. *McMahon Family and WWE Universe Dream*

Part 6 Titans Reign (August 2019)

Having ascended to the throne and filling the royal court with WWE superstars, I must now find a way to rule over a land I barely know. Meanwhile, a sinister plot is brewing to put the patriarchy back in power. *McMahon Family and WWE Universe Dream*

SAGA That’s What Friends Are For

Part 1 Death of a Fangirl (and Birth of a Friend) (October 2019) [Only Published Story on List]

I find myself being given the chance to meet Shane. Unfortunately, my mental illness turns the dream into a nightmare and my life unravels. But don’t worry. Shane will save the day. He always does. *Shane O Mac Dream*

Part 2 With A Song In Her Heart (October 2019)

Shane has been ignoring my texts, so I hunt him down. My search finds me at a pride festival where a spontaneous song catches his attention a little too well. *Shane O Mac Dream*

Part 3 One Last Birthday to Celebrate (November 2019)

It’s Christmastime in Squirrel Hill. For some dumb reason, Shane McMahon has decided to visit me the day before his birthday. Naturally I surprise him with a present. The other surprise (getting caught in a domestic dispute) is far less pleasant. *Shane O Mac Dream* *VIOLENT*

Part 4 The Pink Rose (Not a Dream)

I survived the shooting. Waking up in a hospital, I find my mother and a room full of flowers from the WWE Superstars. But one flower, a lone pink rose, is unlabeled. Wanna take a wild guess who sent that one? *WWE Universe Story NOT Based on A Dream*

Part 5 Dreams and Demons (December 2019)

So, it seems that watching your friend nearly die in a hail of bullets isn’t the best for your mental health. At WrestleMania 37, Shane is presented with a choice. Me, or TV. Of course he chooses me, this is my dream, what other choice   would there be? *WWE Universe Dream*

[Are you starting to see why I never publish any of these. They are painfully bad self inserts and woefully self-indulgent. But they are also therapy, hence the writing]

SERIES   Trippy Shorts

Story 1 A Little Fall of Acid Rain (August 2019)

The world is ending – but only in NYC. I’m there. So are the McMahons. Destruction and danger abound. *McMahon Family Dream*

Story 2 I Know Who I Am (September 2019)

All of my favorites from TV, movies, music, and wrestling are turning up murdered. Each time, a cryptic message is left behind, written in blood. Can I figure out the connection before everyone I like is killed? *General Pop Culture Dream* *EXTREMELY VIOLENT AND DISTURBING*

Story 3 Fixed Points and Fixed Pairings [An Unfinished Symphony] (September 2019)

One night, outside the bar, I am approached by an older version of myself. She brings a time machine and a mission – go back to the attitude era and change time so Shane remains the heir apparent. But some people are just meant to be together, and others just refuse to listen – even to an angel from the future. *WWE Universe Dream*

Story 4 A Song of Summer [A Snapshot] (October 2019)

As an Agent of SHIELD, it doesn’t take a genius to see that Black Widow and Hawkeye are in love. So, through the power of music, I decide to try and hook them up. *MCU Dream*

Story 5 Journeys Beginning [A Snapshot] (December 2019)

One day at school, I find myself amid an alien incursion. But don’t worry, the Doctor is on the case. Also, Shane is involved because of course he is. *Shane O Mac and Doctor Who Dream*

Story 6 Arson, Murder, and Revolution (January 2020)

At a Hollywood LGBTQ party, I find myself caught in a plot by the Trump administration to commit mass murder. When it goes awry, revolution stirs and it’s up to me and several other progressive celebrities to light the fuse *General Pop Culture Dream* *VIOLENT*

[See, they aren’t all about Shane. Just... most of them]

STAND ALONE STORIES

Once Upon a Dream (August 2019)

I black out drunk in an alley one night and awake to find myself in a dream. It’s 1990 and I’m somehow a middle-aged black woman. Also sharing the dream is a young and angry Shane McMahon. Together we use the circumstances of the dream to fuck shit up for the NYPD. *Shane O Mac Dream* *VIOLENT*

The Many Deaths of a Tabhead (August 2019)

Five years after getting hooked on a new drug called Tabs, I find myself in an endless loop of getting murdered. The only way out is to survive. Too bad I have no memory, and everyone wants me dead *Original Story Featuring IRL People* *VIOLENT AND DISTURBING*

Champion of the Faerie Queen (December 2019)

Did you know that Marissa McMahon is the Faerie Queen and Shane is her consort? Neither did I. And, it seems, when war comes a calling, it’s up to me to save the McMahons and the country. But I’ve got superpowers now, so that helps. *McMahon Family, MCU, and DC Universe Dream*

To Earthquakes, Lovers, and Newfound Friends (May 2020)

In lovely SoCal, I’m watching a movie when an earthquake strikes. I soon find myself both blind and badly burned. The only hope I have to survive is a certain pair of lovers who just happen to be in the area for some R&R. *Zowens Dream*

Penny and Kicks vs The World (June 2020)

As a longtime WWE employee, I’ve been best friends with Shane for years. But in the fallout of Coronavirus, the public is looking for a scapegoat. Vince is more than happy to offer up my father. Now, the entire wrestling world is in turmoil and Shane and I are just trying to weather the storm. *WWE Universe Dream* *VIOLENT*

Virginia Gothic (October 2019)

In a world where my highschool sweetheart and I never broke up, we must forge a path on our own through hardship and rejection. But what is the meaning of the mysterious Jesus statue? And why is Bacchus being so damn shifty? *Original Dream Featuring IRL People*

Uzil (January 2020)

An mystical being from the horsehead nebula takes up residence in a little boy’s guinea pig. The miracles come quickly and soon they are inseparable. *Original Third Person Dream* (I wasn’t in this one)

The E-Manual (February 2020)

The end of days is drawing near. I have been chosen as a prophet of the end times by the Almighty himself. I must go out into the world armed with only scripture and a mystical magazine, trying to convert as many people as possible before time runs out. *A Mostly Original Dream* (Shane’s in the last two pages)

Seraphina and the Seven Wishes (April 2020)

The world is a video game and the McMahon’s are the Addams family. It only gets weirder from there. *McMahon Family Dream*

A Matter of Science (And Opinion) (May 2020)

I accidentally set fire to my apartment during a spell. I’m promptly arrested and call The Doctor as my defense. Sadly, the call is rerouted to Stormcage and SpongeBob SquarePants ends up on the case instead. This one is every bit as absurd as it sounds. *Doctor Who and SpongeBob SquarePants Dream*

A Revolution In This Century (Enter Me) (November 2019) The year is 2027. Climate Change has decimated the globe and revolution has reduced the Ruling Elite to food reserves. However, absolute power corrupts absolutely, and soon the new ruling poor become as ruthless as the 1% had been. In this horrible dystopia, I am a powerful government official who has taken on the McMahons as consorts for the sole purpose of saving their skins. *McMahon Family Dream* *VIOLENT, DISTURBING, AND A BIT SMUTTY*

Crystal Vision – A Dozen Birthdays (December 2019)

After showing kindness to an enchantress, I am given my hearts greatest desire – a place in Shane’s life. I am sent back in time to 2005 as a WWE Makeup tech and given 12 years in the life of my childhood heroes. But a lot happened in the WWE from 2005 to 2017 and not all of it good. How much can and do I dare change? *WWE Universe Dream* *Painfully NKC. Disturbing subject matter involved because 2007 is a thing.*

Dr. Slime and the Wondernerds (August 2019)

Three high school nerds find themselves in possession of a mysterious green substance. When it explodes during an experiment, they find they have been given superpowers. However, this is the real world and super-powered “freaks” get picked apart, not celebrated. Can the teens resist using their powers? *Original Third Person Dream* (I’m not in this one)

Planeswalking Like A Grecian (October 2019)

After death, Xena finds herself on the Astral Plane. Promptly running into Joxer, they must find a way to survive the dangers of the afterlife. But don’t worry. Gabrielle has a plan. *Xenaverse Dream* (I’m not in this one)

The Foresight Curse (June 2020)

The problem with knowing the future is that you usually don’t have the ability to change it. So when Radar O’Reilly realizes Henry’s fate the day before it happens, he has to spend the next day trying to drown out the feelings of dread and sorrow, if only for the Colonel’s sake. Funny thing though, sometimes fate takes a left turn and you get a second chance to say goodbye. *M*A*S*H Universe Dream* (I’m not in this one) Vampires, Wraiths, and Shades, Oh My! (December 2019)

In the middle ages, I am orphaned at a very young age by vampires and taken in by Vampire Hunters (AU Shane and Stephanie). Now a teenager, I fight alongside them to protect the world from the dangers of the night. *McMahon Family Vampire AU Dream*

WHEW! I’m pretty sure that’s all of them! I have so dang many dreams it’s hard to keep track of them all! Anyway, out of all of these, only a handful are finished, ONE is published (Death of a Fangirl) and a ton of them aren’t far past the sketch stage. So, this is my list. Every story on here I at least have sketched out. I doubt I will ever even bother writing many of these, but the intent is present.

[daily-rayless]

20 Years of Art

2000

(OC / Celes from Final Fantasy 6 / OC / OC)

The influence of Final Fantasy 6, off of the Anthology collection, and Yoshitaka Amano caused a significant shift in my art, leading my human figures to be very slender, graceful, and frequently pale. Most of it was of women, some of it was of horses, and by then I was very self-consciously starting to draw men. I mostly worked in pencils and colored pencils. Faces were oval with high hairlines and long, sharp, narrow noses. Also note my evident fear of mouth-seams and lower eyelids. I was pretty terrible at coloring, often feeling that coloring one of my sketches ruined all the nice linework.

2001

(Quistis from Final Fantasy 8 / Rosa from Final Fantasy 4? / Schala from Chrono Trigger / Dark Knight OC from Final Fantasy 4)

This is where more anime influences came in, and I consciously took on a semi-anime, semi-realistic (in my own mind) style. My ideal of beauty was overbig eyes, overlong nose, and oversmall mouth, and I stuck to it pretty relentlessly. Trying to figure out shadows and face structure. Still bad at coloring. I was incredibly proud of that charcoal picture. Was also going through my mandatory Dark 'n Edgy phase, with a big helping of Phantom of the Opera, Sarah Brightman, and my attempts at designing supercool clothes, many of which I wouldn't have actually worn, even given the opportunity.

2002

(Me trying to recreate “Flaming June” / OC, who incidentally looks almost exactly like Sarah Brightman and whose diadem was bodily lifted from a Jodi Lee painting / angsty symbolic wet chain lady / OC)

Deep in the Dark 'n Edgy. Faces are still very heavily made-up, with big lashes, defined upper eyelids, and dark lips. Trying very hard to be a good artist though, have high expectations for the future. I was so proud of that final pose and worked so hard on it. Lined paper? So not a problem. Besides, how else am I supposed to draw during class? A sketchbook would've been even more obvious than the incredibly obvious I already was. I'm able to listen while drawing pretty reliably, and I did manage to take detailed notes while doodling, so at least I had that going for me.

2003

(Celes / OC / OC / Hermes-inspired wing lady)

I was focusing (at least some of the time) on backgrounds and trying to make my work detailed and polished. Coloring is still hopeless. Often when I colored, I would go super light, even when I was using dark or intense colors. It would give my pictures a sort of faint, half-assed hazy look. I remember an art teacher urging me to use more color, but I probably resisted because I knew that way lay total destruction. I'm sorry, well-meaning art teacher. You are unversed in the ways of my pencils. I have killed too many sketches to take those kinds of risks.

2004

(Rosa? / Meliara from Crown Duel / willow-dress lady / Geddoe and Queen from Suikoden 3)

See the Meliara picture? That's supposed to be a night scene in a forest. Front-lit by blazing firelight. I was too afraid to make the colors darker. This is dark enough, okay? Anyway, this year, along with being utterly obsessed with Suikoden 3 and Crown Duel, I was letting my art head in a more realistic direction...

2005

(OC / Queen / Queen / part of Zetta and Salome from Makai Kingdom; I remember deliberately copying those swoopy Ss from one of my friends’ handwriting. Wishes ended up being the first longform fanfic I posted online.)

...that really flourished this year. It's not actually realism, but I made a point to give my characters, especially the women, more realistic bodies. Faces are very round in this period, often with soft features. Noses are prominent. I'm also, finally, using more vibrant colors. I probably got my first Prismacolor pencils around this time. I also got some really cheap markers, but had no idea how to use them so mostly stuck to pencils.

2006

(All OCs)

I look back on this as a good year. I was learning better coloring techniques. (Bold colors! Press that pencil down! Okay, I still had much to learn.) I got an Elfwood gallery while the site was doing its slow mosey into oblivion. But that was an important step, not just looking at other people's art online, but putting my own up as well. There were downsides though. I began to feel more insecure – or maybe more realistic? – about my art, on this site with so many highly talented artists. Still, 2006 is a good year. It was a lot of fun, and I learned a lot.

2007

(vampire and hunter / Fleur from Harry Potter / OC / Avril from Wild Arms 5)

The year of Fleur Delacour. This is when I was writing Kindred. I think it was because I was trying to depict Fleur as distinctly non-human that my art shifted away from that more realistic style. Fleur, and my other figures, became very tall and slender. The anime DNA is still there though. For a long time, I felt the lying-down picture of Fleur was my best work.

2008

(Revya and Gig from Soul Nomad / my attempts at being “abstract” / OC / OC)

This was the year of Soul Nomad and, towards the end, Tales of the Abyss. Unsurprisingly, the anime influences start moving back to the fore. The eyes are becoming larger again, the features a bit more angular and stylized, mouths are shrinking. I'm still desperately trying to figure out markers and wondering why it's so darn hard (I don't try to educate myself, I just flail), but I was proud of that blue OC picture. It made me feel like I was getting somewhere. 2008 is when I started my deviantART gallery, right when everyone else was moving on to Tumblr.

2009

(teacup lady / Persona 4 noir-style comic / Revya / OC)

Then Persona 4 hit. Shigenori Soejima was a huge influence in this period, especially in eyes and faces. Pupils, chins, and jawlines shrink, eyelashes are sparse and stylized, noses are simplified. 2008 and 2009 are about as pure anime as I've ever gotten. Meanwhile, I'm really exited about my dA gallery and trying lots of different combinations of media. I'm super active on dA and FFN at this point, writing Elysion and then a slew of shorter Persona fics.

2010

(Minako from Persona 3: Portable / concept-art-version Minako / lady with dragon ferret thing / other lady with dragon ferret thing)

I'm still drawing with a lot of Soejima influences. Additionally, bodies are becoming even longer, taller, thinner, and bendier. Some of them look absurd to me now. On the other hand, a lot of pictures from this period have a nice elegance to them. I was still using colored pencils a fair bit, but more clumsy markers are showing up. Persona 3: Portable came out, and this is when I was writing Death and Ker.

2011

(mask lady / hat lady / Archaya, Duphaston, and Iryth from Eternal Poison / symbolic autumn lady and her winter baby)

Midway through this year, I hit a breakthrough when I got my first set of Copics – and skin tones, no less. Even though I was still flailing, I was so thrilled with my results. That Eternal Poison picture left me enormously proud, as did the mother and child one. My style hasn't changed all that much, but it's starting to feel less extreme. The focus on big eyes and tiny little mouths remains.

2012

(Elza from Suikoden 2 / Daryl and Setzer from Final Fantasy 6 / Killey and Lorelai from Suikoden 2 / Lyssa, Greek goddess of madness)

This is the year of Elza. Lots of delicate sketches of this lovely scarred lady, and lots of colored pictures too. I've definitely shifted away from pencils towards markers. The Daryl and Setzer one was an attempt to use both, and I was very happy with it. These pictures show their age, but there's still a lot here I like. Mouths are larger too. However, my online activity was starting to lag.

2013

(Rydia from Final Fantasy 4 / Nia from Infinite Space / the prophet and Schala / Argos and Io from Greek mythology)

The mid-2010s weren't entirely great for me, marked with a lot of frustration and discontent. And that definitely carried over to my art, making me feel very disappointed with myself. There was lots of marker work this year. Probably the standout picture is Argos and Io. This is also when I played through all three routes of Fate/Extra, and my art was suddenly full of Hakuno and Emiya.

2014

(Minako / butterfly lady / Marta and Tenebrae from Tales of Symphonia 2 / Elza)

Looking at it now, this was a good year. Lots of nice marker art. The butterfly one was a big step up for me in terms of coloring. The Marta and Tenebrae has a really cool stylized look to it. But I was becoming less enthusiastic about sharing my art with others. I started to post less and less.

2015

(evil Hakuno and Emiya from the Fate series / Mitsuru from Persona 3 / half moon cookie lady / Hakuno)

I barely posted anything this year, though I was still drawing a ton. As far as making strides, this is one of my better years. Coloring will never be my strong suit, but it's a lot more fun, and it looks a lot better. It's almost entirely marker-work at this point. Despite my, er, angst, a lot of people are smiling this year.

2016

(OC / doodle lady / Luna from Roman mythology / hair bow lady)

At this point, it's feeling too recent for me to really see what's changed. I did a fair bit of eraserless work. One problem I still have – and, yes, it involves coloring my pictures – is losing some of the image's personality after I've inked it and erased the initial pencil work. The picture's still there, but not as nuanced as it originally was. The results often feel stiff to me. Doing the first linework in ink, or not inking at all, allows me to keep that sensitive, spontaneous quality. Luna and the bow and doodle ladies were done without erasers. Another thing I did a lot this year was fill backgrounds with busy shapes and colors, which is a trend I’m still following today.

2017

(flapper and dog / Alcyone and Ceyx from Greek mythology / flower hair lady / Kida from Atlantis)

Not a good year. Not that the art is bad, there just isn't a lot of it, and what there is often isn't very finished. I was still mostly dark online, wondering if I should take down my dA gallery. Drawing and knowing I wasn't going to post something took off some of the pressure of my own expectations, but I was still unhappy.

2018

(Altera from the Fate series / Elizabeth Bathory from the Fate series / OC / Aranea from Final Fantasy 15)

This was a really important year for me. I wrote a novel I'm really proud of, and it's done a lot to give me confidence and a sense of creative direction. I also decided that after New Years, I was going to start a Tumblr gallery...just as everyone who was still on the site was jumping off of it. Much of my 2018 work is still sketchy and unfinished, but I also think it's loosening up some. It feels less stiff than the stuff from the middle of the decade.

2019

(Aloy from Horizon Zero Dawn / medievaly lady / Red from Transistor / Red)

The year of Supergiant Games, which led me to focus more on bright saturated colors. It's really hard for me to analyze these objectively. Coloring is better? I worked more on details? I used my metallic gel pens a ton and did shape-cluttered backgrounds? These aren't new things, but I think they paid off okay. I'm more at peace with my level of ability, I've finished more complicated works, and I crawled out of my den and started posting regularly online again. So that's all good. Curious to see what the art looks like in twenty more years.

[voxofthevoid]

The last* of the Vore Wednesday snippets. With a shocking lack of both incest and vore, for a change. It's more of a post-coital, pre-vore conversation.

CWs: teacher-student relationship, implied underage sex, general angst

* WIP Wednesdays will continue; I'm just done writing this fic.

These beds really aren’t big enough for two people.

Yuuji doesn’t mind, least of all when Gojou presses closer, practically folding Yuuji into him. Arms wind around his chest and waist, and legs tangle with his own. A face rubs against his hair before pushing boldly into the back of his neck, like a great, hungry cat grown sweet and needy.

Or maybe Yuuji’s just projecting.

“My little beast,” Gojou murmurs.

Yuuji closes his eyes.

For a long time, all he can hear is his own heart.

But it’s Gojou he’s feeling—the heat of his body, the warmth of his breath, the bone-deep thrum of his sheer presence. Sleep tugs at Yuuji’s eyes, weighs down his limbs. No, not sleep, not quite. Some strange blend of exhaustion and relief. Gojou’s here, guarding Yuuji’s back. He can rest.

He doesn’t, though.

He pries open heavy lids, blinking blankly at the opposite wall before staring down at the arms wrapped around him. One palm is cupping his pectoral, and the other’s splayed limply over his stomach. They’re big, covering so much of Yuuji. He wouldn’t mind shrinking down into nothing if it means being nestled between these strong, warm hands.

Yuuji covers the one on his chest with his own hand, the one with all fingers intact. He didn’t care before—he was too distracted to care—but now, the thought of touching Gojou with that scarred nub is daunting. It’s still screaming, the shape of Fushiguro’s name writhing in the empty space.

“I can hear you thinking.”

Yuuji doesn’t start by some miracle, but his breath burns on the way to his lungs. He grips Gojou’s hand a little tighter, and it, in turn, digs harder into the meat of his muscles. Gojou’s arms flex around him, pulling him impossibly closer.

“You’re not usually this…cuddly,” Yuuji says.

“I’ve cuddled you plenty,” Gojou retorts, sounding more amused than offended.

“Not like this,” Yuuji says quietly.

“You always pick the worst times to be observant, Yuuji.” A huff of breath against his nape, and then there’s a chin digging into his shoulder, a cheek brushing his ear. “Is it so strange that I want to touch you after all this time?”

Do you want to know a secret?

“How long was it?” Yuuji ventures, and it’s a struggle not to trip over the words. “In the Prison Realm, how long were you…?”

“Long enough to wonder.”

“Wonder what?”

He can hear Gojou’s smile, that empty little thing Yuuji hates, when he says, “Many things.”

Yuuji closes his eyes with a sigh. He should’ve known better. It’s hardly the first time Gojou’s answered his questions with answers that were questions in their own right. Sheer habit tells Yuuji to just let it go. He’s never liked pushing. And Gojou’s not the type you can drag kicking and screaming into clarity; that was Fushiguro.

That is Fushiguro.

But Yuuji has spent the last three weeks fielding lesson after lesson on other people’s mortality, and he’s found that they carve him deeper than the bland reality of his own.

He says, “I hope you’ll want to tell me some day, Gojou-sensei.”

Gojou goes very still. It’s only for a moment, but to Yuuji, pressed so close to every inch of that marble-carved body, it’s an eternity.

And then the tension drains out unceremoniously. Lips brush Yuuji’s cheek, the kiss shockingly sweet. It knocks the wind out of him, leaving him clutching at Gojou’s hands and gasping for air.

“Live,” says Gojou. “Live for a long time, till you find you can’t stand it, then keep on living anyway. And I’ll tell you everything. I’ll give you everything.”

It sinks like stone into Yuuji’s gut, every word a damnation.

“Gojou-sensei,” he chokes out, “you’re always so unfair.”

“Forgive me anyway,” Gojou tells him, more demand than plea.

[mittensmorgul]

in your opinion, was the future zach sent dean to in The End real or do you think zach fabricated it to scare dean into saying yes? if he did fabricate it, i think it’s interesting he would make cas how he was lol

I’m gonna send you to read the last thing I wrote on 5.04:

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/185820014535/504-the-end-or-as-we-know-from-the-show-beating

I’ve been saying for years now that this is the one episode I don’t enjoy engaging with because it comes the closest to anything in the entire series to legitimately being a trigger for me. I’m really happy that so many people enjoy their personal headcanons for that universe, or find it a rich source of fic inspiration or character exploration or whatever, but I really REALLY need to maintain my own understanding of what this episode is for my own personal sanity, and I would really REALLY appreciate not being drawn into debates about it. Again, for my own personal (very real, very tenuous) sanity.

I really don’t need to end up in the psych ward over a dang tv show, you know? Thanks. :)

But short answer, yes. As was confirmed in s13 via the AU’s Zachariah, who implemented this exact same special power, this sort of “false vision” or “hallucinatory experience that feels real” is literally Zachariah’s special talent as an angel, just as “stripping memories from human minds” is Castiel’s special talent– once again, confirmed by the AU Castiel’s horrific implementation of that power.

So, yes… Just like he manufactured Dean and Sam’s “fake identities” in 4.17, just like he manipulated Dean’s Heaven in 5.16, just like he turned an abandoned muffler factory in Van Nuys into “The Beautiful Room” for 4.22 and 5.18, and just like AU Zachariah forced visions on Lucifer and Jack in an attempt to manipulate them in s13, Dean’s experience in 5.04 was likely entirely inside his own head.

Or in some sort of pocket dimension of the variety that Gabriel put them all through in 5.08.

But no, not real at all.

I mean, he was trying to show Dean just how horrible the future could be, and using Dean’s own “future self” to push his message that saying yes to Michael was literally the only way to prevent any of these terrible things from happening. And he wasn’t using HIS idea of “terrible” to sway Dean, he was using DEAN’S PERSONAL WORST CASE SCENARIOS.

Sam not dead, but entirely consumed by Lucifer. Sam’s body having been used to wreak this ultimate destruction on the world.

Cas not dead, not having abandoned him, but having stood by Dean (aka the ultimate loser), and having lost everything in the process– up to and including Dean’s own friendship. And Cas being MISERABLE as a result, losing himself in drugs and sex because “I used to belong to a much better club.” Meaning Cas never did truly care about humanity, never did think that humanity was worth saving, and contrary to what we see later in the season when Cas is effectively human for a hot minute and more fascinated by it than miserable about his loss of power, Zachariah’s version is a bitter and miserable nihilist instead.

And Dean himself– “torturing again. Classy.” He doesn’t care about anyone or anything except getting his revenge (at which he will ultimately fail, because even if he had gotten off that shot, the Colt can’t kill Lucifer anyway… which we will learn for sure in 5.10).

And then we have Chuck in that world. Not even a functioning prophet anymore, but the dude with the clipboard who basically serves as quartermaster of the camp. He keeps track of toilet paper, ffs. Does that sound like any incarnation of Chuck, aka GOD. Yeah, no… Zachariah was disdainful of Chuck not only in this episode, but even in 4.18, where Cas had told Chuck he admired his work:

ZACHARIAH: I’m Zachariah. You may know me from your work.CHUCK: What do you want?ZACHARIAH: Did you see it?CHUCK: (he nods) Is it true? Is all of that… really going to happen?ZACHARIAH: Have you been wrong so far?CHUCK: (getting up and heading for a door) I’ve got to warn Sam and Dean.ZACHARIAH: I wouldn’t advise it. People shouldn’t know too much about their own destiny. You try… and I’ll stop you. (CHUCK stops; then starts going off in another direction)  Where are you going?CHUCK: To go kill myself.ZACHARIAH: Don’t be melodramatic, Chuck. We’d only bring you back to life.

I mean, that’s not how any angel would ever talk to God, you know? Zach, for all his high and mighty self-righteousness, he really wasn’t all that clever, you know?

So no, I don’t think it was any true future seeing. It was a manipulation.

Dean experienced three days while Cas waited on that street corner for him for FOUR HOURS. When his time was up, Cas… zapped him there to his side. So, yeah… pretty sure the whole thing happened inside Dean’s head.

And I found this bit looking through my Zachariah tag… where I offered some commentary on someone else’s post…

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/181902346065/flutiebear-oh-my-god-this-shot-this-shot-this

[docholligay]

By The Better Angels

A release from the Patreon vaults! Me on my Crystal Tokyo shit! Some of you love it, some of you hate it, but much like a dandelion, it will come every season. 

This was Rachelle's prompt! This has been a really interesting thing to write for me--it's been rewarding, it's been frustrating, this fic so desperately did not want to be written, like yanking a thistle root. But I FINALLY MADE IT, and there are parts of it I really think are quite nice. I would love to hear what you think! Thank you!! approx 4,400 words.

The mystic chords of memory will swell when again touched, as surely they will be, by the better angels of our nature--Abraham Lincoln.

Loyalty.

It was what the moon had been built upon, all those years ago, and the palace of the Crystal Kingdom glistened in the sunlight, throwing daggers of light onto the gardens and into the eyes of those who might pass by and challenge it directly, and in the wind, Michiru could hear the word rise again.

Rei was wise and Rei could See and Rei was a fool, and all of her assurances and protests that Usagi was Usagi, and so there was nothing to fear, were the mutterings of a self-blinded prophet who refused to hear the echo of the past off the walls.

That Usagi had brought the world under her government, for whatever reason, was sign enough that Serenity lived in her, willing to bring an entire world to heel. That she was happy for them to call her queen.

Michiru  picked at the raiments of her formal uniform, stiff and odd at her throat. Military, almost.

She was here to accept the assignment as the Commissioner of the Former Europe, if scuttlebutt was to be believed, and there was no reason not to--even in this new world, Michiru still slid herself easily into gossip and rumor, where people would confess things to her without ever knowing quite why.

It was meant to be an honor, to rule under the Queen, to have an entire continent at her beck and call. Ami had received the Former North America not two weeks ago, and Mako the South, and Mina was expected to be awarded the former Asia after her work on the uprising in Korea. But, like many things that were pressed upon Michiru that were meant to be desirable, she wanted nothing of it.

Usagi had always been selfish, at her worst, and there is nothing that brings out the worst in people quite as well as being royalty. Michiru would know that better than anyone, raised to be quite the little princess herself, and it had created something rotten in her, something spoiled and petty and small.

And she never even had a military backing her.

“The world’s at peace.” Rei had said it with an air of uncertainty, as if she did not quite believe it herself. “There’s no more war.” She had jutted out her chin, then, daring Michiru to argue with her.

But the absence of war was not peace, as Michiru saw it, and in the days passing Usagi’s full receipt of the Crystal’s power, it was true enough that entire cadres of weapons were destroyed, and that no one raised an arm against each other in this bright new world, but when one is not left with even the ploughshares to beat back into swords, revolution is slow in coming.

And she had her Commissioners now, to quell any uprisings, and her white dress stayed unmarred in the Crystal Palace.

She pulled her documents out of her pocket, all the same now, with little indication of what one’s country might have been previously other than the line that indicated languages spoken. And that, too, was changing in this world, as all schools were teaching Japanese--Usagi had never taken to English, and Serenity had no intention of learning, even after Commissioner Mizuno had advised it was the path of least resistance due to wide current global knowledge, if she sought a single tongue--and all official business took place in the same.

Michiru Kaioh looked at her picture, with the faraway and empty eyes, and felt a pang. As much as she sat in this beautiful garden, built and irrigated off the labor of others, dwelling on the slow slide of this world into complete monarchical nonsense, she knew she had her own part in it. There were no angels in the Crystal Empire.

She had fought what was called ‘valiantly’ at some ridiculous medal ceremony, where Mamoru had droned on and on in the way Michiru had never grown to find amusing, just another man who enjoyed his own soliloquy. She had charged into battle in a way that would have made Haruka proud. She had put herself in danger to protect her queen and the future.

That was a lie, it was too pure and touched too much of that word loyalty to be true.

She had been trying to get herself killed.

___

The sky was broken open like a shattered bowl, the black leaking through the dissipating bright blue, starless, moonless, draining toward the earth in slow and syrupy droops, and Haruka’s mouth fell open.

They had seen so much in their time in battle, and yet, in this moment, it felt as if they had seen nothing at all.

“What is that?” Haruka asked quietly, as if Michiru, as always, would know.

Michiru’s eyes closed for a moment, one long blink that returned her to all the dreams she had been having over the months, all the destruction she knew would come.

“We will prevail,” she replied, in her half-truth, having seen so many outcomes where Usagi rose triumphant, “and this will be the last of it.”

For a woman who was rarely sure of many things--futures as far out as she saw them twisted and moved and changed in the wind--this she knew for certain. Whether they won or lost today, the battles would cease on the galaxical stage. This was a defining moment, in so many ways,for all of them.

Haruka grinned. “Of course. Then we’ll get started on that  family, huh?”

“Usagi will be tested as well,” Michiru added, afraid to respond to Haruka’s softly lilting joy, “we all will.”

Haruka took her hand. “I know you don’t love Usagi, but she’s always come through for us. She’s more than just...what new queen old queen thing she’s supposed to be. She more than just the princess. She’s Usagi.”

Michiru squeezed her hand. “I certainly hope you are correct.”

___

Her mind shifted, sometimes, like watercolors one over the other, creating some new shade that she not quite know.

Usag cried less, these days, and while she was certain that was a good thing--and anyhow wasn’t there so much less to cry about now?--it was unsettling to have someone criticize her, hate her even, and not feel moved to tears.

Perhaps this was all a part of growing up.

This was her destiny, and she had latched to it and set her life by it, and if the stars had said it was destiny, than how could it be wrong? And besides, she assured herself, she had helped so many people by bringing them peace, by uniting the world as one. Coming together, that was the beauty of the world she had created, and her palace showed it.

The finest marble from what had been Italy, crystal polished to a shine in the country that had once been Brazil, gold leaf from the former China, and those were only the very beginnings of the building. She had imported artisans from all shores to show their loyalty to their new kingdom by contributing to the palace.

Today’s parade and ceremony would be the same, combining so many elements of the lands that she now served, because, the voice in her head reasoned in its whisper, she was serving them, by taking the difficulty of rule, and bringing them to the palace.

It would be mostly things of those areas that Michiru now looked over,  but there would always be a thing or two else that Usagi had discovered a fondness for, some French pastries, Swiss Chocolate.

Her mind shifted again, and she thought of Michiru, and how sad she would be, with Haruka gone, and how seeing the rest of her girls would only remind her of the space that was empty in the assembled line. Maybe she would have the cake be champagne, the light cake Michiru favored, with soft lines of cream and rose.

“I can’t,” she said aloud, to no one in particular, “I already ordered chocolate and strawberry.”

��What?” Rei turned to her, her black hair gliding like a veil around her shoulder.

She had forgotten Rei was there.

“I was thinking about the Michiru’s ceremony today,” she fiddled nervously, “I should have done better with the cake, but I ordered the wrong cake.”

“You ordered your favorite.” Rei replied.

___

The rocks tingled with the force of the power that struck them, and Michiru felt  that same tingle go up her spine, triggering a memory instead of fear. Fear was of no use now, here at the end or the beginning of everything.  

“Do you recall the first time we danced?” Michiru looked at Haruka, the rock crumble falling around them.

Haruka glanced over at her with a disbelieving grin. “Right now, Michi?”

“So you do not.” She teased, smiling back.

“‘Course I do,” another strike hit, “in your living room.”

Michiru had often teased that Haruka was the angel of her better nature, and Haruka pretended to understand it better than she did. She looked the part now, the mica of the stone settling into her ash hair, her shoulders and strands glittering like a tapestry on a church wall.

“You were so uncertain.” Michiru touched her arm gently, the world falling down around them but away from their love.

Haruka chuckled. “How was I gonna know how to waltz? Didn’t do that a lot.”

“You were quite natural, I must say.”

Michiru looked at her, at her soft grey eyes, and was immediately swept back to that day, to how nervous she had been, how she had taken Michiru’s hand shakily, but when she touched Michiru’s back, it was electric. She had never felt anything quite so alive, not since she was a child.

Haruka put her hand on Michiru’s.

“May I have this dance?”

____

The fire was quiet, and this disturbed Rei the most. That things should be odd otherwise, with the world being reorganized, made sense, but that the fire only mumbled and murmured to her, babbling like a brook in indistinct words, this concerned her.

And so, she told no one.

It wasn’t concealment, she swore to herself. It was a simple matter of having no one to tell, no one with the clearance and the need to know, no one she could trust that would understand.

Michiru was so distant. She spoke to Rei in small, short sentences, and Rei told herself this was because she had lost Haruka, and it had hurt her so deeply. Her unhappiness with the kingdom lay in the fact that Haruka was no longer in it.

Michiru would never forgive Usagi, because Haruka had died for her. This Rei knew, and that this was the source of Michiru’s distance and criticism Rei was sure.

She knew that, even as the fire gave no reply to the question.

The world was stable now, and no one could deny this was true. How else was it supposed to be done? She felt a small, slow sizzle rise in her, but she could not make out the words in the steam, the smoke of her own self-assured and silent fire rising around it.

She looked out the window and over the palace gardens, down where Michiru sat, doodling in a notebook thoughtfully. There was a time they would have been together. There was a time Rei would have been taking tea with Michiru, as they waited, and Mina would have teased Rei in that way that was barely teasing, and Rei would have smelled the oversweet and too bright peach of Mina’s hair as she moved.

She had not smelled it since that night in the tent, lost and scarred and trying to feel alive.

Mina had left. Rei stayed.

Our loyalties are funny things, and Rei could not leave Usagi, even when she insisted on being called Queen Serenity, even when she looked over the map of the world and saw it all covered in one color, one land, one country, and even when there was a whisper in the back of her mind that it may be an imperfect peace.

It wasn’t a whisper, it was a scream. But the fire never screamed, just stayed silent, gazing at her from across the room, refusing to tell her what she refused to know.

___

Battles are too loud, and battles are too quiet, and Michiru had always resented the duality of these feelings.

She looked for Haruka, her eyes scanning the battlefield as the enemies surrounded her. They would win this day. That was assured. She and Haruka had chosen to fight, and so fact and fate became one.

Not everything else was.

Not the things Michiru truly wanted to know.

She cut her way through whatever rose up in front of her, and they may have been enemies, and they may have been friends, but none of them were Haruka, and Haruka was the only god she sought, the only thing in which she still had faith, and that faith carried her heart, even as she felt a copper taste at the very edge of her mouth.

Even as she saw the bright gold announcement of the attack hit the sky, saw it lay waste to the large corp, falling like dominos at a children’s table, and even as she saw it stop, and flicker, and collapse in on itself.

The faith preserved. The foolish hope, taken from her lips and given to Michiru’s, that it was the light of an announcing angel, heralding not just any victory, but hers.

Michiru bit her lip harder, and the bright tin taste filled her mouth.

___

There are angels, it is written.

There are angels, it is painted, in sweet and dulcet tones, and these are the angels the world imagines, curls of soft golden and rose hair around soft and rosebud mouths, smiling beatifically at the humans they serve.

There are angels, it is sung, with rich and joyful voices raised to heaven, a perfect chorus, each one supporting the other, welcoming and warming the children of God on earth, waiting for the day when they return to the holiest realms.

But Michiru had seen how the stories got twisted, and the way a soldier could become soft and warm in the right concert hall, the right oils. She went back to the beginning. Back to where something terrible and beautiful was born, and so she knew that an angel was no soft womanly creature, gently guiding, but she was a flaming creature of wings and eyes, who brought a sword of fire to the land.

Angels, you see, come in many forms.

She had reflected upon this as she readied for the banquet, as she heard Haruka, softly, asking her to be an angel, asking her to protect Usagi.

Haruka had once accused her of being unfair, but Michiru could in no way match Haruka’s cruelty in leaving her here, asking Michiru to protect that which took Haruka from her.

She touched the gold rings at her neck, one plain as brass, the other decorated in a slight herringbone that Haruka had called, “just enough flair.”

What a cruel girl.

But she would do it. She had pulled Haruka into the whirlwind of their lives, two sparrows in a hurricane of fate, all those years ago, and simply because she had wanted Haruka, a thing her parents could not buy her, and it was a deserved punishment that she loved Haruka so desperately, and that she was forced to watch Haruka’s life as a senshi.

And so she pulled on a golden breastplate, engraved with rich detailing, as if one lace had been woven into the metal, details in silvers and rose golds. It shone magnificently in the light, as she knew it would. It was made for this day, and she had described lovingly to the man who made it how she would wear it for all official state functions and so it must be the brightest shine that could be achieved.

Usagi would pay for it, she knew, the hiccups between world reigns nothing more than moving from a member of the Kaioh court to Serenity’s, though courtly manners were few in Usagi’s first court.

She was learning, though. Or unlearning. Michiru was not sure which way she preferred the phrase, when the results were the same.

The dagger she now carried was not the chipped and tarnished thing that had accompanied her in her senshi life--their uniforms, their bodies, had always healed, but the weapons held the scars--but a new gift, given after the wars and the ascension of the crystal, sharp as the night and glittering.

A worn and dented sword lay in the corner, no replacement meant for it. No one to replace it for.

____

The wind whistled by her, low and tuneless and nothing of the song she had known in Haruka’s.

The wind. It had been silly, Haruka’s insistence on her element, so desired before she knew her own power, wanting only to be the thing that moves the sea.

Haruka did not understand that the wind caused a wave, but the earth brought forth a tsunami.

Michiru understood. Something deep in her moved, with Haruka at her side, something powerful and dangerous.

Michiru has Seen this sign in the sky before, and Michiru is no one’s fool, and Michiru knows what it must mean.

But the heart and the mind and the mouth can all speak different languages, and Michiru ear refused to recognize any of them, and she ran.

____

Sometimes Usagi did not recognize her own voice, and her mouth offered edicts that her heart did not understand.

And yet, they were not foreign. She had heard, of course, that there was something inside her that was her and was not her, and she had seen the Senshi wrestle with the same, whether they considered it a monster or a gift or barely saw it at all.

She was meant to be queen. This had always been her destiny. Whatever Usagi Tsukino had been, she was born to be something else. She had married Mamoru, and spurned Seiya, for that had been foretold. The crystal was her future and the siren song, and that made it beautiful, didn’t it?

Destiny was beautiful. To be a princess, a queen, was a dream.

And yet the happenings of this world unsettled her, even as she was the one who turned the world, and thing that unsettled her the most was the sense of discord inside of her, like water in the bottom of a boat, sloshing back and forth, listing her to one side and then the other.

And for now, she was as Usagi Tsukino as she had ever been, and her mind turned to the cake she had ordered, the cake that was her favorite. She hadn’t meant to do that, she had meant to order that light, frothy sort of thing that Michiru liked.

But Usagi had wanted chocolate and strawberry, hadn’t she?

And you are the queen, a voice from far away and very near said, and the people love you. And they love what you love.

That the senshi loved her and chose to protect her and be with her was a constant reassurance in her head. She was their family, and always had been, wasn’t she?

Yes, Usagi Tsukino had only ever brought light to the lives of her lonely senshi, and though it felt uncomfortable, she was doing the same to the world now. It was hard, when you started out with something different, something that called you to be something better. She had cried when she fought her first battles. And some of her last.

That would be a good thing to bring into the speech,  that she had cried, like them, like the people, but Michiru was resolute, Michiru kept her eyes forward. Serenity was only their queen, who could only understand them, and she set people like Michiru to be the real leaders.

They were the ones with force.

She didn’t feel like crying much, these days, even when Rei looked at her in a way that might have seemed strange once upon a time, even when she noted that her senshi stayed to their assigned posts and rarely came to the palace.

Well, yes, why would they come to the palace? The senshi were only ever born to execute your vision.

Her vision. Usagi had a vision for the world, and that vision was coming true, a vision where all were educated in the ways of the Crystal Kingdom, where everyone could have Japanese as the language, where everyone got New Year’s off, so they could celebrate the most important holiday with their families, a place where the world could be as it always should have been, the kingdom of the moon brought to earth, finally, with her and Endymion.

Usagi opened her mouth and Serenity called for the guards, drawing another edict from her mind, as a wave passed over the vessel that was one person and two of them at once, rocking it back into the darkness.

___

A light in the sky led to an angel, in the stories, but all Michiru saw, in the grim gloaming was a pale and still creature, lying on the ground, carved from the light that had brought her, red too-bright and gauche against it.

The Seeing showed what might be, a mirror only, and it was not the architect of the world, and yet Michiru hated it still.

Her knees hit the ground next to Haruka--she would know this only later, looking at the bruises on them, for in that moment she felt nothing at all but a tear beginning where her heart should be.

Haruka breathed, not yet dead, her eyes wavering as she looked up at Michiru, the self-styled king of the sky now beneath it all, back to the earth where she truly belonged, and spoke.

____

Haruka’s statue gazed down at her as she was walked into the fine court, laden with gold and silver woven silks, streaming down the sides of the palace walls, sourced from lands that had once had names of their own, written in scripts that curved and moved with the words, blocked in now by the stroke of the Crystal Kingdom and all its official language. The table itself sang tribute to the kingdom, the dishware pure and glittering under the opened skylights, as if eating off spring water, cold and clean.

But Michiru’s eyes stayed on the statue as she passed, knowing that she could look at it as long as she desired with little question from anyone in the court. She was appreciating what Serenity had done, they said, making that statue as tribute for her fallen lover, which was always how they put it, as sculpted and inhuman as the statue itself.

For they had gotten her wrong, too, in the statue. Though maybe in those early days she would have enjoyed being seen that way, resolute and stone, but Michiru had loved her too long, and however much Haruka might have wanted to be remembered as a soldier, Michiru could only remember the girl, who had a tough shell and a tender heart, who took life personally and gave herself no grace, who fed the squirrels and whose hair tossed in the wind when she laughed.

Theirs was the love of legends, and like all legends, it had been polished and made in the ways that served the tale, and there was nothing of thunderstorms under the covers, sharing a cup of tea, nothing of teasing Haruka over some silly dramatics, just a carved and chipped and utterly wrong story of two soldiers.

But she would keep a promise to Haruka today. That part of the story was true.

Michiru stood at Serenity’s side, smiling and clapping politely, the sheen of her gold and teal armor bright under the lights, nearly blinding all who looked at her.

Which was precisely what she had intended.

The spark of discontent in this world shall not become a flame, my love.

“Sailor Neptune, who served so valiantly and ensured our kingdom,”

All shall remember Usagi as the girl who was, and not as the Queen she is becoming.

“I hope, in the name of the Moon, you will accept this commission,”

Let your memory guide me. Cast my selfishness aside, Haruka, my love.

“Over the lands formerly known as the European continent, now united under the Crystal Kingdom,”

The angel of my better nature.

Michiru moved quickly, in ways she had not since that day in battle, grown languid and pale like the bright white flowers that grew in Serenity’s garden, giving rich perfume, rich enough to hide the iron scent of blood. But the flush was in her cheek now, and the speed, and her hand moved to her dagger at her belt quickly, whirling it into a grip in her hand, and she plunged it through Serenity’s back, and hit Usagi’s heart.

There was barely a cry before Michiru felt her own back pierced by the smooth and seductive touch of an arrow through her, running a slender and steel rod through both she and Usagi, binding them both together as they had been from the first.

“Michiru, you gotta do one thing.”

“Haruka, my love, hush--”

“No, you gotta, you gotta be loyal to Usagi, I--you.”

“Haruka...” She stroked Haruka’s hair, angry already with Usagi, angry at the Crystal Kingdom that rose on the horizon, angry with the promise Haruka was going to force her to make.

“Please, Michiru.” Her eyes were bright even as the rest of her was fading, the last bloom on a rose bush in winter.

And she could not deny her.

“The angel on my shoulder,” She kissed Haruka softly, “I will protect Usagi. From all things.”

She had held Haruka, and Haruka had died, and a promise made was a promise kept. Usagi was safe now, from the tyrant that was born inside of her, the slowly growing crystal that was inside of them all, watching and waiting to become.

Michiru looked back up at the court, that last bloom of Michiru’s faraway memory bright cherry on her lips now, and murmured one last edict to the Crystal Kingdom.

“Loyalty.”

[alexjosten]

Peppermint Toads

Gift fic for @scattered-shadows who requested a Neil & Andrew Hogwarts AU as part of the 2017 Winter @aftgexchange. I was really thankful when I got this prompt, because I’m a huge Potterhead so this was an absolute pleasure to research and write. Enjoy!

Rating: T Words: 2586

(P.S. I plan on continuing this at some point, so feel free to drop headcanons in my inbox!)

—

Breaking into the headmaster’s office at Hogwarts wasn’t particularly difficult for Andrew, considering the passwords had historically always been the names of various magical sweets. After seven years of visiting Honeydukes (only four of which were permitted), Andrew had sampled and memorised the entire store’s catalogue, so reeling off names until he landed on ‘Peppermint Toads’ was more a test of his patience rather than his cleverness.

He ignored the suspicious glances and whispered words from the portraits of the previous headmasters as he rifled through the contents of Headmistress McGonagall’s desk. It didn’t take him long to find what he was looking for: the register of students who were staying at Hogwarts over the winter holidays.

He scanned through the Ravenclaws, looking to see if Aaron or Katelyn had been added to the list. His twin had boldly proclaimed he was going home for the holidays with him and Nicky, but Andrew hadn’t believed it for a second after Aaron had conspired to stay unsupervised in the castle with Katelyn last year. Andrew had only discovered his brother’s betrayal after he was already stuck in a carriage on the Hogwarts Express going home. He wouldn’t be tricked twice.

It seemed that this year, however, Aaron was telling the truth. Andrew was about to toss the list back to McGonagall’s desk when a name under a different house caught his eye. It was a name that he recognised from the list of Death Eaters that were still at large after breaking out of Azkaban during the Second Wizarding War: Wesninski.

It didn’t surprise him to find the name was under Slytherin. What concerned him was that Kevin hadn’t told him someone from an infamous Death Eater family was in his house- which meant that Kevin didn’t know. And if Kevin, as paranoid as he was after his history, wasn’t aware… that meant this particular student was keeping his identity a secret.

Andrew didn’t like secrets. Especially ones that threatened his things.

He picked up a quill and scratched his own name onto the list.

*

Hogwarts felt larger after the majority of the student body packed their trunks and went home. The Great Hall tried to compensate by boasting Christmas trees so gigantic that their tips brushed against the snowy skies of the Enchanted Ceiling. The woven garlands of holly, mistletoe and tinsel in every doorway were so ostentatiously bulky that students had to squeeze together to get through the narrow space that was left. Even the warm, dry snow fluttering down from above seemed determined to collect upon the books and homework of the remaining students to distract them with festive cheer, however Andrew was more focused than ever.

After sifting through the lies of the Daily Prophet and the utter nonsense of the Quibbler from the back catalogue in the library, Andrew pieced together a working theory: Nathan Wesninski had been a werewolf serving under Fenrir Greyback during the Second Wizarding War, sentenced to life in Azkaban but broken out shortly before the Battle of Hogwarts. Further research revealed that he had a son, Nathaniel Wesninski, born in January 1987- which would have placed him in the same school year as both Andrew and Kevin.

Since the other Slytherin seventh years had gone home for the holidays, this narrowed Andrew’s hunt down to the one remaining student: Neil Josten, starting Chaser for the Slytherin Quidditch team.

Andrew knew him, of course. Over their seven years at Hogwarts they had shared various classes together. Neil stood out- not only for the auburn hair that made him the butt of every Weasley joke, but also for the deep gashes that scored the skin on one side of his face. Wounds like that weren’t uncommon after the war, even on the younger students, but now combined with Andrew’s theory about who Neil actually was, he couldn’t help but think those scars looked awfully like claw marks.

Considering Kevin was close to Neil as a fellow Chaser and Captain of the Slytherin team, and would be sharing a dorm with him when he returned to school in a week, Andrew felt the need to act quickly.

Neil was minding his own business eating his Christmas dinner when Andrew dropped a four inch thick tome on the table in front of him with a resounding slam.

“Lupine Lawlessness: Why Lycanthropes Don’t Deserve to Live, by Professor Emerett Picardy. Fascinating read,” Andrew drawled as he took the bench opposite his new nemesis.

Neil flicked him an annoyed glance and then went back to slicing through a rare cut of roast beef, “Go away, Minyard. The werewolf jokes got old in third year.”

“I know what you are. Or should I say who? Interesting how you managed to get all of the professors to play along and call you by your new name in class.”

That got Neil’s attention. His chin snapped up and he held his head high as he stared Andrew down. His lips contracted in a snarl, “Are you really so bored without Kevin around that you’ve resorted to making up fantasies? Leave me alone.”

Andrew drummed his fingers across the book’s cover, underlining the subtitle, “How about I present you a deal. If you can score on me, I’ll leave you alone and your secret stays safe. If I block all your shots, I let the Prophet find out that Hogwarts is knowingly housing a class five beast, you pack your bags and get the fuck out of my school.”

Neil ignored the threat and focused on the challenge instead, “Quidditch? I’ve never seen you play.”

“Exactly. So it should be easy for you, no?”

Neil looked bewildered, “You did hear that I got an offer to play for the Montrose Magpies when I graduate?”

Of course he had. Kevin hadn’t shut up about it when he had gotten his matching offer letter the same day. Andrew rolled his eyes, “I don’t care. Is it a deal? Yes or no.”

“Fine. Deal.”

*

Visibility was poor when they stepped out onto the Quidditch pitch. The beginnings of a blizzard had picked up as dusk fell, swirling around and slicing mercilessly at every sliver of exposed skin. Dark snow clouds loomed above, casting a grey shadow over everything that dared to step foot outside of the safety of the castle. Neil had tried to convince him to play on another night, but Andrew had chosen that night for a reason: in a matter of a few hours, it was going to be a full moon.

Choosing to spend time alone with a potential werewolf who was about to turn was reckless to say the least. Doing so while balancing being a hundred feet in the air with his crippling fear of heights made it downright suicidal. It was a wonder how Andrew had survived this long when he made a regular habit of making self destructive decisions in order to get what he wanted.

Andrew’s gloved fingers already felt numb as he tightened his grip around his broomstick, but not from the cold. Rather, it was from the way his stomach had bottomed out and his head span when he kicked off the ground and took to the sky. Neil had briefly attempted to delay their challenge again, even going as far as claiming to feel poorly- which only added to Andrew’s conviction that he was, in fact, a werewolf. However all complaints stopped once he had a Quaffle in his hands.

Andrew had seen Neil play before; Kevin had begged Andrew to supervise enough of his games, terrified of another jinx cursing his broom and leading to an even worse accident. But Andrew had never seen Neil play up close before. If Andrew hadn’t been so focused on determining if Neil was a threat, he would have lingered a bit longer on the thought of how the wind swept his hair back and brought colour to his cheeks . The boyish, competitive grin on his lips pulled Andrew’s attention away long enough that he nearly missed blocking the first shot.

Neil zipped away on his broom to collect the rebounded Quaffle and returned to hover a few feet away from Andrew, concentration and concern now knitted into his features. Having his shot blocked by some nobody was most likely alarming for a rising star like him, and Andrew took great pleasure in the distress he had caused. When Andrew continued to whip around and effortlessly block each subsequent shot, Neil started to get angry.

“What the hell, Minyard? I thought you didn’t play!”

“I don’t,” he replied coolly. His gaze drifted to the horizon and his heart dropped into his gut when he remembered how high up he was, and he continued in order to distract himself from his unease, “I’ve been practicing in private with Kevin since first year. We have a deal.”

Neil was astonished, “Why don’t you play for Ravenclaw? You could go pro. None of the other Keepers at school can block my shots like that.”

Andrew simply shrugged one shoulder, the movement jostling him on his broom and making his vision swim. He didn’t need to tell Neil about his fear of heights. He already felt dangerously close to the edge of tumbling loose from his perch - verbalising it would be the final push.

“Are we going to talk or are we going to play?” he snipped back.

Neil didn’t need to be told twice. He tucked the Quaffle under his arm and darted out of sight, disappearing into the snowstorm in a matter of seconds. Andrew squinted into the dusk, trying to spot where he would be approaching from. With each passing moment, the nausea gurgled in his stomach forebodingly. His temples pounded and threatened to collapse the dark edges of his vision inwards. He couldn’t tell if the ringing in his ears was from the wind whistling by or if it was all in his head.

He finally spotted Neil hurtling towards him from below. Andrew jerked his broom to the side to block his shot, but swayed into the motion too hard, taking his balance with him. His grip slipped. He tilted too far. And then, he fell.

*

Andrew came to in a dark place, the only light dimly provided by the moon pouring in through the frost-speckled windows. He sat up and the deep green Quidditch robe that had been keeping him warm slipped down to pool in his lap. He was in the Slytherin changing rooms, and he wasn’t alone.

Sat further down on the bench that he had been laying on was Neil. He was hunched over with his head in his hands, and he jolted upwards when he heard Andrew move.

“Thank Merlin. Are you okay? Did you break anything?”

Andrew frowned, but peeled off his gloves to flex his fingers, and then patted himself down to check for injuries. He didn’t remember hitting the ground, but he must have. His clothes had been nearly soaked from flying in the snow earlier, yet now they were magically dry, most likely due to a hot air charm.

“I know I should have taken you to Madame Pomfrey, but if they found out we were flying in this weather and you got hurt, I could get banned from playing for the rest of the season, and my offer from the Magpies depends on-”

Andrew cut him off, “Did you score?”

“What?”

“Before I passed out. Did you score, Wesninski?”

Neil flinched and fell quiet. Andrew became acutely aware of the moonlight painting pale strips across Neil’s scarred face. Andrew stood and pointed his wand at him.

“I’m not a werewolf,” Neil declared confidently, however his voice wavered as he continued, “But since you know that name, you know who my father is.”

His hands were trembling as he gestured to his cheek, “This wasn’t from the war. It was from him. He tried to turn me before he was sent to Azkaban.”

Andrew slowly lowered his wand, “But he escaped.”

“Yes,” Neil shuddered, and lowered his head back into his hands. Andrew recognised the resignation in his body as something all too familiar he had once felt himself.

“He’s coming for you, isn’t he?”

Neil nodded.

“Hogwarts can only protect you for so long,” Andrew pointed out coldly, “What are you going to do when you and Kevin graduate? Once a werewolf shows up at a match and your real name gets out, your career will be ruined. Kevin’s too, most likely. No team will want to be associated with a Death Eater family.”

“You don’t think I know that?” Neil snapped and ripped his hands away from his face, “You don’t think I obsess over this every fucking day?” He stood up, getting in Andrew’s space as his blood boiled. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to dispel the rumours after we studied werewolves in third year? I’d get so anxious on the nights of a full moon that he was coming for me that I couldn’t get out of bed. People noticed. And there’s only so long you can live in a dorm with four other guys before someone finds out you have bite marks on your body. I know my days are numbered, and I don’t need someone like you telling me.”

Andrew pushed two fingers into Neil’s chest to get him to back off. Something about the touch deflated him, and he crumpled back down onto the bench.

“You are a mess,” Andrew declared, “And you are creating problems for me.”

“This doesn’t involve you,” Neil hissed.

“Yes it does. I told you I have a deal with Kevin, didn’t I? I agreed to protect him. You are making that complicated by putting a target on his back.”

“Then uncomplicate it,” Neil retorted petulantly.

“Tell the Magpies you won’t accept their offer.”

“What?” Neil looked like he had been sucker punched.

“If you don’t play for them, Kevin won’t get caught in the crossfire,” Andrew explained dispassionately.

Neil stared at him in disbelief, “You’re insane. They’re the best team in the UK. I can’t turn them down. That would end my career even faster.”

“I don’t care about your career.”

“Well, I don’t care about your stupid deal you made with Kevin.”

They were at an impasse. Neither were willing to back down.

“I could expose you,” Andrew threatened.

“And risk dragging Kevin’s reputation down with me? We’ve been inseparable on the pitch since first year.” Neil reminded him. Andrew wanted to wipe that cocky smirk off his face.

“You are impossible,” Andrew sighed, and the last of his resistance left his body in one breath, “Unfortunately, as long as my deal with Kevin is in place, you are inextricably part of it.”

Neil narrowed his eyes at him, “What do you mean?”

“After we graduate, I will watch your back for one year. During that time, I will prevent your reputation, and thus Kevin’s, from being dragged through the dirt. Additionally, I will protect you from your father.”

Andrew didn’t miss the flicker of hope that widened Neil’s eyes, before they narrowed back in distrust, “What’s in it for you?”

“Starting from now, you will detangle yourself from Kevin’s life. So when our deal ends, if you go down, you will not take him with you.”

Neil fell silent as he considered the terms. Then, he stood and held out his hand. Andrew appraised it before carefully slotting his own into it.

“Deal.”

[sitp-recs]

Hey, can I ask for some recs? I’ve been trying to find works where Harry and draco are either soulmates or someone curses draco to die unless harry loves him and everything’s just angsty?

Hi friend, of course! I haven’t read much but if you’re looking for some quality angst I can’t rec these soulmate fics enough:

swallow your words by icarusinflight (2019, Explicit, 9k)

The truth is, not many things are known about the magic that is behind soulmarks. They'll turn up when they want and not before. The truth is, you don't get a choice in your soulmark. The truth is, not everyone is okay with that.

Antlers and Ivy by @violetclarity (2018, Explicit, 19k)

The thing is, Draco has always known he wouldn’t be able to marry his soulmate. Finding out his soulmate is Harry Potter shouldn’t change anything. Or: soulmarks, a masquerade ball, and gratuitous use of The Daily Prophet as a plot device.

Vortex by @xanthippe74 (2020, Teen and Up, 20.6k)

Who would want a soulmate who was a schoolyard bully, a Death Eater, and a convicted felon? Certainly not Harry Potter. And Draco is determined to take this secret to the grave.

you've got the antidote for me by Kandakicksass (2018, Mature, 20.7k)

When Harry Potter unintentionally severs their soulbond before it can fully form, Draco Malfoy resigns himself to a slow death and decides not to burden Harry with a soulmate he's made it very clear he doesn't want. He's never been selfless before, but for Harry, he can try.

Written on the Heart by who_la_hoop (2016, Explicit, 114k)

Unnerved by the attention he’s attracting from everyone – the Slytherins are the least of it, to be fair – and struggling with a raft of changes to Hogwarts itself, Harry wishes he could be happy that one constant remains: Draco Malfoy really fucking hates him.

Danse Russe by Frayach (2012, Explicit, 140k)

True Love. Soul Mates. They're just words until put to the test. Harry and Draco have a bond that was forged in the hell of the post-war years and pulled them both back from an abyss of nihilism and self-destruction. Nothing can break it, or so they believed. But True Love can demand sacrifices too great to bear and deeds too terrible to justify.

Fuck or die:

A Hag, a Hex, a Tale of Redemption by @aibidil (2018, Explicit, 43k)

A fuck-or-die fairytale in which Draco Malfoy lives a despicable and unapologetic life — that is, until he's cursed to die unless he can fall in love with and fuck Harry Potter.

I’m also adding these soft(er) soulmate fics in case you’re interested:

Rorschach by @gracerene09 (2015, Explicit, 5.4k)

Harry never gave much thought to Malfoy's soulmark. But that was before he caught a glimpse. Now it's all he can think about.

Beacon by @amelior8or, @andithiel, gameofdrarrymod, kristinabird (2019, Teen and Up, 7.4k)

Every year around Valentine's day Professor Potter is flooded with questions from love struck young girls about soulmates and soulmate bond lore, and every year, he gets through it as quickly as he can so he can return to his lessons. This year, however, his life is turned upside down when he encounters a mysterious object that lands him in St. Mungos, under the care of Draco Malfoy.

Hope Springs Eternal (But Love Springs in the Forest, Unannounced) by @letteredlettered (2012, Explicit, 12k)

Draco falls into a love spring. Harry saves him! And now they’re bonded for life. Draco is horrified. Harry thinks it’s kind of neat.

Kiss Me Not by @dorthyanndrarry (2017, Teen and Up, 21k)

In a sample of a thousand people, the average witch or wizard will be slightly repelled by four or five people and strongly repelled by only one, at the most. The opposite is true for attraction. But Harry Potter can't kiss anyone at all.

Highly (in)Compatible by daisymondays (2018, Teen and Up, 37k)

Draco’s been shagging The Prat Who Lived on and off for a few months when his soul mark starts to change. Draco’s had to accept a lot of adjustments to his life, but accepting that Harry Potter could be his soulmate is one step too far. It can’t be true? Can it?

Every Me and Every You by @bixgirl1 (2018, Explicit, 69k)

Harry liked his life just fine, thankyouverymuch — so it was bad enough when a sly fairy cursed him to leap into alternate realities. But seeing Malfoy in all of them? Definitely way too much. And worse yet: needing the bastard's help to figure out how to get out of of it. It was a disaster waiting to happen, really. Well... probably.