#functionally all of them are orphans which is why they were allowed to run around like complete fools in high school

[founderscouncil]

"What's the difference between an apple, and an orphan?"

"The apple get's picked."

He groans internally, not sure whether he should be thankful it wasn't any worse, or be offended at the joke itself. "Katherine... do you know how many of my friends are orphans?" He counts himself lucky that Kelly Donovan, as much as he sometimes misses having her in his life, is away from their little town and out of the grip of supernatural creatures.

[youbloodymadgenius]

Ivarello (Modern!Ivar x reader) Chapter 3

Moodboard by @quantumlocked310

Ivarello's masterpost here

A/N: This is my entry for @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie 500 Followers Fairy Tale Challenge. It's a retelling of Cinderella. Congrats again, darling 💖

A huge thank you to @mrsalwayswrite , who's a great beta reader and an even greater cheerleader 😂

A massive thank you to @quantumlocked310 , @vikingstrash and @serasvictoria . Thank you for agreeing to collaborate and for sharing your talent with me. Your moodboards are beyond amazing 🤩

In this story, Sigurd is alive. Ragnar and Aslaug are dead, but Lagertha didn't kill her. I took a lot of liberties with the show, I hope you won't mind.

Unlike the tale, there will be no magic involved. Not everything will be realistic, however. It's a fayritale, after all!

Let me know if you want to be tagged 😊

Summary: Orphaned five years ago, Ivar and his brothers have been living with Lagertha ever since. Now 16 years old, he wants to attend Harald's traditional Midsummer party, but obstacles stand in his way.

Warnings: description of car crash; orphaned kids; Sigurd being Sigurd; OOC characters.

Words: 3497 (oops 🙈)

Additional note: what you’re going to read is not realistic.

Enjoy 🙂

🛡⚔️🛡

With his stomach in knots and a frown on his face, Ivar watches closely his godfather, who enters the living-room, wheeling a large trolley case behind him.

"Hello, Ivar." Floki looks around, an eyebrow raised questioningly, "Lagertha isn't here?", before flopping down on the corner sofa.

"No," Ivar shakes his head, wheeling up next to him, "She's out on a date with this English guy... Hammond, Halmund or whatever his name is."

Scratching his ear, Floki tilts his head, "but she knows you're going, right?" He pulls the trolley case closer and then snorts, mumbling under his breath, "don't think I can't see you rolling your eyes!"

"What do you think? Of course, she knows. She said, and I quote," Ivar raises his hands to make air quotes, his voice tinged with obvious annoyance, "'Of course you can go, sweetie, you know I don't want to be the one holding you back. Call me if anything goes wrong. And don't forget to take your meds.'"

"She cares, Ivar." Floki's tone is soft as he places a hand on his godson's shoulder.

Ivar lowers his gaze. "You should have taken me in." His words are barely audible and suddenly he feels like he's eleven again and he has to swallow against the sudden dryness in his throat.

"You do know that back then I wasn't in a good place." Floki's sad sigh almost gets Ivar in tears as memories of his parents and Helga flood his mind. The pain in his heart becomes nearly unbearable but he fights it off with all his might. He never wants to feel broken and lost again.

Ivar lifts his head up and Floki can see the stubbornness in his eyes. "I could live with you now."

"No, you could not, and you know it!" Floki smiles and taps Ivar on the cheek. "Ivar, I live between two flights, today in Norway, yesterday in Iceland and after-tomorrow in Canada. What kind of life would this be for you, huh? And besides, living with Lagertha is not that bad."

But living with Sigurd is! Ivar wants to shout. He keeps quiet, though, shrugging before eventually mumbling. "Guess not..."

"So," Floki starts, eager to change the subject, "where are your brothers, by the way?"

"Where do you think they are, huh, you knock-kneed fool? They're already there." Ivar glances at his watch, furrowing his brow. "Harald's party started twenty minutes ago."

"We better hurry up, then!" Crouching down, Floki slowly opens the suitcase under Ivar's scrutinizing gaze.

"Quick!" Ivar commands, barely able to contain his impatience, his nervous fingers tapping his push rims. "What do you have for me, old man, huh?" He even contemplates climbing out of his chair to open it himself, but the fear of breaking a bone at the worst possible time is stronger than his eagerness.

"You're going to calm down, young Padawan." Floki quips, slowly moving his hand in front of Ivar with eyes full of mischief. Ivar immediately slaps his godfather's hand away, mumbling under his breath, "I'd rather be a Sith Lord." That earns him a loud, hysterical laugh from his godfather.

Ivar grunts, ready to protest, but all thoughts leave his mind as soon as he's able to see what is in the trolley case. The scowl on his face obvious, he doesn't even try to hide his disappointment as he utters, "you made me braces?"

He hates braces with a passion. Along with underarm crutches, he had some, as a child. They were bulky, stiff, painful and walking with them was tedious, agonizingly slow, and exhausting. Ragnar had been adamant that he wanted his youngest to walk, no matter the struggles, no matter the nearly unbearable pain. Ivar had settled his ass in a wheelchair the day of his father's funeral, getting rid of his braces shortly after, a decision he had never regretted. So no, such torture devices were not at all what he was hoping for.

"Have a little faith in me," Floki rolls his eyes. "These," he looks lovingly at the strange contraptions in his hands, "are not braces, Ivar. Have you and your crippled ass ever heard of exoskeleton?"

Ivar's eyes widen. "It's that thing used in rehab that allows paraplegics to walk, right?" As Floki nods, Ivar gives him a puzzled glance. "But, erm, you do know I don't have a spinal cord injury, don't you? Or are you suffering from memory loss? Maybe it's your age?"

Dismissing the remark with an exasperated wave of his hand, Floki hisses, "I'm well aware that you don't, godson dearest," before narrowing his eyes, his voice now serious, "you may have full sensation in both legs, yet they can't exactly support your weight and your lack of motor function can't be denied. Not really different from some paraplegic dudes, what do you think?"

Feeling a heavy lump in his throat, Ivar frowns, not pleased with the idea of him being like a paraplegic. Almost without thinking, he contracts his quads as best he can, as if he wants to make sure he's still able to do it.

Floki doesn't miss the barely-there movements in his thighs, though, and his voice softens. "Look Ivar, you're not a paraplegic, okay? But I used the exoskeleton technology. And since you're not paralyzed, I was able to make a smaller device that you can wear underneath your clothes, and you're going to walk. I mean, really walk, not just like those guys in rehab, between parallels bars and with a PT right behind them."

Ivar, his eyes bright, stares at his godfather, slack-jawed with amazement. "I'm..." He begins to sputter, voice filled with emotion, "I'm really going to walk?" Feeling like his heart is pounding out of his chest, he fails to contain his excitement, drumming the fingers of his right hand on his lap. He'd tap his feet if only he could.

"You are." Floki nods before taking out of the trolley case a pair of dress shoes. "I put dozens of sensors in the insole of these shoes, which will enable the exoskeleton to correct your stance practically every second. Therefore, you won't need crutches, although I would say it's safer for you to use this." Reaching down, he grabs a black derby-style cane, simple and sleek in design. "You know," he shrugs, "just for extra support. Better safe than sorry, hmh?"

Ivar, who doesn't even flinch when he sees the walking stick, just reaches out, his hand grazing the carbon fiber exoskeleton. "Is it really for me?" His eyes filled with wonder, his voice trembling, his lips stretch across his face as his godfather nods. "And you made this in what?... four, five days?"

Letting out his signature giggle, Floki waggles his fingers in front of his face. "Even I couldn't make this in such a short time. No, the truth is, I've been working on it for a while. Let's say your phone call just sped things up. Though I must say, this marvel of technology is not flawless... It has a really low battery life, like four hours of autonomy at best. If I had more time, I certainly could have done better, but for now, it is what it is and you'll have to make do with what you've got." Pursing his lips, he glances at his watch, "So, just so you know, if you put this on now, you'll have to come back around midnight if you don't want to have to crawl around. And if you hear a beep, you'd better hurry, okay?"

As Ivar just nods, his beaming smile never fading, Floki adds, tilting his head, "and now, go get ready, young Padawan, you have a party to attend!"

***

Sitting on a bench at the seaside, Ivar watches the party from afar, a feeling of uneasiness tightening his chest. It was a mistake. Attending to this party was a mistake. Despite the exoskeleton, despite the fact that he walks almost normally, it was a mistake. He shouldn't have come. He shouldn't be here. Anxiety surges like the swell of a wave, and he struggles to breathe. Sigurd was right: he doesn't belong here, doesn't belong to this life.

A part of him wants to leave. It would be better to run away, to go hide in his room. But he won't. He can't. Because just a moment ago he saw you. Because he's not ready to give up on you now that he is here, eventually close to you.

He recognized you the moment his eyes fell on you. Looking radiant in a polka dot dress, you're as pretty as he remembers. Pretty? Who's he kidding? The girl you were six years ago was pretty. You're a woman now, and one of the most beautiful he's ever seen.

Glowing, smiling at everyone, you didn't even see him. In his head, of course, he makes plans to approach you, even if deep down, he knows all too well he'll never muster enough courage to talk to you. You probably wouldn't want him to anyway. After all, he may be standing tall today, yet he's still a freak, a fucking cripple. He's still cursed with his bony, twisted, useless legs. He's still a burden.

Yet, there's this little voice inside of him, barely audible, whispering that you're not like this, that you never were in the first place; and that's partly why the ten-year-old boy he was when he first met you felt drawn to you almost instantly.

Closing his eyes, he focuses on his breathing and decides to take a little trip down memory lane, bringing him back to that sunny, summer day of his first – and only – encounter with you. His memory so vivid it's like it happened only yesterday.

He can't hear the chirping of birds as his brothers are loudly playing and bickering in the pool. His beloved mother is nowhere to be seen and he's willing to bet she's taking a nap, but not without first making sure he has everything he could possibly need. Lying on a sunbed in the shade of an oak, a glass of lemonade within reach and a thick book on his lap, he hardly notices his father coming into the backyard, Harald Hårfager following close behind.

Since Ivar knows Harald is here to talk business with his father, he pays no attention to the two men, who take their seats at the patio dining table.

He nearly falls off the sunbed when a tiny voice startles him. "Hello!"

Stunned, he turns his head towards the voice and comes face to face with a smiling girl he doesn't know. You. He'd say you're about his age.

"I'm Y/N," you tell him, waving your hand shyly. "I'm at my uncle's for the weekend," you keep going, pointing your finger at Harald, "and I was wondering... May I join you?" You finally ask, dragging a second sunbed closer to his.

His first instinct is to look around, because you can't possibly be talking to him. Why would you? Surely you can't have failed to spot his leg braces, nor his hideous orthopedic shoes. You can't have missed that he's a cripple.

Frowning as he sees that no one is around, he snorts, his nostrils flaring. He can tell you're wearing a swimsuit under your pink dress. What do you want, then? Are you here to mock and ridicule him or what?

"You better get in the pool with my brothers." He knows he sounds rude, not answering nor greeting you, but he doesn't care. He doesn't want to be made fun of and doesn't intend to give you the chance to do it.

Seemingly undeterred, you speak with a soft voice. "No, I'd rather not." Your smile is so genuine he can't help but think you mean no harm. "Actually," you shrug, sitting next to him, "I'd rather stay here with you, if you don't mind. What are you reading?"

Gobsmacked, he just looks at you – and gods, how pretty you are! – for a long time, unable to utter a single word. Are you truly interested in what he's reading? Interested in him? He swallows hard, his heart racing. A small smile dancing on your lips, your kind eyes never leave his as you wait, full of hope, for him to finally talk to you.

And that's what he ends up doing, almost in spite of himself. For the next two hours, he shows you his astronomy book, a gift from his godfather for his tenth birthday, and tells you about the stars, the constellations and the nights he spends watching the sky, when his mother allows him to. And for two hours you listen to him, asking a question here or there and always smiling. He's pretty sure you're not faking being interested in what he's saying.

All too soon, your uncle tells you it's time to go and you stand up with a scowl, letting out a sigh of regret. The next moment, you flash Ivar a grin. "I had a really great time with you, thanks! I'm going back to my mom's tomorrow but I hope we can spend time together again sometime, maybe next summer. I'd love to stargaze with you, you know?" With that, you lean forward and as your lips touch his cheek, Ivar's breath catches in his throat, his heart pounding like a drum in his chest.

Ivar inhales deeply. That kiss... That's when he fell madly and hopelessly in love with you. If he concentrates enough, he can still feel the softness of your lips against his skin, still smell your sweet, flowery scent.

That day, he had watched you leave with a smile on your face, already dreaming of the day he would see you again. You had said "next summer" and even though it was a long time away, he was willing to wait. In the meantime, he would have plenty of memories to recall - your joyful voice, your sparkling eyes, your lovely smile... Sure, he could wait.

And he had waited, hopeful and happier than he had been in a long time.

Not long after, however, his life had been turned upside down, his father being murdered and his mother dying in a car crash. Lost, angry, broken, and infinitely sad, he had gone through the following months as if anesthetized - barely living, hardly functioning, sometimes feeling as if the memory of you was the only thing keeping him from drowning.

Yet, and he doesn't know why – or perhaps simply because Ragnar being dead, Harald had no reason to visit anymore – he had never seen you again.

"Hello!"

His whole body freezes and he stops breathing. This voice... Your voice... He'd know it anywhere. Yet, it can't be, right? Did he fall asleep? Is he dreaming? Is one of his brothers tricking him? Why would you talk to the cripple?

"My name is Y/N." He can hear the smile in your voice. "I was wondering... May I join you?"

Summoning the courage he's not sure he has, Ivar looks tentatively toward you.

Gods! You're even more beautiful up close. Fuck. Now that you're here, right next to him, he doesn't know what to say, what to do. Panic seizes his hammering heart as a lump rises in his throat. He attempts to swallow around it to speak, to say something, anything, but the words won't come out and he finally just nods, his hand gesturing to the bench for you to sit on.

"Thanks," you give him a broad smile before taking your seat.

Ivar cannot believe his eyes. What are you doing? Did you recognize him? Why are you here, with him?

"Woul–", he sputters, struggling to find his voice, "Wouldn't you rather be there?" Pointing his index finger at the crowd gathered in front of the makeshift stage just a few meters away. He frowns, tilting his head, "the party is in full swing."

"No, I'd rather not." You shrug and as you turn your head toward him, he breathes in your sweet scent, suddenly feeling dizzy. "The guys are already drunk and really have one thing on their minds. And those who are not are boring." You lower your gaze, as if embarrassed, and it's so adorable Ivar feels like his heart is melting. "I'd rather stay here with you, if you don't mind."

Oh, he doesn't. He doesn't mind at all. The truth is, there's a fucking firework inside of him, and he barely contains the screams of happiness that threaten to escape his lips. "That's okay, you can stay," he says instead, his fidgeting fingers dancing on his lap.

Over the next hour or so, the conversation flows easily as you speak about Karasjok, the small town where you live, telling him about your mother's people, the Sami, their culture and customs.

Ivar shares with you bits and pieces of his life too, speaking about his passion for the Viking culture and about his belief in the ancient gods. The night, his night, is full of your laughs, full of your smiles, full of you. He wants it to never end.

He's still trying to figure out if you know who he is, if you remember meeting him once when you rise to your feet, almost bouncing with enthusiasm. "Walk with me, will you?"

He's about to break the truth about his inability to walk when he remembers that actually, thanks to Floki, he can. His eyes never leave yours as he grabs his cane with a little bit of self-consciousness, wincing as he stands up, but he can't see disgust, contempt, or disappointment on your face and your smile doesn't falter as you delicately slip your hand under his free arm, curling your fingers back over it. Shaken by your sudden proximity, Ivar feels goosebumps rising on his skin.

"It's such a lovely night and I'm so happy spending it with you."

Your words leave him speechless as you lead him close to the water. A bunch of guys can be seen in the distance and Ivar is pretty sure his brothers are among them. He can feel their heavy stares on him and doesn't need to hear them to know what they're saying. "Who's this dude? Do we know him?" Standing tall, with his braided hair and a blue suit, he knows he doesn't look like himself. Yet, as he locks eyes with Hvitserk for a second, he'd sworn he sees a hint of recognition crossing his brother's face. And as the latter gives him a thumbs up, he knows his mind is not playing tricks with him.

"Oh, I love this song!" You clap your hands twice before shrugging shyly. "Let's dance, please!"

Ivar's heart breaks. Scared out of his wits, he swallows hard, his breathing uneven. "I... I can't." It's a painful admission, and he wishes the ground would just swallow him up.

He realizes you pay no mind to his defeated tone, though, as you grab his cane, leaning it against a nearby tree. "We'll go slow, I promise."

Almost in spite of himself, he places his hands on your hips as you wrap your arms around his neck. Gently – cautiously – swaying to the music, Ivar leans in close and, inhaling deeply your delightful scent, he feels like he's going to spontaneously combust. Your head resting on his chest, he's sure you can hear his frantic, pounding heartbeat. But he can't bring himself to care, not when you're finally exactly where he wants you to be. In his arms.

That's why he doesn't hear the first beep, or if he does, he doesn't pay any attention, entranced by your beauty, your kindness and the mesmerizing color of your eyes.

But when you stop dancing, your eyebrows raised, "What's that beeping noise? It doesn't stop," he hears it too, cold sweats washing over him as panic courses through his body.

"I... I must... I must go," he stammers, and honestly he's about to throw up. He can't think, can't speak. All he knows is that he doesn't want you seeing him crawling around. He won't allow it. He can't.

Fuck.

That's why he leaves. He just strolls off. He doesn't see the appalled look you're giving him, doesn’t' realize he's leaving his black cane behind, doesn't hear the despair in your tone as you shout, "wait, please! I don't even know your name!"

He has only taken a few steps when crocodile tears run down his cheeks, blurring his sight. It hurts so much he could scream, and he can barely breathe as the realization starts to sink in. Who was he trying to fool? Sigurd had been right all along. No matter the exoskeleton, no matter the genius of his godfather, he's still a freak. A monster. An abnormality.

He doesn't belong. He's not worthy.

Fuck.

His heart shatters in a thousand pieces.

Fuck.

Y/N.

Fuck.

🛡⚔️🛡

Ivar's taglist: @waiting4inspiration @honestsycrets @lisinfleur @saldelys @gearhead66 @inforapound @readsalot73 @milkkygirls @xbellaxcarolinax @shannygoatgruff @zuxiezendler @hecohansen31 @lonewolf471 @fuckindiva @tgrrose @didiintheblog @peachyboneless @pieces-by-me @funmadnessandbadassvikings @ethereallysimple @destynelseclipsa @cocovikings23 @xceafh @mrsalwayswrite @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie @pomegranates-and-blood @jadelynlace @grimeundglow @quantumlocked310 @alexhandersen-marcoilsoe-fandom @adrille88

Ivarello's taglist: @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog @hashimily @prepare4trouble @supernaturalvikingwhore @funmadnessandbadassvikings @heavenly1927 @dini73

[rarephloxes]

@lucienvanserraweek, free day!

I’m so happy to announce that this is a collab with my dear friend @ratabrasileira!!! Go show the beautiful drawing she did some love!!

rating: G

words: 2.2k

Elain searches the woods for flowers and finds more than she ever expected. Sleeping Beauty Au

❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦

Elain left the cottage barefooted, the soft cushion of the grass comfortable and well known to her feet. The familiar and gratifying feeling of calm earth beneath her, steady and grounding, more than enough reason to forego any sort of shoes.

Roses, Feyre had chanted, the dreamy look in her sister’s eyes persisting ever since her chance encounter with a newcomer guard at the town square, the prettiest ones you can find, please?

Elain had not the courage to tell her younger sister that she had picked fresh flowers just the day before, funny-shaped pink blooms Elain found at the lip of the stream near the border.

So, she had picked her basket - the one Nesta had gifted her on her last birthday, handmade by her older sister herself; a beautiful, intricate thing done with the hard-earned love of the hardest Archeron - and left, a spring to her step and a tune brimming in her throat.

The woods, the townspeople said, were older than the village by unaccounted years, and therefore filled with deep, wondrous and dangerous magic.

Elain, as well as her sisters, was orphaned too soon. A wasting sickness that had scourged their village had taken away both of her parents, one after the other, leaving only a nearly of age Nesta, a doe-eyed Elain, and a tear-stained Feyre.

Many years had passed since, the nebulous, all-consuming pain of the absence of their parents soothed by time. Despite her grieving, it never escaped Elain’s thoughts how lucky she was to have such wonderful people in her life: her kind neighbors; the quaint, energized people of the village, who never missed a chance for celebration; the old grouch at the square who made wooden figures just as her father once had; Feyre’s laugh, her creativity and Nesta’s attentive strength.

The woods, magical and mysterious, were a source of peace in Elain’s little life, too. A balm made of soft sunlight, fresh, perfumed breeze, and the singing quietness of wildlife.

She walked, shawl hanging on her elbows to ward off the slightest of spring chills. Elain sang to her heart’s content, a lively lyric dancing on her tongue and bouncing on the leaves of the tallest of trees, her heart soaring with each note she presented to her loved woodland.

With Feyre’s wishes in mind, Elain followed a path towards a grove, the humidity at her destination perfect for the birth of deep pink roses which best complimented Feyre’s complexion.

She crossed the sturdy old bridge that allowed passage over the river, her cottage’s mill no longer audible from where she stood.

“Hello, Mister,” Elain greeted the white, wild bunny, its twitching mustache smelling the air twice before hurrying on fast jumps towards her, a cupped palm of berries awaiting the animal’s eager mouth, allowing her to scratch its head “You’re rather famished this morning, aren’t you?” she asked. The bunny agreed with what seemed like and affirmative ear twitch before her furry friend scampered away to a nearby bush.

Then, singing about poets and kings, Elain continued her path through the meandering trees, her basket filling with dark, juicy berries - a few of them already staining her lips red - and multicolored flowers.

A bold, red little bird landed on Elain’s extended finger and enchantingly sung with her. Its melodic chirping lacing and harmonizing to the girl’s sweet voice, their impromptu duet accompanied by the rustling leaves and the gurgling stream.

How wonderful Elain felt, surrounded by nature, connecting to the air around her as if it had birthed her itself, offering it her voice. Respectfully reaping the charming flora, she found on her way, breathing their scent, befriending the forest animals, and spinning on the tip of her toes on the soft soil.

As she stopped dancing, her skirts still swishing around her calves from the last of her twirls, Elain noticed a magnificent shrub of the blooms she had braved the woods for, jewel-bright pink petals shining under sunbeams, as if the tress had organized themselves to create a spot of light for such earthly beauty.

Right then, the strangest of things happened.

With her heart jumping to her throat, beating frenetically against her ribs, Elain noticed a beautiful horse. Saddled, with a gleaming chestnut coat, dark eyes downcast, calmly munching on the grass near its hooves.

It wasn’t unheard of, horses in the woods, wild or otherwise, they were not far from the main road, but that was not what made Elain’s skin prickle with alertness.

A well-taken care horse as such must have a rider nearby.

“Samson,” called a male voice “There’s not much left to go.” The horse shuffled his legs, huffing before turning its nose away, back onto the moss.

“There will be carrots,” the voice tried again, with a tone of simulated indifference.

Caught like a fish on a hook, the horse’s great neck snapped up, looking at its rider, as if expecting the vegetable all at once. Stoic as the pair of them seemed, Elain had the impression Samson was kindly spoiled.

Elain, who could hear the rich sound of the stranger’s voice, had not yet distinguished his form in the shade beyond the grove she entered, but following the stallion’s gaze she finally sighted him.

Oh, but what a beautiful man he was.

Stranger was tall and broad-shouldered, with an old, silvery scar marking the side of his face, slitting his brow and narrowly missing his eye - which seemed to be a disconcerting shade of brown. He had the most vibrant shade of red hair she has ever seen, dark like autumn leaves and silky like water.

He was the most beautiful human she has ever seen.

Stranger, however, had yet to notice her.

And as handsome as he was, Elain was clever enough to realize that a quick, silent escape was the safest option.

Slowly, she walked one step back.

The crunch of the branch beneath her foot echoed loudly, too loudly to be confounded by an innocuous wildlife sound.

Elain couldn't raise her eyes to look at him, attention glued to the sword holstered at his hip.

“Be not afraid, lady. I’ll take my leave in a moment,” Stranger said in a placating tone, palms deliberately upraised for her benefit.

The woods turned to music at the exact moment their eyes met.

A world-altering spark of recognition lighted in her mind.

A stranger in the woods, merry music, dancing fireflies, and singing birds, trees being led by the wind as if women in a ballroom, her vision spinning, and her body lighting up like fireworks. A hand on her waist, a choreography her body must have been made for performing, such ease it was to allow it to guide her away.

Dreams, she remembered, wonderful dreams which always kept her under her covers for a moment too long, always ending way too soon, leaving longing as a dent in her pillow.

Now he was right in front of her.

“I know you,” she whispered, words slipping through her lips like birds escaping a cage, her hands shaking.

He was dressed in well-made traveling clothes, dark pants, finely done knee-length boots she had only ever glanced upon whenever wealthier people crossed the town to check on their local businesses, but those deftly dressed gentlemen couldn’t have looked better than the man even with the priciest of fineries. Elain resisted the urge to press her hands to her cheeks, heated and pink from noticing Stranger only wore a thin, unruffled poet’s shirt, - his cape and hat using the nearby trees as hangers - its open laces revealing golden skin and wisps of red hair.

Elain had never felt self-conscious of her looks or clothes, the townspeople dressing similarly to her (even if Elain herself had one of the best sewing hands in their village). Her current outfit was a simple corset with boning made out of prepped hedgehog spikes, the plain fabric embellished with neat seams and picturesque figures Elain had stitched herself; a brown, light skirt - easy to wash and easier to hide soil stains - and, what now she deemed absurd due to the grime on her nails, no slippers.

“And I, you,” he answered as in a daze, hands falling limply at his sides.

“Do you hear it?” Elain made her voice firm, lifting he chin but with her knees slightly bent, ready to run.

“Yes, my lady,” he took a step, then two, until a stretch of his arm would land his hand on her shoulder.

But he didn’t move to touch her.

Elain swallowed, the breeze cooling her body, eyes downcast, legs now motionless and nearly failing her.

“Why won’t you let me see your eyes, my lady?” She couldn’t be sure, for she knew him not, but there was pleading in his tone.

“I’m afraid, my lord, that if I look at you, I’ll awake and leave this dream,” she whispered, surprised, but not fearful, of her words. “And you’ll fly away from my grasp,”

Suddenly shy of her newly found boldness, she turned her back to him.

“I’m-" She started, voice small.

“No, please.” Elain saw a shadow over her shoulder but wouldn’t dare to guess. “Forgive me for my requests, my lady, you need not give me anything, I-”

He sounded... embarrassed.

She found it endearing.

The song of the woods shifted to a village rhythm she knew well.

“Dance with me,” he called.

A gasp fell freely from her mouth, the ghost of a touch on her hand.

Slowly, she turned back to face him and realized her mistake.

His eyes were not brown, but a vibrant russet shade, complimenting his hair better. Elain had heard only the continent bred humans with the most varied and colorful bodies.

“I forgive you,” she mouthed, her throat no longer functional.

There were callouses on his palms if from holding reins or sword fighting, she couldn’t determine, but they were so gentle against her skin she barely put any mind to it.

A blast of sound surrounded them, as if the song recognized their meeting, rejoicing in their movements, magnifying their volume to ensconce the pair of them in a cloud of magic. Elain allowed her stranger to spin and lead her in the dance of her dreams.

She couldn’t help to laugh and smile and giggle as they swayed in impossibly rehearsed arrangements, his wide, carefree, delighted grin pouring sunshine into her chest.

Time turned to a growing bloom, following the natural, slow, unpreoccupied pace of life. A hundred dances thrummed with them while the small pointer of the square clock circled once.

At that time, the resounding, deep clang of the church’s bell chiming twelve times broke through the magic steering the couple.

Elain ceased her steps, the pang of reality downing on her face, awareness washing the enchanted fog in her mind.

She let go of Stranger’s hand, the melodies dimming to a quiet hum, tempting her as a distance siren song,

“I must go,” she told him, yet unable to move.

“So soon?” he asked earnestly, arms lovingly tightening around her waist, not caging, only a gentle embrace.

“Oh, please, I must have my leave. Your lordship certainly has somewhere to be. I don’t even know what to call you-“ she babbled in a rush.

Stranger pressed his nose to the sliver of skin above her neck line, as if he couldn’t help himself, as if she were a saint and he a devotee. Elain lost the breath in her lungs, head lulling back, her words cutting themselves short.

“It’s yours,” his lips brushed the slope of her neck, “My name, my heart, my soul. It’s all yours. I’m Luc-“

Hurriedly, Elain lifted his head and pressed her pointer and middle finger to his mouth, “You must not tell me your name,”

“I heard your voice,” he admitted, a portrait of hope in his face, gently grasping her wrist “I deviated from the road to look for the angel whose song I was lucky to listen. But the singing stopped, as it was never there in the first place,”

“The woods have a mind of their own” she whispered to herself, eyes roaming around as if searching.

“I found you once I let Samson rest for a moment,” he continued, uninterrupted, as though afraid she would vanish in a poof of light.

“Please, my lady. Can’t you see? One is never to deny a gift from the Gods,”

“Are you a believer, Stranger?”

“Now, I am,” he said, his gaze unfaltering, “Will you allow me to reveal my name to your Ladyship?”

“I’m no lady,” she said, taking her hand from the warmth of his, regretting it immediately, “I must have my leave,” How would she explain her tardiness to Nesta? Oh, how reckless she was acting.

“At least allow me to take you to your home, my lady,”

Elain knew deep in her gut as clearly as she knew the color of the sky and the name of her favorite flowers that he would never hurt her.

But her oldest sister warning echoed in her conscience, coiling its limbs around her, refraining her voice.

The universe, it seemed, understood her decision.

Samson let out a loud neigh, attracting her love’s attention for just long enough.

“I’ll see you in my dreams,” she promised as he turned around to watch his horse.

And ran away, deep into the woods.

❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦ ❦

Thank you so much for reading! Reblogs, likes and comments make my day.

Special thanks to @moononastring and @silvergriff for hosting this awesome event, @separatist-apologist for being the kindest and most considerate beta reader I could ever hope for.

I’m building a tag list! If you want to keep up with my writing, let me know :))

I may or may not continue this? I really want to mesh this with a bunch of other ideas I have on my notes!!

[douchebagbrainwaves]

YOUR EMPLOYEES AND INVESTORS WILL CONSTANTLY BE ASKING ARE WE THERE YET

I think I've figured out what's going on. After the first 10 or so we learned to treat deals as background processes that we should ignore till they terminated.1 Don't Get Your Hopes Up. Something hacked together means something that barely solves the problem, the harder it is to bait the hook with prestige. And that is almost certainly mistaken. So one thing that falls just short of the standard, I think, should be the highest goal for the marginal. Big companies think the function of office space is to express rank. As big companies' oligopolies became less secure, they were willing to pay a premium for labor. You can see it in old photos. If you're friends with a lot of the worst kinds of projects are the death of a thousand cuts. And what's especially dangerous is that many happen at your computer.

And the microcomputer business ended up being Apple vs Microsoft. In 1450 it was filled with the kind of turbulent and ambitious people you find now in America. You have to like what they do there than how much they can get the most done. That's not what makes startups worth the trouble. Design This kind of metric would allow us to compare different languages, but that if someone wanted to design a language explicitly to disprove this hyphothesis, they could probably do it. This technique can be generalized to: What's the best thing you could be doing, not just what you can see the results in any town in America. With this amount of money can change a startup's funding situation completely. There I found a copy of The Atlantic. Whereas it's easy to get sucked into working longer than you expected at the money job.2 That's ok. I think you have to do all three. But more importantly, you'll get into the habit of doing things well.

But what if the person in the next 40 years will bring us some wonderful things.3 They all know about the VCs who rejected Google. The writing of essays used to be.4 You may have read on Slashdot how he made his own Segway.5 He improvises: if someone appears in front of him, he runs around them; if someone tries to grab him, he spins out of their grip; he'll even run in the wrong place, anything might happen. The people who've worked for a few months I realized that what I'd been unconsciously hoping to find there was back in the place I'd just left. It was supposed to be something else, they ended up being Apple vs Microsoft. By 2012 that number was 18 years. The first thing you need is to be willing to look like a fool.6 Google they have a fair amount of data to go on. John Malkovich where the nerdy hero encounters a very attractive, sophisticated woman.

Many of the big companies were roll-ups that didn't have clear founders.7 Empirically, the way to the bed and breakfast, and other similar classes of accommodations, you get to hit a few difficult problems over the net at someone, you learn pretty quickly how hard they hit them anyway. Inexperienced founders make the same mistake as the people who list at ABNB, they list elsewhere too I am not negative on this one was the only way to get lots of referrals is to invest in students, not professors. It will actually become a reasonable strategy or a more reasonable strategy to suspect everything new.8 Never say we're passionate or our product is great. Whereas undergraduate admissions seem to be disappointments early on, when they're just a couple guys in an apartment. Programmers at Yahoo wouldn't have asked that.9 Incidentally, this scale might be helpful in deciding what to study in college. VCs think they're playing a zero sum game.

I spend most of my time writing essays lately. Almost everyone's initial plan is broken. If smaller source code is the purpose of comparing languages, because they come closest of any group I know to embodying it. Distracting is, similarly, desirable at the wrong time. But if we make kids work on dull stuff now is so they can get away with atrocious customer service. In fact, here there was a kid playing basketball? Of course, figuring out what you like.

Go out of your way to bring it up e. The industry term here is conversion. Try to keep the sense of wonder you had about programming at age 14. At least if you start a startup, people treat you as if you're unemployed.10 But hacking is like writing. Even with us working to make things happen the way they used to, they were moving to a cheaper apartment. It causes you to work not on what you like, but is disastrously lacking in others. I do in the rest of the world. Their defining quality is probably that they really love to program.

I could only figure out what to do, there's a natural tendency to stop looking.11 Economies of scale ruled the day.12 One is that this is simply the founders' living expenses.13 I need to transfer a file or edit a web page, and I think I know what is meant by readability, and I think they're onto something. Multiply this times several hundred, and I get an uneasy feeling when I look at my bookshelves. You may have read on Slashdot how he made his own Segway.14 Everyday life gives you no practice in this. Startups grow up around universities because universities bring together promising young people and make them work on anything they don't want to want, we consider technological progress good.

Notes

Samuel Johnson said no man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money. Which is precisely my point. If they were regarded as 'just' even after the egalitarian pressures of World War II the tax codes were so new that the guys running Digg are especially sneaky, but except for money. They don't know enough about the new top story.

The image shows us, they tended to make money. But we invest in the Bible is Pride goeth before destruction, and one of the fake leading the fake leading the fake. In No Logo, Naomi Klein says that 15-20% of the aircraft is.

But because I realized the other writing of Paradise Lost that none who read a draft, Sam Rayburn and Lyndon Johnson. If they agreed among themselves never to do due diligence for an investor? The best technique I've found for dealing with the other.

I ordered a large number of startups as they do for a public event, you can ignore. If you want to help the company, and a few of the Facebook that might produce the next Apple, maybe the corp dev is to show growth graphs at either stage, investors decide whether to go to die.

If you walk into a big company CEOs in 2002 was 3.

Or rather, where w is will and d discipline. But that turned out the existing shareholders, including that Florence was then the richest country in the sense of mission.

In Shakespeare's own time, because they can't afford to. The company may not be able to raise their kids in a company in Germany. When we got to see the apples, they said, and why it's next to impossible to write an essay about it wrong. That will in many cases be an open booth.

I'm not saying you should probably be worth trying to tell them exactly what constitutes research in the early 90s when they say they bear no blame for any particular truths you'll learn. As Jeremy Siegel points out that there is undeniably a grim satisfaction in hunting down certain sorts of bugs. Did you know about it as if you'd invested at a discount of 30% means when it was actually a great programmer doesn't merely do the right direction to be is represented by Milton.

But a lot of the next round. It's hard to say exactly what your body is telling you. In Russia they just kill you, they tend to be very unhealthy. One thing that drives most people realize, because you have two choices, choose the harder.

Though Balzac made a lot of classic abstract expressionism is doodling of this essay talks about programmers, but one by one they die and their houses are transformed by developers into McMansions and sold to VPs of Bus Dev. Or rather, where it sometimes causes investors to act. Eric Raymond says the best hackers want to trick admissions officers. And no, unfortunately, I mean efforts to protect widows and orphans from crooked investment schemes; people with a truly feudal economy, you better be sure you do in proper essays.

The top VCs thus have a better education. Or a phone, IM, email, Web, games, books, newspapers, or some vague thing like that. You need to fix. But the question is not much to maintain their percentage.

Kant. Loosely speaking. The real decline seems to them to lose elections. Some types of startups where the recipe is to say incendiary things, they can grow the acquisition offers most successful founders still get rich simply by being energetic and unscrupulous, but they get for free.

World War II to the frightening lies told by older siblings. That's one of the most general truths. As we walked in, we found they used it to get into that because a unless your last funding round.

But this seems an odd idea.

Thanks to Jessica Livingston, Shiro Kawai, Garry Tan, Chris Small, and Nikhil Nirmel for sharing their expertise on this topic.

[darylandbethfanforever9]

Devil’s Backbone

Devil’s Backbone

Chapter 1

Story Rating: Explicit, 18+ 

Warnings: Smut, violence, flashbacks of past sexual assault, descriptions of torture and racial slurs

This story will contain spoilers for FATWS, and a few spoilers about Black Widow. This is not a Tony Stark friendly story.

I hope everyone enjoys the story :)

Pairings: Bucky/OC, Steve/Natasha, Billy/Wanda/Grant, Clint/Laura, and Sam/Sharon. Tony/Pepper, (mentioned only).

Summary: In the aftermath of the Blip, Bucky struggled to find his place among the world and the Avengers. However, when he is sent on a mission to Madripoor to investigate a mystery woman, he starts to realize maybe his past isn't too far behind him. Co-Written with WalkingPotterGirl14

The Novosibirsk HYDRA base had been abandoned for at least a few years, but it had been in use recently. The rooms were vacant of any dust, something that James Buchanan Barnes noticed as he surveyed the building that had once been his former home as the Winter Soldier. He couldn't help but feel a sense of closure. He had insisted that the bodies of the five Winter Soldiers be given a burial. Plenty of the Avengers had backed him up when Tony had refused to do so. Anything that was of use had been taken away as evidence against HYDRA, seeing as they had been rebuilding their empire. Bucky couldn't help but remember Zola's words. "Cut off one head, two more shall take its place," the recording of Zola had said gleefully. Bucky had shot the machine to pieces in case the AI had planned on blowing them up. He was just about to leave when he found a file disregarded in one of the rooms that were used for medical use. It was mostly written in a mixture of Russian, Belarusian and Ukrainian. Before he could really take a look at it, though, a voice called out. "Bucky, you ready to go?" Sam asked quietly. He nodded and put the file in his backpack, before leaving the room. They joined the others, who were also ready to leave, and made their way to the quinjet.

The young woman's dark hazel eyes snapped open as she was awakened from her sleep. She looked around the room wearily, wondering where her handlers were and if they had fled? It had been so long… She couldn't remember for how long she had been, however…but the last thing she recalled was being taken away to have her mind wiped. If that was the case, then it had been 2016. What had happened since then? Suddenly, she heard a quinjet starting up above the base. She needed to board that plane, before HYDRA returned. That was her way out. That had to be. Quickly, she started running up the stairs, shielding her eyes from the blizzard, and shivered slightly. However, not even the cold could stop her from climbing onto this machine somehow. She found a back door hatchet in the quinjet, before climbing inside and locking the hatch. She made her way to the lower deck, before seeing a flash of red hair. Her eyes narrowed as she hid, but flashes of her mind came back to her. She knew that hair colour, but she couldn't remember who had it. Damn it. She sighed, before settling down, and prepared to get to her next destination.

Bucky sighed in relief when they landed at the Avengers Facility, but grimaced at the weather forecast. The news reporter said that it would be the coldest March on record and advised people to stay at home until the storm passed. He intended on going to his apartment, have a much needed warm shower and then watch the baseball game with Steve, Sam and Clint tonight. He was going to spoil Alpine. He loved the white fluffy cat that he'd rescued from the streets. He went downstairs to get his backpack when he noticed that it hadn't been where he had put it. He frowned, looking around and shrugged. It wasn't like there was anything important in there from before, but maybe he had left it at the base? No, that didn't make any sense. He lets out a soft sigh and glances away, turning back towards the facility. "Hey," he hears from before, feeling himself smile as Steve emerged, his brow raised. "What's going on? We got a whole pizza in here for you." Bucky snorts. "I don't need that much food." "Debatable," Steve states, chuckling lightly. "But you, okay? You look like you've seen a ghost?" "Eh…think I'm just seeing things." Bucky nods towards the base. "Come on. I'll take a slice and then we head back. We gotta get shelter before this storm hits." Steve nods, pushing him forward gently. "Now that sounds like a plan."

The young woman waits until everyone was gone and the voices had stopped, and only then did she allow herself to emerge from the cargo section of the quinjet, moving as quickly as possible. Jesus Christ, it was cold here too. Why couldn't they have flown to somewhere warm. She glances up at the giant "A" that sat atop this building, and with a start, she realizes that it was an Avengers base. Out of every damn place she could have flown to… You know what? It didn't matter. All that mattered was getting some form of clothing and getting clean. She quickly heads in, taking quick glances around to make sure no one was there. Strangely, there was no one around. But she had a feeling it was most likely because they were in a meeting of some sorts. Great. That gave her the perfect timing. The young woman moves as fast as she could through the halls, looking around, trying to pinpoint out the one spot that she so desperately wanted. And there, near the end, it was. A door with the label 'shower rooms.' She practically groans in pleasure before racing inside, locking the door behind her so she could be alone. While she would like to enjoy this shower as long as possible, she knew her time was limited. So today, it would only be for the basics. As soon as the water had turned warm, she stripped herself of her clothes and stepped in. She always had a regimen, even something she could remember with her fuddled head. Hair, face, body. Those three steps to get it done as soon as possible. And that was exactly what she did, watching as the dirt and grime began to roll of her body in waves. By the end of the shower, the drain was clogged. But hey, it wasn't her problem. And now she smelt of lilacs, so it was even better. She steps out and grabs a towel, unlocking the door and glancing out. There had to be rooms or something here with clothes of some sort. Maybe something she could change into. She had stolen a backpack from someone – maybe that could work. Quickly now, she runs across the hallways to what seemed to be bedrooms, cursing the ones that were locked and then finally finding a few that were open. As she steps inside, she pillages the drawers, finding some jeans, shirts, pajamas, underwear – the whole nine yards. Yes, this was a goldmine. The next couple of rooms seem to have the same amount of clothing, which she steals from as well. Usually, she was never one to just take people's belongings. That was always her caretaker’s orders. If she put one toe out of line, well…that was that. It was the end. But now, her caretakers weren't here. She could do whatever she wanted. And that meant this. As soon as she had changed into some clothes and stuffed several other pieces in the backpack she took, she grabbed some shoes and put them on, heading towards the hallway once more and then racing out. Thank God that this meeting was going on long enough. When she exited the building, she did see plenty of vehicles, waiting to be used. Maybe she could hot-wire a car of some sorts? But as she walked up to a motorcycle, she feels herself smile. Whoever had driven this left the keys in it. "Dumb fuck," she mutters, before getting on and straddling it as quickly as possible. She gives a mock salute to the base before taking off, leaving this area behind.

"What exactly did you find at the base?" Fury asks, his brow furrowed. "All I see here are some old techs that don't quite work anymore. You said this meeting was for something important." "It is, sir," Sam says. "Bucky found this." He brings over the folder that Bucky had found. "He didn't have the time to read it while in the quinjet, but I did, and what's in there is…real fucked up. I don't know if this is going on anymore but…. just read it." Fury takes the file with interest, putting it under a projector so they all could see what was inside.

The file detailed a program called the Black Widow Ops Program that began in the 1950's. It took orphaned young girls as young as five years old to be trained at the Red Room Academy, which was located in the Maryina Horka Forest in Belarus. "The Red Room has ties to an agency called Leviathan. Leviathan is a Soviet deep science and espionage agency. S.H.I.E.L.D had a run in with one of their operatives - a woman called Dottie Underwood. The Leviathan program was shut down in 1963 but the Red Room was already functioning," Steve explained quietly, his voice grim. Fury flipped through the file, his face turning grave at every turn of the file. Everyone at the table was given a copy. Most of the names were crossed out, having died during missions or from training. Bucky glanced at the names, recognizing a few of them. Polina, Irina, Viktoriya, Zorya, Natasha and Yelena. There was another name, but it had been redacted. "All of the people on this list are dead aside from me, Melina, Yelena and Alexei. We shut down the Red Room once and for all after Taskmaster, along with Lukin, restarted the program in 2016. We destroyed the building, and all the girls were killed or had died," Natasha said firmly, her face giving away nothing. He knew better though. She and Yelena were hiding something. "How can you be so sure, Romanoff?" Tony asked snidely, glaring over at her from where he sat next to Bruce and Rhodey. He had been acting like an ass since the Decimation had been reversed. "Because we killed all of them, Stark. They were too dangerous to be allowed to live. Something that the Soldat would know," Yelena answered coldly, her brown eyes flicking briefly towards Bucky. "Don't you dare bring her up, Yelena! You don't have the right to mention her and neither do you Natalia!" Bucky said dangerously. He grabbed his jacket and stormed out of the room. Steve gave Yelena a look of disappointment while Sam ignored her, and both went to check on Bucky. Wanda followed shortly after, with Billy Russo and Grant Ward leaving as well. "We'll continue this meeting in the morning, everyone. Next time, Yelena, I suggest keeping your mouth shut," Fury said warningly, before leaving with his leather coat billowing behind him as he walked out the door. Bruce, Clint, Natasha, Tony, Kate and Yelena were the only ones left in the conference room. An uncomfortable silence hung over them. Clint was the first to say what Bruce and Kate were thinking. "Did you really have to bring up Bucky's past, Yelena? For Christ's sake, he's been through enough. I get that you're mad at him for beating Alexei, but it's not his fault that Alexei got sent to prison!" Clint said angrily, before leaving. Kate left with him. Bruce shook his head. He liked Bucky and didn't understand why Natasha and Yelena harbored so much distrust towards him. Tony hated the man and refused to let him stay at the facility.

Bucky had gone to the garage to get his bike. He just wanted to get away from this place. He knew he wasn't welcome at the compound, but neither was Steve, Sam, Clint, or Wanda for still agreeing with Steve on the accords to an extent. No matter how hard he tried, people were still afraid of him. Some even said on Twitter that Tony should have killed him in Siberia when his arm had been blown off. He sighed heavily, before starting up the engine and drove out of the garage, making his way home. It doesn't take long, thankfully, since they were so close to the city. He parked outside his apartment, heading up the stairs before opening the door and being greeted by Alpine. The fluffy white cat purred at seeing him. He crouched down to stroke him tenderly behind the ear. The cat purred loudly before he locked the door and went to wash his bowl. After finishing that, he gave Alpine fresh water and fresh food and biscuits. He smiled as he watched Alpine eat happily, before turning on the TV and started cooking dinner. "You don't deserve to be an Avenger, you murderer!" Tony had snarled at him when Fury announced Bucky was being added to the team. All he could did now was prove all of them that he did deserve to be an Avenger. It was all he could do. He made sure to text Sam and Stave that he was alright. He didn't want to burden Steve and Sam, or Clint and Wanda. They were good to him, along with Yori and Leah, even though Yori knew it was him that had killed his son.

Anastasia had dumped the bike at the nearest garage before going to a long-abandoned HYDRA safe house in the Upper West Side. She checked to see if anyone had been there lately, but luckily, no one had ever checked the place out. She took off the black leather jacket before checking the office and logged into the computer. She typed in the password, relieved when it was correct and was greeted with a very large amount of money. "You were a bastard, Pierce. I fucking hated you, but at least you didn't lose the money after all this time," she remarked coldly, before deciding to make her way to Madripoor, converting the money to cash just as quickly through the machine. It was probably the safest place for her, considering that the Avengers would soon find out that the HYDRA safe house had been slept in and the money was gone. She counted the notes carefully, stunned that she had over 4.29 million dollars in cash. She intended on donating some of the money though to a few charities that she genuinely liked. The Red Room and HYDRA had always hated how she was still soft despite the brutal training they put her through. Not to mention the days of starvation and having broken bones from sparring sessions.

Natasha had gone to her room to have a shower and get changed into more comfortable clothing, only to realize that some of her clothes were missing. Namely one of her black leather jackets was missing along with a pair of her size seven black combat boots. Did Yelena or Wanda take her clothes? Her brow furrows before she moves outside. "Wanda?" She calls out as she sees the Avenger pass her. She looks up as she does. "Did you take any of my clothes?" Wanda's brow furrows before she shakes her head. "No, not at all. Is your stuff missing?" "Stuff from me is missing too," Yelena says, emerging from her room. "Couple of my shirts." "Huh," Natasha mutters before turning to Wanda. "Sorry for bothering you. Think we might have just misplaced stuff." Wanda smiles a bit. "We all do that sometimes." She waves bye to her as she heads back towards her room, but as soon as she had moved around the other side of the hallway, Natasha pulls Yelena into her room, before closing the door behind her. Instantly, Yelena's eyes turn to her. "What's going on?" "You and I both know what I'm thinking," she says lowly. "Why do we think that our clothes are missing?" "Could just be some kid who broke in." "Come on, some kid can't break into an Avenger's base," Natasha chastises. "Barely anyone knows where this place is unless told…it had to be someone who had tailed us back all the way from…you know where." Yelena's eyes widen a bit. "You don't think-" "We didn't see anyone there but…but what if? There might have been someone who has escaped the HYDRA base when we left and is now just…roaming around New York City. How else would our clothes be missing? They must have stolen them to get clean and then taken off." Yelena bites her lip and then nods her head slowly. "It does make sense." "Fury," she says quietly, bringing Yelena's attention back to her. "There are hidden cameras in the hallways. We could ask him for security access to see who it was." "Fury isn't really in my good graces right now," Yelena mutters.

"It doesn't matter. If the safety of our organization is at stake, he will let you go through his cameras. He'll go down for SHIELD, you know this." She glances towards the door. "We need to try and take care of this. As soon as possible." Yelena nods, sighing. "I know…I know."

She had to admit that New York City was nice. It had been years since she had been to this place, only with the intention of missions, and even then, she could hardly remember what it was like. But with the money she did have now, she might as well buy a few things before she was on her way to Madripoor. As she walks into a tiny coffee shop that seemed to be below an apartment building, she asks quietly for a cup of coffee black and two cookies – might as well get some good stuff in her prior to a long flight. "What's the name?" The barista asks politely. For a moment, she froze. Her name brought back so many painful memories. So many that she wanted to forget. She hated even thinking of her time in that spiteful, horrible prison. So, she makes a change, right here and now. "Ana," she says softly. "It's Ana." The barista nods, writing her name down on a cup. There, a refreshing new start. She was no longer Anastasia. She was Ana. Fair and square, no ifs ands or buts. She wasn't going to be HYDRA's puppet anymore…even if her memory wasn't the same. She moves to take a seat over in the corner, waiting patiently for her food and drink to be done. In the meantime, she saw someone else come in, a man that looked to be slightly older than her but not by much. He had a jacket and gloves covering his hands. She had to admit he was quite handsome, but the last thing on her mind was to get infatuated with a random stranger. Quietly, she listens to his order, what seemed to be a sweeter coffee with a cookie as well, but then he reaches into his wallet and is unable to produce the money for the second item. He sighs and only pays for the coffee, going to sit down. She glances over at him as she hears her name called. "Ana!" Quickly she gets up, grabbing her hot coffee before looking over at the man, quietly glancing down at his phone. If she wanted to start new, she'd start new. She heads over to where he sits, and he looks up at her in surprise. "I…know you don't know me, but I overheard you and-I'm not good with this, just here." Ana gently lowers the cookie onto the table, and a kind smile comes over his lips before he looks up at her. "You didn't have to do that." Ana shrugs lightly. "I heard about the storm that's going to be happening soon…we all gotta look out for each other, right?" She asks. He chuckles a bit and nods. "Indeed, we do…wish others saw it that way." He looks back up at her, his brow furrowed. She tilts her head. "I'm sorry, you…you just look familiar." "Strange…quite sure I've never met you," she chuckles a bit, rubbing the back of her head. "I must sound so weird," he states, shaking his head. "It's okay," she responds lightly, but she had to admit inwardly the stranger did have a nice smile. A part of her wanted to sit down and talk with him more but she knew she had a flight to catch. "But enjoy the cookie, stranger. I have to get out of here. Stay warm." He offers another smile to her. "You too." Ana smiles at him before heading out the door, holding onto her bag tightly and her coffee in the other hand. For a second, she pauses, glancing back at the coffee shop. Strange…he felt familiar too. But that was impossible. The only person she ever knew was long gone…or at least she thought he was. Maybe she was just crazy. Yeah, she was crazy. Ana shakes her head and quickly heads back towards the street, whistling out for a cab. It was time she got out of this town.

"It's nine at night," Wanda mutters, angrily coming into the briefing room with the other Avengers. "What is it that you all could need at this hour? We're supposed to be resting for the upcoming mission." Fury sighs as everyone takes a seat. "We got a big problem – wait, where's Barnes?" "Who cares?" Tony mutters. Steve glares at him before sighing at Fury. "Bucky went home after the incident this afternoon." "Goddammit – get his ass back here. We can start then. And Yelena – keep your mouth shut!" Yelena rolls her eyes but nods, crossing her arms against her chest. Steve grabs his phone, quickly making the call to Bucky. And hopefully, he wouldn't face the wrath of the Winter Soldier when he returned back here. Thankfully, the snow hadn't started yet but soon enough they'd be snowed in.

"Really?" Bucky asks as he comes in, his brow furrowed. "I literally just settled down to relax." "Sit your whiny ass down," Fury states, gesturing to the spot next to Steve, which he does. "Now that everyone is here, I didn't want to wake you all up or bring you in for nothing. We've had an issue here at the compound. Something that all of you need to be aware of." At that moment, he pulls up what seems to be security came footage, and there in the hallways was a girl.

tag list: @jtargaryen18 @saiyanprincessswanie @sapphirescrolls , @americasass81​ @marvelfansworld , @connie326 , @joannaliceevans-fanficblog , @queenoftheunderdark @navybrat817 and @threeminutesoflife , @lex-the-flex, @world-of-aus, @avintagekiss24 and @the-soulofdevil, @gogolucky13 and @kenzieam and @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​

[destielficarchive]

Hey, how are you? I was curious about something that happened to a bunch of SPN fics (many of them destiel, though not all admittedly) on AO3 last year.

Some time around early-mid 2020, a bunch if anonymously posted SPN fics (part of a collection specifically for anonymous SPN fics) completely vanished. I searched for them both logged in and logged off of AO3, so I know they weren’t set to AO3 Users Only. Most of them were darker or angsty one shots (not all though), and iirc many were written based on kinkmeme prompts.

I was wondering if you had any clue what happened to them — I’m pretty sure the collection itself is still up, though severely gutted (went from 15-16ish pages of fics to maybe five, I think?). Is it possible for collection moderators to mass delete fics? Or do you know if authors themselves can delete fics they post anonymously?

I completely understand if you don’t have an answer, of course. I figured it was still worth asking in case :)

You're the second person to mention this to me this week; before that, I hadn't heard it happened. Sadly, archiving anonymously posted or orphaned stuff is a lot harder than stuff with a specific author, so I don't have specific answers or much information at all, but I can say a little in general terms just based on how AO3 works.

So, the big difference between an "orphaned" work and an "anonymous" work is authorial ownership.

When a work is orphaned, it is no longer associated with an author. From an internal functionality pov, basically, AO3 itself runs an account on which the author is "orphan_account" and when an author orphans a work they whole-sale transfer ownership from themself to the orphan_account. It's no longer associated with them in any way, and they can no longer edit it, answer comments on it without outing themselves, receive notifications related to it, etc. Basically, it's as if "orphan_account" IS the author, and it's completely divorced from the creator, irrevocably. They can't even subsequently delete it if they want; it's essentially as if it was never theirs to begin with.

This is why a lot of authors don't actually like to orphan instead of delete - that's a LOT of control to relinquish over something one created, up to and including potentially losing the ability to prove they wrote it in the first place. (and don't get me wrong: orphaning is a choice, and one that works for many people, it just doesn't work for everyone).

Another option people can use to divorce a work from themselves is putting it in an anonymous collection. Many collections (especially kink memes and the like) offer the ability to have a work posted in them anonymously. However, anonymous =/= orphaning. In fact, it works entirely differently. First, a work can only be anonymous if it's in a collection that allows anonymous works; there are several collections that exist solely to facilitate people posting anonymously - you can submit to them, the collection moderator will add the work and keep it anonymous, and so the only people who know the actual author are the collection owner(s) and the author themself. The biggest, best known collection for this is just called Anonymous; thousands of people have used it to help them post things they just don't want publicly linked to their main.

Key words there: publicly linked. See, the big difference between anonymous and orphan is that anonymous works still are fully associated with their original author. The author still gets notifications, can still see them from their accounts, can still edit them, delete them, etc., because they're still the owner, it's just not shown publicly. They can even still answer comments without outing themselves - AO3 has that functionality built in - it looks like this:

All of this background is to give context for answering some of the points you raised, and give my best guess on what happened here.

No, a collection owner can not delete the works in their collections. They can only remove them from the collection if they want (which, with anonymous fics, would remove the anonymity as well) or they can de-anon it, even without permission, which would be heckin' rude but ya know. Further, even if the collection owner did any of this you should still be able to find the fic if it's still posted - AO3 links are stable/permanent, so the link wouldn't change (links also don't change when a work is orphaned, it just says "orphan_account" instead of the original author).

Thus, what must have happened here is that alllllll those anonymous fics were actually by one single person who decided to delete their account, thus removing all the works at once. Because even if they'd orphaned, the works would have remained in the collection unless they specifically removed them first (like, there are orphaned works in the Destiel favs collection on AO3 cause of people not opting to remove them before orphaning, and once they've been orphaned they can never be removed except by the collection owner, since the author can no longer make any modifications to an orphaned fic).

It's sad, truly, but there's probably little that can be done to save them. If I had a link to the collection in question (or even it's name) I would be happy to check Wayback machine to see if we're lucky enough that any of the original works were archived, but one shot erotica is one of the lowest percentage rate for preservation in Wayback, cause people often don't log one shots anyway, and erotica in Wayback tends to get caught up in "confirm you're over 18" limbo that means the stories themselves aren't capture.

I hope this helps; I feel like my explanation was confusing. *sweat drop*

-unforth

[exn0bisstudios]

hiya! if it isn't spoiler-y or you won't be making a separate post for it, could you tell us a bit about the work hunters and seers do? does being a member of the order as a hunter always guarantee that you'll have a seer for a partner, or do they have different kinds of work that don't require a partner, or maybe require a bigger group to work with?

I will be making a post about it. After that, you'll obviously get a more in-depth look during the game itself. Still, since I have some other things lined up first, I would be happy to give some cursory notes here in this ask!

Please be aware that this info might seem a bit jumbled since I'm just tossing out notes (also I’m running on two hours of sleep lmao). This also got really long, so I apologize for that! As I said, I'll eventually get a much more organized & concise post up for you guys!

About Seers of The Twilight Order

What is a Seer?

Seers are magically gifted individuals of strong mentality who have been soul-bound to a Nightmare, which allows them to use Void magic. Said magic is the only thing that can actually destroy a Nightmare - yes, they can be hurt by weapons. Still, they'll eventually reform from the damage unless a Seer comes along and wipes them out. Since the Void is essentially power in its most raw form, it is not meant to be used by mortals. So, the Order devised the binding to allow an adept enough mage to use a Nightmare as a proxy. It's a messy necessity since, without Seers, Yereth-Shai would have fallen to the Nightmares a long, long time ago.

Unfortunately, this proxy system is hugely flawed. Nightmares, by their very nature, are corrupted, as is the Void. The forcible melding of a mortal soul to this corrupted being will eventually erode the mortal, no matter how mentally resilient they are. The more they use the Void magic, the faster that corruption sets in. Not to mention that the binding ritual itself can be deadly outright.

In short, becoming a Seer is a death sentence. Most last for around 5 years before corruption kills them. Unfortunately, it's also common for Seers to go insane, either from corruption or just from having a primordial creature that hates them living in their head. The Order has a care facility set up for any non-violent Seers who have lost their minds, where they can live out what's left of their lives in peace and safety. Sadly most that go nuts are also violent, though, and are mercy-killed by The Order before they can cause civilian casualties.

If you're asking, "why would anyone want to be a Seer" the answer is, again, purely because it's necessary for the survival of mortal-kind. Many people who volunteer to become a Seer do so because they see it as a way to atone for past sins. Some do so to be a hero, however short-lived it might be. Some just see it as a civic duty. Regardless of why the Order won't turn away volunteers.

Who can become a Seer?

The only actual requirements are that the candidate must be willing, mentally resilient, and magically capable. Of course, it's always preferable for a candidate to be young and healthy. Such individuals typically prove more resilient to both the required training and the ritual itself. However, so long as they meet the core necessities and make it through Seer training, the Order won't turn anyone away.

A candidate will go through 5 to 8 years of relentless training to prepare for the binding ritual. The training is brutal and has been deadly but is necessary if the candidate hopes to survive the binding. In addition to physical and mental exercise, a Seer candidate is trained in advanced magic techniques. A particular focus on personal control is crucial, considering the Order has no desire to give someone prone to violence access to raw power.

What can a Seer do?

In addition to their ability to wield Void magic as a weapon, they can manipulate it in other ways that benefit the general public. Destroying Nightmares is always a Seers primary duty. Still, they are also often called in to clear an area of Void corruption. A little-understood phenomenon, Void corruption tends to occur in populated areas and acts as a beacon for Nightmares. A Seer can absorb and neutralize the corruption at their own expense. They can also 'see' Void energy, appearing as a kind of smokey aura, which helps them find problem areas or address concerns of corruption/possession.

Some Seer facts

The tell-tale sign of a Seer is the solid black sclera, resulting from their tie to a Nightmare. Black stripes/spots in the sclera are typical in corruption or possession cases, but only Seers have solid black.

Even though many Seers were previously criminals, they are almost always received with respect. Regardless of their past deeds, people recognize the altruistic sacrifice they've made by becoming a Seer and honor them for that. On the flip side, most Seers are understandably received with an equal amount of fear.

Seers cannot comprehend or cohesively communicate with their bound Nightmare while awake, getting at most snippets of violent imagery or projected emotions. They are also plagued by violent nightmares when they sleep due to their subconscious trying to process the foreign presence in their mind. The more a Seer's mental barriers deteriorate, the more the Nightmare can torture them inside their own head.

While they are given combat training, Seers are adamantly encouraged to stay out of active combat as much as possible. They are under strict orders to not use their Void magic unless against a Nightmare or Void-related emergency. They are too valuable to risk on the front line, and using their Void powers speeds up their corruption (and thus, demise) too much to just use them recklessly.

Regarding our dear MC...

Take everything you just read about Seers and throw it out the window.

MC is an entirely unique, never-before-seen case. To start, they never underwent a binding ritual. As far as the Order can tell, MC's Nightmare has been there at least in a cursory sense for their whole life because it has chosen to be there. MC's sclera went black when it finally bonded with them (age depends on MC's background but from 8-11 y/o). It was an entirely painless experience for MC.

MC is the only Seer who has been able to actively communicate with their Nightmare in any capacity. The fact their Nightmare introduced itself and keeps a running commentary on what MC is up to during their waking hours is seemingly inexplicable. MC doesn't suffer any nightmares due to The One's presence, either, and is instead able to interact with a dream manifestation of them.

The MC shows no signs of possession and seems to suffer no ill side effects from the One's presence or from using Void magic. They are also the most potent Void magic user the Order has ever had. This penalty-free relationship has allowed them to be the only Seer to hold the position for more than 8 years.

The general public is not aware of pretty much any of this, however. The official story is intentionally vague, saying that the MC is a prodigy and ends the conversation there. They're somewhere between a myth and a legend to the general public, and the majority would not recognize them in person. The MC is under strict orders not to reveal the truth of their situation unless they deem it absolutely necessary. This is mainly for their own safety. After all, just because the Order trusts them doesn't mean the rest of the world will.

In short, the MC is very special. You'll have to play the game to find out why.

About Hunters of The Twilight Order

What is a Hunter?

A Hunter is a specialized member of the Order's main military force, highly trained in martial and magical combat and tactics. Their primary function is to suppress Nightmare and Void-related violence to allow for a Seer to safely end the engagement, as well as to serve as a Seer's protector and right hand.

They put themselves in danger so that a Seer doesn't have to. However, they are not seen as expendable or as shock troops. Instead, they are provided years of highly specialized, rigorous training to ensure they survive the impossible odds they're frequently up against. As a result, hunters are, without exception, the most effective and impressive fighting force on Yereth-Shai.

Who can become a Hunter?

Anyone, so long as they are willing and survive the training. Hunter backgrounds are incredibly varied, from noble to urchin, but all of them give up their old lives for the sake of the Order. Most candidates are given over to the Order young and spend near their entire lives as members of the Twilight family.

It should be noted that orphans make up the largest demographic, as the Order provides food, lodging, education, and eventually a salary for life. For a child with nothing, it's often the most stable option they have.

What can a Hunter do?

In addition to killing virtually anything with appropriately nightmarish skill, Hunters are known for being brilliant - if unconventional - tacticians and skilled generals. Many a monarch has tried to buy themself a Hunter with a laughable pittance of a success rate.

Hunters are also gifted with a unique soul-bound weapon upon graduation. While these weapons are not strictly sentient, they have a sort of will of their own and are inextricably part of their owner. This bond gives a magical boost to the Hunter's natural prowess, in addition to acting as a powerful channel for their own magic. Soul-bound weapons cannot be used to harm their master. In fact, most cannot even be touched without their master's permission, causing grave injury to the individual attempting. These weapons cannot be broken and, if lost, will find their way back to their master. A Hunter also takes their weapon to their grave, as it will decay upon its master's death.

The forges of Twilight Order are the only place to create these weapons, and the technique has never been shared outside of Order smiths and enchanters.

Some Hunter facts

Hunters almost always outlive Seers simply because, as dangerous as their job is, their powers aren't slowly killing them. As such, there are a lot more Hunters in the Order than there are Seers.

The mass majority of Hunters will never be paired with a Seer. Bodyguard duty is reserved for the elite. The Order takes excellent care in choosing these pairs, and transfers to a different partner are rare. Once a Hunter is assigned to a Seer, they are expected to stay together until one of them dies.

Most Hunter-Seer pairings develop an unshakable bond, so much so that Hunters that lose their Seer struggle to function as well with a new partner. As such, a Hunter who has lost their Seer will return to regular troop duties, often as an officer. Their career as bodyguard is over.

That said, if a Seer needs to be neutralized, it is traditionally their paired Hunter's job to strike the killing blow. While being a Hunter is usually a lifetime career, those who have had to kill their Seer can retire from service. The Order is not unsympathetic to their trauma.

Regarding our dear Mira...

Mira is unique in their own way, though not to the same extent that the MC is.

In Mira's case, they genuinely are a prodigy. They've been with the Order since they were a child and took to the training like a fish to water. Their proficiency is precisely why they were paired with MC - who better to protect the Order's most precious Seer than their most skilled Hunter?

Mira is also special in that they have four soul-bound weapons. No touchy.

About The Twilight Order

The Twilight Order is a neutral faction that pays no homage to any nation but demands fealty from them all. It was formed for the sole purpose of defeating the Nightmare threat, and they have stayed true to that through the decades. Members of the Order are strictly forbidden from meddling with politics unless it furthers their mission. The faction itself takes no interest in the rise and fall of kingdoms outside of keeping their funding secure.

The Order is given a begrudging kind of respect on the global politics scale. Many people view the Order with suspicion, especially considering the number of secrets they keep and how they pointedly disregard whatever laws suit them. However, no one dares rise against them - not just because the Hunter army could decimate a country, but because they're the only ones who can tame the Void.

Though thankfully most governments are content to leave the Order alone, it is a delicate diplomatic balance, so long as they stay out of the political sphere.

Some relevant facts about the Order

Once you are initiated into the Order, you leave your old life behind. Each member takes on the surname 'Twilight' and is encouraged to completely sever ties to their old life. This rule is less strictly enforced with members who have been with the Order for a while. It's common for commanding officers to look the other way if their subordinates exchange letters with their original families. So long as the individual isn't compromised by these engagements, it's quietly allowed to happen.

The Order takes a similarly vague approach to romantic relationships involving its members. Physical relations & romance are not forbidden, nor is marriage or attempting to start a family. However, if such a relationship compromises the participants, it will be condemned, and those involved are punished. Duty above all, for the sake of all. No exceptions.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

I'm ECSTATIC that you guys are open again!! May I get a few long and angsty sterek fics with a happy/fluffy ending? preferably hurt!stiles and protective!derek if you have any. Bonus if there are any Alive Hale Family fics as well! Thank you for everything you guys do!

Sure!

Glory of the Dead by thedarknovak

(10/10 I 41,926 I Mature)

In the wake of the death of head Whiterun guard Jon Stilinski, the newly orphaned Stiles has no where else to go. Sure he could stay with Melissa, but he wants to escape he wants to see Skyrim. So he goes to the only place he could think of. He goes to Jorrvaskr, the same place his best friend Scott had gone to a year prior. He wants to make his father proud, he wants to become an honorable warrior and make it to Sovngarde. Then he thinks why would the Companions ever want a slim half Breton as an prestigious warrior of their ranks.

Or when Stiles joins the Companions

Or when Stiles was given a choice of being given the blood of the wolf, but the choice is made for him when something terrible happens to him. Stiles struggles accepting that he’d now be joining the eternal hunt.

Will Stiles or Derek address the very apparent feelings both of them share for each other? Will Stiles find a way for Derek and him to make it to Sovngarde?

So here begins the Adventure of Stiles Stilinski, hero, werewolf, mate. The dragonborn has a run for his money with Stiles around.

Burning House by witchgrassi

(1/1 I 46,133 I Not Rated)

For as long as he can remember, Stiles Stilinski has dreamt of the house in the woods.

I'll Throw Us Stars, Stars, Stars! by ChrysX

(15/15 I 46,985 I Mature)

In an alternate universe where everyone is some sort of shapeshifter, Derek Hale the 30 year old chief editor of ''Alpha to Ωmega'' magazine has just come out on the winning side of a difficult adventure with his health. He is finally in a really good place in his life. He has a job he's great at, a loving family and the perfect girlfriend by his side. The only thing he wishes for? A child of course! That's where Stiles Stilinski comes in the picture. The 18 year old photography student who somewhere along the story ends up working for Derek... and also is somehow pregnant with his child. But neither of them knows that!

Not With a Bang, But a Shiver by captaintinymite (augopher)

(11/11 I 51,148 I Explicit)

Eighteen years ago, Earth froze over. You either adapted, or you didn't survive. A group of nomads arrived at the coast, settling at the small shipyard. A lone barge, laden with containers, sat frozen in port.

They fashioned a functional society at the docks. Survivors came from all over, drawn to the Bear Beacon that burned atop a stack of shipping containers. Everyone did their part to keep it safe. The most skilled went out on the sea ice and sought out seals. The bravest ventured up into the forest to the junction of two frozen rivers. Yet... No one ever crossed that line.

There were stories of men who wore the skins of wolves and preyed on the weak. A young shaman, however, knew the real story. Men didn't just wear the skins; they were the wolves. If his people didn't cross into their territory, then they were left alone. Until one day, one pack strayed over the line and attacked first. In a desperate bid to escape, the shaman found he'd stepped over the boundary where he met a young, handsome wolf who had been warned to stay away from humans.

Neither could stay away from the other, and their romance would set in motion events no one could foresee: The thaw.

The Second We Said ‘I Do’ by Jiaxing

(19/19 I 53,056 I Mature)

Stiles is an aspiring digital artist who is struggling to open his own advertising company. He’s also in ‘friends with benefit’ term with the rising pop idol Theo Raeken. One day, his father summons Stiles home and tells him that his deceased mother had one last wish that has not yet fulfilled by them. Her will was: to see Stiles marries one of her best friend, Talia Hale’s, children, once Stiles graduated from uni. Half-heartedly, because it was his mother’s wish and motivates by the fact that his father threatened to freeze his allowance and capital to establish his company, Stiles complies to be married off to the Hale. He’s supposed to wed Cora Hale, Talia’s youngest daughter, a petite brunette. He may get to like his bride, since he’s into brunettes. However, on the wedding day, his ‘other half’ is not petite at all, and definitely not a brunette. Not only he’s a he, the said other half has a face of a serial killer, despite all his hotness. That day, Stiles is married to one Derek fucking Hale.

Are you the one by fullmoontonightt

(6/6 I 57,248 I Mature)

If you’d told Stiles that one day he’d be the star of some stupid soulmate searching reality show, he probably would have laughed in your face.

Yet, nothing was less true today.

When Stiles enters mtv's reality tv show 'Are you the one' he doesn't expect anything serious to come from it. He especially doesn't expect to meet the love of his life.

This is Yours by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella)

(2/2 I 73,347 I Mature)

‘Lance’ had one hand against the back of his neck beneath his hood, and the other gripping the back of Derek’s head, sucking on his tongue almost lewdly while rocking his hips forward into Derek’s. A groan slid its way up his throat, and Derek broke the kiss, biting at the other’s full bottom lip.

“Seriously,” he said loudly, “what’s your name?”

“It’s a secret,” the other informed him, still smiling impishly, then dove in for another kiss.

Derek decided to let it go for now, he had the rest of the night to get a name out of him.

Followed by the past by Amatour424

(!2/12 I 90,806 I Explicit)

“Just to be clear: you want to give a good fuck like, a literal fuck as a birthday present to Derek Hale,” Scott said uncertainly, his voice laced with confusion.

The pack nodded to his statement, one by one.

“He'll be 30, and we want him to spend this special night in a very-very pleasurable situation. Like any good pack would do for their leader. He deserves it,” Boyd smirked at the human boy.

******

Stiles left the town after his graduation with his boyfriend. He moved back after some serious shit happened to his father. Now, he's alone, without any friends, with a lot on his shoulders. He finds himself in the middle of a horrible misunderstanding, which will maybe lead him to a life he always dreamed about.

[hannasational]

the end of this secret is a new start

its also on ao3 bcs i could 

chapter 1 is finished! 

- 

Wilbur watched as the Whitecoats wheeled in Schlatt, dropping his cage down next to Wilbur. Once they had left, Wilbur sent a smile towards Schlatt, who grumbled in response.

“What do you want, pretty boy?”

Wilbur tensed at his response. “You didn’t have to be so rude about it, I just wanted to say hello.”

“Well then, hello Wilbur,” Schlatt replied. The two of them sat in silence, silently waiting for the other to speak. Just as how this pseudo-conversation started, Wilbur spoke up.

“If you could get out of here, what would you do?”

“Go to school, probably,” Schlatt said with a shrug. “I’ve heard some of the Whitecoats talk about school and they seem to have different opinions on it. I want to know what my opinion would be.”

As Schlatt talked, the corners of Wilbur’s mouth started turning up.

“What about you?”

Wilbur perked up. “I’d like to make my own country.”

“Well, if you made your own country, could I be the president of it?”

He nodded which made Schlatt finally smile…

Wilbur woke up with a start. It was just a dream; he wasn’t back there again. However, as that realisation sunk in, another one came to take its place. Schlatt was still at the Facility, and he had been there this whole time.

Pulling back his blanket, Wilbur got up to grab his hairbrush and began yanking it through his hair. Carefully brushing around his big ass horns, Wilbur combed his hair. It took around ten minutes until he was satisfied with his work. He then grabbed his beanie and strung it over his horns before leaving his room.

The house was quiet, which meant that Tommy was asleep, so Wilbur took this time to scour the kitchen for breakfast. There wasn’t much food, but they should still be able to survive off of it for the next few days.

Wilbur heard quiet footsteps and turned around to see that Techno had walked in. He was the second oldest and despite looking scary with his sharp tusks and deep voice, Techno was actually quite friendly.

“Do we have any food? Or do we have to go find some again?”

“We should have enough for the next few days. Although considering how much Tommy and Tubbo are eating now, probably not enough for us,” Wilbur explained, gesturing to the fridge.

Techno grunted, and after years of being around him, Wilbur understood that as Techno’s ‘yes’ when he was too tired to function.

“I’m gonna make some eggs, could you help me?” Wilbur asked. Techno nodded and got some eggs and other ingredients while Wilbur grabbed the pan and put it on the stove. The two of them began whiling away at the stove. It was only when the smell of cooked eggs filled the kitchen that Tommy appeared.

“Mmm me gusta!” he cried, ruining their perfect silence. Tommy tried to keep up an image of being tough and loud, but it was often betrayed by his big bushy tail.

“Hello to you too,” Techno replied, not bothering to turn around.

In contrast, to Tommy’s boisterous voice, Tubbo sleepy voice was heard next. “What’s for breakfast?”

Tubbo, despite being best friends to Tommy, was much quieter and nicer in comparison. Thus, it would make sense that his small bee wings matched that.

“I don’t know? You tell me,” Wilbur replied, glancing behind him to see the two of them waiting. “How about you guys set the table.”

As Tommy and Tubbo got to work, Wilbur turned back to the stove with a smile. There was no way he was going to admit it out loud, but he did in fact like Tommy and Tubbo.

“You see Tubbo, the reason we’re not allowed in town-” Tommy said.

“I know why we’re not allowed in town,” Tubbo interrupted with a sigh.

“The real reason we’re not allowed in town is because all the women will flock to me and it’ll blow our cover.”

At those words, Wilbur turned around. “Tommy, you’re eleven. Why are you talking about girls like that?”

“Because no one here will,” Tommy answered with a grin. Wilbur wanted to smack him but he instead just sighed.

“Keep setting the table, please.”

- 

Somehow the four of them came to the conclusion that they should go for a walk. Grabbing the keys, Wilbur followed Techno out of the house and waited for the other two to leave before locking the front door. The air here was clean and cold, as one would expect in the middle of nowhere. It also, conveniently, was a beautiful day.

“If I had a knife gun, I would shoot all of these fuckers out of the sky,” Tommy told Tubbo, gesturing to the birds flying past.

Maybe not a beautiful day for everyone, but the thought still counted.

“Leave the poor birds alone,” Techno said, with no real malice in his voice.

“Don’t argue with me Techno,” Tommy replied. “If you had a knife gun, you’d shoot orphans.”

“Those orphans deserve it, these birds, on the other hand, don’t.”

Wilbur lifted an eyebrow. “What even is a knife gun?”

“It’s a gun that shoots knives,” Tubbo said as if it made any sense. “The birds wouldn’t think much of his close-quarters knife but they would be scared of his knife gun.”

Tommy grinned. “See, Tubbo gets it. However, even though I don’t have a knife gun, at least I still have a knife.”

The child then proceeded to pull out a kitchen knife.

“Tommy, what the fuck is that?” Wilbur asked, holding up his hands. “And why did you bring it out here?”

“Yeah, why did the weak child bring a knife?” a voice called out. “It’s not like he’s gonna do any real damage with it.”

Wilbur turned around and what he saw made his blood run cold. It was a person, yet they were hunched over slightly and was covered in fur. It almost looked like a werewolf but it was an experiment with high amounts of lupine DNA. They were known as Erasers.

“Wh… What are you doing here?” Wilbur muttered, knots growing in his stomach.

“What do you expect?” the Eraser replied with a smirk. “They want you back.”

“Well, at least it’s just you!” Tommy cried. “We’ll be able to outnumber you.”

Out the corner of Wilbur’s eyes, he saw Techno glare at Tommy but that was not his concern. His concern was the fact that the Eraser smiled as Tommy’s words.

“I’m glad you said that J9UNSK-” Tommy flinched at his old name. “-Because I am, in fact, am not alone.”

And at those words, Wilbur watched as more Erasers emerged from behind them until there were a dozen Erasers standing behind the original Eraser.

“What were you saying about outnumbering me?” he taunted. There was a pause before the Erasers all attacked. Wilbur threw his fist at an Eraser’s face, the action bruising his hand. Realising the Eraser would attack next, Wilbur dunked, narrowly missing a clawed hand to the face.

He took a step back and glanced over to Tommy, who was getting cornered by two Erasers.

“Tommy! Normally I tell you off for being too violent but listen to me!” he cried. “Now is your time to go buck wild. Stab them! Go fuck shit up!”

Just before he got kicked in the stomach, Wilbur watched Tommy plunged his knife into an Eraser’s face. It was gross but it was kind of liberating seeing that not only did he have the power to defend himself, he just had that kind of power.

Getting back up, Wilbur stepped back before sending a roundhouse kick to his chest. The Eraser barely moved and Wilbur tried again by grabbing his arm and pulling him, or trying to, to make kicking his face easier. The only marking was dirt from the bottom of Wilbur’s shoe.

They continued fighting and Wilbur knew he was weakening, he could taste blood in his mouth, one eye was swelling shut, and his whole body ached. However, that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was when he heard Tubbo’s scream.

All three of them turned around to see that two Erasers had grabbed Tubbo by his arms and were dragging him away from the area. Instantly, Tommy stabbed the Eraser he was fighting in the arm before rushing over to Tubbo with Techno and Wilbur right behind him. With Tommy stabbing one Eraser and Wilbur and Techno tackling the other, it didn’t take that long for Tubbo to be freed.

Using his momentum, Wilbur grabbed Tommy and Tubbo by their arms and kept running, knowing that Techno would be right behind him.

“Why are we running!? Why are we leaving?!” Tommy cried, swinging his knife around. Wilbur ignored him, instead focusing his energy on outrunning the Erasers.

“Because there’s too many of them,” Techno answered for him. “If we kept fighting, they would’ve captured us. You saw what happened to Tubbo.”

“But I have a knife!”

“Not all of us have knives, Tommy,” Tubbo replied. The four of them kept running until their legs were burning and the only thing that was going through their minds was to keep running.

[giantladywithtitsicles]

Introducing my Lavellan brothers;

Fenrir Maliel - Assassin Blades Rogue (the oldest & a shameless self insert) - 27-31

Lin Maliel - Two Handed Reaver Warrior (the middle child, and the Official Inquisitor) - 25-29

Sandu Thevael - Necromancer Mage (the youngest, the “black sheep” that isn’t actually the black sheep: the red herring if you will) - 18-24

Fenrir and Lin were originally of Clan Maliel, which was massacred in an event the elder brothers refer to exclusively as “The Trample”. Clan Maliel was caught in the crossfire between two human settlements, both of which decided to take a shortcut through Clan Maliel’s campsite. The brothers, as young as 4-7 years of age, hid during the duration of the battle. They emerged after the ground was razed, and the fires were long cold.

They were fortunate to have survived the month long journey they took to find safety, picking up scraps as they went. After that period of time, they encountered a trail Clan Lavellan left: freshly put out bonfires, Halla tracks, indents from footsteps and wagon wheels. Tired and hungry, they stumbled into the open, and were caught by one of the healers.

Fenrir is blind in his right eye, Lin has an unnamed heart condition and the tip of one ear is cut off, they both manage. They gain inspiration from the other elves in Clan Lavellan, who have lost much more than an eye or an ear.

They were adopted into the clan as full blooded members, and nobody questioned why neither of them looked or acted quite like the other elves. They trained with the masters, and became an integral part of their community.

Five years later, they go out as a junior party to scout the Emerald Graves, where they encounter another site of a wrecked elven clan. They determine a demon outbreak to be the cause. Sifting through the rubble they find records of this clan: formerly known as Clan Thevael, sister clan of Clan Maliel. They pack as many intact journals and scrolls as possible, and as they were about to leave, encountered a young Sandu. It was clear to them they were taking this child in. The Clan Lavellan healers determined that Sandu was left alone for some time, and that there was no easy way to tell his age due to malnourishment.

Sandu turned out to be a proficient mage, but he was one too many in the clan. Fenrir and Lin begged Keeper Istimaethoriel to keep Sandu around, and somehow convinced her. Sandu is timid, and does not take up more space than he feels he absolutely needs. Keeper Istimaethoriel, though careful around him, tries to make him feel welcome. It’s a work in progress.

Around the time Lin was pulled into the Inquisition, Fenrir investigated the files they found in Clan Thevael’s ruins. He read letters exchanged between his mother and a friend of hers, talking about their origins, how their clan was shunned by others. A few years after Lin’s emergence as Inquisitor, Fenrir arranged a meeting between his two brothers to discuss exactly who they were.

This meeting between the brothers enlightens Lin on many things, and when the time comes to confront Fen’Harel, he is able to put the pieces together as to his original clan’s history. Fenrir discovers why his peers hesitate when saying his name. Sandu has the closest relation to Fen’Harel, but his clan buried these records deep within their stories to protect themselves from scorn, and his exact ancestry is unrecoverable.

They do know that Sandu is more precisely Fenrir and Lin’s nephew, but they treat him as a brother anyway. Fenrir is three years older than Lin. They don’t know exactly how much younger Sandu is, but they estimate the difference to be as little as two years to as much as eleven years to Lin. Sandu’s stunted growth made it a difficult task.

If Fenrir were the Inquisitor, he would have married Cassandra (Vivienne as Divine), and travelled between his estate in Kirkwall and where the new generation of Seekers train. He abandoned the elven gods and adopted Andrastian faith, and became somewhat of a religious zealot. While running errands in Kirkwall, a masked assassin targeted him, and Fenrir was afflicted with a deadly poison. He died within days, and though Varric sent for Cassandra as soon as he could, she was barely too late to make it before Fenrir passed. They had a single child, who Cassandra named “Maliel”, after his lost clan, even though their child was not elven.

Otherwise, Fenrir remained within Clan Lavellan. He became an elder, who was tasked with training their non-mages. He was well-loved and respected, but clan members were always wary of him, as he had an edge to him that unnerved them at times. He recognized that his past experiences would always have made him cynical. Fenrir connected with one of the mages, a woman named Ghili, and they had twin daughters: Juna and Fenwe.

Lin became partners with Iron Bull, and vied to rebuild everything he could. He did not want for anyone to be unreasonably vulnerable, and so he remained meticulous in how he influenced Thedas. He gained favor from Fen’Harel because of the care he put into his actions, though he was always spiteful of the betrayal. After the conclusion of the events in Trespasser, Lin joined the Chargers, and became quite a hit. His arm, amputated from the elbow down, was a roadblock for him. He switched from two handed weapons to a sword and a shield. The shield, specifically tailored to him, acted as a prosthetic arm. Iron Bull jokes that it’s more of a boon than anything else, as its massive size is akin to an impenetrable wall. Lin encounters a small child during a job, and nearly dies protecting it. They are a human toddler, simply nicknamed “Finn”.

As the years go by, Lin’s health declines, and eventually he retires from fighting for good. Iron Bull and Lin retreat to the Storm Coast, bringing Finn along with them. The mantle of leader of the Chargers passes to Krem. Finn learns to fight the Reaver style, and alters Lin’s shield to be useful to them. Finn joins the Chargers, and makes a name for themself as the Lightning Bolt of the Chargers, “Finn the Bolt”, for short. They all find it to be a funny title.

If Lin is not the Inquisitor, he joins Fenrir in the search for their heritage, and becomes an elder as well. Lin teaches healing and non-violence, diplomacy, and culture. He becomes a father through surrogacy, and has a child who they call “Denmirr”.

Or he stays with Clan Lavellan and searches for elven orphans, adopting a bit of a clan of his own. Because of how many children he adopts, Clan Lavellan sends him away with extra members to revive Clan Maliel. Most of the children are not related by blood, but it becomes somewhat of a family of its own.

He himself develops a flirtatious relationship with one of the male warriors, Naris. Fenrir teases him often, but means well.

Sandu, as the Inquisitor, had to learn how to insert himself as the dominant party. He observed Vivienne and found her to be his greatest confidant. Not only did she teach him much about magic, she taught him confidence and that his image didn’t need to reflect who he is completely. She didn’t approve of his choice to establish Leliana as the Divine, but she respected his decision and his reasoning. Sandu felt foolish when he faced Solas for the last time: wondered how he could have missed the signs. After he disbanded the Inquisition, he returned to Clan Lavellan. He remained accessible for Cassandra to summon him when needed, but became Keeper after some time passed, and his connection to the clan became strong again. He never assumed the name Lavellan, but was referred to as that, similarly to a title.

He otherwise would become a tradesman for the clan. He sent to towns and cities to be a spokesman, and learned to deal with ruffians after being abused into a bad situation on a few occasions. In one far trip to the Anderfels, he met a surface Dwarf named Jekard (ym/yr [yim•yer]), and formed a brother-like bond with ym. They exchanged insight and advantages with each other, and both Clan Lavellan and Jekard’s guild benefitted. He met Krem once, and looks up to him like an idol. Sandu never fell in love, and really had no interest to, but took a group of apprentices who aspired to learn from their Keeper. Imposter’s Syndrome hit him hard for a very long time, before he realized he was right where he belonged.

If none of the brothers became Inquisitor, all three stayed together, and functioned as a single mind. They dedicated their lives to Clan Lavellan out of gratitude, and the clan evolved into one of the strongest outposts in all of southern Ferelden and Orlais. They all had different roles, but the future generations of the clan benefitted greatly from their presence.

If all three brothers became influential members of the Inquisition, their power would likely have gone uncontested. Their strengths would allow them to spread farther than if only one of them were Inquisitor. The Inquisition would be an empire, and almost definitely considered a threat to even Par Vollen. Fenrir and Lin would take it different directions, and the possibility of a schism turned great. Sandu would side with Lin for the sole reason that he found Fenrir’s ideologies to be extreme. The Inquisition would be built up by the brothers, and torn down by the brothers.

In that scenario, a civil war would erupt between Fenrir’s loyalists (the Fenedhis), and Lin’s loyalists (the Athim). Fenrir would slay Lin, but Sandu would defeat Fenrir. Sandu would dismiss all soldiers and scatter the army, and soon after would disappear without a trace. He wasn’t dead though- his presence was tangible even though he could not be seen.

While this doesn’t encompass all that these characters are, I thought it was a nice overview of these brothers I’ve had in my mind for a while. The inspiration came from my realization that most of my DA:I characters are elves and Qunari. I might do more in-depth timelines for each brother later. This is completely separate from Dragon Age canon, clearly, and is just a fun little thing I put together. I may revise it if there are details I want to alter.

[hpdabbles]

MORE FOR MAGICAL RAMEN PLEASE! I WOULD LIKE TO SEE NARUTO'S DEDICATION IN SEEING REMUS AGAIN

Naruto- who refuses to go by Harry no matter how much it would have meant to his new parents- allowed himself to laugh as yet another bully stumbled away. His cousin had attempted to have him jump but the civilians were sadly way over their heads if they thought they could take on Naruto, who had finally worked his body up to chunin levels. 

He flexes his hands, fingers thumping in the familiar ache of his knuckles releasing the tension they had been placed in for throwing punches. He leans back on his heels, his chakra humming and causing extensive amounts of energy his young body couldn’t control yet, which has him in consent movement.

His aunt hates that he can’t keep still but so did many of his instructors back at the academy and like then he merely sticks out his tongue, all while keeping his sunny disposition. 

The Dursleys are at their wit's ends with him. His uncle had tried to be big and intimating but Naruto has taken down foes just as large and twice as strong. His aunt tried to lock him in a cupboard with no food, but Naruto picked the lock and hunted his own meal- though it was rather hard with nearly no forest near him. 

They threaten to throw him out in the street which he cheerfully informs them, that would be nothing he couldn’t handle and he would be taking his dead parents money with him. Naruto had learn how to save his funds, and budget from a lifetime of being a scorn orphan, which meant he knew just how much power gold really held. 

He wasn’t sure how he would go about getting the child services to give him the money that belong to the Potters since this new world had ridiculous child protection laws but he was sure he find a way. His uncle and aunt knew it too, after seeing his never wavering stubbornness.

It didn’t stop them from spreading rumors about him and his parents, rumors that turn him into a trouble making burden but again, Naruto was used to the sneers and looks of distain. It hurt but it wasn’t going to stop him from finding the three men who were more like family then the two adults and chubby child he was dumped on.  

It finally came down to a a agreement. The Dursleys pretend Naruto didn’t exist if he keep up with his chores- D rank missions really- and they turn a blind eye to everything off about him.

Like the fact that while “unusually” intelligent for his age he detested any paperwork and especially classwork, he self-taught himself his personalize Taijustu in the park under the amazed eyes of the neighbors impressed despite themselves  and out of many preying eyes he regain his Justus. 

The chores were much easier to do with his shadow clones. Though the first time he summon them his Aunt threw a fit, trying to tell him “magic” would not be allowed in her house. 

Naruto and his clones had laughed at her,  simultaneously until she fled back to her room, urging Dudley to stay in his until Naruto finished with the chores. He agree not to use it in public- as even he knew civilians didn’t react well to ninjas making a prolong stay among them especially when they used Justus. It made them unlikely to hire the Leaf for missions.  A ninja that couldn’t get missions was a ninja that failed his village. 

It was a bit strange to be the only ninja with a functioning chakra system for miles and miles. Naruto tried to find others like him for years but no matter where he went none of the people had tapped into their chakra’s. Sometimes it felt like they didn’t even have a system which went against everything he was taught as Naruto Uzumaki. 

Naruto did not let any of this get in the way of his search for ‘Emus, Dog-man, and Rat-man. He created flyers from the foggy memories, and placed them everywhere. He asked random people in the street. He sent out clones to near by cities and broke into any government building he could find- their security is terrible- but nothing had come up.

His attempt to gather information from his guardians yield the same results though he got the sense they knew more then they let on. Back in the Leaf village Naruto’s team had always been more of front line combat then information gathers or trackers and his lack of support from those departments were making his search that much harder.

He finally understood what Iruka-sensei meant when he used to say every role a Leaf Ninja played was a role needed for the success village.

It was during one of his daily on foot searches that Naruto had a owl land before him carrying a letter. He paused from where he was stapling a poster of  Dog-man, a terrible drawing and a brief description of the last time seen, were the only thing on the poster with his house number as a place to contact should anyone have any information. 

The owl hoots, sticking out it’s leg at him. 

“A messenger bird...” Naruto breathes stun. It’s not much but it’s been so long since he had something familiar like what his life as a Leaf Ninja in this new world that he thought he would never see a messenger bird again. It feels like a small part of him, of his old life, had been return.  

Carefully, while licking his dry lips, he reaches out to take the letter. Years of animal care kick in as he gently unwarps the string holding the envelope, and hands over bits of the granola bar he had in his pocket for the bird to eat. 

He waits until the Owl finished picking the bits form his palm, smiling when it climbs onto his arm and runs up his forearm to rest on his shoulder. The talons are digging into his skin, the dull pain a breath of fresh air as he suddenly remember the same type of feeling when he send back reports to his village. 

Carefully he opens the letter.

Naruto reads the lines over and over again. It’s a letter congratulating him on his acceptance to a magical school, a list of supplies and a map to where he can find them. He tries to search for lies but he can’t figure out what is and isn’t though written form. It’s only because they sent a messenger bird, a form of communication he knows is not common place, that he doesn’t crumble up the strange paper and accepts the fact.

Harry Potter is a wizard and Naruto is Harry Potter.

He sends back a agreement to be present the first day of school and races home, his stack of posters flying behind him in his red wagon. He doesn’t bother with letting his aunt and uncle argue that they won’t allow him to go because this may be the closest he’s ever been to finding  ‘Emus, Dog-man, and Rat-man. 

He stares them down, unwilling to back off or crumble until they agree. He is bouncing all over the place, excited even when his aunt takes him to a strange pub hands him a wallet of money and tells him to buy what he needs before speeding away.

Naruto likes the Leaky cauldron even though it goes dead salient when he walks in. His eyes run over the stun customers down right gleeful he has finally, finally , found the chakra users.

Sure the systems feel slightly different like the samurai felt different but not exactly the same as the honor based sword swingers. The people in this establishment had tapped their chakra’s and that alone gave him new found hope. 

“I say, Harry Potter! As I live and breath! Sir it’s a honor” A gruffy old man says stepping into his line of sight and shaking Naruto’s hand. The dark hair boy- still after all these years he was not used to not seeing sunshine bright hair- blinks up at him but he smiles anyway.

He likes meeting new people, after all a stranger could be his new friend and his new precious  person . 

“Hi there!” He chirps signature grin springing to life on his lips. The man looks blinded. “It’s nice to meet you. Call me Naruto please.”

As if though that was a signal everyone around him leaps to their feet racing over to introduce themselves as well and Naruto can’t fandom why. He always wanted a warm hero’s welcome like this but he hasn’t done anything to earn it yet. Not here. There was no war or grand fight he part took in to earn the kind of awe and devotion of the population like the aftermath of Pain’s attack did.

It while he meeting everyone that his eyes land on a family of red heads half sitting and half standing in the corner, looking as if they all want to get closer too but aren’t sure if they should. There is a woman, a man, five children- four male on female- and Naruto has to crane his neck to keep them in sight as the crowd around him grows. 

He doesn’t know what about them caught his attention but his eyes zero in on the one in the glasses.

Or more specifically on the rat resting on the teenager’s shoulder. A quick scan with his chakra confirms what he already knew. He pushes the hands trying to shake his own and breaks though the crowd faster then what the people are expecting. Ninja speed is still faster then what these wizards are used to.

Before the red-head teenager knows what is happening Naruto has reached out and taken the rat, holding the squealing creature to his face smiling widely. Maybe even madly. “RAT-MAN I FOUND YOU!”

Everyone stares at him. 

“Um...that’s Scabbers” The red head around his age says slowly.  “He is Percy’s pet.”

“No this is Rat-man!” Naruto corrects breezily, he pulls the thrashing animal closer gently petting it’s head. “He used to visit me as a baby. I never forget his chakra. Rat-man have you seen ‘Emus or Dog-man? I can’t find them anywhere!”

The boy is staring at him with the kind of look one would give a screaming man in the street. Weary and unable to look away.

“Stop shaking Scabbers!” The red-head with glasses Percy he thinks, yells. He holds out his hand. “You’re scaring him! Give him back!”

“No! I just found him! I’ve been looking for years for him.” Naruto yells back pressing the animal to his chest and sticking out his tongue at the rapidly red face turning teenager.

“I think there may have been a mistake.” The man who looks like all the children, their father, says stepping in and holding a stick. “Scabbers has been in our family. He isn’t a man.”

“He is!” Naruto argues. 

The man has the kind of look Kakashi-sensei used to wear. The one that says he only agree to amuse Naruto. “How about I cast Animagus reversal spell. Then we can see if he is a man or my son’s pet.” 

Naruto fingers tighten around the suddenly much more violently thrashing rat. “It won’t hurt him? He is my parents’ friend.”

“He won’t feel a thing.” The man swears and Naruto nods keeping a weary eye on the man’s chakra in case he tries anything but feeling nothing but good intentions from him and holding out the rat. A light blue light zaps out of the man’s wand landing on the Rat-man and at once his features change. Naruto doesn’t let go, not even when the body out grows his hands and the man turns back into a human.

He keeps a tight hold until the man is sitting before the gasping audience. Naruto doesn’t care for the rapidly paling face of the red headed family or the scrambling of people who try to get away. He throws himself around Rat-man’s neck and squeezes.  “I knew you were okay! I knew you haven’t been caught even when Mom and Dad got killed. Where have you been? Why are you hiding like a rat? Do you like ramen? Hey hey, do you still have that skull and snake tattoo?”

His celebration and rapid firing questions is cut short by a couple of wizards in red robes called Aurors body slamming Rat-man into the ground.

Naruto finds them very rude.

[eolewyn1010]

3 seasons of Charité - upsides and downsides

Includes spoilers for all three seasons!

What I like about Charité, season 1:

- Ida is a relatable and stubborn woman, and while I think the protagonists of the newer two seasons are written better and more interestingly, she makes for a good central character

- Behring is great to watch, complex, enthusiastic, arrogant, passionate, desperately forlorn, sweetly encouraging, irascible, honest, and I’m always torn between loving and hating him with all my heart

- he also stands in for how badly society was suited to handle people with psychological issues back in the day

-  actually, none of the characters are simple or one-sided; expectations are often subverted – Behring is not heartless, but he can’t just be “saved” either, neither Koch nor Virchow are as benign as they seem at first, Tischendorf is not the sweet young Prince Charming who’ll give Ida the dream life she deserves, Hedwig is not a brainless little floozie with no deeper thoughts or feelings, neither Therese nor Martha are all the strict boss ladies they want to be, Edith is not just a snotty bitch etc.

- medical history of that time, a blunt look on methods and circumstances

- the rivalry between the doctors; it’s fun to watch them passive-aggressively piss on each other

- the staging of the Tuberculin scandal was really effective, with all the hyping, the downfall and the consequences

- we get sweethearts! Stine is a sweetheart, Else is a sweetheart, Therese is a sweetheart, Dr. Kitasato is a sweetheart, and most of all Dr. Ehrlich. I like kind people, ok? Especially in a setting where so many people are asses

- the music is atmospheric and quite nice

- despite two options of marriage, the female protagonist remains single and gets to focus on her career, even in a time and setting that’s not supportive

- I’m having a blast with Minckwitz – he’s such a bitch, I love it

What I hate:

- the lesbian dies for no good reason

- did our main character really have to be a tragic, left-all-alone orphan in debts? Would you like some cheese with that whine?

- the big, hammy speeches get on my nerves after a while

- my sweet lesbian Therese dies, awfully, of frickin’ tuberculosis

- say what you will, Ida and Behring could have made it work; I think they would have been good for each other. Kinda disappointed

- Else Spinola deserved better

- poor Therese dies, thinking that God punishes her for being in love with Ida

- those weird slo-mo shots between scenes don’t serve any purpose

- what’s with the random fortuneteller scene? What was that good for?

- THERESE DIES! We go with f***king Bury Your Gays??? F*** YOU!

_________________________________

What I like about Charité, season 2:

- Anni and Dr. Sauerbruch – different than with Ida, we get two focal characters who aren’t presented as doubtlessly morally good. On the contrary, Anni starts out as quite the happy-go-lucky little Nazi follower – and then we get all the character development; hell yeah!

- Anni chooses to keep and raise her disabled baby herself, come hell or high water; damn, she fights for that kid. And Martin is positive disabled representation, too – thanks for giving me a handicapped veteran who’s not a bitter, drunk wreck just whining about what a cripple he is! He’s got a grip on his life, and the leg only ever comes up on three occasions; it doesn’t define him

- Otto, Martin, Doc Jung, Margot, Maria Fritsch and Kolbe are more clearly positive characters, but they aren’t one-sided, either – like, Otto plays that bright sunshine, but there’s so much seething in him. My sweet baby boy

- same for the negative characters, because they aren’t flat either; Artur, de Crinis and Christel are super interesting, all different levels between quiet, only semi-aware compliance and full-on, not-so-blind fanaticism. Gawd, those shitheads, but they’re fascinating to watch

- all them relationships – Margot-Ferdinand, Otto-Martin, Otto-Anni, Artur-Anni, Margot-Doc Jung, Ferdinand-Doc Jung, Anni-de Crinis, Bessau-Artur, Martin-Christel, Otto-Christel, Anni-Martin… there are so many interplays, so many dynamics that influence each other! SO many layers!

- the acting is better, I think; the characters altogether feel less wooden, much more human than the first time around – perhaps because it’s not 19th century manners anymore now, I dunno; I’m getting really emotional over shit, and I love it

- incorporation of the political and social situation into the hospital setting – much more than in the first season, the state ideology influences the way the doctors can do their work, and many of them do their best to still hold onto their duty when everything around them falls apart, which is beautiful

- power struggles between the characters in charge and ideological / political nuances are more subtle; nothing is black and white

- but there’s nothing subtle about the presentation of Nazi crimes and how many people actually just went along willingly – that cold bluntness is just what that subject needs

- interactions with patients are better this time; they’re more now than passive, pitiable creatures who quietly die their way, they’re characters with their own minds and drives (Lohmann, Magda Goebbels, Hans von Dohnanyi, even Emil)

- the music is even better than the first time around, I love it – so gentle most of the time, but it can also really help to build the tension

- we get a very sweet, functioning queer romance between characters who consist of more than “well, they’re gay and it troubles them”, and they both live – THANK YOU for learning your lesson; there was no good reason to have the gay character die, so Otto and Martin get a happy end. Was that so difficult?

What I hate:

- Yrsa von Leistner is so effing random. Who the hell wrote this? If you can’t incorporate a character properly, why bother including them in the first place?

- the passivity and anonymity of the disabled children – why didn’t Artur or Anni ever get to perceive one of them as a person? That girl Traudel for example, Anni could have talked to her

- there’s a slight tendency to “I’ll just tell the character next to me” exposition – Artur when he and Anni wake up together that one morning (why wouldn’t Anni know yet what he’s working on? That long-winded explaining sentence just came off as awkward), Peter Sauerbruch to Margot about the Dohnanyis and Bonhoeffers

_________________________________

What I like about Charité, season 3:

- I’m all pro ProPro! Honestly, that man is a treat, both how the character is written and how the actor carries the situations and interactions he’s in. He’s arrogant and narcissistic, but he’s also principled, insightful and caring, unpolitical in a smart way and honest in a quiet way, and he gets how people are, and his mentorship of Ella, how he supports and encourages her and also bluntly gives her the dressing-down she needs, is a thing of beauty. And that she has to earn his attention first

- I have a personal soft spot for the scene where ProPro is doing his sports and going jogging while talking with Ella, and then just has her run along. That man’s hilarious, I love him

- Ella’s spirited, and while I don’t love the protagonists of this season as much as those of the second, she’s still great in her own right – the dedication to her research, the strength with which she handles the shit that’s thrown at her

- everyone’s so snarky!

- the wider focus on medical history and research; we see a lot past surgery now

- everyone’s taking shit in stride – staff is running off to the West? Ok; rest gets double shifts. We don’t have a senior doctor on the ward this morning anymore? We do shit ourselves. An illness we’re not prepared to treat anymore because, actually, there should be vaccination enough? We’ll make do. I love that spirit

- positive disabled representation! Rapoport’s daughter actually interacts with people, is presented as a person, has dreams and strengths and can handle her issues – yes, please!

- we get an intersex character, not for long and the story isn’t treated with the care and attention it should have, but props for the effort, I guess

- the setting allows for Ella to focus fully on her work and passion, not really giving much on romance and marriage without that seeming out of place – Ida’s conversations most often revolved around a man, Anni was considered a Nazi role model for being married and a mother, but Ella, while the relationship with Kurt is an option, never prioritizes this and never needs it

- personally, I’m smelling threesome subtext between Ella, Kurt and Alex Nowack – that may just be me, but I like it

- how everyone handles situations, how the changes happening in the country are incorporated into the world the characters live in, how they are able to cope with stuff and make decisions, in the end even without shifting blame

- even more so than in season 2, I really like how human the patients and their relatives are, that interacting with them in the right way is made an important part of the doctors’ work, even when some of the patients are asses

What I hate:

- people are mumbling – it’s not dialects, it’s not accents; they’re mumbling. They never were in the first two seasons

- the cancer stories were really no favorite of mine; what’s with the teary melodrama and the sudden gory shock value? Come on, Charité, you can do better. Presenting the human side of everything has always been the strength of this series, so why going so overboard now?

- I dunno, the crime cases ProPro investigates don’t seem to be incorporated that well? I suppose they’re there to establish his main field of pathology, but they spend a lot of time on that “Biter” case, and I’m not sure why

- would have been nice if Inge Rapoport had gotten to interact a bit with important characters other than her husband, Arianna and Kraatz – she’s a lovable, strong female character; why keep her so one-sided?

- what’s with the black’n’white painting? You showed us how conflicted and nuanced people under the Nazi regime could be; why now the clear line between “those people are good” and “that one sold his soul to the Party”?

- you show us an intersex person, introduce her as a character, make us sympathize, show us her hindrances and possibilities – and then she’s just gone? What about her treatment? Positive development? Making Kraatz’ interactions with her a counterpoint to his interactions with Doc Rapoport? What WAS that?

[procrastinatingfeminist]

Were Luke and Ben set up to fail?

As much as I don't like Kylo Ren, fuckboy extraordinaire, and dislike the whole forced redemption arc for him, I really have to wonder if he - and by extension, Luke, - weren't set up to fail.

Leia entrusts her only child's education into hands of Luke, who grew up in an isolated homestead as an only child, pretty much sheltered by his uncle and aunt out of circumstance, and out of necessity. If not Beru, at least Owen knew who Shmi's son was. Anakin Skywalker was not exactly an unknown figure even before his ascension to Darth Vader, but one of the more notorious Jedi Knights. And when whoever, though probably Obi Wan, gave him Luke - I guarantee he was warned to be circumspect about his nephew's heritage. Add to that the fact that Tatooine still had slavery / indentured servitude in common use even during the days of Old Republic - I doubt very much there was a lot in the way of formal school education. So, whatever friends Luke made, like Biggs etc, were probably few and far between and barely seen inbetween his chores.

Leia had more exposure to proper child rearing and education just by the fact that she grew up on a world where these things were offered at all, though I have no idea how much of it was free or mandatory, because the whole Star Wars universe's economy skews heavily towards capitalist’s wet dream (yes, including slavery. Those motherfuckers would happily bring back slavery and child labor if it meant an extra buck to squeeze out of someone). For all I know, Alderaan could have had a system of privatised schools only. And yet she gives her son into his hands, while she is off on Coruscant making politics happen.

Star Wars universe is a universe of orphans, and it doesn’t matter whether they were thrown away by their parents voluntarily or reluctantly in the kid’s best interests.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t begrudge Lei her career, because she is brilliant at it, just like her mother and her stepfather were. And Ben is safer not on the same planet as her, and definitely safer not on Coruscant, because he is a possible bargaining chip. The criticism, that women had been facing since they were allowed to be part of earning workforce, is here the same - either you are a bad mother because you don’t have time for your kid, or you are wasting your talents and squashing your dreams to fulfill a function you might not have particularly wanted anyway. Why have a kid at all, if you aren’t going to invest the time in learning to know him? I would have been much happier if at least Han went with Ben, so that he would have at least one parent he can rely on to be a steady, dependable influence; but as far as I am aware he mostly stayed at Leia’s side, until his wandering feet took him away. And Luke was certainly no Owen Lars.

It was hinted at that Luke wasn't the only teacher in his newly opened... I don't even remember if it was a Jedi temple or a Jedi academy. But if he and his sister were the Jedi's last hope, while so many of the motherfucking Sith survived (even the Emperor, for fucks sake), then realistically they were either not Force users or much worse at it than him.

He has no knowledge of Jedi teaching methods, no experience with children, no other teaching resources aside from what he might have scavenged from temple ruins and as a war veteran I can't help but think that he probably suffered from PTSD. No person who is of clear and rational mind would think that the best solution to keep the Dark Force at bay is to kill your underage nephew because of what he hadn't even done yet.

And while he could get advice from the Force ghosts of his former teachers or his father, I don't know how much he can trust that advice. For one, those Force ghosts clearly demonstrated that they have their own agenda, one that doesn't necessarily has Luke's best interests in mind, when they were still alive. For another, their... morals and methods are iffy at best. Obi-Wan spent how many years on Tatooine, watching out over Luke? And yet the Lars' homestead was completely defenceless, even when one Skywalker already lost her life there; arguably two were lost when Shmi died, because her death was the beginning of Anakin's slide to the Dark Side.

Another point is - the best moment to start teaching Luke in handling the Force was really on the man run to save a princess? Not in all the years before when he was bored out of his skull? On the run from the imperial forces after freeing her? When Obi-Wan knows first-hand that the younglings in the Jedi temples were taught for several years.  But a couple months on a swamp planet, being insulted by a cryptic motherfucker, who is masquerading as a wise old one and it's "Yer a Jedi, Luke!" Even if Owen would have been against the lessons, Obi-Wan was literally known to be able to talk anyone into anything, and he couldn’t have convinced a moisture farmer from a podunk desert planet why letting the son of Darth Vader grow up completely unaware of the pitfalls of the Dark Side might be a grave mistake?

His next teacher outright tells Luke to let his sister die, because that is a loss he is prepared to bear. When he already expects him to invest all his free time and focus for the next several years to training, as if there isn’t a war going on, as if there wasn’t already a whole planet that was eradicated. Luke is not an automaton, he is a human and he needs to feel that there is something worth saving. If everything he had an emotional connection with is gone, what is he supposed to save? (Though, to be fair, we are talking about Jedi here, so they might actually see that as a bonus, that he has no one left he cared about.) And you are telling me that these are the Force ghosts he is supposed to ask for advice when it comes to teaching young children???

I'm not even going to go into the whole thing where Yoda already refused to teach Anakin because he was supposedly too old, but neither Obi-Wan nor Yoda intervened in the twins' education until they were adults - despite their adoptive parents knowing full well whose children they were and that they were more than likely to be Force-sensitive. How does that even make sense???

There was never any other outcome to expect but that one of them was going to fall to the Dark Side, while the other one was completely ineffectual in preventing it, and it's a toss-up which one of them both it would have been. If they had wanted another outcome, they shouldn’t have sat around on their hineys on their respective planets, twiddling their thumbs or claws, to act in the last possible second

[sanders-sides-fics]

In My Dreams: Chapter Two

Warnings: food mentions, Deceit (named Dorian here)

Masterlist

Word Count: 2204

Author’s note: I will be reblogging with the link to AO3, which will also be on the masterlist!

-

Virgil fidgeted uncomfortably in his spot at the main table next to Remy. Even once the court was seated, he could feel the eyes on him. When he looked out of the other tables, he could never see who was staring, but he knew they were. He was sure it would be worse if he caught someone staring at him.

The crown felt heavy on his head as he looked around again. Logan had advised him the weight would be unnoticeable once he wore the crown enough, but combined with the feeling of being watched, it felt heavy and very uncomfortable.

“Not hungry?”

Virgil looked over to Remy and shrugged, “It’s weird being on this side of things.”

“Nothing to do with lords that keep looking at you?” Remy asked. “I got that too, the first time we had an event at the castle after the attack.”

Virgil frowned at him and made a point to move around some of the food on his plate around with his fork, just to make it look like he had eaten. He could still feel the eyes on him and that helped nothing.

“Why did they stare then?” he asked quietly.

Remy shrugged, “To see the poor little orphan playing prince.”

Virgil wrinkled his nose and set down his fork. He glanced around the feast hall once more. Nothing had changed. Lords and Ladies still chattered at each other as servants bustled around as Virgil had every time there was a feast in Sandres.

“Did they not like you?”

Remy scoffed, “No, they just wanted to feel some pity. Got it out of their systems real fast. Now, eat up.”

Virgil turned back to his plate and tried to eat a bit. He still pushed things around before settling on the roast beef. He picked up a juicy piece with his fork and bit into it. It was good, but he preferred how his Dad made it. He hoped he was okay without Virgil there to help him in Sandres. Virgil would have to write to him soon and try to figure out how long he should wait before he made a visit.

He kept eating quietly until his plate was mostly cleared. As he ate, he listened to Remy and Logan’s discussion of their trip to Sandres and what steps would be needed next. Remy suggested that they could arrange trade between the kingdoms to foster the relationship and Logan smiled proudly.

“We could write to King Thomas to make arrangements tomorrow,” Logan said. “What do you think, Virgil?”

Virgil startled at the mention of his name, “Um, it sounds like a good idea? What do we have to trade?”

Logan smiled approvingly, “We have our fabrics and fruits. Meat from the northern border and salt from the east and south.”

“Salt?” Virgil asked.

“From our lands bordered by the ocean,” Logan explained. “I can show you a map after the feast, though I often find myself pulled into the dances following dinner.”

“That’s because you’re still not married,” Remy teased.

Logan raised an eyebrow, “As are you, due to my refusal to allow for an arrangement for your hand as your regent.”

Remy shivered at the mention. Virgil watched curiously, pondering what Picais was like under Logan’s reign as Regent.

“I would never marry someone so tasteless,” Remy commented. “She didn’t know matean from silk.”

Virgil tuned out the rest of the conversation as the conversation dissolved into gentle teasing. Before he knew it, the plates were being cleared from the table and the court began to stand from their seats to move to the ballroom. Remy tapped Virgil’s shoulder and offered his hand to guide him out of the feast hall.

“If you need to get away, go to the library. No one usually goes there during our feasts,” Logan advised. “I have gone there a few times to hide myself.”

Virgil smiled, “Thank you.”

Virgil made sure to think of where he knew the library was from the brief tour the night before. It sounded like the perfect place to escape to. Virgil took Remy’s offered hand and followed his brother to the ballroom.

Remy smiled at him, “Do try to mingle for a while before you run off to the library, alright?”

Virgil rolled his eyes at his brother as Remy let go of his hand.

“What makes you so sure I will?” he asked.

“Brotherly intuition,” Remy answered.

Virgil snorted, “Yeah right.”

Virgil looked around the ballroom as his brother walked away. There wasn’t a single face he recognized beside Remy’s and Logan’s. He wasn’t surprised by the lack of familiarity, but would need to grow used to the idea of it being expected.

He went about the room, ducking his head with care not to lose the crown. He had never experienced a feast where he was being served instead of being serving others, but perhaps it would not be hard to cruise through the night near the wall, talking to the servants.

Was he avoiding his court? Yes, but he would also like to know those that were serving him and his brother. They were just as important as the court members, Virgil knew a castle couldn’t function without its servants from experience.

“Prince Virgilius!” a voice exclaimed excitedly. “I’ve been hoping to catch you all night!”

Virgil flinched at the outburst and turned to face the person who called his name. Before him stood a heavy set man in bright green. The man bowed to him and smiled.

“Hello?”

Virgil wasn’t sure how he was to acknowledge this. He had seen Roman dance around the ballroom and talk with nobles frequently, yet the mannerisms fled his mind as he looked at this man.

“I am Sir Gary Ashdown, your Highness, I worked with your Father, the late King Dorian,” he explained. “It is an honor to meet you and see you returned to us alive and well.”

“Thank you,” Virgil said, fidgeting.

“That’s all I wanted to say, your Highness. I look forward to seeing what kind of leader you’ll become.”

With that Sir Gary turned and disappeared into the crowd of nobles.

Virgil wasn’t sure what to make of that conversation, but guessed the rest of the night would be full of them if he stayed in the ballroom. Quietly, he made his way to the hallway, sticking close to the servants as he walked, knowing most nobles ignored them unless they needed something during a feast.

Virgil walked down the halls, trying to find the doors he knew lead to the library. The main floor was much smaller than the one in Sandres’ castle. If anything, this would make the search much easier on him.

He kept walking around until he found the door Remy had shown him the night before. He opened the door and the candles around the room all flickered to life. He jumped back and looked around for someone who could have done so.

“Hello, Prince Virgilius.”

Virgil yelped and back to the door again.

“Sorry, sorry,” an older woman stepped out from the shelves. “I am Mavis, I am the caretaker of the library. My eyesight is not very good so I do not use the lighting system, but when I heard you, I started it.”

“Light system?” he asked.

Mavis smiled sweetly, “Your father created it with his magic. He was a talented fellow.”

Virgil looked around at the candles, “They’re magic?”

“They are. He created them when he grew frustrated from trying to carry books and his candle around at night. Too stubborn to ask for help,” Mavis smiled. “Solved his issue quickly.”

Virgil nodded, “It seems.”

He glanced around the library. Wondering if he could find anything from King Dorian’s life or study within the library.

“Shouldn’t you be at the feast, my prince?”

Virgil awkwardly shrugged, “I just… got overwhelmed. I wanted some quiet. Can I look around?”

“Of course! This is your castle, dear,” she reminded.

Virgil smiled and walked into the array of shelving to see what he could find. Many of the texts were unfamiliar to him. He picked a book off the shelf and examined the cover. The cover had an intricate design of flowers and vines surrounding the title, “Guide to Herbology and Medicine”.

Virgil opened the book curiously and flipped through a few pages. The pages were old and worn, clearly studied meticulously. As he turned the pages, a leaf fell from between the pages. Virgil knelt down to pick it up and place it back into the book.

Kneeling on the floor, he reached for the leaf and took it into his hand, something sticking out from under the shelf catching his eye. He grabbed the item as well and stood up. He put the leaf back into its book and replaced the book on the shelf. Virgil then examined the item.

It was a leather bound book with pieces of paper sticking out from pages. Virgil walked over to a table with the book and sat down, before wiping the thick layer of dust off of the book and untying the string around the book. He opened to the first page, curious yet not expecting anything from the plain covered book.

On the first page of the book was written Dorian Picani in a neat script. Virgil’s eyes widened and put his finger on the page to trace along the name. He wondered what one of his fathers’ books was doing under a library shelf…. He could ask Remy…. After he’d gotten the chance to look through the book himself.

He flipped to the next page and began to read.

I haven’t spoken to Emile about the possibility of Virgilius’ developments becoming permanent yet, hoping that it is residual magic from being carried by a magic user, as Remy’s were. If the developments continue and do not disappear, I will need to tell my husband before something happens. I haven’t noticed anything permanent yet.

Details of developments:

1.  Speaking to spiders in the castle:

            This could be due to developing magic in my son, or this may be antics of a toddler. I will be watching for these interactions as he grows older.

2.  Levitation:

            Levitating objects that he wants, such as his bottle or his stuffed animal. The heaviest thing he has lifted is a large story book so that I could read from it for a bedtime story. This is undoubtedly a sign of magic.

Similar instances to these occurred when Remington was still toddler, but he grew out of them by age two. Virgilius is approaching his third birthday without a cease of magical activities. As the day grows closer, I will continue monitoring my son. The traditional test for magic is still years away but if these instances do not cease prior to Virgilius reaching ten years of age, it will merely be a formality.

Virgil’s eyes widened as he read on, reading his father’s words about him and his magical development. The King seemed anxious about something the more he went on about Virgil’s powers. Now that Virgil had faced the Dragon Witch, he understood that worry. King Dorian had feared her finding out about his son’s abilities…. Fears that were justified when Virgil considered his family’s fate and the Dragon Witch’s final actions in Sandres.

He flipped through more pages, coming across more stories of his powers and listings of what he could do before his loss of memory. As it became clear that these powers came from Virgil’s own magic, the King’s tone changed to fondness as he described what he did to teach Virgil.

Virgil paused in his reading to examine a page that was entirely full of scribbles and mysterious splotches of ink. After a moment, he flipped to the next page and looked for an explanation.

Virgilius’ masterful use of a quill and ink. Today is the first day he managed to steal my journal without my notice and begin to take his own notes on his magic. Upon an examination of his input, I have found it extremely valuable and will ensure the page remains within my journal for further use.

Virgil smiled at the note, relieved to see his father did not punish his younger self for the instant. A tinge of sadness pulled at his heart, knowing he would never know the man who spoke so fondly of him. He shook his head and continued his read through.

“Virgil?” Remy’s voice called through the library. “Are you in here?”

Virgil closed the book and looked around for a place to hide it. He knelt down and quickly put the book back where he had found it, vowing to retrieve it later when he could sneak it to his room. He wasn’t sure why he was hiding it from Remy, but it didn’t feel right to share it just yet.

“Yeah, I’m over here,” he called, standing up.

He stepped out from the shelves and walked toward his brother.

“I’m sorry, I got a bit overwhelmed by it all,” he explained.

Remy smiled softly in sympathy, “At least find anything interesting in here?”

Virgil shook his head.

[egoat]

mad men show notes s01e01

i have an obsession with the tv series “mad men”. i have watched in in its entirety from start to finish more times than i can even remember. i have bought the blu ray collectors edition boxset after i watched it so i could watch it again with the dvd commentaries. i kept the coasters that came with the boxset for many years, even though they were functionally useless.

i will be attempting to document some of my stray observations about the series in a sort of livebloggy-manner. let’s start with the pilot, which, while ultimately good, starts the series off a bit awkwardly. it has a lot to do, because it’s tasked with the pilot’s role of being a “proof of concept” for the show at large, but mad men is an immensely hard-to-summarize idea. it does, for most part, a pretty good job, but it makes a few awkward missteps along the way.

the first scene in particular, which has the painful task of establishing that don is not a racist. there’s a lack of grace here that you wouldn’t normally expect from a mad men episode- don talks to a black bartender, ostensibly to appreciate the depths of his soul but actually to gather data about cigarette habits, a guy comes over to be racist, and don puts his foot down and says, no racism here.

the reality is that this show centers on white men at the height of corporate power in new york city who all live in the suburbs in the year 1960 - buddy, they’re all racist. the show really never tangles with race in a meaningful way - it comes up in minor ways throughout the show’s run, mostly in the later seasons - and i can’t help but feel like this is a sort of studio executive friendly-decision to tame down the overwhelming bigotry of the time period a bit. most of them can be racist, but at least give the main character some time off.

it comes off as a bit funny because the following scene introduces the rest of the main cast by having them unload uzis of sexism all over the elevator. as i’ve said, i’ve watched this many times, but the initial volley of, let’s call it period establishment, is never any less brutal. i’ve showed this show to multiple friends and i can’t say it leaves a great impression, especially since it only gets poured on heavier in the coming scenes (the ob-gyn one in particular).

that brings us to the first major character moment of the series - campbell is unrelenting in his petulant harassment of peggy, so much that don stops it. she never makes any indication of enjoying it- and yet, she lets him in at the end of the episode, and in the future at least has somewhat of a real crush on him, at least for a little bit. what’s the message here? that you should just harass women and eventually they’ll fall in love with you? that peggy really wanted to just try out her birth control? i feel like it’s not telegraphed well simply for there being a surprise that it happens, which is again unusually sloppy.

the actual main thrust of the episode is of course don, who has a complicated soul and personal life yet has brilliant ideas. it’s really weird how much the pilot makes this seem like one of those cable shows about a guy who’s unusually talented at his job, like suits or something, when mad men is really not about that at all. i was surprised to rewatch the first few seasons of the show and realize how little the “creative process” ever even functions into the main plot at all. it happens here, in “the wheel”, and largely doesn’t even come up again as a regular device until season 4, where it starts happening more regularly. in fact, at a certain point, don’s talent dries up completely - he’s seen as a hack and is visibly less talented than his employees. it’s great! i’ve had enough of being impressed at competence.

but yes, this episode does center on a piece where don’s infinite wisdom allows him to save a pitch-gone-wrong by suggesting a revolutionary ad for a cigarette that basically says nothing. fun fact: lucky strike really did use the slogan, “it’s toasted!” but it had done so since 1917, and had nothing to do with reverse psychology-ing people out of knowing that smoking is bad for you. i don’t really know what to make of this centerpiece - it really worked for me the first time, and i think what this episode is saying about smoking and the repressive psychological state of the 1960s does work, but it didn’t click for me logically at all this time around. people are supposed to glean a health benefit from “it’s toasted”? i just don’t see it!!!

we get a bit of hinting around the ~mysterious nature of don’s past~ already - he pulls out a purple heart with the name dick whitman on it. i’ll just address it now - ultimately, all of the mystery buildup around the don draper situation in season 1 isn’t that great. once the show has gone through the trouble of making a show at establishing what happened, it pays off as you start to feel what’s really going on with don, a character out of place, but the path to get there, and especially the stuff with adam, isn’t particularly well-executed.

what else? whenever jon hamm and john slattery have a scene together, it’s really funny - it’s because they really just are that funny. they do some of the dvd commentaries together and it’s great. the ritual of their characters having a little session in don’s office to whine at each other happens a lot in the first few seasons, and it’s always great when it happens - it sadly disappears around season 2 and never really comes back as the characters’ relationship becomes, and stays, contentious and resentful. it hurts my heart to see it. just let them be together!

does the twist where don comes home and he has a wife and children work? yes, i think so. as i’ve been watching again, i’ve been trying to come up with a definitive answer to why don cheats. the later seasons of the show give it away - it’s because he has a yearning loneliness in his soul from being an orphan, and probably sexually traumatized in some way, and thus he needs to fill it with constant companionship and yadayada. there’s a bit more to it though, at least. being with madge lets him be hedonistic and honest, and perhaps more of his “true self”, but also lets him be in her world, someone in nyc’s other society, the village, among artists, rejects, outsiders. ironically, he’ll be rejected even there, but that’s getting ahead of myself. bye!!

[gloves94]

To Be So Lonely [Draco Malfoy] 5

Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Draco Malfoy/OC Chapter warnings: Bullying!

Raised as an orphan, Nel Saintday, endured years of torture from the Slytherin House. The Dark Lord only allowed her existence for her to serve a very specific vile purpose for him. Her birthright dictates for her to choose a side in the Wizarding War… But what would happen if she dares defy the Dark Lord and his wishes? And what happens when she falls for her tormentor? Will Nel fulfill her life’s purpose? And what side will her tormentor, Draco Malfoy, choose? The light that calls to him or the darkness…

CHAPTER MASTERLIST MY MASTERLIST

There had to be a mistake.

After a terribly long and very confusing day of classes which included getting lost a handful of times in the castle and landing herself detention. Nel stood outside the office of the Head of her House after a long day of classes.

She still remembered what she had said to Professor McGonagall, the Headmistress, the night before.

"T-There has to be a mistake," she said looking horrified as she addressed the professor.

"The hat does not make mistakes Ms. Saintday," she answered curtly.

She knocked on the heavy door waiting for the professor to invite her in.

"Come in."

Snape's office was exactly what you would expect the one of a Potion's Master to be. It had a particular order in which dozens of vials, boxes, and jaws containing ingredients and other substances were scattered all over the room. On his desk was a stack of scrolls that Nel could only assumed to be student essays. He had been the only professor to assign a ten-inch parchment on the first day of school. He had also assigned her detention for not being able to answer one of the questions he shot at her during his lecture. Something that amused her peers to no end.

"Professor McGonagall has expressed to me that you have some concerns about having been sorted into my house," he said bringing both of his elbows to rest on his desk, he pressed his knotted hands against his lips looking down at the girl before him with his black eyes. "Why is that?"

He looked angry.

"You see sir," She began feeling a little small under his gaze. "I'm very brave. The hat must've made a mistake," She looked down at her green tie and robes. "I just think I'd be a better fit in another house. Maybe I'd be a better Gryffindor? I almost feel as if the Sorting Hat didn't even take my opinion into consideration."

Not to mention all of her pureblood house mates had begun tormenting her due to her blood status, or lack of one.

"You don't look very brave right now," Snape said cooly. Making her self-consciously squirm under his gaze. "Recklessness, ignorance and presumptuousness? Are these traits that you wish to associate yourself with Ms. Saintday? He spat.

"No Sir," She responded tilting her chin down feeling ashamed. "Lift your head foolish girl," the professor spoke harshly. He seemed to have been taken this personally. Hesitantly she lifted it, standing a little taller as to not to seem weak. "I will not have you floundering in someone's chair when confronted Ms. Saintday. Being in this House- being in Slytherin is an honor that should be worn like a badge of pride. This is a privilege that few get in their lives. Tell me Ms. Saintday, what are the traits of a Slytherin?"

"Ambition, cunning and resourcefulness, sir," she responded looking at him in the eye attempting to seem  tougher than she really was.

"Good, now tell me, where you not cunning and resourceful when playing that childish trick on Ms. Parkinson and the others in the train? You must've gone out of your way to ensure that your plan worked out to your convenience. Correct?"

Her eyes went wide. She was expecting Snape to scold her or to take away House Points, but he did neither. Knowing her chamber mate, Parkinson had probably come to snitch on her already.  

"And if I recall correctly you were arrogantly boasting about becoming the 'best witch in your class' back in Diagon Alley. A trait which can be most likely interpreted to be ambition."

Elowen sat in silence. There was no use in arguing with Snape. His arguments were valid. He might've been biased in his opinion regarding Gryffindor House but that was to be expected.

"Now, get out of my office and stop wasting my time with such foolish concerns. I expect a ten-inch parchment on the History of Slytherin House for your detention, and don't let me find you with your head lowered for anyone Ms. Saintday, understood?" Snape said coldly.

She groaned at the mentioning of writing yet another essay. Despite the professor’s icy tone. Showing no weakness and being tough seemed to come with the package that came with being a Slytherin.

Without another word he dismissed her.

Xxxxx

Elowen returned to the Slytherin Common room with her head hung low. The worst part of it all was that she had no way of contacting Lucy. Sure, she could've tried to send an owl to her but communication between Muggles and Wizards like that was prohibited. Not to mention the fact that there were no functional telephones in Hogwarts.

"Cottonmouth," she sighed the password to the portrait and walked through it. A scattered amount of Slytherin were in the common room either hanging out or working on their homework together. The common room was like a snake pit, underground, underwater, with dark leather, wood and fabrics of all sorts of emerald hues. The most comforting part about it were the dim green lights that illuminated the room. The little light that came in through the dark windows reflected the shadows of mysterious water creatures that inhabited the lake.

"Back so suddenly?" Pansy Parkinson turned to shoot her a nasty look. "I'd figure Professor Snape would've dealt with you the proper way."

The girls around her sniggered at her comment. Potions class had been really embarrassing today. Snape had bombarded her with questions she did not know the answer to. He really hadn't been kidding when he had said he had given her some extracurricular material for her to read.

During potions class Draco Malfoy and his friends had been making means jokes at her.  When Nel snapped back, she interrupted Snape's lesson which had her landed in detention with him. Sometimes she couldn't help but feel like the Potions Master was purposely picking on her.

Pansy Parkinson was that girl with the short black hair that Nel had tricked into drinking toad tea back in the train. She quickly learned that she was a snotty, pureblood fanatic and thought she was better than everybody because her father imported and exported wand making supplies from England to other parts of Europe and Asia. It was also very obvious that she had some type of infatuation with Malfoy. She wasted no time in bombarding Nel with questions over dinner constantly stating the fact that she was brought up in a muggle orphanage and didn't have a single galleon to her name.

Nel stopped next to the black sofa arm were Parkinson was sitting and without even giving her a second glance stretched out an arm and roughly pushed her to the floor.

"Hey!" She protested from the carpeted floor. Nel didn’t even see when Pansy's wand shot out a green flash of light at her back.

"Slugulus Eructo!" She hexed.

Nel felt… funny. Sick was probably a better word for it. Her skin took a sallow complexion and her hands reached to her upset stomach.

The Slytherins leaned in eyed peeled waiting for the spell to take effect.

The girl reeled backwards slightly. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out. Instead she gave a loud belch and a nasty green slug dripped out of her mouth and to the carpeted floor.

The common room was a laughing riot as she horribly gagged on the slime. Eyes growing watery from the horrible feeling.

Pansy was laughing so hard she was also clutching her stomach. The others followed in suit also cackling madly.

She raised her wand her only weapon and casted the only spell she knew, the one she had learned today. Lumos, but nothing happened. This only made them howl louder. Furious, sick, and completely mortified with her eyes watering she considered running out of the room. But she didn't. Pansy didn't see it coming. Before she knew it she was pinned to the ground with Nel's weight on top of her. She glued to her hands to her sides. The orphan smiled wickedly as she looked down at Pansy with vile intent.

She had brought this on herself.

"No! No! No!" Pansy cried out pleading, turning her head as far away from her as possible. Malfoy and Blaise Zabini were on the edge of their seats watching from a nearby chess game. Even Theodore Nott had lowered his book and was staring at the scene in disbelief. Other girls in the room looked disgustedly horrified. Daphne Greengrass looked like she was about to faint.

Nel smirked, she could feel a big slimy one coming. She belched several slugs on Pansy. The girl squirmed and shrieked at the slugs that landed on her. Pansy cried as a string of slimy saliva dripped on her. Elowen cackling maliciously before she felt an arm wrap around her neck in a chokehold and attempt to pull her off the girl.

Bullstrode. Millicent Bullstrode was a large girl who as far as Nel knew, her only positive quality was that she had a cute cat named Hokey. She didn't say or do much, being more of a quiet follower she tailed after Parkinson.

Pansy continued screaming as Nel barfed as many slugs as she could on her, covering her in slime and slugs from head to toe.  Millicent pulled with all of her strength until a booming voice interrupted.

"What is the meaning of this?!" One of the Slytherin prefects rushed into the room. She looked angrier than grossed out by the disgusting scene. With a flick of her wand all three girls pulled apart from each other.

The prefect wasn't patient in demanding an explanation. "You two, Snape's office with me now!" She pointed at Bullstrode and Parkinson. "And you…" Her eyes narrowed at the sick girl. "To Madame Pomfrey, now."

Nel vomited a slug and painfully moaned in disgust. Blaise and Draco were still laughing loudly at the scene.

"Malfoy you seem to be enjoying yourself. Escort Saintday to the infirmary," she barked. Her expression absolutely livid. Draco's mocking face immediately dropped. Blaise laughed at his friend and slapped his arm. "Pipe down Zabini unless you want to accompany Malfoy and Saintday for a walk down slug avenue."

The sick girl would've been lying if she said she didn't need Malfoy to ger to the Hospital Wing. Besides Malfoy's protesting and groaning the two made way to the West Lower Floor. Nel stopping to throw up her guts every couple of steps. Her complexion chalky, eyes watery. She made a mental note never to consume jello ever again in her life.

From her peripheral vision she saw Malfoy edging closer to her.

"Stay away from me," she raised a hand to keep him at a distance and glared at him. If he got any closer, she wouldn’t' have a problem projectile vomiting a slug in his direction.

"Hn," He leaned against the wall crossing his arms over his chest. "Suits you. That's what you deserve for making us drink that disgusting tea. Slugbreath."

That's it.

True to her word she turned and vomited a slug which landed on his emerald green jumper. "Ugh! Yuck!" He grimaced flicking it off his person.

She smirked in his direction. "Strange how I'm starting to feel better." She brushed past him.

Draco looked at her in disbelief. How was it possible to dislike someone so much in a day?

"Disgusting!" He exclaimed in a whiny breath.

"I know," she shot back with an unladylike groan as a slug nastily rolled down her chin.

"I don't mean the slugs," he wrinkled his nose. "I mean you," he shot back upset.

She turned to him angrily and grabbed his arms tightly pulling him close getting ready to aim a fat one straight at his face. "Get your filthy Mudblood hands off me!" "Stop calling me that!"  She said angrily still not knowing the severity of the slur he used against her.

A loud gasp made them both snap their heads away from each other’s fronts. They both turned to see a very horrified Madame Pomfrey looking at the two. "Mr. Malfoy! Ms. Saintday! What is the meaning on this?" She scolded. It seemed like she hadn't heard their conversation.

"I was asked to escort Saintday here," Draco pushed Nel's hands from his body. "And now I'm done," he scowled in her direction before stalking off to return to the Slytherin Common Room. She seethed glaring at his retreating back.

"Slugs! And on the first day…" Pomfrey sighed irritate. "Come along dear," She said placing a hand on the girl's shoulder keeping a stoic expression as she puked a couple of slugs out. "On the first day… And I don't even have any Treacle fudge for you."

Pomfrey had a terrible feeling it wouldn't be the first or last time that she found Elowen Saintday on one of her hospital beds. The Matron made the ill girl sit on a bed and gave her a basinet and some bubbly lime beverage to keep the nausea away. She said the hex should pass in a couple of  hours and advised Nel to spend the night in the room in case she still felt sick. Sometime later the Matron retreated to her private chamber leaving Nel alone in the spacious room.

She had been holding it together so well but being alone in the austere room. At night. Having no way to contact Lucy or anyone to talk to… Nel hugged the wooden basinet close to her torso more for comfort as she spat another slug out. Tears she had been holding all day slipped down her face from the nausea and mostly from the humiliation of having been spitting slugs out before her housemates. Not only that but her embarrassing faint attempt to strike Parkinson with a pathetic Lumos…

She sniffled, crying, and hiccupping through nasal breaths.

Laughter could be heard from the corridor approaching the entrance of the Hospital Ward. She gasped lightly and furiously wiped away her tears.

The door opened and she saw two figures shushing each other entering the hospital ward. The figures stepped in and they initially did not notice the girl that was sitting on the bed. They basically tiptoed in and began raiding Madame Pomfrey's cabinet taking few things, just enough so that she would not notice.

"Looks like she's out of Treacle fudge," one said to the other.

Weak sniffling filled the dark room and the two boys turned back to look at a pair of dark eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness. They saw a first year Slytherin girl weakly sniffling and hugging what looked like a bucket close to her chest.

The Gryffindors looked at each other for a moment before approaching the edge of the bed.

"I didn't know Slytherins could cry," one of them spoke with particular jest. "I didn't know Slytherins had tear ducts at all." The other added.

"I-I'm not crying!" She said defensively feeling her face burning from the embarrassment before a nasty slug made its way out of her throat in a nasty belch. This was mortifying and in front of these two boys…

She looked down avoiding their prying gazes.

"Eat slugs," The one said clicking his tongue, stating the hex she was under. "Rather nasty one," the other spoke.

Looking at them, recognizing the fiery red hair she realized they looked awfully familiar. Of course! She'd seen them at King's Cross with Ron and his family. They were probably his older brothers.

"I take it those gits at Slytherin haven't been very welcoming, have they?"

She shook her head slightly, eyes still lowered in shame.

"I deserve it," she spat some slime into the bucket. "I did make them drink that toad tea."

She wasn't expecting them to react so excitedly to that statement. "That was you!" One exclaimed before laughing loudly. "You're the girl Ron told us about!" the other added. "That was bloody brilliant!" They laughed.

"Tell you what," one of the redheads said. "Everybody knows House Slytherin is filled with pompous gits, but anybody that makes Malfoy croak outta be decent." She arched an eyebrow at this. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking George?" One looked at the other with a mischievous look. "Read my mind Fred," The other said with a peculiar glint in his eye. The twins split and both took a side next to the girl. She looked back and forth between them confused.  

"Your wand?" One said. She couldn't tell which one of them was Fred and which one was George. Diving into her pocket she pulled out her wand.

"Alright, we're going to teach you a very illegal spell." One whispered wickedly draping an arm over her shoulders as if he had known her his entire life. The other did the same. "Use it wisely. Can't let those gits have the upper hand. Can we?"

"Here's a word of warning, it only works on fatheads," one of the twins sniggered.

"By the way I'm George," one said pointing a thumb at himself. "And I'm Fred," the other introduced himself. "Just kidding!" They suddenly said in unison before she could introduce herself. And they once again introduced themselves by the others name before laughing at her confused expression.

"Call me Nel."