#thread&.{sybill}

[rivianrudolf]

Sybil had a Delicious Egg™️ for the first time today!

It. Uh. Took some seriously convincing on my part and a bunch of effort on hers to actually get it in her mouth. But she didn't give up and I respect that.

[nomadjones]

closed for: @billieconway

where: hiking trail

"Going to need you to pick the pace up some, B." Dallas instructs from a few paces ahead of her, imitating marching on the spot at a more quickened pace than she's been leisurely strolling at, "Or we're going to be on this hike for the rest of our days."

[ruindgod]

✦           the rein of the bond tightens around her bones and sybil feels the sharp pain echo through the rest of her body. a seal carved into the breastbone, older than even her. she grits her teeth and steps between the cracks of living. another step and she appears as white smoke condensing in the air. it is a skeleton at first, long since dead that the bones themselves are startled through with cracks of an ancient fire. she had been burned — during life or after, she doesn't remember but the bones do. the seal almost seems to glow before the layers of viscera and muscle and flesh lay themselves in order.

          "you summoned me?" in all her years, in all these centuries, she never thought that anyone would be so foolish as to bind a reaper to them. the rite was an ancient thing, as old as death itself, she thought. how in the world this creature of all creatures found it, sybil will be asking that question for eternity. her tone is cold. sharp. the longer that she remains in this place, the more the balance in the scale tips. there were names to gather, souls to reap and here she stood, glaring. "and what is it that i can do for you today?"

@dcrkfcngs !

[remcmbrances-a]

he was not here by choice. he'd made that readily apparent to bingley before his friend had - once again - twisted his arm into joining unfamiliar society. and, much as he had expected, the evening was excruciating. especially when one of the younger, more vivacious members of the company seemed to make it her mission to draw him out from the corner he'd sought refuge in. she seemed pleasant enough, but the offer was not enticing... " no one would find fault with your solicitude, " he said, offering what he hoped was an apologetic smile. " but i am sure you could find a more appealing target... "

   𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝚁  –> @stormlit

[strangewonderful]

"it's doing nothing that's the enemy." she speaks with pride, a stack of fresh linens tucked into her arms. no one in this house can claim to be doing nothing, not now that the house is full of recovering officers and never completely quiet of conversation or the rush of nurses back and forth.

the two of them are tucked into a doorway and won't be able to remain there for long—there's plenty to accomplish for both of them and they've only stopped for a moment while passing each other by. but it's a point of pride specifically directed at him, for all the ways that thomas has come into his own here at downton. they've all come a long way from even four years ago, but he may have just come furthest of them all.

˗ˏˋ⭒✧ﾟ CANON DIALOGUE STARTER ﾟ✧⭒´ˎ˗ / sybil for @butlerbarrow

[yoggybloggy]

i will say though, something to be said about the first stoats' appearance as monstrous (or like... beyond normal stoats yknow) and the players' reaction to that, if that was assumed as an element of their villainy. i think maybe the taking on human and wolf characteristics, bc some of it was intentional (walking on two legs), they might have assumed the changes in appearance were genetic modifications the first stoats applied to themselves, so they found it unnatural and creepy? which if taken at face value is pretty reasonable, but if this was an uncontrollable effect of the blue... this reminds me more of disfigurement and obviously there's a whole thing there about the ableist assumption of disfigurement as creepy, disgusting, villainous etc. (then again, it's possible they intentionally did this to themselves further via repeated exposure to the blue after the initial event, i don't think that part's really clear.)

though i don't remember how exactly they were portrayed (and i trust aabria to be very specific with how she frames characters) but i was thinking about this bc brennan said "if they talk all evil-sounding then it's natural to conclude they're evil", and i was considering if the descriptions of their appearance played into this. obviously the first stoats were sketchy in many ways still, like what they were saying of course, and obviously the manner of their body modifications is not the same as irl disfigured people and for narrative reasons more prone to suspect. but i dunno, just thinking out loud on this one. not even saying ableist assumptions were made, even i personally had the thought when first seeing the director's art "oh no, are we doing the disfigured villain thing?" but obviously whether first stoats are "evil" or not is a whole discussion and the exact point of the story is that it's not cut and dry.

another reason i was thinking about this is because i actually find a similar case with rapunzel neverafter, where her ambulatory and prehensile hair i (and many other viewers i think) found really cool but the players immediately found disgusting and creepy. again, obviously theres reason to it being creepy with her being manipulative and her hair being surveillancey which, yeah, Not A Good Guy... you see how it reminds me of the first stoats and last bast + the players/PCs reaction to them. yeah this post is not most coherent im just rambling trying to tie my thoughts together 👍

[ofprevioustimes]

"we all lose track of what’s important sometimes." / matthew to sybil

“It’s–” Sybil hesitated, unsure how to phrase it, but she still wore a smile full of kindness in response to her good brother’s comment. She was glad that he was home and they were able to talk so openly. Matthew came from a different world than the small and conformist circle of the English aristocracy, whereas she’d been born at its very bosom, and yet both of them had their own struggles within this overly privileged dome. It eased her mind to think that he might understand her point. “It’s more than that, I suppose…” she continued reticently, searching for the right words. The war was changing so much, so fast. Rigid rules became looser. Old-fashioned traditions lost their meaning and even the most rigorous conventionalists began to bend. Sybil hoped it would be for the best, but God, the cost was high. When the words came to her, she sighed before speaking. “It’s like I couldn’t tell what was important until all of this happened.” It seemed pointless to look back to the girl she had been then: Sybil was still just as dreamy, just as opinionated and idealistic, but until recently she had been yet another aristocrat, the youngest of three sisters with no inheritance, no proper education, no prospect for a profession. Now she was a nurse. Her work saved lives, and when it didn't she at least could ease the pain of dying soldiers. It was a hard job. Day and night she felt drained both physically and emotionally from it, but it’d given her a sense of purpose. “I can see why you wanted to refuse Downton once”, she added, though inwardly wondering if she should say such a thing. “This world is perishing. Isn’t it?” [ @storyuntrue ]

[recklessfiction]

What to Know if You are Gifted the Sight of the Oracle

Be mindful to whom you lend your talents. The gift of foresight is coveted by all, warlords, priests, and paupers alike. The Queen of Caverns, that great dragon, has been known to steal oracles in order to advance her reign. There is talk that her current one has died. Be careful.

Very few can change the future but it is possible. These individuals are very dangerous to those like yourself. There are tales of augurs driven to madness by the ever shifting threads of fate, the endless possibilities brought about by the dissatisfied and the ambitious. Kill them, should you have the chance, lest your mind be played by their whims like an instrument.

Your eyes, in truth the eyes of any seer, are powerful and sought after ingredients for a wide range of potions, rituals, and spells. Isn't that wonderful? Many years ago, when those cloying gods of Heat and Summer, arose from their satin sheets and began their war with us, the bodies of oracles were found littered across country sides, their eyes torn out. At that time, every man, woman, and child was desperate to know what fate had in store.

There are those that you can learn under; sages and sybils who have whetted their talents beyond anything remotely understood by the common man. The great giant Bodi, on whose hands are grafted the eyes of thousands of augur. Sister Pleasant, a silent priestess of the Winter; her great paws have crushed the heads of many a tyrant and king. Then there is the Liar who lies beneath the lake, exiled for her gifts by her god and lover, and the Mad Gargoyle, trapped on the brow of the Castle King for millennia.

I would warn you not to look too deeply into your own future. The temptation, I understand, is a powerful one but to look where one's own strings will lead will bring only premature despair or an unearned confidence that will, more likely than not, lead to your downfall.

It would behoove you to find out from where your powers came. Most oracles receive their gifts from gods, looking to relieve their own lethargy by causing chaos and confusion, but there are some whom the gods cannot claim, some who found their eyes in the light of swamp lanterns, or who were cursed by the sky to see infinitely. It would be beneficial to know what manner of creature might one day come looking for repayment for their "gift."

Many will take your word as truth, remember this. Armies will fly into battle, confident in your assurances of their victory. People will burn their homes, turn killer, heratic, humanitarian, or acolyte, all under your advisement. I am not telling you to manipulate the world around you, I am only saying that you can. Your word is worth its weight in gold, as is every other part of you. Use this gift, for it is a gift. I look forward to seeing where it will take you.

[acronym-chaos]

The Web Inspired ID Pack

[PT: The Web Inspired ID Pack].

[ID: A purple thin line divider shaded at the bottom. End ID].

Names

[PT: Names].

Arachne, Ariadne, Asa, Asher, Bartholomew, Cecilia, Celeste, Charlotte, Circe, Corbin, Cordelia, Damian, Darius, Delilah, Desdemona, Dominic, Elysia, Endora, Esmeralda, Felix, Gossamer, Helena, Idris, Inara, Iseult, Julian, Lavinia, Lucinda, Lysandra, Medea, Morgana, Morrigan, Nadine, Rhea, Rowan, Selene, Soren, Sybil, Talitha, Victor, Willow

Pronouns

[PT: Pronouns].

Ar/ Ach / Arachs; Bi / Bind / Binds; Co / Cord / Cords; Creep / Creep / Creeps; En / Tangle / Tangles; Go / Goss / Gosses; Lure / Lure / Lures; Mesh / Mesh / Meshes; Net / Net / Nets; Sna / Snare / Snares; Pin / Pin / Pins; Silk / Silk / Silks; Spi / Spin / Spins; Stra / Strand / Strands; Stri / String / Strings; Tang / Tangle / Tangles; Thread / Thread / Threads; Twis / Twist / Twists; Web / Web / Webs; Wea / Weave / Weaves;

Titles

[PT: Titles].

An Architect of Intrigue; A Spinner of Lies; A Weaver of Fate; The Alluring Ensnarer; The Manipulative Planner; The One Who Entangles; The Patient Predator; The Puppetmaster; The Silk Weaver; The Spinner of Webs; The Subtle Schemer; The Tangled Manipulator; The Web that Binds; The Weaver of Secrets; The Whisperer in the Web; [Pronoun] Who Controls the Web; [Pronoun] Who Spins the Threads; [Pronoun] Who Weaves Deceit

[ID: A purple thin line divider shaded at the bottom, end ID]

Requested by anon!

Also tagging: @pronoun-arc @id-pack-archive

[hellhoundmaggie]

Maggie what are you hoping to see in chapter 5? I'm asking mainly because I'm starved for SH content and feel like asking others about their theories and hopes helps fix that itch 😅🤣

Thanks gibor-zorel!

Based on comments the creators have made, I believe that the Episode 5 dilemma will center Kaneeka, the spark of magic within her, and how her mother is trying to suppress and control it. I expect the climax to force us to choose between supporting Kaneeka and letting her unleash her magic in a dangerous way, supporting Sybil and letting her harness Kaneeka's magic for some greater good, or using Mystical to save Kaneeka while helping her control her magic.

I also believe that this episode's climax will take place either at the church building or at Tetanus Lake, because Pastor Daniel's comments about his daughter talking with "rats" in the church telling her to go to Tetanus Lake is the most solid lead we got in Episode 4.

Further, I think that the daytime investigation phase will follow up on many of the plot threads that have already been established. The aftermath of Stella's disappearing act and the effect on her relationship with you and Tabby, the fate of the kids who got caught up in the mine collapse, Oscar's investigation into either the true nature of the Seals or into how to get back in the ghost-infested library, Avery and the Calloways and their connection to the missing Julius Tremaine, and Reese's and/or Doc's status -- all are going to get touched on. But one of the first things we are going to do is take Wayne's advice and investigate the Estate. I expect we will be able to pick between one of several of the LIs and invite them to look around the Forbidden Wing with us. With or without their help, we'll get our best look yet into the Scarlets, their sins, and how they connect to the supernatural horrors in the town.

One thing I'm sure of: Abby and Tony have a lot of surprises in store for us!

[psychopasss4]

KoMaki Analysis: The ghost of Makishima.

Alright, so I've been posting those Shinkane-themed analysis for the past weeks. But now, I would like to focus on the hard fact that everyone wants to talk about, but hardly speaks about. 😜🙈🤭.

Presenting, the truth behind KoMaki's undeniable intense connection.

Kogami Shinya’s ongoing encounters with Makishima Shogo’s ghost, particularly evident in the "Psycho-Pass: The Movie" and the "Sinners of the System: Beyond the Pale of Vengeance" film, represent a deep psychological and thematic thread woven into the narrative. This recurring motif can be analyzed from several perspectives:

Psychological Analysis

Guilt and Responsibility:

Direct Responsibility: Kogami feels a profound sense of responsibility for Makishima’s death, which he executed personally. This act of killing, albeit necessary in the context of the story, leaves a lasting impact on Kogami’s psyche. He is constantly haunted by the weight of this decision and the consequences it brought.

Guilt Over Akane: Kogami also grapples with guilt over leaving Tsunemori Akane and the path he took. His actions indirectly placed her in danger and forced her to confront her own moral and ethical boundaries.

Ideological Clash:

Philosophical Antithesis: Makishima and Kogami represent two sides of a philosophical coin. Makishima's disdain for the Sybil System and his anarchistic ideology starkly contrast with Kogami's initial belief in justice and order, albeit through his methods. Kogami's hallucinations of Makishima symbolize this ongoing internal conflict and the challenge of reconciling these ideologies within himself.

Unresolved Conflict:

Unfinished Business: The spectral presence of Makishima signifies unresolved issues and the unfinished ideological battle between them. Makishima's ghost embodies the lingering questions and the unfinished dialogue about justice, freedom, and the nature of humanity that Kogami continues to wrestle with.

Symbolic Analysis

Makishima as a Symbol of Doubt:

Catalyst for Change: Makishima acts as a catalyst for Kogami’s transformation and his subsequent questioning of the Sybil System. The ghostly appearances signify the enduring impact Makishima had on Kogami’s worldview, pushing him towards a more critical and reflective stance.

Representation of Inner Turmoil:

Conflict with the Self: The ghost represents Kogami’s inner turmoil and the constant struggle between his old self, who believed in the system, and his new self, who is disillusioned and skeptical. Makishima’s ghost is a personification of this internal conflict.

Potential Romantic Undertones

Complex Relationship Dynamics:

Intense Connection: The relationship between Kogami and Makishima is marked by a deep and intense connection, albeit antagonistic. While it is not overtly romantic, the intensity of their interactions and the profound impact they have on each other can be seen as a form of intellectual and emotional intimacy.

Obsession and Fascination:

Psychological Depth: The continuous hallucinations suggest a level of obsession and fascination Kogami has with Makishima. This can be interpreted as a form of deep psychological bond, which, while not romantic in the traditional sense, signifies a complex and intertwined relationship.

Conclusion

Kogami Shinya's inability to move on from Makishima Shogo is multifaceted, involving psychological guilt, ideological conflict, and symbolic representation of internal struggles. While there is no explicit romantic undertone, the intensity and depth of their connection suggest a profound psychological bond that transcends simple antagonism. Makishima’s ghost serves as a constant reminder of Kogami’s inner conflicts, unresolved guilt, and the ideological battles that continue to shape his journey.

[esta-elavaris]

Flufftober Day 26: Fireplace - Boromir/OC [1,656 words]

My Flufftober '23 masterpost can be found here, and my currently ongoing main fic about these two is here 💜✨

This was originally going to be an AU of Boromir and Sybil meeting in a different way, with him coming to the cabin injured before Bera dies and Sybil having to patch him up immediately upon meeting him…but we’re all enjoying the established relationship stuff so much that I wanted to write more of it. I maaay still write the other one at a later date? But this approach leaves much more room for fully fledged fluff (try saying those last three words three times fast).

This one skews more towards hurt/comfort than pure fluff, but they’re still cute.

Word reached them in Minas Tirith before the men did. What was supposed to be a reconnaissance mission on a pack of orcs rumoured to be skulking around the nearby wilderness had turned into an ambush – some men had been slain, more still were injured. After he’d announced it to those who had filtered out into the courtyard, the messenger pulled Sybil aside and she felt like the world was giving way beneath her feet before he placed a hand on her shoulder and told her that Boromir was fine. He had, it turned out, been given specific instructions to reassure her as to that fact.

Her husband knew her well. But she still paced the courtyard until he arrived – grim-faced atop his horse, his right arm holding the reins and the other held awkwardly towards his body. Injured, then. Boromir’s face softened when he saw her waiting there, although it didn’t cheer much. Sweeping forth, Sybil held out a hand to offer some stability as he climbed one-handed from the horse. Ordinarily she would have hugged him, but she held back, not wanting to aggravate any injuries she couldn’t see.

But it wasn’t going to allow that, reaching out with his good arm to pull her to him tightly, nose burying itself in her hair as she pressed her face to his chest. He smelled of sweat – and blood, along with dirt from the road – but she cared not.

“You’re hurt,” she said when she pulled back. “Come, I can tend to you.”

“I was going to go to the healers,” he hesitated a little. “I just wanted to see you first.”

“The healing houses? Why? Is it…is it so severe?”

“No,” he said quickly. “No, my love. I just have no wish to worry you.”

“If your injuries are so severe you have no wish for me to see them, I’m not sure I find that soothing.”

He smiled tiredly, as if conceded her point. “I suppose I’ve never known you to have a penchant for hysterics.”

“Unless your coat is the only thing keeping the arm on, I’m sure I’ll be able to hold my nerve.”

“Loss of limb is where you draw the line, then?”

“When it’s your limb, yes.”

“I shall keep that in mind for the future. I’m sure neither Aragorn nor Faramir will take your favouritism personally.”

Their teasing was a tired, half-hearted thing – with no real mirth in it, for that matter. Mostly, it was a way for them to both reassure the other that they were well…and avoid discussing anything serious until they were safely within their chambers. He did, however, catch her hand once again halfway up a staircase, urging her to turn, and then kissed her when she did. Ordinarily she would’ve just thought him playful – but ordinarily he’d have done so outside, pulling her up to him so he didn’t need to stoop. The fact that he had to wait until he could use the stairs to their advantage revealed how the injury, or injuries, pained him.

The hand that lifted to touch him faltered in mid-air, not wanting to hurt him further, but his own hand quickly found it and encouraged it closer as he kissed her. Her fingers smoothed up his neck, over the beard at the side of his jaw, threading their way through his hair, and Boromir practically purred under the attention, leaning in impossibly closer still. Even those small movement caused him to pause, a hiss of a breath sucked in sharply between his teeth, but before Sybil could pull away, he kept her where she was with his good arm, kissing her again.

This was not kissing for kissing’s sake – they’d certainly done enough of that for her to recognise it – but the seeking of solace. That she was here, and so was here. And he wasn’t the only one seeking that comfort, for she’d missed him. The tickle and the scratch of his beard against her skin, the surety with which his hands grasped her, the way he towered above her. Even here, with her two steps above him on the staircase, he was still just a touch taller than she.

But a tilt of his head had him drawing back and wincing once again, and Sybil refused to entertain even the most pleasant of delays any longer.

When they arrived to their chambers, she worked with the sort of efficiency that Bera had seen fit to install as muscle memory, back when she first came to her. A fine leather chest brimming with supplies sat where it always did – and she shot a dangerous look to Boromir when he stepped forth to help her lift it – and soon it was dragged beside a stool, and a table by the fire so she would have the best light possible.

They never got the best of the sun in here until the afternoon, and she was not content to wait that long.

Boromir already began to remove his clothing without needing to be asked. First his cloak, cast aside onto the couch, then his surcoat, and by the time he had stripped down to his tunic she was staring worriedly. For no small amount of blood had seeped through the bandages she saw poking out through his collar, as well as the white linen shirt he wore beneath that.

“Had I been wearing my armour, I would not have been scratched,” he noted sourly, taking in her expression as the tunic was discarded into he pile and the shirt swiftly followed thereafter.

It turned out that the only part of the bandage that had been visible up until then was the only part of it that remained white. The rest was dark brown, encrusted with long-dried blood. Sybil pressed her lips together worriedly, and quickly set a pot of water to boil over the fire.

“Sit,” she said softly.

He obeyed without question, only sighing and beginning to offer explanations without her needing to ask.

“It wasn’t supposed to be a battle,” he said.

“I know,” she said quietly, trickling water over the bandages so she wouldn’t rip open the wound when she tried to peel them away.

If it stung, he gave no indication. But his shoulders did tense when she was finally able to peel the soggy bandages away, undoing them from where they’d been haphazardly wound across his shoulder and under his arm. Already it was bleeding anew, bright red blood oozing out over the older dried patches.

The wound was deep. Horribly deep – in a wicked, jagged half-moon across his shoulder, suggesting the blow had been dealt by one who sought to carve meat.

Sybil cursed. “What fool did these bandages?”

“I did it myself.”

“Yourself? Boromir, it should have been stitched, you should know that! You do know that– it’s a miracle it’s not-”

“Our healer was the first to be slain,” he interrupted – with neither anger, nor bite. “In the ambush.”

Her hands stilled, then one settled on his arm, far below the wound. One of his hands found hers readily, reassuring her that there was no ill-will taken from her careless words.

The wound had been cleaned and stitched before either of them spoke again, as she was winding fresh bandages across his chest and up, over the shoulder.

“The orcs?”

In response to that, he grimaced a bitter, bloodthirsty smile. “Wiped out. That band of them, at least. Every last one.”

“Good.”

Lowering her head, she pressed a feather-light kiss over the bandage and then stepped away, ready to begin tidying up her mess. Boromir rose, rolling his shoulder apprehensively – testing the bounds of the bandages and the stitches both. Afterwards, he moved to sit on the couch not occupied by his clothing, clad only in bandages, boots and breeches, watching her progress as she tried to work the shaken nerves out of her system.

“Sit with me?” he broke the quiet they lapsed into once again.

Sybil hesitated and then did so, smiling despite herself as he guided her to practically drape herself across his lap.

“I hate not being out there with you,” she confessed quietly. “I go mad with worry.”

“As I would have, were you there,” he murmured.

The War of the Ring had been one thing. She’d had no choice but to go – but she was not made for warfare, even as far as the small skirmishes that it had devolved into in these times of newfound peace. She was a warrior of absolute necessity, little more. But none of that made it easier to watch him go, despite the fact that he never took on tasks that would see him gone for more than a few weeks at a time. She could never ask him to remain here and live a life of leisure…but she almost wished she had the heart to demand such a thing, on the days she had to watch him ride away. Only almost, though.

She kissed him again, letting it linger, and then sighed and dropped her head to his shoulder.

“I’ll have them run you a bath.”

Boromir barked a laugh – the first real one he’d offered since his return, grinning and shaking his head at her. “Were I less aware of my present state, I’d take offense to that.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she snickered. “Do you forget the days we spent on the road together?”

“How could I?”

“So you’ll know I’ve smelled you in far worse states.”

“You make a habit of sniffing me, do you?”

“Trust me, there were times when I could hardly avoid it,” she teased. “In all seriousness, I’m thinking only of your comfort. It’ll ease your muscles.”

“If it’s my comfort you’re thinking of, you’ll join me in the bath,” he suggested at a murmur. “Only to make sure I don’t get my shoulder wet, you understand.”

Sybil had a vague suspicion that an ulterior motive lay within the request.

But she lost what mind she had for teasing when he pulled her closer and sighed softly.

“How I missed you, my love.”

Links: AO3 -- FF.net -- flufftober masterpost -- dividers by cafekitsune

[lonely-eli]

Trippin' On Hallucinogenics - Chapter 4

Barty and Pandora walked into Potions class and sat down in the front of the classroom, something Barty was looking to avoid. A scrawnier girl with curly blonde hair that she pulled back into a ponytail, sat behind them. She was wearing a bandana over her hair that was covered with small rainbows. She stared at Barty with misty eyes, he stared right back at her, though he had to twist uncomfortably in his chair which didn’t give it the full effect he had wanted.

Slughorn the teacher introduced himself as, was a plump man who had thinning hair. He basically had a comb over, Barty cringed at it, “I am the head of Slytherin, and will be your teacher for your first to fifth year, at which point you can decide to take N.E.W.T. classes for potions. Though that’s a while in the future.

“Today we will be starting with learning some herbology, specifically the different types of mushrooms and their uses in potions. Are there any questions?”

The class was silent. Slughorn nodded, “Good. Now what is a mushroom?”

No one raised their hands, they all looked at one another nervously. Finally, Pandora sighed and raised her hand, Slughorn called on her, “Ms…”

“Rosier. Pandora Rosier, sir. It’s a fungus.”

“Ten points to Ravenclaw,” Slughorn responded. As it was explained, teachers and other leading figures in the school could give and take away points from each house and the house that had the most points at the end of the school year won. Hufflepuff had won last year because they were apparently the most behaved house.

Slughorn asked his next question and a Hufflepuff raised their hand, surprising the class, Slughorn called on the Hufflepuff who answered correctly and got their house ten points.

It went on like this for the entire double period, they didn’t even touch the cauldrons that they had brought. Barty ran his finger around the rim of his while zoning out, he had already read the book about mushrooms and their uses. Finally class was over, and they could all breathe a sigh of relief as they left the classroom.

“What’s your name?” Pandora asked the girl behind them as they were packing up. Barty looked down at his notes only to find he had written “BEAT ROSIER AND BLACK” in big bold letters. He closed the notebook and put it in his bag.

“Sybil Trelawney,” the girl said, “We’re roommates I think.”

“I didn’t see you there this morning,” Pandora said.

Sybil nervously fidgeted with her fingers, “Well I went to the quidditch pitch early—”

“Oh! That’s so much fun!” Pandora said with a clap of her hands, “You know, I really want to go, it seems like such a good place to get my reading in!”

“It is!” Sybil said with a burst of passion then she quietly said, “I mean… yeah, it really is.”

“Maybe we can hang out together sometime,” Pandora replied. Sybil turned a bright red.

“Yeah, that sounds cool.”

“Do you want to eat lunch with us?” Pandora asked. Sybil just nodded, so Pandora threaded their arms together, like she had with Barty earlier, “This is Barty Crouch by the way.”

“Don’t forget it,” Barty said with a wink, then he cringed at himself, why did he just do that? He felt like a house elf who should punish itself.

They walked into the Great Hall where students were already sitting down and eating. Barty tapped Panda on the shoulder, “I’m going to talk to the boys.”

Panda nodded, “Tell Evan that we need to meet up later in the library.”

Barty snuck over to the Slytherin table, he wrapped his arms around Evan and Regulus’s shoulders, “Wassup, boys?”

“Crouch, get your hands off me,” snapped Regulus. Barty sighed and took his hands off Regulus, choosing to wrap them around Evan instead. Evan just completely ignored him.

“I’m offended, Regulus, I thought that we were friends,” Barty said.

“Just—” Regulus sighed, “Just leave me alone right now, okay?”

“Fine,” Barty said, he poked Evan in the cheek, Evan smacked his hands away, “Your sister wants to hang out.”

“Where?” Evan asked, “Is she okay? Did you do something to her?”

“She’s fine,” Barty said, rolling his eyes, “She just wants to hang in the library. I’m going to the bathroom, you two are boring.”

“Okay,” Evan said, looking at his sister.

“Now if you don’t mind, Black—” Snape started. Barty quickly retreated before he heard the garbage that left the kids mouth. 

***

By the time that Friday rolled around, Barty had gotten twenty points for Ravenclaw by asking questions in class, successfully high fived Evan, and memorized every section of the library.

“Look at this,” Pandora giggled, she turned the book towards him, he stared at it then grinned. It was a detailed picture of a unicorn being eaten by a— well he wasn’t sure what it was being eaten by.

“You are a mystery, Pandora Rosier,” he said. She giggled harder, then turned the book back.

They were sitting in the reading nook in the library on opposite ends of the couch with their legs tangled. Barty was reading a book for class. Emmeline was laying on the ground in front of the couch, doodling something in her notebook.

“What are we going to do this weekend?” Pandora groaned, “I mean we won’t have a schedule or anything.”

“Finish homework, hang out with the other houses—” Pandora, and Barty by association, had become friends with some of the other Ravenclaw girls due to shared classes. They had studied with them and Evan in the library, which turned into more of a gossip session.

“Paxton Green totally likes you,” Hestia Jones said, addressing Pandora, who turned a bit red. Aurora reached out and grabbed Pandora’s hands.

“We could ask if you’d like.”

“Yeah, Panda,” Barty said, snickering behind his book, “Paxton Green.”

Paxton was a confident boy whose hair fell in his eyes and he was constantly pushing it back, and he was Barty’s roommate. The second out of four of them that Barty had actually met, the first of which was currently standing on his head while singing a song backwards. Not even a specific song, Lovegood was just mixing lyrics.

Pandora scrunched up her face, “No…”

“Well if you don’t want him,” Hestia said, sitting back in her seat, “I’ll take him.”

Aurora raised an imaginary glass, “Here here, sister.”

The two laughed and collapsed into each other. Barty tapped his book, “I think I’ve noticed you getting looks from 

“What did you think of Regulus Black getting Slytherin?” Inaya, the quieter of the three girls, asked.

“I heard Sirius was disappointed.”

“Who cares?” Barty asked, “that boy is a traitor.”

Barty used air quotes on the word, the girls all sighed, “Maybe, but he’s hot too.”

“Panda!” Barty said, looking at his friend, who stopped and smiled, “What would Reggie say?”

“With his family’s track record he’d probably agree,” Evan said, Barty jumped, completely forgetting that Evan was at his side.

“That’s not nice,” Pandora told her brother.

“So, Evan,” Hestia said, running her finger up and down the spine of a book, “who do you like?”

“No one, it’s been a week of school.”

Barty gasped, “Not even me?” “I hate you,” Evan replied easily. 

“My life is over,” Barty mourned. The Ravenclaw girls patted him on the back sympathetically.

In the present, Barty laughed to himself. He actually liked it at school, it was nice to be able to sleep without waking up to a house elf in your face, nervously hovering over you. It was also nice to not have to worry about your father coming home and discovering what a mess you’ve made of your room.

Pandora tapped Barty’s leg, “Move.”

She hopped up and walked over to the bookshelf to get something new. Barty leaned across the arm of the couch giving her an upside down smile. She noticed him staring and turned around.

“What is it?”

“Nothing, I’m just happy,” Barty said, putting it into words for the first time. He sighed.

Pandora smiled, “That’s good.”

Barty had already gotten a letter from his mother, it was telling him that she and his father said hello, and that she expects him to write to her weekly. Then the letter went on a long rant about how her friends had accidently spilled tea on her white dress.

Pandora sat back down and laid her head on the back of the couch, smiling at Barty.

“Let’s hang out with the others this weekend.”

***

“You better shut up, Snivellus,” Barty heard a voice saying on his walk to the library. He ducked behind the corner before peeking out.

Sirius and Remus were standing with their wands ready, pointing it at the greasy Snape guy from earlier. They both looked blood lusty. Snape reached into his pocket, when Slughorn suddenly appeared and broke up the fight.

“Mr. Snape, Mr. Black, and Mr. Lupin, this is shameful behavior in the hallways!” Slughorn shouted, “10 points from Gryffindor and Slytherin.”

Barty chose this moment to walk out and try to get past them, but he was stopped by Slughorn, who massaged his temples, “Mr. Crouch please say you had nothing to do with it.”

“I had nothing to do with it, sir, I was just trying to get to the library,” Barty responded. Slughorn nodded.

“Then get on your way,” Slughorn said. Barty nodded. He started to walk away just as Slughorn started berating the three second years again. 

The library was quiet, and he spotted the twins and Regulus already sat down at their usual table in the corner. All of them seemed to be silently reading, or Pandora and Regulus seemed to be reading, Evan was simply staring at the book boredly.

“I ran into your brother in the hallway,” Barty said as he sat down, Regulus stiffened, “He was fighting with Snape with that Remus kid. The one with the scars.”

“I know who you’re talking about,” snapped Regulus. Barty held up his hands in an innocent gesture.

“Calm down, I just thought you should know.”

“Did you do anything?” Regulus demanded.

“Well I was going to wink at him, but then realized that no one was around to get the joke, so no. They did get points taken away from Slytherin though which means that RAVENCLAW IS IN THE LEAD.”

“Let’s go!” Pandora reached out to high five Barty. Regulus squinted his eyes.

“If you think I care about something so—”

“Oh lighten up, Black,” Evan said. Barty smiled at Evan, who also needed to lighten up.

Regulus glared at the two of them before going back to his book, ‘Just stay away from my brother, okay?”

“Fine by me, he’s annoying as hell,” Evan said. Barty nodded.

“I think they’re delightful,” Pandora interjected.

“You would.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Evan?” Pandora was glaring at her brother, her hand slipping into her pocket.

“Nothing, Panda,” Evan said quickly.

“Good,” Pandora grinned, then pulled a piece of candy from her pocket and popped it into her mouth.

“Classes this week have been horrible,” Evan groaned, “There’s too much homework.”

“It’s not that bad,” Regulus said.

“Are you sure you’re not a Ravenclaw?”

“Yes,” Regulus said with a dark look in his eyes. Then he grabbed the newspaper and threw it onto the table between them. Barty eyed it curiously, “Me being Slytherin was in the news, apparently I’m not going down the same path as my brother.”

Barty flipped through the pages and found that it said that Regulus sat down at the Slytherin table crying when he had shown so little emotion it was scary. It also said that the Rosier twins had a heartfelt goodbye after being broken up in different houses. But then again, it never really showed what happened.

Barty put the newspaper down and they didn’t talk about it again. Instead moving onto topics of Quidditch which Barty found extremely boring, his favorite part of Quidditch afterall was when the players got knocked off their brooms.

Instead, Barty found his mind wandering to the points system and how he had done nothing but do good this week. Just like his father would have done.

  When everyone started to go, Barty got Pandora to hang back.

“What is it, Barty?” Panda asked.

Barty paused with an open mouth then decided against it and shook his head, “Nothing. Nevermind.”

“Okay,” Pandora said, she looked confused and kind of nervous.

“Why don’t you go ahead, I’ll catch up,” Barty said, “I still need to look for a book.”

Pandora shrugged and headed on her way while Barty started looking through the books for a Disillusionment charm.

[sugarsnappeases]

thursday snippet!!

ty @inevitablestars and @itsjaywalkers for the tags <333

okay guys bear w me for this one okay?? i was having Thoughts about barty being moody in gof and the way that would affect his grasp on who he is etc etc and then i was like... who do we know and love who's desperately clinging on to reality and her identity by one singular fraying thread?? my darling sybill who just so happens to already be in the castle of course!

so this comes just directly after barty kills his dad and i don't think it's a ship?? i think they're just friends... but... i feel like i could be kinda easily convinced to ship them idk... we'll see i think

It was disappointing and it was cathartic and it hadn’t helped to sharpen anything - he had thought maybe it might help him define himself, this murder, this patricide, and he knew who he was, he did, but the lines were still blurred, like trying to count his individual eyelashes by looking into a fogged-up mirror. Barty found himself heading towards the one thing that seemed to help him, even if only slightly, something like a tether, an anchor, if the anchor also needed to be held down - maybe they were both the anchor, and the ship, and the storm, and they tried to help each other however they could. She was the only thing that was really familiar about the castle now, or the only thing that was familiar and didn’t make him want to pull his heart out of his chest with his own two hands and offer it up in apology, atonement for his crimes - like he did whenever he saw that little blonde third year - her daughter, his niece - even as he could never be sure whether it would really be his heart, his hands, his apology, even as he could never be sure quite what he was atoning for, whose crimes, whose transgressions. Sybill Trelawney used to sit next to him in Divination, two chintz armchairs around a little circular table in the tower he was walking towards now, wooden leg knocking harshly against the hard, stone steps.

np tags for @quillkiller @themuseoftheviolets @orbitfalls @fxreflyes and anyone else who wants to!!

[zinepavilion]

Visit the 2024 @americanlibraryassoc Zine Pavilion in San Diego, CA #ALAAC24, booth 2742 in the Exhibit Hall, to meet zine makers tabling in person THIS Friday, June 28th at 5:30pm -Monday, July 1st at 2pm! See the full list here: https://zinepavilion.tumblr.com/zinemakers

Meet zine maker Sybil “Mouna” Touré / BLSP

Mouna is a Black+Queer+AuDHD artist, musician, and youth librarian. She has a passion for zines, fighting censorship, synthesizing visual media with music, and using art to bring communities together!

As a librarian, Mouna runs programs teaching zine-making to teens, and recently a co-writer/artist of Manga Goes To School, published by ALA Editions.

Mouna is the founder/head of BlackLight Sugar Press, (BLS for short). Shoujo manga, otome games, and idol-singer anime are the driving inspirations for BLS, where Mouna moderates and directs collaborative creative projects such as fanzines, anthologies, music collaborations, and multimedia projects.

Social media:

Twitter/X

@MounaMoonBat

@BlackLightSugar

Tumblr:

@Mouna-Bat

@BlacklightSugarPress

Bluesky:

Mouna: https://bsky.app/profile/mounabat.bsky.social

Blacklight Sugar: https://bsky.app/profile/blacklightsugar.bsky.social

Threads:

Mouna: https://www.threads.net/@moonbatmouna

Blacklight Sugar: https://www.threads.net/@blacklightsugar

Insta:

Mouna: moonbatmouna

Blacklight Sugar: https://www.instagram.com/blacklightsugar/

[nine-blessed-hero]

A Light in the Darkness

Universe: TES IV: Oblivion (Vanilla) CW: Alcohol Words: 619 Context: Written for the @tescheer prompt "Lantern".

[Being an excerpt of Arkved of Cheydinhal's journal, c. 3E431]

The month of Morning Star is a drear and dreadful one. Even Anvil, jewel of the Gold Coast, is not immune to winter-tide storms filled with freezing rain and howling gales. The Abecean grows bitter and cruel under leaden skies, goaded by the winds to make rubble of the docks and soak through even the toughest oilcloth. The desperate weather, however, could not deter me from attending a most interesting event with my good friend, the painter Rythe Lythandas.

Attired in our glad rags and oilcloths, we ran through the sheeting rain from the Count's Arms to the Great Chapel of Dibella; for what better time than this dark and dreadful month to bring the light and cheer from a celebration of the Arts?

And cheer there was, in plenty! The church's main floor had been rearranged, with great trestles down the center and pews becoming seats at the feast table. And those pews were filled bursting with painters and playwrights, weavers and tale-spinners, artisans and lutists. The raucous crowd rhapsodized with animate flailing of limbs. Snatches of song, as took the players' fancy, filled the air. Laughter danced, sprinkled between lines of poetry.

The Sybil welcomed us in, bade us relax and find a place in the myriad company. I found my hand filled with a cup of mulled wine and with Rythe gayly beside me, took my time in admiring the chapel. It may surprise you, dear reader, that despite this chronicler's wide travels, I had yet to be inside this very chapel.

The chapel is a vast space, with arching hights – velvet-dark on this night of revelry – decorated in sheets of dainty lace. Planters of sunrise-coloured flowers adorned the altar, but what most struck me were the garlands of sacred lotus flowers. They hung suspended on threads of gold between the chapel pillars and, like joyful lanterns, glittered by some magical fancy. Under their soft incandescence, as if the hand of the goddess was laid upon my brow, I was filled with peace and awe at the marvels and wonder of our world. At my side, Rythe nudged me. "Committing it all to memory, eh?" "Indeed," said I, my gaze lingering upon them, "They're extraordinary in their holy beauty." "Take good note then, my friend. You can describe them to me anon, and I shall paint them for you." "Oh! You're the painter with the 'magic' brush," Rythe's neighbour cried, and Rythe turned away to converse with them, while my own – on hearing I was a scholarly adventurer – implored me to tell of my travels. And thus the night was spent in amiable chatter and the trading of stories; but ever did my eyes find those most sacred of blooms…

–––

Several months later, Rythe invited me to dine with he and his Lady wife, and bade me recount the glittering lotus blooms to her, her delighted smile widening as I spoke. As we were saying goodbye, he handed me a small rectangle, wrapped in cloth. I should not open it, said he, until I was at home. Dutifully I did so, and found to my most pleasant surprise a portrait of myself, gazing up at the golden blooms, my face dusted with buttercream light. It hangs in my study, mere feet from where I write now, lending me the joy of that night.

Although… I would swear to you, gentle reader, there is something otherworldly about it. On nights most foul, when winter has his firm and frozen grip upon the world, the painted blooms will glow with an echo of the revels in Anvil, dusting my room in Dibella's golden light.