#Find Git Version

[itsevansart]

"The picture on the front page says enough: Harry looking back at the press, blood on his face, his hands, his clothes, and Lord Gaunt stepping in closer to quickly shield him with a long, dark cloak." — DMAY ch 61, by @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger 💕

make my day by reblogging and not reposting!

[aishaspen]

how i met your mother | james potter + sirius black

summary: james decides to tell his son the story of how he met his mother.

warnings: the italics indicate present time. swearing, sexual innuendos, underage drinking, use of Y/N. reader is implied to be of another house. there's like ONE crumb of sirius x reader. no-voldemort au, but the canon-compliant bigotry still exists.

a/n: i recently started rewatching himym which prompted me to write a marauders fanfic haha. anyways, i hope you guys like this and i’m always open to criticism and input as long as it is respectful!

“Harry!” The sixteen year old boy heard his father’s voice boom across the house, and rolled his eyes.

“Yes, dad?” Harry answered, loudly enough for his father to hear. He sat up in his sheets and reached for his glasses, putting them on and getting out of the bed.

There was a beat of silence. Harry furrowed his brows at it, and walked out of his room.

“Dad?” Harry called, before James finally answered.

“Yes, come into the living room! I wanted to talk to you about something.” James responded, and his voice sounded entirely too chirpy for his son’s liking.

Harry frowned for a moment, before his eyes widened in pure horror. He took a glance into his room, and saw the bottom of an empty bottle of firewhiskey hidden lousily beneath the bed.

Merlin, him and Ron were so stupid!

Harry took a few deep breaths, and walked down the stairs. When he walked into the living room, he saw that his father was already sitting on the couch, with a smile on his face, whose meaning Harry couldn't quite decipher.

“Sit, kiddo.” James looked up at his son, and gestured towards a cushioned chair.

The younger boy gulped nervously, before nodding and sitting down in the chair. Then, he peeked up at his father.

“I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Talk to me about what?” Maybe if he made his father think that he was being paranoid and delusional, he would feel guilty and drop the talk about the alcohol. Yeah, this was brilliant.

James’ eyebrows furrowed for a moment at his son’s strange tone, before shaking it off and answering his question.

“It’s something important, Harry. I hope you understand.”

“Am I being punished for something? Is this about me and Ron stealing your firewhiskey?”

“You lads stole my- nevermind. I am not going to punish you for anything Harry. This is about your mother.” James looked at his son expectantly as he waited for his reaction.

“What about mum?” Harry was both confused yet curious about what his father had to say, as it was on rare occasion that he ever spoke of mum. Harry had been begging him for scraps for an entire year, before he finally gave up and just stopped asking.

The younger Potter looked at the family photo on the wall for a moment, seeing his mum holding a toddler version of himself, while her and his dad laughed out at something. It had been his favourite photo.  

“Harry, I want you to listen to me carefully and patiently now. Because today, I am going to tell you the story of how I met your mother.”

It had been James Potter’s fourth year at Hogwarts, when he saw her for the first time.

And although neither of them knew it yet, that year was going to change their lives forever, for better or for worse.

They met at a Gryffindor party. Alice Fortesque’s courtesy.

“Now Harry, I am not trying to make excuses for myself or anything, but you need to know one thing.”

“What?” Harry wanted to tell his father that it did awfully sound a lot like he was making excuses for himself, but decided to bite his tongue on the matter.

“When I was at Hogwarts, I was not known as a cool popular guy, but an annoying git.”

“That’s not an unknown or surprising fact in any way whatsoever, dad.”

James decided to ignore his son’s jibe, and continued.

“I was also a really huge hopeless romantic.” James said, and Harry raised his eyebrows. But to be fair, he didn't really find it extremely difficult to believe.

James and Sirius were laughing to themselves as they reminisced about one of their old pranks, most probably aimed towards Snivellus.

“To hell with him, by the way.” James interrupted suddenly, making his son furrow his brows. Then he shrugged and nodded, because he didn't hold much love for his potions professor either.

He felt her before he saw her.

She came in through the portrait walking with a gaggle of girls surrounding her, all of them listening closely to what she had to say. As she gestured for the girls to spread out in the party, one of her friends—James had no idea about the relationship they shared—decided to stick by her.

So there she was, talking and laughing animatedly with her friend, while all he did was stare at her as if he would stare at a humongous carrot cake.

James’ eyes turned into hearts as she looked back at him, and gave him a small smile. Then she looked back at her friend and nodded along to whatever the girl was saying.

“It was like something from an old movie. When the sailor sees the beautiful girl across the crowded room and turns to his friend to say ‘See that girl over there? I am gonna marry her someday.’” James’ voice was animated as he talked, and Harry blamed the firewhiskey for the way his heart melted at his father’s words. Him and Mum were cute.

James felt his best friend’s presence behind him again, and immediately turned to him.

“Oye Sirius, see that girl over there?” James pointed his head in her direction, and Sirius looked at her as she talked to her friend.

“Oh yeah, you just know she likes it dirty.” He smirked to himself as he kept his eyes on her. James frowned at his friend's crass words, before rolling his eyes and going back to staring at the beautiful stranger.

As she was finally left alone by her companion, James found himself walking towards her.

“Hey, I’m-”

“I know who you are, Potter.” She interrupted him suddenly, and an awkward grin settled on his face. He sheepishly nodded, before looking back up at her. Of course she knew him. He had spent the last three years of his life extensively pranking people in each and every corner of Hogwarts.

“I saw you across the room.” What the fuck was that sentence? Obviously he saw her across the room, Merlin he was an idiot!

At hearing his words, a small smile paved its way onto her lips. Maybe she found his awkwardness cute? It wasn’t a regular occurrence for the Marauders—except for Sirius, of course—to involve themselves with girls. Especially not girls like the one standing in front of him.

“I noticed.”

“Um, brilliant! So, I was wondering if I… I mean if you want to, of course…” James sputtered out the words clumsily, before one of her friends walked towards her, and without any form of warning, pulled her towards a corner. James resisted the strongest urge to roll his eyes at the annoying friend;

The girl stood quietly as she listened to her friend rant about something or the other in extensive detail. James patiently waited for her to finish, and come back to him.

And when she did, a smile broke out on his face, managing to show off all 32 of his teeth. He swore he saw the girl smile as well.

“Hey, listen… My friend is having some issues, so I gotta deal with that. Can we put this conversation on hold?” James’ face fell for a moment as he took her words in. This was not fair! At all!

“But… Do you wanna do something fun before I go?”

“I’m always in to do something fun.” He grinned and this time, the girl smiled at him fully.

“In the next three seconds, I’m gonna throw a drink in your face and call you a jerk loud enough for the entire party to hear.

“Oh that's a good pla- wait what?” His voice came out way more high pitched than he wanted it to, but the girl had already put her plan in motion.

“JERK!” The girl yelled, and before James could respond, a cold drink was being thrown on his face, drenching both his skin and his frames.

There were a few gasps and murmurs in the room, as everyone turned to look at the pair. James swore that he heard Peter guffaw. Sirius, on the other hand, was laughing openly, while Remus awkwardly tried to hide his grin with his hand.

James’ mouth opened wide in surprise, and he looked at the girl. Then, a grin broke out on his face. And to his wonder and fortune, she smiled back at him.

“That was fun.” her voice was amused as she set the cup down, while never breaking eye contact with the bespectacled boy.

“See you around, Potter.” Her eyes twinkled, and James swore he could hear his own heartbeat fasten at the speed of light.

Then, she threw him a wink and turned towards the exit, while his eyes kept following her till she was completely out of sight.

James felt as if he was waking up from a daydream. He didn't even know this girl’s name, but the only thing his head could think of was how he was already completely in love with her. What the fuck was happening to him?

It was decided then, He was going to marry this girl someday.

“And that, Harry, is How I met your Aunt Y/N.”

“WHAT?”

likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated <3

[aviatrix-ash]

It's flying fine. Source: i asked the planes and the planes told me so. :]

Might not fly straight but that's supposed to happen

Do you have a repost of Gay Plane video on twitter or here. I was reminded by pride the other day, and got frustrated when I couldn't find it. I found a YT reupload if it's too much trouble

Gay Plane Master Post

[menlove]

"Life After the Bastards: 30 Years On, Macca Tells All"

"Blamed for the break-up for the biggest band in history, Paul McCartney downsized rapidly to cultivate a successful pop smallholding. Yet a bountiful solo career was always dominated by two famous partners, he tells Paul Du Noyer."

i said i'd do this ages ago and then the horrors happened, but this is a written up version of an interview by paul du noyer with paul mccartney from mojo's july 2001 issue.

sidenote: this seems to be the source for the claim that john thought "dear boy" was about him, which is why i bought the magazine because i haven't been able to find a digitized version of the interview and wanted to get the context. but it's a very fascinating interview just in general so it's definitely worth a read!

Wings were a band who seldom felt the feathery end of the critic's quill, but this year we're seeing Paul McCartney's biggest effort so far to rehabilitate the second most popular group he ever belonged to. He's released a double-CD and a documentary, both called Wingspan, that tell the story as he would like it told. And you soon realise that there's more than a muso's pride at stake in this project. "The great thing is," he says, "it vindicates Linda. I know she wanted to do the Wingspan thing. She knew if it was laid out correctly, people would get the idea. With all the slagging off she got, like the famous tape at Knebworth..." (This illicit cassette, from the mixing desk of a live show at the outdoor venue, was for years a dependable source of satirical mirth in music business circles; Linda McCartney's off-key vocals circumnavigate the chorus notes of Hey Jude, while anonymous engineers hoot cruelly.)

"The truth was," her loyal widower continues, "she was doing this (he stands, raises his hands to clap above his head). She was being the big cheerleader: 'Hey Jude, naah-naah-na.' But you don't see the visual, you just here this out-of-tune voice, and I know she always wanted the record put straight. And this does. You see her playing. You hear her singing beautifully. And you see what she was to the group. You see why she had to be in the group. She becomes the ballsiest member of it..."

He settles back on the sofa, here in the Soho office of his MPL company. Around his neck is a slim pink tie of the kind that Elvis used to wear. On his feet are trainers that look less like a gesture to trendiness than a concession to comfort. Just behind him is the Art Deco statuette that appears on a couple of Wings LP sleeves. The other great thing about the Wingspan film, he says,was being interviewed by his daughter Mary. (That's her face you can see, peeping out from Dad's jacket on the cover of the first solo LP, 31 years ago.) "I'd never had such a long natter with her, as doing this. And I used to say to my kids, You're the only ones who never ask me about The Beatles. Their friends would come round and say, 'What was it like being in The Beatles?' I'd go (adopts pompous old git voice), Well, let me tell you... And my kids would all go out the room: 'Oh bloody hell, he's off...' That's how kids are, they don't want to hear about that shit. But their friends would, so I'd chunder on..."

In fact he chunders on about The Beatles a lot more than you might expect. Or about one Beatle in particular, at least. The World's Most Famous Living Liverpudlian is anything but reticent when it comes to the World's Most Famous Dead Liverpudlian. It's quite contrary of him, because for the first 20 years after the group split up, he showed a stubborn reluctance to discuss the subject with his interviewers. They wanted to ask about John Lennon; he wanted to discuss Back To The Egg... Then came a reconciliation with his past that culminated in the Anthology exercise, when the moratorium on Beatle-talk was entirely lifted. And now, in 2001, when the promotional agenda has switched back to Wings, you almost have to coax him off the subject of John Lennon. Is it just force of habit, or maybe the need to exorcise some kind of long-nosed, bespectacled, sharp-tongued ghost inside his head?

Taste restrains Paul from claiming any posthumous victories over John, though it's no secret that he still has some differences with Yoko that are as wide as the Atlantic that normally separates them. But he can't resist smiling at the irony of Lennon spending his last few years championing the sort of domestic cosiness that was once a derided part of the McCartney stereotype.

"Yeah, it's lovely. But you're right to say they were stereotypes. Everyone thought John was the hard, working class hero. As you know, if you look at his house, he was actually the middle class one, from Woolton. We were the scruffs. He had the full Works Of Winston Churchill: nobody any of us knew had that. A set of encyclopedias was the most that anyone in our class had. But he had The Works Of Winston Churchill, and he'd read 'em, I think.

"There were so many stereotypes of John. And I love the fact that in the end- it's one of the great blessings of my life, seeing as he got shot- that during the last year, we made it up. Thank God for that. I would be just so fucked up now, if I'd still been arguing with him and that had happened. I was thinking about it just the other day. It was cool that I'd started ringing him. We'd had a bread strike over here and I rang him and I was saying, What are you doing? He says, 'I'm breaking some bread.' Oh! Me too! Imagine, with the stereotypes, John and Paul talking about baking bread. He'd just had Sean, and he was talking about just padding round the apartment in his dressing gown, putting the cat out and changing the baby.

"And I'd been doing all of that, and as you say, I'd been stereotyped for it. It was really warm to be able to talk to him that ordinarily, finally. It was like we'd got back to where we'd been when we were kids. It was like we could actually talk about stuff that didn't matter, but somehow it did matter..."

Back in 1970 neither John nor Paul, nor George or Ringo, would find The Beatles an easy beast to walk away from. Paul and Ringo seem to be at peace with it now; John would probably have become so; George never has. Besides the legal wranglings and the personal rancour that persisted between them for a while, there was the unique problem of getting used to living in a world that you no longer ruled.

Pop in the 1960s was like a pyramid. At the top obviously, were The Beatles. Around them and just below, were Dylan, the Stones, the deposed King Elvis, and so on down to the broad base of innumerable also-rans. But pop in the 1970s was more like range of mountain peaks, topped by anyone from Elton John to the Sex Pistols. There was also no unified hierarchy any more, and there hasn't been one since. McCartney can't have found the new world order an easy proposition. But he overcame his doubts the same way that he overcame his blacker periods in The Beatles. In other words, he worked.

It's one of those first post-mop top albums that we discuss in detail today. McCartney (1970) and Ram (1971) were curiously anti-climatic in their day. The first was home-grown, small-scale, contentedly modest, like a record made for his private diversion. The second was sprawling and eccentric, full of unfinished tunes and nonsense rhymes. This was an era when former Beatles were still expected to return from the mountain bearing tables of stone (which Lennon and Harrison certainly attempted to do), not these gaudy, giggling indulgences. Three decades later, McCartney and Ram have endured far better than anyone expected.

It's typical of McCartney, though, that he's still insecure about their worth. He has a peculiar, wrong-end-of-the-telescope way of assessing his talent. He tries to talk up McCartney by telling you that "Dave Stewart really likes it", or boasts that a hippy van driver once yelled across the LA traffic, "Ram! Great album dude!" Recently his girlfriend Heather Mills put it this way: "He is a genius but doesn't realise it, which is delightful."

Towards the end of The Beatles you were dying to get back to playing live in a band, weren't you? But your first move is to go the opposite way and do a totally solo album.

Yeah. I couldn't have another band because I wasn't sure The Beatles had actually broken up. It was on the cusp: we hadn't broken up when I started it, so it was just me doing some solo stuff. And then we had broken up, but things hung on. It basically started from John's decision to leave the band, which came when I said I think we should get back together and do some little gigs. And he said, "Well I think you're daft and I wasn't going to tell you until after we signed the Capitol deal but I'm leaving the band." (Mimes an axe falling) That was, like, The Moment The Beatles Broke Up. But it wasn't in the open until a few months later, when I issued the McCartney album and did this press release with it, which virtually had the announcement. I finally blew the whistle on it. And John was annoyed, even though he hadn't said anything. It turns out, he told me later, that he wanted to be the one who announced it. He was jealous that I beat him to it. But I felt that three or four months was enough to wait around. Either we were just going to fuck about for another year, or we had to actually say to people, "You know what? About three or four months ago we actually broke up." So that was how that happened.

So in your head, The Beatles were still together when you were making McCartney. Whereas the outside world heard it as "What Paul did after leaving The Beatles." I think it seemed a strangely low-key record, as a result.

No. It was on the cusp. There were a lot of funny things around at the time. Allen Klein: he was the one I wanted to sue to get out of it all. But everyone said, "He's not party to any of the agreements, he's just an outside guy. So you'll have to sue The Beatles." So I got into this terrifying thing of having to sue them, scared more than anything of the fact that, as you say, people would just see this album come out, hear my announcement and then hear I was suing The Beatles, without knowing any of the context. So I knew I was in for problems. And I tried my best in the press to say, "Oh, blah blah blah, it was Allen Klein, blah blah." So it was a shitty time for me. The only option was to either let him take it all, and the guys just swim along with him, or fight it. He said I was fine, "Don't worry, McCartney loves me" and all of this. And I knew I was hating the bastard. But to get out of him I had to sue the guys. And, as you know, Liverpool, the mates, no matter how much we were arguing, it's one thing you don't ever want to have to do. So I knew the perception of me would, like, be deadened from there on in. And I suppose in many ways I've been fighting that for 20 years. But it was a clear choice: do that and possibly save it all- or even lose it and pay the lawyers' bills, which was not a terrific option- or just let Klein take it all. 'Cos the others were just with him, gung ho. So I took the option of suing him and had to live with that perception, including: "This is what Paul's done as his first move after leaving The Beatles." Which was actually the nicest bit of the perception: I did an album after The Beatles, so what? The worst thing for me was, I sued my best mates. But the thing is, looking back on it, they now say "Thank you, you got us out of it, we wouldn't have Apple, there'd be no Anthology, no I record, it'd all be in someone else's pocket now." It was the right thing to do, but I knew I was walking into the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Very scary, but it was one of those moments in your life when you have to do it.

And, of course, we were hearing McCartney just after Abbey Road, which was at the opposite extreme.

Very produced, yeah.

Despite the problems going on around it, McCartney sounds a pretty cheerful affair.

Yeah, it was, because of Linda. I was just starting with Linda and in my mind the album was my escape from it all. I'd get home, new baby, that joy... any readers who've got a new baby, it transforms your life. I hadn't had a baby before, though we had Heather from Linda's first marriage. Home was a great solace for me, and making this record was "Yeah, this is what I love to do." The rest, outside, was shit, but coming inside it was like a little cocoon. So I either made the album all at home or went down to a little studio in Willesden. Lin and the baby in the control room. Young married life is a very special time. And I always liked doing things on my own. I was the kid in Liverpool who sort of went on a bus to the next stop, to Penny Lane, and got off and just looked around: "Who lives there?" I still like that, it's in my personality to just go somewhere and watch people. Last night I took the Tube home. We went to the theatre, couldn't get a taxi anywhere in the West End. I really get a charge off that. George never used to. His dad was a bus driver. I'd say to him, even when we were famous, I love getting on a bus. He'd say (astonished), "The bus? Why? You've got a car!" But you're just looking at people. And now of course, with fame, they're looking at me a bit.

There's one or two on the Tube last night, cracking up laughing. Guy in a baseball cap, decides he's got to cool himself out, pull it together, gets off at the same stop: "All right mate? Good luck!" So that's where the record got its happiness. And when the time came to release it, I finally had to deal with Mammon, which was Apple. Ring them up and say, "Er, can I have a release date?" Neil [Aspinall] gave me a date. I was kind of boycotting Apple, and Suddenly Mammon decided to change my release date for (adopts sarcastic tone) the massive Let It Be album. And I'm, "You fucking bastards! I've got a release date worked out! How can you do this?" I can't remember what happened, but I certainly shouted loud enough. So it was Rage Against The Machine, me against them. That's why it was a good album for me, and it's pretty funky, some of the little pieces like Momma Miss America have a great sound on them. I was like a professor in his laboratory. Very simple, as basic as you can get, a joy to make. (Scans the tracklist) Teddy Boy was good, I'd tried to make that with The Beatles but no one was having much patience with me. Maybe I'm Amazed was about the biggest song on it. And Kreen-Akrore was about an Amazon tribe I'd seen, who were fighting for survival, I went into the studio and recorded the sound of a bow and arrow going past the mike. Even now that album has an interesting sound. Very analogue, very direct.

The next album, Ram, is famous for its supposed attacks on John and Yoko, isn't it?

Well, Too Many People was a bit of a dig at John, because he was digging at me. We were digging at each other in the press. Not harsh, but pissed off with each other, basically.

Have I misheard, or does it really start with the words "Piss off"?

Yeah. Piss off, cake. Like, a piece of cake becomes a piss off cake. And it's nothing, it's so harmless really, just little digs. But the first line is about "too many people preaching practices". I felt John and Yoko were telling everyone what to do. And I felt we didn't need to be told what to do. The whole tenor of the Beatles thing had been, like, each to his own. Freedom. Suddenly it was, "You should do this." It was just a bit the wagging finger, and I was pissed off with it. So that one got to be athing about them. Once you start, the ball starts rolling. There was a picture that we had for Hallowe'en of the two of us in silly masks that we picked up at a kids' shop in New York. I'm Wimpey out of Popeye, and Linda was another character which looked a bit Oriental. We heard later that they thought that was a dig at them, but it actually wasn't. So when John did a piss-take [in a postcard given away with his Imagine LP], he held a pig instead of the ram. This wasn't posed. Me and Linda decided to catalogue all our sheep, so there's a photograph of me holding every bloody sheep in the flock. Over 100 of them. I was supposed to be cropped out.

Is that where the title came from?

I remember driving up to Liverpool at some point and deciding that Ram would be a good title for an album, then the picture came, and you can "ram" a door down, and a "ram" is a male, like a stag. It just seemed like a good word. Monkberry Moon Delight I liked, so much so that it's in my poetry book. "My long-haired lady." Very '70s. Ram On is a cute little thing on a ukelele, 'cos I used to carry one around with me in the back of New York taxis just to always have music with me. They thought I was a freak, those taxi-drivers. Uncle Albert/Admiral Halsey was an epic thing, a Number 1 in America, surprisingly enough. I like the bit that breaks in: "Admiral Halsey notified me, da-da-da, had a cup of tea and a butter pie." It's a bit surreal, but I was in a very free mood. I like all of that. It must have freaked a few people, 'cos it was quite daft. Back Seat Of My Car is very romantic: "We can make it to Mexico City." That's a really teenage song, with the stereotypical parent who doesn't agree, and the two lovers are going to take on the world: "We believe that we can't be wrong." I always like the underdog.

I think John might have taken Dear Boy as an attack on him.

Dear Boy wasn't getting at John. Dear Boy was actually a song to Linda's ex-husband. "I guess you never knew what you had missed." I never told him that, which was lucky, because he's since committed suicide. And it was a comment about him, 'cos I did think, "Gosh, you know, she's so amazing, I suppose you didn't get it.

The LP sounds like you had more tunes lying around than songs to use them in. A lot of the tracks are like medleys of different ideas.

Yeah, Long Haired Lady goes off a bit, Back Seat Of My Car goes off a bit, Big Barn Bed comes off Ram On, that's right.

No writer's block at that point, then?

No, I've been very lucky about writer's block, touch wood. It occurred to me the other day that me and John never sat down on, what was it, 295 songs me and John wrote? And on those 295 occasions, we never came away without a song, which is fucking phenomenal. The only time we nearly did, was Golden Rings, which became Drive My Car. It was "duh-duh duh-duh golden rings..." Um, this is not gonna compute. Finally, we had a ciggie and a cup of tea and our humour came back and Drive My Car came out of that. Some people analyse songwriting. I've never known about it. It's fingers crossed, every time I sit down to do it. I just dive right in and hope for the best, and it seems to work.

Were you feeling in competition with the other ex-Beatles, now?

Yeah, we were all in competition. Which was a weird thing, trying to avoid each other's release dates, like we'd avoided the Stones' release dates in The Beatles. When John or George released an album, I'd check it out, to see where he was up to. I think the truth, as a lot of people have said, is that we were missing each other. We missed the collaborative thing, of John saying, "Don't do that" or "Do that". Sparking each other off. For a while I was certainly very conscious of it. The only good thing was that I had been writing without John for a while, towards the end of The Beatles, so it wasn't as bad as it could have been. It was still a pretty big shock just not to be hanging out with these guys. 'Cos I'd hung out with them since I was 17.

Even when you were not writing together, on later Beatles records, there must have been a stage in the process where the others listened to your songs, and vetoed them or otherwise.

Exactly. John brought me Glass Onion. I remember him out in the garden in St John's wood saying, "What do you think of this?" We would just run it past each other, like you would run it past a mate or a producer. And he actually asked me, "D'you think I should put in this line about the Walrus was Paul?" I said, Oh yeah! It's brilliant. I just generally tended to agree with his stuff, and he tended to agree with mine- like in Hey Jude, i was going to knock out that line about "The movement you need is on your shoulder." He said, "You're not, that's the best line in it." So, often it wasn't negative but bolstering each other up. I might go through the whole studio experience thinking, This line's not right. But the minute he'd signed off on it, I thought, This line is ace! Similarly with him and Glass Onion. It was the strength of unity.

It's always striking that, of the four solo Beatles, George and Ringo got off to the strongest starts.

Yeah, George's All Things Must Pass. As he said, it was just like a diarrhea, he must have held it in for so long. And he had Phil [Spector] and a lot of really good people. And George was just so pissed off with us. I mean, all that anger just came out. Which is a good thing for an album, the "I'll show you" factor, which I had later in Band On The Run, when two of the members left the night before. So George and Ringo did get off to very good starts. John and I took it a bit hard, but all in all throughout the years we all did pretty well as single acts.

You formed a band for Ram, but it's not yet Wings.

Not yet, no. Denny Seiwell turns out to be in the band. Hugh McCracken who plays on a lot of it, who was nearly in the band. He came to Scotland to rehearse, but he was such a New York guy that he didn't really like to be away from America, and I can see that. New York is such a satisfying town, you can walk one block and get anything, whereas you can't do that in the Mull of Kintyre...

The first official line-up of Wings, which makes Wild Life, includes Denny Laine.

Denny came from The Moody Blues. I'd seen him when were out on tour with The Beatles and we'd played with them. My enduring memory is of one night up in somewhere like Edinburgh on tour, we'd had a few drinks and we decided that The Moody Blues would play The Beatles at snooker on this very beautiful, full-sized snooker table. Instead of being sensible and playing one at a time against each other, in a kind of league, they all got on one end of the table and we all got on the other, and I'm afraid the table got trashed. Oh shit. So I knew Denny, I knew we could get on personally and I liked his voice, particularly from Go Now, which I championed. I remember taking that around the BBC in its early days and saying, "Have you heard Go Now by The Moody Blues? It's my favourite record of the moment." And those producers would take notice of us. I was also used to having another lead voice in the group with me, so Denny became that.

And this time there's a friendlier song for John.

Dear Friend was to do with John, a bit of longing about John. Let's have a glass of wine and forget about it. A making up song.

Finally you do what The Beatles wouldn't agree to do, and get back on the road.

It seemed to me that for a band it's essential. We'd given it up in '67 with Sgt. Pepper when our new decree was, "The record will go on tour and we won't. We'll make a great record and send that out instead." But what happened after that was, we made some good records, but missed the stimulus of going out on tour. We missed seeing the whites of their eyes and getting a reality check: "They liked that one, they didn't like that one." And we hadn't done it for so long that my choice was, Either give up music, or continue to make it. I wanted The Beatles to go out as a live band, therefore I ought to go out as a live band. So we got a band and hatched the plan of going out on the university tour. Didn't want a big supergroup, a Blind Faith-style thing. I wanted to try and learn the whole thing again, hopefully learn some new things, rather than just repeat The Beatles things, which had all been done, and been about as successful as anyone in the world was ever gonna be.

But you took the informality to extremes, not even booking hotels.

No gigs or hotels or anything. Looking back, I can't believe we did that. We had the van, the dogs, the kids, and it was just madness. It was like I'd never been in The Beatles, I couldn't rely on any of that fame as a crutch. We went up to these universities, and fate had it that a lot of them were having exams. We didn't ring them up and ask if they'd be ready for us. And the other thing was we walked into power cuts: it was the time of the Great British Three Day Week. My image now is of trying to find our way around the dark North with a torch. Is anyone in? Like trying to find a gig in a mine. But we found a couple. Nottingham was one. Lancaster we played. Newcastle City Hall. Durham. When we did find places it was really cool. The students had a good time.

And you had the unfamiliar experience of handling money again.

Yeah, it had all been cheques and accounts and stuff, bank statements. And suddenly it was 50p on the door. So we came away with these bags of coins, which reminded me of Peter Sellers in Tom Thumb: One for you, two for me... We just counted them out in the van afterwards. Good experience, going through all those hardships, and it got us together as a band.

But that line-up wasn't to last, and nor did any Wings line-up. Why?

I've never actually thought about it. I know it happened but I've always blanked it. Probably, in my mind, a band is a democratic unit. Everyone has an equal vote, and in The Beatles for 10 years that had been the case. So if Ringo didn't like one of our songs, which wasn't often, Ringo could veto a Lennon & McCartney song. That meant everyone felt good about themselves. But in Wings that wasn't the case. I was the ex-Beatle. So I saw myself as the leader of the group, which I'd never been in The Beatles. There wasn't a leader in The Beatles. People had said that John was, and later people had said that I was, but neither of us ever acknowledged it. It wasn't the deal. People would ask, "Who's the leader of the group?" We'd say there wasn't one. I think once or twice in Hamburg, in the early days, John said, "I am." But we got pissed off, so it became a democracy. But Wings wasn't. It wasn't a dictatorship, but we weren't all equal.

By the '70s there was suddenly lots of other big acts: Led Zeppelin, T. Rex, Bowie, Pink Floyd, even The Osmonds in their way, or Abba. Was it difficult, as a Beatle, to adjust to the new landscape?

I knew it was going to be difficult. There was this thing of Follow The Beatles. You found yourself just one of the acts in the Hit Parade, rather than the undisputed leaders. But I knew by starting the group from scratch that we had to work our way up So anyone like Zeppelin or Bowie who'd been building during the '60s and had now arrived, naturally took precedence. You just had to understand that there are people bigger than you. And it gave us a benchmark. We thought, "We'll be as big as you one day." It was very weird for me, starting all over again. But it wasn't the world's worst thing. It was quite sobering, really. It's good to be knocked off your perch. There was a lot of that with Wings. Not only was I doing things for myself with the band, I was personally doing things for myself, living up in Scotland, mowing the field with my tractor. In The Beatles, the office used to buy your Christmas tree for you. Now I was buying my own Christmas tree. I enjoyed that . It's unhealthy to think you're the big cheese all the time. Within The Beatles, we each reminded each other that we weren't. But I think there is a big risk with stardom. I'd ring up a restaurant and say, Have you got a table? "Sorry sir, we're full booked." It's Paul McCartney here. "Oh! Certainly, Mr McCartney!" I've never been comfortable with it.

It seemed like you were uncomfortable with The Beatles' legacy for most of your time with Wings.

The thing about Wings was we bought into the myth that it could never be as good as The Beatles. I knew it was the world's most difficult thing to bite off. Everything we did was in the shadow of The Beatles, which had recently been this phenomenal band. So we did everything with quite a lot of paranoia. And it's only on looking back, that I think we did a lot of great work. You look at '76, we have this big, big tour, and at first everyone wants to know, "Is this gonna be a Beatles reunion? It's rumored that McCartney blah-blah-blah, George Harrison and Ringo Starr are going to join him on-stage, and John Lennon blah-blah-blah." So it was rumoured The Beatles were going to re-form. Even in our most successful year they were taking our success off us. It was, "Well maybe The Beatles will re-form, that would be good." But the great thing was that three weeks into the tour it was suddenly, "Who cares?" It doesn't matter. This is a great band. And at the end of it we go and set some big world record. So that's good to see. We did this thing that we set out to do. And we needn't have worried.

[miss-tarja]

Iridiscent (Ch. 7)

Pirate! Miguel O'Hara x Mermaid! Reader

Previous Series Masterlist

WARNINGS: Mysticism included, mentions of religious practices such as Palo Mayombe and it's elements, mild gore, emotional distress, terrible sailing weather, mystic elements, hints of trauma, injuries, Historical innacurracy for the sake of the plot.

Summary: Freedom comes with a high price.

A/N: Missed our grumpy pirate? I did <3. The highlighted terms with bold have a brief description of meaning. Thanks for sticking with this story c:

Although the haunting presence of Constantino had long abandoned the ship, and the now free men got themselves to clean up the battle's aftermath as best as they could, there were still traces of him that refused to abandon El Aquelarre. They clutched his ship in desperate tugs of subtlety that made even the most skeptical of men to turn his eyes in discomfort at the sight.

The key Peter gave him opened nothing else but his personal headquarters. The foul smell of rotten herbs and other revolting odors, greeted those brave enough to peek inside El Brujo's memoirs and personal safe space.

An assorted variety of glass jars full of things Miguel couldn't name even if his life depended on it, nested snugly in a fine dark wooden shelf, the tags with their content long faded from the constant use. But their smell either burned his nostrils, or seduced him enough to tempt him to open the jars and their contents. However logic and his common sense, prevailed.

His brain told him to not delve into things he couldn't comprehend, despite the title of a non-believer. As contradictory as it was, he believed in mermaids, cause he had seen one, but his mind still refused to acknowledge magic in any sort of form. Miguel didn't believe in anything he couldn't see.

He didn't believe in invisible things that controlled his fate at whims. He believed in choices and their consequences. In facts, things he could count and feel, not legends that varied their version everytime someone spoke them out loud, to inflict fear in those hearts that still debated in whether to believe or not.

"Shit..." Peter murmured, nonplussed and severely uncomfortable upon the hideosity that stumbled before his nervous eyes. Miguel followed his line of sight and his stomach churned with such a heavy discomfort, that bile menaced to rise up in the back of his throat.

If the jars with the unknown and fetid smelling ingredients made him queasy, these ones in particular had him nauseous.

A couple of brown eyes floated within a jar, and by the looks of the tender and still colored tendons around them, Miguel took his best guess that they were a fresh addition to the madman's lurid collection. The tongue came next, it made him marvel and scrunch his nose in disgust upon realizing how long the organ actually was.

Other vital parts remained sealed in crystal clear jars. His red eyes menaced to pop out of their socket as he stepped back when a heart, a human heart, beat despite no source of life attached to it. As if someone had squeezed enough to give the last show of spark before the unsettled pirate.

"¿Qué mierda?..." The captain murmured, disturbed, with his fist clenching in a meek attempt of keeping his composure, as Peter pulled him away from that specific shelf, equally perturbed if not more. (What the fuck)

The rest of the men had been long gone as they couldn't stomach whatever horrors they had witnessed. Some ran away to alleviate the sudden and gnawing discomfort into the sea.

Hobie's morbid curiosity was sated and crushed as soon as he also saw the beating organ. For a minute he truly believed he had inhaled too much tar smoke to the point of it messing with his perception.

"What kind of bloody madman was that git?" The lanky and pierced man spoke as he searched through the least rotten herbs, hoping to find something that would calm the burn in his wounded arm. Carrillo had thrown him on the jagged and piping hot splinters, earning him a couple of mean scrapes and burns.

"Someone that truly believed he had powers but was merely a delusional murderer." Explained Miguel as he wiped his nose from the pungent fragrance of a sickly sweet-smelling stick.

"Woah, woah. Don't touch anything!" Peter warned but Hobie huffed, rummaging through the various baskets of greens and bones.

"Relax, mate. I'm looking fo' aloe, my arm burns like hell. These santeros and shite use them to cure wounds. So he must've a piece somewhere."

"Constantino isn't a santero. He's a palero!" One of the men grumbled darkly in a thick accent, pointing at the sigils scribbled and painted through the room's walls with caution. Patipembas* drawn in every surface El Brujo's managed to. The man grabbed Hobie's hand as soon as it hovered over a rusty bucket full of sticks and human bones."Don't touch that!" (*Sygils used in Palo)

Everyone stilled and their skin crawled as the man made a cross sign over himself and the rest. Hobie just quirked a brow, confused and frustrated. His respect for religion had gone south for good a long time ago.

"What? Just'a bunch of bones and-"

"Shh! Shh!" The man reprimanded him, "It's not that. It's an nganga.*"

There was a collective round of 'a what' from the men gathered, even Miguel who looked at the man with critical and confused eyes. Palero, Santero, brujo, all were the same deceivers for him. However, the pirate had to admit that the symbols and elements reminded him of the rites Adia sometimes participated in back in the hacienda, behind Guillermo's back. Even Fermin had his own customs before sailing.

"A Nganga. It's the central piece of the ritual. Without it, there is no rite." Explained the man as he pointed the grim object. "They're receptacles for the nkisi.* (*Spirits)

"Ya speak as if we're actually understanding, Oba." huffed Hobie, equally upset and spooked at the eerie aura the various wooden carved statues, heavy with a bunch of indented nails, oozed from the corners of the makeshift altar.

The man in question rolled his eyes. "I was a palero." Oba rolled up his sleeves and showed small scars in the shape of crosses in some parts of his arms, "Salazar wasn't. He didn't get scarred. I searched whatever left from his body."

"So all of this is for shit and giggles?" Miguel frowned

"No, no." Oba shook his head, he wouldn't be past his mid twenties, "All these things are part of rituals, captain. But bad things happen if you practice Palo without a Tata's* permission. It's not for everyone."

"Tata?" Peter repeated with a light giggle, the word too funny-sounding to ignore, yet his brain turned hazy with the confusing terms and information the more Oba talked.

"*A Palo priest. You think they let anyone in? No. If you aren't allowed in, is cause your spirit, fate, everything in you does not match the principles of Palo Mayombe. And what happened to Salazar is the proof! He used Palo for his own benefit without permission. You don't mess with the mpungu* and leave unscathed." (*Gods)

"A'ight. Got it, none touches this place." Hobie grabbed the so needed piece he was looking for and smiled, "Startin' now."

"I'd leave this place if I was you-"

Miguel however had stopped paying attention, too busy and enthralled at the sight before him that the rest turned a blur of muffled voices and shapes behind him. His eyes, remained a bit too long on a precious blue colored jar, within, the most enchanting, large, and iridiscent scales he had ever seen rested at the bottom along the same pearl that caused a fight back in the docks against Edward Low, surrounded by a thin layer of flesh, as if it was forcefully pried away. A couple of crimson droplets tainted them.

A surge of disbelief and rising anger ran through his being. Constantino had dared to pluck tiny parts of yourself as a wretched souvenir for his atrocious museum of horrors. These findings only cracked even further his skeptical walls, leaving room for doubt to seed in. What if Salazar had actually gained some sort of power to bind you? How did he find you? More importantly, how did he trapped you?

If anything, Miguel believed Olivares was insane to the point of feeding himself with lies and legends that supposedly granted him authority over the unseen and unknown, nurturing that delusion of being a messenger of the dark magic he devoted himself to.

Miguel had heard rumors about Salazar being a paranormal confidant and consultant to none other but royalty. It wouldn't surprise him if people recurred to these practices in exchange of something. A selfish wish in quid pro quo of something so sacred as a life.

Black candles that adorned the rest of the shelves were half consumed, some flickered faintly with the little breeze seeping in, dried herbs and dessicated little crawlers remained haphazardly through the altar, the small skulls that Miguel hoped they didn't come from where he imagined, laid either broken in pieces or whole through the table, marked with melted black candle wax and more sigils engraved onto them.

Oba kept explaining the Palo's functions to Peter, that somehow regretted in prying further on the gruesome details on how Olivares had tarnished the reputation and the usage of the religion to his wretched whims.

But in truth Miguel couldn't care less about it, his synapses were working the information in his brain, making sense of so many things he had seen back at the bilge. Like the missing scales in some parts of your fin, the scratches and holes in it, he didn't have to imagine who dragged you inside as his eyes wandered briefly over Carrillo's charred body.

Hopefully the shaman back at Isla del Sol, would help. He didn't know what would she do, but her intervention was a must, curiously, the shaman was the only one that somehow had gained her ounce of respect from the pirate, cryptic and annoying as she was.

Miguel had so many questions and so many unsolved reproach surrounding your mere existence. So many why's and little answers left him sighing and his shoulders tensing.

None of those answers would come if he didn't take you to the capable hands that undoubtedly would mock him for his initial skepticism. He held the key tighter on his hand, and threw it in his pocket. A sudden rush of panic coursed through him upon remembering something important.

Mierda

His hands palmed deeper into his pockets, alarmed as panic rose once more, but as quick at it came, it disappeared when his hands touched the fine chain of the locket, crunching softly under his caress. His lips exhaled, relieved and his eyes closed for a moment. He'd definitely need a better place to keep it before he mislay it for good. He couldn't afford to lose Gabriella again.

"You okay?" Peter mumbled, watching him through wary eyes. The initial discomfort had made everyone uneasy, but Miguel seemed particularly affected, some of his color had drained from his rich cinnamon flesh.

Miguel nodded, watching the milieu for a moment. His men worked, some pushed the bodies out the board, leaving a soon to be gone trail behind. Others, searched through the bodies and wiped the human gunk out the way. Many washed the blood, ashes and gunpowder soiling the dark planks of the deck.

Freedom wasn't exactly pretty, but as long as it remained in their side, the circumstances of it's origin mattered little. Some of his crew even wore merry smiles as they cleared up the deck in high spirits, chanting even despite the gore surrounding them. Celebrating a well deserved fresh start after years of imprisonment and whipping.

Nostalgia flooded his brain with memories of his old crew, but the bitter recollection of some of them holding a resentful glare as they marooned him, had marked his trust and shook the core of his morals. Guarding his trust from those new in his presence.

Miguel only hoped the sea would also be a steady ally as his knees quivered, the elegant wounds Olivares gave him, and the battle's weight on his shoulders, finally caught up with his stamina, depleting it completely. Sending him to stagger next to a now concernedmerchant.

"Hey!, Hey, pal. It's ok, I've got you." Peter muttered as he hooked one of Miguel's heavy arms over his sore shoulders, before he could collapse completely. Some splinters still remained into the captain's skin. "C'mon." Peter hauled him to lean over him, "Need a doctor over here!"

It was the last thing Miguel heard before letting darkness and the ache in his body to claim him.

Papa

Faint blurs of a smile smudged behind his eyes, glimpses of those gorgeous brown eyes he inherited her, stared back at him, with curiosity and a smile that disarmed him every time he came home after weeks in the sea. They blinked, expectant.

Papa, wake up!

The peppering smell of tar became a bit too much for his senses, overwhelming him as the smile disappeared, morphing into this gruesome row of bleeding, sharp teeth, devouring a familiar man. Elliot.

His heart leaped in his quivering ribcage while the half eaten man reached to him, begging with his semi devoured hand to stop the munches on the bleeding carcass his body was turning. But before what was left of his hand touched him, the yellowish row of human teeth sprawled before him in a cruel smile.

Shapes and blurred motions jumbled together in the shape of none other but Constantino, plunging with a forceful thrust his rapier deep in his chest as he cackled. Unleashing the revolting smells that mutinied in his overwhelmed senses.

Miguel's eyes blinked so hard and fast he saw lights dancing before him, his hand immediately clutched his chest. Heaving breathlessly.

"Cap's awake!" Shouted Oba, squeezing the excess of water from a rag.

Miguel on the other hand, rushed, although with uneven steps, towards a bucket. Emptying the unhealthy dose of discomfort the nightmare gave him. The smells, Contantino's cackle, and the rough careening from the ship didn't help his nausea.

His body glimmered with the thin layer of sweat from the quick fever that took over him. Leaving his brain a puddle, his mind in shards and his lungs demanding for air. Much for his dismay, the same oxygen he breathed and coursed through his body, was plagued with  the scent of some herbs he and his men found back at Olivares' altar.

Oba, the palero, or so Miguel recalled, brought him a goblet with water.

"You talk in your sleep." The young man pointed with a concerned stare as Miguel gulped down the contents. The coolness of the vital liquid quenched not only his thirst, but also the persistent and burning sensation travelling up and down his throat.

"Drink this." Oba offered a small shell full with a green-ish liquid, "It's not poison, that's fo' sure." He chuckled, and Miguel drank, only to spit the sip he had gotten with a soured face.

"What the fuck is this?" He grumbled, disgusted at the flavor, and Oba pursed his lips, supressing a laugh

"Burdock, oregano, cedron, and cinnamon. You got a fever, Cap. And turns out Olivares had a good bunch of medicine hidden under the altar." Oba offered the concoction again, and Miguel didn't have much choice but to drink it in a go. God or the universe forbid him to get sick. Not when he was so close in getting the answers he needed.

Another violent wave shook the room, and Oba held onto the bed frame. Peter, Hobie, and a small group of men entered, all keen eyes set on him, expectant of their new course.

The herbaceous smell remained on him, as little pecks of a green paste adorned the cuts El Brujo's had given him.

"You need to follow your own advice of keeping yourself alive, pal." Chuckled Peter as he offered a clean chemise to the pirate. "The men were scared you didn't make it."

Miguel huffed and wore the piece of clothing, covering the bandages and healing wounds from curious eyes. He stretched; some muscles popped back to their rightful place.

"Oba." Said man stared at him, "How much medicine do we have left?"

"Enough to get by until next docking, cap."

"Were the injured men treated?"

"Yes, sir."

Miguel nodded approvingly as he secured the belt around his hips; his new weapons, which had rested next to his bed, were now sheathed on each side of him.

"The sea is still angry, sir." One of the men mumbled, a bit fearful.

"Righteously so, we keep throwing Spaniard trash in it. How many men are there left in total?"

"Total twenty. In good condition fifteen."

"Five injured and fifteen good... Difficult but doable." Miguel mumbled as he weighed his options. "Just beg we survive the storms, and trouble doesn't find us." With a roll of his shoulders, he stepped out of the room ready to see the task ahead through.

He wouldn't leave the men's hope hanging, not when their help was vital in completing his own goal. Selfish, perhaps, but it was the only way available for him at the moment.

He truly couldn't care less what the men did once they docked, as there were always willing daredevils ready to risk their lives for a good feel of life, money, and adventure. He'd get more. Besides, he'd understand if most decided to never come back, as a peaceful life on land was too tempting to go back into a hellish existence aboard a stolen ship.

The salty air filled his lungs vigorously, sparking the all-too-familiar commanding voice he used. Captain O'Hara gathered the men and divided the tasks. Hobie was in charge of the canons and explosives along with another group. Oba indisputably got the title as the doctor. Others dispersed into smaller but still important tasks.

However, one of the challenges piled up in his list made itself present as a thunderous boom echoed through the quickly greying skies. He'd have to teach as much and fast as he could on how to manipulate the sails, ropes, and rigs to those remaining. A properly timed movement could mean the ship's and it's inhabitants salvation.

He sent the most skilled men in climbing to the masts and instructed them through teaching the most basic of functions. Miguel barked orders and instructions, despite the soft breeze hardening by each second.

The ship shook and groaned at the wave's restless pace.

"Batten down the hatches!" Miguel barked, and some just looked at him confused.

Dios mio...

"Fuck," he grumbled, shaking his head; it'd be a miracle if he actually made it alive. "Tie everything down! A fucking storm is coming!"

The men quickly scurried to secure everything in sight. Ropes flew here and there, and orders kept flowing, sometimes drowning under the rattling thunders.

Miguel moved through stations, making sure the knots on the ropes were tight; he'd have to keep simple terms for the men under his command, despite the experience in him fighting to escape his mouth.

A wave sent the galley tipping violently to the left. Some men fell, and others held tightly to the secured canons. But Miguel knew this was just the beginning. He had seen storms so violent it felt as if he wouldn't live to tell.

But this one in particular was dark, grim, and violent. Doubt beat for a second in his heart as his eyes didn't find a single trace of blue in the clouds, just endless grey and black, darkening by each passing second. A booming thunder cracked, illuminating the men briefly.

"Waves on sight, cap!" One of the men up in the mast yelled, and Miguel's Adam's apple bobbed.

Giant waves weren't his favorite; in fact, they frightened him, but there was no time for fearing as it was only one way of standing against them. Without wasting a second longer, he ran towards the steering wheel and turned El Aquelarre face to face with the upcoming wave.

"Are you mad?!" Hobie's unsettled voice rang behind him as he held onto whatever surface he could grab. "That wave is gonna kill us!"

"I'm saving us!" Grunted the pirate as the galley groaned and trembled under their feet. His hand clutched the steering wheel with all the strength he could muster. "Tell everyone to hold tight, and when the wave hit us, crouch!"

The thunder cracked and whipped the sky, letting a flashing spectacle of blinding lights to rule over for a second, enough time for some men to lose their grip in their anchors and fall down, rolling onto the moaning and quivering deck.

" No, no! Hold on tight!" Roared Miguel, Peter found his own secure heaven within the base of the main rigs, his hand stretched over some of the fallen men, aiding them to take a hold.

The angry winds blew, stretching the sails in their full might, pushing El Aquelarre faster and forward to it's newfound enemy. It was as if Aeolus purposely blew over, messing with Amphitrite's calm, awakening her once appeased wrath, reminding her of what Zeus' offsprings had done to one of her children, and the trembling ship was caught in the middle of a family feud.

"Take cover!" Yelled Miguel from the top of his lungs as the unforgiving rain began pouring. Whipping flesh and every surface it could reach with stinging and gelid splatters.

The men watched horrified as the ship's tip groaned as it rose against the tidal wave, slanting back, menacing to turn upside down. Yet Miguel stood his ground as best as he could, for a second the wave's height and gravity swooped him off his feet, only to force him down, again on the slippery surface, nearly tripping over his own feet.

The screams of a man falling down against the captain's quarters doors made him turn his eyes elsewhere before he caught the gruesome sight of a lose canon falling on top of him, crushing his body. One less men.

How many more would he lose to appease the sea? He didn't know and refused to believe such thing or act like Constantino. It was just weather, a terrible weather that was costing his men.

El Aquelarre shook and the captain's eyes widened on the loud crack echoing through the ship as soon as the fore and bowsprit touched the enraged sea once more. They had survived the first wave.

The sea conceded them a moment of peace, but in truth it was only preparing to charge once again.

"Tie that cannon down!" roared Miguel as he struggled to keep the course steady, but the wheel had stuck, making the ship to detour to the left. "Fuck!"

Peter didn't think twice and rushed, next to Miguel's side to try and unstuck the steer.

"It's fucking stuck!"

"No shit, Parker!" Grunted Miguel pulling back with all his might, "if we turn completely to the left, we'll die!"

"Then fucking pull back, pal! I don't want my wife to contact me from the living just to scold me for being an idiot!"

With a growl Miguel pulled as the ship leaned upwards once more, the rushing footsteps alerted him as Hobie joined the pulling party. Their combined efforts managed to release the wheel in a rough spin.

The captain managed to hold the steer and pivoted the ship straight before it turned completely to the left, and have the wave tumble the ship completely.

Part of the cold and unforgiving waters doused the deck, wiping some men from their spots and dragging them to the board, another fell down to the sea, leaving him with a crew of thirteen.

"Puta madre, ya cálmate!" (Chill the fuck down)

Squawked Miguel angrily to the sea, letting his frustration to run unfiltered, chastising like he would with his old lover whenever she got too whiny and childlike over the littlest of things, just for the sake of annoying him. And much to his relief, the sea listened, albeit reluctantly.

The waters slowly lost strength despite their irritation, whipping the rear of the ship in a final resentful protest, sending everyone to lurch forward. Miguel stumbled against the steer as Hobie and Peter crashed against the steering wheel's board.

It was a little price to pay for their peace. The foreign cheers and claps echoed though, celebrating another day of staying in this earth. They had survived.

For how long though?

Miguel sighed and passed a hand over his face. Although one problem had been scratched off the dangers list, so many more were to come. Other pirates, pivateers, English navy, more storms and waterspouts were next. All of them potential risks to take into consideration.

Hopefully Amphithrite's ire had sated with the offering of Constantino himself, or maybe it had caused the opposite effect and it unleashed the enormous waves towards them. The captain didn't know anymore. But Miguel was certain he needed to remain alive until Sunny Island came into view. And given the compass' direction,  half a day of voyage remained.

Contradictory as it was, he was glad his old crew marooned him nearby the Havana. Circumstances always seemed to favor him. The day had started and they already had survived two of the biggest waves he has seen in his life. Although his mind was too temped to ask himself what else could go wrong, he limited himself to be grateful enough to live for a couple of  hours more.

Never in his life he'd feel more relieved as soon as the only man with a little experience at sailing, screamed those words he longed to hear.

"Land A'hoy!"

He took the spyglass from Hobie's hands and took a peek, as if reassuring himself the man in the mast wasn't lying. His lips stretched in a relieved smile as soon as he saw the familiar multicolored flag with a black circle in it, waving proudly through the touting wind.

Finally his nerves would stop tensing and making a mess out of his thoughts at the near miss he had in the remaining voyage. If it hadn't been for Olivares' ship, with the Spaniard flag, they all would've ended up on a ship with a course to England, awaiting trial and hanging for piracy.

But fate had twisted ways, to make even his most despicable allies to aid him, one way or another.

"Tie the canons! Rise those sails, prepare for docking!" Barked the captain.

Some men couldn't help but give each other a heartfelt hug, others cried and cheered upon seeing the distant dock.

"Anwé!" Miguel called and said a young man peeked his head from the mast's post.

"Aye, sir?"

"Get me that flag down, boy."

Hobie smirked, barely containing his excitement as the ship soon approached to dock.

A wave of pride ran through Miguel's chest upon seeing the shock and disbelief in the other sailor's faces as the black ship, emerged from the sun's dying golden rays, like a black hole materializing before their very eyes.

Naturally the rest of the pirates readied their weapons as the ship docked. It wouldn't be much when Sheng Hyun, Toussaint and Xavier made their appearances, alarmed that a foe galley arrived. Salazar was a known privateer to anyone that ended up in Isla del Sol. And now, much to everyone's disbelief, Miguel rose the bloodied Spaniard flag high.

"Mon dieu" Mumbled Toussaint, widening his eyes at the realization. And if it wasn't enough proof, Miguel stepped out, wearing one of Contantino's rapiers on his hip, Hobbie wore Olivares' famous black feather hat.

"¿Q-Qué hiciste Miguel?" (W-What you've done?)

Asked Xavier, recognizing right away the hat. Miguel didn't know if it was concern or excitement in his purest of forms that the fellow Spaniard pirate experienced.

"Un enorme favor a todos. Where is Tlali?" (A hell of a favor to all of us.)

"She's on her hut. She's meditating, you know how she gets when she gets interrupted while doing so!" warned Edward.

"I need to see her-"

"Can you forget about her for a second? You fucking killed Olivares! O-li-va-res! You know what that means?!" Xavier shook Miguel by the shoulders as he took the infamous rapier in his hand, smirking with evident delight as he rose it in victory.

"Constantino Salazar de Olivares... is no more! ¡¡El Brujo está muerto!!" (El Brujo is dead)

The uproar was nearly defeaning, as all pirate gathered that listened, cheered and roared upon the news. Their hunter, their living nightmare in the shape of a devilish spaniard man devoted to spirits and gods, was gone.

Miguel took Edward and Toussaint to a more quiet place and spoke "My men helped. I just weakened him enough for my crew to deliver the final blow."

"Still, you do realize who you fought against, didn't you? Don't be modest, O'Hara. It's not suitable for a demon to be soft."

Miguel chuckled and shook his head. "Many won't even get on that ship again, and truly, I can't blame them after the hell we faced. Could you tend to them? Treat the ill and feed them all?"

"It shall be done." Nodded Edward, "Any man that brings us peace will drink and eat at our table."

"Before you give them women," he pointed at Toussaint with an accusatory finger, "The white man with a stupid-looking face and English uniform, is married and with a child. Don't bother him." Warned Miguel as he made his way towards the shaman's hut.

Toussaint lifted his hands in defense with a mischievous smile on his face as he saw Miguel leaving. "Understood, my friend. No women for the white boy."

Miguel's steps rushed, and soon he began jogging towards the hut; he saw the ever-familiar smoke spilling out the makeshift chimney of the shaman's home.

"Tlali!" He called, "Tlali!" Miguel barged in through the coral and bone curtain, only to find incense's smoke filling the space. "¿Dónde se ha metido?" (Where did she go?)

He searched in the two bedrooms but found nothing but freshly picked spines from a fish's leftovers.

Qué maña de desaparecer, Dios mio. (what a freaking habit for disappearing)

Miguel surrounded the hut to see if she was somewhere else, but to no avail. His steps guided him back to the dock, surely he will find her later, but hopefully alone.

The sun finally died behind the orange hues, torches were lit along the way, some stray dogs followed him, earning some quick pets from him, before returning to the ship. The men were gone, leaving a black yet elegant carcass behind.

He'd think about what to do with it later, and the little museum within. He was sure Tlali would do something useful out of it. Even the merchants. But right now his mind was focused in a single target, reaching to you.

He didn't know how you were, and hopefully that storm didn't shake your tank too much.

His steps turned left, right, left again, and twice to the right, specifically on that hidden passageway he found. The sea was so calm he could barely feel it moving. He stopped here and there to see if there were any lagging men that rather the comfort of the ship's barracks than the outside. But thankfully, they were all gone. Even Peter, Hobie, Oba and Anwé.

Miguel went through the passage, lighting up the faroles in the way, creating a dim atmosphere, as he made it to your room, but stopped in his tracks.

The iron and coppery smell was so pungent he took a step back; a sniff echoed behind the door. Usually the bilge water had other unpleasant smells, but not copper, much less iron. His heart's pace quickened as he rushed towards the door.

The heavy object behind the wooden door wasn't an obstacle for him to push with all his might, only to hear a deafening and skin-crawling breaking. Glass was breaking.

No...

He pushed enough to push himself in, and nothing but darkness and muffled silent cries received him. He quickly searched for where the blue resin stones were, nearly tripping at the musty ropes haphazardly placed around, but eventually he found it. The only thing standing after the storm.

Miguel took the resin stones and clashed them together, earning a flickering blue hue that barely reached beyond his feet. The resin stones were wet; hence, they didn't produce much flame. But the light was enough to point out something he had missed the first time he was in this place. A farole etched to the wall, Miguel took a nearby stick and tore part of his chemise to wrap it around the makeshift torch.

Then, lit it up with one of the hall's faroles and returned. As soon as he also lit up the lone lamp, a column of fire spread through the ceiling, following a straight pattern until it reached a round giant lamp that immediately blazed with fire, and for a minute, Miguel wished to be blind, to have a heart of stone, and to be immune to the sight before him.

Your tank was broken.

The floor, usually humid, was now wet with a sticky and fiery copper smell, and his eyes didn't take long in identifying the source of it. His legs quivered as his eye followed the crimson trail leading up towards a fin. Your fin. 

Maldito perro... (fucker)

His mind rumbled with the several insults it came up with when referring to Salazar. Miguel’s chest stirred with a grievous feeling he wished he could erase from within, because that’d mean feeling free of guilt. If he would’ve released you sooner, you wouldn’t be under the several pieces of glass splinters, wounding your body. You would be safe and sound, a bit beaten but still safe and in one piece. Not like this.

Shame no longer mattered in your features; it only left a place for a quietness so still and dead, Miguel could hear his own heart beating through his ribcage until a soft, painful moan crushed it.

Your head laid on top of the tank’s shard-less edges as the rest hunched and curled against it. A wooden beam had trapped your torso, unabling you to move. From what he could gather, he supposed the beam fell on top of you when the tank collapsed. The hook Carrillo pierced through had torn through the base and sliced it remorselessly in half.

The storm

He blinked, remembering that lurid crack that rumbled through the ship. It hadn’t been the ship’s carcass breaking as he initially thought, but your tank. The storm had been powerful enough to send the glass container tumbling over and crashing across the floor. 

Your clawed hand twitched, and Miguel approached warily; his hands trembled, but the need to remove that hefty-looking beam off you was a must. Even if you survived, he hoped you wouldn’t munch over him like you did with Elliot. 

Scared, and with anxious hands, he pushed the rotting beam off your body, earning a deep and loud wheeze from you that instantly turned into a deafening wail as soon as air filled in your lungs.

Miguel covered his ears from the acute ringing in his eardrums and began picking up other debris that had fallen over you, clearing as much as he could from the troubling sight. As soon as his hands grazed the scales in the midsection of your tail, his skin crawled upon hearing you, or rather your fear mixed with anger, loud and clear.

“Get your wretched hands off me!” 

He stopped, like time, like his breathing and every single thought running rampant in his brain. Was he dreaming? Was this a joke from the universe he had yet to understand? So far he was told that mermaids didn’t talk, that the sole purpose of their mouths was to lure men to their inevitable deaths with heaven-like chants. Not talking. 

Not giving him a simple yet meaningful order as you tried to crawl away from him with a primal fear oozing from whatever surface it could escape, like the blood within your veins. His mere presence caused such a terrible and obvious turmoil within you that he had to gulp down with difficulty the overgrown lump in his throat.

Realization finally fell in the pit of his stomach like a heavy brick, packed with a myriad of emotions he couldn’t properly sort. Not only were mermaids real, but they also cried, bled, and talked. 

You could speak. 

And hated him.

Taglist:

@nerdykat @munixumai @raiirai @sarapaprikas-blog @deputy-videogamer @rizahawkeye1380 @littlenyx @marit332 @iz-iplier @mad-hatter-rici @viriexo @obi-mom-kenobi @allysunny @lishdfish @not-ur-average-fangirl @freehentai @darksidecorner @winteringfalls @ellasarich @eustashh @nyxismoon @murnsondock @pluviophilis @oooof-ifellforyou @oharasmommymilkers00 @plusultrayokai @teacoffeeflavored @ctizu1 @dickfartcheesy @s0lm1n @vonev @iwumrndbm @azuredragonstrike @Iyykeyyy @arrozyfrijoles23 @frompeach @ghostlyworld @liamdasimp @straw-berry-ghoul @migshusben @nediks @fayeofthenightingale @gedankenmoon  

[thesupernaturalhouse]

Sooo kinda been talking about this au but wanted to actually summarize what it was and stuff cause there is no context- jsut like, headcanons and stuff for the au- I am gonna write it, jsut gitta get started soooo for now I'm jsut gonna talk about it lol

Anyways, the Hazbins Fallen au is a fallen Emily au, but uh, jsut a bit different-

So essentially Emily is tired of being treated as a kid, tired of being called lucifers replacement and all that, she just git out if a fight with Sera and.....sees some angles leaving, que her confusion

Due tit hat confusion she follows after them through the portal before it closes, she.....was not prepared for the scene infront of her, luckily she landed in a low populated area but the mroe she walked the more screams could be heard

The sight....isn't very pretty, blood splattered and angles standing over demons dead bodies and her fight or flight kicks in and she jsut runs, she doesn't understand what's happening and surely Sera will right? She tries to find Adam, or Lute, because she's to panicked to make a proper portal and.....well, finds them in the akkyway with Vaggie, que her running around the corner and nearly throwing up because how could they do that, why woukd they jsut rip off someone's wings liek that?

She doesn't realize when the senseless slaughter ends and the angles leave. She does end up slowly going back to that ally because she wasn't going to jsut leave her and kinda just, meakly waves at chalrie and Vaggie liek 'heyyyy you uh....you good-'

Charlie goes home with two stray cats that day to put it simply-

So yeah Charlie woukd know their both angles, she doesn't care, their hers now. Emily does end up getting a disguise via putting her magic in this necklace to make one, as long as she wears it no one can tell she's an angle

She did want to go back up to heaven but....not anymore, especially not after spending some time with them- she's kinda scared of Sera now, scared she'll take her away from them

Yes this is charlie x vaggie x Emily btw- ypu can tell its my favorite ship lately huh?

I already kinda have their designs, not redrawn but liek, my version of their Canon designs (and I guess my og design if Ems disguise-) But I'm gonna draw them digitally first so I can add color then share 'em

[veritas-scribblings]

disagree / challenge - @jegulus-microfic - words: 972

The door slams behind Regulus. 

James is left standing alone in an empty room in the apartment he shares with Sirius. He doesn’t quite know how they got here. He doesn’t quite know what they’d been arguing about or when the switch had happened, because they’d been holding each other on the couch a moment ago. There had been kisses involved, some friendly jibes, and James had been showing Regulus Sirius’s record collection.

It had been lovely. James had been happy. Thinking to himself, how lucky am I? Thinking, isn’t this wonderful? And, let’s stay like this forever.

And then somehow—he just isn’t sure how—an argument had started, and Regulus had yelled at him, and James had been so taken off-guard that he’d snapped back.

And now Regulus is gone. 

And James just really, really, really wants him to come back. However, if his experience with Blacks are anything to go by—if Sirius can be used as a point of reference—Regulus is just going to need his time and his space. Time and space are precious commodities for Blacks, who very frequently have control taken out of their hands. They can’t be forced to so anything before they’re ready, or they snap and they bite and there are wounds. 

‘Tough break,’ Peter says. He drops down onto the couch next to James and offers him a Bertie Bott.

James wrinkles his nose, because, what are they? Ten? Regulus is unpredictable enough. James doesn’t need his food to be equally unpredictable.

Peter shrugs, pops a bean into his mouth and dramatically gags. He doesn’t spit it out, though. He swallows. James would have a dirty, witty quip about that, normally, but he’s not in the mood. 

‘Hey,’ Peter says, thoughtful. ‘You know when Moony and Padfoot started dating, and they’d always be getting into fights and Sirius would be just doing really shit things? And we were like, what gives? You’ve been…excuse the pun…mooning over Moony for ages and now you’re being an asshat?’ 

James sighs. Peter can never take the direct route to a point, and James is so very tired of the scenic route. He’d like to be infantilised, please. Break it to him easy. Treat him like an idiot. No fucking riddles, thank you very much. 

‘Yes,’ James says, and he hopes that the stress he pours into the word is enough for Peter to just…be fucking direct.

‘Strange that,’ is all that Peter says, and then rifles around in the bag of beans for something that looks vaguely safe. It’s pink. Possibly candy floss.

‘I’ve had a long day, Wormtail, please just get to the point.’ James takes off his glasses, rubs his eyes, hoping that being just a little bit exaggerated about it all gets his point across. 

The bean obviously isn’t candy floss, because Peter wrinkles his nose as he chews and swallows. ‘You’ve read the Sirius Black manual. Think of Regulus as a…smaller, meaner version of Sirius. When Sirius and Remus were having trouble, what did you say?’

James blinks. Frowns. ‘Stop being a git?’

‘Actually, I think the specific words you used were, “stop being a dick head”, but no. After that. What did you say?’

James groans, dropping his head into his hands, because..well, he gets it. They took the scenic route to the point, but they got there in the end and Peter looks damned smug about it all. He always does after dropping words of wisdom. Like he feels like Albus Dumbledore, taking your hand, guiding your way. 

When Peter pops a bean into his mouth, James can’t help the little spark of satisfaction he gets when Peter once more gags.

James waits exactly five hours before going to find Regulus. Probably not enough time, but he’s impatient and he’s been watching the clock. And he just wants to take Regulus in his arms, kiss him, and then tell Regulus he’s an idiot and very, very wrong and James isn’t going anywhere. 

He would have done exactly that, but when Regulus answers the door he still looks angry. The ‘I’ll bite your tongue off if you try to kiss me’ kind of angry. 

So James just says, ‘I’m not going anywhere, so you can stop.’ 

They haven’t been together long and it’s all still so very new to James: Regulus and Regulus’s person, and Regulus’s habits, and Regulus’s beliefs, and Regulus’s unique characteristics. James knows that the Sirius Black Handling Manual will get him partway, but he also knows that Regulus is different enough from Sirius that if James tried to literally call him out on things the way he does with Sirius…

…well, Regulus is enough of a bastard that he will probably actually leave and never come back. Or he’ll kill James. Whichever Regulus felt, that particular day, would be easier for him to deal with.

Regulus doesn’t say anything, just narrows his eyes and stares at James like he could set James on flames with sheer willpower. 

‘I’m not going anywhere,’ James says, very much heartened by the fact that Regulus has not slammed the door in his face. ‘I really like you. I might…’ James pauses, wants to say: I might actually love you, but he doesn’t want to scare Regulus. ‘I might…more than like you. And, couples fight. And, I think you’re worth it, that we’re worth it. You know.’

James wants to say, I believe in you. He wants to say, you deserve love, you’re worthy of it. He wants to say, you don’t need to test me, I won’t leave you.

But he doesn’t. Because while it works with Sirius, he knows it won’t work with Regulus. That to Regulus, actions speak louder, so James will just have to show him.

And not go anywhere.

[sitp-recs]

Hey! Happy October! Do you have any incredibly dark and long drarry recs that might fit the spirit of Halloween, if this makes sense?

Thank you for everything you do. May the spirits walk with you this month xx

Happy Spooky Season, anon 🎃👻 I love that theme and am always looking for more recs. You can also find scary goodies in old collections from @hphorrorfest | @hpdarkarts and @hd-cluefest. Hope you enjoy these, I’ve also included some brilliant shorts:

The Other Cottage by @corvuscrowned (T, 6k)

If Pansy wasn’t shagging Ginny Weasley, Draco would never have been dragged to Luna’s ridiculous Halloween party in the first place - meaning he wouldn't be sitting in the corner of the room with Harry Potter all night. But when a strange comet passes overhead, things start to get even weirder than usual.

Doppelganger by @writcraft (M, 7k)

It was just a silly dare, but one ill-advised trip into the Forbidden Forest changes Harry’s life forever.

Saltwater Stain by @the-starryknight (M, 9k)

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

At This Hour by disapparater (E, 10k)

Although he wants more, a nice meal and a good fuck might be all Harry can expect from Draco. But when Harry finds himself trapped inside a nightmarish version of Malfoy Manor he might get more than he bargained for.

And So Death Took by ICMezzo (E, 25k)

Fairy tales may soothe small children into slumber, but some stories themselves refuse to sleep. The Tale of Three Brothers, retold.

In Our Blood by secretsalex (E, 38k)

Draco is an accomplished pure-blood curse breaker, and Harry is tasked with accompanying him on his latest job—cleaning up the Van Boer mansion, which has been under a devastating fertility curse for seven generations.

What Shall Not Be Unearthed by @iero0 (E, 49k)

At the northernmost point of Shetland, surrounded by pointed cliffs, towers the Ootsta Lighthouse on a small isle in the middle of the open sea. Little does Harry know that he's not the only new lighthouse keeper. Draco Malfoy is as obnoxious as he always was, with his posh tone of voice and his luxury yacht jumpers. Harry tries his best to avoid the git—who knows what he's up to anyway?

Yours is the Earth (Hold On, Hold On) by chickenlivesinpumpkin (E, 125k)

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

Forgive Those Who Trespass by Lomonaaeren (E, 135k)

Harry Potter was convinced he had an ordinary, if inconvenient, life. Then Ron and Hermione vanished in the Department of Mysteries. And the only person who may know where they are is a mute Draco Malfoy.

Bonus: I’ll never not rec my all-time fave WIP:

In the Dark by @bixgirl1

In the aftermath of an apocalypse, Harry receives an order to find and bring Draco Malfoy nearly a thousand miles, to the tenuous safety of Hogwarts. But more than distance separates them from their goal. The world has fallen, and death is hungry.

[neverenoughmarauders]

Please tell me something about "For the dead travel fast" because I am guessing this is a WIP I will like very much 😬

Hello friend! I talked a little bit about it here, and I hope you will like it as it contains your favourite couple AND we even have Fabian (because why wouldn't I throw him in). But this is as good a chance as any to test whether I have captured the complicated mess that is Wolfstar.

'So,' said Sirius casually as Remus closed the door behind him, 'how's James?'

Remus stilled. 

'James?' 

Taking a deep breath, he turned to face his boyfriend.

'Scrawny git, messy hair, wears glasses.'

Sirius' tone was not nearly as light as his words: each syllable laced with impatience.

'What makes you think I've seen James?'

'Come off it,' Sirius snapped, all pretence vanishing. 'Jim crashes the car so that I am stuck here being miserable, and twenty hours or so later, he's still not been here to apologise?'

No, Sirius, I haven't been to see James... because, you see, nobody has seen him. Or Lily.

Remus couldn't get the words out. 

'He's hurt.' 

It came from Sirius, low and certain, as he studied Remus intently.

Remus shivered. The look in Sirius’ eyes was familiar, and yet completely foreign. Cold. Calculated. Dangerous. It was the expression he usually reserved for enemies. 

We don't know. 

Panic clawed its way through Remus as reality forced itself upon him. They had no idea if James or Lily were injured. The thought of admitting as much to anyone, let alone Sirius, was terrifying. It would make everything real, in a way nothing else—not even the abandoned car—had.

'He got out after the crash... I don't know if you remember,' said Remus, carefully. Not because he meant to keep anything from Sirius, but because he still couldn’t find the right words.

'That's not the same thing, which you know.'

Sirius had studied ancient Greek and Latin. He was fluent in words and nuances. Remus' omissions were child's play to him.

Remus let out a breath he did not know he'd been holding. The moment of truth, then-:

'We don’t know.' 

The words tasted wrong even as he said them. There was no good way of telling Sirius this. No gentle version of James is missing. No way to cushion the blow. No reassurance to offer. If there had been, Remus would have clung to them already.

'What do you mean?' Sirius’ brow furrowed. 

Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t this.

Of course not. No one ever imagines their best friend will vanish. No one thinks this will happen to them. Whatever this was. Abduction? Another accident?

Murder? A question that slithered in, uninvited.

'Nobody has seen James—or Lily—since they stayed behind with the wrecked car.'

'When you say "nobody" -' Sirius started. 

'I mean—nothing, Sirius,' Remus exhaled, exhaustion settling into his bones like frost. 

They were standing at a divide between two lives: the one they had lived, and a new one. Whatever came next, Remus had the horrible sensation that things would never be the same. 

'They've not been in touch... We've been driving up to the scene of the accident: The car is still there, but...'

Remus' voice trailed off.

'So they're just gone? Disappeared into thin air?' 

Remus didn't answer.

Sirius sat up: 'People don't just evaporate, Remus. So what do you and the others think happened? What lines are we investigating?'

Remus swallowed. Sirius really wasn't going to like the next bit either.

'I think you should sit down.' 

The change in Sirius’ tone caught Remus by surprise.

'Sorry?'

'Sit, Remus.'

Despite everything, Remus could hear the affection in Sirius' voice. It was his olive branch. 

Remus sank down, though he chose the sofa, rather than the edge of the bed. He wasn't sure he could be a good partner right now. The space helped keep things clinical, somehow. 

'Gideon reckons there is a chance that James was more injured than he let on—or was able to notice,' said Remus. 'Alice is checking the nearby hospitals.'

'I can believe the "able to notice" part,' Sirius agreed, looking thoughtful. 'That's happened before. But James... Not letting on being injured...' 

The comment was no doubt intended to lighten the mood a little, but it was Remus' turn to frown: 'I know what you're thinking, but there are two circumstances in which he would keep quiet. Both of which were present.'

'Evans, of course.' Sirius shook his head; then grimaced. Probably not the best thing to do with a concussion, Remus thought. But there was no point in saying anything. 

So much for "taking it easy" and "no strenuous" activities.

'Precisely,' agreed Remus.

'And...' Sirius started. 

He closed his eyes for a second as realisation must have dawned. 

'And us.'

'And us,' repeated Remus, his throat feeling tight, the memory of their disastrous Duke of Edinburgh expedition floating to the surface.

James would keep quiet if he was worried about their well-being. Which he would have been.

'Okay, well,' said Sirius. 'That tracks.' 

Except it didn't track. Sirius must have known that as well as Remus did. Why hadn't Lily contacted them, if James was in hospital?

'Any idea when Alice might know more?'

As it turned out, exactly at that moment. 

There was a knock on the door.

'He knows,' said Remus, as he opened it and Alice, Fabian, and Gideon stepped inside.

None of them sat.

Alice was trembling, even if only slightly. Remus had never seen her like this. Neither Fabian nor Gideon put a reassuring hand on her arm—and somehow, that was worse. Whatever they’d found out, it wasn’t good.

None of them met Remus’ eyes.

‘Either James is more injured than you feared,’ said Sirius, his voice deadly calm, ‘or we still have no idea where James and Ev-Lily are.’

Everyone in the room knew Sirius well enough not to be fooled by his tone. This was Sirius at his most lethal. This was Sirius being scared.

There was, of course, a third option for why the three would be acting this way, but not one that Sirius, or Remus, would acknowledge. 

Alice shook her head: 'Nothing. Wherever they are, they're not at a hospital.'

There was more.

[drarryspecificrecsdaily]

2024.08.01

Complete fics posted on AO3 this day

1. Come In, the Water's Lovely by @wolfpants [E, 3k]

►In the lush wilderness of Madeira, Harry and Draco reunite.

2. like recognises like by @insomnicazu [T, 4k]

►when potter starts acting exactly like draco before his transition, draco needs to do something. he has to know what terms to use when insulting potter, of course.

3. Meet me at Midnight by ProseMary [T, 15k]

►After days of stalking, Harry overheard Malfoy talking about an important meeting in Prefect's bathroom at midnight. Naturally, he came there to spy. It didn't turn out quite the way he wanted.

4. The power of the chosen mate by Witch1511 [?, 7k]

►His father's past comes to haunt him, but Draco finds refuge in an unexpected Alpha.

5. The Road To Here by @toxikgato [M, 9k]

►Harry's not sure when exactly he went from wanting to break Malfoy's face whenever he saw him to wanting to stuff him full with his pups, but if he were to make an educated guess, he'd say it was about... five minutes after he figured out what wanking was. But still, he was a rational human, he could fight Malfoy during the day and then wank to images of Draco during the night, it was a perfect system… Right until he presented as an alpha and all of his repressed desires bursted out of him like a dam breaking.

6. Sweet Heart, Bitter Blood by syringe [M, 5k] 💗

►Draco is Harry Potter- no, Harry Riddle's betrothed. Together, they summon a version of Harry from an alternate universe where he joined the Order of the Phoenix to kill him and stop him from ever defeating Voldemort in his world. The plan goes to shit when the ritual summons another version of Draco along with him. Turns out the fearsome Harry Riddle's massive soft spot for Draco transcends dimensions.

---

Fest/Exchange

1. every scrap of you (you left them all to me) by Anonymous [E, 54k]

►Twelve years on from the war, Harry finds himself in an endless cycle of bedding Draco Malfoy, and waking up alone. Desperate to understand why Draco won't give him a chance to be something more, he commits to courting the slippery blond git. But there's a reason Draco can't fall for him, and Harry will go to the darkest depths to change that. ★ HD Wireless 2024 | @hd-wireless

[cailynwrites]

HP recs for a coffee shop

I love angst, non-HEA, dead dove, and slow burn as much as the next girl, but sometimes you just want something light that you can read while you drink your coffee, whether or not you're in public. In no particular order, here are a few comfy tea, coffee, and coffee shop-centric fics that I've collected over the years, with podfic versions where available.

The Barista, the Burglar, and the Sofa by orphan_account, podfic by @xinasvoice Rating: E Pairing: Remus x Sirius Summary:

This is the story of twenty-three year old Remus Lupin, an overworked graduate student and underpaid barista, who comes home one day to find an exceptionally attractive man has broken into his flat. Given the neighborhood he lives in, that isn’t a huge surprise. He is surprised, though, when the burglar comes back with a sofa. Alternatively, this is the story of how Sirius Black tries to seduce a man by slowly furnishing his flat.

Bottoms Up, Tops Down by @hypnagogue, podfic by Straynyx Rating: T Pairing: Harry x Tom Summary:

They are now in their 5th year, and Tom is about to put the 5th step of his plan in motion. Sex, of all things, will not stump him.

Coffee by @writcraft, podfic by fire_juggler Rating: E Pairing: Draco x Harry Summary:

Sometimes it’s just a story about two wizards and a Muggle coffee shop.

Coffee Cup by keyflight790, podfic by smirkingcat Rating: G Pairing: Draco x Harry Summary:

Harry grabs a cup and makes a fool of himself.

Deadheading the Odd Dahlia by @peachpety, with art by beyondtheclose, podfic by me Rating: E Pairing: Draco x Harry Summary:

Harry is content to spend his days at Draco’s flower stall at the farmers market, burying his true feelings in artisanal coffee and rose bouquets. When forced to find new lodgings, he accepts Draco’s offer to live in a cottage at Malfoy Manor, and his long-hidden crush blossoms out of control. Turns out, proximity makes the heart grow fonder.

Déjà Brew by the_interuniversal_geometer, podfic by Rindle (Queen of Blanket Permission) Rating: G Pairing: Draco x Harry Summary:

Harry has returned to the same coffee shop for the fourth say in a row, but why? And what does Draco, who works at the coffee shop, have to do with it?

Impress Upon You by @senlinyu, art by miamoriartyart, podfic by me and another by @ellamcsmellbella Rating: T Pairing: Draco x Hermione Summary:

Hermione had been in her office, up to her ears redrafting Britain’s new trade agreement with Denmark, when Malfoy came swanning in wanting to ‘consult’ with her. She’d let him in, assuming that he was there about the trade deal, given that their departments had been working together on it for over a year. That he was there to be useful. He was not. If—he’d casually framed the hypothetical, as he seated himself uninvited into an armchair and conjured an elaborate tea service—if someone wanted to try doing something Muggle, how would they go about it?

Moldova's Magical Tea by @aibidil, podfic by me Rating: E Pairing: Draco x Harry Summary:

Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, and—to everyone’s surprise—Draco Malfoy are opening a magical tea shop to revive wizarding tea culture and, hopefully, to bring the community together after the war. Harry, who is unemployed and trying to find his way in post-war society, wants to help his friends with their new business—but that means spending a lot of time around Malfoy. Featuring Muggle music from summer 2001, trips to the Muggle cinema, herbology and magical herbal infusions, and Draco trying to convince Harry that, while he’s still a snarky git, he’s no longer a bigot.

The Notion of Attention by @the-starryknight, podfic by @semperfiona Rating: T Pairing: Draco x Harry Summary:

In the moments before Harry woke, Draco drifted through the little flat, puzzling over the little artifacts of Harry in every corner. Here are a few of the things that Draco learned: Harry lived alone. Harry was a good cook. He liked expensive coffee from that bodega on Horizont Alley and kept his flat perfectly clean. And he might be exclusively seeing Draco.

'tis the damn season (Pansy's Version) by @the-francakes, podfic by me Rating: T Pairing: Pansy x Ron Summary:

“Have I mentioned I hate Christmas?” Pansy ventured, eyeing the magical coffee machine and surrounding holiday decor with skepticism. “No one hates Christmas,” Ron scoffed, though his grin never left his face. “You hate the crazies or the capitalism or the earworms, but no one hates Christmas itself.” “I do,” Pansy shot at him. He snorted a laugh. “Okay, Pansy, whatever you say.” He said it very unconvincingly, and if his lopsided smile said anything, he definitely did not believe her. Pansy fumed, tucking her hair behind her ear, and tried to not focus on how he called her by her name or how much she liked it.

Tournesol by @meandminniemcg, podfic by me Rating: T Pairing: Draco x Harry Summary:

Harry hates vacations, they give too much chance to think of his losses. But sometimes vacations are a time to be lucky in finding the right coffeeshop...

[lesbianslovenamari]

I was reading DunMeshi and was so confused by this phrase that I decided to look it up

(Do correct me if you think this isn’t accurate cuz I just used google)

But I find it frankly hilarious that Chilchuck is using slang from various parts of the British Isles out of nowhere in the last volume??

(I’ve now had someone explain to me that apparently it’s not uncommon for certain uncommon types of informal Japanese to be translated as slang from specific areas, typically around Britain, in English)

First of all I’d alr seen people jokingly headcanoning him as Irish on here (which was an idea I absolutely love)

ALSO I come from a part of the UK where I’m very familiar with the term ‘git’ but had never heard of a version with an e and I also had no idea it meant the same as ‘bastard’

(I have considered that this could just be the regular meaning of the word ‘get’ but I thought it wouldn’t grammatically make sense here so I assumed it was slang esp cuz he would totally call someone a git)

Anyways I’ve checked other translations and it’s not the same so I find it so funny that this one (which I’m pretty sure is the official English translation) included it

(^ another version I found online)

Anyways this is the translation I have and used as an example for this post, which I’m pretty sure is the official English translation:

Edit: Btw also check tags I kinda wrote this when I was drunk on sleep deprivation

[bluepeachstudios]

Did you read the 40th anniversary rottmnt comic? Cuz I was abt to say smth but I didn't wanna spoil ya

God I did. All of the comics in the 40th anniversary were SO good, I especially loved the 2003 one. Splinter's just boasting about his kids. Also he threw Ch'rell through a window which feels like retribution for throwing Leo through a window. (ALSO HOW IS CH'RELL BACK A G A I N ???)

AND GOD THE REVEAL AT THE BEGINNING THAT RONIN IS FROM MIRAGE. AUGH. OUCHIE.

Anyway. Yes. Rise.

I was. Immediately thinking about Ghost FHGDKHG as I am wont to do. Just. Agh. Splinter died when the kids were still pretty young! They didn't look much older than they do in the show. I think it's hilarious that Draxum moved in with them though that's great hfgkdhgkd.

But jeez, Ghost with this heavy despair at watching someone who is not his dad but kind of is die. And then being hit with the "btw you have a brother and sister byeeee" he's so ANGRY. Like not only did Splinter NEVER TELL GHOST THIS, BUT ALSO. ALSO. SPLINTER DOES THIS AS HE'S DYING.

He's so angry. And in that first version, Leo's not there! So Ghost isn't even-- he's still trying to FIND LEO!!

Ough I kinda wanna write a one-shot for it but I would have to include a lot of post-GitS stuff that would be major spoilers for many things, and also some stuff is still up in the air about the movie so it would be hmmmm.

I have a complicated thought-process when it comes to GitS.

Anyway things other than the obvious that I yelled about in the Rise Comic;

RENET MENTION!!! SHE'S BEEN HELPING MIKEY WITH MYSTICISM! Is she still a time traveling lady?? Or is she just a very mystic person??? WHO KNOWS. I'M EXCITED.

Frida design reveal !!! I LOVE HER. I wonder who the brother is, considering iirc the original idea was for two sisters, and the second one would have been in "dimension x" for a long time.

I HOPE... I hope it's Kirby hgdkghdk I would also be fine with an entirely new turtle tbh I love turtles.

Yes anyway I have many thoughts. Many, many, many thoughts.

[a-a-a-anon]

appreciation post for Lise Mayer!! she co-wrote The Young Ones (and The Bachelor Boys book, additional material like when they did Comic Relief, etc), which is well known. but she also wrote for other things in the alternative comedy scene like Rik Mayall and Ben Elton's comedy tour (source: BBC Breakfast Time interview)! and, something I didn't know until recently: she co-wrote/wrote for Kevin Turvey! she's not credited in his television appearances, but see below for sources.

i really loved the podcast episode she did with Alexei Sayle about TYO, you gain a lot of insight into her perspective! she also mentions misogynistic treatment like being asked to go make tea when they were doing script readings, not getting invited to a big BBC party because it was presumed she'd be Rik's plus-one, and getting groped at the BBC bar. it pissed me off on her behalf and partly prompted this post.

some specific accolades/accreditation/fun facts:

Rik crediting her with writing/conceiving the Kevin Turvey non-joke "All right, biting political satire: What do Lech Walesea and Menachem Begin have in common? They’ve both got foreign names! What do you mean it’s not funny?" (x)

Alexei Sayle in Thatcher Stole My Trousers crediting Lise with co-writing Turvey: "Lise was, like Linda for mine, a vital part of Rik’s career, co-writing both The Young Ones and Rik’s character Kevin Turvey..."

a 1987 source for Lise co-writing Turvey: "The assumption that women do not write comedy scripts was one with which Lise Mayer, co-writer of The Young Ones television series, has also had to contend. She started writing for Rik Mayall’s Kevin Turvey in the television series A Kick Up the Eighties..." (x)

Rowland Rivron (comedian who toured with The Comic Strip gang and lived with Rik and Lise) in What the f*** did I do last night?: "[Lise] also had the unenviable job of standing at the side of the stage when Rik was performing, and jotting down anything he said that was unscripted. If it got a laugh, it would be woven into the next night’s routine."

the only time i've ever seen a Rik Mayall/Ade Edmondson/Lise Mayer writing credit: for a poem called Distance which was collected in this anthology! Rik and Ade seem to have acted it out (or at least a version of it) in this 20th Century Coyote performance

Rik on Lise writing TYO: "‘She discovers different things: the comedy of embarrassment and awkwardness – she draws out the cheating and stealing that goes on in the house.’" (x) (Lise also says her "favorite comedy was always the comedy of embarrassment" in the Alexei Sayle podcast)

Rik: "... Lise Mayer wrote this great scene where I find a tampon in a handbag and it's my birthday party and I think it's a present because my character is Rick, who is such a git, he didn't know." (x)

Helen Lederer in Not That I'm Bitter, writing about being on The Young Ones: "[Lise] was known to be the brains behind it all, particularly the more surreal elements…"

she and Rik chose the bands (x)

Lise: “We’d have a table read at which point we’d discover that the script ran over an hour long, and then I’d have a sleepless night editing it.” Alexei: “You did that?” Lise: “Usually me, yeah…” (she later explains they'd present the script Monday and rehearsals were Tuesday, Wednesday-so she literally had one night to edit!) (x)

facts from the blu-ray commentary tracks:

Rick's yellow dungarees in Interesting were based off a picture of Lise in a similar pair

Lise wrote an essay about the tampon joke in Interesting so that the BBC didn't cut the scene (though they still edited it)

Paul Jackson (producer) credits Lise with arguing "you are seriously telling me that we cannot refer on television to something that happens to 50% of the population for about 30 years of their life? and we're not allowed to even refer to it" to make an executive back off about the tampon joke in a meeting

Lise came up with Neil's flowerpot covering in Nasty

Vyvyan/Vivian's name comes from Lise having lived in Vyvyan Terrace, Bristol

Lise thought of the cast switching costumes in Bambi (one of my favorite moments!!) (/end of commentary track facts)

this is guesswork, but i've seen Ben Elton and Rik Mayall's handwriting and i'm pretty sure the editing/handwriting on the bottom left on this script must be Lise's, which gives insight into what/how she wrote: (x)

i feel like it's easy for people to overlook or minimize Lise's impact, something that happens to female creators far too often. i hate when women's identities are framed around their association to a man-girlfriend to Rik in this case-which was the norm whenever i saw Lise discussed in articles/books/online discussions about TYO. it's important to know she was a writer and co-creator with her own identity and (underappreciated) contributions. The Young Ones (and Kevin Turvey, and things we don't even know she goes uncredited for) would not have been the same—or wouldn't have even existed—without her!

[ravenwriter16]

For when Bethy's starts trusting Sun n Moon tho situations would look smth like this

Sun was reading a book, sitting in his chair in the emperor's shared bedroom.

Bethany walked inside, clearly tired and walked over to him.

Sun looked surprised that the child was approaching him (Oh? You're approaching me? BWAHAHA IM SRY ITS JUST WHAT I IMMEDIATELY THOUGHT OF 😭) and quickly set down his book.

"Hi little one, is there something you needed?" He tried to ask oh so gently, hoping to not frighten her. Sun was just so happy she was actually initiating anything to do with him without Eclipse's hand.

The six year old wordlessly climbed atop his lap and laid down, making herself comfortable. She yawned and closed her eyes before relaxing.

Sun felt his heart leap at the adorable sight and it took every last ounce of self control to not immediately coo for fear of disturbing Bethany and frightening her out of this peaceful state.

The sunny emperor grabbed a pillow and a soft throw blanket, careful to keep his movements slow so he wouldn't wake the child. He carefully maneuvered the pillow under her head and tenderly tucked the periwinkle blanket around Bethany.

Bethany snuggled Martha and curled up further on Sun's lap with her head right near Sun's stomach. Sun felt himself nearly melt and he internally leaped joyfully at the near prospect of earning the skittish baby's trust.

Maybe she'd even consider him Daddy soon! Oh and he could finally say that he has two precious daughters! He could nearly imagine it now! Playing in the garden, making flower crowns together, dressing his most precious girls in cute dresses, daddy daughters trips to the market (when they were sure that his sunshine wouldn't attempt to escape after all! Or perhaps he'd just get the leash!) maybe he could find her a stuffie Bethany would like just as much as the one Eclipse got her! He was a bit salty that she clung to Eclipse for so long but it's okay, she was only scared and confused. And so soon after her OLD FATHER'S had abused her after all! So no hard feelings! And she's only six, it wasn't her fault-

Oh! Oh! And they could build pillow forts, and play pretend! And make arts and crafts together!

And OH Sun just couldn't WAIT!

He had to practically bite back a squeak of excitement so as to not wake the sleeping child in his lap and scare her off.

NEVER. AGAIN.

-- MOON VERSION! >:D --

Moon was sitting in the library when he heard a small creak by the door, making him heave out a tired sigh.

"Starlight, for the last. time. No, you may not have an outing outside the palace until we're sure that-" The annoyance lacing the lunar emperor's tone immediately dissipated when he glanced up and realized he wasn't addressing the correct one of his daughters.

A few weeks ago Sun and himself had departed to the market to get some gifts to hopefully make Bethany warm up to them, with Eclipse's recommendations of course.

They'd found quite the haul of things that the two thought Bethany might like but she refused touched any of them and still clung to the things Eclipse had boughten her.

This time however, seemed not the case. There the six year old stood, clad in a dress Moon had bought for her.

The dress was a midnight blue with a white frilly neck collar. It had puffed sleeves with white twinkling stars etched into the fabric and white translucent lace at the edges. The chest area was encircled by white sparkling lace and three buttons. The top one was the shape of an eclipse, the middle a sun and the third a crescent moon. A white shiny ribbon encircled the waist with a neatly tied bow at the back with lace trim, adorned with little stars edging the fabric. The skirt part of the dress held different constellations with white twinkling stars jotted about like intricately placed polka dots on a giraffe with pink cotton candy like clouds scattered about (I ALMOST FORGOR TO ADD THE CLOUDS BUT I REMEMBERED!! I DON'T GIT DEMENTIA YETT YEAHHH!!! >:DD). And finally, lace with glittering stars edged the hem of the skirt completing the dress.

Moon noticed that Bethany was wearing the matching shoes he'd thought could be worn with the outfit. The shoes were cushiony Mary Jane's (comfortable ones since his starlight complained about how uncomfortable they were. HE'S LISTENING AND REATAINING Y'ALL!!! LISTENING AND RETAINING ‼️‼️ WE LOVE A FATHER THAT LISTENS AND REATAINS!!!) matching the color of the dress and a white star buckle.

The child had her fluffy baby pink hair up in a ponytail held by a white bow that matched the one on her dress. Bethany's much like an enclosed cloud (AHEM. HER FAZCO NAMESAKE "CLOUDII" TY FOR COMING TO MY TEDTALK) which was an amusing thought.

Two hair pins with each porting a white glittery star (I would put eclipse's on the pins so he could be like "heheh..my daughter..>:]" BUT IT'D CLASH W THE OUTFIT IM SRYYY 😭😭) on the sides of Bethany's head held back the two fringes of her hair that curled near her cherry blossom and bubble gum pink silicone cheeks.

Moon noted that Eclipse must've gotten to Bethany's hair before he attended to his duties this morning.

Moon immediately softened his body language and gaze so as to not frighten the child further than he must've already with his tone.

"I'm so sorry honey, I thought you were your sister. What can I do for you?" He tried to speak as softly as possible, setting the book he'd been reading on a nearby table. The cool toned emperor clasped his hands in his lap so they'd be perfectly visible so Bethany would (hopefully this time) see he meant no harm.

Moon thought it must've been alright to refer to his precious starlight as Bethany's sister since he'd heard both for himself and by his husbands that their second daughter to be had been referring to his star as such.

The smaller animatronic clasped her hands in front of her, mirroring Moon's own gesture that he hoped was intentional copying (if she was that was SO ADORABLE!). Her powder blue optics flicking from his face to her shiny midnight blue shoes.

"U-Uhm..I-I was just wondering..W-Would it b-be okay..I-If I may ask.." *The pink toned animatronic started to stutter and stumble over her words nervously, a habit he'd noticed she'd picked up from her now elder sister. Which would've been cute if it wasn't concerning that Bethany was stuttering so much. But then again it was understandable considering he and sun were just the same people that abused her, just from a different universe. (He would have to make sure that star didn't teach her anymore habits like sassing them or lying.. or telling her that they were dangerous or trying to escape. He just wanted both of his daughters to behave.)

"Of course sweetie, you may ask anything of me. Anything at all okay?" Moon wanted to approach the six year old and get to her level but he was afraid she'd get frightened and bolt off so he instead opted to speak in even gentler tones

Bethany nodded and took a deep breath.

"c-could you..re-read to me..? Ma-Maybe The one about Ch-Charlie St-Stewarts and h-her pet unicorn..?" The small child gazed hopefully at the emperor in front of her.

Moon blinked in surprise that the little girl right in front of him who had been scared of him and Sun for weeks, refusing to leave his orange toned husband's side and flinching whenever he tried to touch her, mustering up enough bravery to maintain eye contact and request he read to her.

Moon nearly felt himself melt and faint from sheer and utter happiness. Surely such an attempt at bravery should be bestowed an award correct?

The lunar emperor smiled softly in Bethany's direction, "Of course sweetheart.. I'd be happy to read to you. Let me just fetch that book okay?"

After Bethany's nod he slowly stood, so as to not scare her off then turned to the bookshelf. He knew that book as he and Sun had made sure to stock up the library with unicorn books after Eclipse informed them that he'd learned that Bethany loved the magical creatures. (..Bethy and me r one in the same :3c)

He heard soft, cautious footsteps and assumed Bethany was choosing a place to sit which brought a smile to Moon's face. However he felt confusion when Moon hadn't heard the creak of Bethany seating herself but he didn't dwell on it.

Moon turned around to see the smaller pink toned animatronic stood waiting by the table next to Moon's chair with her hands clasped politely in front of her chest.

He smiled at the sight. Such an adorable polite little thing..Moon felt himself melting the longer the small child remained in her presence as Bethany warmed up to him.

"You may sit wherever you like, baby star, I don't mind," Moon spoke softly, smiling her way as he slowly sat down.

Bethany nodded and cautiously climbed atop his lap to sit, her small legs tucked underneath her dress with only a small portion of her midnight blue shoes peeking out.

"I-Is th-this o-okay..?" The just about three foot animatronic asked. Her nervousness was crystal clear apparent with how much her stuttering picked up as if she was terrified that Moon would reject her hit her and shove her off his lap and leave her tumbling to floor with zero care of the harm it'd befall her. Maybe even enjoy seeing it happen.

Those thoughts worried Moon..made him want to tear apart her Sun and Moon TEAR THEM LIMB. FROM. LIMB. MAKE IT AGONIZING AND PUNISH THEM FOR THEIR HORRIBLE TREATMENT OF-

The lunar emperor was snapped out of his thoughts when he noticed he was gripping the chapter book in his hands and Bethany was staring at him in anxious fear.

"I-I'm s-s-sorry! I-I-I didn't m-mean to di-disturb y-y-you! I-I-I-I'll j-j-just g-go-go!" Bethany quickly spluttered out and moved to scramble off Moon's lap.

Moon was quick to place his hand around Bethany's side and gently press her tiny form against his chest. He'd made such progress he couldn't let it go to waste! Not now that she's been so brave climbing atop his lap and asking for a story! It's the perfect bonding opportunity and he could finally snatch the chance to win Bethany over! He won't let this chance slip through his fingers!

"No no, shh..it's okay sweetie..I just.. recalled something rather unpleasant that's happened in the past and it irked me..it's no fault of yours, that I can promise.." Moon spoke, hoping to sooth her fears if just a little.

Bethany gazed worriedly at Moon's crescent features, "A-Are you s-sure..I-I didn't m-mean to b-bother y-you-"

"Shh.." Moon hushed her "You're never a bother to me or your father's baby star..I can wholeheartedly promise you that.."

The small child looked hesitant and doubtful but nodded despite herself. ('nodded despite herself' CORALINE BOOK REF MWHAHAHAHA >:DD)

Moon smiled softly and wrapped his whole arm around Bethany's side, opening up the book in front of them both so she could see as well.

"Wonderful, now let's get started on this book shall we?"

Moon smiled wider when Bethany nodded again and it growed ever wider as the small child nestled on his lap rested her head against his chest.

This was going just wonderfully..now if he could just come up with a plan to fully win Bethany over (and star) he'd have both his little daughter's to peacefully take care of. Just perfect..he could almost imagine it now..but for now Moon would just focus on reading to Bethany with this new chance of earning her trust and proving that he was nothing to be scared of..

---

FINALLY!!! IM DONE!! THIS TOOK LIKE TWO HRS!!!

Sry if I didn't portray Sun n Moon right 😅

Cue eclipse being jelly and salty that he's not gonna be Bethy's only favorite dad soon enough

HE'S BOUTTA WORK OVERTIME TRYING TO RETAIN THAT TITLE XD

he does gots more leverage since he's able to spend more time with her tho >:3

Does this make up for the earlier angst? MWAHAHAHAHA >:DD

AAAAAAAAAAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BABY!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHE'S GETTING COMFY WITH MY BOYS!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[n2qfd]

Packet is back, sort of.

With media being a disaster I keep going back to the local level, local control, no profit BBS. Growing up in the heyday of the Packet BBS on Ham Radio (pBBS) systems were federated pathways to discourse. While the price of entry was technical acumen, some radio equipment, and a licensed to operate it these days we have something else. Now, we have meshtastic net which operates in an area, not requiring a license and while you still need some technical acumen, you can do it through your cell phone.

Will this late 20th century mode be palatable to the 21st century sensibility who is to say? Mesh networks can give us back some degree of communication, communications freedom in the digital age and for 30+ years of playing radio it was another way of giving back to set one of these babies up. 

Today it’s operating on an ancient laptop with Damn Small Linux as an operating system. Eventually, it will be migrated to a micro computer like a pie zero that can just sit and chirp away in the digital wilderness, waiting for people to play with it and leave each other notes, emails and bulletins. Eventually, if our network grows and somebody on the other side of town is running a meshtastic BBS, they can even pass email between each other! 

The git hub wasn’t too hard to follow though we use python3 now and as it’s python based you don’t have to get into Linux to play around. I find the Android meshtastic app works far far better than the iOS version though.