#Mention of really disgusting food metaphors

[asherisawkward]

Please note that this is very much a rant about their school system that deals with/mentions topics like grooming, sexual assault/abuse, pedophilia, and the sex education system as a whole.

If any of these topics are triggering or upsetting for you, do not read this post.

Considering a post I just reblogged on banned books and sex education, I figured I’m going to make a post explaining my stance on this, so I can point people here if I ever get asks about this kind of stuff.

I went to a middle of the country school when I was in middle school and my first year of high school, but it definitely was smaller and had a southern vibe. If that makes no sense, look up “Tornado Alley,” and that’s about where I was.

My school system did two years of middle school and four years of high school, and I had some sex education. Rather, I had one class period per year in middle school. I went through this class twice.

It did not teach anything substantial about sex. It did not explain what reproductive organs were or how they worked; it did not explain what sex was; it did not teach me about how to use a condom or even what one was. It did not teach me about consent or what rape and sexual abuse or assault. I didn’t even know what that was.

Do you want to know what I learned?

I learned about some STIs/STDs. The guy showed pictures of them in class and explained the symptoms entirely through sickening food comparisons that have left me having trouble eating/looking at any of those foods today (example: he compared syphilis to pepperoni) He did made no actual attempt to explain how they were contracted (beyond “I told [name] not to lick the pepperoni; he licked the pepperoni”) or where they originated from.

You know what else he taught me?

Apparently, sex felt good.

I had no understanding of what any sort of sexual assault/abuse was, and my basic reaction to the vague concept I was aware of was, “just run away.” (An incredibly toxic and victim-blaming mindset that I am ashamed of to this day.) If I had been in a situation where I was being raped or groomed or in a situation akin to that, I would not have known what was happening to me was wrong and needed to be reported. Fortunately, I wasn’t.

And, for the record, my boyfriend had to explain to me how sex works when I was sixteen, because I still didn’t know. And that supposedly helpful sex ed did nothing to help me.

About the same time my boyfriend explained to me how things actually worked in the bedroom, when I was still sixteen, I met a man who visited the neighborhood occasionally because he had a job in lawn maintenance. He was always friendly to me whenever we met. I didn’t know his name, but I saw him when I went on walks around the neighborhood, and we exchanged pleasantries. I thought he was nice.

He had the habit, whenever we saw each other from afar, of blowing kisses to me. I thought he was trying to be grandfatherly. I didn’t knew what it was, and I still don’t really know what to classify it as.

One day, he approached me in his truck and started speaking to me. He asked me my name and if I had a boyfriend. I gave my name and said yes. He told me I was pretty and he liked me. Then he asked me if I wanted to have sex. This man was in his fifties or sixties, and I’ve been mistaken by people for being a couple years younger than I am. There was no way he could have thought I was an adult. I had mentioned going to high school sometimes when we had taker before.

I walked back home, terrified that he would drive by me, throw me in the back of the car, and I’d end up assaulted and eventually dead in a ditch. He didn’t, but I was terrified the entire time.

I wish I had known this stuff sooner, and I didn’t even experience anything that bad. Knowing about It wouldn’t have stopped that from happening, but maybe I could have seen that a man in his fifties or sixties blowing kisses at a sixteen year old kid was not normal.

Imagine how it could have helped for people who go due experience trauma and weren’t lucky the way at I was. People could have figured out the signs of abusive partners or figured out that behaviors indicators of grooming or predatory behavior. It would allow people to know what to report to authorities.

To sum up the product of my ranting/venting; sex education is just as important aspect of of growing up as secular education, and it is vital for the prevention, report, and punishment of abuse and assault.

[azullumi]

“under the burning hill” ; aventurine

premise — you say you know him, what will he choose?

tags — angst, with comfort if you squint, mentions of death, a lot of metaphors, spoilers to his backstory, i seriously don’t know how to tag this one, not proofread, 0.9k words; ficlet

tagging — @toorurs

note — i once cried to those tiktok slideshows that are like “if you really know your mother/self/father/sister/brother, what will they choose?” and then this fic happened. this is NOT my celebration fic for getting him, i have different one in my drafts

you say you know aventurine, what is he choosing?

a chance to be with his family again

he dreamt of flowers and gardens, of empty fields and large floating clouds, of tears and warmth, and he knelt into the dream where he felt the warmth of his sister’s hug and the soothing melody of his mother’s song. he buries his corpse who knew his father’s voice and how he would hold his child. in his dreams, he is good and he is loved.

he had nightmares of blood and fire, of wounds and tainted, dirty clothes, of screams and cries, and he’ll run away from the blades that will chase him, his body will become a corpse along with many others as he hides in the bloody waters. he has known death even before he saw his reflection.

and when he awakes from this, he’ll find himself in an empty bedroom despite the corners and the walls adorned with furniture, decoration, and dust. he’ll find himself alone—waking up yet he’s still in a nightmare. his family isn’t there.

for his shackles to never exist

the chain suffocates him—there’s the harsh smell of rusting metal and the cold tug of the chain when he moves his hand. his clothes are tattered, the collar and the hems burned off, and he stands before the eyes that scrutinizes and looks down on his existence. their gaze leaves letters that burn on his skin and it forms into a scar that will never heal, a reminder of what he is meant to be and will always be.

but he walks in the streets in flamboyance, the chain never seen on his wrist and neck as if it never once touched him. he treads the line of freedom and restriction recklessly and like a bird who has never known how to spread its wings, he could never reach far into the sky.

the form of his shackles have changed; it doesn’t mean he also has.

to stop the tremble of his hands

he fiddles with his fingers, adjusts the way his watch rests on his wrist—he keeps his hand busy and hidden. he wears a smile on his lips and utters such words filled with confidence as he places his bet, as he gambles his life, yet he desperately tries to conceal the way his hands tremble as he clutches on to his chips.

he wagers his life as if his existence was only a mere chip on the table, but it’s the only control he’ll ever have over himself.

an apology

he has dealt with scornful gazes and harsh remarks, has dwelled on the hidden meaning behind people’s words. he’s all too familiar with the cruel and unkind thread that weaves into their tongue as they speak—some may sing praises to him yet their eyes would harbor only hatred and disgust.

he wishes someone would ask for his forgiveness, but why would he even deserve one? what did he even do to deserve one? what did he do? does his existence outweigh the heaviness of a single syllable the word carries? was he worthy of one? does he even have any worth?

he can only let their gaze taint his skin, rearrange the letters of the words they utter into the one he will never hear.

(he has never forgiven himself either.)

to finally let go

how bruised are his knees and how long will he repent for the sins he has never committed?

he holds on to his burden as if it was a part of him, as if he’ll be nothing but an empty vessel if he loses his hold on it. he knows it's holding him down, knows it's making his hands bleed but it’s everything and the only thing he has known for—the thorns has been engraved into his palm and became part of his skin. he’ll stuff his mouth full of rotten food and leave his stomach empty, and he’ll believe this is what he’s made for.

perhaps when he'll finally find a place to put everything down, he’ll learn how it feels to live for himself and not for the things he carries.

you say you know kakavasha, what is he choosing?

to never have to say goodbye

farewell is a form of poetry and he is a poem.

in most days, he’ll hear his sister’s voice in the empty corridors of his home, he’ll hear the echoes and follow him into places she could never reach (his wishes will never be enough to save her). he’s haunted by the unspoken farewells and the goodbyes he is forced to make, watching their backs as they leave or his own.

(he wishes he never knew the word.)

(his child self) having a conversation with future him

children are bound with endless dreams and light to see into the dark as they walk into their future—he was (once) one of them. he’ll stay up at night wondering what’s ahead of him, grasping on to what little left of his hope that things will become better, and when he sleeps, he’ll dream of talking to his future self.

“are you happy?”

if he’ll have a conversation with his future self, he’ll tell him everything and anything, make him recall the memories lost when growing up, trace the stars with him as he asks him the questions he’s curious to know the answer to (his future self will know him inside out but he, the child he once was, will never know him). and maybe he’ll put their palms together once he notices his agitation—and he’ll see the differences of their hands and notice the dying light in their eyes—as they ask for their god’s blessings.

he’ll tell him: everything will be okay, even when he’ll only be met with silence.

(get onstage 

fear not

never look back.)

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[recentadultburnout]

Info for writer in Thai series fandom: More language thingy

Swear words and metaphor

*Some words may have more meaning than what I mention.

ไอ้ Ai and อี ee = words to be added in front of other words (a name or swear word), showing contempt or closeness (in a rude way).

Ai is masculine and ee is feminine, but nobody actually cares at this point.

เหี้ย hia or เชี่ย shia = Varanus salvator

These two words are the same. Hia is an original, and shia is a word that is born from distorting the voice in order to reduce vulgarity. It's kind of like referring to an f-word with any other word starting with f. We also used many other words that mean "Varanus salvator" as a sensor version of the "hia" swear word. little crocodile or chicken eater, for example.

They can also be used to empathize by adding to the end one or two times, for example, "super cool" would be "cool hia hia".

Tbh, whenever I read in English and see the word "hia," I always think of this word before a word that means "older brother." And to make it worse, the placement of both of them in the sentence can be exactly the same. Sometimes it took me an embarrassingly long time to realize the writer intended it to be an older brother.

สารเลว saraleo = miscreant, bastard, swinish, vile, caitiff, rascally

If you are 2gether fan, this is the word Tine calls Sarawat.

There are many similar words, such as

rayam-ระยำ-wicked, disgusting, inauspicious

chanrai-จัญไร-vile, unfortunate, ruined, crush

chatchua-ชาติชั่ว-lowlife

เสือก sueak = to meddle in matters that are not their own; to meddle in other people's affairs

ห่า har = infectious disease (cholera), pestilential disease (plague), and the evil spirit responsible for disease epidemics. 

สัตว์ sus =animal

พ่อง pong=your father

แม่ง maeng =your mother

They are shorten from por(father)/mae(mother) mung(you)

ดอกทอง dok thong=whore

This word sounds like a golden flower, but it's just a coincidence as far as I know.

ส้นตีน son teen=heel=lowest point of your body

ควย kyua=cock

หี hee=vagina

สันดาน san dan=in-born traits

as in bad inborn traits. The "bad" is omitted on the assumption that everyone understands.

ตอแหล tor lear=liar, fake

-->sato (สตอ-Crudia chrysantha Schum)-->strawberry

เปรต pret=The hungry ghost, frequently described as a very tall monster with a needle-sized mouth. = tall(negative meaning) or a bad person

อ้อย oi=suger cane=อ่อย oi=attempt to entice something or someone to be caught (typically used by a woman seducing a man).

For example, a cane truck has overturned here.=Someone here is trying really hard to seduce someone.

งิ้ว ngiw=bombax anceps (thorn-covered tree)

In the story, when sinners go to hell, the adulterer must climb this tree naked.

Mark from Love Mechanics asks on Facebook how hurtful it would be to climb a ngiw tree after having sex with Vee, implying that he is at least interested in someone who is not single.

Gold fish=short memory

Tiger=flirtatious person who is good at getting who they want (typically a guy)

A tiger with faded stripes=old tiger=someone who used to be flirtatious but is no longer. 

Dog can be alot of things depent on the context but usually a bad things.

"Dog with a rotten head" means someone nobody wants to get close to or interact with.

If someone looks just like a dog, that means their current state is bad. Too drunk = like a dog. Crying too much = like a dog.

Giving someone dog food means making someone, usually your friends, a dog. Used when you complain about your love life to someone, ask them for advice and they tell you to leave your current partner since the partner is being awful to you, you say so! Then you turn around and reconcile with your partner. So now your friend is a bad guy whom your partner won't want you to associate with anymore because they incite you to be at odd witn your partner.

Temple's dog = low status, usually used for a low-status man who likes a high-status woman who would be called ดอกฟ้า(dokfha) which translates directly to "sky flower." Use something like, "You are a temple's dog yet want to pluck a sky flower, you should know your place!"

A dog that serves someone means someone who only cares about serving their boss (who is a bad person) and nothing else, like morals or other people. A lackey

Bird(quite a new slang) = Can't get what you want, typically means someone you want as a lover.

Phonix = immortal bird = repeatedly failing to get what you want *We do use phonix as a poetic expression too, not just for this meaning.

Buffalo = idiot/fool. 

You can say A is putting horns on B when A is cheating on B; this means A makes B an idiot for believing in A.

When you fail your exam, you might say that these days you eat grass instead of rice (like a buffalo).

There is a saying that goes like this: "One who remembers when they get hurt (and leaves or does something to not get hurt again) is a human; one who is willing to endure it is a buffalo." If you put up with something you shouldn't, you are a buffalo.

Pig

fat

weak/easy to win against

Fox

Cunning

Sedusing

catfish,termite=ugly

rhinoceros=Someone who tries to steal someone else's lover or just acts inappropriately in general according to the traditional feminine standard. Originally, it was only used to call women, but it is no longer the case.

barking deer=gay man

gibbon=woman

It was originally used by trans women to refer to cis women. can be seen as rude, but like many other words, many people don't actually take offense if it is used playfully. These two words, "barking deer" and "gibbon," are usually used together.

The reason why a character does not always know information stated in the subtitle

Gender of someone

The Thai language, for the most part, is gender-neutral. The she or he in the English subtitle usually has to be chosen by the translator.

Who/what the speaker is talking to/about

Many times, sentence structures in spoken language won't require a subject or object. I guess when that gets translated, it looks weird, so the translator has to pick something to add in. In a lot of situations where I am not sure how to address my interlocutor, I can simply avoid doing it, but when I'm writing in English like this, I have to pick something, right?

When

There are no tenses in Thai the way there are in English. We have words for determining whether something happened in the past, present, or future, but you can say something without using any of those and it will be just fine.

Rice

When someone asks if someone has eaten rice(ข้าว-khao) yet, the word rice usually means meal/food and not strictly rice. The word rice can mean food in general a lot of the time.

Polite words

There are a lot of words that mean the exact same thing but have a different degree of politeness. You may already have noticed it with the way there are so many words that mean you or I. You may also notice it when you watch alot of any Thai series. Like, how when a character says "eat" in the subtitle, there are some varied sounds, such as daek(แดก-rude), kin(กิน-common), than(ทาน-a bit more polite-shorten from rapprathan), rapprathan(รับประทาน-polite).

Meaning of polysyllabic words

Some polysyllabic words, when each syllable is separated, still have a meaning, but their meaning may not be consistent with the meaning of that polysyllabic word. So even when you recognize the meaning of each syllable, the meaning of the polysyllabic word you deduce from it may not be correct. I mean, if we look deeper, we should be able to make it make sense, but yeah.

For example, the word "witch" in Thai is mae mod(แม่มด). Mae means mother or something you can used to indicate that a word it is in refers to a woman and Mod means ant when it's a separate word, but when combined, they mean witch. Or for the word whose meaning is more similar to the words used to create it, the word khun nhu(คุณหนู), which means "young master/mistress." used for address the child of the boss, when sperate khun is a prefix to show politeness or respect, and nhu means mice or a word used for calling children. You can see that while some of the single-syllabic words are arguably related to the meaning of the polysyllabic word, some aint so much.

I hope this explanation doesn't make you more confused.😅 But if it is, do tell me. I will try to do better.

Thai alphabet

Our letters are named after words they used to spell. Like, both letters ญ and ย sound the same(yor), but the word woman (หญิง-ying) uses letter ญ and the word giant (ยักษ์-yak) uses letter ย, so letter ญ is named yor ying and letter ย is named yor yak.

Think of it like if A's full name is "A apple".

Index

[cakebatteronabrickwall]

How about Succession Game Motif? I’m glad you ask!

Playing games is obviosuly a heavy handed metaphor to use, but it is after all how these characters treat a lot of their in-fighting about the company and the whole world, really. But, more interestingly, the show depicts (and mentions) literal games as an intergral recurring theme. I have compiled a list, but it is important to note that those games are essentially split into “games that exist in the real world” and “games that the Roys made up”.

First Category: Games That Exist in The Real World

Baseball- The first game ever played on the show; very normal thing to do. But it does end up distorted when the element of money is introduced + it really showcases the detachment between the family and the people working for them. Roman sees the bet as a playful thing while, for the kid, it could have been everything.

I Went to Market- This game also gets distorted by a) some weird items the players have to remember and b) Logan resorting to violence when faced with his own shortcomings and loss.

Monopoly- There’s not that much to say here, other than maybe it is a game famous for cheating and the season 3 finale ends in a betrayal, so maybe read it as an average family game becoming distorted and more sinister in restrospect.

Second Category: Games That The Roys Made Up

When the family isn’t busy molding pre-existing games into more fucked up versions, they also make up their own.

Dog Cage- I’m torn on whether this is a game or just a humiliation tactic, but that is the case for most of the Roy games lol. This one is also tricky, because the brothers can’t remember who exactly “asked” to play it and why and what the rules were. But something tells me Logan might remember.

Nanny Game- Cut from the show but interesting to include. It relies on making up a believable enough lie to get a nanny fired; this game can only be played by children. Showcases detachment once again; somebody losing their job means nothing.

Bitey- Incredible game, because it is literally just an excuse to inflict violence for violence’s sake; both players have to be either kids or a little unhinged to agree to it. Go figure.

Boar on the Floor- Very fascinating, because this is a game Logan comes up with for adults, also it seems to have no prior history which freaks everybody out; it’s a game designed for humilitation and loyalty (?) only, and the moment you are forced to play it, you have already lost. There might be a parallel to Dog Cage here, considering the hierarchial implications.

Dinner for Winners- Another cut from the show situation, it plays into the whole ED theme the show has going on and more directly Kendall and Logan’s relationship to food. It’s not even a game, more of a punishment-reward thing, but most “games” on the list only barely follow the definition.

Meal Fit for A King- The last game ever played on the show, it nicely mirrors Baseball, because in this instance we don’t have cruelty disguised as playfulness but simply a ritual, again barely a game, which only exists to be disgusting (and humiliating, really), no pretense this time around. Interestingly, this is also a game originated by children but instead of showcasing regression and cruelty, it serves as a bonding moment for adults; all of them consent to “playing” which overwrites the humiliation part of the game.

[saltygilmores]

Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls, Season 2, Episode 9, "Run Away Little Boy". Part 2

You can read my previous reviews here.

If you have to keep repeating something out loud like this, it probably isn't true. Every time Rory or Lorelai say Rory's relationship with Dean is "a really good thing going right now", God plucks a whisker off a kitten. TWWGG= We Make Weird Metaphors.™

The Time Traveler hath returned (after a stop for a quick shave, apparently). I forgot to add that in the middle of all this DL/Rory/Dean drama, Lorelai went on her date with TT and had fun but twas not meant to be but she was happy to discover she could Date Casually ™ after Max.

A crystal clear Tomatos Sign spotting! Lorelai to Rory, who is stifling laughter: What? Say it! Rory: Nothing, I always wanted a little brother. Lol. And we have another scene for the Rory's Bizarre Food-Related Habits Hall of Fame. Rory picks up her burger and walks out of the diner without putting it into a to-go box. Is this the neatest burger ever that doesn't drip grease or ketchup? Like the time she walked out with a piece of French toast in her hand with no syrup dripping down her uniform? Luke's Diner Motto: Do You Think We're Made of To Go Boxes Or Something? Carry Your Own Food.™

I kind of look like Lorelai right now after the suffering this episode has put me through. Lorelai apparently talked about Luke on her date with Time Traveler or at least has mentioned Luke on some other occasion. Time Traveler even knew about Rachel. STOP. EVERYTHING. A MIRACLE HAS JUST OCCURED IN STARS HOLLOW! LORELAI PAID FOR HER FOOD!

Luke In My Gritty Gilmore Girls Reboot titled "The Hollow": "You are hereby banned from this establishment. Get the fuck out."

God, Dean is so creepy. And not to say I'm an expert on Shakepeare, but Tristan reciting Shakespeare was...wow. That was some of the worst line reading I've ever heard, ChadMIchaelMurrayDietLogan.

The lips are getting reaaaal thin!

While looking straight at Dean, making Rory panic that he's about to tell Dean about their kiss, but he turns it around and pretends he was just talking about a scene from the play. Sneaky, disgusting, an absolutely vile piece of dog shit either way.

Honestly if I were Rory the sweet release of death would be preferable to being alive and having to suffer these two Butts With A Capital B.

Let's all Take Five and have an Ancient Cellphone Break.

Lips are realllly thin. Practically invisible.

I don't know how much longer I can tolerate this shit stain talking to Rory like this. How is this the fourth or fifth time I've suffered through this show? Why am I doing this to myself? Am I that masochistic? I'm in pain. Dean is such a piece of shit that I am concerned for Jared Padalecki himself, in the same way that Milo Ventimiglia's mother thought he had suffered some kind of unspoken childhood trauma because he played dark villains so believably. Are you ok, JarPad? How are you this believably awful?

This is horrible. I want to shut it off. There are 9 minutes left in the episode. Ugggggggggh. Poor Rory. PUNCH HIM! PUNCH HIM! YOU KNOW YOU WANT TO! The next episode is the Bracebridge Dinner. My second favorite episode and a shining beacon of of light, joy, minimal drama, and Jess galore in his ugly brown winter coat. You can do this, TWWGG. You can do this.

Oh my god my blood is just BOILING right now.

Portrait of the author.

Let's take turns. Something should absolutely fall on your head, but also, I really need something big to fall on mine right now. I would welcome the sweet, sweet unconcious state where when I wake up this episode is over and I'm watching The Bracebridge Dinner. (Context: Lorelai is annoyed because everyone is calling her a pedophile). (Because of her date with the Time Traveler, not because she's absolutely having an affair with 17 year old Dean Forrester). Luke is grumpy with her for going on a date with this guy. Jealous or something. Whatever. I'm tired of these men. Sure, Jess has not made any appearance in this episode yet. But with 5 and half minutes left to go, my pain and suffering is about to be rewarded in other ways. With one tiny scrap and one medium scrap to gnaw on and one big, big juicy hunk of meat. Justice, thy name is Amy Sherman Palladino! (and Chad Michael Murray leaving for another TV show). The small scrap:

Lane's face while she's watching Henry. My girl is feeling things. Stirring, yearning, Un-Christian things. The medium scrap: Paris taking Diet Logan's part as Romeo to Rory's Juliet. Sweet. And the big one:

DIET LOGAN IS GONE!!!!! GONE GONE GONE GONE!!!!!!!! WHO CARES WHY!!! HE BROKE INTO A SAFE OR SOMETHING WHO CARES!!! GOODBYE!!!! *PUNTS HIM IN THE ASS*

Look at Dean creeping again in the background!!! But I'm so happy we're back down to only one clown instead of two!!!! Wait, there's still Christopher. Still two clowns left. God damn it. #ClownMath He's getting shipped off to military school lol he'll be eaten alive probably lol BYE

Don't let the door hit ya where the good lord split ya #BYE "Take care of yourself Mary." Ahahah I won't have to hear anyone call Rory a stupid nickname again because I'm not watching this show past season 4 ever again and I won't have to suffer through Full Calorie Logan calling her "Ace" yay!

Ahhhh. *breathes in* Everything just feels...a little more right once more.

A sea of confusion.

Dean: Did you and Paris actually kiss or was that just a stage thing? Shut up. The episode ends on a sweet little note of Luke & Lorelai talking about how they can rely on each other. Not even a drop of Jess in this episode. Not even a shot of him in the background cleaning the counters. Nothing, zip, nada. But... BRACEBRIDGE DINNER NEXT!

[transmascrage]

Man I just came to the realisation that the "summer camp" (in quotations because it wasn't like a typical summer camp anyway, it was only a week in a house in the mountains) my parents forced me to go every summer was literally a religious retreat. No wonder I hated it so much.

To be fair there were a lot of things I hated about it. First of all the fact that I was constantly around people, both because we were all under the same roof and because the adults needed to look after us.

And being an introvert I was always super tired all the time. But most of all I think it also meant I had to literally mask for an entire week non-stop.

Plus the kids that went to this thing were either the ones from religious families or the asshole sporty kids who wanted to spend time with their friends (or maybe their parents were sick of them). So I also had to mask extra carefully so I wouldn't be weird.

It was also a super gendered space. Boys and girls slept in different rooms (often the boys in one big room and the girls divided between the other rooms. Never the other way around, for some reason. Probably for the best for me though.)

Naturally all of the kids there were catholic or atheist. I did ask the adults if people of other religions could come once.

Not that there were any in my hometown. But I knew a Jehova's witness kid and I wondered if he could come. Of course, now I know his parents wouldn't have let him come anyways, but as a kid I had no idea.

They told me yeeeess, of course they can come :))))) but honestly a non-Catholic kid would have probably been really annoyed and confused at this camp.

We were divided in four groups. One group set and cleaned the tables for meals, one group cleaned the rooms and bathrooms (the worst), one group decided on prayers (the best because we'd choose random ones and go on our merry ways) and one group decided on the evening games.

The first group's chores were called "corvées" which is what peasants did in their lord's property in feudal times.

Appropriate name, because the entitlement with which some people demanded we brought them water or more food than others was infuriating.

Don't even get me started on how eating was pure torture because we couldn't decide on the menu and the textures were always bad bad bad. But no adult would take that as an excuse, so I (and my brother) had to finish everything on our plates while gagging or literally tearing up.

Sometimes a small business of swapping plates with a kind soul who really liked the dish was established, but it had to be done in secret because the adults didn't like that.

Before every meal there was a short prayer but at least it was fun because we got to bang on the tables and sing, right? Nope, too loud and scary for my stupid fucking brain.

Then after eating that group had to stay behind and clean up.

In both this and the group that cleaned rooms and bathrooms gender roles were reinstated again. Boys were also supposed to clean just as much as girls, but in practice they just stood around or went outside to play. The first few times I spoke up, then I gave up because nothing was done.

It's important to note that the adults with us were people in their early 20s, and way too few to look after us. Honestly I don't know how so many parents were comfortable leaving their children with maybe 10 young adults.

The cleaning duties were the worst because cleaning the bathrooms was disgusting as fuck. Sensory issues relating to smells + my weak stomach = hell.

During the morning we did activities relating somewhat to christianity. They usually were supposed to be metaphors for something Jesus said, but nobody except me actually gave a shit.

In the afternoon we played team games. This was one of the parts I hated the most because I'm super uncoordinated, and remember the active kids I mentioned earlier? Yeah they didn't like that.

Technically we were competing for a prize. Sometimes they did give a better snack to the winner or something. But the big prize was supposedly at the end of the week. I can't remember anything special about that prize so I guess it wasn't that great after all.

Obviously swearing was forbidden, but it's not like that stopped kids from doing it.

In the evening we'd sit in a huge circle pray and then...the games.

Usually it was things like "Wolves" you know, the game where you try to figure out who are the wolves.

But there was one traditional game. Dames and Knights.

Four girls got chosen and sat down on chairs. Four boys would come in and had to figure out who the girl they were paired with was. If they got it right they got a kiss, if they didn't they got slapped.

It was the yearly ritual of the popular kids. And also the humiliation round for the ugly girls. The snickers and gags from girls and boys were downright traumatic.

I only went through it once, the year I was "dating" (we were 9) a boy and another also liked me. It was extremely humiliating.

The rest of the years I got to watch the popular kids get cheered on and "oooh'd" at. Naturally it couldn't be two boys or two girls. Not that any openly queer kids would be acknowledged as queer here.

My anxiety got forged with steel in those rooms. One time, when I was very young, I peed myself because I was too scared to get up and ask to go to the bathroom. What if they all looked at me? What if I was bothering the adults with my question?

I used to get bored and drag my feet on the ground and imagine I was making invisible drawings on the ground.

Then we went to bed.

The worst days were confession day and walk day.

Confession day was when the town's priest would come visit and let us fess up our sins. We had to sit by ourselves in silence and figure out what we did that the Lord should forgive us for.

Then the priest would hold a mass. It wasn't mandatory to attend per se, but you did get bothered over and over by the adults until you went.

Walk day was when we'd hike up to the mountain. I'm not an athletic guy and I wasn't an athletic girl. I usually lagged behind. The cooks would give us our sandwiched for lunch, but we weren't allowed to choose if we wanted cheese, salame or ham.

And I. Fucking. Hate. Cheese.

The best moment was going home. I got to sit on the bus and zone out and daydream. We got our phones back (yeah, no phones allowed) and could finally check social media.

When I arrived my mom would always ask me "Did you have fun?" and I always said "No." and my mom said it hurt the counselors feelings when I said that.

And I can't give less of a fuck. Because every goddamn year I would say I didn't wanna go. And every year they ask, and beg, and insist and insist and insist until I gave in.

Insisting and insisting has been how people have always gotten me to do whatever they wanted. They bank either on me saying yes until they stop asking, and procrastinating until then because I really don't wanna do it; or making me feel guilty because I might hurt their feelings.

I always wish I could be more of an asshole to people. And I don't mean "be more assertibe", I mean tell them to fuck off and hope they die in a hole.

Unfortunately I always project how I would feel on them. And how that reflects on the communities I'm part of. Plus when I'm really mad I'm not even funny, I get really serious and cruel.

Anyways. Fuck religious retreats.

[dopamine-department]

i feel like people don't realize the financial burden of ADHD.

Depending on how your symptoms manifest, you can be bored enough that you need constant new stimulation; games, puzzles, hobby supplies. And yes, that does count as a necessity, bc if you have a brain like this, it is physically painful and unbearable to be bored. Speaking of pain, nerves being tight fisted with the dopamine means more pain signals get thru, so pain relief, comfortable clothing, etc so that we can ignore what everyone else's body auto mutes. Not to mention the stimulant prescriptions and/or extra caffeine to keep the machine able to understand what anyone's saying or safely drive. And food: easy, safe food (safe meaning you can reliably eat it without becoming disgusted) is often pre-prepared, and that's more expensive than cooking from scratch, which isn't possible for some of us. Like I tried, believe me, and do you know what happens if I don't have readily available food? I don't eat. I go to bed for dinner. I cannot make my brain work, especially when already hungry.

"Just plan better" you should see how much I have to think about what I'm doing at any given point, because I am time blind and have to give myself several hours or an entire evening to be able to do anything relevant (vacuum, laundry). And the nature of the neurological disorder (can we start calling it that please, that's what it is) means that you're telling someone with the "difficult to plan and carry out tasks disorder" to be even better at planning and carrying out tasks. Good job, you really just went and said something similar to "you should try working out to get stronger so you'll be able to walk" to someone with chronic muscle weakness. Disclaimer, not a perfect metaphor, but for people who don't know: that's what you're doing.

And the cost of therapy, of organizational coaches, of cleaning help if you need it. It adds up.

I'm just trying to live my life but it takes so much extra care and effort and resources. I want that recognized.

[crazymuff1n]

Do british people actually exist? I mean, they must be a meme, there is a not a single thing about them. And I mean it.

Let’s go through the evidence: Where are they from? Not a single country in the world is named Britain. Some people say they come from England, and England is inside Britain, but if that was the case they would be British they would be Englanders. Also, heard some silly theories about them coming from whales. Guys, no, whale people do not exist. Whales live in the sea.

There is a consensus on British people coming from Europe, but then we are left with a whole continent of possible locations. That’s as good as nothing. What do they eat? Every country has at least one main dish. Even the US has their burgers. But these British people, what do they eat? Heard some people associating them with tea, but everyone knows that’s an Asian thing. Shouldn’t they come from Europe? One of these two points must be wrong them. To me, it looks too sketchy.

What language do they speak? I challenge you, putting all my money and my ass on the line here, to find a supposed “"British”“ person speaking their native language. Most of then just speak a broken ENGLISH. Yes, english. Really suspicious, huh? And I even tried to look deeper into it. Maybe british just SOUND like english, just like spanish could sound like portuguese for a non-speaker. So I looked up "british dictionary on google” and what I found was shocking: every word in there was AMERICAN. I kid you not. What this could mean is beyond my capabilities, but I can safely assure you that british people do not exist.

now I’ve heard some so called “corrections” and additions, I’ve heard it's beans on toast that is their “food”(if you can ever call it that) but that can’t be real, to have something so simple and disgusting as their food? Just bread and some beans? trust me, i’ve seen the re-created photos and its even worse than it sounds.

Other sources say fish and chips, but that sounds even more fake. What, you out a whole fish inside a Pringles can and then shove it in the oven? Goes to prove even more that br'i'sh "people" arent real. Not to mention their supposed "history" makes it out that they stole a lot of spices and tasteful food ingredients, yet their supposed "food" (If you can even call it that) has nothing. You could argue it's a metaphor for how simple these people are, or to show the simplicity of life, but I don't believe it. suffice to say these “brits” do not exist

[literary-jams]

John Green

This particular article about John Green talks about his life and four of his best selling books among which I happened to have three. John Green clearly is a very experienced person, his experience and his mature thoughts shows up on his writing, which also challenges the reader's views and helps us look at different difficulties of life from alot of different narratives.

The Fault In Our Stars:

The book is essentially about two characters Hazel Grace Lancaster and August Waters. Hazel Grace had thyroid cancer which had reached out to her lungs and she was in a support group with kids who had cancer in her mother's behest. Augustus had lost his leg to osteosarcoma and he was there to support his best friend Isaac who had eye cancer. The first conversation stirred between the leads was actually because of a ciggerrate. Augustus had one on his lips which made him receive a disgusted look from Hazel, she found humans purposely butchering their organs despicable. To which Augustus replied that he is not going to light it. He further added that it is a metaphor, he puts the killing thing right in between his teeth but does not give it the power to kill him, which also added a sustainable factor to it, because the same pack had been serving him for two years. Needless to say they found each other interesting and promised to read each other's favorite novels. Hazel got the Prince of Dawn while Augustus received the book an Imperial Affliction, a book on a girl stricken with cancer who Hazel resonated with. However after finishing the book Augustus mentioned how he hated the abrupt ending in it to which he learned that the author of the book Van Houten had retreated to Amsterdam and no body ever really heard from him ever since but Hazel also added that she like the book because of the abruptness it projects it truthfully, people die in the middle of their life in the middle of their sentence. When Augustus surprised her with tickets to Amsterdam to go and meet the author Van Houten , Hazel Grace was over the moon but upon meeting with him they realised that he hated teenage guts and completely dismissed their excitement on meeting him. However they shared a beautiful moment in Augustus' hotel room where they confessed about being in love with each other where Augustus said " Im in love with you and Im not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying the true things" to which Hazel replied that she is only going to break his heart to which he answered that it would be a privilege to have his heart broken by hers. The beauty of fault in our stars is its filled with unforgettable quotes such as "Some infinites are bigger than other infinites" and "I fell in love like i was falling asleep, slowly at first and then all at once but the ending scene had left me completely shattered in all the ways possible. After Augustus passed away due to the resurrection of his cancer, Hazel Grace found out about the obituary he had left for her in the letters of Van Houten, in which he had expressed his deepest feelings. HE mentioned that he finds her so pretty that he never gets tired of looking at her, he never worries about her being smarter than him because he knows that she is and he is lucky to have fallen in love with her. He also mentions how in this world no one can choose if they want to get hurt in this world but we have some say in who hurts you and he mentions how he is happy with his choices and he hopes that Hazel is too. The book ends with Hazel accepting that she is as well.

Turtles All the Way Down:

This book is about Aza Holmes who suffers from obsessive compulsive disorder and anxiety. In the opening pages of the book we see her mention about how she hates the process of eating, of mushy substances going down her esophagus while stomach microbes help her digest the food. However the title Holmes could have easily been a foreshadow on the forthcoming storyline where Aza plays detective in order to find the lost billionaire for a money prize who also happens to be her neighbor. Their was also a romance angle with her and the billionaire's older son Davis Pickett. Just to shed light on how bad her OCD was, she went on a rabbit hole of thoughts about kissing Davis. She worried about the microbes they exchanged and how it could lead to her eventual death. However because she had lost her father she could also relate to David as she understood the absence of a father figure during the times one need them the most. One of the most significant lines form the book is when Aza realized that she is like a Matryoshka doll, all her layers are her. Its turtles all the way down. I also like the line where while breaking up with Davis they were looking at the sky and Aza mentions how she particularly enjoys looking at the same sky with him. She thinks eye contacts are overrated as anyone can end up looking at you but looking at the the same sky together is cosmic, its meant to be.

Looking for Alaska:

Its about a guy called Miles Halter who was later nicknamed as Pudge, he was a newbie at a boarding school and was paired with a petite guy who went by the name Colonel who was friends with two more people Takumi the rapper and Alaska who loved books. They all quickly ended up being friends and the readers went on a beautiful journey with them of not only exploring their loyalties for each other but also their unfaithful and low moments. We also see a flirtatious relationship developing between Miles and Alaska and watch Miles inevitably fall in love with her. However when he finally gets his way with her and they kiss for the first time, something suddenly switches in Alaska and she leaves but never returns. The next day the entire school gets the news that she has passed away. As an honour to her the entire group threw the best Junior year prank in the school.

This book sheds light on the beautiful moments people spend during their hostel life. The first wave of independence they receive, te fun they have yet sometimes getting peer pressured into trying out things. But also inevitably spending the best moments of their life.

[get-shiggy-with-it]

collab masterlist

✧ pairing: villain!hawks x afab!reader

✧ word count: 5k

✧ warnings: this is like all smut, angst, ambiguous but happy ending, unhealthy relationships, mentions of transactional sex, reader has a healing quirk but it's really just for poetic purposes, reader has a vagina, no other gendered parts, oral sex (reader receiving), vague metaphorical drug reference, mentions of blood, mentions of wounds, mating press, soft sex (?), sorta, slight potential could be read as dubcon but they're both into it

✧ summary: for years you've stitched hawks back together when the world has torn him to shreds—and he always pays you back, though you can't help but start want more than he can give you.

✧ a/n: hey y'all this months theme was villain/hero swap with a shared opener! please go check out all the other wonderful works in this collab, there are so many talented writers/artists involved!! credit to @/lady-bakuhoe for the amazing intro. also bonus points if you catch the old aesthetic tumblr post references.

Breaking news: We have yet another report to add to the slew of attacks this month, this comes just days after we broadcast rumours of villains running rampant over the city. This spate of attacks has put the entire metropolitan area at a standstill, road closures and damaged property making it difficult for commuters to get to work in the morning. Road maintenance endeavour to do its best to keep the city running, but it seems futile when these attacks continue to increase. The entire city was brought to a standstill by the mysterious villain who has still not been named, but reports show they are nothing like we have ever experienced before.

Where are the heroes now? Who will save us from the terror overwhelming our city?

Every day the crime toll continues to rise and we have no one here to protect us. The Hero Public Safety Commission assured us earlier in the week that the crime rate would go down, that the top Heroes are out there protecting our city, but if so, where are they? Is it really safe to go out anymore, who can we trust? Would you put your life in the hands of a Hero today? When they have proved our streets are no longer safe. We still have no information on what is going on, or who is involved but we must remain observant. We will continue to report the latest news as we receive it, but for now, we must implore you to heed the warnings of the city-wide curfew that is soon to be implemented. If anyone has any information on these occurrences in the city please send them to us or contact the police, you can remain anonymous. The safety of our citizens is what is most important, stay vigilant and don’t go out unless it is absolutely necessary.

One thing we know for sure: we can no longer rely on Heroes to protect us. The streets of our once-great city are no longer safe, we are no longer safe.

***

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

That fact is made even more horrifically apparent as he stumbles through your open window—and how long has it been since you’ve slept with it closed?—dripping with blood and panting from his flight.

The T.V. blares in the background, filling your tiny apartment with incessant ramblings that only grow louder by the day, and you already know what they’re going to say before they say it. Because you see him, before the reporters stumble upon heroes in the wreckage—you see what they do to him before they’re warning the public of dangerous villains loose in the streets.

They spout off about failing heroes but you think they’ve done a pretty damn good butchers job. Red feathers matted together, sticky and brown, fall in tufts from his back. You burn with shameful jealousy at the thought of those who would call themselves heroes having laid hands on what is yours.

He isn’t really yours and you know that, though you often wish you could be a bit more delusional. It might not hurt so much then.

They call him a villain. They call him a threat to society.

But even faced with the truth spilling from him and onto your creaking floors, it is easy to forget what a ruthless predator the man before you becomes when he leaves these four walls.

Especially as he falls forward on heavy feet straight into your arms, outstretched and waiting. There are stains on your shirt but you’ve known the secret for getting blood out of clothing for years now. Cold water for the fabric, warm to wash away the grime on his lovely skin.

“Gonna need you to fix me up again, sweetheart,” Hawks mumbles into your shoulder where his forehead rests.

His breathing is even more ragged now, not just from the flight.

“I know,” you reply and your hands shake when they find the gaping wound at his side—wide and deeper than the ones before. “I know. Can you walk?”

He doesn’t respond but that mop of golden hair shifts a bit as he slings an arm over your shoulder and rests his weight. You don’t need to direct him to your bedroom. This is an old game you’re playing and he knows the steps.

So do you.

Though, you’re never sure if it's dread that fills you and makes your stomach knot and your knees weak. Or if it’s that awful, momentary rush of excitement at the prospect of being able to run your fingers over him, bare and giving you free reign.

As long as he’s bleeding out on your floor.

Then you can feel him.

When he’s dying and needs you.

Needs you to fix him.

But won’t ever let you close enough to finish the job the way you want to.

You comfort yourself in with the knowledge that at least he lets you this close. At least those thin, silver-skin scars are the unmistakable mark of your healing hands. At least you’ll always haunt him like the red feather down that sticks to your pillows or between your floorboards.

So you strip him carefully and try not to let his sculpted chest distract you from the work. Hawks is silent, such a model patient as always. Only grunting when your fingers move to knit together the ragged edges of his flesh.

This will leave a nasty mark, you know it already. But you can’t find it in yourself to mourn the loss of that lovely skin.

It will only make it harder for him to forget you.

You’re knelt beside him, laid out on a towel you keep at the edge of the bed. Blood will soak through to the sheets regardless, but you try your best. He takes a sharp breath, white teeth catching the back of his hand between them to stifle groans.

You wish there was more pleasure to it. That he was biting back moans for you instead of trying not to scream as his flesh pulsed and grew hot while it was rebuilt under your fingertips. So you indulge, pretend your hands are elsewhere, roaming his perfect waistline and pulling whimpers from him.

Your dangerous, villainous, predator Hawks sprawled on his back, wings spread and cumming onto his chest under you.

The sounds above you change, and you know it hurts—must be excruciating as bone is set back into place—but you chose to believe it’s because he’s trying to keep himself from screaming your name as he reaches his release.

Hawks, you’d croon to him—Hawks because you don’t know his real name. Don’t know who he was before he started this underground life of crime on the fringes of a society that called him a monster and then turned him into one.

He isn’t a monster in your bed, though he may cry like one.

Cry as you mold his flesh and try not to look him in the face. Try to pretend they are an overflow of some better emotion. And when those summer wheat field eyes roll back in his head and those horrible pretty noises stop, you push past the growing ache in your limbs until the skin under your palms is smooth and no longer leaking thick, red blood.

And you do your best to resist the itch to feel more of him while he can’t stop you. Even with your fingers numb from overexertion, you can’t help but fall back on your heels and long for the feeling of his cheek in your hand, or his chest on your face.

But your part of the transaction is done.

And your permission doesn’t extend past these limits.

And it pains you to wish harm on him.

But it hurts even more when he does not need you.

So you sit and hate yourself and hope that those heroes with their disgusting philosophies get their shit together just a bit more. So you won’t lose your purpose. So he’ll keep coming through your window, permanently open through rainstorms and snow and spring heat.

Hawks’ breath evens slowly, and you stay still as a watched painting—no shifting eyes or moving limbs.

You crave these times like water or warm food—constant and instinctively.

And this is the only time you’ll ever have them, hands so filled with pinpricks of fried nerves that you can barely feel the soft, relaxed muscle beneath them.

What a tragedy.

What an injustice—

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

***

“Hmm,” he groans, sitting up and wincing as the new flesh protests under his movements.

“You should rest for a bit longer.”

Hawks looks at you, stretched next to him on the mattress—a purposeful few inches of space left between your bodies. It’s both selfish and practical advice.

But he isn’t here for that kind of help.

“You know I can’t just be sittin’ on my ass,” he quips, flashing you that eyes closed, wide smirk that sets your heart hammering in your chest. “Can’t have anyone tracing me back here.”

“Normally I’d agree,” you don’t find it in yourself to give the words any bite, “but you were just actively bleeding out a few minutes ago.”

“Sure, but that was a few minutes ago,” he winks and you can already feel the bed shifting as he moves to settle himself over your hips, one toned thigh on either side to bracket you against the bed. “Now, let me pay you back for all that hard work, yeah sweetheart?”

You wish the way he peered up through those long lashes, gold eyes honed in on you like a piece of meat on a hook, didn’t make your face burn this much.

It doesn’t mean anything to him.

Because this arrangement really is transactional—so you have to get something out of it too. At least, that’s what he tells himself, you think. He doesn’t know that those scant few moments you hold his life between your fingers is more than enough payment.

It’s been this way since the very first time you stumbled across him, half dead in an alley. But then you think it might have just been a ‘heat of the moment’ sort of thing that had just stuck.

You heal him and he makes you writhe on the sheets with his tongue and his hands, until you're fucked into unconscious bliss and he can slip away without your prying eyes watching him go.

But you still aren’t allowed to touch Hawks, even when he reaches into those deep parts of you and molds them to fit only him.

“You don’t—” you start to protest, partly because you want to believe you don’t want it and partly because you want to hear him insist that he does.

“Shh,” Hawks presses a calloused finger to your mouth and it takes every ounce of strength not to suck it past your lips. “I don’t like leaving my debts unpaid.”

That’s the end of your determination for the night. So you try to relax into his touch as slides your bottoms off and tosses them to the floor. Try not to clench up under those fingers that spread your legs. He doesn’t like it when you squirm away, when you flinch from his hands.

You want to think it’s because he hopes you aren’t afraid of him—of what he is—like the rest are, and not because he wants to get it over with as quickly as possible.

You want to.

But he’s so hard to read, and your mind is not often a kind place.

“Mm, god I’m always so hungry after you patch me up baby,” Hawks licks his lips as he stares down at you. “You won’t mind if I eat you right?”

You cringe at how fast your head shakes.

“Mm, course you wouldn’t.”

You can hear the smirk in his voice, and he’s right though you resent it a bit that he’s got you pegged so easily.

But you’re weak, you’re no villain, you’re no hero.

And so you’ll never be able to resist him. But, damn, did you wish you had a name to cry out. Then at the very least, you could keep a part of him with you too. Then you’d have some to moan on the nights he goes uninjured and you have to bring yourself to lonely release, only thinking of him.

Of those wings spread above you like a burning, red sunset, obscuring the rest of the world from view with his blinding light.

“Hawks…” you hiss instead as he shifts your legs over his shoulders and lays his tender chest on the sheets. “Please.”

“Yeah, yeah, what’s it gonna be tonight then?” he asks, breath ghosting over the damp folds between your thighs.

“Thought you said you were gonna use your tongue,” you whine, impatient now for any scrap of attention he’s willing to give.

“If that’s what you want,” he presses a kiss into the crease of your leg and hip, nipping the delicate skin so you whine again. “It’s whatever you want, you know that.”

It isn’t though.

It’s not whatever you want.

You can pick the position, you can ask for his mouth or his fingers, but even then, they won’t go past your neck. Your hands must stay firmly knotted in the comforter and away from him while he works. Cause he is working. This is part of the job to him, it's only in your fantasies that he’s doing it simply for the hell of it.

Hawks nudges your embarrassingly soaked slit with his nose and hums at you, “So is that what you want? Want me to eat your pretty pussy, yeah?”

“Yes—ngh,” you don’t get much in past the confirmation.

He’s a busy man.

He doesn’t have time for your stupid, romantic day dreams.

So he dives right in, and it’s enthusiastic enough that you can convince yourself he simply wants you that badly.

Hawks tongue licks a long strip from your hole to your clit and sucks the little bud past his plush lips. They’re a lovely, soft pink against your skin and they make a mess of you in seconds. He starts up an even rhythm, drawing circles into the nerves that sing and have heat building up in you only seconds after he’s started.

You hate that you love how well he knows your body.

You hate that you only know his when it’s shutting down.

“You taste so good, you know that?” he mumbles, lapping at you and kneading your thighs. “Could live down here just drinking you every fucking day.”

He doesn’t always talk like that but you’re happy he is now. It distracts you from the deep, ingrained urge to yank him by the hair and taste yourself on his lips.

“Makes me wish I’d let those damn heroes get hits in more often,” he’s back to panting and you keen at the sound. “Want my fingers too?”

“Fuck yes,” you don’t even bother hiding the desperation anymore.

He deserves the boost to his ego. You’d shower him with praise if he’d let you, bathe him in warm words and press them into his skin with your tongue.

But he doesn’t let you.

Hawks’ hand on your thigh trails slowly against the sensitive skin until he’s pulling back to run his fingers through your folds to ease the stretch a bit as he pushes two inside. He knows you can take what he gives to you, knows you love the way he fills you up.

Your tingling hands ache to grab his head and force his lips back as he sits for a moment, eyes glued on the space where his fingers disappear into your body. He groans low at the wet sounds your bodies make at their joining. Your legs shake where they rest on him, the one other point of contact he’s allowed. Those deadly soft feathers brush your calves as he curls his fingers up and waits expectantly for the strangled cry he pulls from you.

“There it is,” his voice is so much lower when he speaks now. “Can’t exactly show you the real ones, but how ‘bout you let me make you see some stars, huh?”

He asks so much of you. So much. So often.

In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever actively asked him for a thing he hadn’t already offered in the few years you’d known him. Hawks does it all—the taking and the giving and the demanding.

And you’re simply along for the ride, holding on for dear life lest he drop you, let you plummet like rock to the barren ground.

Still, you are mortal and you crave and you will take what you can get.

“Mhm,” you whimper when his deft fingers increase their pace, not thrusting but grinding mercilessly into that delicious spot inside.

“You wanna cum now, sweet thing?”

Then, true to his villainous nature, Hawks latches his lips back onto your clit, wracking your body with waves of truly sinful pleasure. His tongue draws quick, perfect circles across the bud just how you like. You’ll never know why it feels so much better when it’s him touching you.

How he knows exactly what you want.

Most of it.

Then his other hand is reaching around your hip, thumb taking over to press down where his tongue had been. Panting for the third time, his gorgeous head rests on your thigh and he stares dead on into your eyes. That predator yellow gaze pins you to the pillows better than any hand could and he licks across his lips while you watch, moaning as he tastes you there.

You groan deep and unabashedly at the sight.

“What is it?” he’s teasing you, unable to keep that part of his cruelty hidden even now. “What do you want?”

You shake your head and wish you could turn away, flop against the mattress and writhe but you can’t. You just can’t give up this moment that’s etching itself into your retinas—like you’re staring head on at an eclipse, celestial and short-lived.

“Tell me,” Hawks whispers, nipping at your thigh and working his fingers harder on you. “Whatever you want, you’ll get it.”

And maybe it’s the sudden heat of the room, or the little breeze from his wings spreading defensively to block you from view of his nonexistent audience—the outside world maybe? To keep you, this secret indulgence, hidden from their prying hands. Or quite possibly it’s just your own weakness at the feet of years and years of loving—because you do, you love him, it’s clear by now that’s what this is—this man whose name you don’t know and whose eyes never seem to leave you even when he’s gone.

Maybe you simply crack under the pressure of keeping this awful, looming silence for too long.

You feel your lips split at the seams and it all comes rushing out in a polluted flood—a stagnant river of secrets.

“Let me touch you,” you gasp and close your eyes then just so you won’t have to see that grin slip from his beautiful face. “Please Hawks, let me touch you. I can’t do it anymore, just—I need to kiss you, I need more.”

All this time he hadn’t let up on pulling pleasure from your skin, but he stops now, bringing your release to a screaming halt.

The quiet that follows—devoid of fast breaths and wet slapping—is suffocating.

You wish you regretted the outburst, the waste of years worth of work to keep him coming back.

But you don’t.

Of course you will in a minute, when he slips away and doesn’t return.

But now it just feels as though that boulder of secrecy has been lifted off your chest and you can finally take in lungfuls of sweet, unhindered night air.

It’s only after that dreadful minute has passed and there are still hands on you—buried in you—that you dare to open your eyes again.

Hawks is staring blankly, an expression you’ve never seen before, so stark from the usual quirk of his lips and tilt of his chin. Blank, but calculating. You can see the gears clanking as his thoughts rush a mile a minute, faster than he’d ever dream of soaring over the city skyline.

He blinks once, twice, then again and you can see the redness blooming at the corners as his eyes grow glassy between each flutter of lashes. And then, as though moving through honey, he draws back from you, only to crawl up your body until your noses touch.

You hold your breath, lip caught between your teeth, but his slicked thumb comes up to pull it out of your gnawing reach. He strokes across the puffy skin, never meeting your gaze, until he slowly, slowly leans down.

It’s not really a kiss, more of an accidental brush, so little of your lips touch you could easily have imagined it. When he speaks again, you can feel him forming the words against you.

“I—” he starts and licks his lips and yours and you don’t think it’s an accident, “I can’t.”

It isn’t what you want him to say, but it’s better than a silent loss .

You know truth when you hear it.

“I know.”

And you do, you do know, you’ve always known. He’s darker when he’s not with you. You’ve seen the carnage he leaves behind broadcasted on screens, but it’s never stopped the ache before.

He can’t keep you the way you want, can’t have things that get in the way.

You can only touch him when he’s dying. You can heal him, reform his flesh and bone—pull him back from the brink—but you’ll never feel his chest against yours or his hair slipping through your fingers or have all of him buried inside you. He’ll never love you like you want him to.

It doesn’t stop you from wishing.

And apparently, it doesn’t stop Hawks from kissing you anyway.

“I can’t,” he repeats and it sounds so broken you almost think that wound has reopened and he’s going to start slipping away again.

But the only thing that slips is his tongue past your lips and tangling with your own.

And then the levee breaks.

It’s a sudden torrent of hands and legs knotting together like the torn edges of too many injuries. Hawks covers every available part of you like an addict seeking his fix. It’s breathless and uncoordinated but you’ve never felt more alive, alight, aflame.

He presses his lips to yours again, pulling away and then diving back in. Frantic hands pull you off the mattress until your back is against the headboard and he’s straddling your lap. You take the opportunity to sink your fingers into that goldenrod hair and it’s just as silky as you’d imagined it to be.

Hawks moans into your mouth, kissing you wildly, like the beast he is with teeth clacking and your tongue sucked between his lips.

“I can’t,” he keeps mumbling, between groans and hips grinding and hands grabbing, “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t— “

You wonder then which one of you he’s trying to convince.

But you don’t ask, just let your hands wander to the delicious curve of his ass on your thighs and squeeze, rolling his bulge against you. His fingers push and proud, ghosting across your chest and stopping to pinch your nipple. He drinks down the whimpers you let out, letting his lips wander your jaw and throat, sucking bruises—leaving his own scars on you—as he goes. He pushes you back down to the pillows so his lips can continue their work, latching onto the quickly hardening bud and suckling lightly. His groan sends little shockwaves through you and he looks up with brows furrowed like he’s in pain with how good it all feels.

“I’m sorry,” he says and it’s so soft you barely hear it between licks at your chest.

“No,” you finally find it in you to respond, shaking your head and pulling him back to your lips.

“I’m sorry,” he says again while you nip at his earlobe and down his jaw, tight pants yielding under your hands as they’re tugged away so he’s just as bare as you.

“No,” you shake your head and any response dies on his tongue as you dig your fingers into the feathers at the base of his wings and pull him forward.

Hawks lets out a choked gasp as his length, bare, hard, and leaking glides across your cunt. Any other time, you’d have liked to savor this moment. Get on your knees and worship his pretty cock—and you know it's pretty, just from your short glimpse. He’s long and perfectly thick, just how you dreamed he would be. The cute tuft of blond curls at his base is course in the best way as you trail your fingers through it to take him in your palm.

“Ahh,” he keens, arching above you with his head thrown back as you stroke him for the first time.

It’s been so long, you're not sure how you ever resisted this before. Not with how heavy and warm he is in your fist.

“Hawks,” you moan, sucking at the dip in his collarbone and moving to bite at his nipple. “Hawks, please.”

“I—” you think he might protest but you flick your thumb over the tip and it pours precum to help the slide of your fingers.

He’s already got those powerful arms hooked under your knees, all he has to do is lean forward and sink into that tight, awaiting heat, and he knows it. You can see the resolve cracking.

“Hawks,” you beg again. Because you are begging, that’s what this is.

And he looks at you, drool slipping from the corner of his mouth and brows all bunched up with his head shaking.

“Hawks.”

His hands grip the underside of your thighs and knock your hand from his dick.

“Hawks.”

His forehead comes down to rest against yours, eyes squeezed shut and red at the edges. You feel the sting at the corners as if they were your own.

“Hawks.”

You can only touch him when he’s dying.

Is he dying now?

Are you killing him?

“Hawks.”

His breath hitches, whatever he might have said is long gone when the head of his cock catches against your entrance.

“Hawks—”

He sinks in to the hilt all at once and the last utterance of his name is a yelp. Your walls clamp down hard around the intrusion, so much bigger than his fingers, so hot and long and thick as he pulses inside you.

There are no words after that.

No names, no refusals, just his face pressed up on yours as he pushes your thighs to your chest and rolls his hips, fucking you evenly into the mattress.

Not soft or slow or overly rough.

Though it is all of those things at once as well.

Hawks has always been full of contradictions. It makes sense that this is too.

Both your eyes stay open, lips brushing and sharing breath as he slips a hand back down to your clit and starts those perfect circles up again.

He doesn’t ask you questions now. Just stares in your eyes and sinks his cock into your over and over until you feel fuller, more complete than you ever have in the whole of your life.

There’s no warning leading up to the end. You feel the crest approaching, the coil waiting to snap low in your belly and you don’t dare take your eyes off his face. You need to commit the entirety of this moment to memory. Just in case.

Just in case it never happens again.

Or worse, it happens over and over until it doesn’t.

Until you run out of chances to touch him.

Until he comes to you too far gone.

“Oh fuck,” he mutters and that’s all the warning you get.

All the warning you have the strength to listen to as you tumble over the edge, waves of rolling pleasure burning under your skin. You clench hard around his cock as his hips stutter in their pace, thrusting unevenly as you gush and he spills rope after rope of hot release deep into you.

And you’d been wrong before, because this was full. This was whole, your stilling bodies pressed together at every point with his cock still hard and twitching as your walls milked him of cum that warmed you from the inside out.

This is what you would die for.

***

Later when you stumble into unwilling wakefulness, there are hands tucking a thin sheet over your bare skin.

Hawks has pulled himself from you after resting like you’d told him he should. He’s dressing, though not hurriedly, and you can’t find it in your jelly bones to move or stop him.

You’re both silent, even when he looks down to find your eyes alert and raking over him—costume donned and wings prepared for flight.

His face is drawn in a way that might have been resentment. Maybe towards you for breaking his resolve, maybe at himself for indulging in what he cannot have.

I can’t.

You hear the words as clear as though he’d just said them.

I can’t.

Can’t have you. Can’t forget his purpose. Can’t have gentle things.

Hawks is a villain, first and foremost, above all else and that includes you.

So you don’t move to stop him as he walks softly through your door. You just watch as he makes his way to the open window and perches on the ledge. He does look back, only briefly, to see you draped across the sheets, head resting on your arm and staring at him as he leaves you.

The ghost of that cheeky grin crawls its way onto his face before he tips backwards off the landing and into the night sky. He winks once before the indigo of the night swallows him like the maw of a leviathan. The city has teeth and it will chew him up and spit him back out into your arms soon enough.

So you’re content to wait.

You know this isn’t the last time. That he’ll come back to you as he’s always done. And offer you more and more of himself each time.

Because you can only touch him when he’s dying.

And this world is nothing if not determined to kill him.

So you can keep your purpose.

And by extension, you can keep him.

[luvdsc]

too hot! hot damn!

what do you get when you mix red and blue together?

pairing :: lee taeyong x reader genre :: fluff / boyfriend au word count :: 2,121 words warnings :: a tiny paragraph about making out playlist :: cherry kisses (chungha) ⋆ daft pretty boys (bad suns) ⋆ hands on me (taeyeon) ⋆ crash my car (coin) ⋆ shy (hunny) author’s note :: to the insanely talented goddess who wrote the first nct fic i ever read nearly 3 years ago and still love to this day!!! i didn’t think i’d ever get to be friends with one of my favoritest writers on here, but here we are :’) ily els @taeyongtime​ ♡ 

“It’s hot.”

You’re draped across the old, yet still very plush couch, the kitschy pattern spread across it now fondly regarded as one of the things that transforms this dingy little place from a shoebox apartment into home. The thin spaghetti strap of your faded tie-dyed tank top from your old sorority days hangs limply off of your shoulder, threatening to fall even more when you slump over to the left. The simple drawstring shorts you have on barely cover your legs, but you contemplate tossing them off still because it’s just. So. Damn. Hot.

“It’s hot!” you whine even louder, throwing your arms up in the air before letting them flop down onto the cushions dramatically. The nearby open window only blows in a measly little breeze that does nothing except dry the sweat on your skin for a few glorious seconds before it reappears like a stubborn stain. Your boyfriend only raises an eyebrow at you from his spot on the floor, sprawled out in front of said window and using one of his Nylon magazines as a makeshift fan.

Taeyong agrees, flapping the glossy pages in front of his face desperately. “It’s too hot.”

Two days consisting of barely surviving the power outage creeps into a third, the prospect of having AC again anytime soon becoming extremely bleak. The transformer had completely blown out, and the electric company finally sent out a crew to fix it earlier this morning. The estimated restoration was initially set to noon, but it was pushed back until 3 p.m., then 6 p.m., then 10 p.m., then 5 a.m., and now the big black bolded letters spelling out “undetermined” mocks you from the screen of your phone that's already set to the lowest brightness setting to conserve battery.

To make it worse, your city was suffering a heat wave, temperatures spiking to 105 degrees Fahrenheit every single day and simmering down to 80 during the night before climbing the thermostat again. The raging thunderstorm that plagued last night only resulted in unexpected humidity, making your clothes stick to you like a second skin.

“Make it less hot,” you moan, blowing air upwards towards your forehead in an attempt to cool down in the slightest way possible.

“I can’t control the weather, babe, but I can get you a popsicle?” Taeyong sluggishly pushes himself into a sitting position to face you. The shiny magazine in his hand still flounders around until he gives up on it and tosses it aside.

You turn your head, cheek pressing into the couch cushion, as you squint at him. “We don’t have any left. We took all our food from the fridge to Doyoung’s place. I can’t believe that bastard has a gigantic generator and is flourishing in his stupid air conditioned apartment and making frozen sangrias, while his best friends are about to die from heatstroke.”

You had sent back a rather crass Snapchat back to Doyoung after he sent one earlier of his perfect, Instagram story worthy, iced alcoholic beverage. It’s honestly a miracle that he didn’t toss your beloved brown sugar boba ice cream bars out onto his pristine balcony with picture perfect potted plants to perish. That man can still hold onto a grudge even after he’s on his deathbed and descending into the fiery pits.

Taeyong stands up and slowly ambles towards the refrigerator. “I saved two popsicles in the freezer. I figured it’d stay cold enough and not melt if we ate them soon.”

“Oh my god, that’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever said to me.” You struggle to push yourself up into a sitting position before finally being able to, watching your boyfriend open the freezer and pull out the last two saving graces.

“Do you want blue raspberry or cherry?”

He holds out the two icy sweets in front of you, one in each hand. You already know that he secretly wants the red one; it’s been his favorite ever since he was five and tried his very first one from the ice cream truck that still comes around his parents’ neighborhood. But you also know that he always lets you choose first and wouldn’t complain if you take that one.

You reach out and pluck the blue one from his grasp, and he smiles happily, eyes crinkling in the corners as he eagerly unwraps the cherry flavored one and shoves it in his mouth, tossing the wrapper into the nearby wicker trash basket.

He drops down onto the empty space next to you, reclining back and slouching in his seat. The two of you sit there peacefully, side by side and enjoying the cold snacks, until he wordlessly slides over, pressing the side of his arm and leg against yours.

“Move back,” you complain, shoving him over to his original position. “It’s hot, and you’re making it worse.”

“So are you calling me hot?” Taeyong wriggles his eyebrows at you before taking a bite of his popsicle, much to your horror. He moves closer to you again for the sole sake of annoying you.

“First off, I’m calling you sweaty. Secondly, did you just bite your ice cream?” You throw him a dirty look before moving over and turning to sit with your back against the arm rest, throwing your legs over his lap.

Taeyong slightly pouts at you, munching on yet another chunk of his popsicle and ignoring the way you wrinkle your nose in disdain. “What’s wrong with that? It’s melting, and I don’t want it to drip and get my hand all sticky.”

You can’t believe that you just discovered your boyfriend is a psychopath. He’s going to the same circle of hell as people who pour milk in before cereal and those who hate mint chocolate chip ice cream once he leaves this earth (He can even say hi to Doyoung as he descends to eternal damnation).

“Why didn’t you say anything about this before we started dating?” You are absolutely appalled. Horrified. Disgusted. This is the biggest relationship deal breaker you have ever come across.

“Next, you’re gonna say you hate me because I don’t like pineapple on pizza,” he says as his free hand settles on the top of your thigh, gently tapping rhythmically against it absentmindedly.

“Oh my god, you absolute heathen.” You really thought Taeyong was the perfect man of your dreams, but you unfortunately realize belatedly that even he has flaws. Some inexcusable ones, in fact. 

In the midst of your lamenting, you fail to notice melting sugar slowly trickling down until it leaves a sticky mess all over your hand. Desperately, you toss the empty popsicle stick into the nearby waste basket before licking off the remnants of your icy blue treat from your fingers.

“See? It melted all over you. I told you so,” Taeyong childishly sticks out his tongue as he waves his clean hand and empty popsicle stick around as if to emphasize his point.

“Your tongue’s red,” you say, chuckling slightly, and his eyes widen at this newfound revelation.

“Wait, stick out your tongue,” he demands as he throws away the wooden stick, and you comply with his request. He grins, delighted. “Yours is blue!”

He sticks out his tongue again, almost going cross eyed as he tries to catch a glimpse of his own. At that, your eyes zero in on his cherry stained lips, and an ingenious idea pops up in your mind as the sudden urge to kiss your boyfriend silly makes itself very known.

“Hey, wanna play a game, Yongie?” you ask slyly, and his attention immediately turns to you at the word “game,” interest piqued and eyes fixated on you.

“What kind of game?” he inquires cautiously, taking note of the mischievous glimmer in your eyes. You look like you’re up to no good, and your boyfriend wouldn’t be surprised if you have something up your metaphorical sleeve (Because nobody sane enough would be wearing something with sleeves in this weather from hell. In fact, you’re 66.6% percent certain that those fiery pits are probably cooler compared to here).

“Too hot.”

“Yes, it is,” he acknowledges, shaking his head in agreement, and you laugh, fanning yourself with your hands. “No, silly, I meant the game.” 

“It’s called ‘too hot’?” He raises an eyebrow at you, and you confirm, nodding your head. The expression of skepticism on his face says it all, so you throw in your bargaining chip.

“I hid a chocolate bar in the freezer’s ice chest. The winner can have it.”

His doe eyes immediately light up at the mention of his favorite sweet, and he grabs your hand, squeezing it tightly. “Okay, how do I play?”

“We kiss,” you start, and he’s already pulling you towards him enthusiastically, causing soft laughter to bubble up from your throat, before you swat his hands away. “Hey, hey, hey, I wasn’t done explaining it yet! There’s no touching allowed.”

“That’s no fun,” Taeyong whines, lips jutting out into a tiny pout that you want to kiss away already. “You said this is a game. Games are supposed to be fun.”

“But you’re getting kisses, and it’s already hot so it’s better this way,” you coax, and he relents with a drawn out sigh, and you quietly cheer. “Okay, ready?”

Taeyong gives you a tiny nod, and you grin before leaning in, eyes fluttering close. You gently place your lips against his, and he holds still. But then, a few seconds later, you feel his fingers barely grazing your cheek, and you immediately pull away with a frown.

“Baby, I told you that you can’t touch!”

“That rule is dumb,” he complains, crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child. You frown at him, pouting until he gives in again because it’s you and he’d cross oceans and climb mountains for you.

“Okay, let’s try again,” he grumbles, glowering as he absentmindedly cards his hand through his hair, and you positively beam at him, and the sulking expression on his face softens almost instantly.

“What if we do baby steps first?” You pull your legs up onto the couch, sitting up on your knees and facing him. He fully turns to look at you, head cocked to one side.

“What do you mean?”

You lean forward and peck his cheek before moving back to your original position. “Like that. Now your turn.”

A lightbulb goes off in his head, and Taeyong leans forward and gingerly places a kiss on your forehead with an endearing smile. You inch forward and kiss his other cheek. He plants a tiny kiss to the tip of your nose, and you lean in to delicately leave a kiss on the corner of his mouth. He presses a kiss to the corner of your lips, and you do the same to the opposite side, much to his utter frustration.

This time, Taeyong chases after you when you pull away. You let out a noise of surprise as he gently tugs you forward, crashing his lips against yours and muffling your laughter, and you find yourself straddling your boyfriend. Your hands wind up tangled in his hair, while his arms lock around your waist and hold you close, game be damned.

You can taste a faint trace of cherry, causing the corners of your mouth to curl into the minutest hint of a smile before you press your mouth against his more firmly as he kisses you back eagerly until you both run out of air, pulling away breathlessly with identical smiles.

“You lost,” you tease, poking his cheek with your finger as your other hand curls around his shirt. He makes a face at you, his hands still resting on your waist, and you find that you don’t mind the warmth of them against your skin even in this ruthlessly blazing weather.

“But you’ll share the chocolate, right?” he mumbles, face still flushed and lips redder than before. He traces soft patterns against your hip as you tilt your head to the side, faking your hesitation.

“Hmm, I don’t know, should I? I won fair and square.”

He sticks his tongue out at you. “Meanie.” 

You laugh, sliding off his lap and onto the empty seat next to him (albeit a little unwillingly, but it’s still hot as hell unfortunately, and conserving body heat together isn’t helping at all). Your boyfriend frowns, mostly because you’re no longer sitting in his lap, but partly because he doesn’t understand why you’re laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

Your grin widens, eyes sparkling like you know something he doesn’t (because you do). “Baby, your tongue’s purple.”

Taeyong turns a shade brighter than his favorite popsicle flavor.

[owvinea]

// au, dsmp, rp

- mentions of death, like, a heavy existential crisis

immortal phil au where he is actually an asshole. he's been alive for thousands of years, he's seen people fall innocent or guilty, he's gotten attached and lost everything and repeat more times than he can count.

but after it happens so often - that's all people are to him. an hourglass, with its sand slowly but surely running around, a ticking bomb that could blow his heart to pieces again at any time, for he only knows the timer exists, he doesn't know what time it displays.

he meets techno, someone who's lived for a little bit longer than others - centuries are meer child’s play for phil - and techno is, well. valuable. he's a skilled fighter, and he's clever, and he's fun to be around.

and so phil indulges- but keeps his distance. goes with techno on adventures, starts empires and begins great tales, takes him on flights and resource runs and teaches him, all the while they're happy, and phil's happy, and he's occupied until inevitably techno passes and he'll be on his own again.

there's nights in the empire where techno will almost reach out, almost, almost. he holds out his hand - metaphorically - and almost begs phil to follow, to slide his hand in his and let techno lead them forward for once, to great times of wars and conquer, and phil looks away, backs out, raises his walls and leaves until it gets better, because he- he's better than this, he doesn't get attached, he doesn't need techno in his life, this is just a momentary little friendship that he can milk experience and reputation from until techno dies- that's what he tells himself.

but he's scared, somewhere deep- terrified of opening his heart once more to someone who could throw it in his face the next year, month, day, hour, if he's not careful, because he so painfully knows techno's timer exists and beeps loudly but he doesn't know when it will go silent and play out the last breaths techno will ever take.

and before he knows it, every day spent on his own, every night spent ignoring techno's hitched breath and darkened eyes glossed from nightmares, every day spent dodging techno's attempts at something more, something like a warm presence for his cold eternal heart - he can't wait to get back to techno. he always takes a step back, raises his shield and throws on a brave face, but then he's longing to be spending the nights around campfires again, craving that warm sunlight as they lay in the fresh grass and enjoy the warmth of the rare summers in the arctic.

he didn't mean for it to be this way, he didn't mean for techno to become something- something more than just a playful hot potato game with the slowly emptying hourglass techno really is, but he can't handle life without techno anymore, can't imagine himself without him, because when he wakes he thinks if techno's slept well, when he cooks their food he thinks if techno prefers salted over sweetened, and when he shivers out in the wild arctic he thinks, is technoblade cold, or is he huddled around the fireplace and cozy and everything phil longs to be at night?

and then he finds himself wasting his days away pouring over old books full of knowledge that even transcends him, the bags in his eyelids getting heavier and limbs drooping, aching with lack of sleep as he trails over every word, searching.

immortality, life expansions, revival, resurrection.

he finds nothing.

and then he screams, and screams again, and throws the books into the fireplace with as much hate as he can muster, because they're the reason techno will be dead, the reason why techno's hourglass will shatter and scatter all the precious sand for phil to try and fail to pick up and repair.

he wails and he breaks swords against walls and he cries, loud and raw and heartbreakingly open for the universe to see, because there's no denying or helping it anymore; techno's going to leave him, and he'll be alone, and the warm days will turn withering and freezingly cold, because no matter how much the sun tries to hold him together for a little more, without techno, he'll never be whole again.

he comes back, eventually, thinks it must be the world's disgusting sense of wicked humor that forces him to walk up to the empire's doors again- no, not forced. he wants to be here. he needs to.

and he's open again, back in techno's arms and throat too hoarse to talk, but techno understands and looks at him with eyes that threaten to pull phil all the way down to the bottom of the earth and leave him longing, longing to see the amusement and joy and cheer in techno's eyes instead.

and that night he dusts the old libraries, sets his bed, wipes down the windows and cooks them a meal for the night, and as he looks out into the wild arctic he feels no need to leave anymore.

that morning, he wakes next to techno, and makes breakfast with techno, and feeds their chickens with techno, and he thinks, cathartically in some fucked up way, techno will die one day. he will pass, he will close his eyes for the last time and breathe out the final breath. and phil will be okay.

phil will be okay because when that day comes he'll be there, right by his side, holding his hand and leading him to the other side, and he'll be okay because they'll have precious memories and adventures behind them, and phil will be there for them all.

he'll grieve, and he'll be alone, but he'll be okay, because he'll never leave techno's side again. he doesn't long for immortality, or to have a dance with death to drop to his knees and beg, not him, please not him, not yet, because it'll be okay in the end, whenever techno's day will be, because regardless of what happens, phil would have been there, and he would have made techno's life outweigh the pain in his burning heart.

[motsimages]

Thoughts on the drug use and perception of drug use in Gotham and in The Batman. It will be long.

TLDR: in the movie The Batman, drug use is portrayed in different people in different ways, including Batman. Is it used as a narrative device to reflect on the character?

Gotham is a destroyed city. I know they based it off Chicago, maybe New York, but given the state of it, I'd say is more Detroit in that there was industry and money, something happened, and there is no more. If it was Europe, it could be one of those mine/industrial towns in the UK or the North of Spain when there were miners and now there is nothing. It is not even interesting enough to gentrify, for some reason (probably the Arkham Asylum, not because crazy people=dangerous but because have you seen the place? No wonder you want to watch the world burn if you've been there long enough) villains seem to love it. Add to this the opioid epidemic in the 2000s and *chef's kiss*. (if Gotham was in Spain, it would have been the heroine crisis of the 80s-90s)

So in The Batman we have dropaine addicts. Drop seems to be a new kind of drug. The effect are not really explained, more shown, so they are unclear, maybe it is a mix of other drugs and "drop" is just the name, like it happens with crack or others?

It seems to be a global problem in Gotham. It is mentioned at the beginning that crime and addiction are rising issues that are not being addressed.

And in Gotham, like in real life, drug users are reduced to two kinds: junkies and the respectable ones. The respectable ones may be as addict (or more) as the junkies but they have money and access to drugs when necessary. They also have access to housing, food and life pleasures. Junkies only have occasional access to drugs.

In The Batman this is best seen in two scenes: when they go to the -6º and all the local important people are there getting high, partying with music and pretty girls, and when they go to the orphanage and there are 3 young boys in a dark room with bunk beds, who can barely even notice someone (Batman) is there.

In the disco, Selena comments on how she dislikes drop addicts. In the orphanage, it is Gordon's turn to comment with the same disgust. Each one of them deals with a different side of the same coin. Batman doesn't deal with any of them, hidden in his mansion, fighting from the shadows.

But Batman, who spends the whole movie in a personal and metaphorical travel between shadows and light, has a personal report with drugs. At the end of the movie, he gets a shot in his leg of what could be drop, to get up and fight to save Selena. Because of the instant high of whatever he took, he almost kills someone with his owns fists and he has to be stopped. Gordon looks at him worried and horrified.

This may be the first time we clearly see Batman in a movie or series using some substance to stay awake and fight. He may have taken amphetamines, adrenaline or any other. He may have taken drop. He may have awake for over 30 hours working to save people but also forced by the effect of the drug.

It could have been just a scene at the end, except at the beginning, he mentions that sometimes when he comes back after beating the shit out of petty criminals, he doesn't remember what happened. It has gotten worse over the years. So he may have been getting high for the past 2 years (or more) and it may be taking its toll on him. He needs to record, write and analyse everything so he doesn't forget.

He is a rich kid with terrible coping mechanisms. Where does he get his drug from? Who is his dealer? Does Alfred know (it is in his costume after all)? Does he perceive himself as a junkie too? Is he aware?

He thinks he is exceptional, but as the Riddler says at the end, there were other orphans too, the forgotten ones. And Batman sees them, in the orphanage. The rich men have all the resources, all the fun (he could be one of them, but he doesn't want to be, he chooses to be uninformed), but he is an orphan. Is he like the other orphans?

In other Batman movies the possibility that he is a villain or not so different from the villain is also explored, but are they using drugs in this movie to connect Batman with the average Gotham citizen? He could be a hero, he could be a criminal, but can he be a citizen? Can he be a junkie?

If this is explored in the next movie, it will be an interesting take on this particular hero and on superheroes in general.

[elytrafemme]

HELLO!! HI! HOW ARE YOU DOING?! IM GREAT! This chapter was so good, and I'm still riding my metaphorical high while writing this- Anyway, lots of things I want to talk about as per usual so imma get to it :D Tommy in this chapter was so....like- he's such a boi... Like you have got his dialogue mastered! it's literally just Tommy, like he's said that in canon. I always hate (love) when cs!Tommy is causally like, "We're brothers! Family! You are my person! :D" to Tubbo who just thinks, "No we're not, not really, I'm ruining your family, you were better off without me barging my way in your life" It's sad but I'm also a huge fan of dramatic irony and characters being entirely oblivious to the fact that they're loved. I really loved the quote, "You are my least favorite brother.” That’s not going to be much of an issue in a minute." Like dude, such a wonderfully stark contrast in energies between the two *chef's kiss* Open your damn eyes Tubbo, you literally are Tommy's brother smh. But seriously, your portrayal of clingyduo is always so well thought out and written, they are idiots who would do anything for the other's betterment, and it's so sweet. They just be vibing bein' teenage bois but with a pinch of (a ton of) depression thrown in for fun! Next I'm gonna talk about the scene with Tubbo and Phil, because holy cow was that some good writing, 10/10 would scream again! The mood for this was just so bleak, and the context makes it so clear to the reader (or at least to me) that Phil's gonna adopt him as soon as he mentions Tubbo's situation. Yet Tubbo just keeps planning his escape, how he'll survive, how he'll break the news to Tommy. It feels like the equivalent to watching a soldier march to their own death by choice. So miserable- I LOVE IT!! And his reaction to actually hearing that, no he won't be forced away, he'll be part of the family for real, he immediately goes into a state of panic because he doesn't feel like he should be adopted- that they don't deserve to have him ruin their family, but it doesn't defy logic. In fact, it makes more logical sense than the alternative, so it just matches what Tubbo's brain has been set up as. He goes with logic first, feelings second. But this reveals that he feels disgusted with himself to the point to where it doesn't fit with his logic, his whole base for living, he loses it and can't comprehend it. (Sorry if that part was incoherent I don't know how to use words lol) Anyway, it's all so consistent with his character in a way that turns his system of operation on its head, and exposes its flaws! And I really loved that whole paragraph using invasive species in an environment as an analogy for Tubbo in their family. So beautiful and sad that Tubbo literally thinks of himself as detrimental to the growth of his loved ones!

Now it's time for me to talk about *looks at smudged writing on hand* uh- fruit salad with mental illness..? Jokes aside, we got so much food this chapter, so much beeduo!! Per usual they had a gay as hell car ride, and Tubbo ranting about his hyperfixations- just amazing. And the fact that, at least in my interpretation, Tubbo is so used to and in love with Ranboo's voice that it's the first thing he thinks of to get out of panic. Mans cannot stand 5 seconds in silence and his immediate solution is to ask ranboo a gay-ass question- so good! And the line, "Tubbo has this stupid thought, sometimes, that if Ranboo’s talking, Tubbo can breathe again." THIS LINE IS JUST!!!!!! SO GOOD SO GOOOOOOOD. Tubbo always feels like he's suffocating and Ranboo helps him breathe!?!?! THE SYMBOLISM ITS AMAZING! And then we get all of Tubbo's spiraling self-hatred yet his desire to be loved in spite of him simply existing! He wants to hold onto Ranboo so tightly, but he's worried he'll suffocate him by proxy, and I just can't- it's so well done!! AND THEN WE FINALLY GET TUBBO OPENING UP ABOUT SOMETHING!!! And he's trying to mask why being adopted would be bad because he doesn't want Ranboo to defend him when he doesn't know how horrible Tubbo is! And Ranboo tries so hard, and doesn't know what to do, he literally loves him so much and wants to support him any way he can, and tubbo wants to help him too but thinks he's only making everything he touches worse!! And then when Tubbo was faced with the idea that he could be loved in spite of him being evil and gross and wrong he just breaks down and spills his guts out because he doesn't know how to live with that. Reading Tubbo finally open up was so cathartic and was just amazing. He felt so broken in that moment in comparison to the start of the chapter where he masquerades his misery with apathy or jokes. And just to destroy my heart some more because you thought it'd be funny, you made Ranboo open up a little too. Which meant even more to me, because Tubbo's been cracking at the seams for quite a few chapters now, we knew he would implode eventually. But Ranboo? For him it doesn't fester out of repression and denial, he feels and releases that misery all the time just not ever in front of Tubbo, so the fact that he was willing to share anything at all was such a giant breakthrough for him in the terms of their relationship. And I think this chapter really just secured beeduo as together in such a strong way. Because people connect through joy sure, but pain, empathy, that can be argued to bring them even closer. Okay, jeez I think I like cs!beeduo a little too much that was a lot of words lol. But yeah, those were my thoughts! This chapter made me really happy because the best thing to happen to characters who repress or shame all their trauma away is to talk about it to others. who could've guessed? Your imagery as usual was so vivid and brilliant, the spiraling scenes felt so real, and the dialogue felt so natural. Thank you for continuing to write this wonderful fic, because not only does it finally give me use for taking ib english, but it also makes me so so happy. I don't remember if I've said this yet or not, but if I have idc I'll say it again. You are the best dsmp fic writer for modern/human aus, never have I seen a better more realistic approach, you should feel proud! Until the next cough syrup tuesday mare! Have a good rest of your day! <333

HEY SORRY ITS BEEN ABOUT A WEEK HI!!!

one of the things that you can't really see fully because of the POVs but i always consider with cs!clingy scenes is the fact that a lot of cs!tubbo's confidence in the family dynamic as we know is sort of a farce because he doesn't feel like he belongs, but a lot of cs!tommy's force behind it also stems from some internal issues. i mean i'll go more into it in one of the later chapters but cs!tommy doesn't always have that confidence with his family. i don't know if that makes sense i'm a bit tired

"It feels like the equivalent to watching a soldier march to their own death by choice." love u saying this bc this is such a good way to describe it and im glad my writing could convey that feeling-- THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL THE KIND WORDS! i had to be delicate w/ that part because i didn't want to villainize philza in some kind of way but it's also a really complicated situation, and tubbo kind of jumps to what he sees as the most just option but his compass regarding what would be the best and worst option is skewed due to his self loathing

i wonder if you do a lot of writing yourself because i really am amazed by how you describe all these character connections its super fucking cool. but yeah beeduo!!! the process to opening up is really hard and what i want to demonstrate is this ebb and flow, this trust of one another but not an inward trust of themselves, and the idea that you oftentimes don't really dump all your bullshit on someone at once, you have some days you say more and then some aside comments and its some combination of that (albeit i have to accelerate the pace for narrative reasons that characters admit things to each other but yknow, cant have an 100 chapt fic) im really glad you like those two and honestly appreciate that a lot, the beeduo in the next upcoming chapters is going to be interesting to write so reading that was a bit like a pep talk funnily enough HAHA <33

YOU ARE SO FUCKING KIND TO ME WHAT THE HELL... THANK YOU SO MUCH!!! genuinely like, the fact that cough syrup can mean that much to you makes every single roadblock worth it and even if i have like, just one person out there who really really likes the fic, i'm never going to give up on it. because that means the fucking world to me. i appreciate you so much <3

see you in a week :]

[imagine-loki]

Threats and Collateral

TITLE: Threats and Collateral CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: One-Shot  AUTHOR:  wolfpawn

ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Loki’s reaction to his SO being brought in to the TVA as a way to control him.

RATING: General Audience NOTES/WARNINGS: None

Loki scowled at the contraption around his neck, limiting his power. Looking around the containment area, there were many creatures and beings with similar around their own necks. Since being captured by the TVA, he had been stripped of his armoured clothes and placed in grotesque and frankly uncomfortable attire and given food that he assumed the palace hounds would turn their noses up at.

He was yet to be spoken to by anyone of notable seniority as to what was the counts of which he was being held. They mentioned him altering the timeline but nothing more. He had to wait until he had a trial to know what was going to happen. Or so he thought.

Loki never liked being manhandled, as most beings tended not to, but being grabbed and forcibly handcuffed made him eye those around him carefully. The guards that did so, did it quickly while another man stood back and watched studiously which brought Loki’s attention to him. There was no manner to age the man in front of him, not with where he was, so there was no telling if he could defeat him or not in hand-to-hand combat, though being handcuffed and collared also was to his disadvantage.

“Follow me.”

That was all the man said before turning to walk towards one of the elevators that dotted the walls of the room Loki was in. He had known better than to attempt to go near one before, the singed clothing and black burns on the floor and the unconscious what he assumed to be corpses of different beings telling him to do so without authorisation was not to be recommended.

Though he did not trust the official of the TVA, Loki knew that whatever they wanted, they had no reason to burn him as they would not be so dim as to do so in such a fashion, ergo, he followed sceptically. Passing through the white line on the floor without being harmed and into the metal contraption to bring him to Norns’ knows where in the building.

“I am Mobius M Mobius and you, are Loki.”

“You heard of me, I’m honoured?” Loki eyed him carefully.

“Do you know where I am taking you?”

“You’re taking me somewhere to kill me.”

“No, I’m taking you some place to talk.”

“Well, I don’t like to talk.”

“But you do like to lie, which you just did. Because we both know you love to talk. Talkie talkie.”

Loki eyed the man with utter disgust at the juvenile and irritating manner in which he spoke.

The elevator came to a halt and the doors opened, bringing the two men to a room bare of all objects bar a table, two chairs on opposite sides of it and some stationary equipment.

Mobius indicated for Loki to sit at one side while he sat on the opposite side. “This is the TVA.”

“I know exactly what this place is.” Loki interrupted. “The Time Keepers have built quiet the circus and I see that the clowns are playing their parts to perfection.” “Big metaphor guy. I love it. It makes you sound smart.” “I am smart.” “I know.” “Okay.”

“Okay.” “What do you want from me?”

Mobius replayed the footage of Loki taking the Tesseract and explained how that was not the original timeline and then showed him what his actual timeline was, the events on Asgard with the Aether and the Dark Elves, him taking the throne under the guise of Odin, Odin’s death, the return of Hela, the destruction of Asgard and finally, the less than comfortable scene were Thanos choked him and snapped his neck in one fell swoop. With an unconscious rubbing of his throat, he looked at the agent across from him. “And you want me to help you because?”

“We need your unique Loki perspective.”

“I don’t believe you.” Loki shook his head slightly. “I don’t think you believe anyone. This Loki variant needs to be fixed.”

“But why is it the Loki variant when those misfit Midgardians clearly are the ones that altered time. How was I supposed to know that what I did was altering time when they were the ones altering it?” Loki pointed out. “The breaking of reality was not my doing, but theirs, have them fix it.” “But you don’t want us to do that, not really. Because if we did that, you would have to be imprisoned indefinitely as you are not the true timeline Loki and you know that you will face a less than pleasant end soon. But if you help us, you get to use all these traits you love so dearly to actually do something and not be destroyed. “ “What happens if I help you and fix all of this, let me guess, you’ll imprison me then?” “No, then you will be offered to stay here and work for us and fix mess after mess for…well, who knows how long. Time works a little differently here.”

“So, I help you, I‘m free to work for you, I don’t help you, I sit in uncomfortable clothes waiting to die of old age, which, if I am correct, may never actually happen here?” Loki checked.

“Something to that effect.” Loki thought over his options. “I am not interested.” “I thought you might say that.” Mobius activated his computer screen and clicked on buttons. With how he was doing it, Loki was suspicious that he was not actually typing anything at all but pretending to do so to try and get Loki to change his mind. But after a few moments, the elevator door behind them rung out and opened.

At first, Loki did not care enough to turn around. He suspected it was either someone to forcibly get him to comply, in which case, the ignoring served its purpose of not acknowledging such or it was guards to bring him to holding once more or to his new prison cell, which again, he did not care to acknowledge. But then, he felt the urge to look, especially when he sensed someone looking at him. When he turned, his eyes widened. “What?” He tried to rise from his seat but was pushed back down by a guard that seemed to just appear beside him. He glared angrily at Mobius. “How?” “We knew there was a high probability you would say no, we really needed you to say yes, so we brought a little incentive here for you,” Mobius explained. “I have studied practically every moment of your life. There is one single being in the universe you will willingly do anything for.” He pointed behind Loki. “Your adoptive parents, your adopted brother, sure, you’ll do stuff for them, when it suits. You used to be far more compliant, but then you grew up and realised your brother mattered more. You killed your biological father but her…you would do anything for her, wouldn’t you?” “No.” Both answered immediately.

Mobius looked at them both as sat back slightly before pointing to Loki. “He’s the better liar.” “I told him not to do anything stupid and he thwarted that coronation and literally did the most stupid thing possible letting go at the Bifrost, so no, he would not do anything for me.” She glared over at Loki who looked at the table shamefully.

“Yes, there’s enough time for domestic arguments at a later point, but we really need to get started on this.” Mobius focused on the matter at hand again.

“Wait, isn’t bringing her here altering the timeline even more so?” Loki pointed out. “I feel as though there’s a significant case of double-standards going on here.”

“It’s not really affecting the timeline because the timeline is already altered,” Mobius explained boredly.

“How could it possibly not be affecting the timeline when having her being here instead of being where she would actually be is affecting the timeline?” “Because she is integral to getting you to fix the timeline,” Mobius argued. “But she was doing something when you took her, now that is not going to get done and that affects the timeline.” Loki countered.

“We need her here to get you to say yes so you fix the timeline you broke, ergo, she fits this timeline.”

“Wait, I am here because Loki broke a timeline so to fix the timeline he broke, we have to break the one I was in?” She clarified.

“I didn’t break it,” Loki explained. “Thor and his Midgardian friends went back in time because they wanted to change the future but I touched something I was not supposed to touch while they were doing that because their attempts to get it went awry because they are idiots, so technically, they broke the timeline and I am being forced to fix it because it apparently my touching the Tesseract goes against TVA rules but them going back in time and altering the whole future does not.”

“By breaking the timeline I was on, which in itself is a breach of these rules?” She asked in disbelief.

“Exactly,” Loki confirmed.

“No,” Mobius stated a mere nanosecond after.

“It seems like it to me.” She looked at Loki for confirmation. “Me too.” Loki concurred.

“Well, it’s not.” Both looked at Mobius sceptically. “So, you help us and everyone is happy.” Mobius clapped his hands together. “So, let’s get you started as an agent.” Mobius pressed a button and Loki fell through a portal in the floor. Mobius rose to his feet and straightened his jacket boredly. “These men will bring you to the guest rooms.” “I think I rather do something while I wait.” “I don’t think so.” “I wasn’t asking.” She gave a smile that said she would not be dissuaded. “This is a big place, I am sure you can find somewhere for me and good luck trying to control him.” She laughed before walking out of the room.

Mobius sighed. “I immediately regret this decision.” He rose to his feet and went into the elevator. After a few minutes, the doors opened to show Loki looking at him in a shirt, tie, jacket and pants. “That better?”

“It will suffice.” Loki walked in and stood next to him.

Mobius remained looking forward as the elevator moved again. “I just need to grab a few things, and we will begin.”

Loki said nothing in response.

Mobius walked out of the elevator and the door remained open until his return a minute later, in entirely different attire and looking almost as though he had showered. He fiddled with his tie as he walked back in.

“I have to say,” Loki stepped towards him and centred his tie as he spoke. “I think it’s adorable that you think you can manipulate me. I am ten steps ahead of you.” “Is that right?” Mobius barely had a hint of curiosity in his voice. “Oh, it is.” Loki sneered. “Nor can she. Though, I am curious, where is she?” “Gone to dictate to whoever is stuck dealing with her.” Mobius looked straight ahead. “She will be fine.” “She had better, or else,” Loki snarled. “Or else what?” Mobius glanced sideways, no emotion in his voice.

“Or else I am going to burn this place to the ground,” Loki swore with a smile.

[halothenthehorns]

THE DREAM

Before Harry could get started, Sirius turned pouting eyes on Lily, who was already excusing herself for the kitchen. She came back not too long later, with no food in sight.

"I set something to bake, it'll be done by the time we are with this chapter," she smiled pleasantly at the fact that she was clearly annoying Sirius. In truth, she'd made the heartiest meal she could think of, she still couldn't shake the image from her mind Sirius was losing weight by the minute.

Sirius didn't argue with her, but instead sat back in his seat with mutiny while Harry began.

Hermione was laying out the groundwork for the end results, ether Crouch attacked Krum, or someone attacked them both.

"So, I wonder what you guys are discussing." James chuckled in surprise.

"You know, I'm surprised at you though Harry," Remus turned to him. "Looking back, you sort of just ran off to do as you were told, didn't it occur to you to go to Hagrid first? He was closer?"*

Harry opened, then just as quickly closed his mouth, that was an obvious enough answer.

"Don't be like that Remus," Lily scolded at once with a sigh, "it's easy to think of those things after the fact, as you just did."

He shrugged in acknowledgment even if he was still puzzled at Harry for it. Clearly the act of doing what he was told by the Dursleys still hadn't really ever left him, or he trusted Dumbledore more than Hagrid, either way it was odd to him.

    Ron was insisting Crouch was the true criminal here, he'd sent Harry to get Dumbledore so he could run.

"While I'd love for him to get sent to a very certain place for pulling a stunt like that," Sirius declared with a nasty look in place, "it fails me to see why he'd do that. Why come all the way up to the school just to pull a stunt like that?"

"You got me," Lily sighed, "the whole situation feels like something out of a murder mystery novel, and I always hate reading those."

Harry disagreed, saying Crouch had looked too weak to be pulling stunts like that, then offering himself a Disapparition.

Hermione said, for the umpteenth time, you couldn't do that on Hogwarts grounds!

"You might have to say it a few more times, just to make sure he got it," James smirked at Harry's eye roll.

Ron tackled a new theory, that Krum attacked Crouch, and then stunned himself.

Remus burst out laughing at this level of enthusiasm from him trying to figure this out, and though he could poke many holes in that, he couldn't deny Ron's spirit.

Hermione's cool response was to remind that Crouch had just evaporated then?

"How come we're not speculating on this?" Sirius pouted, "I've got a few ideas-"

"No Sirius," Lily said at once. "I want as little to do with that man as possible, and having to listen to what happened to him might satisfy you, but it'll only infuriate me more having to hear his name."

"It really won't bother you to at least try to guess what happened?" Remus asked her in surprise.

"I honestly couldn't care less what did, no matter what it was." She stated in no uncertain terms. "If you two want to chat about it later, leave me out of it."

Sirius grumbled at her being a killjoy, but James more than agreed with his wife on this one and waved Harry on.

It was the crack of dawn, and the three of them had never gone to bed. Instead they were on their way up to the Owlery to send a note of all this to Sirius.

"About time," Sirius' pouting increased, he couldn't believe how long it took Harry to get around to that, he should have used his cloak and done it without Dumbledore's say so!

Everyone disagreed with Sirius about that though, now that Harry was one hundred percent away from that, they didn't want Sirius anywhere near it either.

They were all puffy-eyed from exhaustion having stayed up all night discussing the events.

"Of all the fun, late night conversations you could have been having," James groaned. Would it kill his son to have a fun conversation once in a while like a normal kid?

Hermione was coaching Harry to give them a full account one more time.

When Harry got the part about Crouch saying everything was all his fault, he'd even brought up his own son, Hermione agreed that was Crouch's fault.

Harry made a testy noise of agreement along with everyone else, no one was cutting Crouch any slack in here.

Ron asked for a recount of the You-Know-Who part.

Harry repeated all the mention was, that he was getting stronger.

"Because that's always encouraging," James moaned, letting his head fall back against the cushions as the mention of Voldemort always caused such a horrid stirring in him lately even more than it had before his adult son fell into his living room. Now all he could picture was someone who was once a brother making that possible, when Voldemort was the reason he couldn't be there for his son! How on earth had Pettigrew ever worked out that this was okay, that he could continue going along with it? He tried to force himself to keep listening in on Harry, those kinds of questions kept plaguing him in what little time he actually spent asleep, he refused to dwell on it longer than he could.

Ron tried to force some confidence into his voice that this was the speaking's of a madman

"Here's to hope!" Sirius mock raised a glass, which he honestly wished was filled right now.

but Harry corrected he'd spoken of Voldemort when he was in his saner moments. Ron winced as always at the use of the real name.

"You been saying that nearly four years and he still flinches?" Remus asked in surprise.

"As well as Hermione," Harry agreed.

"I wish you'd start referring to him as Riddle," James muttered sullenly, this wasn't helping him feel any better, but he'd never miss an opportunity to mock either. "Be a nice knock to his ego and something everyone might catch on."

Harry honestly never thought about why he hadn't, he supposed the Riddle he met down in the Chamber had just seemed like such a wholly other person it was hard to put that together with the monster who had murdered his parents and so calling him Voldemort somehow made that make more sense.

Harry bitterly put in that if Snape hadn't held him up, they could know what had really happened.

"I absolutely believe that," Sirius snarled.

"Still can't believe anyone so cruel can be allowed in the school," James agreed bitterly.

Lily was still more pissed than anything Snape even still had his job after what he'd done to Remus last year, but this more than anything should have gotten him sacked! What if someone had really been hurt, and he'd just stood in the way and taunted Harry? What teacher could actually get away with that even if they had the audacity to do it?

Harry mockingly quoted Snape as he'd told of what rubbish his story was, and Harry followed up with demanding why Snape hadn't just moved.

"The man would murder his own child if he thought it would upset you," Sirius barked.

Remus gave him a sideways look for that disgusting metaphor, but Sirius raised a brow back to emphasize he wasn't taking it back. Not like anyone would get near that slimy little thing anyways to make it true.

Ron speculated that what if he'd done it all on purpose, what if he'd actually gotten down to the Forest before Harry and Dumbledore had made it?

"I really don't see how," James's face puckered with thought. "Dumbledore appeared and you two made a straight beeline there. Unless he jumped out the window and flew..." he trailed off with a shake of his head, still admiring Ron for keeping at this.

Harry said it wasn't possible unless he could turn into a bat.

"Would not put that past him," Sirius huffed.

Ron muttered he would not put that past him.

Sirius beamed and even Remus chuckled a bit at that one.

Hermione voiced that they needed to go see Moody, to see if he'd found Crouch or anything after they'd all left.

Harry agreed it should have been easy for him if he had the Map.

"Ture that," James nodded along.

"Hey, you think that's how he knew to come down in the first place?" Remus' eyes lit with understanding. "He was lying about Snape telling him, I can't believe otherwise, but maybe he hasn't told Dumbledore about the Map and he made that up on the spot."

"Why wouldn't he tell Dumbledore about the map?" Lily asked in surprise.

"It's on loan from Harry," Sirius reminded forcefully, he'd give that old auror hell if anything was said otherwise, "it's not his to tell about, Moody's respecting that while he's using it."

Nobody disagreed with him, though Harry could still feel a little niggle in him telling him that wasn't really everything.

Ron reminded it only showed up to the school's boundaries, so if-

He was cut off by Hermione shushing him as two more voices approached talking about blackmail.

"What on earth are these folks up to?" James couldn't help but smile in surprise.

"You lot spent way too much time getting blackmail on everyone in the castle," Lily grumbled.

"We did no such thing," Sirius said at once on reflex.

"We were merely keeping an ear out for certain rumors," James added on from old habits, his eyes flickering to Remus and away, "and just happened to come across other things on the way."

All of the boys felt an odd twitch possess them as they realized who should have finished that old joke, what his line would have been less than a week ago and how much they'd all missed having him around. Remus didn't know how he felt about it, he didn't know how the other two would feel about it, but the nasty lingering silence had to feel worse than him finishing instead, "and we only put it to good use."

James ruffled up his hair in unease and Sirius quickly forced a smile that looked almost painful, and Harry quickly read past the moment.

The other told that they'd tried the polite way, now it was time to play dirty unless their blackmailed target wanted them to get the Ministry involved.

The three Marauders had gotten so distracted by their own problem they'd almost forgotten what had started the mess, and weren't nearly as entertained as they knew they should have been by listening to this.

The first was still insisting it was the act of blackmail!

The second was just saying how the complaining would stop once they're payoff came in, when Fred and George walked into view.

"You said what now?" Lily balked, finally dragging worried eyes off her husband to land on Harry.

Harry was blinking down at the pages in shock, some wire in his brain going crazy as he knew he was finally getting to the bottom of how odd Fred and George had been acting all year!

Either the boys were still distracted by their own problem and were only half listening, or too stunned to speak, Harry quickly read out the exchange to silence.

Both parties stayed frozen, until Ron and Fred spoke at once of what the other was doing here?

"Oh lookie, now they're even mimicking each other in the books," Sirius said with a forced smile.

Harry and George responded in unison of sending a letter.

James honestly cracked a grin, egging Harry on and hoping this would continue.

While Hermione and Fred pointed out what time it was.

Now all five of them were giggling, there had never been a better timing for that release.

Fred broke the train first, forcing a smile and saying he wouldn't ask them, if they didn't ask.

He was holding a sealed letter, but whoever it was written for Harry didn't get a chance to read. Whether accidentally or not, George shifted just enough that the words were covered.

"On purpose," the other four said at once.

"Those boys have far too much experience by now to at least try otherwise," Lily told.

Fred tried to wave them out the door, but Ron asked who they were blackmailing?

"Blunt as a brick to the face," James beamed after his own laughing fit.

The twins smile vanished at once, before George played it off as a joke.

Ron insisted it hadn't sounded that way, then the twins exchanged a glance.

"These two are doing remarkably poor at this," Remus looked so disappointed.

"I know, you'd really think they'd learned diversionary tactics by now," Sirius nodded furiously, "change the topic to the most outlandish thing they can until they can slip away."

"You think that would work on their brother?" Lily asked, "Especially one as stubborn as Ron?"

"Worth a shot," James shrugged.

"Better than what they're doing, which is nothing," Remus agreed.

Fred abruptly switched to violence, telling Ron to let it go or he'd take his nose off.

"Oh, threats, that works much better," James rolled his eyes.

"Especially as we've never once seen them carry through on them," Sirius sighed in disappointment, he'd had such high hopes for these twins, yet they couldn't even evade their own brother.

"What are you lot trying to protect the twins for anyways," Harry grumbled in annoyance as a twitching continued just behind his eye. "You want to know what they're up to just as much as me."

"True," Lily instantly agreed.

"But we'd be remiss not to pass on our wisdom," James finished obviously.

Harry fought down the urge to point out the twins weren't here to be receiving this, nor did Harry have much use for it, but simply decided to ignore them.

Ron insisted this was his business if there was blackmail involved, this sounded like serious trouble.

"No one could be in as much trouble as I am," Sirius said instantly.

"That one was actually true," James nodded along, "I'm not even mad at you for that one."

"Miracles do happen," Remus smirked.

George insisted he'd been joking! Clearly thinking they'd argued long enough, he took the letter from his brother, tied it to the nearest owl, and told Ron he was starting to sound like Percy. If he kept acting this way, he was headed for a prefect.

The other's made noises of agitation that the twins were brushing this off, this really had carried on long enough it wasn't funny anymore and actually had verged into honest worry of what those two were up to. No one noticed a funny little smile on Harry's face for George's comment.

Ron snapped back that would never happen!

Harry couldn't stop a surprised bit of laughter even if he had no idea where it came from, though this did draw Remus' attention as he pouted, "and what's so funny? You going to stop hanging around Ron if he does become one?"

Harry rolled his eyes at the joke, shrugging and saying, "don't know, just imagining what the twins would really say if it did happen I guess."

George pitched the owl out of the tower as he concluded for Ron to stop poking his nose where it belonged then.

They left as quickly as they'd come.

Hermione whispered anyways if they could have any news to do with Crouch?

"Way," James drew the word out dramatically, "off topic. There's no way they should even have a clue Crouch was on school grounds unless you lot have mentioned it."

Harry shook his head no, it had gone without saying in his opinion that they hadn't exactly spread this story around.

"It does still boggle the mind what they are doing," Sirius sighed, "it's been going on for ages."

"And escalating," Lily agreed, fear still lacing her tones.

Harry said no at once, they'd never get into something so serious and not tell someone.

"Well of course you'd tell me," Sirius gave Harry as wide eyed a stare as he could, "why would you do anything else?"

It boggled all of their minds how Harry still laughed at this.

Ron didn't looked as convinced, sharing how they'd been going on about needing money for their joke shop, they'd talked about it all the time when, ah well-

Harry supplied for him, when he and Ron hadn't been talking.

"Much quieter and boring times," Harry added on when he saw how agitated they all got at the reminder. They'd clearly forgiven Ron for it, but it didn't stop them being annoyed when it was brought back up.

Hermione still wasn't convinced they'd go as far as blackmail.

Ron insisted they were really into this joke shop, whereas before Ron had just thought they were doing it to annoy their Mum.

"I never thought that for a second!" Sirius yelped indignantly.

They only had a year of school left and were really looking for some ways to make gold.

"But, they already have it, don't they?" James struggled to remember back, "I don't remember how much exactly, but they put a huge price up for that bet of the World Cup, and earned it back double. Bagman paid them back, so unless they've already wasted that away and are trying to get more..." he trailed off with a frown still in place.

"You think they're trying to blackmail Bagman?" Sirius asked in concern. "Trying to convince him to give them more so they can keep going?"

"It would explain why they keep hounding him as much as he is to Harry," Remus agreed uneasily.

Lily was biting at her lip, still wanting to believe the twins would never actually do this, but it was getting hard to come up with alternatives.

Harry was starting to look a little green around the edges, he was utterly convinced they were on the right track with this...but something was wrong, or backwards, or- he forced his mind to cut off before the ache in his head developed further.

Hermione still didn't think they'd do anything like break the law for gold.

None of them were any kind of happy that they couldn't one hundred percent say no to that. They wouldn't claim to know the twins well enough, and well, blackmail wasn't a happy start to the conversation.

Ron wasn't as convinced, saying they broke rules all the time.

"There's a difference between school rules and the actual law," Lily groaned, more for the Marauders benefit than anyone else's, who all blatantly ignored her.

Hermione insisted this was different! They could get a lot worse than detention for this! Maybe they should tell Percy-

"Ouch!" Sirius jumped like he'd been set aflame. "Merlin Hermione, have you no shame, setting those brothers against each other like that!"

"Leave the twins to do their own thing, and they're own consequences," Lily agreed, "Telling on them won't make anything better."

Harry was surprised at his mother actually agreeing with these boys, as often as she tried to scold them, but then he reflected how despite her disapproval of it, she hadn't gone and turned them in for their illegal animagus status either.

Ron told her she was mad telling Percy! He'd do a Crouch and turn them in.

"I, honestly think I believe that," James shivered, "and in no way want to dwell on it."

"Blackmail isn't bad enough to get you a stint in Azkaban," Lily barely got the word out without flushing in anger all over again and throwing a protective look to Sirius, "they'd be severely fined for it, maybe put on watch for a while to make sure they didn't try again."

"Moving on," Remus groaned, honestly still clinging to the hope that Percy wouldn't do any such thing at all.

There was a shifty silence for a moment before Ron insisted they go get breakfast.

Hermione tried to say they should go see Moody first, but Harry pointed out it would be bad to try at this hour, he'd probably attack them in his sleep.

"I believe that," Sirius instantly agreed, trying to force a smile in place at a topic switch. "Who wants to bet he's got his office booby trapped with trip wires to send people to Iceland if they so much as put a toe in there without his knowing."

"Stop exaggerating Sirius," Lily sighed, already growing weary of this chapter and looking forward to lunch just to get a momentary break from his commentary.

Instead he said they'd wait until their break.

History of Magic was usually torturously slow, but even though Harry kept checking Ron's watch to be sure, time seemed to move twice as slow as usual

"I'm sure Ron just loved sharing his arm with you all lesson," James chuckled.

All three of them were exhausted from their sleepless night and would have happily started snoozing,

"I see no reason why you didn't," Remus shrugged, "I know I was guilty of that on several occasions."

"And Binns never said a word, no matter how loud he snored," Sirius smirked.

even Hermione wasn't taking her usual notes, but was sitting with her head on her hand, gazing at Professor Binns with her eyes out of focus.

Sirius let out a wild gasp of shock, tearing the book away and holding it up to the light and declaring, "What nonsense is this! Say it ain't so, we've all been duped, there's no way this is real!"

Everyone was too busy laughing as Harry tried to wrestle the book back away with a grin in place to say anything.

When the bell did ring, they sprinted off to find Moody just leaving his office, and he looked in as bad a shape as them. His normal eye half sagging with sleep, giving his face an even more lopsided appearance than usual.

"I just realized, he literally always sleeps with one eye open," Remus raised a curious brow.

"He's an artist's nightmare to draw," Sirius chuckled, remembering a few of James rants when he tried to sketch someone and their eyes came out lopsided, "all those disproportionate features, no one would ever believe the drawing wasn't abstract."

James gave an agreeable laugh he didn't really feel, he was still very weirded out trying to picture the whole thing and had no want to take Sirius' joke as a challenge as he normally would have.

He stood back to let them into his empty classroom, limped in after them, and closed the door.

Harry called for his attention, and when Moody spotted them, he waited until the corridor was clear before inviting them inside.

"Well, we didn't transport to Iceland," Harry reminded Sirius.

"I said if you snuck in there," Sirius emphasized, "keep up Harry."

Harry asked if they'd found Crouch, and when receiving a no, asked if he'd used the Map?

Moody said of course he had, he'd summoned it to him on the grounds when Dumbledore sent him off looking.

"Well there goes our idea of how he even knew to come down," Remus groaned in frustration. "I can't believe he'd be so careless as to both be looking, and then not grabbing when he left. It's too much of an oversight to him."

"Maybe Harry will ask again how he knew to come down," Lily pacified.

Ron again suggested he Disapparated, only for Hermione to say in exasperation that wasn't possible!

Then she turned to Moody and said there are other ways he could have disappeared though.

Moody watched her steadily as he said she'd make quite the Auror,

"Nah, can't picture it," Sirius shook his head. "She still panics a little too easily."

"You're never going to let that troll thing go," Harry rolled his eyes at him.

"Or the Devil's Snare," James agreed.

with a mind like hers.

"I'll give that one though," Lily shook her head, "Hermione's going to go great places, wouldn't surprise me if she shot up the Ministry ladder faster than Percy, became the youngest head of whatever department she chose."

Harry had a kind smile in place, knowing he had no clue what the real answer was, but very assured his mother was right.

Hermione flushed with pleasure while Harry told Moody that the Map even showed those who were invisible, so Crouch must have left the grounds.

Hermione still questioned if he'd done it himself, or someone forced him to.

"He was acting to out of it for it to be the first, I can't believe anyone's that good an actor. I'm, going with the second?" Remus still managed to make it a question more than a statement, there was just too much weirdness around this and they had no clue what it could be connected to. Their top suspects would have been Snape or Karkaroff, but both had some pretty good alibis, so they had absolutely nothing to work with.

Ron gave the suggestion that someone could have pulled him onto a broom and flown away,

"Now that's a fair theory," James eyes lit with excitement. "Actually I quite like it, the more I'm thinking. Sneak attack on Krum who wouldn't have seen it coming, and the way Crouch was going on, did anyone else get the feeling he was being held against his will or something? I believe he mentioned the word escaped. This mystery person would have been pursuing him."

"So, who then?" Sirius insisted. "Must be a Death Eater," his face twitched with hatred but he kept going, "so is Voldemort still recruiting, and Crouch was one of his targets? Crouch would know where a ton of Death Eaters were, I'll bet he keeps a list of people he thinks are some and where they are from when they'd have gotten off at some point or another."

While this was looking promising, Harry was starting to feel a little sick to his stomach and didn't feel like indulging them as much as usual, so he asked if he could go on and they could keep speculating later.

looking hopefully at Moody as if he too wanted to be told he had the makings of an Auror.

"Poor Ron," James muttered absently.

Moody agreed they weren't ruling out a kidnaping.

Ron asked if it was possible he was somewhere in Hogsmeade?

"Don't go suggesting that!" James said so sharply it made everyone else jump. "Sirius is hanging around there, I don't want Moody anywhere closer to the area than he has to be."

"Alright, breathe Prongs," Sirius pacified at once, his eyes were still a little too dark. "You know Ron didn't mean anything by it, Moody doesn't know about Padfoot, and I want Crouch found, so it was sound enough."

James did not look appeased enough to take it back.

Moody agreed he could be anywhere that wasn't here.

Harry's stomach ache took a nasty turn, whether heading up or down he wasn't sure, but it didn't take much to figure out that meant something to him, something bad.

Moody switched then to telling he'd heard of their previous detective work, and he didn't want to hear of it this time. He and Dumbledore were working this, Harry needed to stay focused on his third task.

Harry asked what he meant.

"Do you have very many other numbered tasks we should be concerned about?" Lily asked in surprise.

"It kind of slipped my mind after the whole Crouch thing," Harry admitted sheepishly.

Then his mind caught up, and Harry realized he hadn't thought about that since he'd left the field with Krum.

"Honestly can't blame you though," James shrugged, "this was plenty distracting."

Moody told Harry that he'd heard of some of Potters previous exploits and this last task should be easy enough for him compared to those challenges about the Stone.

"I still swear on my wand that was too easy for a bunch of first years," Lily grumbled hatefully, that had been one of her first problems with Dumbledore, and it had only gotten worse.

"Moody's got a point though," Remus said fairly, "Harry does have some practice with this, this task sounds at least doable for him."

"Joyful," James deadpanned, "you'll excuse me if I'm not a bundle of glee he's still in there."

Remus rolled his eyes at them but stopped arguing.

Ron quickly said he and Hermione had helped him along.

"And there's that," Sirius nodded, "Harry did get help through the majority of those things, he really only caught that key from Flitwick."

"And stopped Voldemort," Harry reminded with some unease, the act of having second hand killed Quirrell still giving him nightmares sometimes.

"Not trying to forget that exactly," James promised, "but it's not exactly a fun reminder."

He pulled out his hip flask then and took a large swig of it as his magical eye kept on them.

Harry wondered why every time that hip flask was mentioned he felt his gut tightening up. Maybe he was regretting not having ever gotten one of his own?

Moody grinned at Ron, telling him to stick by that and Potter, could never have too many eyes on him.

"As normally I'm not out of their company," Harry rolled his eyes at this display of paranoia, "I don't see that being a problem."

Sirius sent their owl back the very next morning.

"So I'm guessing these caves are going to be a permanent thing," James was actually smiling in relief, while he'd been against the idea originally, he couldn't deny he liked the idea of Sirius' quick replies.

"Why did it still take you a whole day?" Remus asked in surprise, "should have been able to reply in hours."

"I'm probably not inside all that much," Sirius shrugged, he liked to imagine he was reliving old memories by snooping around Hogsmeade and the Forest.

Hermione only delayed his reading it by doing a quick search of her copy of the Daily Prophet and informing them there was no new information before Harry read out.

It did not start happy, with Sirius scolding Harry for going off with Krum.

"Wow Padfoot," James raised a brow at his friend that Sirius couldn't quite interpret. It made him uneasy, since he could usually read James in an instant and go along, but this time he honestly wasn't sure if he was being mocked, or if James was being jealous again that he was scolding Harry.

Sirius opened, then closed his mouth since he wasn't sure which way he was supposed to be talking, but Harry had mostly ignored the pair, reading on with an agitated look in place for how this had started.

He wanted a swear by return of this owl Harry would not be going out at night again.

"Yes sir," Harry told him tartly, some residual shock that anyone even cared that much to tell him to do otherwise not putting enough force behind the sarcasm.

Sirius was starting to look flustered now, he wasn't used to being so wrong-footed and now both of them were giving him a spin.

There was somebody at Hogwarts trying to hurt Harry, and it was obvious someone stopped Crouch from seeing Dumbledore feet away from Harry, he could have been killed.

"Aww," Lily couldn't help but coo, clearly fixing to follow that up with a thank you for Sirius acting like an adult, while Remus pantomimed while she wasn't looking about him being whipped; clearly getting his revenge for all the times Sirius had teased him of this advice previously.

"I'm going to strangle the lot of you!" Sirius threatened as he hit his wits end.

Harry's name had not been in that Goblet by accident, someone was trying to hurt him and this task was their last chance. Stay in the company of Ron and Hermione, and do not leave Gryffindor Tower after hours. Stay focused on the third task and start practicing Stunning and Disarming jinxes, as well as hexes. Keep his nose out of whatever Crouch was doing and keep his head down. He'd be waiting for that promise of not going out.

He didn't even sign off as Snuffles, but Sirius.

Harry finished and looked up at his Godfather expectantly, though Sirius had no clue what he was wanting. "What? You waiting for me to apologize? That was sound advice."

"You just agreed with me at the end of the last chapter Hagrid was overreacting," Harry rolled his eyes at him, "I figured you'd do it again for yourself."

"I'll apologize when you admit you weren't thinking," Sirius shot back. "It was foolhardy even if Krum wasn't the problem, you haven't once this year actually acted like your life's been threatened."

"That's rich coming from you," Harry scowled back, "since you won't admit for a second how stupid and dangerous it is to even be in the country."

"I'm getting scared," Lily whispered to Remus as the two kept sniping at each other.

"Harry's certainly growing more and more outspoken about being told what to do the longer this drags on," Remus nodded along, grimacing slightly as he reminded, "but to be fair, no one's ever really earned the right to tell him what to do. Aside from the teachers at Hogwarts, Harry's never exactly had a good role model for authority, Sirius included."

It hurt in the worst way for the mother to be reminded of this, but she conceded the point.

James had been watching on in honest bemusement as Harry and Sirius kept trying to tell each other what idiots the other was being, but finally he cut in, "alright, you're both idiots, can we move on."

"Hey!" Harry and Sirius yelped at the same time, but then they exchanged a grin for that and Harry decided to let it go.

Harry was instantly insulted that Sirius was telling him off for being out of bounds after everything he'd ever done.

Harry gave Sirius an extra look that his point had been said twice, which Sirius acknowledge in the most adult way possible, sticking his tongue out at him and muttering petulantly about how different that was.

Hermione reminded he was just worried, and Harry needed to listen to him.

Harry insisted no one had tried to attack him all year, no one had done anything.

"Which, if you think about it, is the weird part," Remus acknowledged.

He winced when he got some nasty looks for that, but Harry defended, "well he is right. So far it's just been the dragon and some grindylows. So unless someone is hoping I'd gone out with these tasks, it's not exactly been that bad." He finished with an absent minded frown on his face he didn't even seem to realize was there for his own saying this.

He did not get any pleased responses from anyone for pointing this out, nor did he himself feel much better for the reminder. Something about this third task, it was going to be a big game changer, the closer it got the more sure he was of that.

Hermione pointed out the Goblet of Fire, someone had put his name in there for a reason and maybe they'd just been biding their time till now.

They all shivered at that, Harry hardest of all as he heard some color of truth in what she'd said.

Harry insisted that even if Sirius was right,

"I can see how well you took to Snuffles," Sirius gave a half hearted smirk.

Harry did give a sheepish shrug for that, admitting he had been terrible about that one, Hermione and Ron were much better at remembering.

and the person who attacked attacked Crouch and Krum had been right by him, then clearly Harry wasn't the target. They'd waited until he'd left to do anything.

"I think that's giving the kidnappers too much credit," James shuddered at the thought. "They must have just caught up at the best opportune time when you weren't there."

"Still," Remus sighed, "the timing of it all really isn't feeling much better."

Hermione shot back they couldn't make it look like accidental murder in front of the forest.

"She's just sunshine and rainbows lately," Lily scowled in response to that statement.

Harry insisted it could have been done, someone could have made it look like he and Krum and dulled to death.

"You are making some great points," Sirius acknowledged, the only apology Harry was going to get for that letter.

Hermione was getting desperate as she agreed she didn't understand this, but Moody and Sirius were right,

"No one sticks with Snuffles for long," Remus forced a laugh.

"That's your fault Moony," Sirius smirked, "you need to come up with more obscure nicknames."

he needed to be prepared for this last task. And he needed to send that letter to Sirius promising he wasn't going to be sneaking around.

"Pretty sure that owl's flown off by now," James shrugged, "so you've already not done as told, and you'll have to grab a new one."

"You're just full of helpful advice," Harry grumbled.

The Hogwarts grounds never looked more inviting than when Harry had to stay indoors.

Harry looked all the more disgruntled at this happening to him at the end of the semester, again! He wanted to ask Sirius if he was happy with himself this time, but that comment just felt too vicious, he didn't want to bring up last year.

For the next few days he spent all of his free time either in the library with Hermione and Ron,

"At some point, I think you three forgot you were Gryffindor's," Remus looked on in pity for Harry, "and you're trying to convince Pince to let you start a new house in the library."

"You're certainly in there enough," James sighed.

looking up spells they could practice in empty classrooms.

Harry was practicing his Stunning Spell.

"You would think it would be easier than Petrificus Totalus," Harry sighed, "the body seizes up and then falls, Stupify just makes you fall on the spot."

"It takes much longer to wear off without Innervate though, so there's more power behind a Stunners magic," Remus told. "Petrificus Totalus will wear off in half the time."

"Trust him on this," Sirius muttered in disgust, "takes nearly an hour for a stunner to go away."

Harry sadly remembered Sirius telling him about the time Snape had managed to stun him and leave him behind a broom shed, so he didn't question the experience.

The trouble was that practicing it involved certain sacrifices on Ron and Hermione's part.

"Those poor kids," Lily winced in pity.

"There's really no other way to learn though," Remus shrugged without remorse, "sadly they just don't know about embedding cushioning charms on the floor for this particular lesson."

"There's no better way than to practice on a moving target," James agreed.

Ron suggested trying this on Mrs. Norris,

"I would not recommend it," Sirius said instantly. "Filch will know, and he will not wait for permission to gut you."

"Speaking from more experience?" Harry asked wearily.

"Thankfully not me," Sirius said with the height of innocence, "but I did hear a rumor of some Hufflepuff taking revenge on Filch out on his cat, poor kid was never seen alive again."

Harry had no clue how much truth was being put in this, but he was laughing at Sirius again and he didn't want to ask.

after his fifth time in a row landing on the floor. If they didn't want to use the cat, then Harry could at least try Dobby, he'd do it happily.

"Now why didn't I think of that?" Sirius theatrically clapped his forehead, "do you realize how much better I could have felt any number of times if I'd just summoned Kreacher to me and cursed him!"

"Let's just be thankful it never occurred to you," Remus said quickly as Lily gave him a nasty look for that.

He insisted he wasn't complaining,

"Well offering up alternatives isn't complaining per say," James agreed.

while rubbing at his side.

"But honestly I don't blame Ron for complaining," James smiled sadly, "at least he's being a trooper and allowing it to be done to him, I think that involves a little moaning when he lands."

Hermione pointed out he kept missing the pillows she'd laid out for him to land on. He should try falling backwards.

"Did she just try to tell a stunned person where to fall?" Lily giggled in surprise. "I don't think even Hermione could manage that."

Ron told her to take a try and see how she did.

Hermione decided it was time Harry moved on from that spell.

Causing them all to laugh, clearly Hermione wasn't up to taking her own advice.

There was no point practicing Disarming, he'd been able to do that one for a while.

"Always with impressive results," the boys laughter doubled even more as Lily said that, though taking a minute for her to realize the last time Harry had done that, and admitted a bit of a giggle escaped her as well.

Instead she wanted to try out this Impediment Curse, which slowed things down.

"I enjoyed the recreational uses of that spell," Sirius got a lazy grin. "It's the best thing to throw something at someone, using the Impediment Curse on it, and watch them freak out and dive for cover as something went towards them in slow motion."

"Thankfully that joke did wear off fast enough," James chuckled.

"But the looks on their faces were priceless," Remus snickered.

The bell rang before they could try, and Hermione promised to see them at dinner as she ran for her Arithmancy class while the boys went for Divination.

No one exactly looked excited for this, but they were hoping for a few more laughs to crop up so no one protested either. Harry was the only one who didn't seem to be looking forward to this, the ghost of his scar prickling across his forehead as foreboding as it could get.

The sun was still gleaming in the sky as they went up the spiral stairs, and Ron groaned how hot it was going to be in the room, Trelawney never put out that fire.

"Ergh," they winced in sympathy for that heat stroke waiting to happen.

Ron was right, the room was a sauna with the thick curtains and the fireplace crackling as high as ever. Harry took his usual seat next to the shadows and pried open a window while the teacher wasn't watching so that a nice breeze could at least blow in on him.

"There's my ingenuity shining through," James beamed at his son.

"Yes," Lily rolled her eyes at him, "I'm so sure only you could have the power of knowledge in opening a window on a hot day."

"Don't be jealous our son got everything from me," James teased back.

Trelawney called attention as she took her seat, saying today they would be focusing on the planet Mars.

"Ah the Roman god of war," Sirius rolled his eyes, "I'm not surprised that would be her second favorite one."

She pulled a planetarium up for all to see, and while she began dissecting the planets orbits in conjunction with each other, Harry felt his eyes drifting shut, the breeze blowing clean air into his face as an insect hummed somewhere nearby.

Harry wasn't remotely feeling sleepy now, on the contrary as some deep sense of warning was trying to go off in his head so loud, though he had no clue what the connection could be. Surely not to a bug, or even dozing off in class like he was clearly doing.

He was riding on the back of an eagle owl, soaring through the clear blue sky,

"Finally it sounds like one of your dreams is something normal," James smiled. "I can't count the number of times I've dreamed of flying, though normally for me it's on a broom, not a bird."

"I think he's subconsciously missing Buckbeak," Sirius chuckled.

Everyone was laughing happily around Harry, it was such a wonderful sound to him. Even after these days he spent with them, it was still always a happy feeling to realize he was just sitting around and listening to his family laugh...so why was he getting such a bad feeling about having to keep going?

He was going through the window of an ivy swarmed house, and landing in a high backed chair.

The longer Harry read, the tighter his voice was getting, like someone was slowly strangling him while he forced this out. The laughter had already died out, but no one bothered to interrupt him to ask why as they must be about to get an answer.

Two shapes were moving, one on the floor, the other writhing on the floor. It was a squat man with watery eyes and a pointed nose.

The growl that erupted from everyone was not unexpected the moment the description registered, and though Harry felt like he was reading past a nail spike driving through his brain as this was being returned to him, he was suddenly very grateful he was the one to be reading this. No one liked to hear more mention of this rat after all, but at least Harry could pretend to force past it without threatening murder every other word.

He was wheezing and sobbing on the hearth rug. . .

James wished this feeling would go away, this bleeding conflict he felt whenever he heard of Peter like this like he had the first time. He didn't know why the rat was acting like that, but he knew with everything in him he deserved it for giving him up, for causing his death and Lily's and what should have been Harry's. He wanted to just feel that murder pulsing through him, rather than anything else...

A voice like pure ice spoke of Wormtail's luck, how fortunate he was his blunder had been fixed and he was dead.

Harry was entirely concerned when no one in here rhetorically asked who that 'he' could be, but that was the kind of reaction mentioning this betrayer wrought in them, nowhere near their normal personalities.

The shadow on the floor gasped its pleasure for the news, and how sorry he still was for it all.

James felt like he was the only one paying attention to the actual words rather than the festering thoughts everyone else was harboring at the mention of him, so he was certain he was the only one trying to figure out what exactly he'd done to be apologizing for, not that he cared one bit, it could only be good news for them.

The cold voice continued ignoring him, instead telling Nagini she was out of luck, she would not be eating Wormtail,

"Here I am again, pitying a snake."

Harry never would have believed that was Sirius if he hadn't been keeping an uneasy eye on him.

but there was still Harry Potter.

Harry looked flummoxed that his being fed to a snake was part of any plan, but even if someone did want to voice their outrage at it, he was reading too fast to let them.

The snakes tongue flicked in the direction of the voice as it continued addressing Wormtail.

In between her mental tirade of wanting to rip every last one of his remaining fingers off, Lily was still trying to understand why Voldemort called him that. Her mind must have been working on it in her recess while she tried to ignore it, because now the only idea she could offer up was Voldemort using that as a derogatory on the rat. What had once been an affectionate nickname given to him by his friends for his rat animal was now being turned on its head by the very man he'd served those friends up to, the rat status still stood but now in the darkest way possible.

Saying he would be given one more reminder of his blunder.

Wormtail begged for mercy even as the shout of Crucio rang.

Sirius should have been far more concerned that he didn't feel a damn thing except disappointment that wasn't him using that curse. Crucio wasn't even the beginning of what he owed that rat, twelve years in Azkaban for starters, then he'd work his way up to other tortures from there.

Wormtail was screaming, every nerve in his body alight with pain, and Harry was screaming just as loud through the fire in his forehead,

If anything could snap them back to the actual purpose of this story rather than sucking on revenge, it was Harry, and him reading in a tight pain laced voice as he remembered this set all of them back on the opposite edge of how they felt for the rat.

he had to stop, or Voldemort would hear him.**

Harry was surprised when the walls didn't shake with them, they were all trembling by the end though for all very different reasons. Too many emotions raining too high to deeply question what needed to be asked, number one of which was: why was Harry still seeing this!? They'd by no means forgotten the first time, but as no new information had arisen from anyone regarding this, they had nothing new to go on, and too much of a chance of it dissolving into another break out attempt in their temper if they tried to dissect it.

Someone was shouting his name, and Harry came back to himself on Trelawney's floor, his hands covering his face as tears burned his eyes from the pain of his scar.

Harry was making sure to breathe slowly through his nose, concentrating on every word so that he wouldn't be thinking on that pain that he could all too vividly remember now. It helped nothing when he glanced up and saw all the scared white faces around him for what this could mean.

The whole class was hovering over him, Ron right by his head as he whispered if Harry was alright?

"Oh he's just spiffing, and you?" Remus got out, surprised when he tasted copper in his mouth after swallowing, he must have bitten his tongue at some point to stop himself screaming in outrage.

Trelawney told Ron of course he wasn't, while looking excitedly down at Harry.

Lily found something to break her temper on, and it wasn't pretty. "Are you kidding me? Is there not one bloody useful teacher in that school! First Snape now her, what in Merlin's sack is wrong with these people! He was on the floor, in pain, and she's excited! I swear if a student didn't take the initiative to run off to get Madam Pomfrey I'm going to curse every last one of them!"

In retrospect that was way too harsh for her, they knew if this had happened in say McGonagall's class or basically any other teacher except these two it would have gotten the proper response of the adult making sure Harry was okay, but no one could blame her heaving chest and wild eyed outrage.

Harry honestly felt in fear for his life if he actually tried to keep going while she was still like this, all for letting her get it all out now, but she seemed to have at least temporarily restrained herself and sat a look on him that said in no uncertain terms for him to keep going.

She demanded what Harry had been seeing, a premonition?

"And this is why no one was disagreeing with you Lily," James looked just as outraged as his wife at this lack of concern for their son, but he was more quietly scheming in the back of his head what exactly he planned to do to Trelawney as payback.

Harry instantly lied it was nothing while struggling to his feet, flinching at every shadow and sure he could still hear Voldemort uttering that curse.

Harry couldn't suppress another shiver for that, that terrible voice still echoing in the back of his mind. Thankfully no corner of this room was shadowed, the warm lights and cozy fireplace in exact opposite of Trelawney's eerie room, and he was surrounded on all sides feeling very safe.

Trelawney insisted it had been something, he'd been holding his scar, and insisted she had experience with this.

"You have as much experience as Lockhart you-" Remus forcibly cut himself off before he went on his own Lily like tangent which still wouldn't resolve anything.

Harry glared at her as he said he was going to the hospital wing for a headache.

"If only that's what it had been," Harry whispered to himself, as sickly looking as everyone else in fear and worry of what all this could mean for him.

Trelawney began to refuse, saying if he left the confines of her clairvoyant powers he'd lose his stimulated and extraordinary moment.

Lily looked ready to incite murder any second, her wand even appeared and she was glaring at every exit clearly wanting to take Trelawney's head off for actually putting her baby's pain on the powers of that bleeding room!

If he left now he may not get another opportunity to see-

"Then by all means, please leave Harry," Sirius ground out, at least mocking Trelawney felt better than thinking of rats.

Harry snapped he wasn't seeing anything but a headache cure, and left with a quick muttered goodbye to Ron.

Trelawney watched him go with a look saying she'd just been denied a treat.

Lily had to concentrate on each one of her fingers not to perform a strangling motion as she heard that, but at least he was finally leaving.

Harry did not go for Madam Pomfrey, instead his feet doing as Sirius had told,

Harry released a breathy laugh he didn't really feel, but any release would be savored as he picked back up his earlier argument with his godfather. "See Sirius, I do listen to some of your advice."

"Oh sure, when it involves Dumbledore," he said back, flipping his hair over his shoulder dramatically but there was still too much anger in his gray eyes for all the recent rat mentions lately for the joke to really be there.

and go tell Dumbledore. This time had been as vivid as the one in Privet Drive.

"Gathered that bit," James groaned, ruffling up his own hair in unease, the longer they sat and thought about it, the more worry they gained with no new ideas, but at least some of the blood lust was being forcibly pounded away as Harry got farther away from mentions of who all had been in the dream again.

He kept replaying the events over in his mind so as not to forget the details, how Voldemort had accused Wormtail of a blunder,

Nope, there it was! Harry was going to keep thinking on it until he got it all out to Dumbledore as well, so he decided now he may as well start trying to remove his finger nails, it would hurt less. The only coherent thought he had left was his prayer Harry wouldn't pass this along to Sirius again, the reaction he could have still terrified him as much as what was happening to Harry. He didn't need Sirius going off on a murder rampage and getting caught, that had to be his next step from going back to Harry's side from that first dream. Then again, Harry hadn't mentioned the rat in his first later, so there was still some hope he wouldn't this time, it wouldn't do Sirius any more good than it was them.

but Voldemort had received good new that someone was dead, and Wormtail was not going to be fed to the snake, that would be Harry.

Hearing it all a second time didn't make any of that more bearable, or comprehensible, if possible it was actually getting worse with Harry's rendition. Now they didn't have anger to cling onto while listening, now they were just a bubbling, twisting mess of worry of how much pain Harry had to go through to get to the age he was at now.

Harry had walked right past the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to Dumbledore's office without noticing.

Remus forced out a laugh he didn't really feel, but at this point any actual noise besides Harry forcing himself to read through pain was a kindness.

Only when he traced back did he remember that he didn't know the password.

"Oh yeah," they all muttered, having been so lost in their own thoughts they hadn't recognized this problem either. Now what was Harry going to do?

"I swear if Snape shows up again, I'm getting a shovel and digging my way to his useless arse, the magic keeping me in here be damned," James vowed on the spot.

"You could always try what you were going to last time, go to the staff room and tell an actual useful teacher it's an emergency and need to talk to Dumbledore," Remus offered. "I'm sure they'd give you the password."

Harry gave a listless shrug, he had no clue what he was going to do, but managed a brave smile for all of them at even pretending at a joke and normal conversation again...at least he hoped his dad was joking.

He still tried sherbet lemon.

"T for effort," Sirius scolded, "you already knew that wouldn't work."

"Sirius, don't call my son a troll," Lily instantly snapped.

Sirius rolled his eyes at her.

Instead he started trying others, like Licorice Wand and Fizzing Whizbee,

"Upgraded to an A for this though," Remus smiled, "he knows Dumbledore has a sweet tooth, and going off the previous password is taking a good guess it could be more candy."

"He's most likely not wrong," James forced some tension out of his shoulders to try and smile along. It didn't at all work, but he no longer looked like he was sitting on Hickory anymore. "All the times we were there, it was some form of this."

Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans? Oh wait, he didn't like those.

"Who knows, maybe he's found one not earwax flavored since then," Sirius did his very best at a sincere tone, almost getting there.

When none of that worked, Harry told it was an emergency, but still the gargoyle didn't move.

"I'd be more concerned if it did move," Lily sighed.

Harry kicked it, achieving nothing but an excruciating pain in his big toe.

"Did you at least feel better?" James actually did manage a genuine laugh for that one.

Harry ignored the, in his opinion, stupid question.

Now shouting Chocolate Frog and standing on one leg.

"Is this a new game?" Sirius found honest laughter bubbling in his chest, though he wasn't surprised. If anything could make him smile again, it would be his godson. "Hop on one foot and shout treats until you run out, I like this."

Harry tried to keep being angry with them for laughing like this when he knew in the book he was still upset over what he'd seen, but he recognized as well as them that getting angry wasn't helping a thing, at least smiling gave the feeling that everything would turn out okay.

At last shouting Cockroach Cluster in anger, and the gargoyle sprang aside.

"Cockroach Cluster?" Remus crinkled his nose in disgust. "Really Dumbledore?"

"I've heard they actually taste rather like crispy chocolates," Lily offered with her own look of concern at this, she'd never believed the friend that had tried to convince her of this.

"I can't believe he went with that over the Beans!" Sirius gasped.

"I guess anyone who eats Peppermint Humbug has this kind of strange taste," Harry shrugged.

"At least it wasn't Jelly Slugs," James smirked, "I'm still hoping Dumbledore remembers that one personally."

"I do not want to know," Lily groaned at once. Harry was still too distracted thinking about his dream and what all it could mean for him to be to invested in asking for now.

Harry looked at the opening in surprise, admitting he'd been joking.

"Well don't tell it that!" Sirius said mock frantically.

Still he went inside and traveled up to the headmaster's office, but when he got near he heard voices and hesitated.

"You seem to do that quite a lot for someone who insists he's not a snooper," Remus snorted in surprise.

Harry was finally distracted from his own problem by that, looking up at Remus with the widest most innocent eyes he had.

Remus snorted again and shook his head in disbelief, jabbing a thumb at Sirius and saying, "try looking at me with literal puppy eyes and get back to me on that one."

Sirius cracked up laughing so hard he nearly missed Harry pouting but moving on.

The voice inside was telling Dumbledore he saw no connections, it was Fudge.

"Oh, because he's always a joy to have around," Lily said in contempt, not one of them forgetting how last year he'd happily sanctioned Sirius getting Kissed!

Sirius was too busy suppressing his giggles that Remus had admitted out loud that had worked to garner the hatred he should have felt.

He was still insisting that while Bertha was missing, it didn't mean foul play.

"I swear his head is as empty as the Shrieking Shack," James scowled. "What person actually goes missing this long without not being declared dead? It's been what, almost a year now?"

It was their insight that they knew she was dead, but James's logic was still sound that no one would have argued with him otherwise.

There was just no way it had anything to do with Crouch.

They all sat in puzzlement on that for a second, Lily saying slowly, "yes, alright, I can kind of put together how Dumbledore would think that. Harry did verbatim what Crouch had been rambling on about, and he did mention Bertha, but I still can't see how Crouch knew anything."

"Maybe Dumbledore sees a more clear line connection than just the passing along information Harry got?" Remus tried with no honest belief.

Moody's voice spoke up what he thought the Minister thought happened to Crouch?

Fudge said he had two ideas,

"Oh I'm going to love hearing this," James sneered.

the first was that Crouch had cracked and gone wandering off.

"If that is option one, I am terrified for my sanity what option two is," Lily looked dumbstruck anyone could reach that conclusion in these circumstances. Surely Dumbledore had given Harry's account of the matter, no one could be so stupid and blind as to draw that kind of conclusion from it!

Dumbledore simply answered he wandered extremely quickly then.

"Still got to love how Dumbledore kindly points out how dumb the people around him are," Sirius muttered to himself.

Fudge said he'd reserve judgement on the second idea until he saw the place for himself.

"What does that even mean?" Remus asked in surprise. "It was on the edge of the Forest, why do you need to be there to declare anything of it."

"I don't see why we're hearing his opinion on it at all," James's scowl kept deepening the longer this guy was around, "since I hold its weight on the same level as dragon dung."

Confirming this had happened right around the Beauxbatons carriage? Reminding Dumbledore of what she was.

"He did not!" Harry heard everyone bark in outrage. The way his lip curled in protest of having said that however left no one in doubts. No one currently liked Maxime for what she'd done to Hagrid, in all honesty they still blamed her for it even being out, but no one was accusing her of pulling this simply because she was like Hagrid! And the worst part was, no one had any doubts if Fudge was saying this about her, he could be thinking about Hagrid as well!

Dumbledore quietly returned he found her an able headmistress, and an excellent dancer.

"Thank you for that useful information," Remus muttered sullenly, wishing Dumbledore would take that a little more offensively like they had.

Fudge was getting angry now, saying Dumbledore may be acting a little blind for his trust in Hagrid. They didn't all turn out harmless, and Hagrid didn't even sound that with all his monsters.

"That's it, where's the nearest tiny box, I'm cramming his arse in it," Sirius followed that up with a few more swears just as the timer went off from the kitchen.

Lily was saved from having to listen to the rest no matter how much she agreed by going to let dinner cool, by the time she came back all of the boys were still in a temper like her for the slur of a comment but at least willing to let Harry finish as he fingered the last page.

Dumbledore forcefully replied he did not suspect either of them, and in fact flipped back on Fudge perhaps he was the one being blinded by prejudice.

"Least Dumbledore's saying that much," Remus muttered as he poked at a hole in his sleeve, his mind was starting to get a bit stung around the edges his old headmaster wasn't being a bit more vocally against this.

Moody suggested they wrap this up, and while Fudge agreed he wanted a look around the grounds, Moody instead pointed out that Potter must want a word because he was outside the door.

"Got to love Moody must have known he was there the whole time and waited this long to say something," James said.

"Chapter's over," Harry sighed as he gave the book an unfriendly toss onto the table and being the first to exit the room.

HPHPHPHP

Update on Cursed Child: If my review wasn't enough for you guys, I found a guy who emulates everything I ever could think to say. Mine is really puny small in comparison, and I can't disagree with a single thing he says. I left a lot out of mine, but he covers the whole thing! It's funny, go watch!

The Script for Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - The Dom Reviews

*nahte123456 pointed this out, and yeah, it's a really good point.

**If anybody remembers my rant from the second chapter about how much it bothered me they never explained these third person dreams Harry has, I thank you all for all the suggestions you gave, but I'm still not sold on why it happens. Just because Voldemort doesn't have his normal body shouldn't disrupt the horcrux connection that allows Harry to see inside Voldemort's mind of the body he's in, not from the window's perspective. This isn't from Nagini ...it's just information insert. I do acknowledge that it could well be Harry seeing through Voldemort and we're just getting the outside perspective, JK has done this in the past by switching between characters like in Harry's first Quidditch match, and that's basically the only running thing I can go with, but it still annoys me to no end it's never acknowledged in that way, it's just there.