#Moving objects identification

[newsepick]

Google Lens enhances functionality with new video feature powered by AI

Google Lens is enhancing its functionality with a new video recording feature, allowing users to capture up to 20 seconds of video to facilitate searches. This update, powered by the AI model Gemini, enables users to make verbal queries while recording, improving the identification of moving objects. Previously limited to still images, Google Lens now provides more dynamic information retrieval. The feature is rolling out in regions with AI Overviews available, marking a significant advancement in real-time information gathering through video.

[cosmicyeen]

On a more serious note does anyone recognize this bird silhouette? Gulf of mexico in florida. About the size of an osprey wingspan-wise but pitch black. Couldn't tell you anything about it details wise as it had no noticeable feather definition.

the photos shown are of it gliding/drifting with no wing movement

the closest i can find is some kind of eagle or kestrel but i know very little about bird ID, especially ocean bird ID

I know this is like a fourth of a crumb of information to go off of, but i havent seen anything like this here before so it's floating around my brain a lot

[ravencromwell]

I have to add Archivist Wasp and its sequel Latchkey by Nicole Kornher-Stace. (Both those links lead to Weightless Books, an arm of the incomparable Small Beer Press that sells drm-free versions of numerous small presses' books for ease of reading and to avoid the amazon monster; to tout the awesome of Small Beer and Mythic Delirium, both primarily responsbiel for publishing Kornher-Stace would be a post of its own, but look them up if you're unfamiliar because they've provided some of the most envelope-pushing, queer-heavy scifi of the last decade.) Archivist Wasp is in the "destroyed earth" rather than the space category of scifi and...well, Amal El Mohtar can sell it better than I ever could:

An Archivist has two jobs. The first is to hunt and catch ghosts in order to learn about the precataclysm past from them; the second is to defend her life and position against “upstarts” — the other girls marked by the goddess Catchkeep’s claw-shaped scars at birth — once a year. Wasp has been Archivist for three years, and wants nothing more than to escape a dismal life of killing her sisters and obeying the Catchkeep-priest — so when an unusually powerful ghost asks her to help find his former partner in the underworld, she agrees. But, as is so often the case with the underworld, she finds both more and less than she bargained for. More than anything else, this book is sharp. You could cut yourself on the prose — Wasp’s world is one of thorns, knives, edges of thick, broken glass, a constant background-hum of pain that sometimes swells into a shout. Wasp’s perspective absolutely thrums with tension and violence, but also aches with a fierce, hollow loneliness to break the heart. The longing and gratitude for the smallest beginnings of true friendship make the betrayals more vicious, and the stakes just keep rising. I burned through this book in about three hours, desperately rooting for her. It’s also a brilliantly constructed narrative and world. The gods are cruel and absent. The underworld is a maze in layers, a twisting, turning palimpsest, one that allows Wasp to descend almost archaeologically through time by literally experiencing her ghost-partner’s memories. The pre- and post-apocalyptic worlds reflect each other in shards and fragments, all the more powerful for being subtle, for their resistance to being spelled out. It was also keenly refreshing — especially in something that’s ostensibly YA, where the Love Triangle of Doom is so annoyingly pervasive — to find a book in which all of the strongest, primary relationships are friendships; where friendship has the narrative, motive force usually reserved for sexualized romance. I very much wanted to see the A in QUILTBAG represented in this column, and this is a fine example: while the connection between the ghost and his (female) partner is intense and loving, it is never represented as sexual, and sex is in fact completely irrelevant.

Sci-fi books where a queer woman has the ghost of an annoying dead guy in her head

*Misery is nonbinary (she/they) and who’s in her head is not dead or a guy but I’m counting it, okay

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Processing the Crime Scene

The following is a brief procedural guideline for collecting and preserving physical evidence at the scene of a crime.

Clear the area: Clear all except essential and authorized persons from the crime-scene area. This includes all officers who are not needed for specific functions. The more people present, the more chance for damage or loss of evidence.

Use a systematic approach: Use caution when searching for evidence. Study the whole crime-scene area first, since the relationship of different exhibit positions may be important. Systematically cover the crime scene so that nonobvious or hidden evidence is not overlooked. Speed and carelessness may lead to overlooking evidence or to the damage or destruction of important exhibits.

Limit the number of evidence collectors: Designate one, or at most a pair, of officers to collect all evidence. This places responsibility on specific individuals. It will also tend to avoid confusion at some later date as to who recovered specific items and where they were found. [Author's note: This does not mean that only one person should search. Rather, it means that in the search team, one person should be responsible for collecting the finds.]

Photograph the evidence: Take photographs as necessary prior to moving or securing exhibits.

Use common sense: Use knowledge, experience and intelligence in collecting evidence. Consider what significance the exhibit may have and what examinations the laboratory may conduct. With this in mind, the trained investigator will normally be able to correctly secure and preserve the exhibits.

Keep accurate records: Prepare notes or other records as items are collected. Record the item, its condition (if appropriate), the exact location relative to a fixed and permanent position, the date, the time, etc.

Mark the exhibits: Place permanent and distinctive marks directly on the objects collected if this is possible without damaging the evidence.

Mark the containers: When unable to mark the exhibit itself, such as in the case of stains, hair, paint, etc., place the evidence in a vial or small plastic or paper envelope, then seal and mark the container. Even when the exhibit itself can be marked, it is usually advisable to seal it in some kind of container and place additional identification marks on the container.

Keep the markings brief: Initials or the name of the officer collecting the evidence is essential. In marking containers, other pertinent data can be included, such as date, location where found, case number and description of the exhibit. Do not include extraneous information or conclusions of the investigator since these might render the label inadmissible as evidence in court.

Use proper containers:

Plastic or cellophane envelopes are excellent for small objects that are not organic in nature.

Paper envelopes are used for organic evidence (body fluids, biological evidence, etc.). Note: Air dry all evidence items before packaging. Seal all corners adequately if very small or powdery material is enclosed. It is preferable to place the latter in plastic envelopes. Do not use paper envelopes for fiber evidence as the paper itself may contain fibers and thus contaminate the evidence.

Vials, pill boxes, capsules and like containers are frequently suitable, depending upon the exhibit and its condition.

Garments and large exhibits can be placed in bags or rolled in paper.

Source ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[neil-gaiman]

“Two Minutes to Run”

Thank you. But (or maybe And). . . .

 “What will you take you?” is a question people think they can answer, but can’t until it happens.  It’s like being faced with the danger of death - some people freeze, some people run, some people laugh and charge. But you don’t know which you will do until faced with such danger. Same with the moment of fleeing. People don’t think, they react. 

Some people react practically. They grab official identification and jackets and water. 

Some people react sentimentally. They grab stuffed animals and photos and books.

Some people react frantically. They grab the coffee grinder and. . . .and. . . .time’s up. They have the coffee grinder. 

I am a professor of archaeology who studies diaspora and immigration and identity through the things people keep and collect and move with them. I have found bodies of refugees who have died along the US border fleeing to a better life. Many of my fellow archaeologists have too. And our graduate students - one who did an exhibit on the objects found in temporary camps and on the bodies of the dead.  So we know what people take, but we also know what people shed as they flee and it gets harder and harder and harder to stay alive. But you know what the bodies of those who didn’t make it almost always have on them? Identification. Sometimes in a pants pocket, sometimes sewn into a coat, sometimes grasped in their hands. A final plea. Do not forget who I am. Tell my family. 

My point? I don’t know. You are one of my few remaining living heroes, your writings have been a companion to me since I stole my ex-boyfriend’s Sandmans from him in 1990 when in college. And I know I am not special in this (well, the stealing of Sandmans maybe). Your words have a power that mine do not. Whether fiction or non. So I guess I just wanted you to have more information so you can continue to make the world an even better place. 

I guess that is my ask - continue to make the world a better place, which is response enough to my inquiry. 

Thank you for writing this.

[monikatouhou]

Ran Yakumo Simulator 2023

[CORE_SOUL: On]

You are nowhere. There is nothing.

In truth, you are likely in your body, hopefully where you last left it, but you cannot tell at this time.

[DIVINATION_MODULE_v3.5: On] - It will take eight minutes to gain visual input in the right eye. It will take an hour and five minutes for [AUX_AUDIT_PROC_v9] to come online. Heat a tortoise shell and observe the cracks for more information.

You are glad Lady Yukari made it so that this is what typically comes online first. It usually gives you something to look forward to. Though it would perhaps be nicer to be able to see or move first. However, you know from experience that these are some of the more difficult parts of a shikigami to make work.

[CHEN_CONNECTION_v12: On] - She is fast asleep. No further information.

This is the only part of yourself that you made largely on your own. Naturally, it is the least functional. It was worse in the past though.

[...]

[ROCK_GAP_SIMULACRUM: On]

In place of this there used to be a gap connection to the outside world. Lady Yukari called it a "Load Bearing Coconut", even though it was clearly connected to a rock. However, it apparently shattered last year, which of course caused practically everything to either malfunction or break completely. This is a replacement she made. This increased loading time, as did all the previous band-aid fixes over the last several centuries.

[...]

[OLD_REPURPOSED_MODULE_(REPLACE_THIS): On]

[SENSE_INPUT_BUS: On]

[SMELL: On]

[VISION_R: On]

The left eye for some reason always takes at least a few more minutes to come online. Lady Yukari has not been able to explain why that is to you.

You know that you are in fact in your room, and you know that eight minutes have passed. Little you can do with this information for now, since you still cannot move.

You should change your duvet cover later today. This one needs to be washed.

[PROPRIOCEPTION: On]

[TASTE: On]

[SOMATOSENSORY: On]

Your eyes are very dry, much like every morning. They open automatically when you first awake, but you can only blink voluntarily. Not an urgent fix, since this cannot cause you any damage, it's just unpleasant.

[FIXUPS_v3: On]

For the time being, you are stuck staring at the ceiling. Yukari told you once that body motion and eye motion are controlled largely separately in humans, but this is not the case in your body. You cannot move your eyes until the bodily output bus comes online.

[...]

[FIXUPS_B_v5.5: On]

[MOTOR_CONTROL_CORE_v4: On]

This part will help you coordinate your movements once you are able to move.

[FIXUPS_C_v4: On]

[MOTORICS_STABILISER_v2: On]

[...]

[BODILY_OUTPUT_BUS: On]

[GAP: On]

At long last. You blink and rub your eyes in an attempt to get rid of the dryness. You finally sit up. You get up from your bed.

What is this gap for, in any case?

You should probably start going about your day.

You look around your room for what might be your hairbrush. None of your visual processing modules are on yet, and so identifying objects is difficult. Also, your left eye is taking a while to start working. Nevertheless you find what you figure is a brush - it is about the correct lenght, has one thinner part that may be a handle, and a wider part bearing what might be the hairs. Using the same memorized motions you've used for centuries, you brush your hair.

Maybe you should leave your room. Might be good to try to cook something, or if your object identification processing module isn't on yet by then, maybe get a drink.

You walk towards what seems like a door. You look over it to make sure it is not your closet door. The shape of the handle seems right for the one you are looking for, so you start walking towards it.

[FIXUP_OVERHAUL_v0.99: On]

Suffering a momentary lapse of consciousness, you crash right into the door, and fall onto the floor.

This was an attempt of Lady Yukari's to eventually replace all the overly big "fixup" modules with some more streamlined implementation. This giant module, currently attached somewhere around the other fixup and motorics modules, is the result. Frankly, you would be better off without it.

You get back up and open the door.

[VISION_L: On]

[SPEECH_MOTORICS_v2: On]

Took a while. You walk out of your room and head to the kitchen, using your mental map of the house, walking carefully, since your ability to notice obstacles by sight is still impaired.

You enter what you're fairly sure is the kitchen. Probably best you do not cook just yet. You remember Yukari recently purchased some outside world drink. You could try that, to pass the time.

It is bottled, so you look for a bottle, and a glass to pour the drink into. You find objects identifiable as such.

You pour yourself a glass. Isn't this smell strange? You take a sip..

You spit it out. This is vinegar. This was not the right bottle.

[AUX_VISUAL_PROC_OBJECTS_IDENT_v4: On]

This would have been very useful a few seconds ago.

[STAR_MAP_HD: On]

[CLOCK: On] - It is 7:21:30.2912 am

You are unsure what the star chart is for, and every time you asked Yukari, she just chuckled and refused to answer.

You hear a sound behind you in the kitchen. Laughter?

You look in the direction of the sound. The source of it is some sort of person. You cannot tell apart faces yet, but they are wearing one of Yukari's dresses and have blond hair, and so you easily conclude this is probably Lady Yukari.

YAKUMO YUKARI - [Unintelligible]

You cannot yet process speech, so you don't know what she is saying.

YOU - "I'm sorry, Lady Yukari. My auditory processor is not on yet, and so I cannot understand you."

The person you presumed is Lady Yukari laughs again.

You sigh.

You used to be able to do a lot of this processing with the core soul alone, didn't you? Has your core just lost its functions, as it could rely on all the auxiliary processors?

Not that it matters.

You come back to the stove to cook breakfast for yourself, Lady Yukari and Chen. By the time you are done, most modules should be on.

[talonabraxas]

“And no man hath ascended up to heaven, but he that came down from heaven, even the Son of man which is in heaven. And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of man be lifted up: that whosever believeth in him should not perish, but have eternal life” (John 3:9 – 15). Last Judgement “Ascension” Talon Abraxas “Lifting up the Son of man” to Divine Consciousness

Jesus, with his intuition, had full realization of the noumena supporting the workings of the cosmos and its diversity of life. He attuned to the grand scheme of manifestation behind all the space, behind earthly vision. To belligerent minds he could not speak openly of his omnipresent perceptions – even the truths he did tell brought crucifixion. He said to Nicodemus: “If I tell you about the matters pertaining to human souls who are visibly present on earth, and how they can into the kingdom of God, and you believe not, then how can you believe me if I tell you about the happenings in the heavenly realms, which are completely hidden from the ordinary human gaze?”.

So many doubt the heaven because they do not see it.Yet they do not doubt the breeze simply because it is unseen. It is known by its sound and sensation on the skin and the motion in the leaves and other objects. The whole universe lives, moves, breathes because of the invisible presence of God in the heavenly forces behind matter.

Once a man gave some olives to another who had never seen olives, and said, “These have a lot of oil in them”. The person cut the fruit but could not see oil — until his friend showed him how to squeeze the olives in order to extract the oil from the pulp. So it is with God. Everything in the universe is saturated with His presence — the twinkling stars, the rose, the song of the bird, our minds. His Being permeates everything, everywhere. But one has metaphorically to “squeeze” God out of His material concealment.

Inner concentration is the way to realize subtle, prolific heaven behind this gross universe. Seclusion is the price of greatness and God-contact. All who are willing to snatch time from the greedy material world to devote instead to the divine search can learn to behold the wondrous factory of creation out of which all things are born. From the heavenly causal and astral spheres every physically incarnate soul has descended, and every soul can reascend by retreating to the “wilderness” of interior silence and practicing the scientific method of lifting up the life force and consciousness from body identification to union with God.

The word “serpent” refers metaphorically to man’s consciousness and life force in the subtle coiled passageway at the base of the spine, the matter ward flow of which is to be reversed for man to ascend from body attachment to supersconscious freedom.

As the souls were originally in God’s bosom. Spirit project the desire to create an individualized expression of Itself. The soul becomes manifest and projects the idea of the body in causal form. The idea becomes energy or the lifetronic astral body. The astral body becomes condensed into the physical body. Through the integrated spinal passageway of these three instrumental media, the soul descends into identification with the material body and gross matter.

“He that came down from heaven” means the physical body. (Jesus refers to the human body as “man”; throughout the Gospel he spoke of his own physical body as “the Son of man”, as distinguished from his Christ Consciousness, “the Son of God”.) Man descends from heavenly planes of God’s creation when his soul, garbed in its casual body of God-congealed ideas and its astral body of light, takes on an outer covering of material tissue. So not only Jesus but all of God’s children have “come down from heaven”.

No human body has ascended into heaven, the etheric essence of which does not accumulate corporeal forms; but all souls can and will enter the supernal realms when, through death or through spiritual transcendence, they cast off physical consciousness and know themselves as angelic beings garbed in thought and light.

We are all made in image of God, beings of immortal consciousness cloaked in diaphanous heavenly light — a heritage buried beneath the cloddish flesh. That heritage we can only acknowledge by meditation. There is no other way — not by reading books, not by philosophical study, but by devotion and continuous prayer and scientific meditation that uplifts the consciousness to God. “Ascension” by Paramahansa Yogananda

[intermundia]

saw this and i cannot help but think of this in the context of the jedi.

"peace doesn't mean no conflict" can be unpacked on both a personal and political level. for the individual, inner conflict is not something to be eradicated or denied. the ideology of the jedi is not the suppression of all emotions, but rather the acceptance of them and finding the wisdom that comes with that allowance. it's about cycles of conflict and resolution, identification of the problem and release from the crisis, letting go and moving forward. so inner peace is not the absence of inner life, but rather an attitude towards the fullness of it, accepted as it passes through. the jedi try not to get stuck, clinging to and warped by their passionate attachment to an outcome that fights against external reality, as that leads to suffering, not peace.

on the higher political level, the peace of the larger civilization of the republic is not the same as the suppression of all individuals and societies into a single order, or a single imposed hierarchy of power. there is inevitable conflict between people when there is difference and history, and the jedi are there to help resolve boundaries between rivals to create a wider net of tolerance that is galactic civilization. they are diplomats and problem solvers, creating a kind of emergent peace that is different than the totalitarian order of the sith. they are not trying to kill anything that doesn't obey their vision, but rather finding a vision of peace that respects all parties as best as possible.

"how you handle the instance of any conflict" is how they try to use negotiation first, understanding all different points of view and adjudicating between claims, thereby "setting boundaries, and opting for serenity over chaos." if there is violence, they finish the fight in a limited, personal way with lightsabers, keeping the scope of violence almost surgical in nature to the body politic. they are not there to impose their own vision by force, they're ones with the "emotional intelligence" and higher perspective to find the harmony in a chaotic situation.

"peace requires maturity, insight, and the power of learning beyond one's ego" which is foundational to the jedi philosophy. they are the moral authorities of the galaxy, the ones trained to resist corruption, ideally offering the most mature perspective in a room. they aspire to be impartial and fair, to see reality how it really is, and not just how they want it to be. they have to accept it all, and not cling to what can not be kept, which is a huge part of maturation. the bigger picture of the objective reality of the force is what they align themselves with, rather than trying to force reality to align with their own egos. their insight is so valuable because it's not beholden to the interests of a party inside the conflict, it's a perspective from outside, without attachment to any particular outcome—just seeking true peace, whatever that looks like for any particular context.

[prying-pandora666]

The Real Reason Azula Smirked When Zuko Was Burned is…

A lot of ink has been spilled over why Azula smirked when Ozai burned and scarred Zuko.

Some argue whether Iroh’s flashback was reliable. Let’s assume for the sake of argument—as uncertain as it is in canon—that it happened exactly as Iroh remembers and describes it.

How could an 11 year old child smirk while her brother is burned and brutalized in front of everyone?

There are many conflicting arguments.

Argument 1 - She’s a monster.

Some say she is a sadist or a psychopath and it’s as simple as that. She just enjoys watching her brother suffer.

But this doesn’t track with what we come to learn about her later, and is outright contradicted by materials that actually give us insight into her POV such as the comics and novelizations, as well as writer interviews.

The novelizations which were written contemporaneously (and thus aren’t a retcon) show us an Azula who cares about Zuko, even though she’s competitive with him and jealous that mom favored him. She thinks Zuko is weak and brings misery upon himself and she is willing to turn on him to protect herself. Yet she still wants to help him get stronger and take his place as Prince. She still wants his love. She takes the risk to lie on his behalf at Ba Sing Se for him. She didn’t suspect Aang had survived until later.

The comics take this further, showing that in Azula’s ideal world, Zuko was never banished or burned at all. He is happy and loves her and isn’t abused or scarred.

Even the head writer who designed both Zuko and Azula’s arcs claimed she loved Zuko more than anyone except their father.

So then what is it?

Argument 2 - It’s A Coping Mechanism

Some point to “Identification with the Aggressor”, a well documented psychological coping mechanism in which victims of trauma—especially children who are especially malleable and vulnerable—will mirror their abuser and conform to their ideals in an attempt to stay in their good graces and be spared. This isn’t always a conscious decision either, it’s often done subconsciously, which only confounds this further.

I’ve written more about this and how it pertains to Azula here.

However, outside the the knowledge that this is common in abused children and Azula’s behaviors meet the criteria, we don’t have any direct confirmation that this is the case.

Argument 3 - She Is Brainwashed

Others point out that every adult in the room is complicit in this act if not outright enjoying it in the cases of Ozai and Zhao.

Azula is a small child that’s been brainwashed from birth to believe this is right. After all, Ozai is their unquestionable despotic leader as well as her only remaining parental figure. Why would she question? How would she even know this is wrong if she’s been taught this is right by everyone surrounding her?

Does she even understand the full impact of what is happening here or does she think this is Zuko getting his comeuppance for being “weak and lazy”, with no concept that he’s actually being scarred for life and is soon to be banished? After all, not even jolly Uncle Iroh is objecting or moving a finger to stop this. He only looks away.

This is supported by the fact that Iroh laughed about burning Ba Sing Se to the ground even as he was killing them. Zuko and Azula both laugh at this joke and Ursa doesn’t chastise them. She only smiles. Clearly this kind of violence is normalized in the Fire Nation.

We also know Azula attended the Royal Fire Academy for Girls, which in the Kyoshi novels we are told is quite violent and that it wasn’t uncommon for adults to encourage students to duel on Agni Kais. Students sometimes died. So there is reason to suspect this is a product of her culture.

Argument 4 - She is Faking It

“Azula always lies” they say. She is shown to be an excellent liar, but more importantly that she represses her vulnerabilities and feelings.

This is shown when Toph tries to sense Azula’s lies only for Azula to completely repress any reactions and prove Toph can’t determine when Azula is being truthful.

The Beach gives us a more sympathetic example, showing us an Azula who empathizes with her brother and tries to cheer him up when he’s sitting by their old family beach house in depression. She calls him to join them at the shore, and then proceeds to walk all her friends and Zuko through their traumas with surprising gentility.

When it’s her turn however? She dismisses her own trauma with a flippant joke. Masking the moment she starts to feel emotional about it.

It’s even shown when Zuko makes Ty Lee cry by calling her a circus freak. Initially Azula laughs, but when she realizes it’s upset Ty Lee, Azula’s face changes to one of remorse and sadness. However, the moment Ty Lee turns to look at Azula, Azula quickly hides this expression and masks it with a look of indignant petulance.

Azula does indeed seem to fake negative reactions to hide her vulnerabilities.

Argument 5 - It’s a combination of 2-4

Perhaps there is some truth to all of what we have seen in arguments 2-4. Azula is clearly brainwashed and does identify with her abuser to the point of being inappropriately enmeshed with him and suffering total ego fragmentation when he discards her. She does repress her emotions until she finally unravels. She was also quite young when this show happened and it’s possible she didn’t know just how serious it was all going to be.

But consider this…

Still that isn’t enough for detractors, who claim that even given her environment and the circumstances, it’s still too sadistic and cruel for her to grin here. That she should’ve shown some outward sign of disruption.

If you are or ever were one of these detractors, let me ask you this.

Did you feel any sympathy when Azula fell apart, uncomforted by her newly granted power, arguing against her own conscience in the form of her estranged mother, telling her that her methods are wrong? When Azula replied “what choice do I have?” did you feel any remorse for this child who had been exploited for her skill and groomed into living weapon by her power-hungry father, with no regard for her psychosocial development or emotional wellbeing to the point she cannot even relate to kids her own age normally? Did her desperation to use fear and control to keep others close because she knows no other reliable way, because such skills are taught and she’s only ever learned manipulation and coercing and fear, showing us exactly what Ozai uses to control her just as used violence and estrangement against Zuko, move you?

When she laid broken and sobbing and screaming at the end after Zuko and Katara “put her in her place” as Zuko put it, did you feel any pain in your gut?

Or did you cheer?

Were you glad to for her to get her comeuppance?

Did you feel justice was served and Zuko triumphed that day?

That he was right, he could “take her” by exploiting how “off” she was aka her mental illness and spiral into psychosis?

Because if you did, then you know exactly why a person would smirk while watching someone who needs help get brutalized.

If narrative framing can persuade you to believe that an unloved, mentally ill, abused and exploited child soldier being brought to sobbing, screaming, chained up, broken tears… is the RIGHTEOUS result! Imagine what a lifetime of propaganda from birth and programming from your own father with no one to show you another way would do to you.

Why did Azula smirk while Ozai burned Zuko?

You already know the answer.

[mieberoc]

With a little AI help!

Dorian is activated!

The corridor greeted Dorian not with light, but shadow—lit only by narrow strips of red running along the skirting, like veins pulsing with subdued purpose. He walked without instruction; the suit’s subtle inner haptics nudged him forward with gentle vibrations. It didn’t guide him—it steered him.

Doors hissed open without sound, recognising his presence. No keycards, no voice commands. His body was his identification now.

He entered a large room filled with others. Figures like himself. Each one sealed, masked, featureless. Dozens stood motionless in silence. A few turned towards him as he stepped into their ranks, but none moved. None spoke. They acknowledged only that he had joined them.

Overhead, a light flickered and stabilised. A mechanical chime resonated through the floor. Then came the signal: a sharp pressure against the base of his spine, barely felt but unmistakable. They were being activated.

A screen slid down from the ceiling and pulsed with geometric code. The others raised their heads in unison. Dorian followed, eyes locking to the shifting pattern. It wasn’t language—it was instruction. Something inside the mask responded. He felt warmth at his temples, then cold clarity flooding his thoughts.

You are Unit 41. You are mobile. Mission set: Urban Recovery. District D. Clearance Prime.

Dorian blinked, and the overlay flickered across the inside of his lenses—maps, objectives, encoded priority layers. He felt no emotion. The suit filtered those. Only the imperative remained.

The doors at the far end opened, revealing a large transport pod—its floor ribbed with magnetic anchoring. The units filed in, boots aligning with contact points. As Dorian stepped into place, a clamp clicked softly over each ankle. The pod sealed.

Through the dark visor, he saw nothing, but felt everything. Acceleration. Descent. Deployment underway.

His last memories, unfiltered by the suit, began to fade. His name was still somewhere inside—Dorian—but it felt like watching someone else’s dream. The pulse of the system was stronger now, louder. He leaned into it.

When the pod doors opened again, the outside air didn’t touch him. He was already breathing purpose. Streets lay before him—abandoned, silent, waiting. Others moved out first. He followed.

No hesitation. No pain. No choice.

Unit 41 was operational. Dorian was complete.

[yuurei20]

Malleus Facts Part 60: Gargoyles (pt2)

Silver and Sebek are delighted by the appearance of a gargoyle during Glorious Masquerade, presenting it to him with pride.

Malleus initially dismisses it as a grotesque, telling them that they must not conflate the two. Silver asks a favor of some nesting birds to allow them to look inside its mouth and realizes that it is hollow on the inside, while Sebek identifies a passage that goes from its mouth to its back.

Malleus apologizes to the gargoyle for his rudeness in failing to identify it properly, commenting on its distinctive face and curious placement.

He also thanks Silver and Sebek for bringing it to his attention.

When the gargoyle reappears in a new location Malleus recognizes it immediately, saying that the angle of its wings and “the tasteful centimeter scratch on its head” are unmistakable to him.

When Azul and Idia are somewhat put off by this gargoyle-identification ability Malleus responds, “I find it stranger that neither of you noticed those details.”

The gargoyle reveals that it can move and talk and Malleus goes silent. Idia explains, “the object of his hyperfixation just revealed a completely unexpected side of itself. It’s possible he���s got reality whiplash.”

Malleus explains he was awestruck, and introduces himself formally.

Azul says, “The moment the gargoyle called him ‘pal,’ Malleus clutched his chest with a pained exclamation…”

Idia explains, “that’s a classic fanboy thing right there. He’s so happy it physically hurts.”

Malleus becomes more displeased with Rollo with the revelation that he is endangering the gargoyles, but the gargoyle defends him, saying he looks out for them all.

(Gargoyle: “When we got wet and started growin’ moss, he scrubbed it off for us.” Malleus: “Now I envy him.”)

Malleus vows to restore the gargoyle and its brethren to normal, and strike Rollo down himself.

After Rollo is defeated, Malleus’ first decision is to make sure the gargoyles of the bell tower are all right.

The gargoyle gives Malleus the nickname “Malle” (“Mal” on EN) and when Rollo refuses the gargoyle’s invitation to confide in him, Malleus glares at him.

Malleus refers to himself by his gargoyle nickname, to everyone’s surprise.

(Idia: “He’s so happy he’s breaking character!” Rollo: “I cannot believe I lost to this misfit…”)

[tsalala]

Naming tigers is common practice not just in Panna but in tiger reserves across India. Some are named for specific physical features; others earn their monikers based on behavioural traits and sighting patterns.

One of the most popular tigers, known as Machli worldwide, was officially T-16 of the Ranthambore National Park. The 19-year-old became the poster child for the government’s tiger conservation programme.

[…] When Machli passed away, it wasn’t just the forest officials who mourned—visitors and residents from nearby villages did too. She was given a respectful funeral: her body covered in flowers and carried by forest officials to be buried.*

“She had been sick for a while before she died, but she had shown grit and survived [illnesses] before. We thought she would fight this illness too, but she didn’t,” said Sudharshan Sharma, who was the divisional forest officer at Ranthambore Tiger Reserve at the time. He added that her passing felt like a personal loss for the forest staff.

This might sound like a heartwarming relationship between a tigress and her guardians, but it’s for this very reason that government and wildlife experts advise against naming wild animals.

In fact, the National Tiger Conservation Authority (NTCA) prohibits the practice of naming tigers.

Officially, tigers in India are assigned a unique code—a combination of letters and numbers. The letter corresponds to the reserve where the tiger is located, followed by their number in the sequence of birth or identification.

[…] “The tiger conservation project, or any wildlife conservation project, needs to be carried out scientifically and objectively. When you start attributing human-like qualities to wild animals, conservation decisions can become biased,” said a senior official from the Union Ministry of Environment, Forests and Climate Change (MoEFCC).

He acknowledged that Machli once became an ambassador for India’s tiger conservation efforts, but said that now that the tiger population has remained stable for the past few years, it’s a good time to move away from the practice.

Despite strict instructions to local forest officials to avoid naming the inhabitants of their reserves, the practice continues. For officials and local residents, it is just an easier way to identify the tigers and build an aura around them—something that helps attract tourists.

*This is incorrect. Machli was cremated to avoid bounty hunters stealing her body parts.

[wokealqaeda]

Albert Gonzalez (born 1981) is an American computer hacker, computer criminal and police informer, who is accused of masterminding the combined credit card theft and subsequent reselling of more than 170 million card and ATMnumbers from 2005 to 2007, the biggest such fraud in history. Gonzalez and his accomplices used SQL injection to deploy backdoors on several corporate systems in order to launch packet sniffing (specifically, ARP spoofing) attacks which allowed him to steal computer data from internal corporate networks.

Gonzalez bought his first computer when he was 12, and by the time he was 14 managed to hack into NASA. He attended South Miami High School in Miami, Florida, where he was described as the "troubled" pack leader of computer nerds. In 2000, he moved to New York City, where he lived for three months before moving to Kearny, New Jersey.

While in Kearny, he was accused of being the mastermind of a group of hackers called the ShadowCrew group, which trafficked in 1.5 million stolen credit and ATM card numbers. Although considered the mastermind of the scheme (operating on the site under the screen name of "CumbaJohnny"), he was not indicted. According to the indictment, there were 4,000 people who registered with the Shadowcrew.com website. Once registered, they could buy stolen account numbers or counterfeit documents at auction, or read "Tutorials and How-To's" describing the use of cryptography in magnetic strips on credit cards, debit cards and ATM cards so that the numbers could be used. Moderators of the website punished members who did not abide by the site's rules, including providing refunds to buyers if the stolen card numbers proved invalid.

In addition to the card numbers, numerous other objects of identity theft were sold at auction, including counterfeit passports, drivers' licenses, Social Security cards, credit cards, debit cards, birth certificates, college student identification cards, and health insurance cards. One member sold 18 million e-mail accounts with associated usernames, passwords, dates of birth, and other personally identifying information. Most of those indicted were members who actually sold illicit items. Members who maintained or moderated the website itself were also indicted, including one who attempted to register the .cc domain name Shadowcrew.cc.

The Secret Service dubbed their investigation "Operation Firewall" and believed that up to $4.3 million was stolen, as ShadowCrew shared its information with other groups called Carderplanet and Darkprofits. The investigation involved units from the United States, Bulgaria, Belarus, Canada, Poland, Sweden, the Netherlands and Ukraine. Gonzalez was initially charged with possession of 15 fake credit and debit cards in Newark, New Jersey, though he avoided jail time by providing evidence to the United States Secret Service against his cohorts. 19 ShadowCrew members were indicted. Gonzalez then returned to Miami.

While cooperating with authorities, he was said to have masterminded the hacking of TJX Companies, in which 45.6 million credit and debit card numbers were stolen over an 18-month period ending in 2007, topping the 2005 breach of 40 million records at CardSystems Solutions. Gonzalez and 10 others sought targets while wardriving and seeking vulnerabilities in wireless networks along U.S. Route 1 in Miami. They compromised cards at BJ's Wholesale Club, DSW, Office Max, Boston Market, Barnes & Noble, Sports Authority and T.J. Maxx. The indictment referred to Gonzalez by the screen names "cumbajohny", "201679996", "soupnazi", "segvec", "kingchilli" and "stanozlolz." The hacking was an embarrassment to TJ Maxx, which discovered the breach in December 2006. The company initially believed the intrusion began in May 2006, but further investigation revealed breaches dating back to July 2005.

Gonzalez had multiple US co-defendants for the Dave & Buster's and TJX thefts. The main ones were charged and sentenced as follows:

Stephen Watt (Unix Terrorist, Jim Jones) was charged with providing a data theft tool in an identity theft case. He was sentenced to two years in prison and 3 years of supervised release. He was also ordered by the court to pay back $250,000 in restitution.

Damon Patrick Toey pleaded guilty to wire fraud, credit card fraud, and aggravated identity theft and received a five-year sentence.

Christopher Scott pleaded guilty to conspiracy, unauthorized access to computer systems, access device fraud and identity theft. He was sentenced to seven years.

Gonzalez was arrested on May 7, 2008, on charges stemming from hacking into the Dave & Buster's corporate network from a point of sale location at a restaurant in Islandia, New York. The incident occurred in September 2007. About 5,000 card numbers were stolen. Fraudulent transactions totaling $600,000 were reported on 675 of the cards.

Authorities became suspicious after the conspirators kept returning to the restaurant to reintroduce their hack, because it would not restart after the company computers shut down.

Gonzalez was arrested in room 1508 at the National Hotel in Miami Beach, Florida. In various related raids, authorities seized $1.6 million in cash (including $1.1 million buried in plastic bags in a three-foot drum in his parents' backyard), his laptops and a compact Glock pistol. Officials said that, at the time of his arrest, Gonzalez lived in a nondescript house in Miami. He was taken to the Metropolitan Detention Center in Brooklyn, where he was indicted in the Heartland attacks.

In August 2009, Gonzalez was indicted in Newark, New Jersey on charges dealing with hacking into the Heartland Payment Systems, Citibank-branded 7-Eleven ATM's and Hannaford Brothers computer systems. Heartland bore the brunt of the attack, in which 130 million card numbers were stolen. Hannaford had 4.6 million numbers stolen. Two other retailers were not disclosed in the indictment; however, Gonzalez's attorney told StorefrontBacktalk that two of the retailers were J.C. Penney and Target Corporation. Heartland reported that it had lost $12.6 million in the attack including legal fees. Gonzalez allegedly called the scheme "Operation Get Rich or Die Tryin."

According to the indictment, the attacks by Gonzalez and two unidentified hackers "in or near Russia" along with unindicted conspirator "P.T." from Miami, began on December 26, 2007, at Heartland Payment Systems, August 2007 against 7-Eleven, and in November 2007 against Hannaford Brothers and two other unidentified companies.

Gonzalez and his cohorts targeted large companies and studied their check out terminals and then attacked the companies from internet-connected computers in New Jersey, Illinois, Latvia, the Netherlands and Ukraine.

They covered their attacks over the Internet using more than one messaging screen name, storing data related to their attacks on multiple Hacking Platforms, disabling programs that logged inbound and outbound traffic over the Hacking Platforms, and disguising, through the use of proxies, the Internet Protocol addresses from which their attacks originated. The indictment said the hackers tested their program against 20 anti virus programs.

Rene Palomino Jr., attorney for Gonzalez, charged in a blog on The New York Times website that the indictment arose out of squabbling among U.S. Attorney offices in New York, Massachusetts and New Jersey. Palomino said that Gonzalez was in negotiations with New York and Massachusetts for a plea deal in connection with the T.J. Maxx case when New Jersey made its indictment. Palomino identified the unindicted conspirator "P.T." as Damon Patrick Toey, who had pleaded guilty in the T.J. Maxx case. Palomino said Toey, rather than Gonzalez, was the ring leader of the Heartland case. Palomino further said, "Mr. Toey has been cooperating since Day One. He was staying at (Gonzalez's) apartment. This whole creation was Mr. Toey's idea... It was his baby. This was not Albert Gonzalez. I know for a fact that he wasn't involved in all of the chains that were hacked from New Jersey."

Palomino said one of the unnamed Russian hackers in the Heartland case was Maksym Yastremskiy, who was also indicted in the T.J. Maxx incident but is now serving 30 years in a Turkish prison on a charge of hacking Turkish banks in a separate matter. Investigators said Yastremskiy and Gonzalez exchanged 600 messages and that Gonzalez paid him $400,000 through e-gold.

Yastremskiy was arrested in July 2007 in Turkey on charges of hacking into 12 banks in Turkey. The Secret Service investigation into him was used to build the case against Gonzalez including a sneak and peek covert review of Yastremskiy's laptop in Dubai in 2006 and a review of the disk image of the Latvia computer leased from Cronos IT and alleged to have been used in the attacks.

After the indictment, Heartland issued a statement saying that it does not know how many card numbers were stolen from the company nor how the U.S. government reached the 130 million number.

Gonzalez (inmate number: 25702-050) served his 20-year sentence at the FMC Lexington, a medical facility. He was released on September 19, 2023.

[sturnboos]

[🦷] WISDOM

Summary: the triplets take you to fry your wisdom teeth removed after weeks of serve tooth pain.

Warnings: medical anxiety, tooth pain, blood.

this is lightly based on nicks wisdom teeth video

you had been ignoring this tooth pain for a while. You were never a fan of anything medical like doctors or dentists. there was a growing discomfort in your jaw for a while now, and it got worse by the day. You tried to hide it and it was pretty easy hiding it from your parents but you might've slipped below your radar if not for one fatal mistake… you were currently in LA visiting your triplet brothers and you weren’t talking as much as usual. the triplets noticed instantly and after almost 2 weeks they figured out the problem.

so now here you were in the car beside Nick, Chris in the passenger seat and Matt in the driver currently reversing out of the driveway.

"i know you don't like doctors, but there isn't a home remedy for this" Chris spoke trying to comfort you.

you recoiled into your seat, rubbing you eyes in frustration and worry.

"I promise you'll feel so much better, okay? you know we wouldn't bring you to the dentist if we didn't think it was best for you." nick smiled apologetically.

your usual dentist office was hours away back home in Boston so you currently being drove to the dentist the triplets go to. the triplets claim to be good friends with the staff that worked here and were fully convinced they would have someone see you even though you didn’t have an appointment.

when you reached the front desk, you tried to put on a smile. "hi boys!" The receptionist says recognising the triplets.

"Is Dr. Gabe on today?" Chris asked then Matt ads on "our sister is having severe tooth pain she hasn't got an appointment but i think she needs to get a wisdom tooth removed. "

"has she been to the emergency room?" the woman behind the desk asked. her expression was kind, but her voice was condescending at best.

"no we figured they'd be no help if she needed it taken out. She's in really bad pain, she can't even speak properly. is there any possible way he could get an assessment or and emergency removal? or at least something to help the pain?" Nick asked.

the woman asked you for some identification. you fished through your purse for the insurance card and you passed it over along with your state ID. the woman printed up a few forms and stated, "fill these out and i'll get you to the doctor shortly."

"thank you so much" nick smiled at the woman.

Nick followed you across the lobby and helped you fill out the paperwork, and you didn't object to all the way until the last form. against the back of the clipboard laid an anesthesia consent form that required both your signature. "thats the silly thing?" Your hand hovered over the page anxiously, and nick rested your hand on his shoulder.

"hey, it's okay. anaesthesia is safe. you won't feel any pain" nick promised.

"but I don’t wanna say something embrassing" you said recalling the time when nick got his wisdom teeth removed months earlier.

"only me, matt, chris and the dentist will be there with you, no camera. If you say something silly it will be forgotten by tomorrow." Chris spoke up "we will be with you the whole time"

you let out a defeated hmph and scribbled your signature on the page.

you stood up to hand over the paper work and then, for the first time in dental office history, things moved along quickly the desk clerk assigned the resident oral surgeon to your case and brought you into the back of the building where all of the private rooms were, explaining vaguely that the doctor had an open schedule for the rest of the afternoon.

the dentist shook the triplets hands generously. as you settled into the dentist's chair "well, hello my favourite same faced people" the dentists smile softens as he looked over your chart "hi sweetie, so wisdom tooth pain?”

you nod. matt rubbing your arm in a comforting manner, you were holding Chris’s hand firmly and waiting for the dentist.

the dentist takes a quick look "you've absolutely got a tooth trying to come in there" the dentist assessed. "you've got an impacted wisdom tooth, which means it's growing sideways, so it's pushing against your molar instead of up through your gums. that's why it hurts so bad. now, i can take it out for you today, but i want to make sure you're okay with that. it's a routine operation, i've done hundreds of them."

you surrendered judgement at this point. you head lolled over to the triplets and raised your eyebrows "that would be great, Gabe. anything to stop her pain, really. She’s in a lot of pain," Matt sighed heavily, feeling that same weight in his chest that hasn't left. He just wanted it to stop hurting for you.

the dentist you know knew as 'Doctor Gabe' left the room for a few minutes to prepare the right tools and grab his dental assistant, leaving the four of you alone. the triplets again took the opportunity to try and calm your' nerves.

"so, he's gonna give you medicine, which will make you fall asleep then he can fix your teeth and when you wake up it will feel like no time passed at all"

"you won't feel a thing, i promise. and i'll hold your hand and i won't let go until the whole thing is done, sweetheart”

"Yeah we'll stay right here, okay?"

when Doctor Gabe returned, everything became a blur. a younger assistant followed him into the room, and an extra doctor who you presumed to be the anesthesiologist arrived as well. a mess of white coats covered you, and the triplers were asked to sit off to the side as they administered the anesthesia Matt tugged your arm out just a bit so he could keep his fingers laced with yours, and you zoned out to the whirring of dental tools and babbling doctor speak.

it didn't take very long, or maybe you had lost track of time, but when the surgery was over before you realized it. your eyes fluttered open still sleepy and high from anaesthetics

"hi sweetheart" matt greeted, squeezing your palm. you wave your other hand slowly like a toddler.

"you did it, all done” nick states.

"hmm. yaaaayyy" your words were misconstrued through all of the bloody gauze lodged in your jaw, but the triplets knew what you were trying to say.

Doctor Gabe chuckled to himself as he discarded his gloves and shuffled to the sink, running his hands under some warm water. "how're you feeling?"

you slowly moved your hand to do a thumbs up.

"i bet. you did good, darling" doctor gabe complimented.

chris tapped your shoulder to gain your attention holding a container with your tooth in it he held it out to show you "you wanna keep your tooth?"

you gasp and eyes widened "gith it to da toof fairy" you lisped. the word sounded muffled. the cotton stopped your tongue from touching the roof of your mouth. the triplets chuckle.

you stick your tounge out of your mouth causing the triplets to laugh louder.

"No no tounge in the mouth" nick said but you ignored glaring at him

"no 5SOS in the car if you don’t keep your tongue in your mouth" you eyes widen and you quickly put your tounge away.

your distracted by the beeping machine on your finger going to pull it off when it beeps "no keep that on"

"are my teef done?"

“yeah your already done" nick confirmed again.

"okayyyy…"

Doctor gabe then spoke up again talking to the triplets "alright, so i've called in a prescription for some antiseptic wash and painkillers to the closest pharmacy accepting her insurance. same pharmacy we send your stuff too. pick those up, that will help tide her pain and prevent the area from infection. the girls at the desk have care instructions, but just rinse with the wash, take the medication until the bottle runs out, and keep a close eye on her until the anesthesia wears off. she should be fine. soft foods, lots of water- i'm sure you know the drill. Just gotta keep her in here until the IV is finished okay?" the triplets nod. then doctor Gabe leaves the room.

“I luf brufers" you randomly state.

"yeah? do you have a favourite?” chris smirked .

"No" you paused " I luf mahttt" you smiled.

"Awwww I love you too" Matt says.

Nick turned to look at you "where gonna get you home soon okay? Do you remember the password?"

you looked at him confused, what password was he even talking about "I wan icecwem chake"

“nope that’s not the password”

“I s-said icecweam cake!"

"we can stop for some ice cream cake on the way home"

"yeth!"

taglist: @cl1tlover3000 @whoreforchrissturnniolo @emmaweasley @hazedsturns @blushsturns @blahbel668 @riasturns @perfectmoonlady

[boyneptunee]

8k, tomarry, fluff, time travel, murder mystery with magic, MOD HP

(or) Tom Riddle keeps stumbling over things that don't make sense, until they do. There is a magical cat, an antique shop and a string of murders, when life has been nothing but boring lately. (Chaos ensues).

There was a one eyed cat sitting on the still of Borgin and Burke's.

It looked up lazily, sleepily as Tom's shadow obscured its form where it sat against the rotting black wood Burke refused to replace no matter how many times it fell apart, only to be reluctantly stitched back together with magic and intent alone.

One eye had been meticulously shut with care, the scar leaving faint grey lines against its skin. The only one eye visible was as green as an emerald and so intense Tom had the brief unwelcome thought of carving it out with a spoon to make a pendant for himself.

The black cat cast a singular penetrating gaze at him and seemed to find him lacking, as it resumed the meticulous grooming it had been adamant on doing since before Tom arrived. Being dismissed by such a small creature felt like a personal offense somehow. Tom readied a mild hex at his fingertips.

One tail swung back and forth, agitated, before splitting down the middle into two long wispy tails made mostly of black smoke. There was an old japanese tale, he recalled, of cat spirits who possessed two tails (they also consumed human meat, and were said to be rather malicious in nature). They could also summon magic with their tails and had a particular affinity for necromancy .

"Move then, I need to open the shop." Tom sidestepped the cat once it scooted towards one side and took out a big ring full of long skeleton keys from the pocket of his coat, knowing from experience the lock refused to settle for only one key, no matter how many times it was changed over the years. The door knew too, that making Tom try more than two keys each morning would lead to a flammable disaster.

The door opened on the first try.

Tom turned to look back at the little creature still sitting on the still.

It held no collar and no identification he could see.

"Well?" He prompted, holding the door open with his shoulder as he looked down. "Are you coming in or not?"

~

There was a new store on one of the few unnamed side Alleys that branched off of Diagon.

It sat by the end of a cobblestone street, alone. Most of the surrounding shops had closed or given away to rot or decay, the war with Grindelwald stretching far and wide and making more and more people flee in hopes of finding a home away from War.

The shop had a front entirely made of old oak wood, dark and polished as it curved over the entrance door like an archway come alive right out of a renaissance painting. Below, a dark green wooden door with four little glass windows awaited, a sign painted in delicate strokes indicated the shop was open.

The only window visible from the outside was filled to the brim with plants, from big ones to smaller ones, from cactus to succulents and all the range of interior plants in all shapes and sizes, climbing up and down the wooden frame of the window like vines. One would think, perhaps mistakenly, that it was a herbology store.

However, inside was absolutely crowded from top to bottom with an innumerable amount of... things .

It was an antique shop.

~

Abraxas had been against Tom working at Borgin & Burke's for the longest time.

As much as the shop had a frequent clientele of Dark Witches and Wizards of all origins and held the most foul and interesting objects one knew to find in a decrepit corner of Knockturn, it was also terribly unsafe.

Tom was meant for grandness . Not... whatever this was.

Abraxas had begged and pleaded and tried to reason with Tom, to drag him out of there and into his Manor countless times. He had sat and talked to Orion Black about it more times than he cared to mention, only to be turned back and again by the cold freezing silver eyes each time he brought it up.

"It's his choice." Had been Orion's only answer, the second time Abraxas had tried to reason with him.

' His choice ' he'd said, but was it really?

Tom had always been a man striving for the top, he never contented himself with anything less than exceptional and he was not a man so prideful that he would not accept help from the outside.

And yet.

Yet, there he stood, behind the counter of Borgin & Burke's each morning, shadows pulling at his blue eyes and curls falling just over his nose, hair the longest Abraxas had ever seen him wear.

He was, perhaps perplexingly enough, speaking to a cat.

He looked up as Abraxas approached, blue eyes as intense as ever.

"Tom." Abraxas side eyed the black cat sitting on the counter, knowing from experience animals had a blatant dislike for him. He looked back at Tom, who wore a rather indulgent look about him so out of place in the decrepit shop that made Abraxas remember mornings spent bent over cauldron's and shared breakfasts at the Slytherin table. That look had been rather absent as of late.

Tom hummed in greeting, long fingered hand petting the black cat from head to tail.

The cat had only one green eye, looking down at Abraxas like he was a particularly nasty bug and was weighing the pro's and con's of eating him whole.

An impossible notion, surely .

A shudder went through him. Perhaps best not to test it.

"We have been invited to the Samhain gathering." Abraxas took a step down the counter, trying to get away from the cat as he took an envelope out from the depths of his robes. The hellish creature followed him with its unnerving eye, pupil slimming down to a thin long line in the center.

"Who is hosting this year?" Tom waved a hand and the envelope floated up and away from Abraxas, seal breaking and opening before him.

"House Lestrange." He answered back. Tom pulled a face, before closing his eyes and letting out a sigh. Abraxas felt much the same about the whole situation, already dreading the long hours of having to deal with the new Head of the Family without the possibility for an escape.

Sadly, as much as the invitation was that, an invitation to attend, they could not be absent.

"Orion?" Tom asked, letting the envelope fall and taking a step back and away from the polished wooden counter, arms crossed over his chest.

The cat turned towards him, forgetting Abraxas entirely as it stretched towards Tom with languid movements. Tom indulged it a bit, one hand reaching out to rub against its cheek and up an ear. The cat leaned into the touch, purring loudly, the sound not dissimilar to the Draught of Living Death boiling on a cauldron top.

Abraxas watched the exchange with wide eyes, before remembering himself.

"Attending. Lord Black has been more and more insistent he start to take more responsibilities as the Heir." He could remember both Lucretia and Orion standing side by side as they walked behind their father on their way to a Wizengamot meeting. Orion was burning two silver holes on his Lord's back, while Lucretia walked a half step behind him, an old anger pulling at her features like a vulture.

Lord Black had picked Orion over his twin sister for the Heirship, and neither sibling seemed to be particularly happy about it.

Since then, Orion had more or less disappeared from their lives entirely.

"It'll be a while before he retires." Tom stated, eyes looking to a point far away, considering.

And it certainly would. They both knew Lord Black would not cede control of the Black Estate to anyone if he was not on his deathbed. Far too many hands were reaching out and hoping to take the Lordship, but Arcturus was nothing if not tenacious and particularly immune to poison.

If it were anyone but Arcturus Black sitting at the Head, Abraxas was sure the House of Black would have fallen in the same fate House Lestrange currently faced.

Tom sighed. His hand fell away from the cat, leaning one arm on the counter to gaze down at the offending letter.

"Let's meet at Black Manor." He said, his tone clear that Abraxas would be the one to inform the Blacks. "Salazar knows I can't stand Callum Lestrange speaking anything more than a greeting."

"Hopefully his wine will be poisoned." And hopefully both Abraxas and Tom would be far enough away from the power vacuum when it happened.

A slow smirk made way on the other boy's face. The cat let out a discontent sound, clearly put off by the lack of attention.

"Oh, Abraxas. It'll certainly be a show worth watching. "

~

Unbeknownst to most of the residents of Diagon, the antique shop had been one of the first buildings to appear in the Alley. Of course, it had been a different time, and the streets were not shaped quite the same.

As time went past, new shops had grown from the ground up like tenacious weeds around the shop, warping and changing the map as they pleased.

The antique shop, of course, had not always been an antique shop. It had started out of all things, as a library .

A public library for all witches and wizards who desired knowledge and craved stories from somewhere deep in their hearts. Only those curious enough would find themselves obscuring its doorstep.

The library had been home to countless books and grimoires, plants that crawled between shelves and faires that made houses out of sticks and notes left forgotten on tables. Despite its deceptively small exterior, inside it was a whole world on its own.

Floor upon floors of knowledge harvested through the years by peers from all over stood on shelves, or stacked on top of one another on tables or on the wooden floor, and even hanging from the ceiling.

The little haven was open at all hours, if not always manned by someone up front. The lights were scattered throughout, coming from oil lamps and candles and small magical fires, all perfectly safe to be within a library, as was standard after the burning of Alexandria.

Some people only found the library once in a lifetime.

Others would come across it quite often.

Some others, the ones who did remember a time where they had entered such a place, vowed to stay between its books the next time they encountered it. As such, it was not strange to find people making a home for themselves between the shelves, transfiguring armchairs and tables into beds and tents to sleep in.

The air inside was cozy and warm, filled to the brim with magic and in the background there was always a lonesome tune coming from a piano abandoned somewhere on the third floor. Sometimes, if people came across it, they would sit and play to their heart's content, and the piano would play something cheery and joyful for days after, before remembering its loneliness and playing mournful tunes after. Someone at some point had thought to leave a plant to keep it company, and ever since then the music had been less melancholic and more something along the lines of classical tunes. It always depended on the mood and tilt to the leaves of the plant, that over the years had grown exponentially under the care of the piano, and reached across the floor towards a window quite easily.

However, curiosity and creativity in all its forms seemed to die a slow painful death in Britain.

From countless Wars, to witch burnings, to the Great Depression, made the library literally inaccessible to the average witch or wizard just going through the motions of life hoping for better days ahead.

After all, if one didn't seek, one wouldn't find.

The library and its occupants remained alone for a long time.

Soon enough, even those who had ventured into its depths forgot such a magical place existed.

~

Someone was trying to kill the Lestrange Head before he even made his introductions, stuttering and twitching, glassy brown eyes moving from place to place as he motioned for Lord Black and his wife around the parlor.

It was not the fact someone was so blatantly trying to kill him (as that was rather usual) it was the dark threads woven around his body like a particularly dark marionette moving him around like a fool. It was rather distasteful.

House Lestrange would be a case study for historians to come, that was for sure. After Corbin Lestrange had fallen prey to Dragon Pox a year prior, the continuity of the legacy of his House had been put to question. After all, the man had no children to call his own.

What followed had been a bloody path of betrayals, murders, back stabbings and public executions that left the House a fraction of what it once was.

Hence the fact that Callum Lestrange, a boy two years his junior and barely reaching the eighteen years of age required to take up the Lordship was being displayed like a marionette. His older brother, who had been Tom's classmate and a fellow Slytherin, had taken one look at the bloody throne and had let the Lordship pass down to his younger brother. Corvus was no fool, and yet, if his little brother fell he would be sure to follow.

Whoever was behind the fall of House Lestrange would not be content to leave anyone alive, it seemed.

The threads around the Lord —a boy really— wavered and tensed as his body was moved. Lord Black was growing increasingly irate at the whole display, and simply scoffed as Callum's bottom lip wobbled as he showed them towards the ball room with stiff and violent movements.

The ambient magic around them suddenly became oppressive, heavy and thick. Malicious and void-like. The threads tightened around the puppet's neck like a noose. A warning for others to not intervene. The boy choked and reached for his neck with desperate hands, only to be stopped by the very same threads, a whimper fell from his lips as the noose tightened and closed off his air supply.

Tom watched with dispassionate eyes as the show continued. He wondered at what point the Aurors would be called in.

Then, a single movement came from the heavy magic that had settled around them, distinctively different from the one surrounding the threads around the boy. It wavered in the air, there and gone again in an instant.

All the strings holding the boy were cut, the magic snapping back like a sling towards the caster. The boy fell with a thud, unconscious.

Somewhere deep in the ballroom, someone fell to their knees with a scream.

"How unpleasant." Lord Black murmured, eyes on the fallen boy. He walked towards the ballroom with his wife, not looking back.

Tom looked around for the one responsible, but no one was anywhere near the entrance, all the attending parties more than put off by the offending display of power.

Tom peeled away from Abraxas and Orion, who both stood gazing down at Callum, half tempted to help him.

A witch appeared from between the crowd in the ballroom pushing people out of her path, robes fluttering about as she made her way towards them with purposeful steps.

She wore a look so angry and violent Orion took one look and grabbed Abraxas to move him out of her way.

Cassiopeia Black kneeled by the unconscious body, uncaring for her pristine black robes and started casting diagnostic spells around, all the while cursing and bad mouthing people left and right.

Orion stood by his cousin's back and waved them off, knowing the whole process would take a long while.

Cassiopeia's wife walked sedately towards them, a put off look on her face that signaled she might have puked somewhere along the way.

Tom left them to it, steps taking him away from the entrance towards the main room where music was playing in the background.

He let his magic reach out, trying to find the threads of magic of the one that had so beautifully snapped the strings like they were made of paper.

He found a man –a boy really, going by the baby fat clinging stubbornly to his cheeks– stood by himself in a corner, dressed in a black robe that touched the ground each time he moved. Dark grey antlers had been stitched on his back, curving delicately up and over his shoulders like a necklace.

A glass of wine was dangling from one slack hand, gaze set somewhere far and out a window that looked to the gardens below.

He turned to Tom as he came to stand by his side. His eyes were as green as two emeralds, and a scar in the shape of lightning ran down one side of his face from temple to cheek. The hairs at his temple where the scar began, along with the eyelashes on the same side had turned white.

He was beautiful .

His magic felt more tame now, less hungry.

"You shouldn't have." Tom prompted as a way of greeting.

The boy smiled, indulgent as he turned to face him. The grey antlers stitched in the fabric that extended from his back ended somewhere around his chest, from where leaves of dark green and yellow dangled down his front like vines.

"Shouldn't I?" He tilted his head, and curls fell over his forehead as he looked up at Tom. A small smile played at his lips.

He smelled like vanilla and roses.

"I'll be sure to have consequences." He leaned forward a bit, into the boy's space, trying to get a feel of both his magic and sweet scent.

" Will it? " A real smile stretched then, full of teeth.

Samhain at Aviary Manor was terribly dreadful. He had known it would be since he accepted the invitation.

In fact, he was sure each family that had been invited knew it would be a shit show, and yet not one of them had come forward to take the host mantle from the Lestranges.

To be sure, no one wanted that kind of family drama in their own homes.

On top of that, Tom was growing rather bored of the stagnant conversations floating around, every single guest present trying to one up the other with useless accomplishments, or new positions within the corrupt Ministry, or new houses bought on foreign land for an extraordinarily inflated price, and so on and on it dragged on.

Finally, when he thought he wouldn't be able to stand another story about a breeder who liked to sell Kneazles bred with Wampuses (and what dreadful creatures, so wild they would bite the hand that fed them) , a hand gently laid on his back.

He turned his head to find two green eyes curiously gazing up at him, a knowing look about him that said he knew he was interrupting and he just didn't care.

The boy leaned in to whisper in his ear, standing on the tips of his toes and using his arm for balance in a display not often seen in the crowd Tom was used to frequent. Too close. Too improper .

"Do you dance?" His voice was breathy and playful, their faces close together.

"Obviously." He muttered back, face turning to lock onto green eyes.

" Obviously . " The boy repeated back, expectant and unabashed at his own forwardness.

Well. Dancing certainly seemed more entertaining than standing around listening to people trying to tilt their noses any more closer to the ceiling.

He adjusted the arm the boy was already touching, prompting him to hold on.

"Let's go, then."

He dragged the stranger somewhere towards the outskirts of the dancing crowd, grabbing onto his cold hand and turning him about. He guided him to hold onto his shoulder, while his own hand settled right above his hip.

"They really don't know when to let it go, do they?" The boy mumbled, gaze locked towards the direction they had just come from. "I swear this looks like a dick measuring competition."

A startled chuckle left Tom's lips.

"What, you didn't want to join?" He couldn't help himself, even if he tried.

"Do I look like someone who would want to– don't answer that ." He cast a suspicious look up at Tom, green eyes narrowed. "Do you like to watch the dick measuring?"

A smirk stretched across Tom's face.

"I'm not opposed." And Salazar knew just how far Tom had gone in the past to get the things he wanted. The amount of things he had to stand by and shoulder just to get a glimpse of what should have been his in the first place. He didn't lower himself quite so hard as of late, more than angry enough to strike if looked at with even a hint of contempt in the faces of his peers.

"Of course you aren't." The stranger shot back, aggravated.

"Are we still speaking of pricks? " The smile on Tom's face was somewhere between predatory and entertained.

The boy tilted his head to the side, green eyes framed by silver wire glasses glinting with mischief. Up close the scar looked more like a natural discoloration of the skin rather than a carving down his flesh. Tom could count the white eyelashes obscuring one green eye with how close they stood together.

"Dunno, are we?" There was a hint of teasing in his tone, light and airy as he leaned a little into Tom's space.

Tom retaliated, and grabbed onto his waist more firmly, arm going all the way around forcing the boy to take a step (a stumble) towards him.

The boy scoffed, a look half offended crossing his face. His nose scrunched up and the light dusting of freckles across his skin moved in unison like stars reflected on water.

"How about introductions before you insinuate yourself to me?" Tom settled on, as he moved them from side to side, steps easy and measured.

"Is that what you think I was doing?" The boy muttered back, eyes falling towards their feet, trying to find the rhythm. He took a stumble and a sidestep, almost stepped into Tom's shoes twice before he leaned more heavily onto him.

"Weren't you?"

" You're the one who approached me in the first place!" He looked contrite and impossibly offended, an impatient hand moving the curls around his face back and away before settling it back on Tom's shoulder.

A smirk broke onto his face before Tom could think to stop it.

"Perhaps I was the one doing the se–"

"Harry." He interrupted, before Tom could continue. "Well. Hadrian , technically." He clarified, an uncomfortable shift to his step letting Tom know he didn't like the form of address. "Peverell." He added, more as an afterthought than anything.

"Tom Riddle."

" I know ."

"Oh?" Well . Wasn't that interesting? After all, Tom knew little to nothing of his surname. He was sure, however, he'd heard it somewhere. Perhaps a foreign name?

"You came with Lord Black." Harry said, as if that was any form of explanation.

"I did." Tom's tone hinting at Harry to continue, but the boy only looked away towards the dancing crowd.

"I can't believe they let them Host with the smell of cooling bodies in every corner of the Manor. They even planted roses at the front, the disrespect." He spoke in a low voice, only meant for Tom's ears. He was looking towards the entrance door.

Indeed, in the front garden white roses had been planted besides the main path, unusually in full bloom for the time of year, too late into fall for them to be so full of flowers. The sickly sweet smell of roses had almost made Tom gag as they approached the front door.

"Why roses?" He couldn't help but ask, as the boy seemed impossibly offended by this fact alone.

He looked back at Tom, green eyes searching for a moment. He answered back slowly, carefully and with a patient tone about him that said he knew much more than he let on.

"It has been described to me, multiple times and on countless occasions, that death smells sickly sweet ." He said, with a put upon look that said it was all bullshit. "It really doesn't. It smells foetid, sour and pungent. Meat is meat, after all, and death comes whether or not it's a muggle or a witch or a rat. The bitterly sweet smell of vanilla and flowers is to cover it all up. But you can definitely tell it's not just the roses up at front."

Tom hummed, swaying them gently away from the warpath of a couple intent on twirling out of orbit.

"They really are smearing their name through the mud. Soon enough there will be no one to sit on that god awful throne, and the vultures will pick at their bodies like a feast."

The infamous throne sat in the corner of the ball room. It was tacky, Victorian in nature. Multiple ravens crawled on top of one another made out of metal and glass. In some parts it was rusting, and hints of red here and there could be caught in the light of the candles.

"Another show." Tom agreed, as soon as House Lestrange fell, another would take its place. It was a matter of survival.

Harry sighed in his arms, dragging Tom away towards the edge of the crowd as the couple circling around had once more almost bumped into them.

"Enough of that. What about you, Tom Riddle?" There was an air that said Harry had much more to say about the Lestranges, but he withheld his tongue.

"Shouldn't you know? You knew who I came with, after all." He teased.

"Excuse me, I don't pretend to know every single one of Orion's little friends." He had the vague notion that he'd never been referred to as such.

"I resent that."

"Good." A mischievous smile settled on the curve of Harry's lips.

"How do you know each other, then?" A groan left Harry as he tilted his head back towards the ceiling, exasperated beyond measure.

"Lord Black invited me over for tea last month, he tried to coax me into a marriage with his daughter—"

"To Lucretia?"

"–I should have known, really." He continued, as if he hadn't interrupted him. However, the pink tint to his cheeks betrayed him. The freckles became more prominent against his blush, going from beneath his eyes all the way up his temple and around his nose. "After I told him I really wasn't interested he changed tracks and started on about how Orion would be an excellent match and–"

"To Orion? " Harry turned impossibly redder.

"– shut up! Anyways I barely escaped that conversation, only for him to try and corner me to introduce me to his son on each and every place we cross paths–"

"Terribly dreadful." He mumbled beneath his breath, however Harry was on one track and speaking a mile a minute.

" Isn't it? I can't even look at the twins in the eyes knowing their father is trying to set us up–"

"Do you want to be set up?"

" No! It would be like... marrying into my own family, I don't know." He grimaced.

"That isn't a deterrent to most people in this room." Tom threw in, just to watch Harry glare back up at him. When Harry noticed the playful gleam in his eyes he tossed his head back with a groan.

"Don't play into it too." He whined, hitting the back of his hand lightly against Tom's chest.

"Why not, darling? You look possibly entertained, dare I say." Tom swayed them from side to side at the rhythm of the music, a possessive hand still curved around Harry's waist, keeping their bodies flush against each other.

"Do you want me to marry Orion?" There was an accusing tone somewhere deep in there.

"You would make a dreadful consort." Tom said, poking at him a little.

The whine Harry let out in response was truly delightful. He leaned forward into Tom's chest, hiding his red face somewhere in between the lapels of his robes.

"You're awful."

Tom bit his lip, endeared beyond measure and terribly fascinated.

"I've been told. Many times ."

"I'm sure you have."

They danced for a while, sharing comments on the dress of some or another, critiquing a Lord who was way too drunk for the time of night, or the god-awful wood one of the witches at the far corner called a wand.

Tom wasn't blind to the looks they were getting as more and more time went on, when neither of them changed dancing partners.

Lord Black looked personally offended by the whole thing.

Harry was an easy weight on his arms, comfortable and self assured as he found his footing in between their steps, following along both Tom and the music as they moved across the room.

Their dance was interrupted just as Harry was starting to slow, clearly tired of going around in circles. Tom had wanted to ask if he wanted to sit down and eat, but he didn't get the opportunity to do so.

Orion appeared by their side like a particularly uninvited dark cloud. Harry turned away to hide his face on Tom's chest, far too improper and impossibly amusing.

"Would you like to dance, Hadrian?" Orion asked in the most monotone Tom had ever heard him utter out. He looked as enthusiastic as Harry at the prospect. He was only being polite for the sake of his father, Tom knew.

It didn't make the curl of anger and jealousy any less intense.

" No ." Harry mumbled against the fabric of his robes, face still buried.

"I could get you a drink, perhaps?" He continued, as if Harry hadn't spoken.

Harry only grabbed tighter onto Tom, and if he had been anyone else but this endearing boy he would have cursed them black and blue.

Orion looked at him in the eyes and took a careful step back. He wouldn't want to step on a serpent ready to strike, after all.

"How about a walk outside?" He said. But he was not addressing Harry. The question was turned to Tom, begging him to get them away to have an out of the situation just so Lord Black wouldn't come breathing down his neck again.

Tom nodded, prying Harry's hands away from his robes as he walked them down towards the gardens.

"They really don't know when to quit, I swear." Harry mumbled as they lost sight of Orion and the surrounding crowd.

Tom wondered what made Harry so special Lord Black wanted him in his family by unbreakable ties so insistently.

~

The Library had fallen slowly to decay, after a time. The books remained unread, gathering dust and magic, forgotten where they sat for years and years and years. The armchairs remained unused, moving from side to side of the library wondering why no one would come in.

A ghoul had moved in at some point, and after the last of a long dynasty of shopkeepers died in their sleep, it took over manning the desk.

The ghoul didn't much understand the concept of time, and much less the use of Wizarding money. But it kept the shop clean of other plagues, such as insects and rats and the occasional ashwinder , a magical snake that grew from the everlasting magical fire by the corner of the main floor when the ghoul wasn't looking.

For a brief period of two years, a kind witch had tried to convert it into a cozy little coffee shop. As one can imagine, it didn't last .

Both the ghoul and the magical fire had refused to leave, the books had been crammed into the attic one on top of another and the armchairs reluctantly repurposed.

Yet, the buildings falling apart around it, and the fact that the little side alley's entrance, branching from Diagon, was covered by bigger, flashier shops made it impossible for the café to survive.

Years went by, and the building sat sad and (mostly) empty.

Then the Childe of Death came along.

~

The smell from the gardens at the back of the Aviary Manor was less intense than those at front. It probably had something to do with the lack of rose brushes set up on every inch of the path leading up the front door. It had clearly been a statement, for those who knew to read into it.

Like Harry.

Tom spied at his companion from the corner of his eyes, from his slim build to the dark circles most people would cover behind a glamour. It was clearly intentional on his part, as he seemed to leave nothing for speculation.

His hands were covered in silver rings carved with runes and stones inlaid in between, and pendants and piercings hung from his ears and glinted in the moonlight every time he turned his head.

He wondered what the antlers at his back meant.

Everything about him was slightly dark, and he carried something heavy with him Tom could not name, but he could feel deep within himself.

A sense of uneasiness, despite his rather cheerful and harmless demeanor.

A mask of sorts.

It felt like a pull, as if Harry was a black hole and Tom nothing but a dying star waiting to be sucked in, stardust and magic wavering between them, dancing around just as their bodies had, not a moment before.

Harry looked up at him from beneath his bangs, green eyes curious.

They were finally far enough for the music in the ballroom to be nothing but a murmur in the night.

The Estate where the Aviary sat was within a valley split by a roaring river flowing from the surrounding mountains, water clear most of the year, except for a few weeks where rainstorms fell with the fury of gods seeking vengeance, water tearing apart stones and earth in it's path down the mountain, dark and muddy and dangerous.

The water was clear now, a mirror of silver flowing calmly and without rush.

A wooden bridge had been erected at some point, curved over the river bed. On the other side there was a long stretch of green tall grass, seemingly unaffected by the cold.

Tom and Harry walked close together, shoulders brushing as they made their way down to the water.

Harry slipped a hand on one of his robe pockets and pulled out a brown piece of paper that was crinkled at the edges. The strong smell of dark chocolate reached Tom's nose before his eyes could settle on the dark treat between Harry's hands.

A smile had settled on Harry's face when their eyes met, and he offered up a piece without being prompted.

The bittersweet taste, mixed together with the feeling of Harry's heavy magic made Tom sigh and close his eyes as they walked down the slope of the hill. The calming sound of the water and the chill feeling of the night made the knot stubbornly sat between his shoulder blades, tighten and let go.

Harry slipped his arm on the crook of his elbow and leaned towards him a little, just resting his weight as they walked down in tandem.

"Do you think either Callum or Corvus will be dead by the time we walk back?" His voice stretched far in the night.

"I don't know." Tom responded, a lightness to his tone he hadn't had in himself in a while. "Depends on how much time you want to spend out here with me." He teased. "An hour? Perhaps two?" He let a beat pass between them. " Three days? "

A startled laugh left Harry, light and fleeting in the night.

"An eternity ?" Harry shot back instead, green eyes looking far into the night sky. The stars seemed to twinkle in answer.

"I can deal with that."

~

The antique shop was filled to the brim with objects.

Just as the library had, the items had been collected from hand to hand and passed down a long line of people to reach the shop.

The shelves that had once made up the library had been repurposed with loving hands, and narrow paths stretched between them as they stood side by side. If a person were to enter they would have to dodge items that refused to stay on the confines of the shelves themselves, sometimes on the floor or floating around trying to find a spot to call a temporary home.

Not one item was the same as another, on the main floor. From priceless heirlooms of long lost families, to stones and jewelry lovingly crafted by Goblins, to paintings and statues on all shapes and sizes.

The top of the shelves themselves acted as a middle floor, between the main floor and the first one, connected by planks of wood and ladders to open a path between each section. Even more objects had been placed there, and the plants hanging from the ceiling looked down with apprehension as people walked on the precariously placed paths on top of the bookshelves. Little kids, as usual, loved to climb.

The second and third floor functioned mostly as the original building had intended: a Library. The books had been more than pleased to be put back on the shelves, on the floor and tables and even windowsills. Muggle records and books had been added, and even if they didn't hold any magic themselves, they soaked the ambient flow around them like sponges, filling up to the littlest atom with magic. The surrounding books found it funny, so they let the muggle things stay.

The armchairs moved from place to place, and sometimes they even came down to the main floor and helped people along the shop like particularly enthusiastic puppies.

The ghoul still manned the desk sometimes, but more often than not it sat behind it by an open window that was sunny year round, a couple of plants had been placed by it's stool and it grumbled and grunted from time to time to remind the rude people that visited the store, it was still very much alive (as much as a creature such as this could be) and would not hesitate to being harm if they were being disrespectful. The plants around it seemed to agree with the sentiment, and they would curl around the shoulders of the shop owner with a possessiveness not seen anywhere else in Britain.

The basement had been a new addition.

It was not easily accessible for those witches and wizards that came from the world above looking to buy or sell, looking to read and wander.

The basement was a transition place for some.

A train station for others. A pit stop on a long ride that would take them elsewhere.

Sometimes it served as a tea house, or a coffee stop, or even a forest.

For Harry, it was the place where he saw the most people come through.

Somewhere simply lost and trying to find their way back, even if their souls told them they had to go on. For others, it was a place to share tea and stories and wait for just a little more. They were not ready yet.

Sometimes all they needed was an ear to listen. Someone to tell all the troubles they'd had in life and still wrapped around them in death.

Some were angry beyond measure, and they would lash out and try to find a way out to hurt the people above. Harry could not let those go.

The ghoul manned the desk for days and days after the angry ones visited. An impatient and concerned tone to its grunts that informed the local shoppers it was not to be aggravated too much, lest it would attack. The plants sometimes had to hold onto it for good measure.

Most of all, the shop was filled with magic. And stories. And the occasional ghost.

Harry was quite proud of it, even if it wasn't the life he would have envisioned for himself once upon a time.

Sirius' death during his fifth year, and the consequent hunger that had haunted his every step had been more than enough for Harry to take the wrong train one night.

Enough to end up in the tea house below an abandoned library-turned-shop.

Death had been more than pleased at the company.

~

Harry stepped first into the wooden bridge, and dragged Tom by the hand until they stood together in the middle.

The calming sound of the water was a balm to his soul. He had seen way too many shadows clinging to people for one night. He didn't need to know exactly how many people would obscure his doorstep in the next few months, thank you.

He turned to the boy by his side.

Tom Riddle both looked so much like the shadow of the Diary he had met in his second year, and yet nothing like it. He looked older, and a tiredness that could not be fixed by sleep or rest pulled down at his blue eyes. His hair stood long in loose curls, the point between having to cut it or commit to a ponytail not far now. He looked pale and a little hollow, and yet he stood tall by Harry, and impossibly warm.

He was half a Soul now, he knew. It should not be possible for this boy to stand as warm and as sane as he did.

There was a void in the tear of his soul Harry had felt as soon as he had stepped on the dance floor. It sucked light and magic with a tremendous pull, and Harry wondered how it was Tom hadn't noticed.

His magic worked overtime to fill the void that would remain open like a wound left to fester and crawl with foulness if left alone.

Harry turned to face him, eyes closed and hand resting somewhere in Tom's chest.

He could feel it even now, trying to pull his own magic in the black hole in hopes it would fix it.

The amount of magic required to keep it going made Harry intimately aware he stood beside the most powerful wizard he had encountered, ever.

A second coming of Merlin, perhaps. If only he hadn't been so foolish to think a simple Horcrux would be enough to stray Death from his path.

Half a Soul was half the magic, after all.

It was impressive the only tales of soul sickness were the dark circles and the pale complexion. It spoke more about his strength than Harry was careful to admit, even to himself.

He let his magic be sucked by the boy, and he felt more than heard the sigh Tom let out.

They were standing already very close together, but Tom brought him even closer by putting an arm around him.

When he lifted his head he found two dark intense eyes gazing down at him, perhaps a little perplexed at the mystery package that was Harry himself.

He couldn't help the hand that moved the curls away from Tom's handsome face, a thought between grabbing a pair of scissors or using magic to get rid of the extra length.

Tom must have sensed his intentions, as his eyes turned a little mischievous.

"I know." He sighed, put upon.

"Yet you let it get this long." Harry tugged a curl down and stretched it as far as it could go. It reached somewhere around his chin. "Either commit to it or cut it. Terribly improper of you to go around with a mop for a head full of hair."

A sharp smile was all the warning he got, as a hand tugged down the satin piece of fabric holding his hair in place and mostly away from his face. Black curls settled around his face like a mane. There was a reason Harry didn't wear his hair down without an excessive amount of hair products. His curls were not soft and tame like Tom's, rather they stubbornly wanted to fit one on top of the other in tight circles and twists. It had been worse when he had short hair, as the ends spiked every which way they wanted.

"Hey!" He went for the cloth with small hands, even as Tom held it out of reach and above their heads.

"You are one to talk about cutting down hair."

"Don't you dare shame me for my hair, Tom Riddle. It was all well and good before you got your hands on it!"

Perhaps Harry should have worded it differently.

Hands sunk into the back of his hair, warm and big and playful. They tilted his head back and Harry had no choice but to meet Tom's hungry gaze.

There was no question needed between them, no confirmation for the next step in their dance.

Tom's lips met his in a slow kiss, languid and wet and right .

Harry sighed as he leaned more weight onto him, knowing his hands would hold his body firm and the warmth of their magic met in the middle, in all the points where they touched. His hands went from Tom's chest up his neck and up his cheeks.

Tom's hands traveled down his back to his waist, and held Harry more firmly in his place against him.

Tom Riddle smelled oddly sweet. Like a half blend between vanilla and chocolate fighting for its life, a hint of bitterness and spice making its way in between.

It reminded Harry of the times Remus Lupin had slipped pieces and bits of chocolate into his hands for all of his third year, between classes and recesses and times when Harry stared a little too hard off into the sky with words stuck on his throat.

Oddly enough, the House Elves had taken it upon themselves to leave handmade (homemade) chocolate carefully wrapped in paper in between the lapels of his robes, in his pockets, in his trunk. He often found the pieces when he least expected it, and when he most needed them. Like at the Dursleys during the long summer months, or when he went on walks along the forest and found his hands reaching for his pockets, or more often enough: when he was sad and in need of a pick me up.

(Fifth year had him eating chocolate every day, enough to make him sick more than once. Madam Pomfrey had huffed and puffed at him for such an unbalanced diet).

(Luna, oddly enough, seemed to be the only one to notice, the only one to not shy away from his anger or look away at the depth of his sadness. Somewhere in December that year she had slipped a potion to the House Elves to mix with the chocolate so it wouldn't upset his stomach).

(He doesn't think he deserved the kindness, but Luna had only smiled at him as they sat between the herd of Thestrals and ate their chocolate).

They kissed for a long stretch of time, the river and the stars their only witness.

Harry had the question at the tip of his tongue.

Tom bit down on his neck with hunger, leaving bruises and kisses on his wake.

At some point his hands wandered even lower, and two big hands grabbed onto the back of his thighs prompting him to let himself be lifted or fall backwards.

Tom grunted against his mouth at the added weight, but stood sure and still as Harry wrapped his legs around his middle. The hands on the back of his thighs hugged him beneath his bottom and let Harry sit a little higher.

He sighed against Tom's mouth, leaning back a bit and trusting his hands to hold him up.

Tom's eyes were two black holes as they looked up at him. His gaze was half lidded, hungry and wanting. His magic seemed to simmer beneath the surface of his skin, calling out to his own magic and awaking it in a way nothing had before.

He desperately wanted to ask. He wanted to drag Tom home and never let him leave.

An explosion at their back startled them enough for Tom to take a hurried step back, turning them about so whatever had caused the ruckus would hit Tom head first.

Harry was deposited back on the ground before the wave of magic could reach them. Both of their wands dropped on their hands.

A fire started somewhere deep in the Manor and climbed up with a hunger that said it could only be of magical origins.

The shape of a Phoenix eating smaller birds could be seen through the flames.

Someone had cast a fiendfyre inside a small space crowded with the most influential people currently in power in Britain.

It was an act of War.

They waited for half a heartbeat.

Then they ran towards the fire.

(OR) the horror and the wild on AO3, 21k words, two shot, completed

[fearfulfertility]

CONFIDENTIAL ETHICS REPORT

DRC, Internal Affairs Division, Ethics & Compliance Command

To: Operations Oversight Committee

From: Chief Operating Officer [REDACTED], Ethics Compliance Officer

Date: [REDACTED]

Subject: Comprehensive Review of the Ethics Training Program

Executive Summary

This report reviews the current Ethics Training Program (ETP) across all operational paternity compounds. The program, originally designed to instill a sense of moral discipline, professional integrity, and emotional detachment, has encountered significant challenges in achieving its objectives. 

Despite mandatory completion rates of [REDACTED]%, on-the-ground observations indicate that ethical lapses remain persistent. This review aims to identify existing weaknesses in the training framework and propose enhancements to ensure staff uphold DRC values of compliance, efficiency, and emotional neutrality.

Key Findings

I. Declining Ethical Compliance

Despite repeated training modules emphasizing professional distance, a recent audit found:

[REDACTED]% of staff exhibited unnecessary physical engagement with surrogates, ranging from [REDACTED] to unauthorized [REDACTED].

[REDACTED]% of handlers reported experiencing "existential guilt episodes" after prolonged surrogate interactions.

[REDACTED]% of new recruits required retraining after expressing---

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[SECURITY LEVEL]: [HIGH]

[USER IDENTIFICATION]: [Executive Level-01A]

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II. Inappropriate Surrogate Relations

Despite the introduction of the Male Paternity Regulation and Evaluation Guide (MPREG), security audits and surveillance reviews have uncovered multiple incidents in which staff have failed to maintain appropriate boundaries with surrogates. These violations undermine the core principles of surrogate management and jeopardize operational efficiency by fostering unhealthy emotional dependencies and encouraging surrogate non-compliance.

Documented Breaches:

Unauthorized Physical Contact

Multiple reports indicate staff members engaging in “excessive belly-rubbing” under the guise of "medical check-ups," with some employees spending prolonged periods tracing stretch marks and remarking on the “impressive elasticity” of surrogate skin.

In one instance, an employee was observed resting his forehead against a surrogate's abdomen, citing an attempt to "listen for movement patterns."

Security footage captured a handler providing “unsanctioned belly massages” of seven late-term surrogates (immobile due to the size of pregnancies), commenting on the "firmness" and "size" even when surrogates protested the contact.

Surrogate Statement

"I kept telling him it wasn't necessary, but he just kept running his hands over my belly, saying he was 'checking for ripeness.' It felt weird—like he wasn’t even listening to me. I couldn’t move much, and he took advantage of that." — Surrogate S138-908-M, 30 days gestation with tridecuplets (13)

Employee Statement

"Listen, the bigger they get, the more we need to monitor things up close. You can’t just eyeball this stuff—you must feel it and assess how the skin’s stretching. If I rest my head on their stomach, it’s just to check fetal movement. Some of these guys have so many in there, it’s hard to tell what’s going on otherwise." — Handler, Employee ID# HS-138-033

Excessive Engagement During Lactation Sessions

Instances have been documented where staff members linger beyond their allotted monitoring times during surrogate lactation cycles, citing the need to "ensure maximum output."

Reports detail employees offering unsolicited physical contact during surrogate pectoral care, including lotion applications that fall outside their scope of responsibilities.

One employee was reprimanded after being discovered providing “oral collection,” allegedly to "maximize output," despite explicit prohibitions against direct interference.

Surrogate Statement

"He was supposed to check the pumps, but he just stood there watching… way too long. Then he started helping me put lotion on without asking. I told him I could do it myself, but he kept saying it was 'part of the procedure.' It made me really uncomfortable, but what am I supposed to do? I can’t exactly get up and leave." — Surrogate S111-334-L, 28 days gestation with dodecuplets (12)

Employee Statement

"I was just making sure he was comfortable! These guys leak all day; you wouldn’t believe the state of their skin. If I stay a little longer to make sure the lotion is applied evenly, it’s because I care about their well-being." — Lactation Technician, Employee ID# HS-111-115

Compromising Language 

Audio logs indicate staff addressing surrogates using inappropriate language, such as: 

Overripe

Milk Machines

Fetus Factories

Human Brooders

Staff have been overheard offering unnecessary commentary during routine examinations, with remarks such as” 

A gut full of government property…

All belly, no brains…

His womb is bigger than his future…

That belly’s in its own zip code…

Push or pop, your choice…

I’ve seen parade floats smaller than him…

Surrogate Statement

"They act like we’re not even people. One called me a ‘baby factory’ right to my face. They joke about us like we’re nothing but our wombs and pecs. It’s humiliating. I hear them laughing, saying stuff like, ‘Another day, another pop and drops.’" — Surrogate S119-501-R, 23 days gestation with Octodecuplets (18)

Employee Statement

"It’s just harmless fun. You see the same thing every day. You gotta lighten the mood. Yeah, we joke around a bit—what’s the harm? We don’t mean anything by it. If calling them ‘overripe’ gets us to relax, then what’s the problem?" — Compound Attendant, Employee ID# HS-119-187

Misuse of Medical Equipment:

Several staffers were found to be conducting authorized medical check-ups, recording or imaging surrogates, raising concerns that these materials are being used for personal gratification or unauthorized sale.

Surrogate Statement

"I noticed one of the nurses recording me... at first I thought it was a medical checkup but then he followed me into the showers. They’re not checking for my health—they’re keeping it for themselves. It’s disturbing. I don’t know who’s looking at me." — Surrogate S127-672-N, 25 days gestation with Quattuordecuplets (14)

Employee Statement

"Look, sometimes you see something interesting, and you want to study it later. These guys carry huge loads, and it’s fascinating from a medical perspective. I may have saved a few pictures, but it’s strictly professional… mostly. If some of the guys take a peek after hours, well, that’s their business." — Medical Technician, Employee ID# HS-127-087

III. Rising Moral Hesitations

Data collected from exit interviews indicate an alarming decline in ethical standards across multiple paternity compounds, with widespread reports of staff failing to uphold professional boundaries in their interactions with surrogates. 

Despite the implementation of the Male Paternity Regulation and Evaluation Guide (MPREG), surrogates have expressed discomfort and frustration with these breaches, noting that staff often dismiss or minimize their concerns. Meanwhile, employees continue to rationalize their actions, citing the unique challenges of surrogate management as justification for their behavior. The increasing frequency of these incidents signals a systemic failure to enforce ethical training and disciplinary measures, necessitating immediate corrective action to restore professional integrity and safeguard surrogate welfare.

IV. Proposed Ethics Training Enhancements

To mitigate these issues and strengthen staff resilience against ethical drift, the following measures are proposed:

Mandatory Hands-Off Policy Enforcement with Physical Barriers

A revised "Look, Don't Touch" policy will be implemented to combat the persistent issue of unauthorized physical contact. Staff will also undergo regular "hand discipline" exercises, reinforcing professional restraint techniques.

Behavioral Detachment Conditioning Program

Employees will participate in an intensive desensitization curriculum to mitigate emotional attachments and unhealthy fixations. Daily affirmations such as “Submission, Not Compassion” and “Productivity Over Personal” will be recited to reinforce emotional neutrality.

Milking Procedure Automation Initiative

In response to the growing concern of excessive lactation engagement, compounds will explore the use of fully automated milking stations, eliminating the need for staff to intervene manually. Advanced monitoring tools will ensure accurate data collection without physical oversight. Employees lingering in lactation zones will face immediate reassignment to less surrogate-focused duties.

Conclusion

The proposed enhancements to the ETP, including stricter enforcement measures, behavioral conditioning, and technological interventions, aim to address these concerns through deterrence, accountability, and operational improvements.

By implementing a robust hands-off policy, reinforcing professional detachment through targeted training, and introducing automation to reduce unnecessary interaction, the DRC can work towards restoring ethical discipline within the workforce. Ultimately, the success of these measures will depend on leadership commitment, ongoing surveillance, and a willingness to adapt training strategies to the evolving challenges of surrogate management.

[SYSTEM RESPONSE]

[AUTHENTICATION PROTOCOL ENGAGED]

[SECURITY OVERRIDES]: [Disabled]

[REDACTED DATA]: [Locked]

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To: Chief Operating Officer [REDACTED], Ethics & Compliance Command

From: Director [REDACTED]

Date: [REDACTED]

Subject: RE: Comprehensive Review of the Ethics Training Program

While I acknowledge the concerns outlined in your report regarding ethical lapses, I must emphasize that operational productivity remains our primary focus. The reality is that our quotas are being met—exceeded, in fact—and that should be our key metric of success, not a handful of staff engaging in what I can only describe as “overenthusiastic” surrogate monitoring.

The bottom line is this: as long as the babies are born on schedule and our quotas are satisfied, I see no pressing need to disrupt compound operations with redundant policy enforcement and additional training.

Frankly, the incidents described—while colorful—reflect the unique demands of our workforce. Staff working closely with surrogates day in and day out are bound to find creative ways to “stay engaged,” and quite honestly, if a little belly rubbing keeps morale high and output consistent, I see no reason to intervene. After all, we're running a high-pressure operation, not a monastery.

I trust that my position on this matter is clear.

Continue monitoring for any gross misconduct that may threaten productivity, but let’s not get bogged down policing every lingering glance or overzealous stretch mark examination.

Director [REDACTED]

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