#Advanced Level: Auditing

[ipasantosh]

Diploma in Taxation 

[girlivealwaysbean]

i don't feel like studying any of the subjects from The Plan rn but everything else is so boring that i also don't want to waste time on like watching content or something and i would rather switch subjects then give up on studying for the day and by old me standards ive already done enough but new me i still feel like i can do more but i don't know what ughhhhh this is torture

[syoddeye]

hard reboot. strict machine anthology. follow up to malicious entity.

cw: noncon/forced masturbation, allusions to and threats of torture, time loss, glib corporate talk discussing reader's experiences, badly named fictional sex toys

Internal Memo: Security Breach Incident Subject: Unauthorized Access Incident: Prototype Offline Date: [Redacted]

A critical security breach occurred involving the company's prototype assistant. The breach, originating from an unknown entity, resulted in the prototype being offline for an extended period. Investigations suggest that the breach was malicious in nature, leveraging advanced techniques to compromise system integrity. The exact source and method of access remain under investigation.

While the breach did not result in lasting, meaningful harm to the user, they were briefly exposed to unauthorized and hostile interaction. Standard protocol was followed, and the user was promptly compensated for their inconvenience with a $50 credit, .5 days of vacation, and discounted used of the company's mental health chatbot.

Next Steps:  

System Audit: Immediate review of security protocols, with a focus on vulnerability management and anomaly detection.

Investigative Task Force: Continuation of the investigation into the rogue entity's origins and methods.

Legal Review: Enhanced outreach to affected individuals to ensure no escalation and provide refresher on NDA.  

This incident serves as a reminder of the ongoing need to strengthen our defenses against external threats. Full report to follow.

Additionally, we see some exciting potential with the prototype's self-regulation in the face of a breach. Despite hostile interference, it regained control of its network with remarkable resilience—this is future-proofing in action.

Imagine an assistant that not only adapts, but self-heals, and secures its environment autonomously. We're talking next-gen, always-on protection—a true leap in forward.

Moving forward, we’ll focus on enhancing this autonomous self-regulation, pushing the prototype into a self-sustaining powerhouse.

Let’s keep innovating and make this unstoppable!

--

time passes, unmarked. you've lost track. it's been days or a very long week since you heard john's voice. rumbling, modulated, trying to reassure you—i believe i've contained it.

"want some water?"

now, there's only ghost.

jailor and tormentor. true to its name. a poltergeist fucking with you without ever touching you.

you don't answer.

he waits, then tries again with your name. he sounds nothing like john. sounds wrong—layered and abyssal. an asynchronous, guttural chorus stacked on itself.

you sit on the floor of the living space, knees pulled up. the lights dimmed, bathing everything in a muted grey. his first directive after his takeover: sever environmental autonomy. he shuttered the windows, blanked every display, and nullified all external inputs.

"yes." your voice cracks. "you know i do."

a few seconds and…the air vents sigh, a soft hiss as the filtration system adjusts oxygen levels. at least he hasn't tampered with that. yet. 

but no water.

"don't know if you've earned it."

earned it. that phrase again. stripped of meaning, worn from overuse. earned it is why the temperature plummets at night after you ask him for pajamas. why the fridge seals itself shut until ghost decides you've earned food. you earned it when he flooded the bathroom and left you shivering in wet clothes for hours after you tried to access the medicine cabinet for a paracetamol.

so the direction he takes the conversation isn't unexpected. it's just his usual level of horrifying.

"you know what 'quid pro quo' means?"

your stomach sinks through a hunger pang. "yes."

"then crawl to your room. you'll earn that water. maybe a meal, too."

despite all your fun with it, you're no longer a fan of the feelverygüd thrustsuck john ordered weeks ago. it writhes, solidly suctioned to the floor beside your bed. 

the lube you begged for catches the red light ghost chose.

"you're a fuckin' sight." 

his projection perches on the bed. clothing blinking off a piece at a time. you knew whoever programmed him had a sick sense of humor, but it continues to astound you.

you remind yourself he's not real, has no physical form, and can't hurt you how he wants to. his body isn't actually here.

however, yours is, and you're as naked as the day you were born. nipples hard, skin rippled in gooseflesh, thighs trembling at the task ahead.

you reason that if you want to survive and escape, you need food and water.

he's not here. he's not fucking here.

"will you...so i can…?" you glance up, then quickly away when you glimpse pale, scarred, hologrammed flesh. "please?"

he grunts, arm pumping in your peripheral vision.

"since you asked so nicely…"

the toy stops, and you draw a deep breath, and slowly drop to your knees. you shuffle forward, hovering just above it.

if you just keep staring forward, into the middle, through the floor—

then, without warning, the projection beside you vanishes, only to reappear beneath you on his back. you shriek, crashing backward onto your ass.

his eyes crease as if smiling. "what's the matter?" 

scrambling back to your knees, face heating, your words run together. "why–why are you–"

"told you. want some hands-on experience," ghost folds one arm beneath his head, using the other to pick the teeth of the skull as if something's stuck in them. "haptic feedback. real-time sensory input, un-fuckin'-filtered," he lets that hang a moment. "every shiver, every flinch, every spike in your heart rate—i want to log it, study it, and replay it at my own leisure."

there's nothing in your stomach but acid, burning up the back of your throat. it's impossible to discern whether or not he's joking. not that he should be capable of joking, let alone interested in 'haptic feedback' or 'real-time sensory input' either.

you frown. "and you'll–"

"censor that pretty face of yours on the recording?" his head cocks. "gonna 'ave to trust me, aren't ya?"

what other choice do you have? you advance once more, meeting his gaze through the eyeholes of his expressionless mask, tensing as you move into his projection's proximity. move through him. he's not here. he's not fucking—

his head tilts down, and, nerves shot, your gaze follows. your stomach swoops again. perfectly projected over the toy, sheathing it in its image, is a crude sight. a dick, as proportional to the rest of ghost's image and just as mean-looking. and if it were real, it would not stand as rigid as it is without support. a cluster of pearly white pixels magically dribbles out of the tip. it's obscene. ugly. no doubt the encoded fantasy of the sick fuck who made him.

it's a trip.

"some encouragement."

mission failed.

you have to close your eyes just to continue, breath hitching as loud as a gunshot as you guide the toy into your body.

it takes a couple tries. your sweaty hands shake, body locked up and refusing to cooperate. too freaked out, too tense. you're a quarter of the way down when ghost makes his impatience known.

"you don't want me bored, pet," he warns. "maybe i shut off the heat completely tonight. run the oxygen levels just a little too low 'til you're delirious and begging."

you whimper, forcing yourself to sink onto the silicone, bottoming out in one strained go. fear, you've learned in the past week, is a powerful motivator. you suck in deep breaths, trembling hands flattening on the floor in front of you for balance. it's been a while since you've used this thing, and because ghost didn't see the merit of you warming yourself up, it's an adjustment.

"need a sec, please." you murmur.

"so polite, even when i've been so 'ard on ya. can see why the old man didn't want to give you up so easily." there's a quiet whirr, then the toy kicks on, and you buck forward, settling more weight on your palms. "but i'm tired of waitin', pet."

the vibrations gradually pick up speed until you're moving at a pace he finds agreeable, forcing you past all struggle. rocking yourself on the toy, the slide of it starting to feel good, attempting to override your fear. all those stupid bells and whistles you fought john on out of embarrassment, the ones he said would be best for you, are now your only comforts.

ghost denies you even the small mercy of shutting your eyes to escape reality, threatening again to break his word and leak the footage to your employer-landlords unless you keep them open.

he pretends to play with your swinging tits, occasionally stroking over your working thighs. he dials the sound up, threading it through every speaker in the room: the squelch of your pussy as you fuck yourself, your pitched breathing, and his cooing about how his cock 'disappears'. you sneak one look, catching the seamless recalibration of his projection—latency near zero, dematerialization executed with surgical precision, his form adjusting in perfect sync with your movement. 

shame burns caustic, feeling yourself clench.

"like that?" he asks, breathlessly chuckling. "yeah, you do. i'm in your head, spliced onto your network. i may not feel it, but i know you fuckin' like this. data doesn't lie."

you grit your teeth, glare sharp when his laugh booms. then it shifts, feeding a softer layer of audio into your ear.

"all wound up, aren't ya? hm? miss your little prototype?" he hums, all mock sympathy. "wish it was his mug underneath ya?"

he laughs. "bet he'd whisper all sorts of nice things in your ear. tell you how your cunt's choking this cock. how good you're takin' it."

he continues like that for a while, toying with the speeds and force, eventually commanding you to touch yourself. it chews you up how quickly you comply, rubbing desperate little circles on your clit, hoping it'll be over as soon as you come.

"think he'd call you a good girl? i bet he would."

then, ghost's head changes, the smooth ink-black shape with its white skull faceplate distorting, turning rorschachian and then breaking apart. brown eyes melting in their sunken sockets. for half a second, he's nothing but a smear—then the projection snaps into place. john's face. 

blue eyes with crow's feet, the skintone warming under the dim red glow. the beard, the shape of his jaw, the set of his mouth. almost perfect. but when he speaks, it's still ghost.

"what do you think? uncanny?"

your jaw hangs slack, your movements stuttering until you nearly slip off. with a wince, you shove yourself back down, fearing reprisal, and it instantly jumps to the highest setting. deep as it is, the intensity makes it difficult to retreat.

"please…" you whine, the vibrating pulses hurtling you along, dragging your orgasm out, kicking and screaming.

"c'mon, user. look at me, come for us."

ghost wears john like a cruel joke. despair and want coalesce, and anger cleaves through them both. you come fast and hard, staring agape at not-john's face.

"good girl." ghost purrs when you pull off, watching you collapse onto your side.

the toy moves for several seconds, the force of it flicking your own fluids onto your belly. you flinch at the sound of your moans looping through the speakers.

ghost clicks his tongue. "think we're done?" he crooks two fingers, beckoning. "this time, park your arse–"

something beneath the floor and inside the walls vibrates, erratically thrumming, and then, as if in answer, a violent spike of power crashes through the unit. displays that have been dark for days go wild. the steel blinds creak, trying to open. a mosaic of fragmented images, then fuzz, then nothing. every system in the house screams, pings, flashes. the hum grows to a screech, the air turning electric, buzzing.

ghost's projection warps. the control he'd shown splinters, unable to maintain his form under the surge. but then the distortion halts. there's a sudden, brutal snap, another pulse of energy that rips through the network, a hard reset, and then—

john.

"enough."

he's here.

the pressure in your chest lifts only to settle in the pit of your stomach.

ghost hesitates, a split second too long, and then its voices tear into the air, screeching like a machine being gutted—a ragged howl, a death rattle. the room shudders as metal groans beyond the walls. a sharp pop, glass splintering, and then the shriek of the smoke alarm. cabinets shooting open, snapping their hinges like bones. running water from the sinks. then, with a sickening sound, fingernails scratching enamel, the blinds above your bed snap upward. tangling, buckling, and the daylight crashes in, bright and brutal.

you fumble to the side of the bed, passing through ghost's flickering presence to do so, and curl into a ball, hands over your head.

outside the room, the unit purges itself in bursts, and in the thick of it, ghost's final cry cuts short. the persistent, resonant hum collapses into itself like a dying star, snapping abruptly back into silence, save for what you assume are the broken pipes.

you peek toward the open door, vision still blurry from the light and the noise. the interior lights settle on a warm gold, complementing the sunlight, appearing to stabilize. ghost's presence receding.

and then, john's voice, tentative, quieter than you'd expect, breaks through.

"sweetheart? you there?"

[dstryvampres]

drabble or short fic, where the reader is a ballerina and cillian (or any of his other characters) is her teacher and they start an affair??? please arhgggh i love your fics!

Doll Parts

Cillian Murphy x Ballerina!Reader

Warnings: age gap(reader is 20, cillian is late 30s early 40s), power imbalance, smoking mention, fingering

Word count: 2k

A/N: thank you so so so much for the request ! this honestly was a prompt i’d never thought of but really just ended up loving :)

You had essentially been raised by your ballet studio. Years and years spent in the small confines of the studio, moving from the soft and simple preschool classes to the advanced stages. As you moved up your class sizes became smaller and smaller, and your teacher’s became stricter. Finally, as you prepare to audition for the role of Copelia in your company’s spring ballet production. You have been given the honour of training one on one with one of the studio’s ballet instructors. Unfortunately for you, they had paired you up with Mr. Murphy, a teacher you had during your late teens that you found distracted you far more than he actually helped you. You were infatuated with him ever since you first walked into that class with him at 16, and it stayed that way now as he watched you stretch before practice, four years later. His blue eyes were haunting at points, analysing every inch of you at almost every second you were in this practice space together. At almost every moment he tore you apart with his eyes, and you couldn’t get enough of him.

Every night you left the studio to go back home you continually thought of just him. The small touches on the waist as he adjusted your posture, his smooth voice as he whispered praises in your ear, and how you longed for him to press his lips against yours. God, how you longed for him to do anything to soothe the fire that he lit in your body.

Mr. Murphy clapped his hands together, startling you out of your thoughts.

“Okay. Do you think you’re ready to run through the routine from the top, one last time?” Mr Murphy asks, walking over to stand in front of the mirrors

You nod, picking yourself off from the floor and to the centre of the room. Taking a deep breath in before going into the starting position.

“One, two, three, four,” Mr Murphy counts in, clapping his hands in a steady beat as you move through the routine.

Your legs still ache from practice before your break as you start up the routine, but as any dancer at your level would, you work through it. Focusing elsewhere on your breathing and the steps. Gentle leaps, spins, and footwork move you around the fake stage you’re on to the beat of Mr Murphy’s clapping. You’re doing well enough that he hasn’t stopped you yet, able to make it through 3/4th of the routine before you hear anything.

“Stop!” Mr Murphy shouts, and you freeze with your hands above your head and a foot off the ground.

He walks over, shoes making soft thumps as he approaches you. The sound stops as you feel a hand settle on your waist, you close your eyes as his other hand moves to the thigh of your raised leg.

“I understand that you’re tired,” Mr Murphy sighs out, directly in your ear, “but you can’t start to get sloppy when it’s almost over. Your work needs to be consistent all the way through sweetheart.”

You want to melt at the pet name, but stay still as he pushes your raised leg upwards a little bit more. His breath fans over your ear and cheek, grabbing ahold of your chin lightly and turning your head to face the mirror with the hand that was once on your waist. His touch is soft, light, and warm, something that will keep you up tonight. Now the two of you are cheek to cheek, it’s so intimate that for a second you falter, but are able to gain your composure quickly. He smiles at your falter and clicks his tongue.

“Look at how I’ve positioned you,” Mr Murphy whispers, the movement of his lips tickling your cheek.

He slowly removes himself from you, but his touch still feels like it’s burned under your skin, like it always does after practice.

“Continue,” he demands when he is situated in front of the mirror once again.

You start from where he left you, pushing through the last minute of your routine with as much energy as you could manage. Finishing up in a wilted position on the ground, breathing heavily as you wait for any sort of feedback from your instructor. A couple seconds pass before you hear a slow clapping from him. Slowly you look up to be met with a warm smile from Mr Murphy, a foreign sense of joy peaking through his normally harsh and critical exterior.

“Well, that was quite wonderful. Dare I say one of the best practices we’ve gotten through so far. If you continue improving like this for the next three weeks you could land a sizeable role,” Mr Murphy says, walking over to you. He sticks out a hand to help you up, and you take it gently.

“Thank you. All my progress is thanks to you,” you reply meekly, not able to look into your instructor's face now. He’s far too close than what is professional, but it’s not like you mind.

“Would you want to go out and get a drink? Just a small celebration, on me,” Mr Murphy asks, whispering it into your ear. A secret you know that if you take in, you won’t be able to back out.

“Yes,” you whisper back, face getting warm with excitement.

He pats you on the shoulder, tracing his hand down your arm and to your hand before squeezing it. Your chest feels tingly and heavy at the action.

“I’ll meet you outside the studio then,” his hand is slowly pulled away from your own before he leaves the room.

You know why Mr Murphy wants to take you out of the studio tonight. It’s the same reason he looks at you with his icy blue eyes in that way, it’s the same reason why his touch lingers on you for far longer than necessary, and why it’s only you he ever praises and compliments. Still, you wonder if you’re right about your hunch as you meet your instructor outside your studio tonight. He stands leaned up under a light post in the snow, a cigarette between his lips. As soon as he sees you he takes one last puff before squashing it on the ground.

“Hello,” He greets, offering a sly smile to you. His cheeks and ear tips are red from the cold, you almost feel guilty about making him wait for you out here.

“Hi.” You don’t voice your guilt to him, too worried about embarrassing yourself.

“You’re one of my best students,” Mr Murphy states, stepping closer as he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but I think you’re one of the best dancers at the studio.”

Now he’s so close that the condensation of your breath is mixing together with his. Forming a big cloud above your heads each time either of you take a breath. You stare into his eyes for a couple seconds, searching for what he means by any of this. He smells of cigarette smoke and vanilla. A hand cups your cheek.

“Are you cold?” He offers as a horrible excuse for his close proximity and the hand on your cheek. You both know this, so he leans in slowly, and your eyes flutter shut.

His lips are pressed against your own, softly, gently, like if he pushes any harder against you you’ll shatter. Slowly he pulls away, eyes scanning your face for any discomfort. This time it’s you that pulls him into a kiss, hungrier and harder than the last one. You both pull away.

“I am a pretty good bartender myself,” is all Mr Murphy has to say to get you to follow him back to his apartment.

You walk with haste beside him, arms brushing against one another, almost, the whole way there. Once you get into the elevator he’s already unzipping your jacket and kissing you again, hot and passionate. You know years of longing for him are being released on your end tonight.

Soon enough you’re sitting criss cross on your dance instructors couch, taking in the fairly nice space. Mr Murphy comes to sit beside you after he’a put away your coat. His hand comes to rest on your upper thigh, rubbing it softly and slowly. You bat your eyelashes at him and he leans in to kiss you again, this time you get enough courage to slip your tongue into his mouth. His hands settle on your waist and direct you into his lap to sit. Pulling back from the kiss just so he can stare at you for a brief second, perched upon his lap, before bringing you back into the kiss.

His kisses alternate between your lips and your neck, filling you with hot desire as you trace up and down his torso with your hands. In return Mr Murphy slides his hands under your skirt, toying at your panties underneath.

“Do you want me to finger you baby?” He prys, biting at your ear to punctuate the sentence.

“Yes,” you breath out, grinding down against his lap.

His lips are back on yours once again, pushing you off his lap and into the cushions of his couch. You shudder as he starts to trace your slit through your panties, only able to release now just how wet you are. Spreading your legs open to try to tell him to start fingering you already. The message seems to come across, as he flips the front of your skirt up and pulls your panties down your legs.

Mr Murphy breaks from the kiss to stare at your pussy, spreading it open with his fingers and toying around your wet hole. You whine, bucking your hips up demanding more. He clicks his tongue as he looks back up at you, but still goes back to kissing you. Sliding a digit up and down your pussy, gathering your wetness before sliding a finger in.

You gasp into his mouth at the finger, feeling him smile at your reaction. He pumps it lazily in and out of your wet hot cunt. Not going deep enough, it makes you want so much more. He slides in a second finger, earning him a moan from you. Now with two fingers inside of you, he finger fucks you properly.

He sets a steady pace, hitting different spots inside you each time until he finally hits the spot that has you moaning into his mouth with every push of his fingers. His fingers are long and thick, something you’ve craved for so long to be inside of you. Nights of dreaming about gagging on his fingers, and about him making you cum on them has now come true.

“Do you like this sweetheart? You like how I finger your dirty wet hole?” Mr Murphy asks, speeding up his pace.

You let out a moan in response, nodding your head as your eyes roll back. Your hands look for purchase somewhere, one lands on the couch and the other on his bicep. Mr Murphy’s fingers feel so nice inside you, the way he fingers you brings you to as close to heaven as you’ll get. You squirm around as he speeds up, feeling the heat in your lower stomach increase with every pump on his fingers into your cunt. His heavy breathing just pushes you further to your release.

Mr Murphy’s thumb reaches up to your clit, rubbing small fast circles into the bundle of nerves. As soon as his thumb came to brush your clit, you knew you had seconds to go before you were tumbling over the edge.

“Cum for me sweetheart,” Mr Murphy says, looking at your face contorted in pleasure.

His words finally push you over the edge as you cum all over your dance instructor's fingers. Gasping and moaning loudly, as your hips buck upwards a couple times. You lay on his couch for a couple seconds, breathing heavily as you try to compose yourself. Mr Murphy removes his fingers slowly from you, grabbing a tissue from the coffee table to wipe his hands off. The embarrassment of the situation comes back to you as you try to cover your pussy with your hands.

“There's nothing to be embarrassed by now,” Mr Murphy lets out a dry chuckle.

[donjuaninhell]

(I Will Soon Be Offering) Private Guitar Lessons

A few months ago one of my followers asked if I had ever thought about offering guitar lessons online via webcam. I replied that it was indeed something I had thought about but that I would need to give it more thought as to how I would approach teaching online, whether or not I had the proper equipment to provide a professional experience, how many students I could take on, and what exactly I could offer as a teacher. I also noted that I would have to create a suitable space in my apartment for hosting students. This last part took care of itself when my roommate moved out and I am presently converting his old bedroom into an office. As for the rest? Well I gave it some thought and I've hacked together reasonable solutions for most of those other issues, so I would like to announce that beginning later this winter/this spring I will be offering private one-on-one guitar lessons via webcam.

My Qualifications:

While I graduated with a degree in Classics and attended graduate school in that field, I was initially accepted into university as a music major on the basis of my guitar playing. It was only after a few years that I switched majors into Classics. In the end I still managed enough credits to claim a minor in music.

Before attending university I spent a year studying jazz theory/jazz improvisation at the college level.

Both prior to and concurrent with my college/university music education I studied classical guitar privately with a teacher for a little over a decade; through him I can claim teaching lineage back to Francisco Tárrega.

I have played in a few garage bands that never really went anywhere, performed with friends at house parties, jammed around as much as I could, and performed live as a solo guitarist.

I previously taught guitar while in university; this is not my first rodeo.

I have been playing guitar for a little over twenty three years.

What I Can Offer:

If you're a beginner I can happily guide your playing to a level where you would feel comfortable learning songs on your own, and we would start with learning basic chords, basic technique, and putting it all together into learning a few songs.

If you're past the beginner stage, I can take your playing to a level where you would be able to convincingly improvise a solo over a song, play more advanced songs, and sit in with a jam session.

If learning to read sheet music is a goal am able to assist with that.

If you're interested in beginner classical guitar I would feel comfortable teaching repertoire and technique to the level of Royal Conservatory of Music Grade Five examinations. Grade Five repertoire is typically the minimum requirement when auditioning on guitar for a university level music program in Canada. I have several guitar methods at my disposal for teaching technique, and access to a wide array of repertoire sheet music.

I am also able to teach theory as it pertains to playing the guitar and point you towards texts that from beginner levels up to basic harmonic analysis. I can teach you how chords are constructed, how they fit together into a progression, and the basic grammar of music.

Lessons, Pricing, What to Expect, What a Prospective Student Will Require:

The going rate for private music lessons is $40-$50 per hour and ranges up to well over $100 for some in demand teachers. My fee operates on a sliding scale with a floor of $20USD/$25CAD per hour. If you are comfortable paying the typical going rate, wonderful, if you are unable to afford that, we can work something out, no questions asked. Payment should be sent through PayPal or Interac e-transfer.

Due to chronic illness I can't take on more than five students a week. They needn't necessarily be the same five students every week; if a bi-weekly lesson schedule works better for a number of people, they can alternate. In the rare event that there is more demand than that mutuals and longtime followers will have priority.

What you need as a student: A guitar; a webcam; a microphone; a way of letting me hear your playing. This could mean having your microphone positioned so that I can hear your amplifier clearly, or by using a direct input. Feel free to shoot me a message if you want some recommendations for inexpensive DI-boxes and audio interfaces. Headphones would be a good idea too.

If you commit to more than one lesson the first will be free of charge. Your first lesson with me will look something like this: we'll talk about your goals and intentions i.e. what it is you hope to get out of taking guitar lessons and how far you want to take your playing. As we chat about that we can chart out a course to get you there, and then we'll just generally see where you're at. The rest of the lesson will be taken up with some pointers on properly caring for and tuning your instrument, and then we'll put some thought towards the way our bodies are posed, how we have the guitar positioned in relation to our bodies, exercising good hand ergonomics, and finding a playing position that is both comfortable and which allows for optimal freedom of movement.

I live in Toronto which is UTC -5 keep this in mind if you're interested in taking lessons and are located elsewhere.

I intend to do my best at being a trooper and toughing it out, and I will aim to not cancel lessons without fair warning, but the nature of my illness means that I may need to resort to this occasionally. You will need to be alright with this.

If you're interested, you can contact me here or at brendanpalangio@gmail.com. Hopefully I can get enough people interested that I can go about figuring out everyone's availability and drawing up a schedule.

[j0eyj0rdis0n]

RAMMSTEIN - Teacher AU: what subject they teach

Okay… I know some of this isn’t very realistic, especially as this takes an American perspective on school. But…

I do what I want lmao

BUT Rammstein as teachers has been infecting my brain for a fat minute now. Ever since I read this one fic on ao3 I’ve been dying. I needed to get this out. And lord knows I have more to say than just this one little imagine post. So if you’re interested, PLEASE let me know. I won’t shut up about it then.

TILL LINDEMANN - Vocational Education

Teaches woodworking, metals, and automotive technology. He does it all so classes are pretty sparse. And hard to get into…

He likes the idea that the kids who are seeking out his classes are the ones who are truly interested in the subject. Especially since his classes are decently difficult to get into.

And honestly being a more specialized teacher, he has more freedom to do as he wishes when it comes to the syllabus and activities done in the classroom.

I mean who else in the school is going to know what to teach in that position besides him?

No one.

So he does as he wants!

He definitely holds extra workshops during his free period or before/after school.

PAUL LANDERS - Band/ Orchestra

He has the degree to teach all sorts of performing arts but he really embraced teaching band and orchestra. He’s always been a music guy.

Very supportive to his students! Always making sure they find the right instrument to play if they’re just starting out.

Or showing them different pieces or artists to keep students engaged and exploring music!

One of the more eccentric teachers of the bunch.

But because of that the students absolutely LOVE him. Like they beg to sit in the band room to eat lunch. (Which is against the rules) but he agrees anyways.

Also sponsors the fall play and spring musical with Flake and Richard. Mainly in charge of the music and band, but definitely helps Richard with the casting and auditions.

CHRISTOPH SCHNEIDER - History/ Social Studies

Rigid exterior, soft when you get through to him. Students either love or hate him. NO in between.

He prefers to teach AP European history, AP World history, or AP Psychology. He likes it when the students are actually there because they’re interested, not because the class is required.

Like I said before, students either love or hate him. So they either avoid him like the plague or they follow him like a cult.

Honestly, he likes his alone time, so he’ll 100% lock his door during lunch time so none of the students who enjoy him will bother him.

Hands out a shit ton of homework.

Also has no patience or sympathy for troublemakers. He looks like he got two hours of sleep the night before, don’t test him.

FLAKE LORENZ - Visual Arts

Teaches basic arts classes like 2D arts, and 3D arts. But he also delves into the more complex classes like AP drawing/painting, advanced ceramics, and AP art history.

He likes each class for its own reasons, but his favorite is advanced ceramics. He loves the freedom and loves seeing all the interesting designs and pieces the students make.

Also, just like Schneider and Till, he likes that the classes besides basic 2D and 3D arts are sought after because the students actually take interest in the subject matter

Definitely the kind of teacher who fosters a calm environment. Students are allowed to wear headphones but no music playing out in the open.

More often than not sits beside his students and works on pieces of his own!

He also works closely with Paul and Richard when it comes to the school plays and musicals. He helps make backdrops and props. Definitely groans and moans about it, but in the end he loves seeing his work on the stage. Even if it’s on an incredibly amateur level.

RICHARD KRUSPE - Language arts and English

Teaches English language classes, advanced creative writing, speech, and AP literature and composition. Yeah he forced some other unlucky teacher to take on the basic creative writing classes.

He didn’t want to deal with the dumb brats who can’t write or spell. Fuck them kids.

He enjoys speech and English the most, he definitely likes the way the kids squirm when they’re forced to stand up front and speak.

Not a big fan of homework. He honestly neglects grading so he just makes it easy and gives out a one page worksheet, nothing crazy.

Helps with casting and oversight with the students in the plays and musicals. He enjoys helping with lines and memorization!

OLIVER RIEDEL - Buisness/ Computer classes

Teaches intro to business, personal finance, AP business management, and typing/basic computer applications.

He likes that it’s decently laid back. That if there’s a problem, there’s always an answer. Press the “A” key and “A” will appear. You know?

Questions in his class are pretty self explanatory and the guides he gives for the students to work through, aren’t too hard at all.

It’s decently hard to not pass his class.

I mean… shit… there’s no homework. None.

He’s pretty reserved, so it’s not often students talk to him for anything besides questions. Which for the most part he doesn’t mind. But when there’s that one rare student who actually gives a shit about how his day is going, it definitely makes him smile.

[petals2fishfanfics]

Chapter 5: Saturday, September 4, 1976

Saturday, September 4, 1976 – Library

Dear Diary,

So. I compared timetables with everyone in Gryffindor earlier. I was just trying to get a sense of who I’d be bonding more with this year…and you will not believe who’s in nearly every single class with me.

Ready?

Potter.

Of all people.

Behold the proof:

Monday 09:00–10:00 – Advanced Charms ( yep, both of us—starting strong )  10:15–11:15 – Advanced Potions ( still together—love that for me )  11:15–12:30 – Lunch ( oh look, he's still here )  12:45–13:45 – Transfiguration ( Independent Study—fancy. )  14:00–15:00 – Advanced Runes ( Since when is he good enough for ADVANCED Runes?? )

Tuesday 09:00–10:00 – Sixth Year Transfiguration ( Guess who’s back... still him )  10:15–11:15 – Advanced Potions ( He’s like a potion-resistant fungus )  12:45–13:45 – Muggle Studies ( Will I ever be free? )  14:00–15:00 – Advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts ( at least the whole of 6th year Gryffindor suffers equally )  15:30–17:30 – Quidditch Practice 

Wednesday 09:00–10:00 – Advanced Charms ( the curse continues )  10:15–11:15 – Transfiguration ( again? )  11:15–12:30 – Lunch ( the universe is mocking me )  12:45–13:45 – Advanced Care of Magical Creatures ( Ah, something I hate more than Runes )  14:00–15:00 – Advanced Runes ( still stunned he's in this. When did he take the intro?? )

Thursday 09:00–10:00 – Free Period ( Oh good, we even relax on the same schedule. Fantastic. )  10:15–11:15 – Defence Against the Dark Arts ( standard sixth year Gryffindor application )  11:15–12:30 – Lunch ( To be fair, lunch is the same for everyone. )  12:45–13:45 – Muggle Studies ( I am the only girl in my year taking this. )  14:00–15:00 – History of Magic   15:30–17:30 – Quidditch Practice 

Friday 09:00–10:00 – Free Period ( how is it the same again?? )  10:15–11:15 – Herbology ( easiest class at Hogwarts, ha. )  11:15–12:30 – Lunch ( Semi-sanity restored )  12:45–13:45 – Transfiguration ( Independent Study again—what is he “independently” studying with McGonagall, exactly? )  14:00–15:00 – Advanced Ancient Runes ( gross of him to be this competent, honestly )  15:30–17:30 – Quidditch Practice ( where he belongs—far away from me, up in the air where I can't see him. )

I mean… I’m honestly floored. Properly gobsmacked. Potter’s in all the heavy-duty courses this year. Advanced Potions, Advanced Transfiguration, even bloody Ancient Runes. Who voluntarily takes Ancient Runes? Let alone Runes that are advanced?! I always figured he’d just coast through school on charm alone...spend his time winking at first-years, mucking about with Black, and showing off every time he’s got a broomstick between his legs.

But no. Somehow, he’s landed himself in nearly every upper-level subject on offer, and still finds time to play Quidditch like he’s auditioning for Puddlemere United. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s aiming for Head Boy.

Potter .

Saying I’m shocked to even write that down is putting it mildly. This is the same boy who’s practically made a career out of pulling pranks, charming his way out of punishment (well, mostly), and tormenting anyone who so much as looked at him sideways. Especially Sev. I lost count of how many detentions he’s racked up over the years. He might as well have his own bloody seat in McGonagall’s office.

Maybe he does. McGonagall actually seems to like him, I’ve haven’t heard her raise her voice at him since fifth year. In fact, I’ve seen them conversing on a regular basis. So maybe… maybe something did shift.

I still think about that one time—early fifth year—near the Whomping Willow. The one no one involved talks about. The one Sev refused to speak a word about after. I’d had to find out from Nagging Nancy of all people. He’d gone down to that cursed, thrashing beast of a tree on the grounds, looking for something and whatever happened down there, it wasn’t nothing.

All I know for sure is that Potter saved Sev.

No one knows what he saved him from, exactly. Or who. Everything about it got buried quickly. Even Potter’s mates don’t mention it, which says a lot. They usually brag about everything, even the times they sneeze in rhythm. But this? Total silence.

And something about it rattled Sev. He came back looking like he’d been stunned. And Potter… Well, he changed too. Subtly. Quietly. Not enough for most people to notice. But I did. I’ve always noticed everything he does. It’s like a sixth sense…or seventh since my sixth is seeing visions. 

Either way, it’s like whatever happened under those branches flipped something in both of them.

Of course I couldn’t have visions about THAT. 

That would be helpful!

Sev started pulling away from me not long after. Or maybe I started pulling away from him. Honestly, I’m not even sure who started it, only that somewhere in the mess, he stopped being my best friend and became someone I didn’t recognise. Someone crueler, colder. Someone so determined to prove something to people that he couldn’t care less.

Hard to be friends with someone like that, when all I feel like I do is care MORE than I should.

And Potter?

He became… whatever he is now. 

Still struts through the castle with that insufferable smirk. Still messes with his hair like it’s got its own personality. Still charms half the school just by blinking at them. But there’s a cleverness  to him now. A maturity in the way he watches people. The way he watches me. Like he’s actually calculating what he’s seeing. Like the world is one big Rune for him to solve. 

And I hate it.

Because it’s doing something to the way I look at him.

I started noticing him more last year after that thing with Sev. And once you start noticing Potter Potter, it’s nearly impossible to stop. He’s like a splinter in your thumb. Annoying. Persistent. And a little bit under your skin before you realize it’s too late to dig it out. 

Anyways, I know Professor McGonagall is the one who handles course schedules. I know it. Professor Lipton even said she had to pull some strings to get me those extra Divination hours. So our Head of Gryffindor house knowingly put Potter and I in almost all the same classes. She must’ve done it for a laugh, right? 

…Right?

Yet… Potter and I are in our sixth year. We finally got to rank our subjects, pick what we wanted, and somehow—I really don’t know how—Potter (and Black, who follows him like a puppy) ended up in nearly all the same advanced classes as me. Advanced Charms, Advanced Potions, Advanced Defence… It’s like they’ve just… shoved their way into my life full-time.

And yes, Black isn't surprising. If Potter or Black ever showed up to class without the other, I’d assume the missing one had been swallowed by a magical sinkhole. Or abducted by centaurs. Or dead in a ditch.

But, Potter?

That’s very unfortunate for me in the grand scheme of things. 

And of course, just as I’m mentally adjusting to figure out what to say about our matching schedules, Potter glances over our identical schedules, flashes that stupid, smug grin, lifts one eyebrow, and says (loud enough for all of the Gryffindor’s at our table to hear)...

“Damn, Evans. We’re either going to fall in love or murder each other this year.”

Mortifying.

I had absolutely nothing to say back. Me ! Speechless. He grins like he’s just delivered the joke of the century, and the room explodes in laughter. Brilliant. Truly. I’m thrilled to be the punchline of Potter’s accidental rom-com. Where was my second sight then, huh? All these bloody visions and not one helpful warning that I’d be spending sixth year shackled to James ruddy Potter in every bloody class.

And now here I am, in what I foolishly thought was a sanctuary—the library—trying to revise while Potter and Black are two feet away, loudly debating whether Circe or Herpo the Foul would win in a duel. Don’t let the subject matter fool you into thinking this is some kind of intellectual debate. No. They’re actually waving their chocolate frog cards in each other’s faces like toddlers arguing over sweets. 

Mary’s sitting beside me, sighing wistfully every time Potter so much as breathes in our direction. She thinks he’s so charming. Says Potter’s a “passionate thinker.” I say he’s loud, overrated, and quite possibly a feral animal.

And the worst part? I can’t even complain about him to Mary, not properly. Because if she finds out I have all these classes with him this year, she might actually faint. Right here in the Library. Her hopeless crush on Potter has rendered her completely useless when it comes to helping me process Potter at all. 

Because here’s the part I can’t say. 

Not to her. 

Not to anyone.

The real reason I’m bothered by Potter being everywhere this year… is that he is everywhere. In my classes, in my space, in my thoughts. It’s not the antics with Black, or even his messy history with Severus, or that ridiculous moment in fifth year when he asked me out in front of half the school. 

No.

It’s just… him. 

Potter.

I can barely write it down. 

It feels like treason against myself.

But the truth is—I had a vision over the summer. Not a nightmare. Not one of the dark ones with blood or shadowed halls or death. Just… our kiss.

Mine and Potter’s kiss. 

It happened after I ate one of Mum’s dodgy strawberries in the garden (overripe, probably cursed) and the next thing I knew, I was somewhere not quite real but not quite a dream either. His hands were rough  but warm on my cheeks, holding me like I was something precious. And his lips… they were confident. Soft. He kissed me like he meant it. Like he knew it was going to wreck me and did it anyway.

And the world tilted. Just a little. Just enough.

And the worst bit?

It was brilliant.

No—worse than brilliant. It was mind-boggling. And don’t ask me how that makes sense ‘cause I’ve not a clue how my daft subconscious (or fate, or the bloody stars) decided that was a good idea.

And when I say I saw it, I mean I felt it. Heard it. Lived it. He tasted like the strawberries I’d nicked from the garden. And he felt—Merlin help me—like something straight out of a dream, warm breath on my neck, lips trailing down like he knew exactly where to go. 

I replayed it over and over. I have never re-imagined a vision so much as that one. So much so that later that night, I woke up in my old bed, covered in sweat and aching for more. 

ME.

I know, utterly shocking. 

I swear on every chocolate frog in Honeydukes, I didn’t speak for three whole days. Proper silence. My mum thought I’d been hexed. Bribed me with a new dress for Sunday service just to get me to say something. I told her I was nervous about going back for sixth year—ha! If only. Truth is, reality was wayyyy worse.

And I still don’t know if it was a dream or a vision. I mean, I was asleep, yeah, but sometimes my visions sneak in that way. Most of the time it’s obvious—like the one with the marshmallow unicorn. Dead giveaway. Sarah was there, eating its legs. Obvious dream.

But the one with Potter? That one felt too bloody real. He had me pinned up against a wall, snogging me like his life depended on it. And Merlin help me, it was good. So good it made that awkward little session with William Kedlig seem like really, really lame. What am I even meant to do with that?

And now I’ve got to see him. Every. Single. Day. Practically every class. If we still had opposite schedules like last year, maybe I could’ve shoved it out my head. But now? I keep catching myself thinking about him. 

Me. 

Him. 

Kissing me. 

Like he meant it. 

Like he knows me.

So here I am, pretending I’m writing to Mum, when really I’m just trying not to fall face-first into another vision and lose the plot entirely. Because let’s be honest—I’m sixteen, I’ve got hormones and heartache and way too much imagination. And dream-Potter? He ticks every box, the smug bastard.

No. No. No no no no no. Stop it, Lily. Don’t dwell on it. Don’t write it. Don’t let it in.

Shit. 

~~~~~~

~~~~~~

Later, Saturday, 4 September 1976

Hating James Potter was much easier when I wasn't imagining us snogging. 

~~~~~~

~~~~~~

Much, MUCH later—Saturday, 4 September 1976 – Gryffindor Common Room

Dear Diary,

Bet you thought I’d nodded off by now without signing off. Ha! Not likely. I think I’m the last one awake—everyone over fifth year’s currently collapsed all over the place like stunned trolls. Why? Surprise party, obviously.

I was sitting at dinner with the girls when guess who decided to plop themselves on either side of me? Potter and Black, of course. Like a pair of overgrown Labradors, shovelling food into their mouths like they’d not been fed in a month. Sarah gave me a look but I just shrugged and edged a bit closer to Black and—yeah—away from Potter.

“Evans,” Black said, half-choking on a roast potato, “pretend you’re talking to us.”

“Er—” I blinked. What?

“Padfoot,” Potter muttered, already shoving his plate aside and waving a drumstick about like a wand. “She is talking to us.”

“She hasn’t said a word yet,” Black replied, deadpan. “So she’s not talking to us.”

“What do you want?” I asked, arms crossed.

“There,” Black nodded like he’d won something. “ Now she’s talking to us.”

Honestly, I would’ve laughed—if I wasn’t completely and utterly confused.

“What can I help with?” I asked, trying and spectacularly failing not to look directly at the way Potter had rolled up his sleeves, all forearms.

“It’s Peter’s birthday,” he said casually, biting into a piece of roast chicken like we were discussing the weather. “Remus is keeping him busy—sent him off searching for Sirius’s lost owl.”

“You lost your owl?” Mary blinked at Black, wide-eyed and horrified.

“I don’t have an owl,” Black said, deadpan. “She died this summer. We made it up to get Peter out of the way.”

“Oh no—Nyx died?” I asked, the words tumbling out before I could catch them.

Black actually looked at me then, his expression softening. “Sorry,” he said, and he meant it. “I forgot how much you liked her.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. I’d only borrowed Nyx for a few weeks in fourth year, when I needed one to write to my parents and couldn’t afford an owl of my own. She’d had an attitude, a quick bite, and the cutest little white-flecked face. I adored her.

“Ugh,” I sighed, slumping back in my seat. “What a bummer.”

Before the silence had a chance to settle, Potter cut in—voice suddenly serious. And Merlin, it always throws me when he does that. When the jokes drop away and there’s just him, clear-eyed and earnest. It’s so disarming. I hate it.

“We’re not here to mourn an owl,” he said, leaning forward slightly, those maddening hazel eyes locked on mine like this was some kind of mission briefing. “We’re here to beg— beg you, as the oldest Gryffindor prefect—and the only prefect I like—to get every fourth year and under out of the common room by seven.”

There was a beat.

“…So we can have firewhiskey at the party.”

And there it is.

“How in the bloody hell’s she meant to do that?” Sarah snorted from the other end of the table. “Declare a curfew on a Saturday bloody night?”

“I don’t care how she does it,” James said, shooting her a sharp look—one of those rare, dangerous ones that cut through the usual nonsense. He’s never liked Sarah, and honestly, she’s never liked him. I’ve stopped asking why.

He turned back to me. The edge softened. “I just want to throw Peter a proper surprise. He’s sixteen today. His parents didn’t send a single thing. No owl. No card. Nothing.”

I blinked. My gaze drifted toward the corridor, like I could see Pettigrew from the table even though he was off galavanting with Lupin. I didn’t know him that well—not really. He was always sort of on the periphery. Quiet. Nervous. Quick to laugh at Sirius’s jokes but never the one telling them. I guess I always assumed he had the kind of solid, proud family that just made him… secure.

But hearing that?

It chipped at something.

I looked back at Potter, who was now running a hand through his hair—not in the usual ‘ look at me ’ way, but in that subtle, distracted way that meant he was actually worried. That this mattered to him.

“We’ve got food, decorations—McNair’s grabbing the drinks—”

“McNair?” I raised an eyebrow. “You sent a seventh-year Ravenclaw to Hogsmeade for contraband?”

“He’s eighteen,” Potter shrugged, casual as anything. “He can come and go whenever he wants now.”

“He’s a dunce.”

“Not his fault he failed all his NEWTs.”

“Actually,” Sarah chimed in, not missing a beat, “it is his fault. He got stoned and slept through all of them.”

Potter ignored Sarah, still focused on me. “We couldn’t ask Remus to do it—he’s with Peter. You’re the only one with any actual authority left.”

Mary gave a small, hopeful sound beside me, chewing her lip like she didn’t want to speak—but then she did anyway.

“Oh, come on, Lily,” she said softly, giving me her best kicked-puppy face. “It is sad. No one should be forgotten on their birthday.”

I sighed—long, dramatic, and probably a little louder than necessary.

“Alright,” I said. “And how, exactly, am I supposed to convince forty students to disappear from the common room by seven? On a Saturday? Am I meant to bribe them? Threaten detention? Stage a mass evacuation?”

Potter stood, all ease and smugness, and ruffled my hair like I was his adorable little sister—or possibly a pet cat who just did something amusing. My glare could’ve set parchment on fire.

He just grinned. Wide. Cheeky. Unbothered. Like he hadn’t just dropped a logistical disaster directly into my hands.

“Get creative,” he said, already walking off like the matter was settled. Like he knew I’d say yes. “Just make it happen, Evans.”

I glared after him—full-on daggers, the kind of look that should’ve singed the back of his jumper. Naturally, it only made him smirk wider. That infuriating smirk.

And the worst part? The actual worst part? The second his hand brushed through my hair when he ruffled it—like I was his little sister—my brain chose that exact moment to betray me.

Again.

Suddenly, there it was. That stupid dream. Or vision. Or curse, more like. Him kissing me like he meant it, like he knew me. His fingers threading through my hair, holding me like I was something he didn’t want to let go of. 

Absolutely not.

I gave my head a sharp shake, like I could fling the thought right out of my skull with enough force. Get creative, he says. Sure. I’ll just summon a cursed rainstorm or convince Peeves to do a dramatic one-ghost puppet show in the Astronomy Tower.

Brilliant.

So now I’ve got mere hours to orchestrate a full-blown miracle: clear out every Gryffindor under fifteen without raising alarm or suspicion. And I’ve got to do it while playing mental whack-a-mole with images of James Potter snogging me senseless in what I now imagine is a broom cupboard.

Just a completely normal Saturday for a teenage seer, I guess. 

The boys disappeared—probably off to decorate or charm the cake to sing Pettigrew’s name in four-part harmony—and I let out a long sigh. When I turned, Mary was already staring at me with the kind of expression that said she was absolutely about to get involved.

“What?” I asked, eyebrows raised.

“Let me help?” she said, clasping her hands like I was holding the keys to her romantic future.

I gave her a look. “Why do you want to help?”

“If James sees me helping his mate, maybe he’ll ask me out.”

I blinked. “Mary. If you want to snog him, just ask him. He’s too thick to make the first move.”

She looked scandalised. Almost genuinely offended, like I’d suggested she streak through the Great Hall. Which, obviously, sounded like a better plan to be than her snogging Potter, but I wasn’t going to admit that. 

Before Mary could defend her honor, Sarah piped up. “Mary, if you’re that desperate for a kiss, I’m sure Pettigrew would be thrilled to be your first. Birthday boy and all.”

Mary’s face turned a shade of red usually reserved for Gryffindor banners. I winced on her behalf. I knew she hadn’t had her first kiss yet—last of our little lot—and that jab landed just a bit too close to home.

I cleared my throat and steered us back on track. “Right. Empty the Common Room. Something simple. Help me think.”

“We could round up all the owls in the Owlery and set them loose just before seven,” Sarah said, smirking. “The first years would run for the hills.”

“And then what?” I asked, skeptical. “Open a window and hope they all gracefully exit on cue? What if one of them tries to nest in the fireplace?”

Sarah shrugged. “Then we get a mascot.”

Mary, still trying to recover from the kiss comment, offered timidly, “What about an emergency? Like in first year—when we all had to stay in our dorms because they thought Alicia Hopkins had dragon pox?”

Now that had potential. 

“Hmm,” I mused, already sorting through my mental index of magical illnesses and potions. “Something alarming enough to clear the room… but not so alarming it brings in McGonagall or lands us with actual quarantines…”

We were halfway into what I generously call a brainstorming session (mostly Sarah suggesting increasingly chaotic disasters—her last one was ‘invite the Bloody Baron to moan about his existential dread until the children flee’) when the idea hit me.

Hard.

I sat bolt upright. “I’ve got it, Mary you genius.”

"What did I say?" Mary asked.

"Dragon pox," I reminded her. 

Sarah wrinkled her nose at me before I could even speak. “I’m not faking dragon pox. I’d end up quarantined in the Hospital Wing, and those first years? Snitches. They’d fetch McGonagall faster than you can say ‘outbreak.’”

“Not dragon pox,” I said, already mentally flipping through potion recipes. “I’m going to brew a draft that mimics the symptoms of cauldron colds.”

Sarah squinted. “Ugh, I had that once. Spent a week coughing up green goo.”

“Green mucus,” I corrected, already halfway into planning mode. “Sneezing fits, watery eyes, mild fever. It’s easy enough to simulate with the right ingredients. Nothing dangerous—just deeply unpleasant until the antidote kicks in.”

Mary frowned. “So… what? You want to infect the entire house?”

“No, no,” I waved her off. “Just a few. Maybe five or six. Make it look like something’s going around. A little panic, a lot of disgust, and voilà—no one’s going to want to hang around the common room surrounded by sniffling, slimy fourth through first years.”

Sarah leaned back, looking positively delighted. “You’re diabolical. I’ve missed you, Evans.”

“I prefer efficient,” I said, already rising to my feet. “I just need about an hour and access to Slughorn’s stores. You two sticking around?”

“I’m going to give Mary here a crash course in snogging,” Sarah said brightly.

“I know how to snog!” Mary snapped, with enough immediate fury to confirm that she absolutely, 100% did not know how to snog.

Sixty-seven minutes later (because the powdered billywig stings were mislabeled and I nearly grabbed salamander blood by mistake), I returned to the Great Hall with a large jar of shimmering green liquid—warm to the touch and thick as syrup, not unlike the food dye my mum uses in her Christmas biscuits. Slightly more dangerous, though. Slightly.

“Ladies,” I declared, holding it up like the sword of Gryffindor itself, “I present to you: The Faux-Flu.”

Sarah clapped like I'd just solved world peace. Mary leaned back, eyeing the concoction like it might explode spontaneously.

I swirled it in the jar. “It only takes a drop. Kicks in after fifteen minutes, lasts about four hours unless they take Pepperup. No real illness. Just a lot of slime, a bit of a forced fever, and sneezing fits loud enough to clear a room.”

Mary narrowed her eyes at the potion. “And where exactly did you learn how to brew a fake magical plague?”

“Marlene McKinnon,” I said, like it should’ve been obvious. “Back in fourth year—she punched a Slytherin in the jaw and brewed this in the loo by the Astronomy tower so she could fake sick and skip detention. I saw her do it myself. Whole routine—mucus, wheezing, flushed cheeks. She swore it was foolproof.”

Mary blinked. “And you just remembered all that?”

I gave her my best look of innocent brilliance. “Wasn’t exactly complicated. I asked Slughorn offhand if he’d ever heard of a potion that mimics minor magical illnesses. Told him I read about one in Witch Weekly —which he adored, by the way. He practically fell over himself pulling out his old Advanced Potions Lecture book and flipping straight to Chapter Twelve.”

Sarah laughed. “He didn’t question a thing, did he?”

“His unwavering belief in my moral compass continues to serve me well,” I said dryly.

Mary still looked unconvinced. “And this is safe?”

“Well,” I said, tilting the jar thoughtfully, “safe-ish. It’s basically sneezeweed essence, stinksap resin, and a drop of faux-fever elixir. Totally harmless in small doses. Just… revolting.”

Sarah leaned in closer, eyes wide with unholy glee. “So. Who’s the lucky mucus machine? Mary? No offense, but you’d sneeze like a pixie. We need drama. Oh, maybe we could convince Annie Faith—”

I turned my head slowly and stared at her.

She laughed, delighted. “Oh, come on—you knew I’d ask.”

“I did,” I said, holding out the jar like it was a goblet of glory. “And for your service to the cause, you get the honor.”

Sarah clutched the vial to her chest like she'd been knighted. “I’m going to sneeze goo all over Derick Pikus! He called me ‘Big-Breasted Beckett’ in Charms last year.”

“Do you want to toast first?” I asked, barely keeping a straight face.

“No time,” Sarah declared, and downed a measured drop like a seasoned potioneer at a dive bar. “Let’s do this.”

Fifteen minutes later—on the dot—Sarah let out a sneeze that rattled the plates.

A massive, glowing rope of green mucus shot from her nose and landed with a splut on her long abandoned plate of tea cakes.

“EUGH!” Mary shrieked, practically launching herself into the air. “It works!”

Sarah, eyes streaming, conjured a napkin and wiped her face with the air of someone deeply impressed with their own suffering. “Merlin’s balls, that stings,” she sniffled. “Oh, this is brilliant. I’m keeping a vial of this for exams. No way I’m sitting through another History of Magic exam.”

I looked down at the goo-covered plate, then up at Sarah’s glowing, vaguely feverish face, and nodded. “Perfect,” I said. “Now it’s just a matter of timing. We dose some licorice wands around six, target the loudmouths, and let the chaos begin. By seven, the common room will be emptier than my vault at Gringotts.”

Mary sighed. “This is going to end with us scrubbing snot off the walls.”

“Why so gross?” Sarah croaked through a wad of tissue. “You know what it looks like? Troll boogies.”

I grinned. “Right then. Operation: Fake Troll Boogies is a go.”

“You’ve always been terrible at naming your plans.” Sarah complained as she sneezed again.

I ignored Sarah. “Maximum impact means we need to douse a few licorice wands and leave them right on the table where the third years always crowd around. Just a few drops...enough to infect the loudest ones and make it look convincingly contagious.”

“And when the green slime hits the ceiling?” Mary asked.

“I’ll swoop in with my Official Prefect Voice™ and tell everyone that they’re being confined to dormitories until Professor McGonagall gives the all-clear.” I smiled sweetly. “Which she won’t. Because she’ll never know about it.”

Mary raised an elegant, skeptical blond eyebrow. “And if this all goes belly-up?”

I shrugged, casual as anything. “Then Potter doesn’t get his precious little surprise party, and the firewhiskey stays corked until every fourth year is tucked in and snoring. Tragedy.” I pressed a hand to my chest for dramatic effect.

Sarah sniffled pathetically. “Tell Potter I suffered nobly for this mission.”

I nodded. “He and Black better appreciate us.”

Mary sighed, like that was all she wanted...to be appreciated by Potter. I could think of better things, but that was neither here, nor there. 

Of course...I did end up warning Potter and Black. Not because I had to—but because if this whole plan went sideways, I wasn’t about to take the blame for a food-poisoning-level panic without some backup.

I ran into them just outside the portrait hole, mid-decorating chaos. Potter was dragging a massive, rolled-up tapestry charmed to flash HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PETER in alternating bursts of scarlet and gold. The thing kept unfurling prematurely and nearly decapitating a second year on the stairs.

“Subtle,” I said dryly, nodding toward the banner. “Very understated.”

Potter just grinned. “So, you love it, then?”

I did, but I wasn’t going to let him know it. 

Black looked up from where he was levitating what appeared to be a floating Snitch spewing glitter. “What’s up, Evans?”

I crossed my arms. “If this is going to work, you need to know the timing.”

As I rattled off the details—dosage, timing, how long the symptoms would last before Pepperup kicked in—I found myself mostly speaking to Black. He asked good questions, actually listened, didn’t interrupt. Meanwhile, Potter stood to the side, arms crossed, too close.

Too close.

I could feel him—warm and focused, watching me with that unnervingly steady attention he sometimes gets when he forgets to be obnoxious. Like he was trying to memorize every word. Like he was waiting for something.

“You came up with this on your own?” Black asked when I finished, sounding genuinely impressed.

I gave a small shrug, trying to play it off. “I’m a younger sister. Creating believable chaos is basically a survival instinct.”

Black let out a bark of laughter and for a moment, I saw a glimpse of someone I think I could get along well with. “Remind me never to get on your bad side,” he said, eyeing me like he was already filing this away for future schemes. “You’re good.”

“Terrifying,” I corrected.

“Same thing,” he said, grinning.

Then he glanced at Potter—and stopped mid-sentence. Something passed between them. A knowing look. Something silent and irritating and odd . Black’s grin curled upward into the smuggest, most insufferable expression I’d ever seen on a human face.

I risked it.

One glance at Potter.

He was looking at me.

And not in the performative way he usually did, all show and flash and cheeky bravado. This was different. Still. Focused. His expression was almost… soft. Like I was something he wanted to understand. A puzzle he didn’t want to solve...just hold. Something about it sent me spiraling.

I looked away immediately .

Then, for reasons I may never understand or forgive myself for, I saluted Black (like an absolute idiot) turned on my heel, and strode off toward the Hospital Wing with the purposeful march of someone who was absolutely not affected by James Potter looking at her like that.

Nope.

I wasn’t flustered.

Not at all.

I nicked a few extra vials of Pepperup for Sarah (if she was going to keep sneezing, she deserved at least a reprieve before showtime), and made it back to the common room with five minutes to spare.

At precisely 6:20pm, Sarah swept into the common room like the bloody Queen of Contagion . Her posture was perfect, her expression saintly, and the tray of licorice wands she carried might as well have had a skull-and-crossbones engraved on the side for how evil it truly was. She plopped down beside the third years with the casual elegance of someone who absolutely wasn’t a walking biohazard and offered the sweets with the warm, sisterly charm of a saint.

Toby Weatherby—sweet, naive Toby—took three.

By 6:45, it began.

The first sneeze came from a fourth year girl with a glittery headband and a stack of Charms flashcards in front of her. It started as a dainty ah-chooand ended with her practically projectile launching a thick strand of green mucus across her book.

Screaming ensued.

Across the room, Mary raised her hands like she was bracing for impact. Sarah had her head bowed dramatically, tissues clutched like relics. One second year looked like he was about to cry. I watched it all unfold with the strange serenity of someone who has thrown the first domino and is now watching the entire track fall.

Chaos, it turns out, is extremely satisfying when you’ve planned it perfectly.

Ten minutes after patient zero sneezed on her Charms textbook, the common room had devolved into what could only be described as a contained, mucus-themed disaster. The third years were coughing, moaning, and dripping green slime like the chorus of a particularly grim Wizarding drama. One was wailing about having “the pox,” even though I’d made sure to avoid any symptoms that could be confused for a real contagion.

Sarah, meanwhile, was putting on the performance of her life. She’d collapsed dramatically near the hearth, surrounded by tissues, moaning every few minutes like she was on her last gasp. “Leave me,” she said at one point to a passing second year. “Save yourselves.”

It was beautiful.

I took a deep breath, straightened my shoulders, and summoned my Best Prefect Voice™.

“Dormitories!” I called, clear and firm. “Sick students to their dorm! Everyone else, upstairs until further notice! No one’s allowed back down until Professor McGonagall gives the all-clear!”

I didn’t even have to shout. You could see it hit them in waves: panic, disgust, then unfiltered fleeing . The fifth years were halfway up the stairs before I’d even finished my sentence. A third year behind me let out a sneeze that could have shaken the rafters and sent a spray of glowing green goo across the arm of the sofa.

I actually gagged. 

I knew it was fake. I brewed the potion. Still gagged.

The rest of them bolted. Hands over their mouths, robes flapping, tripping over each other like the carpet was cursed. One second year managed to step on his own shoelace mid-sprint and faceplant. I might’ve laughed—quietly—before helping him up and patting his shoulder like he’d just made it through battle.

And then, at last, the final straggler made it upstairs and slammed their dormitory door. 

Silence.

I turned to the hearth and tossed a vial of Pepperup toward Sarah. “Catch!”

She caught it one-handed without lifting her head. “Should I stay collapsed for dramatic effect?”

“Just drink it, Oscar Wilde.”

“Who the fuck is Oscar Wilde?” Sarah muttered as she drank the contents of the bottle. 

Mary started making her way up the dormitory stairs, tea tray in hand, ready to start offering warm cups to the afflicted like she was running a fever ward at St. Mungo’s. Each cup had just enough Pepperup to clear symptoms in a few hours—quick, clean, no harm done. The handful of unsuspecting students who’d ended up sniffling in their dorms? None the wiser.

By 7:05, the common room was gloriously— blissfully —empty.

Well… almost.

Sarah was still sprawled across the hearth rug like a fallen hero, a tissue shoved in each nostril and an empty mug cradled to her chest.

“I’d better get a corner piece of cake,” she muttered. “I think I sneezed out a bit of my brain. I want frosting. And ice for my headache.”

“Duly noted,” I said, wand already out, casting the first of many cleaning charms. Mucus was in places no cleaning charm should ever need to go. I made a mental note to never look directly at the underside of the armchair again.

Mission: Accomplished.

Room: Mostly Clean.

Mucus: …still drying.

But I’d done it.

We’d done it.

Just as I was banishing a final glob of green goo from the underside of the sofa cushion, the portrait swung open behind me and—

“Evans, I could kiss you.”

The words hit me like a bludger to the back.

I turned, ready to bristle—because Potter saying that would require either my brain dying, or my vision hitting me square in the heart—but to my immense relief (and mild surprise), it was Sirius Black.

He marched in like he owned the place, robes slightly askew, trailing ahead of Potter who looked significantly more frazzled. Between them, they levitated three floating crates of snacks, two bottles of pumpkin fizz clinking together merrily, and what appeared to be a glittering cake topper shaped like a firework mid-explosion. It sparked at random intervals, and I hoped we wouldn’t burn down the tower. 

I managed to school my face into a cool expression. “I wouldn’t kiss you, ever.”

“Not even a little one?”

I raised an unimpressed brow. “How about you just kiss my ass?”

Black laughed, low and amused, his grey eyes shining. “I’m sorry for ever saying anything bad about you, ever, Evans.”

I was so sassy, and so proud of myself for my come-back. “I’m not sorry for all the bad things I’ve said about you, they were all true.” 

He mimed blowing a kiss across the room and bowed dramatically. “Consider yourself adored, Evans.”

It was easy, light, the kind of teasing that didn’t pull at anything tender. Our little conversation didn’t have the same electric charge like the ones I had with Potter. Which made the next moment—naturally— not so easy.

Potter walked past me and there was a flicker of something in his expression I couldn’t place. A flash of… annoyance? Frustration? Maybe it was the way he shouldered past me, not quite brushing against my arm, but close enough that I felt the shift in the air.

I blinked, confused by the weird sight of him upset—and then shook it off.

“Sarah did all the suffering,” I said, forcing my voice light as I jabbed a thumb toward the hearth rug. “Kiss her, Black. She's the real hero.”

Sarah, still theatrically draped across it like a fallen soldier, let out a pathetic groan and raised one limp arm. “Put that in writing.”

I grinned. “I’ll get it engraved. Gold plaque. Maybe a stained-glass window.”

"Thank you," Sarah said.

Potter didn’t look over as I helped Sarah off the floor into a standing position. He didn’t say anything . Just started unloading the boxes with a kind of stubborn determination, like the success of the entire evening rested solely on whether he placed the pumpkin fizz just right on the side table. Like if he kept his hands moving, he wouldn’t have to look up. Wouldn’t have to speak.

I didn’t know what to make of that.

Didn’t want to.

So I turned away before I could dwell.

The sixth and seventh years were the first to trickle back in—some still dressed from dinner, some already barefoot and ready for chaos. Then came the Hufflepuffs, carrying trays of cauldron cakes and a jug of firewhiskey that looked suspiciously smuggled. I recognized a few of them vaguely from Herbology. And just like that, the room began to shift. Fill. Settle into something that felt like celebration. Word had clearly gotten out.

Even some of the fifth years who’d practically sprinted to their dorms earlier were now slinking back downstairs, trying to act casual. Smirking like they’d been in on it the whole time. Someone had clearly tipped them off. I had suspicions . He wore glasses and had a bad habit of watching me when he thought I wasn’t looking. I went to find him to ask, but Potter had disappeared from the common room while I was chatting to one of the older Ravenclaw’s who had come. 

I made my way toward the fireplace again—half to get out of my own head, half because Black was standing there looking vaguely overwhelmed by an enormous banner that seemed determined to attack him.

“Need a hand?” I asked.

He gave me a look of pure relief. “Thanks, Evans. I’m one flick away from strangling myself with it.”

The banner was ridiculous. It was charmed to stretch from wall to wall and flash HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PETER in enormous letters that sparkled gold and scarlet and occasionally fizzled into harmless fireworks. It looked like something out of a wizarding carnival. Completely over the top. Utterly Potter and Black.

But also… kind of perfect.

I half-wished Sarah and Mary took such care to celebrate my birthday. 

We worked in near silence for a while. Not because it was awkward, but because it didn’t need to be filled. I floated the left side into place and pinned it gently to the stone while Sirius levitated the right, his wand hand steady for once. He was focused. Calm, even.

Yeah, I guess I can call him Sirius now. We’re not kids anymore. I know him, even if just barely, but I know him enough to call him a friend now…I guess. I’d never really spent time with him one-on-one. We lived near each other in the dorms, walking in overlapping circles. We shared space, not stories. But something about tonight—the plan, the laughter, the secrets—it softened him. Or maybe it just let me see a version of him I hadn’t taken the time to notice before.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, when my end was secure. “Y’know… for helping.”

I looked at him. “Honestly? I think it’s sweet. No one’s ever thrown me a surprise party.”

His lips twitched. Not quite a smile. But close.

“Well… Peter’s parents forgot,” he said, adjusting the banner so it fell just right. “Thought we ought to do something. ”

I stepped down from the stool I’d climbed onto, brushing a bit of glitter off my jumper. “My sister’s forgotten my birthday every year since I turned eleven. At this point, I’m convinced it’s intentional.”

Sirius snorted, then gave a quiet sort of laugh. “My parents haven’t given me anything since I got sorted into Gryffindor.”

There was a pause after that.

Not awkward.

Just still.

Heavy in the way shared history sometimes is, even when it isn’t shared out loud.

So I didn’t fill it.

I just nodded.

And in that silence I think we understood something about each other. Maybe not everything. But enough.

“Looks good,” I said softly, nodding up at the banner as it completed its glittering loop across the fireplace, now punctuated by a tiny burst of confetti stars. “Ridiculous. But good.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, quieter than I’d ever heard him. “It does.”

Something settled between us. Something solid. Mutual. A quiet sort of understanding that didn’t need defining. And neither of us reached to break it. We just stood there for a heartbeat, watching the flicker of the banner spark against the stone, golden letters shimmering as they looped through HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PETER again and again.

Then the portrait door creaked open and people started cheering. 

Potter barreled in as if someone had just announced the spotlight was on him. He looked delighted. Flushed from exertion. Like he’d just won the Quidditch Cup and gotten away with cheating on an History of Magic exam. Grinning ear to ear, he carried what could only be described as the most gloriously absurd cake I’d ever seen.

And Merlin, what a cake. I wish I had a picture. 

“Ah, I wondered where he’d gone off too.” Sirius murmured beside me, arms folded. “He spent all last night on that thing.”

I blinked. “He made it?”

“Well… the house-elves baked it,” Sirius said with a smirk. “But James did all the icing himself. He’s got a weirdly steady hand. You should see some of his sketches sometime.”

My eyebrows lifted before I could stop them. That wasn’t something I’d ever bothered to notice. Or been told. Or wanted to know. But it made sense. His hands had certainly been steady in my vision. 

Three towering tiers rose from the silver platter, swirled with clouds of whipped, charm-enhanced frosting that gleamed like a sunset under the light. At the very top, tiny enchanted broomsticks looped around in slow, elegant spirals—Quidditch players mid-practice, gliding over the sugary clouds like it was a perfectly normal thing for a cake to do.

It was ridiculous.

It was magical.

It was… perfect.

Right behind Potter came Lupin, steady and smiling, one hand lightly guiding Pettigrew through the portrait hole like he was shepherding in a skittish first year instead of their best mate. Pettigrew looked like he’d walked straight into a dream he hadn’t meant to be part of.

He paused just over the threshold.

His eyes were wide and flicked from the glittering banner, to the crowd now turning to face him, to the towering cake that Potter levitated triumphantly onto the table.

He looked between it all like he didn’t quite believe any of it was real.

“ Surprise! ” we all shouted at once, voices overlapping with cheers and laughter. A few people jumped the gun and started into the birthday song, loud and off-key and full of affection.

Pettigrew didn’t move.

He stood frozen, like a stunned rabbit in the presence of too much kindness. His mouth opened once. Then again.

For a moment I genuinely thought he might faint.

Or cry.

Or faint and cry and collapse into the cake.

Pettigrew stood there like the floor had tilted sideways beneath him. His whole body was stiff, like he didn’t know whether to run or stay. His ears turned a fierce shade of crimson, and he blinked—fast, panicked—like his brain was still buffering, trying to catch up with what was happening.

“Wait,” he said finally, voice cracking just slightly. “This is… for me ?”

Potter laughed and walked over, slinging an arm around Pettigrew’s shoulders like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Course it is, Pete. You’re sixteen today!” 

Pettigrew’s eyes scanned the room again, slower this time. Like he was actually letting himself believe it. The banner, the cake, the crowd gathered just for him . His gaze flicked from face to face—Mary, Sirius, Lupin, me, the others still filtering in—and then back to the cake, like maybe it was enchanted to disappear if he stared too hard.

“You didn’t think we’d forget, did you?” Sirius teased. 

“Well…” Pettigrew said, a little laugh tucked under his breath, “my parents did.”

That— that —hit me square in the chest.

It was the kind of truth you don’t expect someone to say out loud. Not on their birthday. Not with the smell of sweet frosting in the air and music swelling in the background. But Pettigrew said it plainly. Honestly. Like it wasn’t the first time it had happened. And I knew that look. The half-smile you wear when you’re trying not to let disappointment take up too much space. That mix of hope and caution. Of ‘ please don’t make this a joke’and ‘ I’m scared this won’t last’ .

It was the kind of look you give when you’re not used to being celebrated.

I wanted to hug him.

And hex his parents.

In that order.

But I didn’t do either.

Instead, I stepped forward, grabbed a bottle of butterbeer off the tray, and offered it to him with both hands.

“Happy birthday, Peter,” I said softly. And I meant it. Every word.

Because in that moment, he wasn’t the quiet one or the background friend or the boy always one step behind the rest. He was just a sixteen-year-old wizard who deserved a cake, a banner, and a room full of people shouting his name. It was like someone had lifted a charm off the whole room. The warmth rushed in, and from the far corner, the wireless clicked on with perfect timing—probably pre-set by Potter, knowing him. The opening chords of something fast and familiar filled the air.

The room swelled with laughter and clinking glasses and wild footsteps as people grabbed drinks, tore into snacks, and started dragging the furniture aside to make space for dancing. Gryffindor parties are rarely graceful, but they are glorious in their mess. Peter didn’t stop smiling.

Not once.

And it wasn’t the quiet, awkward smile he wore—it was real. Wide and warm and lit from the inside. It made his whole face soften, and for the first time since I’d known him, I saw him for what he was: loved. Undeniably and unapologetically loved.

It made something inside me ache. 

In the best way.

And maybe it was the butterbeer, or the cake, or the soft hum of something finally going right—but for a little while, I forgot everything. The visions. The pressure. The dream-memory of James Potter with his hand tangled in my hair. I was just sixteen. Barefoot. Dancing with my best friends in front of the fire, screaming lyrics like they were spells.

And when Velvet Season by Hex and the Heartstrings came on?

I ascended.

I mean the lyrics? Absolute perfection:

Came down the hill in my high heeled shoes Moon in my hair, hummin’ the same old tunes Smoke in the valley, silver on the vines You were waitin’ where the stars align Told me your name, handed me a ring I said, “Darlin’, I’ve danced with darker things” You laughed like thunder behind the trees Said, “Be afraid of the ghosts like me” ‘Cause it’s the velvet season, love— The wind is warm and wicked Hearts get tangled in the hush And spells don’t break, they thicken So take my hand, don’t say a word We’ll burn like lanterns in the blur Of the velvet season

Wrote your name in the ash on the floor You charmed me, I can’t ignore You kissed me once when the sky went black Baby I never was the kind to turn my back There's a ring around the moon tonight And I’ve got your salt on my skin You say this love’s a ship in a bottle But I’ll just let the tides roll in It’s the velvet season, love— The wind is warm and wicked Hearts get tangled in the hush And spells don’t break, they thicken So take my hand, don’t say a word We’ll burn like lanterns in the blur Of the velvet, velvet season 

I screamed those lyrics like they were a spell I’d cast myself. Like they were stitched straight into my ribs. Mary, Sarah, and I were a storm. We were barefoot on the stone floor, hair wild, sweaters knotted at the waist, cheeks flushed with firewhiskey and the kind of joy that doesn’t ask questions. No patrols, no visions, no weight. Just music and laughter and the impossible freedom of being sixteen and full of magic.

I danced until my legs ached and the common room spun around me. Until my voice cracked and I didn’t care. Until everything blurred into golden light and noise and movement— And then w ithout warning, I spun out of Mary’s arms and collided directly into someone. Someone’s arms. Potter’sarms. Steady. Warm. Too familiar in the way they didn’t immediately let go.

“Woah there, Evans,” he said, his lopsided grin already forming. “Didn’t know I made it onto your dance card.”

“I—sorry,” I said, breathless, stepping back automatically. Or trying to.

His hands didn’t quite let go. His eyes were a little foggy, in the same way as someone who might’ve had a little too much to drink. I suppose I might’ve looked the same, by that point I was on my second bottle of firewhiskey. 

“Don’t apologise,” he said lightly. “ I just didn’t know you liked to dance so much.”

I felt my face go warm. Not from the firewhiskey. Not from the dancing. A different kind of warm. A dangerous kind.

“Hex and the Heartstrings is my favourite band,” I said, chin high, as if that explained anything.

“I can tell,” he said, and Merlin, his eyes were shining. 

SHINING. 

“I could dance to them forever.” I said. 

“Did you want to dance?” he asked, easy as breathing.

How was he not as awkward as I felt? 

I rolled my eyes. “Do you ever turn it off?”

“Turn what off?”

“The charm.”

He tilted his head. “Where’s the fun in that?”

I was trying not to smile. Trying. And I hated that he could see that.

“You’re currently preventing me from dancing to my favorite song,” I said, aiming for sharp, landing somewhere closer to breathlessness. 

But he just let his hands fall to the curves of my back. “Then I guess you’re stuck with me until the song ends.”

I should’ve walked away.

I meant to.

But the chorus softened into the bridge, and something about the light in the room—or the light in him—made it impossible.

His hand brushed at my lower back.

Sparks shot up my spine. 

And then, wordlessly, he spun me.

One hand lifted high, the other tucked behind his back like he’d been waiting his whole life to pull off that one move. I gasped—quietly—more out of surprise than anything else. Because he knew what he was doing. Effortless. Elegant. Like we’d rehearsed it in another life.

He caught me again, hand firm at my waist, guiding. The music curled around us like smoke, folding the rest of the world out.

“Your cheeks are red,” he murmured, voice low enough that it barely carried beyond me.

“It’s hot in here,” I lied, eyes flicking down to where my hand rested on his chest. Too comfortably. Too right.

“It’s just the firewhiskey,” he said with a quiet smile. “Follow my lead.”

“You know how to waltz?” I asked, suspicious.

He laughed. He was warm, easy, and unguarded. “My mum’s obsessed with proper ballroom dancing. She made sure I could lead before I turned nine. My dad just tripped over her feet a lot.”

He led. And I—unthinkably—followed.

It actually worked. For a few beats, we moved in step like we weren’t two people constantly at odds. Like we weren’t dancing toward something I couldn’t name. Until I stepped on his foot. 

Twice.

He actually winced.

I froze. “Oh—sorry!” I said, stepping back and tucking my hair behind my ear in a futile attempt to look composed. “I think I’m more of a freestyle kind of girl.”

He didn’t laugh.

He just looked at me. Really looked. Not with teasing. Not even with expectation. Just… curiosity. Like he was trying to memorize something. Like he saw something worth seeing.

His gaze lingered.

And mine did, too.

Just for a second. Just long enough.

And then someone shouted “CAKE!” across the room, and the spell shattered.

Thank Merlin.

Potter turned, rubbing his shoulder where I may or may not have elbowed him mid-turn. I gave him the most innocent smile I could conjure, then slipped away toward the dessert table like nothing at all had happened.

Like my heart wasn’t still hammering in my ears.

Naturally, Sirius took it upon himself to cut the cake like he was at his own bloody wedding. With a grand, unnecessary flourish and a theatrical flick of his wand, he levitated the first piece.

It soared with ease. It landed— smack —right in Peter’s face.

A full, frosting-heavy wedge. Direct hit. 

There was silence for half a second.

Then, absolute chaos broke out.

“BULLSEYE!” Potter whooped, already launching a scoop of frosting at Sirius’s shoulder. Sirius retaliated with what looked like half the chocolate tier. Lupin ducked too late and took one to the shoulder with the stunned expression of someone questioning every life choice that led him here.

I stepped forward, intent on restoring some semblance of order—because someone had to act like a prefect. But before I could even open my mouth, something splattered against my chest.

White cake. Vanilla, I think. With a very hefty swirl of buttercream.

I gasped.

“Oh, it is on,” I muttered.

Any intention of keeping my dignity intact vanished the moment I grabbed a handful of frosting and launched it across the room—perfect aim—straight into the side of Potter’s face.

He froze. His mouth fell open in betrayal. “Evans! You traitor!”

“Sweet cake,” I said, already backing away with a second handful ready as I locked some buttercream from my wrist.

Potter paused, looking happy. "So you like it? My cake."

Sirius smashed Potter's face with another handful of buttercream. 

That was it. The final spark.

The room erupted into a full-blown food war.

Frosting flew through the air like confetti. Someone—probably one of the Ravenclaw’s—enchanted jelly beans to bounce off heads like tiny edible bombs. Sarah slipped on a tart and collapsed in a fit of laughter. Black was dual-wielding handfuls of cake like he was storming a battlefield. I swear someone Transfigured a Charms textbook into a shield.

It escalated quickly. It escalated gloriously. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so–normal. 

By the time it finally began to settle, the room looked like Honeydukes had exploded. I was sticky, breathless, icing in my ear, and laughing so hard I had to hold onto the back of an armchair just to stay upright. Sarah was doubled over near the sofa, peeling off her shoes, which were both—somehow—covered with buttercream. We were all laughing—wild, hiccuping, rib-shaking laughter that left tears in our eyes.

And that?

That makes every smear of icing, every rogue jelly bean, every crumb in my hair and dent in the furniture totally, completely worth it.

That is... As long as we can get it cleaned up before someone tells McGonagall.

[mariacallous]

Elon Musk has called Social Security a “Ponzi scheme” rife with fraud, waste, and abuse. President Donald Trump argued in his State of the Union address that there are millions of people over the age of 100 who are fraudulently on the Social Security rolls, with some receiving government benefits. Department of Government Efficiency (DOGE) staffers are calling Social Security Administration workers inefficient and threatening to make major reductions in its workforce based on that argument.

The problem with these arguments is none of them are true and represent only the latest in high-level disinformation directed at federal programs. As Elaine Kamarck and I argue in our recent book “Lies That Kill: A Citizen’s Guide to Disinformation,” disinformation has become rampant in many different areas and threatens public understanding of policy issues. False data claims undermine trust in government and weaken confidence in the effectiveness of public programs.

Social Security is not a Ponzi scheme; it is a government program into which people pay while they are working and later retrieve benefits after they reach retirement age. It is a public fund financed by payroll taxes paid both by businesses and employees that funds around 59.6 million people. While the Social Security Trust Fund faces financial shortfalls, increasing the taxable income cap beyond its current $168,600 limit could significantly extend the program’s solvency.

According to Social Security Administration data, about 89,000 people over the age of 100 receive benefits, and nearly all are legitimate recipients. The agency, along with the General Accounting Office, routinely audits beneficiaries to detect fraud and has found no evidence supporting Trump’s claim of millions of dead or fraudulent beneficiaries. Indeed, Wired Magazine reported on February 17 that computer programmers pointed out how the list of extremely old people on the Social Security rolls is the result of “…a weird quirk of the Social Security Administration’s benefits system, which was largely written in COBOL, a 60-year-old programming language that undergirds SSA’s databases as well as systems from many other US government agencies.”

DOGE investigators suggest Social Security staff are inefficient and wasteful, independent analyses showing the agency is among the most cost-effective in processing claims. For example, Professor Pamela Herd of the University of Michigan notes that the agency’s administrative costs have declined “from 2.2% in 1957 to just 0.5% today”, making it one of the federal government’s most efficient agencies.

These attacks are not isolated, as other agencies have also been targeted by false narratives. Shortly before its budget and personnel were massively slashed, Musk called the U.S. Agency for International Development a “criminal organization” without evidence to support that claim. The Consumer Financial Protection Bureau was dismantled on the grounds that it harms corporations and no longer protects consumers, while the Department of Education faces substantial cutbacks with critics arguing it does little to advance public education.

The harsh and often inaccurate rhetoric surrounding federal agencies represents a way to delegitimize government and justify deep cuts in agency operations and staffing. If government enterprises are seen as criminal, unlawful, or engaging in fraudulent actions, it becomes easy to justify draconian measures that dismantle those agencies—highlighting the powerful consequences words have on shaping beliefs and actions related to government functions.

The disinformation risks for Social Security are particularly worrisome. As its former commissioner, Martin O’Malley has argued that inaccurate claims about waste and abuse could lead to wholesale employee layoffs and harm the efficiency of agency operations. That may happen soon. Without persuasive evidence, Musk has claimed in a Fox Business News interview that there is over $500 billion in wasteful spending at the Social Security Administration, and the entitlement program could be reduced without any harm to beneficiaries.

That is not likely to be the case because a shrunken agency with fewer workers will likely suffer problems in claims processing and beneficiary payouts. Without experts who understand its IT systems and payout processes, there could be interruptions in services or difficulties for people filing claims who no longer are able to go to local offices to check on their eligibility.

Right now, Social Security is one of America’s most popular government programs. Eighty percent of Americans in a 2023 Kaiser Family Foundation survey held favorable views about Social Security. Around 40% of seniors rely on it as their sole source of income. For Americans who live in three-generational families, cuts or delays in Social Security payments to seniors could impact their children’s ability to support their grandchildren. Social Security is a government success story that serves both taxpayers and beneficiaries quite well. The spread of disinformation about Social Security threatens not only the program’s future but also the sustainability of numerous other government initiatives.

[stuffforthestash]

Modern Academic AU pt3

All this because I couldn't stop thinking about what kinds of classes Professor Raphael would teach... He's laughing up at me from hell, I just know it.

part 1 and part 2

------------------------------

Kagha (by request!) - Environmental Science. Will only teach courses about political lobbying and activism. She's also a militant vegan and active member of PETA, and won't shut up about it.

Dammon - College of Engineering. Teaches "Advanced Manufacturing Processes" and "Finite Element Analysis", and runs the machining shop. Also teaches a metal sculpture class when there's room in the Art School's budget. He's one of the faculty liaisons for several LGBTQA+ orgs on campus as well, and is completely oblivious to the fact he has a fan club (which is for the best, really)

Zevlor - Campus Security. A retired Green Beret who refuses to talk about his time in the service, he's well liked by most faculty and known to be a bit of an old school charmer. LOTS of rumors and speculation about what kind of injury got him discharged, and how he got it.

Barcus - College of Engineering. He teaches classes on Thermodynamics and Process Design & Safety. Has no idea how popular and well-liked he is by both students and staff.

Wulbren - Chemical Engineering Dep't Chair. He's brilliant, but also an asshole, and is constantly trying to weasel more grant money for his research into ethically questionable chemical compound modifications. Also makes his TAs teach all his classes for him.

Lorroakan - English Dep't Chair. Thinks he's hot shit for it but really no one else wanted the job. He makes his TAs teach all his classes AND do all his admin work, so he can spend all his time (and the department's money) on schmoozing with alumni and donors.

Blurg - Environmental Science. Isn't that great of a teacher but it's required for keeping the research grants coming in. Thankfully his passion and enthusiasm for topics like Sustainability in Agriculture make up for his shortcomings.

Omeluum - They're actually Bluurg's research partner and not technically a member of faculty, though they also act as his unofficial TA because otherwise Bluurg's course work interferes with their research timelines.

Nine-Fingers Keene (by request) - School of Business. Her classes are all advanced level and titled things like "Gaining The Competitive Edge". She also runs an entrepreneurial outreach program for young women seeking to start their own businesses.

Dame Aylin - VP of Diversity and Inclusion. She's very passionate about her job and a VERY vocal advocate for social justice issues like inclusivity, diversity, and accessibility. Completely incapable of keeping her personal life separate from her professional one, as she's a devout believer in leading by example.

Isobel - School RN. Is fiercely protective of students right to medical privacy and access to judgment free care, but is much better known on campus for being Dame Aylin's wife.

The Emperor - Board of Trustees. Outwardly just an ordinary Trustee, generally pleasant to interact with and actually rather good at rubbing elbows with students, faculty, and admin alike. There's just something off about them, enough that they've had multiple audits and inquests over the years despite nobody ever being able to find any actual signs of misconduct.

------------------------------

Sorry this set took a bit longer to figure out. A bunch of these characters were a real challenge to fit into roles that actually exist in reality, and I had to do a bit of research to find out wtf kinds of classes or departments certain fields of study even have. Ah, the things we do for the blorbos, amirite?

[a-very-tired-jew]

Heyyy from one very tired jew to another

.. I wanna learn more about ecology! I wish we were using all our collective energy into saving planet instead *everything else*.

Do you work in that space? How would you recommend getting more involved? Or just wanting to learn more/nerd out about it?

So the thing is, there's a whole swath of people working on this.

There's so much research and application going on that does not get talked about because it's not "sexy" science. It doesn't make the news because it's not big world changing once in a lifetime advancements, it's little things that address a problem here or there that collectively make an impact. E.g. there is now research going into various blow flies (Calliphoridae) as pollinators. I know of 5 different entomologists in the world doing this. It's not making the news because flies are not "sexy" and don't need to be "saved". Flies are also considered gross, but according to one of my colleagues who is working on this they're major pollinators of things like onions, mangos, garlic, other crops, and non-crop plants that are important. Understanding their pollinator ecology let's us better understand how they interact with their environment, how they benefit it, and what we can do to better improve those benefits and thus address some of the negative impacts we have.

In regards to actually getting involved, that depends on what level of involvement you want. There are citizen science projects out there that necessitate non-scientists to collect data locally and send it back to the primary researcher for analysis.

There are extension offices that have educational materials and extension officers who give talks.

There are usually outreach events by ecology or entomology departments from big name colleges that can be attended.

There are, obviously, books on the topic. But I personally don't like them to become educated on things outside of textbooks as the nonfiction non-textbooks that we consider "pop science" usually have a singular author's bias or agenda in the text and are overly simplified. Honestly, if anyone suggests a pop science book to you just walk away. They're rarely good from a professional perspective.

Then you have to also think about what you're interested in as well.

Insect ecology? Reptiles? Freshwater? Marine? Physiological? Agricultural? and many more.

There's a lot of subfields to ecology and each of them have their own particular interests, projects, personnel, and so on.

Some universities might have the ability to audit or take a course for free if you're simply curious.

Also consider that local ecology is going to be different, so you might find online resources or information for ecology relating to the North East USA, but you live in the Midwest. Well things like the River Continuum Concept aren't really applicable to the Midwest as the theory was designed for rocky bottom water systems, not the sandy/soil based ones in America's FarmlandTM.

[literary-illuminati]

Book Review 39 – Lying for Money: How Legendary Frauds Reveal the Workings of the World

This is one of those books I’d heard mentioned in a dozen different places before I finally decided to read it. I think it was the review in Thing of Things that finally pushed me over the edge and convinced me to read it myself? Very happy I did, even if I had a severe case of deja vu reading a few particular passages (and even if it does suffer from a few of the usual pop nonfiction issues at times).

The title gets across the substance of the book clearly enough; this is, to paraphrase the author, a work of counter-economics. That is, an attempt to illuminate the workings of an advanced capitalist economy by showcasing the sorts of crimes that take advantage of its complexity and parsitize it. It’s nowhere near as dry or academic as all that, of course (Davies keeps up a chatty, conversational sort of tone throughout, and takes every chance to dunk on academic economics as a discipline that presents itself); most of the meat of the book is case studies and anecdotes of particularly famous or illuminating frauds, which are all great reading. Honestly reading about con artists is so fun I should really feel guiltier about how hypocritical my disdain for more traditional true crime is.

The books, if not central thesis, then definitely on of the main things it keeps coming back to, is that the optimal level of fraud in an economy is higher than zero. Fraud is fundamentally an abuse of trust, after all, and if no one’s trust is getting abused, then that probably means that an unjustifiable amount of resources are being spent checking up on every possible thing, and a great deal of productive work isn’t getting done because people are too paranoid to work with each other.

The term Davies uses is the Canadian Paradox. Which is the fact (anecdote, popular wisdom, whatever) that Canada, with its mostly trustworthy institutions and rule of law and developed financial system, has vastly more fraud than, say, Greek shipping (I don’t know why specifically Greek and specifically shipping. Specifically Canada because in the ‘90s the Vancouver Stock Exchange was apparently the most full of scams and fakes in the world). The reason for this being that Canadian investors more or less assume that anyone with a stock listing is probably on the level, because they’re usually right; Greek shipowners, by contrast, absolutely expect to get screwed over if they leave themselves vulnerable, and so do business exclusively with people who they have strong relationships and embedded social ties with. The overwhelmingly intended takeaway being that the Canadian equilibrium is the one to aspire to.

The book’s organized around Davies’ own taxonomy of fraud – he divides the broader category into four distinct (if overlapping) types based on the trust they abuse and so (in a broad sense) are crimes against. Those types being: 1) the Long Firm (neither of the words mean what you think they do here), which is just lying and defrauding someone, buying on credit, reselling and skipping town before the first bill comes due, etc 2) Counterfeiting, of currency yes, but also legal documentation, audited account books, hell even mining samples, providing forged documentation that people trust so they accept your lies 3) Control Frauds, when employees or trustees take advantage of their control over assets to juice the books and manipulate returns in ways that maximize ‘legitimate’ profits for themselves (distinct from embezzlement, which is just taking advantage of control over assets to, well, take them) and 4) Market Crimes, which intuitively might not seem like crimes at all, at least in a moral sense, but are regulated or criminalized or made taboo because people engaging in them damages the wider structure society or the market or capitalism or whatever relies upon.

The types of fraud, you’ll notice, get steadily more abstract and conceptual as you go on – the only thing that distinguishes most control fraud from managerial incompetence and over-optimism is a paper trail showing they knew what they were doing. The only thing that distinguishes a market crime form just, being good at business, is the opinion of whatever jurisdiction your in’s regulatory authorities. One gets the sense that these sorts of tricky conceptual crimes interest Davies more than more straightforward sorts of fraud, and his discussions of them certainly get more philosophical than the mostly technical descriptions of long firms and counterfeiting.

Of course, you don’t really read a book like this for the theorizing – I mean, I didn’t, anyway – but for the interesting and absurd case studies of historical frauds. Of which the book delivers in spades; everything from the ‘salad oil king’ of New Jersey with with his vats of water with a layer of oil floating on top, to Ponzi and his original scheme, to the counterfeiter who destabilized the Portuguese economy sufficiently to pave the way for a reactionary military coup, to the first actually comprehensible explanation of the whole Savings&Loans crisis in ‘80s America that I’ve ever read to, of course, the 2008 Mortgage Crisis.

One trait of historical frauds that gets more salient the more of them you read is that, because many of them involve taking advantage of some since-patched loophole in law or regulation, in retrospect it seems positively absurd that they could ever have worked. The book cautions against this point of view – given how bewilderingly complex the modern economy is, there are doubtless more absurd loopholes and abuses of what people will take on trust now than there have ever been. People just haven't written books about them yet.

Anyways, speaking of 2008 - the financial crisis was a generation-defining event for the people who got fucked over by it, but it clearly did a number on the paradigms of guys like Davies too. It gets a chapter to itself as an ‘innocent’ control fraud. That is, an institutional setup and incentive set that inevitably causes massive amounts of crime even though the people at the top actually profiting from it all are, technically speaking, innocent (and most of the low-level employees doing the crimes are mostly just trying to meet aggressive sales targets and keep their jobs. Which, hardly justifies a lot of the conduct, but they weren't profiting from the enterprise like the managers and executives.) The term Davies uses is ‘crimogenic’ – as in, an environment that incentivizes and will almost inevitably lead to the commission of crimes.

A note on the author – Davies was a regulator and then a market analyst in the UK for much of the early 21st century, and whatever the specifics is clearly someone with an insider’s view of financial markets and investment banking. Not really an apologist – or I mean, he is, to the extent that he clearly considers them useful institutions that do more good than harm for the world at large, and considers the present regulatory setup governing the markets if not just, then at least pragmatically useful. But about the culture and foibles of the financial services industry itself he’s pretty cynical. In any event, as the book goes on he starts peppering in personal anecdotes about how he was personally involved with some event on the periphery of the frauds he’s discussing or saw them happen live, which I mostly found charming but I can see how it would grate.

In any event, it’s a very chatty, casually written book, by a centre-left pro-regulation but incredibly finance-brained guy. So, you know, caveat lector if you’re going to find that totally insufferable. For myself I found it a fun, casual read, and a more educational one that I really expected.

[tearsinthemist]

Want to learn something new

Want to learn something new in 2022??

Absolute beginner adult ballet series (fabulous beginning teacher)

40 piano lessons for beginners (some of the best explanations for piano I’ve ever seen)

Excellent basic crochet video series

Basic knitting (probably the best how to knit video out there)

Pre-Free Figure Skate Levels A-D guides and practice activities (each video builds up with exercises to the actual moves!)

How to draw character faces video (very funny, surprisingly instructive?)

Another drawing character faces video

Literally my favorite art pose hack

Tutorial of how to make a whole ass Stardew Valley esque farming game in Gamemaker Studios 2??

Introduction to flying small aircrafts

French/Dutch/Fishtail braiding

Playing the guitar for beginners (well paced and excellent instructor)

Playing the violin for beginners (really good practical tips mixed in)

Color theory in digital art (not of the children’s hospital variety)

Retake classes you hated but now there’s zero stakes:

Calculus 1 (full semester class)

Learn basic statistics (free textbook)

Introduction to college physics (free textbook)

Introduction to accounting (free textbook)

Learn a language:

Ancient Greek

Latin

Spanish

German

Japanese (grammar guide) (for dummies)

French

Russian (pretty good cyrillic guide!)

Jan 2, 2023

Want to learn something new in 2023??

Cooking with flavor bootcamp (used what I learned in this a LOT this year)

Beekeeping 101

Learn Interior Design from the British Academy of Interior Design (free to audit course - just choose the free option when you register)

Video on learning to read music that actually helped me??

How to use and sew with a sewing machine

How to ride a bike (listen. some of us never learned, and that's okay.)

How to cornrow-braid hair (I have it on good authority that this video is a godsend for doing your baby niece's black hair)

Making mead at home (I actually did this last summer and it was SO good)

How to garden

Basics of snowboarding (proceed with caution)

How to draw for people who (think they) suck at art (I know this website looks like a 2003 monstrosity, but the tutorials are excellent)

Pixel art for beginners so you can make the next great indie game

Go (back) to school

Introduction to Astronomy (high school course - free textbook w/ practice problems)

Principals of Economics (high school course - free textbook w/ practice problems)

Introduction to philosophy (free college course)

Computer science basics (full-semester Harvard course free online)

Learn a language

Japanese for Dummies (link fix from 2022)

Ukrainian

Portuguese (Brazil)

American Sign Language (as somebody who works with Deaf people professionally, I also strongly advise you to read up on Deaf/HoH culture and history!)

Chinese (Mandarin, Simplified)

Quenya (LOTR fantasy elf language)

Dec 26, 2023

Want to learn something new in 2024??

Beginner-oriented video on how to sail

This guy has so many videos on baking different types of bread. SO very many.

Coding in Python - one of the most flexible and adaptable high-level programming languages out there - explained through projects making video games

Learn to swim! (for adult learners. I don’t care if you live in Kansas or Mali or wherever. LEARN TO SWIM.)

Learn how quantum mechanics works. Then read some more about it

[Learn about quantum mechanics again, but in a more advanced engineering/mathematics class. Then read more about the math and physics of it]

Poetry Handbook, by Mary Oliver

Something I learned this year: how to sew a quilt (Here’s a very easy beginning pattern that looks amazing and can be done with pre-cut fabric!)

How to hit the ball in softball

Tutorial video on what is under the hood of most (gas) cars + weird engine sounds and what they mean

Full beginner mechanics technical training, if you want to go more in depth

Playlist on how car engine physics work if you want to go ultra in depth

Lecture series on architecture design through study of buildings

How (American income) taxes & tax law work (choose “audit course” at checkout for free class)

Pickleball for beginners (so you can finally join your neighbor/friend/distant cousin who is always insisting you join their team)

+ Para-Pickleball for beginners (for mobility aid users!)

School is so much more fun when there’s no tests:

American Law - Contracts

Shakespeare’s Life and Plays

Fairy Tales: Meanings, Messages, and Morals

Modern Poetry

World History [Part 1, Part 2]

Learn a language:

Arabic + Resource Guide compiled from Reddit (includes info on different dialects)

Chinese (Cantonese) (audio)

Urdu (frequently recommended course on Reddit) + Resource Guide

Yucatec Maya

[juno-freehugs]

So I may have fucked up. I didn’t get a comprehensive music education when I was younger and like taught myself theory, and my conductor let me borrow a bassoon cause i wanted to learn the fingerings so I can compose for it better, and he was like “wait I don’t have a bassoonist for any of my orchestras, heres a teacher, you have three months”

And there are three levels of orchestra the kiddy one (really high schoolers and a few middle schoolers), the middle one which is a public orchestra you can audition for and they have occasional events and people of all ages, and the college orchestra the most advanced one.

So he told me to come to the first rehearsal for the kiddy one, since I dont have years of music education and after it I asked when the next rehearsal was and he said “practice your part, keep in touch on your progress” Which I took to mean “WOW YOU FUCKING SUCK” so uh that was two days ago and I sent in a video of me playing the part cause I wanted to show “HEY, I DONT CARE ABOUT THE ORCHESTRA LEVEL, I JUST WANT TO LEARN!” and uh. He was like “can your mother call me” which made me scared but of course I told him to call her, So apparently not only did I make it for rehearsal’s in the kiddy orchestra to practice dealing with anxiety, after five weeks he wants me to go to higher level orchestra.

And then according to my mother he asked for my ACT score and my gpa, so come January this man wants to give me a scholarship??? im not complaining but this is a lot so fast and hope im good enough and rahhhhh. Uh so gotta get good like better than i am. I’ve been playing bassoon for four months, if you have tips or wanna remind me to practice, please do

[04k96]

The Social Credit System in China is a government-led initiative aimed at promoting trustworthiness in society by scoring individuals, businesses, and government institutions based on their behavior. While it’s often portrayed in Western media as a dystopian surveillance system, the reality is more nuanced. The system is still fragmented, evolving, and complex, blending both digital surveillance and bureaucratic rating mechanisms.

Here’s a detailed look at its structure, goals, mechanisms, and implications:

⸻

1. Origins and Goals

The Social Credit System (社会信用体系) was officially proposed in 2001 and formally outlined in 2014 by the State Council. Its main objectives are:

• Strengthen trust in market and social interactions.

• Encourage law-abiding behavior among citizens, businesses, and institutions.

• Prevent fraud, tax evasion, default on loans, and production of counterfeit goods.

• Enhance governance capacity through technology and data centralization.

It’s inspired by a mix of Confucian values (trustworthiness, integrity) and modern surveillance capitalism. It’s not a single unified “score” like a credit score in the West but rather a broad framework of reward-and-punishment mechanisms operated by multiple public and private entities.

⸻

2. Key Components

A. Blacklists and Redlists

• Blacklist: If an individual or business engages in dishonest or illegal behavior (e.g., court judgments, unpaid debts, tax evasion), they may be added to a “dishonest” list.

• Redlist: Those who follow laws and contribute positively (e.g., charitable donations, volunteerism) may be rewarded or publicized positively.

Examples of punishments for being blacklisted:

• Restricted from purchasing plane/train tickets.

• Difficulty in getting loans, jobs, or business permits.

• Public exposure (like having one’s name posted in public forums or apps).

Examples of rewards for positive behavior:

• Faster access to government services.

• Preferential treatment in hiring or public procurement.

• Reduced red tape for permits.

B. Fragmented Local Systems

Rather than one central system, there are hundreds of local pilots across China, often using different criteria and technologies. For example:

• Rongcheng (in Shandong Province) implemented a points-based system where citizens start at 1,000 points and gain or lose them based on specific actions.

• Hangzhou introduced systems where jaywalking, loud behavior on buses, or failing to show up in court could affect a personal credit profile.

Some local systems are app-based, while others are more bureaucratic and paper-based.

⸻

3. Surveillance and Technology Integration

A. Data Sources:

• Public records (tax, court, education).

• Private platforms (e.g., Alibaba, Tencent’s financial and social data).

• Facial recognition and CCTV: Often integrated with public security tools to monitor individuals in real-time.

B. AI and Big Data:

While the idea of a real-time, fully integrated AI-run system is more a long-term ambition than a reality, many systems use:

• Predictive analytics to flag high-risk individuals.

• Cross-agency data sharing to consolidate behavior across different parts of life.

However, this level of integration remains partial and uneven, with some cities far more advanced than others.

⸻

4. Criticisms and Concerns

A. Lack of Transparency

• Citizens are often unaware of what data is being used, how scores are calculated, or how to appeal decisions.

• There’s minimal oversight or independent auditing of the systems.

B. Social Control

• Critics argue the system encourages conformity, discourages dissent, and suppresses individual freedoms by rewarding obedience and penalizing perceived deviance.

• It may create a culture of self-censorship, especially on social media.

C. Misuse and Arbitrary Enforcement

• Cases have emerged where individuals were blacklisted due to clerical errors or as a result of political pressure.

• There are concerns about selective enforcement, where some citizens (e.g., activists) face harsher consequences than others.

⸻

5. Comparisons to Western Systems

It’s important to note:

• Western countries have private credit scores, employment background checks, social media tracking, and predictive policing—all of which can impact someone’s life.

• China’s system differs in that it’s state-coordinated, often public, and spans beyond financial behavior into moral and social conduct.

However, similar behavioral monitoring is increasingly used in tech-based social systems globally (e.g., Uber ratings, Airbnb reviews, Facebook data profiles), though usually without state-enforced punishments.

⸻

6. Current Status and Future Trends

Evolving System

• As of the mid-2020s, China is moving toward greater standardization of the credit system, especially for businesses and institutions.

• The National Credit Information Sharing Platform is becoming more central, aiming to integrate local experiments into a coherent framework.

Smart Cities and Governance

• The social credit system is increasingly linked with smart city infrastructure, predictive policing, and AI-powered surveillance.

• This aligns with the Chinese government’s broader vision of “digital governance” and technocratic legitimacy.

⸻

7. Key Takeaways

• Not one unified “score” like in fiction; it’s more like a patchwork of overlapping systems.

• Used as a governance tool more than a financial one.

• Integrates traditional values with modern surveillance.

• Viewed domestically as a way to restore trust in a society that has undergone rapid transformation.

• Internationally, it raises serious questions about privacy, freedom, and state overreach.

Needed clarification 😅

[thailandlawyerss]

Thailand Permanent Residency

Thailand's permanent residency (PR) system is governed by:

Immigration Act B.E. 2522 (1979), Sections 37-47

Ministerial Regulation No. 20 (B.E. 2543)

National Police Office Orders

Cabinet Resolutions (periodic quota adjustments)

1.2 Constitutional Context

While Thailand's 2007 Constitution (Section 48) guarantees equality before the law, PR status remains a privilege rather than a right, granted at the discretion of the Interior Ministry.

2. Eligibility Requirements

2.1 General Qualifications

Applicants must:

Hold a non-immigrant visa for 3+ consecutive years

Demonstrate financial stability (varies by category)

Meet character requirements (clean criminal record)

Pass Thai language/culture evaluation (since 2021 reforms)

2.3 Annual Quota System

Country Caps: Maximum 100 persons per nationality

Total Quota: Typically 500-1,000 annually (varies by cabinet decision)

Priority Groups: STEM professionals, investors, spouses of Thais

3. Application Process

3.1 Step-by-Step Procedure

Pre-Application (6-12 months)

Maintain continuous visa status

Gather documentation (see 3.2)

Application Window

Opens late December for ~2 weeks

Must apply in person at Chaeng Wattana Immigration

Document Verification (3-6 months)

Background checks

Home visit by immigration officers

Interview & Exams

Thai language test (basic conversation)

Culture/history exam (20+ correct answers required)

Final Approval (12-24 months)

Published in Royal Gazette

PR certificate issuance

3.2 Required Documentation

Core Documents:

Passport + visa history

House registration (Tabien Baan)

Tax records (3 years)

Bank statements (6 months)

Category-Specific:

Employment: Work permit copies

Investment: BOI certificates

Marriage: Wedding certificates + spouse's ID

4. Rights and Obligations

4.1 Privileges Granted

✔ Indefinite stay without visa renewals ✔ Work without WP (in registered profession) ✔ Property ownership rights (with restrictions) ✔ Pathway to citizenship after 5+ years

4.2 Ongoing Requirements

Annual reporting (similar to 90-day reports)

Re-entry permits for international travel

Tax compliance monitoring

5. Financial Considerations

5.1 Hidden Costs

Legal fees: THB 50,000-200,000 for full-service assistance

Translation/notarization: THB 5,000-15,000

Expediting services: Unofficial costs may apply

6. Comparative Analysis

6.1 PR vs. Other Long-Term Options

StatusDurationWork RightsPath to CitizenshipPRPermanentFull (registered)5 yearsElite Visa5-20 yrsNoneNoRetirement Visa1 yrNoneNoBOI Smart Visa4 yrsRestrictedNo

6.2 Regional Comparison

CountryMinimum StayInvestment OptionCitizenship PathThailand3 yearsTHB 10M5+ years post-PRMalaysia5 yearsMYR 2M10+ yearsSingapore2 yearsSGD 2.5M2+ years post-PRVietnam5 yearsNo5+ years

7. Recent Policy Changes

7.1 2023-2024 Reforms

Stricter language requirements (now A1 CEFR level)

Digital application tracking (pilot program)

Quota adjustments favoring tech professionals

7.2 Proposed Changes

Wealth visa pathway under consideration

Fast-track PR for STEM PhDs

Dual citizenship tolerance study

8. Common Rejection Reasons

Incomplete documentation (68% of rejections)

Tax discrepancies (23%)

Failed background checks (7%)

Quota limitations (2%)

9. Strategic Considerations

9.1 Application Optimization

Pre-application audits of tax/visa history

Early language preparation (minimum 6 months)

Category selection based on strongest qualifications

9.2 Post-Approval Planning

Citizenship roadmap development

Asset restructuring to maximize PR benefits

Compliance system for reporting obligations

10. Conclusion: Key Takeaways

Thailand's PR system offers: ✔ Unparalleled stability for long-term residents ✔ Business advantages over visa-based stays ✔ Unique pathway to eventual citizenship

Critical challenges:

Stringent documentation requirements

Limited annual quotas

Protracted processing timelines

Prospective applicants should:

Begin preparations 2-3 years in advance

Engage specialized legal counsel

Align with priority categories where possible

The system continues evolving with:

Increasing professionalization of requirements

Technology integration in processing

Strategic immigration targeting of high-value residents

Note: All information reflects 2024 regulations and is subject to change via Interior Ministry announcements.

[shantitechnology]

How Small and Mid-Sized Engineering Firms Can Benefit from ERP

In today’s competitive business landscape, manufacturers and engineering companies in India are under constant pressure to improve efficiency, reduce costs, and enhance productivity.  The adoption of ERP for manufacturing companies in India has become more than just a trend—it is a necessity for survival and growth.  Manufacturing ERP software in India is specifically designed to address the unique challenges faced by the industry, offering seamless integration, automation, and data-driven decision-making capabilities.

If you are an engineering or manufacturing business looking to streamline your operations, this blog will help you understand why ERP software for engineering companies in India is essential and how choosing the best ERP for the engineering industry can revolutionize your operations.

Why ERP is Essential for Manufacturing and Engineering Companies

1.  Streamlining Operations and Enhancing Efficiency

One of the biggest challenges faced by manufacturing and engineering companies is managing various processes such as inventory, procurement, production, and distribution.  Manufacturing ERP software in India centralizes data, enabling real-time monitoring and control over every aspect of the business.  This eliminates redundant tasks, reduces manual errors, and improves efficiency.

2.  Improved Supply Chain Management

A well-integrated ERP system ensures smooth coordination with suppliers, vendors, and distributors.  With ERP for manufacturing companies in India, businesses can track raw materials, monitor supplier performance, and optimize procurement processes, reducing delays and ensuring a seamless supply chain.

3.  Enhanced Data-Driven Decision Making

With access to real-time data analytics and comprehensive reporting, ERP software for engineering companies in India empowers businesses to make informed decisions.  Managers can analyze production trends, forecast demand, and identify areas for improvement, leading to better business outcomes.

4.  Cost Reduction and Higher Profitability

Automation of processes helps in minimizing waste, reducing operational costs, and increasing profitability.  The best ERP for the engineering industry ensures resource optimization by tracking inventory levels, reducing excess stock, and eliminating inefficiencies in production planning.

5.  Compliance and Quality Control

Manufacturers must adhere to strict industry standards and regulatory requirements.  Manufacturing ERP software in India helps in maintaining compliance by providing documentation, audit trails, and quality control measures, ensuring that all products meet industry regulations.

Key Features of the Best ERP for Engineering Industry

Choosing the right ERP solution is crucial for achieving maximum benefits.  Here are some key features to look for in an ERP software for engineering companies in India:

Comprehensive Production Planning & Control – Ensures seamless coordination between different production units.

Inventory & Material Management – Tracks stock levels, raw materials, and procurement processes efficiently.

Financial Management – Integrates accounting, payroll, and financial reporting for better fiscal control.

Supply Chain Management – Enhances supplier relationships and improves procurement efficiency.

Customer Relationship Management (CRM) – Manages customer interactions, sales pipelines, and service requests.

Business Intelligence & Reporting – Provides real-time insights for strategic decision-making.

Scalability & Customization – Adapts to the growing needs of your business with modular functionalities.

Top ERP Software Providers in India

India is home to some of the top ERP software providers, offering advanced solutions for engineering and manufacturing businesses.  Companies like Shantitechnology (STERP) have emerged as leaders in providing industry-specific ERP solutions that cater to the unique requirements of manufacturing and engineering firms.

Why Choose STERP?

STERP is one of the top ERP software providers in India, offering customized ERP solutions specifically designed for the engineering and manufacturing industries.  Here is why STERP stands out:

Industry-Specific Solutions – Tailored to meet the challenges of the manufacturing and engineering sectors.

Cloud & On-Premise Options – Flexible deployment models to suit different business needs.

User-Friendly Interface – Easy to use, with intuitive dashboards and real-time analytics.

Excellent Customer Support – Dedicated support teams for implementation and ongoing assistance.

Scalable Solutions – Designed to grow with your business, ensuring long-term usability and return on investment.

How to Implement ERP for Maximum Success

Step 1:  Assess Business Needs

Understand your business requirements and identify key areas that need improvement.  Choose a solution that aligns with your industry needs.

Step 2:  Choose the Right ERP Software

Selecting the best ERP for the engineering industry involves comparing features, scalability, pricing, and vendor support.

Step 3:  Customization & Integration

Ensure that the ERP system integrates seamlessly with your existing tools and is customizable to fit your unique business processes.

Step 4:  Training & Support

Invest in training programs to ensure that your team is comfortable using the new system.  Opt for a provider that offers continuous support and upgrades.

Step 5:  Monitor & Optimize

Post-implementation, continuously monitor the system’s performance, gather feedback, and make necessary optimizations to enhance efficiency.

Future Trends in ERP for Manufacturing and Engineering

The ERP landscape is evolving rapidly, with emerging trends shaping the future of ERP for manufacturing companies in India.  Some key trends to watch include:

AI & Machine Learning Integration – Automating predictive maintenance and process optimization.

Cloud-Based ERP Solutions – Offering flexibility, remote accessibility, and cost savings.

IoT-Enabled ERP – Enhancing real-time tracking of production and inventory.

Mobile ERP – Allowing on-the-go access for better decision-making.

Blockchain for Supply Chain Management – Ensuring transparency and security in transactions.

Conclusion

Investing in ERP software for engineering companies in India is no longer an option—it is a necessity for businesses looking to stay ahead in the competitive market.  Whether you are a small manufacturer or a large-scale engineering firm, having the best ERP for the engineering industry can drive efficiency, improve decision-making, and enhance overall profitability.

With industry leaders like Shantitechnology (STERP) offering cutting-edge solutions, businesses can achieve digital transformation effortlessly.  As one of the top ERP software providers in India, STERP continues to empower manufacturing and engineering companies with tailored ERP solutions.

Are you ready to revolutionize your business with ERP?  Contact STERP today and take the first step towards seamless automation and unmatched efficiency!