#James is molting

[hyenafan]

The bugs say Happy Halloween!!!

[james-lowry]

[velvetypoets]

Mister pitch perfect

The perfect Gryffindor golden boy has gone off his rails to catch a Black daughter.

Warnings: James Potter x reader fanfic, James is down bad, I tagged marauders but no peter, Slytherin reader, Black family reader, reader is portrayed as she/her, reader centric, forbidden love trope, SFW, James perspective

havent done this in a while and this will be the first time im posting on this platform. im very sorry if its quite messy!

this was supposed to be a oneshot but i drag it too much. so it'll be some sort of a series oneshot? will also be posted on ao3 soon!

————————————————————————————————————————

It was never meant to be. James Fleamont Potter was basically molted into the perfect specimen of man and every soul who has ever walked Hogwarts knew. Sure he would cause trouble every then and again with his fellow mates. Yet of course, James would always dazzle his way out of it with a few charming smiles or reasonings to squeal his way out of being blamed.

[ part 1|part 2|part 3 ]

He was confident, charismatic, spotless.

And when he meets eyes with you, it was set. James is sitting at his usual spot with the marauders at supper when the moment arrives. You were fixing your necklace to your neck at the Slytherin table, struggling with the clasps as your face scrunches in frustration. James almost walks the whole way over to you and offers his assistance right then and there.

"Stop undressing my cousin with your eyes, Prongs," Sirius brings James back to reality with a slap on the back of his head. He seems to still be having his feast so that was new of him to pick on James in that setting. Remus raises an eyebrow as he stares at the two, "Since when do you care about the other Blacks?"

"That was foul, Pads!" James yell as he rubs his head and glares at his mate, he's used to Sirius playfights but that slap seems to be sincere. He tries to focus on the conversation as he tries to find you again on the table across. You seemed to have moved next to Regulus as he helps you with your necklace. James lets out an involuntary sigh.

"She's different, Moony. She's on the edge too. Pretty sure she's going to find a way to run when she hits 18," Sirius lets out a scowl, "Heard she is to be arranged with Nott. Bloody brilliant that."

"Nott? That Nott? Surely you're joking. That bastard can't even keep his owl alive for a week! How's he going to keep a wife that young?!" Remus exclaims in disbelief. Whipping his head to take a good look at you now that you're a big deal. "I wish I was. I love you but seriously mate, don't. You're big enough trouble yourself," Warns Sirius with his fork right to to James face. A juicy piece of meat dangling right on it.

He bites it though. Sirius lets out a shrieking squeal of, "My meat!", erupting laughter at the Gryffindor table as James chews proudly with a sly smile across his face. The boisterous sound turns a few heads, including yours. Your brows raised at the sudden commotion, only to have the red of your cheeks creep in as you find one of your cousin being the center of it. He watches as you rub your cheeks to hide the tint.

James gulps the meat down. He's quite full himself but he must admit, it's nothing like he has ever had.

——————————————————————————

The next time he sees you, you are sitting by yourself writing in parchments on a patch of grass by the lake. James is in a broom practicing to catch the golden snitch on Hogwarts grounds. Quite foolish but he's gotten bored of the arena and its currently being used by the Hufflepuff team anyways.

He's worried about you sitting all alone in this breeze though. It's quite cold and you don't seem to be wearing enough layers. He keeps a distance near a tree so as not to scare you, although he is quite discontent with seeing just your figure by the lake.

You whipped your head to the skies behind you, "Reggie? Is that you?" You ask calmly, your eyes not missing the shadowy figure blatantly hiding behind a tree, "I saw you from the reflection. Very funny, Regs."

James cracked a smile at your sarcastic tone. He even finds your voice perfect. He fixes himself a little before he reveals himself off the shade and lands in front of you, "So I'll take it you find me quite funny?"

Your eyes widened as you process the man in front of you. Why would James Potter—the Gryffindor golden boy—be here? And why is he talking to you now?

"You're not Reggie." You said still in shock, almost sounding like a question. Your brows are raised as you try to study his demeanor. He's holding his broom awkwardly in his arms, you've always thought James Potter's confident composure was permanent.

"Well if your standards of humour is a certain Regulus Black, I'm sure I'd be comical, love," He cracks a small smile and a hand extended to you, "Potter. James Potter."

You look at James like you're Newt Scamander finding a newfound beast, "I know who you are. Everybody does," You said in disbelief, finding the whole situation suspicious. The breeze of wind moves his curly hair to his face, framing it gracefully, "What I want to know is why are you doing this? We're not exactly fit to be friends."

"Why that's quite bold of you, lovely. Who said I'd like to be friends?" He said as he leans closer. You never noticed it before but his glasses are rather clean today, his hazy eyes look at you with glimmer in them you've never seen on anyone before. You think to yourself if its one of the charisma of being James Potter.

You stood your ground, you would have never thought to ever be face to face with this dazzling man in front of you. You are a Black though, your legs won't give in even if you try, "Well that's settled then. Are you here to pick a fight?" You ask him plainly, crossing your arms upon your chest.

James finds it adorable, he knows full well of his effects on people and especially of course girls. What he doesn't understand is the effect you have on him. "The contrary, darling. I have a proposition for you."

You lift a brow and yet let him continue, "I heard you're in quite the predicament with Nott. Now I know a way to get you out," His claim makes your eyes open, you let him continue. Words dripping in confidence, "A date. With me."

This time, you can't help but let out a laugh–of which James can't help but take in the sight. He's completely enamoured.

'What? Huh– Hold on. You can't be serious," You looked at him as if he had gone mad, the thought of a Black and a Potter dating is out of this world, "I don't know what kind of prank you're up to, but do you seriously think I'll fall for that?"

"Wait, I am serious! Picture this, if Nott knows you're going out with me he'd be livid, enough to break off the arrangement. I mean have you seen the way that scum looks at me? It's like he has this permanent face of eating vomit flavoured Bertie Bott's Beans!" He rants as he joined in on the laughter with you.

You are smiling as the laughter reduces to giggles. As stupid as it is, it has a good chance of actually working. You pondered, there's still one thing on your mind, "What's in it for you? Would I have to do anything?"

James let out a smile, his palms are sweating like he's deep into a Quidditch game, "Well I get to see Nott lose his bride—" He pauses, confronting himself whether to tell you the real truth or not, "I mean I'll also get a beauty on my side."

You roll your eyes at that, "Don't you try to charm me, Potter. Give me the real reason or its off. I have a feeling you need this more than I do,"

She's right, James thought. He was about to play it off if you denied it straight away, he wasn't entirely sure you would actually take him seriously. He grasps the sight of you for a bit before closing his eyes tight, "Okay, how about I tell you the reason in a week— Maybe a month. You don't have to do anything, we'd just go out like normal couples do. Sounds good to you?" He said, he extends his arms to you for a handshake. His thoughts full of prayers to Merlin so you wouldn't notice the tremble in his arm.

You grin the same one James had seen a million times on Sirius's face, the Black's grin of content. You shake his hand firmly, his big ones almost encasing yours, "You've got yourself a deal, Potter."

James is using every atom on his magical being to control his ecstasy as he smiles widely at you. Once the handshake is done he reaches for his scarf over his neck and wears it on you, "Nice doing business with you, sweetcheeks. I do hope you start wearing warmer clothes though. No snogging will be done if you're in Pomfreys care."

She looks good in my color

Well technically so is the color of a quarter of the schools because of course its a Griffyndor scarf.

"You surely don't expect me to go back. To my dorm. Through the halls, the stairs and the common room. With this on?"

Oh I won't regret this one bit, James thought. He chuckles at your words dripped in such a sarcastic tone, "Of course not, darling. Do you think I'm mad?"

He extends his arms for you to hold, "We'll go back together. Through the halls, the stairs, even the common room. I heard you folks have lovely parties there."

You let out a chuckle as you circle your arms around his, "Oh, the best ones. Your Gryffindors ass is so not invited though."

"Well at least I do have a lovely one, don't I?"

"Oh shut it, Potter!"

——————————————————————————

Another storm of commotion is coursing through Hogwarts. A lot has played it off as a mere prank. James grins at the thought of it. He has only you on his mind lately, cherishing the bits of conversation you and him had.

He's on his way to charms class this morning, one that inconveniently does not have you in it, he checked. He checked your schedule last night sneaking through administration with the invisibility cloak.

Moony and Pads by his side as usual. Sirius seems to still haven't caught wind of it, his hair tousled from a good sleep. Apparently he was up all night helping Remus solve a 10k piece magic puzzle.

Won't be long with how loud the students are gossiping though. James let out a coherent sighs. He had an amount of grins with knowing looks from a couple male students and even a pat on the back by a random Slytherin, "Alright, what is going on?" Remus breaks first. Stopping the two boys right before the class door.

James crackles a laugh, "What's going on? Nothing's going on, mate! What?" Moony lets out a drawled scowl on him, one he makes when he pieces that they're in some kind of trouble, "Why is everybody on Hogwarts up your pants then, Prongs?!"

Sirius yawns as he hugs James by the side to lean his head on him, "Yeah... Saw that too even if my eyes were closed the entire walk. You can tell us mate, come on," He does notice the lack of scarf on his mate's neck though, none in this rapidly chilly morning? "Prongsie, where's your scarf? I could really use a pillow here–"

"Oh! Thank Merlin! One second late and I would've thrown this in the bin. Here, take this off me," There you are with James Potter red and yellow scarf on your hands, just coming out the door. All three boys were quite startled, "What? Wait. This isn't your class," said James. His eyes land on the presence of a Slytherin scarf wrapping your neck. James wishes he could take that one instead.

"Yeah... I'm sort of risking being late to Dark Arts for this but I can't take the whispering anymore. I might square the next person who even looks at me!" You told him, your grip on his scarf tightens and James wishes the fabric would stretch upon your nails.

Sirius is well awake now, his bagged eyes darting between you and James as if you're both insane, "Hold–Hold on! What is this? What is happening, Why do you have James's scarf?" He cuts, going between you and James to put a distance and blocks James view. Remus gives James a 'he did warned you, mate' face at the side.

James on the other hand, in too much of a thrill of seeing you this early in the morning, "You could also just admit ya didn't want me to get cold, love. Thanks for the thought there," He said almost shouting as he stands on his tips to try and see you from above Sirius's head.

You let out an annoyed grunt, "Ugh I don't have time for this. Here Siri, give this to that stupid friend of yours. I'd like to keep my Dark Arts seat next to Cissy and Malfoy's been eyeing it like the vulture he is," You throw James's scarf to your cousin's head not caring if it covers his vision, it earns a few chuckles from nearby students. He trashes to take it off and looks at you in betrayal.

You're about to run off to Dark Arts and leave your cousin and his foolish mates when your feet stop and turn you back, "If you still want that date to happen. Expect my owl, Potter. She's a snow named Emerald."

"Oh and it is lovely to meet you, Remus. Do take care of my sod cousin and my idiot boyfriend. Make sure they're out of trouble," You smiled sincerely at Remus, you actually do admire him a little. You love dark arts and your professor rants and rants about Remus's talents.

Remus seems taken aback, but that would make the three of them. You left after he reciprocated your smile and responded with a polite, "You too, (Y/N)."

And as such, you scurried off in a rush to go shoo away Lucius Malfoy from your seat and save Narcissa. Leaving behind a bewildered Remus, an angered Sirius, and a lovestruck James.

James keeps his eyes on you until you turn the corridor, a stupidly huge smile stays on his lips. He turns to find the reality of Sirius's wrath upon him. Remus is quite literally holding back Sirius with his whole body, it's quite an advantageous turn of events that Sirius hasn't had his proper sleep yet.

"Boyfriend! Boyfriend?! When did you even– How is this— Let me go, Moony! He's going to have an earful!"

He definitely will get that earful later. James grins an apologetic smile at Remus as he picks up his scarf that fell to the ground. He could already smell the sweet of your scent from a distance.

Remus lets out a huffed noise, "You really do always get what you want don't you?"

James doesn't reply. He wraps his own scarf on his neck, embracing the warmth it does to his skin. Your scent crashes onto him like tidal waves. A tint of rose blooms on the pale of his cheeks.

He smiles faintly at the open skies over the hall window. He wishes for an owl he hadn't even met for safe travels.

[useless-catalanfacts]

Happy 600th birthday! Per molts anys!

Giants are one of the most iconic figures in Catalan culture. Each town, city, or neighbourhood has their own couple of giant hollow figures that usually represent the mythical founders of the town or characters from local legends. People join the group to carry them and make them spin and dance on the streets on the days of local festivities, to the sound of live traditional Catalan festive music.

Giants don't exist only in Catalan culture, they're also present in other parts of Western Europe like Belgium, France, Portugal, Sicily, Southern Italy, the Basque Country, and some parts of Aragon and Castilla (Spain).

But this year, we are celebrating: the earliest ever written document anywhere in the world that mentions a giant figure dates from 1424 and talks about the Barcelona giants that danced in the Corpus festivity. This assures us that giants have been part of Barcelona's festivities for at least 600 years. Then, the giants were King David and the Giant (characters from the Bible), but with time they changed a bit and by the 1500s they were a king and a queen, who came to be identified with the king James I and the queen Violant of Hungary, the most iconic and important monarchs in Catalan history.

However, since they symbolise people from Catalan history, the giants were repressed by the Spanish fascist dictatorships of Primo de Rivera and Francisco Franco. These regimes had the aim of exterminating Catalan culture. They banned and persecuted the Catalan language and identity and many cultural celebrations of Catalan people, such as banning some songs and holidays. For this reason, the giants were forced to be renamed Isabella and Ferdinand and pretend like they represented the Catholic Kings, two key figures of Spanish history. When the dictatorship ended, they became Jaume I and Violant again.

The figures of the Barcelona city giants used nowadays aren't the same ones as 600 years ago, of course. The figures get copied into new ones when it's necessary. The ones used now were made in 1991 copying the previous figures, made in 1921.

Giants are adored by kids, and the Barcelona city male giant (gegant de la Ciutat) and the giant from Santa Maria del Pi parish of Barcelona (gegant del Pi) are also the main characters of one of the most popular traditional children's songs in Catalonia.

We love to see them continue being as popular as ever. Yesterday, they celebrated their anniversary with a meeting of giants from all the neighbourhoods of Barcelona and well as from other cities and towns. More than 600 giants gathered in Barcelona to dance together for the Barcelona city giants anniversary!

[adekalyn]

*Professor McGonagall storming into the boys room at 2 in the morning*

McGonagall: WHAT’S ALL THE RUCKUS?! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE ASLEEP!

McGonagall: And what’s with all the feathers?! Are you tearing up your pillows?!

James: It was incredible, Professor! A herd of ducks flew in the window and molted! They left when they heard you coming! Honest!

*After Professor McGonagall leaves*

Remus: Nice alibi frizzletop! Detention for a week!

Sirius: You want another pillow across the kisser? I didn’t hear you offer any brainstorms!

[marcmarcmomarc]

Once Upon a Lamp - list of characters

In honor of Once Upon a Studio turning one year old

EXT. THE STEVE JOBS BUILDING - EARLY EVENING

The Adventures of André and Wally B.

André

Wally B.

Luxo Jr.

Luxo Jr.

Luxo Sr.

Red’s Dream

Lumpy

Red

Tin Toy

Tinny

Gumbo

Flip ‘n Beth

Ace

Clocky

Spot

Zoo Train

Chrome Dome

Rallye Guy

Fire Hydrant

Helicopter Sheep

Toypot

Frodo

Bouncy

Eben’s Car

Les

RenderMan

Knick Knack

Knick

Sunny Miami

Sunny Florida

Sunny Egypt

Sunny Jamaica

Sunny Palm Springs

Sunny Israel

Surf Death Valley

Sunny Atlantis

Toy Story (Toys)

Woody

Buzz Lightyear

Jessie

Mr. Potato Head

Slinky Dog

Rex

Hamm

Bo Peep

Mrs. Potato Head

Bullseye

Mr. Pricklepants

Dolly

Trixie

Buttercup

Chuckles

Stinky Pete

Barbie

Ken

Lots-o-Huggin’ Bear

Big Baby

Twitch

Stretch

Chunk

Sparks

Chatter Telephone

Bookworm

Peas-in-a-Pod

Forky

Giggle McDimples

Ducky

Bunny

Duke Caboom

Gabby Gabby

The Dummies

Billy, Goat, and Gruff

Toy Story (Human side)

Andy Davis

Mrs. Davis

Molly Davis

Sid Phillips

Hannah Phillips

Bonnie Anderson

Bonnie’s Mom

Bonnie’s Dad

Buster

Scud

Geri’s Game

Geri

A Bug’s Life

Flik

Hopper

Princess Atta

Princess Dot

The Queen

Molt

Slim

Heimlich

Francis

Manny

Gypsy

Rosie

Tuck

Roll

P.T. Flea

Dim

Mr. Soil

Dr. Flora

Thorny

Cornelius

Thumper

Aphie

For the Birds

Bluebird Flock

Gawky Bird

Buzz Lightyear of Star Command

Commander Nebula

Mira Nova

XR

Booster Sinclair Munchapper

Warp Darkmatter

Gravitina

N0S-4-A2

XL

Monsters, Inc.

James P. Sullivan

Mike Wazowski

Boo

Celia Mae

Randall Boggs

Henry J. Waternoose

Johnny Worthington

Scott “Squishy” Squibbles

Don Carlton

Terri and Terry Perry

Art

Tylor Tuskman

Val Little

Fritz

Katherine “Cutter” Sterns

Duncan P. Anderson

Roz

Yeti

Jeff Fungus

Banana Bread

Roger Rogers

Suzy “Sunny” Sunshine

Finding Nemo

Marlin

Dory

Nemo

Hank

Boundin’

Jackalope

Lamb

The Incredibles

Bob Parr

Helen Parr

Violet Parr

Dashiell Parr

Jack-Jack Parr

Lucius Best

Edna Mode (E)

Buddy Pine

Winston Deavor

Evelyn Deavor

Mirage

Rick Dicker

Voyd

One Man Band

Bass

Treble

Tippy

THX

Tex

Cars

Lightning McQueen

Tow Mater

Cruz Ramirez

Lifted

Stu

Mr. B

Ratatouille

Remy

Alfredo Linguini

Chef Skinner

Colette Tatou

Django

Emile

Anton Ego

Presto

Presto DiGiotagione

Alec Azam

WALL-E

WALL-E

EVE

Captain B. McCrea

John

Mary

M-O

GO-4

The Reject Robots

Hal the Cockroach

Partly Cloudy

Gus

Peck

Up

Carl Fredricksen

Russell

Dug

Charles Muntz

Alpha

Beta

Gamma

Kevin

Kevin’s Babies

Day & Night

Day

Night

La Luna

Bambino

Papà

Nonno

Brave

Merida

Elinor

Fergus

Hamish

Hupert

Harris

Fergus’ Dogs

Angus

The Witch

Maudie

Lord MacGuffin

Lord Macintosh

Lord Dingwall

Young MacGuffin

Young Macintosh

Wee Dingwall

The Witch’s Crow

Conan the Clan Dingwall Hunk

The Blue Umbrella

Blue

Red

Lava

Uku

Lele

Inside Out (Mindscape)

Joy

Sadness

Anger

Fear

Disgust

Anxiety

Envy

Ennui

Embarrassment

Nostalgia

Paula Persimmon

Xeni

Jean Dewberry

Janelle Johnson

Teen Riley

Rainbow Unicorn

Melatonin

Inside Out (Humans)

Riley Andersen

Jill Andersen

Bill Andersen

Grace Hsieh

Bree Young

Valentina Ortiz

Dani

Ally

Sofia

Nour

Coach Roberts

Sanjay’s Super Team

Sanjay

Sanjay’s Father

Hanuman

Durga

Vishnu

The Good Dinosaur

Arlo

Spot

Henry

Ida

Buck

Libby

Nash

Ramsey

Butch

Thunderclap

Downpour

Coldfront

Frostbite

Windgust

Bubbha

Lurleane

Pervis

Earl

Forrest Woodbush

Fury

Destructor

Dream Crusher

Debbie

Piper

Piper

Lou

Lou

J.J.

Coco (Land of the Living)

Miguel Rivera

Dante

Abuelita Elena Rivera

Enrique Rivera (Papá)

Luisa Rivera (Mamá)

Tío Berto Rivera

Tía Carmen Rivera

Tía Gloria Rivera

Abuelito Franco Rivera

Abel Rivera

Rosa Rivera

Socorro Rivera

Benny Rivera

Manny Rivera

Coco (Land of the Dead)

Papá Héctor Rivera

Ernesto de la Cruz

Mamá Imelda Rivera

Pepita

Mamá Coco Rivera

Papá Julio Rivera

Tía Rosita Rivera

Tía Victoria Rivera

Tío Óscar Rivera

Tío Felipe Rivera

Bao

Mom

Son

Dad

Cindy

Purl

Purl

Lacy

Office Bros.

Office Ladies

Kitbull

Kitbull

Dog

Smash and Grab

Smash

Grab

Float

Father

Son

Wind

Ellis

Ellis’ Grandma

Onward

Ian Lightfoot

Barley Lightfoot

Laurel Lightfoot

Corey

Colt Bronco

Blazey

Burrow

Rabbit

Badger Landlord

The Rabbit’s Neighbors

Soul (Living World)

Joe Gardener

Libba Gardener

Dez

Dorothea Williams

Curley Baker

Miho Akage

Connie

Melba

Lulu

Soul (The Great Before)

22

Moonwind

Terry

Counselor Jerry A

Counselor Jerry B

Loop

Renee

Marcus

Out

Greg

Jim

Manuel

Greg’s Parents

Gigi

Luca

Luca Paguro

Alberto Scorfano

Giulia Marcovaldo

Ercole Visconti

Massimo Marcovaldo

Daniela Paguro

Lorenzo Paguro

Grandma Libera Paguro

Ciccio

Guido

Machiavelli

Nona

Nona

Renee

Twenty-Something

Gia

Nicole

Turning Red

Meilin Lee

Ming Lee

Miriam Mendelsohn

Abby Park

Priya Mangal

Tyler Nguyen-Baker

Jin Lee

Grandma Wu Lee

Auntie Chen

Lily

Helen

Auntie Ping

Mr. Gao

4*Town

Lightyear

Izzy Hawthorne

Sox

Mo Morrison

Darby Steel

Commander Cal Burnside

Alisha Hawthorne

Kiko Hawthorne

Elemental

Ember Lumen

Wade Ripple

Bernie Lumen

Cinder Lumen

Gale Cumulus

Fern Grouchwood

Clod

Brook Ripple

Harold Ripple

Alan Ripple

Lake Ripple

Eddy Ripple

Marco Ripple

Polo Ripple

Ghibli

Self

Self

Win or Lose

Coach Dan

Softball Team

Frank

Lena

Elio

Elio Solis

Ambassador Questa

Ambassador Grigon

Olga Solis

Glordon

OOOOO

Ambassador Helix

Ambassador Tegman

Ambassador Turais

Hoppers

Mabel

King George

[cris173]

Mentre facevano l'amore, lei glielo aveva bisbigliato, riassumendo i propri pensieri in un'unica frase: "Robert, sei così potente da farmi paura". Lui era fisicamente potente, ma usava la sua forza con cautela. E in ogni caso, c'era molto di più. Il sesso era solo un aspetto. Dal momento in cui l'aveva conosciuto, lei aveva vissuto nell'aspettativa - nella possibilità, perlomeno - di un'esperienza piacevole, che interrompesse finalmente una routine di ossessionante monotonia. Non aveva tenuto conto della sua stupefacente potenza. Era come se lui avesse preso possesso di lei, a tutti i livelli. Ed era una scoperta inquietante. Prima, neppure per un attimo aveva dubitato che una parte del suo essere avrebbe mantenuto il distacco da qualunque cosa lei e Robert Kinkaid potessero fare insieme, la parte che apparteneva alla sua famiglia e alla vita nella Madison County. Ma lui aveva spazzato via tutto. Avrebbe dovuto capirlo quando lo aveva visto scendere dal furgone per chiederle indicazioni. Le aveva ricordato uno sciamano, e quella prima impressione si era rivelata corretta. Facevano l'amore per un'ora, forse più, poi lui si staccava lentamente e guardandola accendeva una sigaretta per entrambi. A volte si accontentava di sdraiarsi al suo fianco, senza smettere mai di accarezzarla. Poi tornava ad affondare dentro di lei, sussurrandole parole dolci all'orecchio mentre la prendeva, baciandola tra una frase e l'altra, tra una parola e l'altra, le braccia intorno alla sua vita, attirandola a sé e sprofondando in lei. E allora lei cominciava a ripiegarsi su se stessa, a respirare più in fretta, e si lasciava trasportare là dove lui abitava, e abitava in luoghi strani, tormentati, molto addietro nelle ramificazioni della logica di Darwin. Con il viso sepolto contro la spalla di lui, le loro epidermidi a contatto, percepiva il profumo di fuochi di legna e di fiumi, sentiva i treni che lasciavano sferragliando stazioni invernali di molte notti addietro, vedeva viaggiatori ammantati di nero che avanzavano lungo fiumi gelati e pascoli estivi, diretti alla fine di tutte le cose. Il leopardo infuriava sopra di lei, ancora e ancora, come il vento incessante sulla prateria, e lei fremeva, travolta dal suo slancio, cavalcava quel vento come una vergine del tempio che avanza verso le fiamme miti e compiacenti che delimitano la dolce curva dell'oblio. E bisbigliava piano, senza fiato: "Oh, Robert... Robert... mi sto perdendo". Lei, che da anni non aveva più un orgasmo, ne ebbe una lunga serie con quella strana creatura che era per metà uomo e per metà qualcosa di completamente diverso. Si stupì di lui e della sua resistenza, ed egli le disse che poteva spingersi in quei luoghi lontani con il corpo come con la mente, e che gli orgasmi della mente avevano una loro qualità distintiva.

(Robert James Waller, "I ponti di Madison County")

[diceriadelluntore]

Storia Di Musica #344 - The Pogues, Poguetry In Motion, 1986

Nel 1976 la rivista Sounds (che era una delle tre meravigliose riviste musicali inglesi, con il Melody Maker e il New Musical Express, e dalle cui ceneri nascerà Kerrang!) onora il cantante della band di oggi con un titolo, Face Of The Year, a quel viso grottesco, sdentato, che nascondeva un genio tanto bizzarro quanto straordinario. Shane MacGowan è un irlandese nato nel Kent, nel 1957, ed è un giovane punk scorbutico e ribelle quando fonda, a 19 anni nel 1976, la sua prima band: i Nipple Erectors, con due suoi amici, Shane Bradley e Adrian Thrills (che guarda caso farà più tardi il giornalista per il NME). Visto il nome (e questa sua verve creativa lo avrà anche per il gruppo che lo farà diventare un personaggio), lo abbreviano in Nips, il trio incide un paio di singolo e un disco, Only At The End Of The Beginning (1980) che non si ricorda nessuno. La band si scioglie, ma lui è deciso a continuare. Abbandona la ferocia del rock punk e si dedica ad una riscoperta del folk, del rockabilly, del country, a cui però non disdegna di arricchire caustici testi. Nel 1983 forma una nuova band, che all'inizio suona in piccoli pub o come buskers band nelle strade principali. Dopo un po' di fiducia, decidono di provarci professionalmente: MacGowan alla voce, Jem Finer al banjo e altri strumenti a corda, Spider Stacey al tin whistle, il flauto irlandese, Andrew Ranken alla batteria e James Fearnley, polistrumentista. Per mantenere quella verve di cui sopra, chiama il gruppo in gaelico irlandese, Pogue Ma Hone, e con questo nome pubblicano un singolo nel 1984, The Dark Streets Of London / The Band Played Waltzing Mathilda, lanciato su scala nazionale. Ma lo scandalo avviene quando si scopre che quel nome vuol dire "Baciami Il Culo", tanto che si vira meno maliziosamente su The Pogues. Si aggiunge la bassista Rocky "Cait" O'Riordan, e con questa formazione pubblicano il primo disco, Red Roses For Me (1984), che è una versione graffiante e velenosa della musica popolare irlandese e scozzese. La critica più ortodossa ne è sconvolta (famoso il commento di un critico "sembrano un branco di ubriachi di un pub irlandese lasciati liberi in studio") ma quel suono grezzo, ma che ha radici antichi, la voce impastata e le immagini sognanti di MacGowan iniziano ad avere successo. Se ne accorge Elvis Costello, che chiamato prima come produttore per un singolo, si accorge che la band da il meglio di sè senza nessuna "sovraproduzione" e si convince a produrre il primo, storico album dei Pogues: il titolo Rum Sodomy & The Lesh (del 1985, frase che è attribuita a Winston Churchill in ricordo della sua esperienza nella Marina) fu scelto da Andrew Ranken "come il riassunto della nostra vita come band". In copertina La Zattera della Medusa di Theodore Géricault, con il fotomontaggio dei volti dei nostri sulla zattera. Il disco è un successo, il gruppo diventa un caso mediatico e la loro fama di personaggi bizzarri ai cui concerti può succedere di tutto inizia a spandersi ovunque. Costello è ancora con loro in Studio per un nuovo disco, e iniziano a scrivere molte cose. In queste sessioni nasce l'Ep di oggi, che doveva essere l'embrione del disco futuro ma successivi disguidi e screzi tra band e produttore lasciarono questi brani (e un altro, in seguito leggendario) pubblicati come EP.

Poguetry In Motion è un Ep di 4 brani, quattro gioielli Pogues che racchiudono la loro anima gioiosa e decadente, tra melanconia e sprazzi di euforia. London Girl è un rockabilly frizzante, ma sono gli altri tre brani davvero notevoli: Body Of An American è diventata famosa ultimamente per la presenza, quasi fissa, nella serie Tv The Wire della canzone durante i funerali dei poliziotti. Tra l'altro è storica una interpretazione di questo brano durante un Saturday Night Live del 1990, giorno di San Patrizio: MacGowan, visibilmente alticcio, con una sigaretta tra le labbra ne canta una versione strascicata e assurda. Planxty Noel Hill è "dedicata" al cantante di folk irlandese Noel Hill, che fu uno dei più critici contro il loro "celtic folk rock", definendolo una sorta di aborto della musica tradizionale. Ma la canzone più famosa, e in seguito loro classico, è Rainy Night In Soho: deliziosa, dolente e ideal-tipo delle loro future ballate dolorose, fu pubblicata in due versioni, una con un intermezzo di oboe e l'altra di tromba, più famosa.

In quelle sessioni con Costello, si registrò anche un altro brano, il più famoso dei Pogues: Fairytale Of New York fu registrata con O'Riodan come seconda voce, ma fu riscritta e re-registrata molte volte fino alla versione definitiva con Kirsty MacColl che appare nel loro disco successivo, If I Should Fall From Grace With God, che li consacra al successo internazionale. Un personaggio e una band che hanno lasciato un piccolo ma profondo segno, come dimostra il collettivo affetto che la morte precoce di MacGowan, nel Novembre del 2023, ha suscitato in tutto il mondo della musica.

[gregor-samsung]

" Un pensiero o idea di trasferimento [del popolo palestinese risale] ai primi tempi del movimento sionista, come mostrerebbe un'annotazione del diario di Theodor Herzl: «Dobbiamo espropriare con delicatezza. […] Cercheremo di indurre la popolazione in miseria ad attraversare il confine procurandole un'occupazione nei paesi di transito; negandogliela, però, nel nostro. […] Il processo di espropriazione e di sgombero dei poveri deve avvenire con discrezione e circospezione.»¹ A distanza di quarant'anni, Ben-Gurion ribadiva il concetto: «Il trasferimento di popolazione è già avvenuto nella valle di Jezreel, nella piana del Sharon e in altri luoghi. Siete a conoscenza del lavoro del Fondo nazionale ebraico in proposito. Ora occorre realizzare un trasferimento di ben altre dimensioni.»² Durante la guerra del 1948, Ben-Gurion mise in pratica le sue raccomandazioni. In una campagna nota come "Operazione Hiram" fu realizzato un trasferimento indiscriminato di popolazione dalla Galilea. Durante questa campagna, ha scritto Morris, le forze armate sioniste eseguirono "un numero insolitamente elevato di esecuzioni di popolazione civile contro muri o nei pressi di un pozzo con notevole metodicità". Molto scrupolosamente, Morris cita ventiquattro episodi di terrorismo o di massacro, di cui i più efferati ebbero luogo a Saliha (78 uccisi), Lod (250), Dawayima (centinaia) e, ovviamente, nel già citato villaggio di Deir Yassin. Alcuni di questi massacri furono probabilmente perpetrati per ragioni tattiche: a Dawayima, nei pressi di Hebron, per esempio, "una colonna entrò nel villaggio sparando all'impazzata e uccise qualsiasi cosa si muovesse". Altri massacri rispondevano, invece, all'intento strategico di terrorizzare la popolazione affinché fuggisse. Questi massacri non furono certo tenuti nascosti dalla popolazione palestinese. Dopotutto, come ebbe a dire una volta Lenin, l'intento del terrorismo è terrorizzare. (Morris, ricordiamo per inciso, ha giustificato i sionisti richiamandosi alla logica del ben noto aforisma di Lenin: "Per fare la frittata occorre rompere le uova").

Secondo un testimone oculare di Deir Yassin: «Deir Yassin era un villaggio che fu attaccato dagli israeliani, o dai sionisti, il 9 aprile 1948. […] Incontrerà delle persone che le diranno: "Questo è quello che successe a Deir Yassin", perché loro erano là. Ho incontrato una donna che mi ha detto che le portarono suo figlio e le dissero di prenderlo in grembo e poi lo uccisero. Usavano coltelli, baionette. Un macello; non un combattimento. Non c'era nessuno da combattere. Erano prevalentemente donne e bambini. Molte, moltissime persone furono massacrate in quel villaggio. Questo massacro terrorizzò l'intera Palestina. Tutti parlavano del massacro di Deir Yassin.» Complessivamente, furono cancellati oltre cinquecento villaggi palestinesi. La maggior parte dei palestinesi che fuggì fini in Cisgiordania, nella striscia di Gaza, nei paesi arabi limitrofi. Quelli con un certo grado di istruzione, con specializzazioni o disponibilità economica cercarono di rifarsi una vita meglio che poterono, talvolta in luoghi lontani come il Golfo persico, l'Europa, le Americhe. Quelli che non furono altrettanto fortunati finirono nei campi profughi, organizzati, inizialmente, dallo United Nations Releif for Palestine (Unrp). "

¹ B. MORRIS, Revisiting the Palestinian Exodus of 1948, in E. L. ROGAN e A. SHLAIM (a cura di), The War of Palestine, Rewriting the History of 1948, Cambridge University Press, Cambridge, 2001, p. 41 [trad. it. La guerra per la Palestina: riscrivere la storia del 1948, Il Ponte, Bologna, 2004]. ² Ibidem, p. 43.

---------

James L. Gelvin, Il conflitto israelo-palestinese. Cent'anni di guerra, traduzione di Piero Arlorio, Einaudi (collana Piccola Biblioteca Einaudi n° 357), 2007¹; pp. 179-181.

[Edizione originale: The Israel-Palestine Conflict, Cambridge University Press, 2005]

[solosepensi]

“Molte persone credono di pensare, ma in realtà stanno solo riorganizzando i loro pregiudizi.”

William James

[sea-squeaker]

Okay so, instead of practicing German like I should be(I like to test duo's patience) I'm gonna rant about Luke and my hcs for him. Trust me I have tons.

Okay so first of all, for looks I have this card edit I did!!

Asmo did his nails for him, he likes to collect cute hair clips. Much like how he collects cute bandaids ingame:D

How I think his outfit works!! Okay so we all know he has wings and that once got me thinking on how exactly his outfit works with his wings. I'm not happy with just saying "it's magic ig" bcs I need a plausible answer or I'll go insane. Okay anyways, his shirt situation comes in two layers, the shirt part then the cape shoulder thing he's got going on. The shirt has a backless panel to it and is more like a sweater than a shirt, it buttons up in the back so he's able to put it on with his wings out. The shoulder thingy with the tassels is all together, minus the neck tie thing tho. I'll just leave the rest of the explaining to the diagram I tried to sketch up, I really hope it explains things well enough!!

So adding onto this ramble a lil bit, trust me it relates to Luke completely. I think the angels are like birds and do act a bit bird like. Luke has the wings of an albino barbary dove (basically just a white dove). However, due to him being a child, he's got the wings of a baby bird, so he's a lil angel nestling and I just think that's precious. Another thing on just angels, I believe that they do molt and their wings require preening by hand. Usually, juvenile angels are assisted with this by their gaurdians. So this means Simeon does help out Luke with his preening. This also means alot of cleaning around purgatory hall during molting, tons and tons of feathers!! (Luke's feathers are soft and fluffy, Simeon's feathers are longer and course) I also believe Simeon to have the wings of a mourning dove.

So for Luke's music taste, I think part of it is influenced by Simeon, the other part by Levi. Allow me to explain the Levi part. Levi introduced Luke to WonderlandxShowtimes and he most certainly got hooked. His favorite WxS songs are Becoming Potatoes and Miracle Painting, he also enjoys other energeticsongs like that. I think Simeon would like more peaceful and warm songs. Specifically the song, Welcome Home, Son by Radical Face. So yeah Luke likes those types of songs aswell. One more thing he enjoys listening to is the James and the Giant Peach musical:]

Things that Luke would watch!! I think they consist of My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Bluey, Gravity Falls, and stuff like that!

Luke has a hard time sleeping without something to snuggle, he has a shiba inu plush that he sleeps with.

Luke really loves sea creatures!! I base this off of him wanting to visit the aquarium in his bday event. For his bday, Solomon got him a big encyclopedia on sea creatures and he was jumping with joy. He proceeded to not read a single other thing until he finished the sea creature book. His favorite sea creatures are blacktip reef sharks, moon jellyfish, sea angels, sea squirts, and sea bunnies:D

When Luke is very happy, he can often be seen jumping up and down, flapping his hands, bouncing on his toes, kicking his feet, etc. He is quite anxious when he can't find Simeon or is waiting for him to come back. He's like a dog waiting for his owner to come back from the grocery store in a way.

Thank you very much for reading these!! Have a Luke doodle:D

[uncharismatic-fauna]

A Day Out with Mayflies

requested by @selkiegemm

Mayflies are a globally distributed order of insects consisting of over 2,100 species. They can be found in nearly any environment, provided there is a source of clean freshwater; the only places that lack any species of mayfly are the Arctic and Antarctic. The name of the mayfly order, Ephemeroptera, comes from a Greek word that means 'living for a day', which is appropriate given the group's famous lifespan.

All mayfly species begin their lives as nymphs, which hatch from eggs laid in fresh, usually slow moving water. These nymphs, also known as niads, are completely aquatic. Some species swim freely in the water; these species often lack gills and absorb oxygen directly through their exoskeleton. Other species do have frill-like gills, and burrow under rocks and logs, or directly into the mud. Most nymphs feed on detritus, algae, and vegetation, but a few are carnivorous and will hunt the larvae of other insects. Mayfly niads are also important sources of food for many other insects, fish, and amphibians.

The time a mayfly spends as a nymph largely depends on the species; some remain this way for only a few weeks, while others will live for up to three years as niads. When the time has come to grow up, the nymph will molt into the first of their two adult forms: the subimago. This form has a pair of wings, though they are rudimentary. At this stage, the gut also empties itself of organs and instead fills with air to bring the mayfly to the water's surface. They can fly as subimagos, albeit not very well; once they've fully molted, the new adult mayfly will leave the water to find a safe place for one last transformation. This is particularly tricky, as subimagos are a favorite food for many fish, amphibians, birds, and reptiles.

About 24 to 48 hours after emerging as a subimago, mayflies moult into their final form, the imago. This stage has much larger wings, which adults immedietly use to find a mate. Males swarm over open water in mating dances. When a male finds a female, he flies beneath her and clasps her abdomen to inseminate her. Afterwards, she lays between 400 and 3000 eggs in the nearest source of freshwater. The imago stage is the shortest of a mayfly's life; most live only a few days, assuming they are not caught by predators. The females of one species, Dolania americana, only live for five minutes after emerging from the subimago stage.

While there is a wide variation in the appearance of Ephemeroptera species, the general body structure is largely consistent. Nymphs are generally elongated, with compound eyes and an abdomen consisting of 10 segments. The imago adult stage has clear wings, short antennae, and distinct sensory organs known as cerci, which often resembles a pair of antennae emerging from the abdomen. Like antennae, these cerci are used to as sensory organs, as well as a defense mechanism in some species.

Conservation status: There is only one species of mayfly listed as Endangered by the IUCN: the large blue lake mayfly (Tasmanophlebi lacuscoerulei). This species is threatened by habitat loss; however many species of mayfly are sensitive to pollution, to the point where their presence can act as indicators of ecosystem health.

If you like what I do, consider leaving a tip or buying me a ko-fi!

Photos

Giant burrowing mayfly (Hexagenia limbata) by Miles Zhang

Mayfly larvae (Ameletopsis perscitus) by Jon Sullivan

Green drake mayfly (Ephemera danica) by James Owen

Drake Mackerel (Ephemera vulgata) by Felix Reigel via iNaturalist

[saveregblackordie0726]

Sombre et Pur'

Chapter 7

Sixth Year – 1976 - September 

Breakfast the next morning in the Great Hall was its usual symphony of clanging plates, excited chatter, and the occasional squawk of an overeager owl. It was a comforting sort of chaos, a familiar pattern amidst the shifting sands of uncertainty. Lily and I claimed our usual spot near the corner of the Gryffindor table, where the sunlight streamed through the high windows casting a warm glow over chipped wooden tabletops and stacks of well-worn books. 

As we dug into plates of porridge and fresh fruit, conversation flowed between us. She recounted her Head meeting with James in careful whispers, her concern over a group of rambunctious third-years showing an alarming aptitude for jinxes far beyond their skill level. I decided not to comment on the way her smile widened when she mentioned James and his aptitude for empathy with the youngsters. I filled her in on the details of my Quidditch tryout, my voice bubbling with a nervous energy about my chances of clinching a Beater spot on the Hufflepuff team. As always, our shared experiences, both the mundane and the quietly extraordinary, created an invisible bond between us. 

Suddenly, a flurry of feathers and excited hoots descended upon the Hall. The daily mail had arrived. Zephyr, my sleek snowy owl with her distinctive light brown mask, swooped down effortlessly beside me. She dropped a thick parchment envelope into my lap before winging over to join the other owls vying for the leftover bits of toast.  

My gaze landed on another familiar owl, a plump barn owl with the unfortunate habit of molting feathers at the most inconvenient moments. Barnabus, Lily's owl, dropped The Daily Prophet onto the table with a rather unceremonious thump. The envelope Zephyr dropped in my lap bore my parents' familiar handwriting: neat, precise lettering that spoke of careful thought and quiet affection. A familiar pang of longing echoed through me. Being at Hogwarts, surrounded by magic and friendship, was a life I loved. Yet, there was always the lingering ache of missing the ordinary world; the smell of freshly mowed grass, the comforting jumble of mismatched furniture in our living room, and the warmth of my mum's smile as I walked through the front door.  

A flicker of excitement sparked within me. Letters from our parents were always a welcome break from the endless cycle of homework and Quidditch gossip. 

"Let's see what Mum and Dad are getting up to," Lily said, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. 

I scooted closer and slid the letter closer to her. With a shared look of anticipation, we broke the wax seal. Before I could even begin to read, a sense of foreboding crept up my spine. My mother's normally neat script was shaky, the words filled with a rushed urgency that set my pulse racing. 

My eyes skimmed the words, my stomach clenching with each line. Petunia, our older sister, a perpetual thorn in our side, was getting married. There were gushing descriptions of the engagement ring ("A rather ostentatious diamond, darling, but your sister seems pleased."), worries about the cost of catering ("Such a strain on finances in these troubling times!"), and a lengthy diatribe about Petunia's fiancé ("A bit thick around the middle, but a respectable accountant!"). 

Lily choked back a snort of laughter. "Thick around the middle? Oh, Clem, can you imagine Petunia stuck with a man who has pudgy fingers?" 

My own giggle bubbled over, breaking the tension. We spent the next few minutes dissolving into laughter, conjuring up ridiculous images of Petunia and her round-faced suitor. It was a balm, a momentary respite from the weight of the world that always seemed to press down a little heavier lately. 

Just as our giggles subsided, my eyes scanned the front page of The Daily Prophet. The familiar bold headline screamed in silent accusation. MUGGLE FAMILY ATTACKED – DARK MARK LINGERS OVER SCENE. My laughter died in my throat. The image of Petunia's pudgy-fingered fiancé dissolved, replaced by a visceral sense of fear. 

With a trembling hand, I reached for the Prophet. The story was short, brutal. A family of five, just outside of London. No connection to the Wizarding world, simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. The victims were described as 'ordinary' – a label that made my stomach churn. There was nothing ordinary about the terror inflicted upon them, the lives senselessly cut short. 

Lily's hand covered mine, her touch a lifeline amidst the icy fear that threatened to consume me. We shared a look that transcended words. It was a look that contained a shared history, the love of sisters, and the deepening dread about the darkness spreading its tendrils beyond the confines of Hogwarts and into the world we still clung to with a desperate hope. 

The warmth of the Great Hall faded. The smell of porridge turned faintly sour, and the boisterous chatter of the students felt muted and distant. My mind raced, a desperate search for answers that stubbornly refused to present themselves. Why had these people been targeted? Was it random violence or was there something the Ministry was keeping hidden? Were my parents – ordinary, wonderful, muggle parents – safe? 

I felt Lily shift beside me, her usually bright voice now edged with a quiet sort of fury. "Those monsters..." she whispered, "They're targeting anyone now. Squibs, muggles...anyone who doesn't fit their twisted vision." 

The anger burning within her mirrored my own. It was tempting to give in to the helplessness of it all, to let the fear and rage swallow me whole.  

The rest of the day passed in a blur of fragmented thoughts and a persistent, low-grade anxiety. My classes felt more like obstacles to overcome than sources of knowledge and growth. The words in my textbooks swam before my eyes, dissolving into meaningless ink blots. My mind relentlessly replayed the chilling details of the Daily Prophet article, the image of Petunia's smug fiancé dissolving into haunting visions of nameless, terrified victims. 

To make matters worse, the usually capricious autumn weather decided to bestow a stifling heatwave upon Hogwarts. In Herbology, the humid air in Greenhouse Three felt suffocating. Professor Sprout, with her perpetual good humor only slightly dampened by the sweat trickling down her temples, led us through a lesson on pruning particularly vicious Venomous Tentaculas. Each time a tendril twitched towards an unsuspecting classmate, a collective gasp echoed through the glass-domed greenhouse. My heart pounded at an unwelcome tempo, the fear of being seized by the oversized carnivorous plant a distracting mirror of my own real-world anxieties. 

Defense Against the Dark Arts was its usual chaotic affair. The classroom, cramped and dimly lit, seemed to radiate an energy that was part nervous apprehension, part misguided excitement. We shared this space with the Slytherins, their presence a constant reminder of the divide that was growing ever wider. 

I don't even remember the name of the professor teaching this year. It seemed that the DADA position was truly cursed, the revolving door of instructors a grim reminder of the lurking threat beyond our castle walls. The lesson, I dimly recalled, focused on defensive spells, a review of the various shield charms we'd learned the previous year. 

"Let's see how well you remember," our nameless professor had barked, her voice laced with a cynical sort of glee. "Today we duel!" 

A thrill would have raced through me under normal circumstances. I relished the opportunity to put theory into practice, to pit my skills against an opponent. The dueling platform offered a chance to shed, at least temporarily, the frustrations of the ordinary and step into a realm where magic was my weapon and my reflexes my shield. 

But today, the idea filled me with a sense of dull resignation. I watched as the professor scanned the assembled students. "Right then, who wants to be our first volunteers?" she called out. 

I wasn't alone in my reluctance. Usually, a handful of eager students would be jostling for a chance to gain a sliver of battlefield glory. The Slytherins, usually so quick to boast, remained silent. The weight of the past few months pressed down upon us, the threat of violence no longer a far-off news story, but an insidious poison seeping into our everyday lives. 

The professor, clearly undeterred by our collective silence, narrowed her eyes. "Miss Bones! Mr. Black! Up you get!" 

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. Emmaline Bones, one of the girls I shared my dorm with, was a known dueling prodigy. Tall and athletic, with cropped curly red hair and a gaze that could wither a lesser opponent, she was not someone to be underestimated. The fact that she was being paired with Regulus Black only served to ratchet up the tension in the room. 

They took their positions on opposite sides of the platform. Regulus stood tall, his movements fluid and deceptively calm. There was none of the cocky display that typically preceded bouts between my Gryffindor friends. Instead, he seemed to withdraw into himself, his face a mask of cool determination. 

The duel began. It was over almost as quickly as it started. Emmaline, to her credit, put up a good fight. She threw up a series of well-executed shield charms, each one glowing a vibrant blue as it deflected his initial barrage of spells. Yet, for every Protego she cast, Regulus countered with a simple disarming charm, his wand flicking with the lazy grace of a conductor leading an orchestra. 

Emmaline's shields shattered one by one. She shifted strategies, launching a series of offensive jinxes. He dodged each spell as effortlessly as a cat avoiding raindrops, his expression barely registering the assault. A particularly nasty stinging hex whizzed past his shoulder, and for just a moment, the barest flicker of a smile twitched the corner of his mouth.  

Was he… enjoying this? 

The duel ended not with a bang, but with a whimper. Emmaline, her defenses utterly compromised, let out a frustrated sigh. "It's no use," she muttered, lowering her wand. 

The professor looked almost disappointed by the lack of spectacle. "Again!" she commanded, but there was a hint of admiration in her voice when she glanced at Regulus. 

This time, it was even faster. Regulus barely moved, casting spells with such effortless precision that I could hardly identify them. Emmaline was driven back inexorably, her movements growing more desperate with each failed attempt to counter. Finally, with a flourish of his wand, Regulus disarmed her, her wand spinning out of reach and clattering to the stone floor. 

He offered her the barest of nods before stepping off the platform and disappearing into the sea of watching Slytherins. They greeted him with hushed whispers and subtle smirks of approval. While I knew, rationally, his skill should be a source of grudging admiration, all I felt was a gnawing sense of unease. 

He wasn't some Slytherin caricature, all bravado and cruelty. His spellwork was refined, elegant, and ruthlessly effective. As I watched, a troubling realization blossomed within me. This wasn't about schoolyard rivalry or even opposing houses; there was something fundamentally different about him, a darkness that lay not just in his ideology, but seeped into the way he moved, the way he wielded his magic. It left me chilled, and more unsettled than any encounter with a Venomous Tentacula could ever manage. 

Classes for the day finally ended with a dismal Charms lesson where my attempts at conjuring a teacup went horribly wrong, resulting in a pulsating, half-formed insect that had to be hastily vanished before it could escape. With a mixture of exhaustion and relief, I trudged towards the Quidditch pitch, my book bag bumping uncomfortably against my hip. The idea of chasing the fading sunlight on my broomstick held infinitely more appeal than another round of Divination homework. 

Sirius was already there, leaning against the goalpost with a bored frown. "Took you long enough," he grumbled. "I figured you'd been waylaid by a rogue teapot or something." 

I rolled my eyes. "Ha, ha. My charms are the stuff of legend, thanks for reminding me." 

His frown dissolved into a familiar grin as he tossed a spare broomstick in my direction. "Come on, let's burn off some of this frustration before dinner." 

Within moments, we were airborne. Sirius, with his reckless style, soared through the air like a comet, leaving a trail of laughter and the occasional expletive in his wake. His flying was all about instinct, adrenaline, and pushing the boundaries. I, on the other hand, had a more measured approach. I favored smooth turns and the exhilaration of finding the perfect balance between my broom and the shifting currents of wind. 

The open skies offered a much-needed respite from the constant hum of worry that had settled like a permanent fog in the back of my mind. As we chased each other through the clouds, laughter replaced anxiety, and the castle walls with their lurking shadows seemed miles away. Every dip, climb, and exhilarating spiral allowed me to shed a bit more of the tension that burdened me. 

Sirius, always the instigator, transformed our casual flight into an impromptu Quidditch match. He became the elusive Snitch, darting and weaving with impossible speed. I, in the role of overzealous Seeker, gave chase, cursing and grinning. 

Sometimes, with a shared glance, the game would dissolve. We'd fall in step, flying side-by-side, enjoying the easy camaraderie that the sky seemed to amplify. We talked about lessons (mostly bemoaning our shared dislike for Binns), Quidditch strategies, and the upcoming weekend trip to Hogsmeade (where we'd undoubtedly sneak some Butterbeers from the Three Broomsticks), but the biggest thing on his mind was always Remus.  

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the grounds, we finally headed back towards earth. My muscles twinged in pleasant protest, and a deep sense of contentment settled over me. Despite everything, there was still this – the simple joy of flying, the fierce loyalty of a friend who always had my back, and the knowledge that in this moment, we were just two teenagers who defied gravity with laughter as our soundtrack. 

Landing turned out to be a less graceful affair. Our broomsticks tangled awkwardly, nearly sending us tumbling headfirst into the soft grass. After a brief moment of flailing and swearing, we managed to regain our footing. It was an inelegant ending, but one that only made me grin wider. 

"Maybe not our finest landing," Sirius said breathlessly, his eyes alight with mischief. 

"You try flying after dodging a particularly enthusiastic Bludger," I retorted, returning his mischievous grin. 

We were still laughing as we made our way towards the castle, our broomsticks resting nonchalantly on our shoulders. That was when I saw them. 

Regulus and Barty Crouch Jr. were perched near the base of the bell tower, engaged in a quiet conversation. I felt a flare of annoyance, my hard-earned good mood threatened by their unwelcome presence. Sirius, oblivious to the figures a few meters ahead, began recounting an animated tale about a prank gone wrong that involved a particularly gullible first-year and a levitating dung bomb. 

His voice faltered mid-sentence as he caught sight of our Slytherin audience. The playfulness in his eyes was replaced by a stormy sort of defiance. Just as I thought he might instigate yet another round of verbal sparring, he surprised me. 

With an exaggerated yawn, Sirius draped an arm over my shoulders. "Come on, Evans, let's go find Marlene. I bet she's in the kitchens sweet-talking the house elves into giving her a sneak peek of dessert." 

His touch was surprisingly light, yet undeniably possessive. I shot him a perplexed look, but played along. "Sounds like a plan," I said, mustering a teasing grin. "Maybe you can even charm them into slipping you a treacle tart or two." 

A flicker of surprise, maybe even annoyance, crossed Regulus's face. Barty smirked, his reptilian gaze lingering a moment too long on my flushed cheeks. 

As we walked past the pair of Slytherins, I could feel Regulus's eyes burning into my back. It wasn't the blatant sneer of his usual animosity, but something else – a scrutiny that left me unsettled. The touch of Sirius's arm, meant to be reassuring and a wordless assertion of alliance, suddenly felt stifling. 

Once we were out of earshot, I extricated myself from his loose grip. "He's especially skeevy this year," I said cautiously, watching his reaction. 

Sirius nodded, his expression overcast. "His wardrobe alone is concerning enough," he joked, a hint of forced lightness in his voice. 

I pushed away from him, a laugh bubbling up despite my unease. "I'm serious, Pads! You should hear what people are saying about him. It's vile." 

We reached the kitchens, the familiar tickle of the pear granting us entry. The vast room hummed with activity. House elves flitted about, their high-pitched voices creating a chorus against the clanging of pots and pans. The smell of roasting chicken and cinnamon filled the air, a tantalizing contrast to the lingering chill of the autumn evening. Long tables were laden with an abundance of food, and shimmering casks of pumpkin juice lined the walls. 

Sirius leaned against one of the tables, his usual bravado replaced by a sort of tired resignation. "Like what, Evans? That he's some boogeyman? Beware of the big, bad Slytherin who lurks in the dark?" He laughed, but the sound was hollow, echoing the emptiness I felt in the pit of my stomach. 

"More like he's joined them," I said, the lightness forced, the truth ringing harsh despite my sarcastic tone. "That he brags about it." 

Sirius sighed, the sound laden with a weight of unspoken understanding. "It wouldn't surprise me," he admitted, the usual fire in his eyes banked to a smoldering ember. "But Mummy's so proud of her little murderer." The bitterness in his voice stung with a fresh sort of pain. 

The image of Regulus, not as the sullen boy I'd clashed with since our first year, but as something crueler, flickered in my mind. I had glimpsed whispers of that change over the past few months. There was a new hollowness to his eyes, a sharpness to his smile that bordered on predatory. The Slytherin common room, once a place I'd only ventured into during the occasional ill-advised prank, now felt like it held an entirely different breed of darkness. 

"Do you think it's true?" I asked, the question hanging heavy in the air between us. 

"I don't know." Sirius's voice was barely a whisper, a stark contrast to his usual boisterous demeanor. "But I know the Blacks, Kit. I know the poison that runs in our blood. That house… it twists good things into something rotten." His fist clenched, then released, a silent testament to his inner turmoil. 

For a long moment, we stood in silence, the usual joyous chaos of the kitchen fading into the background. The weight of the world, the war that raged beyond the walls of Hogwarts, suddenly felt all too real. My worry extended beyond petty rivalries and Quidditch standings; there was a darkness brewing that threatened to swallow everything we held dear. 

A sharp rap on the kitchen door shattered the somber mood. Marlene appeared, a mischievous grin plastered on her face. "Took you two long enough! I've already secured a prime spot near the pudding table..." 

Her voice washed over us, and Sirius visibly forced a smile back into place. Yet, the forced cheer felt jarring. We followed Marlene into the chaos of the Great Hall, the laughter of our classmates ringing off the ancient stone walls. But beneath the surface, I felt the shift. The world was changing, our innocence fading. 

As I took my seat next to Lily, casting a worried glance towards Sirius, a thought struck me. The battle lines were no longer so clearly defined. They weren't merely house against house, good versus evil. There was a new layer of complexity, a darkness that could seep into you, twist you from within. It made me wonder if the real war would be fought not just against an external enemy, but against the shadows that lurked within each of us. 

The dessert – a decadent chocolate tart dripping with raspberry sauce – held little appeal. My gaze kept drifting towards the Slytherin table, where Regulus sat, surrounded by his silent entourage. His laugh echoed through the Hall, but it held a harshness that hadn't been there before. He was a stranger, familiar yet terrifyingly unknown. At that moment, his head raised and his grey-green eyes landed on me as if he had felt my gaze on him.  

I jerked my head down to my plate of tart, the taste of it in my mouth turning sour and dry. 

Lily, ever attuned to my moods, nudged my shoulder. "What's wrong, Clem? You look like you've seen a ghost." 

I forced a smile, unwilling to share the full weight of my fears. "Just tired," I lied. "All that flying…" 

Lily didn't look convinced, but she let it drop. The thing is, I wasn't just tired; I was afraid. The world no longer felt safe, predictable. And as I watched Regulus, a twisted mirror image of the boy I used to know, I realized that maybe the greatest enemy wasn't the looming specter of Voldemort, but the darkness that could grow, unnoticed, in the hearts of those around us. 

The rest of the evening was a blur of half-hearted attempts at normalcy. I laughed at James's exaggerated retelling of his latest Quidditch near-miss, tried to focus on Lily's whispered updates about her prefect duties, and even managed to bite into a particularly gruesome History of Magic essay. But beneath it all, a gnawing unease ate away at me. Regulus's gaze, the rumors swirling like poisonous smoke through the corridors, Sirius's quiet admission... it was all too much. I needed an escape, even a temporary one. 

As the clock ticked past midnight, my resolve hardened. With whispered goodnights to my dormmates, I slipped from the four-poster bed, a disillusionment charm my only armor against prying eyes. The corridors were bathed in the cool glow of moonlight, casting long, twisted shadows that danced as I hurried towards the portrait hole. It took far less coaxing than usual to gain passage from the Fat Lady, my desperation fueling my boldness. 

The trek down to the boathouse felt endless. The castle, usually a comforting jumble of secret passages and hidden nooks, seemed to stretch and shift in the darkness. Every rustle of leaves, every creak of the ancient floorboards, sent a shiver of apprehension down my spine. Yet, I pushed onward, driven by a fierce need to shed the weight of my thoughts, to reclaim a sliver of freedom in this world tilting towards chaos. 

The boathouse loomed before me, a hulking shadow against the shimmering surface of the lake. As I approached, the sound of muffled laughter and the faint scent of smoke drifted out. With a deep breath, I stepped inside. 

The space was barely illuminated, a single Lumos charm casting a flickering glow over the figures huddled within. Marlene and Dorcas were sprawled on a stack of old blankets, their faces lit by the soft ember of a shared cigarette. James and Peter sat cross-legged on the floor, their hushed voices rising and falling as they passed around a half-empty bottle – firewhiskey, swiped from Ogg's less-than-carefully-warded office. The sight of it, the forbidden indulgence, sent a reckless thrill through me. 

Sirius was the first to spot me, a surprised grin spreading across his face. "Well, hello there, Evans," he slurred, the whiskey already taking its toll. "Decided to join the party?" 

I slipped off my cloak, revealing myself amidst a chorus of cheers and playful jostling as they made space for me on the makeshift seating. "Figured you lot could use a bit of Hufflepuff common sense," I said, trying for nonchalance but failing to hide the nervous energy buzzing beneath my skin. Marlene handed me the bottle, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "To common sense, whatever that is," she quipped, raising it in mock salute. 

The fiery liquid burned as it slid down my throat, leaving a warmth that battled the lingering chill of the night. As the bottle made its rounds, the atmosphere shifted. The usual banter and teasing faded, replaced by an undercurrent of unease that mirrored my own. Even James, ever the master of forced cheer, had lost some of his usual bluster. 

"You hear about the Dale family?" Dorcas asked, her voice low and strained. "Attacked last week. Whole family just… gone." 

A wave of nausea washed over me. Marlene had said something back at Hogwarts, but the details hadn't fully sunk in. Dale... another old Wizarding name, yet the family had been Muggle-sympathetic, full of squibs, vocal in their opposition to You-Know-Who. 

"Wasn't in the Prophet," James muttered darkly. "Reckon they're suppressing it. Can't have a full-blown panic on their hands." 

"But why target squibs?" Peter's voice was barely a whisper, his eyes wide with fear. "They're not a threat... they can't fight back..." The innocence of his question was a stark contrast to the brutal reality. 

The silence that settled over us was suffocating. I took another swig of the firewhiskey, the burn a welcome distraction from the dread twisting in my gut. It wasn't just the Dales. There were whispers, fragments of horrifying news filtered back from  nervous half-truths muttered by frightened classmates. Attacks on muggleborns, small wizarding villages decimated, disappearances that left behind only unanswered questions and the hollow ache of loss. 

Sirius, ever restless, pushed himself to his feet, a flicker of anger sparking behind the alcoholic haze blurring his eyes. "We need to do something," he declared, his voice thick. "Can't just sit here and wait for them to come knocking on our doors." 

"What would you have us do, Padfoot?" Marlene's retort was laced with bitter humor. "Pick up our wands and charge headlong into battle? We're seventh years, for Merlin's sake." 

"Better than cowering like frightened sheep!" Sirius shot back, the frustration evident in the clench of his jaw. 

The argument raged on, fueled by a mix of fear, fury, and the reckless courage that seemed to burn brighter with each swig of firewhiskey. I listened, my mind racing. They weren't wrong; the rising tide of darkness felt overwhelming. Yet, a flicker of defiance sparked within me. I couldn't change the world, not single-handedly. But I could refuse to be a passive victim, to surrender to the fear that threatened to engulf us all. 

"There has to be something," I insisted, the words fueled by a determination that surprised even myself. "Something we can do." 

My outburst was met with somber silence. Then, slowly, Peter spoke, his voice soft but unwavering. "We could learn. Not just the spells from class, but how to really defend ourselves, how to fight back." 

Hope, fragile and tentative, sparked within the circle. This was something we could control, a way to channel our fear into action. We spent the rest of the night, bathed in the flickering lumos light, voicing potential spells, discussing defensive tactics, and envisioning clandestine practice sessions hidden within Hogwarts' maze-like corridors. 

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

As the first rays of dawn painted the sky in streaks of muted pinks and grays, we stumbled back towards the castle, our steps unsteady, our minds alight. I was exhausted, my head throbbing with a mixture of firewhiskey and righteous determination. Yet, as I crept back into the dorm, a sliver of hope bloomed. We might be young, inexperienced, and facing an unfathomably powerful enemy. But at least now, we'd started to fight back. 

The next few days were a blur of exhaustion and a low-grade dread that settled in my bones like a winter chill. Tuesday morning dawned with a pounding headache that bore the distinct echo of smuggled firewhiskey and a world tilting towards chaos. I moved through my classes like a ghost, my laughter absent, my responses mumbled and slow. 

Lessons transformed into an agonizing ordeal. Numbers swam before my eyes during Arithmancy, the scratching of quills on parchment felt like nails on a chalkboard, and even the usually comforting smell of old books in the library was stifling. My friends hovered, concerned, but I could barely muster the energy to conjure a smile, let alone dissect the latest round of political turmoil whispered in the hallways. 

It was as if the world, always buzzing with a vibrant, if sometimes unpredictable energy, had been muted. Colors seemed duller, laughter less joyful. The weight of everything – the whispers of missing muggleborns, the escalating attacks, Regulus's haunting transformation – pressed down on me, threatening to snuff out the last flickers of normalcy. 

The world felt like a tinderbox, and Hogwarts was no exception. The war raged outside the castle walls, casting long shadows that seeped into our everyday lives. Everyone was on edge, nerves frayed thin. The headlines screamed of escalating violence: 

“MINISTRY RAIDS THREE HOUSES IN SEARCH FOR FORBIDDEN ARTEFACTS” 

“THIRD VAMPIRE ATTACK IN TWO WEEKS” 

“MINISTER OF MAGIC STEPS DOWN IN WAKE OF DISAPPEARANCES” 

“WEREWOLF REGISTRY ‘DANGEROUSLY UNDER-MANAGED’ MINISTRY INSIDERS REVEAL” 

And those were just this week's horrors. Within the Slytherin ranks, a new, sinister order was taking hold. Regulus Black, always carrying an air of untouchable arrogance, had transformed into something far darker. The heir to the most ancient and wealthy pureblood family had always held sway amongst his peers, attracting a group of followers whose cruelty intensified with each passing year. Now, in his sixth year, rumors swirled that he wasn't merely a Death Eater sympathizer, but in direct contact with Lord Voldemort himself. 

Regulus reveled in this new power, a change even the most oblivious of teachers couldn't ignore. He carried himself with cold calculation, his chin held high, a chilling smirk a permanent fixture. The nervous, conflicted boy Sirius once called "Reggie" was gone. 

His intelligence was undeniable. Never once had he received detention, and his academic brilliance rivaled even his brother's. Yet, misfortune clung to those who crossed his path. A fourth-year Hufflepuff, rumored to have spilled ink on Regulus's notes, was discovered days later locked in a dungeon cupboard, pale and speechless. He was sent home, and I can’t recall ever seeing him inside the common room or the dorms since then. 

When a mix-up with the Quidditch pitch schedule forced the Slytherins to delay their practice, the Ravenclaw team's next session was completely derailed. Their brooms became a source of torment, inflicting painful splinters on anyone who dared touch them. Madam Pomfrey was overwhelmed, and their match with Gryffindor was canceled. 

Then, the words "Mudbloods get out!" were found magically etched into the Muggle Studies chalkboard, forcing the class to relocate. 

Regulus, of course, was never questioned. With no witnesses, his cruelty went unchecked. And yet, everyone knew. Anyone with a stake in the war could feel the change in the air, the darkness that clung to the castle walls like an oppressive fog. 

News of the quidditch tryout results seemed to travel faster than a well-aimed Bludger. Thursday morning in the Great Hall was not one of muted colors and pounding headaches. It was a whirlwind of congratulations, backslapping from James, and a beaming smile from Lily that chased away the lingering shadows of the past few days. Even some of the Hufflepuffs I'd faced in tryouts offered hesitant nods of respect. For the first time in a while, I felt a genuine surge of excitement, a spark of the familiar joy that Hogwarts usually held in abundance. 

Katie materialized beside me, a stack of parchment clutched in her hand. "Here's the practice schedule," she said, her voice brimming with barely contained enthusiasm. "I've already worked out a new set of drills to whip you lot into shape. And," she paused dramatically, "your first match is in two weeks… against Slytherin." 

The news hit me like a dose of invigorating tonic. My first match, and against Slytherin of all teams. The thrill of competition, the roar of the crowd, the sweet taste of victory – it all shimmered before me, a much-needed beacon in the encroaching gloom. The world suddenly seemed a little brighter, the castle walls a little less oppressive. 

The rest of the day passed in a flurry of activity. My lessons, normally tedious, felt infused with a new energy. Each successfully completed Charms assignment, each correctly identified potion ingredient, became a tiny triumph. During a particularly dreary Binns lecture on goblin rebellions, the image of myself soaring through the air, a club tucked securely under my arm, kept boredom at bay. 

Even dinner, usually a time for strategizing with Lily over headduties or good-natured teasing with the Marauders, felt different. When news of yet another Muggleborn student attacked in Hogsmeade reached us, twisting through the crowd like a poisonous snake, the usual wave of anger and helplessness was tempered with a flicker of defiant resolve. I wouldn't crumble, wouldn't surrender to the fear that gnawed at the edge of my thoughts. 

After dinner, I caught up with James in the deserted corridor outside the Gryffindor common room. The Marauders Map, borrowed for some sleuthing the previous week, was returned with a wink and a promise from James that the latest plot against Ogg’s would be "spectacularly disastrous". A smile tugged at my lips – there was a sliver of normalcy in their absurd antics. 

As dusk began to settle over the castle, I slipped back into my dormitory, the cheers of my housemates and the warmth of my four-poster bed momentarily pushing back the encroaching night. With practiced movements, I shrugged off my school robes, replacing them with faded jeans and a cozy that dad had sent for Christmas. My wand was tucked into my back pocket, an almost unconscious habit in these uncertain times. 

My nightly patrol felt less like a chore and more like a necessary act. The rhythmic echo of my footsteps on the stone floor was a defiant counterpoint to the hushed fear that lingered in the air. The paintings, those normally innocuous depictions of wizards and witches, seemed to watch me with a new intensity, their eyes reflecting the unease that gripped us all. 

The statue in the Transfiguration Courtyard loomed larger than usual in the gathering darkness. On time, as always, Regulus materialized from the shadows, his form sharp and angular against the softer hues of twilight. 

"You're late," he said, the accusation barely masking a flicker of surprise. Had he expected me to shrink away, still caught in the mire of dread? 

"And you're predictable," I retorted, the spark of defiance from earlier still burning within me. "Shall we?" 

Without waiting for his reply, I turned and began the familiar trek through the labyrinthine castle corridors. Tonight though, there was an undercurrent of determination to my steps. I would not be broken. Not by the darkness that seeped into Hogwarts, not by the news of escalating violence, and certainly not by the enigmatic, increasingly dangerous Slytherin at my side. 

The patrol took us through torch-lit passageways, up winding staircases, and past suits of armor that seemed to stand a little straighter in the gloom. Each corner we turned, each hushed whisper of wind sent a shiver down my spine. Yet, beneath the familiar fear lay a new resolve. 

Regulus was as silent as ever, his presence a shadow beside my own. His eyes, barely visible in the dim light, seemed to flit over every tapestry, every darkened doorway as if searching for something hidden just beyond my sight. It was in those moments, more than any of his casually cruel remarks or rumored exploits, that I glimpsed the true depth of his transformation. There was a hunger in those shadowed eyes, a relentless search for something that fueled his chilling metamorphosis. 

The castle, a comforting maze of secret passages and hidden alcoves, had transformed into something far more sinister. Shadows danced with deceptive menace, fueled by the knowledge that cruelty seemed to lurk around every corner. The muffled giggles or hurried whispers that usually echoed through the halls were replaced by an oppressive stillness, a testament to the unspoken fear that had seeped into every crevice of Hogwarts. 

As we rounded a corner near the Charms corridor, a muffled gasp followed by a frantic scramble alerted us to something out of the ordinary. Wand raised, nerves jangling, I approached a dimly lit abandoned classroom, the door slightly ajar. Regulus followed close behind, a silent shadow at my back. 

The sight that greeted us was startlingly mundane: a flustered fifth-year Hufflepuff boy entangled with a blushing Ravenclaw girl. They froze, like deer caught in the headlights, as the glow of our wands illuminated their hiding spot. Terror flashed across their faces, eyes wide as they took in who was behind me, their mumbled apologies cut short by a chillingly amused chuckle from Regulus. 

The Hufflepuff boy paled, his grip on the girl's hand tightening. I moved forward protectively, acutely aware of Regulus hovering behind me. This was my house, my duty to uphold. "Five points from each of you for being out of bed," I said, my voice sharp despite the wave of sympathy that washed over me. "Now get back to your common rooms." 

They scrambled to comply, casting worried glances at Regulus. His smirk was cold, calculating. If I hadn't been there… the thought cut short as I watched the pair disappear down the corridor. Alone with my patrol partner, the oppressive tension returned with renewed intensity. 

An image of Madam Pomfrey's perpetually crowded infirmary flashed through my mind. How many students had landed there after an unfortunate "accident", a whispered curse, or a confrontation turned violent? Each new injury fueled my simmering rage. Yet, confronting him directly felt like charging headlong into a battle I couldn't win. 

We continued our patrol in silence. My questions, simmering just below the surface, threatened to boil over. As we reached the winding staircase leading to the Astronomy Tower, the words erupted from me before I could fully stifle them. 

"What curse did you use?" My voice was barely above a whisper, yet it felt like a shout in the echoing silence. 

His eyes, cold and gray as a stormy sea, snapped to mine. His steps faltered on the worn stone steps. "What are you talking about, Evans?" The question was laced with a hint of impatience as he continued his ascent. 

I followed, the air between us crackling with unspoken accusation. Reaching the tower entrance, he pushed the heavy wooden door open with an indifferent shove. The rush of cool September air prickled against my skin, a sharp contrast to the simmering tension that pulsed beneath the surface. 

"The brooms," I choked out, the question hanging heavy in the crisp night air. 

He paused, his silhouette stark against the starlit sky. Then, with a slow turn, he faced me fully. A harsh glint had entered his gaze, a darkness that sent a cold shiver down my spine. 

"Clever girl," he mused, a hint of mockery in his voice. "Poking her nose where she shouldn't." 

My resolve hardened. The fear, ever-present, was edged with a stubborn anger. "Was it a splintering jinx, or did you actually curse them?" The words tumbled out, fueled by a desperate need to know. 

His reply was a humorless chuckle. "You should stick to your blood-traitor friends and leave it alone, Evans." His voice was low, a warning threaded through the dismissal. 

He moved closer, his proximity amplifying the sense of danger. I held my ground, though my instinct was to recoil. "Did you carve that slur into the chalkboard, or was it one of your disciples?" I pushed on, unable to contain the fury bubbling within me. 

His laugh echoed harshly in the empty tower. "This isn't third year, Evans," he sneered, the casual cruelty replacing any pretense of civility. "You're out of your depth." 

The words echoed in the chill night air, a stark reminder of the widening gulf between us. He was right, in a way. I was no Auror, no seasoned fighter. I was a sixth-year Hogwarts student, armed with schoolyard spells and a growing sense of righteous anger. Yet, a defiant voice within me refused to be silenced. 

"That Hufflepuff in the dungeons," I started, my voice trembling slightly. "The ink spilled on your notes...what did you do to him?" 

His laughter ceased abruptly, replaced by a glacial silence. The change was as startling as a sudden drop in temperature. He moved closer, his eyes narrowed, his presence looming over me. 

"You're treading on dangerous ground, Evans," he hissed, his voice barely a whisper.  

"Sometimes knowing isn’t best." 

A flicker of doubt, a sliver of deeply buried fear, snaked through me. It was a chilling reminder – a whispered taunt from the past. Hadn't he said something strangely similar once, years ago, in a hushed moment of unlikely comfort in this same room? A fleeting image danced before my eyes: Regulus, pale but composed, offering an awkward moment of comfort and an unspoken warning to a tear-stricken fourth year. "Sometimes, Evans," his voice had been softer then, laced with genuine concern, “knowing is best." 

The memory, a bittersweet echo from a time when things were simpler, sent a shiver through me. Now, there was only a husk, a chilling stranger lurking beneath the familiar, aristocratic features. 

"What's happening to you?" The question burst from me, a mixture of desperation and a lingering, almost foolish trust that some part of the boy I used to know might still exist. 

His response was a cruel twist of his lips. "You never knew me, Evans," he sneered, leaning in with deliberate menace. "You saw what you wanted to see – a spoiled Slytherin brat, the easy villain to your bleeding-heart story." 

The words struck me with the force of a truck. There was a terrible truth within them, a reminder of the comfortable narratives we build, the stark lines we draw to make sense of an increasingly complex world.  

My heart thumped so loud that I was sure even he could hear it. I couldn’t stop my chest from rising and falling at a rapid rhythm. He had noticed it as well, a cruel grin spreading across his face, and then in an instant the mask was back in place. 

"I can tell you're frightened," he continued, his voice low and laced with amusement. "Run back to your common room, little dove." 

I flinched involuntarily, his words unearthing a flicker of the terrified young girl who'd needed his kindness all those years ago. Darting away from him, my fingers fumbled for the heavy wooden door, a desperate need to escape driving my movements. 

And just as my hand gripped the iron latch, his voice sliced through the tense air once more: "See you on the pitch." 

The taunt hung in the air, a twisted echo of Katie's enthusiastic announcement. Facing him not just as fellow students with a history of animosity, but as opposing players on the Quidditch field, added a whole new layer of chilling absurdity to the situation. 

Flinging the door open, I fled the tower. Each step down the winding staircase felt like a retreat, my pulse pounding a frantic rhythm against the deafening silence of my own unanswered questions. 

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

Honey's Writing Pot!

Current Events: 2024!

Kinktober 2024

2024 Writing Lineup:

DONE

2025 Writing

🐦‍⬛ Fever Dreams (Morpheus) 🐦‍⬛ Depravity of the Sea (Morpheus) 🐦‍⬛ Tender is the Night (Morpheus) 🐦‍⬛ Slither (Morpheus) 🐦‍⬛ When You Wish Upon a Star (Morpheus) 🐦‍⬛ Washed Up (Morpheus)

☠️ Harbinger of Pain (Ace) ☠️ A Warlord's Treasure (Mihawk)

☠️ Words Run Dry (Shanks) ☠️ A Tu Vera (Rosinante)

☠️ Heart of Ice (Aokiji)

Events:

Kinktober 2025

12 Days of Smutmas 2024 (delayed till 2025)

12 Days of Smutmas 2025

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Call of Duty

Active Writing:

🪖 All that's Left in the Echo (Price) 🪖 In the Hollow of Your Hands (Ghost)

Yellowjackets

Active Writing:

𓆤 Bumblebee (Adam Martin)

Queen of the South

Active Writing:

💵 Un Acuerdo de Caballeros (James Valdez) 💵 Cuentas Pendientes (James Valdez) 💵 Donde Arde el Viento (James Valdez) 💵 Más Allá del Control (James Valdez)

Sandman

Active Writing:

🐦‍⬛ What is the Function of a Rubber Duck? (Morpheus) 🐦‍⬛ How Bad Do You Want It? (Morpheus) 🐦‍⬛ A Shade of Green (Morpheus) 🐦‍⬛ Gemini (Morpheus) 🐦‍⬛ How to Become a Step-Mother in 4 Easy Steps (Morpheus) 🐦‍⬛ Once Upon a Memory (Morpheus) 🐦‍⬛ Under Moonlight (Orpheus) 🐦‍⬛ Let Love Abide, Till Death Divide (Morpheus) 🐦‍⬛ Shatter Me (Morpheus) 🐦‍⬛ The Light You Stray From (Morpheus) 🐦‍⬛ Instincts & Desires (Morpheus) 🐦‍⬛ A Girl Without Dreams (Morpheus) 🐦‍⬛ My Eyes Are Up Here (Morpheus) 🐦‍⬛ To Catch a Dream (Morpheus) 🐦‍⬛ Once Upon a Dream (Morpheus)

One Piece

Active Writing:

☠️ Chronicles of a Current (Shanks) ☠️ Gaslight and Glory (Caeser) ☠️ Lady Warlord (Bogard) ☠️ An Apple a Day (Hongo) ☠️ Tipple, Tangle, and Tango (Smoker) ☠️ Collar of Thorns (Doflamingo) ☠️ Of Mice and Mayhem (Lucci) ☠️ Frostbitten (Lucci) ☠️ Cakes and Veils (Sanji) ☠️ Little Crumbs (Charlotte Katakuri) ☠️ Two Men, One Ship (Rayleigh & Shanks) ☠️ Annoyance Is the First Stage of Love (Shanks) ☠️ Driftline (Shanks) ☠️ On Strange Legs (Shanks) ☠️ Crimson Threads (Shanks) ☠️ Long Run (Shanks) ☠️ Silken Web (Doflamingo) ☠️ Chromatic (Doflamingo) ☠️ La Reina (Doflamingo) ☠️ Thrall and Feather (Rosinante) ☠️ Fine Print (Rosinante) ☠️ 24 Hours (Mihawk) ☠️ Relish the Hunt (Mihawk) ☠️ Shattered (Mihawk) ☠️ The Golden Hummingbird (Mihawk) ☠️ Tolerable Tensions (Mihawk) ☠️ Ruffled Feathers Sequel (Mihawk) ☠️ Molting Season Sequel (Mihawk) ☠️ Cradle Robber (Rayleigh) ☠️ Wingboys (Rayleigh) ☠️ Dark Prince (Rayleigh) ☠️ Ash in the Sky (Marco) ☠️ Burn Like Snowfall (Marco)

☠️ Aphrodite's Garden (By Character) ☠️ Bloom and Gloom (By Character) ☠️ Glass Veins (By Character) ☠️ Rules of Instincts (By Character)

True Blood

Active Writing:

🩸 Where the Noise Ends, You Begin (Eric)

Baldur's Gate 3

Active Writing:

🔮 Bloodlust (Astarion) 🔮 The Weave Between Us (Gale) 🔮 Steel Crown (Gortash) 🔮 Rivers and Rain (Halsin) 🔮 The Devil You Know (Rapheal)

HOPEFUL WRITING:

Aquaman

Active Writing:

🔱 Seven Nights of Karathen (Orm) 🔱 Uncharted Waters (Orm)

Last Edit: 1/6/25

[hydrogenuranium]

Meet Micheal

(I also don't have a design for him either)

(Probably the best one I could find was this, I don't know who the original artist is so if anyone could find them I would be incredibly grateful)

First - Second - Third - Sophia - Fourth

Basic Info

-Title/Nicknames: Angel of Bravery, his nicknames are variants of his name (ie: Mike) if Sophia's upset, she'll just insult him (ie: Pidgeon)

-Age: He and Lucifer are twins (physically he's like 34)

-Voice Claim: Rauru - Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom

-Theme Songs: Viva la Vida by Coldplay / Cavalier by James Vincent Mcmorrow

-Likes: Winning, Garlic bread, Dogs (specifically Dobermans), Protecting, Training his Soldiers, Showing off, Flying, Falcons, Hanging out with Sophia, Snow

-Dislikes: Being insulted, Sophia's Experiments, Warm weather, His soldiers getting hurt, His other siblings falling, Lucifer's crimes, Losing, Sophia's general bloodlust, Molting

Personality: Kind, Relaxed, Strong, Brave, Smart, Loyal, Honest, Protective, Reckless, Ruthless, Impulsive

Backstory

-His backstory is pretty similar to Sophia's because they were raised together

-Before Lucifer fell he left Micheal a big ugly scar across his chest, siblings am I right?

-He both trains and leads the True Army, and he's quite terrifying in battle and is well-known for his brutal ways of killing demons

-But he's also a big sweetheart who has a liter of Doberman puppies he takes care of and brings everywhere (the army absolutely adores them)

-He also greets the True Army every day like this: link

-While he doesn't particularly like Sophia's experiments, it's not like he can stop her as all of them have been beneficial to the Army, no matter how violent they are

-Even though he hates (most) demons if he were to meet Charlie they two of them would actually get along pretty well

[libero-de-mente]

Rose e Jack

- Papà...

- Dimmi Gabri

- Questo fine settimana Rebecca starà da noi tre giorni, arriverà venerdì

- Uh, qual è il motivo? Ultimi giorni di ferie prima della scuola e volete passare più tempo insieme?

- Non proprio, domenica sarà un anno che siamo insieme

- Oh, che bello e cos'hai in mente?

- Le farò una sorpresa

Gabriele, figlio 2 quello che spesso sembra il più freddo dei due. Quando vuole mi sa sempre stupire con attenzioni inaspettate.

Per tutta l'estate si è trovato un lavoro part-time per racimolare quattro soldi ed essere indipendente.

Cerca sempre di non farle mancare nulla con molte attenzioni.

In alcuni momenti mi sembra Jack, il personaggio del film Titanic di James Cameron.

Quando lei gioca alla Nintendo collegata alla TV in sala e lui abbracciandola da dietro l'aiuta con il controller nel gioco.

Sembrano Rose e Jack sulla prua del Titanic.

Un destino crudele quello di Rose e Jack del Titanic, nel mare hanno trovato un destino avverso.

Già il mare. Gabriele ha deciso di portarla a Genova città di mare, a visitare l'acquario di quella città uno dei più belli che abbia visto. Pieno di creature del mare.

Quando Rebecca viene ospitata a casa lei e Gabriele dormono in salotto. Un letto gonfiabile moto alto e comodo viene affiancato al divano, hanno la stessa altezza e così uno su divano e l'altra sul materasso a una piazza e mezza dormono vicini.

Sabato sono partiti presto e vuoi la fretta di non perdere il treno, il controllare gli zainetti e prepararsi i panini hanno fatto si che il materasso fosse lasciato gonfio e incustodito.

Così mentre io passavo la mattinata in giardino scoprendo che qualche ora dedicata alla pulizia del verde corrisponde a una donazione all'AVIS (zanzare di merd*), e che le cimici che da ottobre utilizzano il bucato steso come cavallo di Troia per entrare in casa, durante l'estate vivono una vida loca tra le fronde degli alberi. Nutrendosi e copulando come se non ci fosse un domani.

Ecco mentre io osservavo tutto ciò, il gatto Alvin decideva che quel materasso era molto figo e spassoso. Così un suo artiglio è riuscito a forare il materasso.

Un forellino. Quando me ne sono accorto ho rimediato subito con una colla per PVC e toppe speciali per riparare i materassini. Le istruzioni davano 24 ore di tempo per la massima resa.

Io 24 ore non le avevo così la sera quando i due naufraghi dell'Acquario di Genova, erano stanchissimi, dopo una breve cena ho gonfiato il materasso e il buco riparato teneva alla grande.

Peccato che dall'altra sponda del materasso Alvin aveva lasciato un altro ricordino, un forellino non visto, più piccolo ma inesorabile nel far sgonfiare il materasso.

Guardo Gabriele lui guarda me, io guardo Rebecca e Rebecca guarda me, guardo Alvin e Alvin fa finta di nulla fischiettando in gattese.

- Beh ragazzi, questa sera dormirete separati. Tu Gabri torni nel tuo letto vicino a tuo fratello e lei dormirà sul divano che ci sta comoda.

- Ma no pa' si sgonfia piano, magari mi regge per una notte. Ci sto sopra io tranquillo.

Sembrano Rose e Jack, lei sulla tavola in legno sicura e lui nel mare insicuro. Si addormentano subito, tenendosi per mano come i protagonisti del Titanic.

Il Titanic affondò nella notte alle 2:20 circa. Io verso le 3:00 colto da un senso di protezione mi alzo e vado in sala.

La scena è da Titanic, il materasso oramai è quasi del tutto sgonfio, Gabriele per cinque centimetri non è ancora sul tappeto della sala. Dorme e tiene la mano di lei. Della sua Rose.

Mi avvicino e lo sveglio. Gli faccio capire che deve abbandonare la scialuppa. Cioè il materasso sgonfio, che non può dormire sul tappeto. Così mezzo rintronato si lascia convincere e va nel suo letto.

Non è finita come nel Tianic, appena sveglio Gabri-Jack corre da Rebecca-Rose e la raggiunge sul divano. Abbracciandosi e stendendosi insieme.

In quel momento realizzo che se Rose avesse fatto posto a Jack nel film Titanic, Jack si sarebbe salvato. Cacchio se ci stavano sicuri in due sulla tavola in legno. Cameron dovrebbe rifare quella scena cribbio.

L'amore è un mare, a volte calmo a volte in tempesta. Auguro loro di non affondare mai, di non annegare nelle lacrime. Comunque andrà manterrò sempre il ricordo del mio Jack che teneva la mano a Rebecca, mentre affondava con un materasso forato dall'iceberg Alvin.

Quando vorrò ricordare al mio cuore cos'è l'amore mi ricorderò di quella notte. E ricorderò.