#but you can read it as gen if you want

[homochihuahua]

What if Bruce finally fucks up and hits Dick in front of the family...

A moment of shocked silence passes before Jason lunges on him like an animal and has a go at Bruce's face. A second moment goes where everyone freezes, Dick espically stunted still before he and the others go to them to break them apart.

The thing is, Bruce hitting Dick or any other of the younger bats isn't new to anyone, but the context of it is that; he never does it in front of another family member.

Jason has got his fair share of beatings from Bruce. As an outlaw vigilante who constantly is on opposite sides with what Batman stands for, but never ever as a son or a disciple of Bruce. As a younger boy, Bruce was the first person to show Jason parental love and he kept that until Jason's death, even if he made mistakes, it was all something any struggling parent would be faced with, but he never abused Jason in any sort of way.

So to see him doing that to the others in the family espically Dick of all of them, destroys Jason. Bruce image is completely shattered in his mind. That's the first half of the moment passing the second goes like; Jason lived through abuse with his mother when he was a feeble child and now he is a grown ass man, and now he can damn well protect those whom he love. So he lunges. Jason returns the punch with another dozens of his own so Bruce learns his place.

And now everyone is struggling to get Jason off him....

[isjasz]

[Day 238]

💤💤💤

---

ME WHEN I GET A FULL BLOWN FIC INSPIRED BY MY ART AND MAKE A FULL PAGE COMIC OUT OF IT HOW WE FEELING💥💥💥💥💥

Explodes this still feels like a fever dream hi so @definitelynotshouting this absolutely batshit insane guy wrote "honey it's starting to storm" INSPIRED BY THIS ART FROM CHRISTMAS. I need to yell about it more istg this is the W of the century. Guys please it's so good go read it go read go rea

Emphasis GO READ IT👉

[spoopdeedoop]

I mean this absolutely respectfully, but you should probably find a different duo name for Mei and MK than goldendragon--goldendragon is their ship name, so by tagging it as goldendragon, you're putting platonic content into the tags for people who are looking for romantic content of the two of them! It'd be like tagging a post about Wukong and Macaque being friends or brothers as shadowpeach--it clogs the tags and makes searching for content difficult. And again I mean this entirely respectfully, I'm not sure if they have a duo name though or what else to call them!

hi! so i figured i should explain myself a bit more in terms of using that tag lol.

i use the goldendragon tag despite me not shipping them because it's completely up to the viewer which context they decide to put the art in. i don't make the art with romantic intentions, but i don't mind people taking my goldendragon art as romantic. i just like their dynamic either way.

plus, goldendragon is the more well known tag of their duo and i want to reach the people that want to see more of them, i guess?

so i use goldendragon as the umbrella term for mk and mei. personally i don't ship them, but you are more than welcome to read my art of them as romantic.

i wouldn't call my art of them "platonic" art? it's just art of them.

tl;dr: i'm still gonna be using the tag because my art isn't strictly platonic. you can see it as romantic if you'd like. plenty of people do.

[ruluxe]

So I'm really in love with Astarion....

[divinelyjude]

No, I don’t need a therapist. What I need is a fic with 75k+ words that doesn’t take me two hours to read. And a therapist.

[tachyon-omlette]

TFA Eda. Malgus Eda.

This man has witnessed the rise and fall of planets, civilizations, Magnuses, and his own sense of self, all while tracking down his siblings with the intent to destroy them - and they, too, watch him from the shadows, carrying out Unicron's will while playing out a grand scheme to bring about the end of all things by design. His story involves a lot of suffering, a few bright spots, and then amplified suffering when all good things are brought to an untimely end. He was never meant to know peace.

TFA Eda Lore Timeline

(art by the wonderful @thewiglesswonder, who is in large part the reason why I am so dedicated to ensuring this lore post is made real - even if I have to break it into parts)

Part 1: Where All Things Begin

Eda of Unicron exists not by accident (or so it is said), but as one of a set of three powerful, dangerous creations, made only with the purpose of carrying out Unicron's will - to pave the way for the destruction of the universe by Persuading its guardians, most notably the Thirteen, created by Unicron's ancient enemy, to destroy themselves through whatever method worked best.

Ethos was a master of betrayal and diversion, changing loyalties and betraying so-called comrades on a dime, sowing discord as he went along. He was agile and an opportunist but not very physically strong, preferring his victims, his siblings, or his creator to do the heavy lifting when it came to combat; he was, however, able to reformat himself into virtually any form, allowing him to take on a vast array of guises - though he often retained certain cosmetic similarities, claiming it was his "brand" - and could even put himself back together after enduring fatal injuries.

Logos was much stronger by comparison, and could readily handle himself in combat, but his true skill lay with his capability to alter reality. He could manipulate the memories and surroundings of his victims separately, could imitate any creature's voice flawlessly, creating fractures in individual paradigms and forcing even the sanest of minds into states of paranoia and disarray. Outwardly, he showed little emotion, his tone flat and body language static, and he often masterminded how each of his siblings would act to bring Unicron's will to fruition, in between causing friends, families, and trusted allies to turn on one another.

Then there was Pathos.

Pathos was Unicron in miniature, granted all his capabilities proportionate to his size (which was itself quite impressive), born of that which Unicron cast out of himself and by that virtue possessed one skill that his creator did not. He could sense the emotions of any living thing - though it was easiest with energon-imbued organisms - as naturally as humans can smell, feel, or taste. He was meant to destroy the more easily vanquished worlds and ferry their resources to his siblings and creator, and do little else... but he possessed this sixth sense, seemingly by pure accident, and it was a burden on his anti-spark. How was he meant to not only perpetuate but enjoy the universe's destruction as his siblings did, when he could so acutely sense it cry out in pain, fear, and sorrow with every blow? 

He asked Logos if he, too, harbored any doubts, but Logos claimed that getting twisted up about his purpose was complete bogus, that he should get straight with the big U and stop harshing the vibe. He asked Ethos a similar question, and was told that the universe would either destroy itself or get destroyed, so he should quit whining and enjoy the ride or else join the universe in getting curbstomped.

He couldn't disobey Unicron outright, not on his own, so he reached out to the Thirteen, the first and strongest creations of Primus, whom he and his siblings had faced in combat many times before. Though they distrusted him, in the end they reached an accord: while the Thirteen would coordinate a final strike upon Unicron himself, Pathos would strike against his siblings, and do his best to keep them occupied.

While Unicron was rendered successfully inert, Ethos and Logos were not, and would remember Pathos's betrayal - but they were all cast out, flung far apart and across the galaxy, and would not again cross paths with either Pathos or the Thirteen for some time.

With nowhere else to turn, Pathos remained with the Thirteen on their homeworld of Cybertron. He had earned their mercy by turning coat on his creator, but their kindness was less freely given, for they had witnessed the extent of his capabilities and were rightfully afraid of him. He did make overtures to earn their trust, subduing his powers and doing his best to exist unobtrusively, which earned him the trust of those more accepting - such as Quintus Prima-Vectorum, who found him fascinating and wished to study him, to which he consented - but did little in the way of making him feel accepted.

The divide between Pathos and the Thirteen became more prevalent as Prima Primus-Vectorum and Alpha Prima-Vectorum conspired, and at the last agreed that he must be supervised by one of the Thirteen at all times to ensure he would not sow further destruction. He would have protested this, for he possessed no inclination towards destruction and in truth never did - but he had caused mass death and ruin not long ago, knew he was still capable of such acts even alone, and thus accepted their terms. It would have been rude, ungrateful, selfish of him to speak up, he believed.

Slowly, these sorts of thoughts began to multiply, and over time how can I appease them became they will never forgive me became I can never be forgiven. Pathos offered himself as a menial laborer, a sounding board, a test subject, anything that was asked of him, because he believed acting in service of the creations of Primus was all he could do. He would never be worthy of their kindness, because whenever they looked at him their reaction was fear - he could sense it every time, and were they so wrong? He was made to be a monster, a weapon of chaos, and that's what they saw. That's what they thought of him. That's what he is.

The only exception to this reaction-standard was Quintus, who regarded Pathos predominantly with fascination and intrigue - a far cry from the usual fear and/or revulsion, which was strange but still welcomed. These were much easier emotions to be around, ones that made him feel safer and more appreciated if only marginally, and unknowingly Pathos found himself more and more attached to Quintus. Over time, favor turned to fondness, and had Pathos doing everything in his power to make Quintus's field brighten with their seemingly natural curiosity.

That curiosity gave way to ambition - though Pathos thought this natural, as it paired Quintus's excitement and ideas with action, and because of this he indeed enabled their ambition. Pathos, blinded as he was by his affection, even allowed his plating to be prized apart and opened, so long as it was Quintus's servos that rummaged through his insides and handled any samples. He didn't know Dark Energon was poison to any of the Thirteen; he had no idea what was happening to the mech he cared for until it was too late to undo the damage he'd done, the damage he'd allowed to happen to the person he cared for most.

Unbeknownst to Pathos, his siblings were orchestrating the downfall of the Thirteen still, even in Unicron's absence. Ethos and Logos worked in tandem to bring about Megatronus Prima-Vectorum's downfall - not Quintus's, they needed an isolated incident, some proof that even being on the same planet as Pathos had dire consequences - which led to Solus Prima-Vectorum's death. Pathos had hoped to not witness more death for as long as he could manage, and mourned her as the other Thirteen - Twelve - did, despite the chaos that followed.

Blame was cast by many of the others upon Megatronus, exiled as the Fallen, for wielding the Requiem Blaster knowingly against a fellow incarnate of Primus's will which resulted in her death; upon Liege Prima-Vectorum, who fled Cybertron to avoid persecution, framed for guiding Megatronus's hand (because he was always a shady character, Prima believed, and all the evidence Ethos and Logos had carefully led out would reasonably satisfy his hunch); and upon Pathos, for being the corruptive force that compromised the sanctity of the Thirteen. He was to be exiled as well - for those among the Thirteen who had seen Pathos's kindness and empathy overruled Prima's call for execution, with the stipulation that Pathos would be executed if he ever dared set foot on Cybertron thereafter.

Records would be kept that ensured Pathos was not and would never be welcome in the realm of Primus again.

Dejected and devastated (though ultimately unsurprised), Pathos made to leave, but Quintus demanded to go with him. They had a plan to create a brand new species on a planet far from Cybertron, one in which Quintus could perform experiments without deferring to the demands of Prima’s elite, all with Pathos at their side. It seemed very appealing - a world where he would be openly welcomed, could put his past behind him, and would live with the mech he loved for as long as they both lived? It was nearly something out of a dream, a foolish hope he had long buried, and after ensuring that Quintus would not prefer to remain behind, that they were not doing this at the expense of their own happiness on Cybertron, he acquiesced with enthusiasm.

Together, they embarked on a voyage far beyond Cybertron's solar system and settled on an uninhabited planet. Pathos built great structures and gathered materials, while Quintus experimented, constructed bodies, and created what would become the Quintessons. For many ages, this new planet was their sanctuary, and this new species provided guardians and confidantes in equal measure; a burgeoning trade empire began to form, and soon began to expand into nearby star systems. For a time, Pathos and Quintus lived blissfully together, away from Cybertron and the turmoil which soon engulfed it.

These were perhaps the only good memories Pathos would ever have.

[part 1 (here) / part 2 (coming soon!) / ???]

[souenkun]

Been thinking for sometime after spending my days mostly resting in bed and reading fics, but... the swsh fandom really does have one of the best ao3 writers for me :o

[nostalgia-tblr]

Reminding myself that I resolved not to delete any fics that have a bookmark on them😭

[lenievi]

“Jim.”

The man stepped down from the transporter pad, and the Captain moved toward him, embracing him in his arms with a pleased, “Bones.”

Spock clasped his hands behind his back, straightening. The hug lasted eight seconds. It seemed a bit excessive.

When the Captain told him that the new ship’s surgeon was his personal friend for many years, Spock’s first thought was to tell him that he considered it a bad idea. Surrounding oneself with close friends on a mission where anything could happen, where their lives were in danger every day, did not seem very logical. He said nothing and hoped the doctor’s fate would not follow the one of Gary Mitchell, which hurt the Captain deeply.

-

“Captain. The way you let Doctor McCoy act toward you is disrespectful and improper,” Spock said two weeks later during one of their chess matches.

The Captain blinked at him. “Improper?”

“He questions your authority, never addresses you properly, and you yourself allow it with the use of the overfamiliar moniker.”

The Captain continued watching him with a baffled expression, mouthing “overfamiliar moniker”.

“Furthermore, the crew started to question the nature of your relationship.”

“And we can’t have that, can we, Mister Spock?” 

Spock understood the words as humorous, but the Captain’s eyes weren’t laughing.

-

The next time Doctor McCoy visited the bridge, the Captain greeted him with, “Hey, Doc.”

It felt somewhat mocking, and Spock could not shake off the impression that McCoy was glaring at Spock’s back, trying to burn a hole there.

He refused to turn around.

-

“Jim, they won’t hurt the doctor.”

The Captain stopped pacing. “I thought you said the use of my first name was improper and disrespectful.”

“I did not say that… exactly.”

“You sound like McCoy now.”

“There is no reason to be insulting, Captain.”

The Captain sighed. “Look, Spock. I don’t know what your problem with McCoy is…”

“There is no problem, sir. The Doctor’s behavior simply does not fit a Starfleet vessel and can cause distraction.”

“Did it cause a distraction?”

“Not yet,” Spock conceded.

“When…” The Captain cleared his throat. “When McCoy comes back, the next time he’s on the bridge, watch the crew, Mister Spock.”

-

Spock did as told.

McCoy did not only speak to the Captain. He’d stop at Lieutenant Uhura’s panel to talk to her, leaving her smiling. He’d ask Lieutenant Sulu about one of his many hobbies. He’d talk to everyone, addressing all of them by their names, leaving them relaxed and more open to joking with each other during the long voyages from one place to another that humans tended to find tedious and tiring.

It reminded him of Captain Pike, who’d take that role on himself. Perhaps the last year and two months at Kirk’s side made him forget something important.

-

McCoy would talk to everyone but Spock.

-

“Any time you can bluff me, Doctor!”

Spock turned toward the captain’s chair. The whole bridge was looking at Kirk in confusion and bewilderment. Spock wasn’t petty enough to remind the captain that this was what he’d meant when he talked about distractions.

He could tell the Captain understood anyway.

And to Spock’s surprise, so did McCoy. His demeanor deflated, and he oozed embarrassment, moving away from the chair, subdued, his hands curled into fists.

And yet, Kirk and McCoy’s uncommon disagreement turned out not to be a distraction at all. Somehow, it gave the Captain an idea. An absurd, illogical idea. But as Spock learned during his time serving with Kirk, sometimes it took such an idea to get them out of a predicament.

“However, it was well played,” Spock acknowledged, and in order to further lighten the mood on the bridge, he continued, “I regret not having learned more about this Balok. In some manner, he was reminiscent of my father.”

“Then may heaven have helped your mother,” Scott quipped.

“Quite the contrary. She considered herself a very fortunate Earth woman.”

-

Perhaps he did judge the nature of Kirk and McCoy’s friendship wrong, he thought as he watched McCoy step close to Kirk and touch his arm in apology.

“Doc… sorry,” Kirk said, and Spock wondered if the moniker “Bones” would ever make a reappearance.

-

When McCoy invited him for a group poker a few days later, Spock did not refuse.

He wisely didn’t react after Kirk kept calling McCoy “Bones” throughout the game. After the fifth time, he caught McCoy’s exasperated look. 

Maybe the two of them could find an understanding.

[seorikkun]

distraction was just a reaction to you

skz x san cisco songs (1/?)

[how-about-will]

an unnecessarily long rant about windows 11, bitlocker, bulldozers, and one sad man's quest to format his 2tb nvme ssd

it's incredible how bad microsoft can make a product. windows 11 home pushes bitlocker on my drives without my knowledge or consent, encrypting them without a recovery key. fine. one of the encrypted drives (i have 2) gets corrupted! uh oh! the metadata of the single partition drive is now GONE! oh well! 'twas just my steam library and some stray GOG downloads. no worries! we'll just forma-the drive is now read only and every goddamn low level, registry edit, diskpart solution found anywhere online does squat. can't format the drive because it's read only and bitlocker encrpyted too somehow? okay. maybe the drive being encrypted has something to do with the permanant current read only state. let's go into settings and manage our bitlocker in control panel, yknow, like you've been able to for since it was released in 2013. FIne fine fine i'll go do that. microsoft does not include the ability to manage bitlocker via any other way than command prompt and powershell if you do not pay $100 for windows 11 professional and like WHATEVER right i've been using windows for 15 of my 20 years on this planet i can definitely handle some easy commands except oh wait the commands don't work? and the documentation for them is poor or nonexistant? oh and your now completely RAW drive actually doesn't have the relevant information to remove bitlocker at all???? i fail to see why formatting a drive cares what the fuck is on it anyway??? it's supposed to be like the bulldozer and also the vogons at the start of hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy, right? you just format the drive and all of the everything on it is supposed to get bulldozered and space lasered and filleted into new, clean, workable data! i can't clean the drive with diskpart because it's encrpyted, and i can't decrypt it because it has bad blocks where the metadata is!

[homochihuahua]

[paigemathews]

Me: *responding to next gen asks* I'm gonna be succinct and straight to the point and not accidentally do a fucking seven season rewrite of the show. Ask: *gets over 1500 words long and only one kid is born at this point* Me: FUCK

[ahungeringknife]

365: May 11

It was a chilly night on No Man's Land. Without the suns to beat out the heat of the day the night was like a cold hand around the throat. Stayed out without protection and you'd feel it in your lungs all the next day. It, among many excuses he gave himself, was why Wolfwood smoked. The cold couldn't settle deep in you if you just set your body alight. A thin smoke curled from the edge of the ember as the other slept. Sleep didn't come tonight. Was just like that sometimes. Too much serum kept his nerves buzzing, eyes open, until exhaustion. Almost until death.

Meryl slept in a tight ball in the back of the car, wrapped up in her coat and blanket, hat over her head and eyes to block out the light. Roberto was tucked into his jacket in the passenger seat, chin down against his chest, snoring softly, one hand curled around a flask Wolfwood wasn't sure could empty.

The heating lamp cast their little 'camp' into orange and blue relief, one side warmed by the light, the other gripped by the cold desert air. Wolfwood sat against the Punisher propped up against the car, toying with his lighter. Flicking it opened and closed with the soft click of the catch and the snap of the metal meeting together on the close. There were three moons out tonight, each an eye peering down from the heavens. Wolfwood wasn't looking at them.

He was looking at Vash laid on his back like he was sleeping, using his bag full of who the fuck knew what as a pillow. He was doing a good job pretending, keeping his breathing deep and even. Not moving too much. But the light of the lamp reflected off his eyes unnaturally even at this angle. He was looking up at the stars.

Wolfwood sucked on his cigarette. Burning smoke chasing the cold out of his lungs before it had a chance to settle. He knew Vash knew he was awake but did he know Wolfwood knew Vash was awake? It was hard to avoid hearing the soft click of the lighter closing and opening.

The cigarette burned down to his lips before he plucked it out and flicked it away. The moons moved across the sky. Wolfwood lingered in the old smoke of the last one before fishing the box of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. Life sucked but at least the Eye of Michael wasn't such a shit show it didn't provide him with what he needed.

"Those things are going to kill you, you know," Vash said all of the sudden, breaking the silence of the night. Wolfwood fumbled the cigarette, not expecting him to say anything. He was looking across the lamp light at Wolfwood now. Without his glasses the heat lamp's glow reflected off his eyes unnaturally. Like a big cat from the story books back at the orphanage. He'd only seen such things like that one other place.

Not his problem.

"Pft, I'd like to see it try," Wolfwood said, picking up the cigarette from the sand and jamming it in his mouth. With a flourish he flipped open the lighter and sparked a flame.

"It's still bad for you," Vash said as the end of the cigarette caught. He pushed himself up on his jade arm, the light of the heat lamp catching on all the sharp planes of his face making him orange and purple and those reflective eyes like shining moons. Wolfwood just puffed at his cigarette with a shrug.

"Thought you were asleep," Wolfwood said, changing the subject. "Something on your mind?"

Vash shrugged and unfurled from his faking sleep, all long limbs and elbows. Sometimes he reminded Wolfwood of pictures of trees. All knobby limbs and graceful boughs, tossed in the wind like outstretched arms. He stood and was utterly still as the night of No Man's Land looking at Wolfwood. No wind to shift his golden hair or tug at his coat so you could really see how still he was. How utterly. Terrifyingly. Still he could be, eyes reflecting the light of the heat lamp.

A lesser man would have been nervous.

Wolfwood also knew Vash would rather eat his own coat than hurt a hair on any of their heads. He blew out a thin stream of smoke. Vash moved and like always it seemed so specific. Wolfwood just knew how to look. He knew Meryl and Roberto never noticed how Vash added extra movement to everything so he looked natural. So humans didn't see there was something off about him. Wolfwood had seen it in someone who didn't hide it.

"Yeah," Vash said, answering his question as he walked across the lamp glow. "You and Roberto really stink up the car," and Wolfwood lurched when Vash snatched the cigarette right out of his mouth. "Can't get any fresh air out here with you two puffing away," and even when he was trying to be stern it sounded so silly.

"Oh no, whatever will I do," Wolfwood said, rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses he had on even at night. He pulled out the slightly crumpled box of cigarettes and pulled out another. Vash snatched that one too. "Hey- spikey knock it off," he scowled up at Vash.

"You're way too young to smoke yourself to death," Vash said, shaking a jade finger at him.

"Tsk. I'm old enough to do what I want," Wolfwood said pulling out a third. Vash didn't snatch that one. He just looked sort of sadly at Wolfwood instead, hands at his side, as Wolfwood lit the cigarette. Wolfwood took a light drag, the burning smoke filling his lungs. Thin white smoke curled in the still air between them. Vash sighed. "Don't know why you care so much," Wolfwood grumbled. He didn't like the way Vash was looking at him. It was almost... judgmental.

"That's kind of my thing," he said with an exaggerated shrug. "In case you hadn't noticed." Wolfwood had.

"If it bothers you that much just go back to sleep," Wolfwood said, looking up at him, cigarette hanging off his bottom lip.

He swore he was hallucinating from coming off the serum when Vash just, once again, picked the cigarette out of his mouth. This time he didn't crumple it up but looked away out to the desert and put it against his own lips. His eyes flashed where they were set in annoyance. But Wolfwood was just looking at the way Vash's fingers held the cigarette, the way his mouth was curled around it.

"I didn't know you smoked," Wolfwood said. Maybe that was why he was mad? Trying to quit. Didn't make any sense. None of this did.

"I don't," Vash said with very much the cigarette in his mouth. No smoke wavered out of the lit ember at the end. His face was half obscured by the collar of his coat but Wolfwood swore he saw something along the sharp angle of his cheek. A line? A glow? Something. "Do me a favor. Let this one be the last one tonight," and Vash took it out of his mouth and offered it back to Wolfwood. He looked normal. Or as normal as an imitation of a human at any rate.

Wolfwood wasn't a stranger to sharing. "You could have just asked if you wanted one," he said, taking it.

Vash's mouth made something like a smile. A cheap imitation. "Last one for the night, yeah?"

Wolfwood rolled his eyes. "Sure. Whatever you say spikey," but he'd probably light another once Vash went to sleep. He put the cigarette back in his mouth.

"Good," and Vash wandered back over to his bag and sat, pulling his red coat around him. He sat watching Wolfwood smoke his last cigarette of the night.

The cigarette tasted different. Didn't taste like shit. He'd had menthols once and it was... it was almost like that? Like crisp morning air. But not the cold of No Man's Land night. Like all the garbage stuffed into it was gone. The cigarette burned smooth and actually tasted like tobacco.

It was singularly the best cigarette Wolfwood had ever had in his life.

What had Vash done to it?

As he smoked he knew it'd be his last of the night. After something so good, so fragrant and warm having another would just muddy the memory. And he wanted to hold onto it. This last perfect cigarette. He didn't let it burn uselessly like he often did, taking care to savor it. The ember burned down to his lips and he was annoyed when he had to flick it off into the desert.

"Hey spikey-" but the words died on his lips. Vash was already curled up facing the heat lamp, eyes closed, actually asleep now. Damn. "Heh. Okay. Maybe next time then," Wolfwood said to himself and leaned back against the Punisher and looked up at the three moons and the stars. Even without another cigarette the warmth of the last one lingered in his mouth so the cold couldn't settle in him.

[deus-ex-mona]

as the days inch closer to the release date of the digital release, so does my temptation to tl it just for the chuucon—

[feltwrong]

New fic: A Beginner's Guide to Parallel Universes

Gen, 3021 words

T rated for copious swearing, references to child abuse, and one unfortunate double entendre

Tags: Albus Dumbledore Bashing, Albus Dumbledore bashing as trauma coping mechanism, Ginny is not in a great place right now, Swearing, Alcohol, Humour, no actual parallel universes are involved

Summary: A few years after the war, Draco Malfoy is having a quiet drink in a muggle pub with his friends when he hears his name being yelled by an angry Ginny Weasley. And the evening only gets stranger from there.

Excerpt:

“MALFOY!”

Draco allows himself the tiniest of winces before he straightens and turns around. His hand goes reflexively to his wand, but he can’t draw it, not here in a muggle area. He should have known they couldn't keep going to a pub this close to the Ministry.

“Shit,” says Pansy.

Coming toward them like the Hogwarts Express is Ginevra Weasley. She doesn’t have her wand out, at least. Harry Potter is a few paces behind her, hand outstretched as if to catch her shoulder, and Granger and Weasley (Original Flavour) are bringing up the rear, of course.

“DUMBLEDORE WAS A FUCKING WANKER!” yells Weasley (the yelling one).

Draco freezes. He must have misheard that.

Theo murmurs, “There’s a theory.” He means a muggle theory; he’s been reading up on that sort of thing recently. “About parallel universes, worlds that seem similar to ours but they’re fundamentally different in some way.”

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