#cw: homophobia

[ubuntu-official]

Happy pride month to all the lgbt people out there! Consider installing Ubuntu! It can perfectly replicate the sensations of what hell is like just through normal, everyday use. Might as well get used to the sensation, faggot!

[cobwebs-in-autumn]

König with an asexual reader and he just…..does not understand. He just wants the intimacy of being inside of you, filling you with himself. He tries learn by watching all sorts of explanation videos and then, eventually, he stumbles onto asexual TikTok and his confusion and irritation grows when he sees that asexuals on there are having sex. He practically shoves it in your face and you get into an argument about how you’re just not one of those Aces and you both go to bed angry. You wake up at midnight to your arms tied behind your back and your mouth taped shut as König is rubbing his cock against the gusset of your underwear, screaming through your makeshift gag as he kisses your cheek and coos that he tried to take it slow, he’s being so nice by giving you time to adjust and not just shoving it in like he wants. Tomorrow he’ll do the same thing but no panties, and then after that maybe you’ll try sex. Shh Shh, it’s okay. Don’t cry, Schatzi. It’ll feel good, you just need to give it a chance 🧡🧡🧡

[theshoesofatiredman]

rant: i feel like the ‘nice’ christians are worse than the outright hateful ones. the blonde peppy girls with john 3:16 in their instagram bio that are like “i don’t hate lgbt people!! i just disagree with their lifestyle. love the sinner hate the sin <3” LIKE GIRL STFU. it makes no sense to say this. i’d literally prefer for an old person to just call us abominations or degenerates.

the best analogy i can think of is, let’s say having red hair was a sin. so, as a redheaded person, you being born that way isn’t necessarily a sin. you’re still loved by god! but…since you grow out red hair you have to keep it continually shaved. again, there’s nothing wrong with having the red hair gene!! but it’s just a sin for it to start growing :)

that’s how dumb these mfs sound who say gay ppl have to be celibate for life. i cant stand it at all. even worse, homosexuality is grouped in with sins like murder, adultery, etc. wtf!!! one time i was reading a christian book and the writer was like “There are so many problems with our world. Misogyny, trafficking, abuse, pedophilia, r*pe, homosexuality”….ONE OF THESE THINGS IS NOT LIKE THE OTHERS. how do they not see that?

I'm not sure if you want me to answer your last question, because on one hand, it seems rhetorical. But I do have theories!

For starters, they can't see how unlike the others is because they were conditioned against it by their religion. Many are so indoctrinated with the idea that all sin is hated equally by God, so when considering lists like this, they are not considering impact or harm. Theirs is not an ethic based on harmful outcomes. It's one God's opinion over everyone else's. To justify it, their theology makes God to be the ultimate good so a relationship with him is the ultimate good. And anything God calls sin alienates us from him and is therefore harmful to us because it deprives us of the ultimate good. But you have to bring it back to: well what does God actually think is harmful about gay love? They have answers to that question but they aren't good ones.

Second, it's easy to not recognize the wrongness of homosexuality's inclusion on this list because most people aren't gay. It's easier to miss what you've never experienced. It's also easier to hold people morally responsible for a choice you'll never have to make. A straight man who never lusts after a man is without the specific sin and he is able to cast the first stone far more easily.

Third, and in a similar vein to the above, it's really easily to moralize based on disgust. If something seems gross, it is so much easier to think there's something wrong with it. Unfortunately, sex that people don't want to have often seems disgusting. If you're straight, the idea of participating in gay sex is probably not going to feel good and it is so so easy for that disgust to be moralized against gay sex havers. It's so important to not let disgust drive your morals but many people miss this.

Fourth, homosexuality has been falsely equivocated with all of those other things. The idea that LGBTQ people are rapists, pedophiles, abusers, and/or child traffickers is a prevalent one amongst homophobes. They don't realize the difference because in bigoted circles the words are synonymous.

Fifth, I grew up hearing that acceptance of gay relationships in America was going to cause God to destroy the country like he had wiped out previous nations, like he had done to Sodom and Gomorrah. There are folks in positions of power and authority who are just making shit up and some people don't know any better bc they're in a bubble with little to no out gay people. It's harder to think gay people are going to bring down god's fiery wrath when there's a loving Jesus following gay couple in the neighboring pew or as your actual neighbor. Many people in these bigoted communities don't have enough experience with gay people to realize at first just how full of shit their leaders are and after they roll it into their worldview the change is so hard to make they're stuck like that.

I agree with you that "I don't hate LGBTQ people!! I just disagree with their lifestyle ✨💖" are still being bigoted. They would vote against my rights as a gay man and that is discrimination based on sexual orientation. They would likely still oppress me by-proxy if they could. They would vote for someone else to put the boot on my neck, but they wouldn't do it themselves.

And like there is that difference. I would rather that brand of Christian than a Nazi, or then the brand of Christian who thinks gay people should be rounded up and shot. I think it's a false equivalency to say they're the same. A society where homophobes have to be passive aggressive to maintain social acceptance rather than acceptance is one where gay people get to live longer. It's not perfect, but it is improved.

However, I also understand that it's so fucking frustrating because it's impossible to get the love the sinner hate the sin type Christian to see the harm they're doing and how hateful they are coming off. It feels worse because it's candy coated shit and you would've rather seen the shit coming. You would rather the violence know its own name than pretend to be love. It makes love feel hollow and empty because what they're handing you is this broken twisted version.

And we deserve better than that.

[badaziraphaletakes]

It’s not necessarily a fully bad Aziraphale take but I feel like the ‘other who can’t admit their queer’ is pointed at him

Thanks for the submission @gretinternetllama

Well, they ain't talking about Crowley 💀 LMAO

This is the most privileged, out-of-touch Aziracrow take I have ever seen. If you think the most painful queer trope is “one of them’s scared to admit they’re queer”, then fuck you and the horse you rode in on.

The most painful queer “trope”, BY DEFINITION, is “one or both of them will be violently killed if they openly acknowledge their love”. Like Aziracrow. Like Castiel. (The tragedy of that isn’t that Dean didn’t love him that way. It’s that Castiel DIED for saying he loved him, lmao. It is so insulting to Castiel to suggest that the worst thing that happened to him is not having Dean’s love.) Like the overwhelming majority of queer people throughout human history. Because THAT IS THE DEFINITIVE TRAGEDY OF THE ENTIRE QUEER EXPERIENCE.

Fuck anyone who thinks that not being willing to openly acknowledge your love for your partner because you know it can never go anywhere BECAUSE YOU’LL BOTH BE KILLED FOR IT is internalized homophobia. (I can hear the gays in Russia laughing rn.)

Having said that, though, let’s take a look at the way OP analyzes “internalized homophobia”, because there is PLENTY to be concerned about there as well.

The “can’t *even* ‘bring themselves’ to admit they’re queer” is DISGUSTING. Fuck this person’s judgmental tone. God, the more I read this the angrier I get. (If they’d written a post saying “I feel so bad that Aziraphale is losing his chance at a relationship with Crowley because of his internalized homophobia; that must be so hard”, that would be one thing. They’d still be dead wrong, lol, but at least this take wouldn’t be bigoted crap. But that’s not, remotely, what they said. There is no sympathy or understanding on offer for Aziraphale whatsoever.) NO ONE has the right to judge someone for not being ready to accept that they’re queer. It is NEVER their fault. It is ALWAYS the fault of the disgusting homophobia and queer phobia of our society at large.

And also fuck anyone who judges someone for rejecting another person’s romantic advances. It’s literally never any of our business why they do that. (This is giving me flashbacks to the 2010’s Phantom of the Opera fandom. And that is NOT A GOOD THING, lmao.) Romantic rejection, even for a depressing reason like this, is not the tragedy people seem to think. No one needs to be with any one particular person in order to be happy. This whole thing is giving “oh, the poor person whose love interest won’t date them”.

Move on and find someone who will date you. Plenty more fish in the sea.

I'd say it's actually a lot more tragic for the closeted person, who has probably missed out on a lot of other relationships for the same reason and is hurting very deeply. But again, does OP have any compassion to spare for the characters they've labeled as closeted? Nah.

(Side note: If you can’t bear to date someone who’s in the closet, DON’T DATE THEM! It’s that simple. And for the love of GOD don’t pressure them to come out or blame them for not being willing to do so.)

Also. This whole thing is giving faint vibes of the putting-your-hands-over-your-ears, “la-la-la-if-I-ignore-your-problems-they’ll-just-go-away”, “if you come out, everything will be fine and everyone will magically accept you” trope, which is offensive, harmful, privileged, dangerous bullshit. Love does not always conquer all. Love does not always make everything magically okay.

(When it comes to Aziracrow in particular, it is also VERY MUCH reminiscent of the belief that once victims leave their ab*sers, their ab*sers will leave them alone, which is the POLAR OPPOSITE of what actually happens in those situations.)

The most ridiculous part out of all of this, though, has got to be mentioning Johnlock. 🤣🤣🤣 Um, which one of those two is supposed to be flamboyantly queer, exactly? Lol that’s just sad. We have better queer representation now. Come on.

Not to mention, Sherlock and John’s relationship/friendship/situationship/whatever the fuck we were supposed to think that was, was horrendously toxic. Nothing about the way they behave to each other is “loving”. Sherlock is a terrible person (and istg if I hear ONE SINGLE PERSON try to say it’s not his fault because of “mental illness” or some ableist bullshit like that, I will come after you with an axe) and not a suitable partner for anyone unless he does some seeeerious work on himself. Even supposing John is in love with Sherlcok, he has EVERY REASON IN THE WORLD not to want to date him - and it has fuck-all to do with shame (more flashbacks to the 2010’s Phantom of the Opera fandom lol).

Also... I thought we'd all collectively agreed to move on from Sherlock because it's horrendously anti-Autistic and queerbaity and Cummerbund Bumpersnatch is a vile ableist stain upon the face of humanity whose name I will not utter? Did I miss something lol?

To the next person to demean Good Omens and the precious, beautiful relationship between Aziracrow by lumping it in with crap like 'Sherlock' - we meet at the dueling grounds at dawn.

One final thing to add: Crowley doesn’t want to “scream their love from the rooftops”????? Because he also knows they’ll be killed or worse if they do that??? Canon Crowley is a FAR better person and a far more loving partner than willfully oblivious, damn-the-torpedos fanon Crowley. I wouldn't like this show if Crowley "wanted to scream their love from the rooftops".

There’s a LOT more that should probably be said about this, but my thumbs are tired and my heart is tireder still.

[sixhours]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks for the tags @march-flowerr and @bumblepony! I also got tagged for some last line games by @luxurychristmaspudding and @marceltheshellwithflipflopson so I'm merging them and you get a big 'ol WIP.

Feeling a lil shy about sharing this story because it’s a bit outside my comfort zone, but I like where it’s going so far.

Tagging @frannyzooey @goodwithcheese @marceltheshellwithflipflopson @luxurychristmaspudding @sawymredfox and anyone else who wants to play, as always. <3

——————

When Joel was 17, he kissed a boy for the first time.

His name was Kenny Farmington, and they were both a little drunk on cheap beer and a nice Texas night and the special high that comes from being not quite a man and not quite a boy, stuck in that in-between time when it felt like anything was possible. Joel had a truck and a part-time job at Regis Construction and his whole life spread out before him like an open road.

It was a nice enough kiss. But when Joel opened his eyes after their lips parted and saw fear rather than lust in his friend’s eyes, he knew it ended there. Everyone knew Kenny’s dad was a raging homophobe who would “whoop his ass” if he thought his son might be “one of them dirty fuckin’ faggots”.

Joel wasn’t convinced his own father wouldn’t have had something to say about it had he known.

And, oh well. Joel liked girls, too. He liked them enough to bring Eileen Folsom home and make out with her in the basement rec room at her parents’ house until his cock was weeping and his balls were blue. He liked them well enough to get to third base with Cindy Sherwood in the back of his truck. He liked girls plenty.

It was the eighties, anyway. AIDS was spreading like wildfire, and small-town Texas was hardly the place to go looking for action if you weren’t straight as a goddamn arrow.

Four years later, Joel liked one particular girl enough to knock her up, and then he didn’t have much time to consider whether he’d want to kiss another boy, because he was going to be a father.

And then there was Sarah. And a divorce. And his parents died. And Tommy went off to war and came back, and there was overtime and working doubles to keep the roof over their heads and the payment on the truck up, and who the fuck had time to think about boys or girls or anyone in between.

And then there was cordyceps. And his daughter, his baby girl, bleeding out in his arms.

And then Joel didn’t spend much time thinking about what he liked at all. He kept going for the ones who needed him without a thought spared for himself.

And then came Ellie.

Ellie, who patched up his heart and turned his life upside down and made him care about something other than brute survival again. Tore down his walls and broke him open and somehow left him whole.

Whole, and…wanting.

Which is why, forty years after Kenny Farmington, he doesn’t feel bad about imagining another man’s face, or hands, or lips on his body when he strokes himself in the shower. He doesn’t feel ashamed when he gets off to the thought of another man’s mouth on his cock. It’s not the first time he’s been attracted to a man, and it won’t be the last.

No, he feels bad because that man is his daughter’s fucking therapist. That man is someone she needs to trust, someone she raves about over dinner, someone who is, in her words, “so fucking cool”.

And his duty, first and foremost, is to Ellie.

So he tries not to imagine Ezra when his libido comes roaring back to life after years of dormancy, boiling his blood and making him feel half his age.

And he fails, miserably.

[fuctacles]

Just got called a fucking faggot so i guess that's progress?

[dinosaur-mayonnaise]

diversity in children’s media is so important. when i first watched she-ra my mother joined me - she realised it was a remake of one of her childhood favourites and so she was super excited to watch it. most of it, that is. she absolutely adored it, until it got to the ending. until catradora became official.

of course, the signs had been there all along. it was always obvious where their relationship was heading, but she’d always had that plausible deniability to hide behind, until the end.

if i’d been a bit younger and a bit more malleable, the look of disgust on her face might have ruined the show for me. her look of obvious confusion and distaste and ‘now why would they do that?’ would’ve made me think it was weird and unnecessary that they did that.

thankfully, i wasn’t a bit younger. i was old enough to show that her reactions to two girls being in love was very much a her problem.

but most of the people watching that show are younger, kids watching innocent cartoons, often with their parents in the room, parents who think the same as my mother did.

those are the kids we need more diversity for. those are the kids who need good - or even just neutral and existent - queer representation in their cartoons. with how big media has become, it’s turned into such a significant influence of children’s worldviews.

and maybe a cartoon wouldn’t be enough to stop children adopting their parents’s queer-phobic attitudes. maybe it won’t be enough to make any huge change.

but it would be a start. it would be a step towards making queer people a normal, accepted part of children’s worldviews. and for all the kids surrounded by queer-phobic adults, a start is so important.

[drpoisonoaky]

Sozin’s law

This happened at very early stages of their relationship. This came from Sozin’s law that ban gay relationships.

(I have to be honest I cried writing this so all of the typos not all came only from “English isn't my first language” as usual.)

Katara wasn’t angry, but they needed to talk. So as she intensely stared at Azula she asked her “Are you ashamed of me?”

Azula looked at her as if she was saying the most crazy statement in the world. “What? Of course not. I am crazy but not that crazy.” then with a softer voice asked “Why do you think that?”

For a while Katara thought that she was being paranoid, until last week.

They were walking around the Capital and she wanted to buy some gifts for Gran Gran and her father. She was holding Azula’s hand. Her hand was always warm, it was comforting. 

But as soon as some people came close to them Azula dropped her hand. She looked at the princess and she noticed how tense she was, so she decided to not ask her ‘Why?’ at that moment. But she knows something was wrong. 

Katara softer her gaze “Why did you drop my hand the other day?” 

She was prepared to confront Azula’s ‘I didn’t do that’ or ‘Did you hit your head?’ but instead she heard:

“Because I don’t want anybody to hurt you.” 

Azula was looking at the floor, so Katara dropped the inquisitive tone.

“Is it because I’m from the Water Tribes?”

“That sometimes crosses my mind but no”

 “Then why Azula?” 

Azula looked at her with glassy eyes. “It was forbidden, Katara. I was raised and taught that I was a monster in more than one way.”

That sentence made Katara’s stomach turn. “But Zuko abolished that law in his first year as Fire Lord.”

It was the truth. It was one of his first moves as Fire Lord: ‘The law should prohibit all forms of discrimination and not support them’.

Azula took a breath knowing an old wound is going to be open.

“The law isn’t there anymore, but you can’t change people’s minds that fast, Katara”

“Since when do you give a fuck about anybody else opinion?”

“Since one day I took Ty Lee’s hand in the gardens and father saw it. He forced me to know how that particular law works for people with that inclinations”

Katara’s blood ran cold so she stepped closer to Azula.

“Can you hold me?” asked Azula shyly.

Katara didn’t answer but she stepped even closer and held her girlfriend in her arms. 

Being embraced and feeling more protected she continued. 

“They send them to mental institutions but in that mental institutions they apply some methods to them” 

Katara wasn’t sure if she wanted to know but she had to ask. 

“They did that to you?” 

“I was there because I was having hallucinations, that thought never crossed their minds. Ty Lee and I were careful, before the boiling rock at least.”

“What did they do in that place?”

“I’m not entirely sure. When Ozai took me there I saw how they tortured some women and made her repeat ‘A romantic relationship between two women is a disease’. She was strong, she denied it multiple times until they broke her.”

Azula was crying, Katara didn’t think she even realized that she was crying, maybe because Katara was also crying.

“After seeing how that woman lost the will to live in her eyes, Ozai faced me and said 'We shouldn't see the princess of the Fire Nation in that position, don’t we?’.”

“I face that man and his training methods every day. How he reacted to imperfection, but I never was more afraid of him than at that moment.”

Katara had her throat all in knots. She held Azula as if her life depended on her.

“How old were you?”

“Not sure. Maybe eleven or twelve. I don’t even know the meaning of my feelings for Ty Lee and he already knew it.”

Katara was speechless. 

“I tried to be how I was supposed to be. I even kissed a boy. But after I did that I know for sure I can’t live like that.”

“But it was forbidden…”

As if she read her mind, Azula said “I meant to be the Fire Lord. I could change that, I wouldn’t have to pretend.”

And with a weak voice murmured “I don’t know how Zuko knew, we never talk about it. Maybe he saw something or talked with Mai or Ty Lee. But when she banished the law, she came to visit me and said ‘You have done awful things in your life but one of those never was loving someone’”.

Katara has her eyes full of tears. Her held in Azula I wasn’t just to help the princess. Azula faced her and hugged her just as hard. And in the crook of the neck mutter. “I’m not ashamed of you. If I was proud of something it is to be able to be yours. I am afraid of something happening to you and I. I’m working on it, please give me time.”

They spend the rest of the day holding and supporting each other. And Katara promised herself she would do everything she could to let the woman in her arms to feel safe around her no matter what.

[dinoplantsghost]

pairing: Tom Riddle x fem! original character

warning(s): tom is a warning in itself, 1940s: time-accurate prejudice, violence: t0rture (Cruciatus Curse), teenage behavior: drama and language, mentions of weed

word count: ~6383

Disclaimer: I have a huge google doc that holds all of my drafts and I'm quite literally just copypasting everything, so if there are any typos/errors, no there isn't!! :)

-- this chapter is so goofy, i've been holding off posting this one because of a summer assignment that i just finished

Chapter List

Plans, Delusions, and Yappers [5]

“Look, she’s back at it again.”

“She’s embarrassing me, she needs to stop…”

Miles, with a teasing smile, patted Orion’s back as the boy pressed his forehead against the wooden table, his cousin’s scratchy voice digging into everyone’s ears as she attempted to intimidate the new girl after class. 

It was 16:45. DADA had finished 15 minutes ago, and students were left with about an hour and a half before their last class of the evening. While it was implemented for students to catch up on work, many used it to talk amongst themselves in the classroom. 

Orion’s cousin, Walburga Black, had a reputation for screaming. She had many suitors, as well as many enemies—ones that she made herself with her bad attitude. Orion explained it as her parents’ coddling her since birth. One thing she was known for was her obsession with the boys she fancied—with Tom Riddle being her ultimate infatuation. 

It wasn’t surprising, though. Many girls had attempted to win the boy over. Letters, boxes of chocolates, even love potions were sent to him on the daily, annoying his followers whenever they would find a new object at the foot of their dorm entrance. A common theory is that Tom wasn’t attracted to girls at all, but of course anyone who voiced that opinion would be left with scratches on their face by infuriated, hormone-driven girls. 

“I heard how you hurt Tom,” Whined Walburga, arms crossed as she stood in front of a startled Saoirse. “I heard he could have died! What do you have to say for yourself?” 

“Well, he didn’t die,” Saoirse shrugged. “He’s right there. I’m sure he can take care of himself, whatever your name is.” 

Pointing to the boy in one of the higher rows, Saoirse went back to writing notes, until Walburga snatched the parchment from underneath, her quill digging into the pulp and ripping a tear in the middle. 

“He could have,” she cried. “And my name is Walburga! Walburga Black!” 

As the girl spit in Saoirse’s face, garnering the attention of the entire class—Professor Merrythought was long gone in her office—the boys in the upper rows watched with intrigue. 

“Why is she yelling,” Orion groaned, on the verge of ripping his black locks off his scalp. “I don’t want to write to my Mum again, Yule Break is going to be filled with gossip and I hate it.” 

“Speaking of writing,” Miles said, turning to lean in close to Tom. “I wrote to my mother, like you asked. I got the same results; she knows nothing. She’s getting irritated by it, so I don’t think I should be asking her anything anytime soon.” 

Tom huffed, his nostrils flaring as he glanced up from his book. “Then help Abraxas and Orion with their task.” He uttered, drooping his head back down away from the rest of the world. 

Miles caught his words on his tongue, hands waving as he looked at the other two in question. Abraxas pressed his lips together in a line, gathering all his energy before standing up. “I have an idea about what he wants.” He sighed, pulling Orion and Miles with him as they walked down the steps between the rows of seats. 

“Tom said to keep her close,” Abraxas said. “And I assume he means to befriend her. He doesn’t make sense sometimes.” 

“Tell me about it.” Miles nodded; his eyes wide. “He’s literally been asking me to do the same thing for months, and he thinks Merlin is going to bless us with a different answer; he’s just lucky my Mum likes him.” 

“He never gives me anything to do,” Orion said quietly. “It makes me wonder if he likes me at all; I don’t know what I’m doing in the Inner Circle. Last night was the first thing I’ve been tasked with in a while–and we didn’t find a bloody thing.” 

The three boys stood behind Walburga’s own posse. “Well, you’re our orator; we’re putting your smooth talking to work, mate.” Abraxas said. 

“We’re all orators; we’re blue-blooded, ‘Brax.” Sassed Orion.

Waving a hand, Abraxas coughed in his fist before shoving the girls to the side, Miles doing the same with a happy smile on his two-tones lips. “Excuse me, ladies, hot men coming through.” 

“What do you three want?” Walburga asked, hands on her hips as she glared at her cousin and his friends. 

“Cousin, you need to stop with these dramatic debacles,” Orion frowned. “I don’t want to write to my mother again; you’re embarrassing.” 

Walburga scoffed. “You wouldn’t understand; you’ve never been in love.” She made a face, her eyes scanning the three boys in front of her. “Unless you’re here to save the girl. Surely not, right?” 

“No,” he stiffened. “Why would that cross your mind, that’s not—look, just stop yelling. Tom doesn’t need someone to ‘stand up for him’ if that’s what you think you’re doing.” 

Miles and Abraxas nodded. “Yeah, and to be honest, Tom doesn’t like you at all—he thinks you’re annoying.” The boy with dark skin said, happy to see the hurt look on the girl’s face. 

“You’re wrong, I’ve been getting to him! Just the other day, I made him flustered by the way I caressed his arm.” 

The boys coughed. That was the night of their first meeting of the week. He hated the way she touched him. He came into the Room of Requirement with a green, sickly face.

“That’s not what happened.” Laughed Miles. “But anyways, we’re done talking to you.” He pushed Walburga to the side, unaware of his strength as she fell to the ground. 

“Saoirse,” Abraxas said, getting the attention of the girl with blue hair. “Do you happen to have the notes from today’s lesson? Miles and Eloise were bothering the rest of us during class.” 

The bespectacled girl looked up, “Why don’t you ask for notes from Riddle? Aren’t you friends with him?” 

Before Abraxas got a word out, Orion blurted out: “Yes, but he’s been in a bad mood lately. We just thought we’d ask you since word’s been going around that you have really good marks.” 

“Also,” sang Miles. “A friend of ours has what we like to call a ‘crush’ on you. The boy with the pepper hair and glasses—the nerdy one.” 

Following the finger Lestrange held out, Saoirse turned around to see the boy in question with his head down, a quill of black tufts wiggling around with each letter and word he wrote. Sensing the pairs of eyes staring in his direction, he looked up, his blue orbs locking with her jade ones before his cheeks turned pink. 

“Why does he want to crush me?” Saoirse asked, concern on her face as the three Slytherins in front of her laughed. 

“No, what Miles meant is that Patrick likes you,” explained Abraxas. “He wants to get to know you, with the intention of starting a romantic relationship rather than a platonic friendship.” 

Scratching her head, Saoirse cursed mentally at how confusing English euphemisms and idioms were. “I could talk to him,” she said boldly. “A boy’s never been interested in me; I want to know what that’s like.” 

As the girl stood up to pack up her belongings, the boys stood with open mouths. They didn’t expect her to go along with it. Miles was only joking, after all. “You, you want to talk to him, right now?” Miles asked, leaning against the backs of the two boys in front of him. “That’s nice of you and all, but I don’t think that’s necessary—”

“No, I want to,” she said, putting on her crossover satchel. “You can lead the way up the stairs.” 

The boys led in silence, throwing each other glances as the girl followed them from behind. 

As they made their way to the top, the others in the group did a double take, with Eloise yelling out in surprise for a moment. “What is this,” he cried. “How did you get the pretty girl here? Did she finally realize how amazing I am—wait where is she going?” He frowned, gasping when he watched the girl tap Patrick on the shoulder. 

“Excuse me,” she said quietly. “Your friends told me that—I apologize if I say this incorrectly—you have a crush on me. I would like to entertain your feelings.” 

Patrick, his scribbles coming to a halt as he looked up to see sparkling jade in his vision. Her looks were a fresh breeze among the muddle beauties in west Europe. Like the moon, only a lucky few truly understood the beauty she held. However, unlike the moon, her beauty was her own, not something that is borrowed from another source. Patrick would spend all his time staring at the moon if he could. Seeing Saoirse made him appreciate Astronomy class a bit more. 

“Who told you I fancied you?” He mumbled, his fast heart stopping the moment he heard the laughter of Miles, Abraxas, and Eloise, with Louis and Orion smiling as well. 

“That Lestrange boy told me,” Saoirse said, her lip wavering in a smile. “But I came here on my own accord; I don’t usually see eyes like yours. They’re pretty—like the ocean.” 

Meanwhile, Eloise was punching Miles on the arm as Patrick moved his belongings to the floor to make room for the girl to sit next to him. “How could you do this to me?” He cried. “I can’t be losing her to that nerd—all he ever talks about are those books he has, he’s going to bore her to death!” 

“I don’t think so,” Louis laughed. “Look; they’re both smiling at his book. It sucks to be you, Avery.” 

“You can’t be saying anything,” huffed Eloise. “Especially since you don’t get any girls. At this rate, I’m starting to think you’re one of those homosexuals or something.” 

Before Louis could get a word out, Eloise left the group to join his other Slytherin friends on the other side of the room. “I’m sure he’s just joking, man,” Orion said. “You know how he is; don’t let it get to you. His pride is a wee, fragile thing.” 

Nodding, Rosier smiled at his friends tight-lipped, silently appreciating the way Miles patted his back. 

“They wouldn’t get it at all,” muttered the curly haired boy. “You’re a good guy; Cassius is just too dumb to realize it. It’ll get through his thick, empty head eventually.” 

Louis sighed, tugging at the elastic in his hair. “Yeah, sure.” He ran a hand through his yellow strands. “Cassius doesn’t even like guys, anyways, Miles, who are we joking?”

“Come on, man, don’t say that,” stressed his friend. “That’s some weird brain you have, Louis. My gut tells me that Cassius feels some type of way for you—something definitely not friendly in any way; he calls you Rose for Merlin’s sake, that means something, yeah?” 

At the mention of the nickname, Louis’ cheeks turned pink. “I guess so, but he only says that because we’re best friends. We knew each other before we could walk.” 

Miles scoffed. “No one else gets to call him Cass’, and he gets mad whenever we try to call you Rose. Don’t be dumb, Louis.”

Orion leaned back, throwing himself into the conversation again. “Hey, did we ever figure out what her blood status is? I would hate Patrick to fancy her if she weren’t a Pureblood.” 

The other two looked at each other, the previous conversation vanishing the moment someone else joined their exchange. “Does that really matter,” Miles asked. “I thought we were going to—you know—after we got what we needed from her.” 

“I thought that was a last resort type of thing, was it not?” Louis said, his confusion synonymous with his friends’. 

Plans never went well with the Knights of Walpurgis. Even before Tom joined their group—when they were younger and much more naïve. Whenever they would hang out, they could never consolidate their plans for the day, and it eventually left them stuck in a garden or in a forest behind the manor they were at for the time being. 

Orion sighed, looking back to Patrick and Saoirse, who were happily chatting away about whatever the boy had in his book. “Merlin’s balls, we’re fucked.”

 ┌────── ⋆☆⋆ ──────┐

23:47 - Astronomy

The night was sparkling as usual, the wind chipping away at Patrick’s lungs every time his chest would take in a breath. Somehow, for whatever reason, Professor Jensen paired him up with Saoirse. He had to stand next to the girl for three hours until class ended at 1:00. Patrick was sure he was going to die by the end of it.

“I’ve never seen these constellations before,” Saoirse muttered, her eye pressed against the telescope. “This star is usually connected to this star—the Rigel. We call it Heike-boshi; it represents the war between two clashing families.” 

Patrick could only nod, his mind too drunk on the scent of jasmine and sandalwood drowning his nose. “Well, we call that star Betelguese,” he cleared his throat, his stomach flipping as he moved closer to write down on the chart they were given. “The red one; it connects to Alnilam and Bellatrix. We call that constellation Orion’s Belt.” 

Saoirse made a sound of wonder, removing her face from the telescope to rub the red circle around her eye. “When I was younger, my mother used to tell me stories about the stars.”

Patrick smiled, taking the telescope from her to look at the stars on his own. “What’s your family like? I’m sure they’re wonderful, considering how great you turned out.” 

“That’s an overstatement,” blushed Saoirse. “I don’t really talk to my parents all that much anymore. I haven’t gotten a letter from them since I started school; Mahoutokoro usually takes children in at the age of eleven, but some join as early as seven. The only letter I’ve gotten from them was when I got expelled, and that was only a couple of days ago.” 

The boy frowned, setting the telescope to the side as he looked over to the girl. “That’s really brutal,” he adjusted his glasses, “Why don’t they talk to you? Is it a magic thing? I know that some Muggleborns and Half-bloods don’t talk to their parents for religious reasons.” 

“No, that’s not it; I’m a Pureblood. I never knew why they stopped talking to me. It never crossed my mind to ask, actually.” 

“Well, whatever the reason, I think it’s good you don’t have them in your life; it wouldn’t be fun having people who don’t like you micromanaging your every move and whatnot.” 

Saoirse laughed, “Are you speaking from experience?” 

Her laugh made Patrick’s stomach explode. “A little bit,” He shrugged. “Being a Pureblood in Europe is kind of brutal, especially since my family is part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight; it’s some elitist group and it’s not worth knowing in my opinion. You have to present yourself in a certain fashion; know this, be discouraged from that. It’s all a bunch of rubbish, really…” 

Saoirse nodded. She opened her mouth to respond, but the professor announced that class was about to end. “It doesn’t feel like we’ve been here for three hours.” She muttered. 

“Time goes by faster when you’re enjoying yourself.” Patrick said, his frames covering the dust of pink and red on his skin. 

As they packed up, picking up pens and other instruments, their hands brushed against each other every now and then, almost purposefully. For once Patrick didn’t mind that his friends dragged him into their shenanigans. 

“Hey, Quidditch season started not too long ago,” he started, adjusting his satchel on his shoulder. “I was wondering if you wanted to watch the first match with me? It’s on the first Saturday of November; it’s Slytherin vs. Hufflepuff, and even though I’m not on the team, I know enough to teach you the rules.” 

Saoirse smiled, nodding at the boy. “Sure, I’d like that.” 

As the two departed, Patrick left the girl with weak legs, his heart beating out of his chest. Fumbling to clean his fogged up glasses, a pair of Oxford shoes filled his blurry vision. Looking up, he recognized the fuzzy figure as Tom. 

“Nott,” he said, a frown apparent on his face the moment Patirck put his glasses back on. “Walk with me.” 

The commute back to the Slytherin common room was quiet, Patrick’s heart still beating out of his chest out of fear rather than anxiety. 

“What did the girl say to you?” Tom asked. 

A breath fell from his nose as he replied, “She’s a Pureblood, and she doesn’t have a good relationship with her parents; that’s all she told me. I was going to ask about spells, but class ended not long before.” 

Tom nodded. “Despite that information being useless, you obtained more than the other three, and Avery who is supposedly infatuated with her; good job.” 

Patrick fumbled a ‘thank you’ from his thin lips, unfamiliar with the boy’s praise. Tom left him by the Slytherin entrance in the dungeons, turning the corner to begin his Prefect rounds for the night. 

Heaving out a large sigh, the Austrian entered the common room, his feet dragging him up the left staircase that wrapped around the humongous statue of Salazar Slytherin in the middle of the room. Opening the door to his shared dorm, he rubbed his tired eyes and kicked his shoes off, his satchel falling to the floor before he fell to his duvet. He groaned, gaining the attention of the three boys he’s shared a dorm with for the last four years: Orion, Miles, and Eloise. 

“You okay, mate?” Miles asked, his body lounged on the carpet near his bed. 

“I think I asked Saoirse on a date,” he mumbled, his neck and ears steaming and his cheeks burning red. “And she said yes…” 

Eloise, who was playing Wizards Chess with Orion, gripped the board before slamming his castle into the offensive position. “You’re joking,” he yelled. “You have to be bloody joking, Patrick—how?”

“I don’t know, it just slipped out of my mouth; I asked her to watch the opening Quidditch game with me that’s in two weeks—I’m fucking screwed!” 

Orion laughed, unable to focus on the chess game in front of him. “And what did Tom think about that? Is he mad that you’re having fun with her?” 

Patrick sat up, his peppered hair a mess and his glasses toppled on his nose. “I forgot to mention that part to him; I only told him that she said she was Pureblood and that she doesn’t like her mum and dad.” 

“She’s a Pureblood?” Miles gasped, his chin propped in his palm and his feet swaying in the air behind him. “Oh, you got lucky, Patrick; I’m so proud of you!” 

“I’m not,” scowled Eloise. “This bastard doesn’t even know how to dress for a date—a date that’s a school Quidditch match, mind you!” 

His face was as red as his hair, his hand haphazardly throwing his pawn away. Orion shrugged, using this to take the game and gain an easy check. “I don’t know why you’re so offended, El’,” he said. “You don’t actually like Saoirse, do you?” 

“Well—no,” he scoffed. “But I haven’t had a girl in a while and Patrick single handedly gained the prettiest one I’ve seen since Gemma Nettles from Gryffindor.” 

“Gemma Nettles graduated two years ago.” Miles commented, to which Eloise cried out dramatically in response. 

“Exactly!”

 ┌────── ⋆☆⋆ ──────┐

The following two weeks passed by, each day causing more and more butterflies to develop in Patrick’s stomach. He lost sleep, tossing and turning at the endless possibilities for disasters to take place at the game. His glasses could be crooked, the Quaffle could fly and hit his face, hit her face; Hell, a bloody Bludger could come and hit both of them!

Every time he saw her during class, he hated it. He never met a girl as academic as she was, not in the way others were at Hogwarts; she was different. He was lucky he only saw her a few times throughout the week. Astronomy class had to be his favorite, though. Professor Jensen, bless that man, decided to keep the pairs permanent for the rest of the school year, meaning he had three hours of Saoirse to himself, for four days out of the entire week. 

Of course, Tom would ruin it the moment class was over, demanding for a ‘status report’ as he always called it. Truth be told, Patrick had been avoiding the questions he needed to ask her; he lied to Tom, saying that Saoirse was very tight-lipped and would always change the subject. She always had something interesting to say, whether it be something Patrick already knew or something new entirely; he just loved hearing her talk. 

Her voice; it was probably Patrick’s favorite thing about her. Whenever she would speak in her mother tongue, trying to teach Patrick some things in their spare time, she was like a siren. She would lure him in with her voice, her melodic tones as she kept her voice down to a mere whisper, tingles teasing his back and his ears. 

Her lips were pretty too, in his mind. They were very plush and pink; it always reminded him of a bunny’s nose. For once, he wondered what it would feel like to have them pressed against his. 

He found himself thinking about her almost obsessively with how he started to pick up romance books for the sake of imagining her in those scenarios. He had to hide those books under his pillow, of course, as he wouldn’t see the light of day if his friends ever found him reading about a domestic life and two cats. 

When Sunday finally came, the first of November, he balanced on the balls of his feet as he waited near the Ravenclaw Tower, the bronze eagle head keeping him company on the door. Even with all the winter clothing he had on, he felt a cold sweat coming. He was a nervous wreck, to say the very least. 

‘What if she sees stains on my clothes?’ He whined, a frown on his face as he watched people in blue leave the tower one by one. 

Finally, after what seemed like an hour, Saoirse’s voice hit his ears, like a feather bouncing on a fluffed up pillow. “Sorry, I didn’t expect it to be this cold; I had to change into something warmer.”

Looking down at the shorter girl, he was glad the cold had something to do with his flushed cheeks. Her face was covered up with her blue and bronze scarf, a puffball situated on the top of her head from her winter beret. Her hair, brighter than any blue she was wearing, was in disarray underneath all the yarn. 

“Are you okay? You look like you’re suffocating under all that clothing, Schatzi.” He smiled, his fingers finding their way to her beret to readjust it on her head. 

His mother always told him that women liked having special names specifically for them; he recalled how often her face got red whenever his father called her sein hase. He always liked how German terms sounded over English ones. 

“Schatzi,” Saoirse echoed, her accent jumbling her voice as she tilted her head to the side. “What does that mean?” 

Patrick shook his head, too embarrassed to explain now that he had the confidence to say it to her face. “It’s nothing, Saoirse; don’t worry about it.” 

Being the courteous boy he was raised to be, he offered an arm, his smile growing when Saoirse took it. “In Quidditch, there are two teams with seven players each.” He explained, leading Saoirse out the castle and down to the Quidditch pitch in the grass. “There are three Chasers, two Beaters, one Keeper, and one Seeker. Chasers focus on a ball that’s called a Quaffle, and the Keeper has to make sure it doesn’t go into their team’s goals. The Beaters focus on the Bludger; it’s a mean ball that attacks the Chasers. And finally, the Seeker has to look for the Snitch. If the Seeker catches the Snitch, the game ends and their team gets one-hundred-and-fifty points.” 

Saoirse nodded, her eyes squinting as the heavy winds chilled her skin. “I think I know that game, Japan has a National Quidditch team, I believe.” 

“Really? That’d be good to mention to my friends—most of them are on Slytherin’s team. Orion is the captain and Keeper, Cassius and Louis are the Beaters, Abraxas and Miles are Chasers, and Eloise is the Seeker.”

“Who’s the other Chaser?” Saoirse asked.

“Some seventh year. Orion will have to hold tryouts for that position next time—that is, if the guys keep their positions into our sixth year.” 

When the pair made it to the stands, Patrick made it his mission to have an iron grip on the girl’s hand, afraid of losing her in the tough crowds of Slytherin as they yelled across to the students in yellow who were equally as passionate and loyal to their respective team. Patrick led Saoirse through the green, eventually moving to wrap his arm around her as they navigated towards a certain spot the boy was trying to find. 

“There you are,” Patrick said, sighing as he sat down next to his fellow bookworm. “I was worried you got so bored of the game that you decided to sit this one out, Riddle.” 

Saoirse looked on with surprised eyes to see Tom sitting in the stands, his usual pout evident amongst the loud cheers and swears of his peers. When he looked up from his book, he looked equally surprised to see her holding Patrick’s hand. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked. 

“Patrick asked me to join him for the evening. What are you doing here?” She asked, returning his question as she sat close to the Austrian boy. 

“Riddle has to be at every game, to make sure people don’t go crazy in the stands.” Patrick explained. 

“Good evening, ladies and gents’,” yelled a voice, the crowds screaming at the top of their lungs. “Welcome to the first Quiddtich match of 1942! My name is Tracy Mayfield—fifth year Ravenclaw—and today I am accompanied by my good buddy, a seventh year Hufflepuff—one of the very few Americans on campus—give it up for: Eugene Griffin!”

“Good evening, everyone! I hope you’re all doing mighty fine on this very windy day. With us, we of course have mister Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore! A long name for an awfully old man—hm? ‘Just get on with the match’? Okay!”

Saoirse, recognizing those names, tugged on Patrick’s sleeve. “I know those two boys; they checked up on me when I was in the Hospital Wing a couple weeks ago.” 

“Really? Even that Eugene guy?” Patrick frowned. “I heard bad things about him—my friend, Eren, said that he’s kind of on ‘active duty’—promiscuous, if you will. He’s not someone you should be around, and that includes whoever he’s friends with.” 

“Tracy was really nice, though, and so was Ava-Lynn from Gryffindor.” Argued Saoirse. 

“People aren’t always what they seem, mein schatzi.” 

The girl pouted, her shoulders sagging as she huffed. Turning back to the field, she held onto her beret as stripes of green and gray filled her vision. 

“There they are folks,” yelled Tracy. “The Slytherin Quidditch team, and their leader Orion Black! Always so poised and quiet, that boy.” 

Eugene screamed, his lanky figure almost halfway off the spectator’s tower. “And there’s my house’s team, led by the absolute beauty of a girl, Annabeth Clearwater! You know folks, Tracy and I made a nasty bet for this match—20 Galleons is a lot for me, guys, please win!” 

In his microphone, Eugene coughed. “Fuck—Professor don’t elbow me like that…yeah, yeah, it’s not gambling, sir, I promise. I don’t even know what gambling is! No, I don’t use it for weed—why, do you have some?” 

The game blitzed past Saoirse, the impact of the teams’ brooms whipping by the stands causing her to hide her face in Patrick’s arm the entire time—not that he minded. Luckily she was able to keep a mental image of the game with Tracy and Eugene’s commentary, along with Patrick’s since the other boys would get off topic, especially Eugene.

Within the next hour, the two teams were neck-and-neck, with Hufflepuff having 20 more points than the snake team, who was at 190 points. With the high energy swirling around the pitch, both Patrick and Saoirse were on their feet, hands clasped against one another as they yelled and complained every time someone on Slytherin’s team gained a foul of some sort. 

Tom, on the other hand, held his book in rigid fingers, his knuckles white with fury every time he was bumped in the back or shoulder. It especially didn’t help since Patrick, someone he knew—or at the very least thought he knew—was quiet, now wasting his voice on a stupid bloody game, with a stupid bloody girl. 

He knew he lied; he knew Patrick wasn’t telling him everything Saoirse told him. The boy wasn’t the best liar in all honesty. Despite the valuable information the girl held, she wasn’t worth losing a follower over. All of this goopy, lovey-dovey feelings his researcher had developed was turning his sharp mind into mush. Tom would be having a conversation with Patrick soon enough. 

“Oh, and there you have it, folks! Slytherin wins with three-hundred-and-thirty points!” Yelled Tracy, his voice wavering as he was shaken by his tall friend beside him. “Suck it, Eugene, I won the bet—no, we don’t get to split, you stupid piece of—”

“We won!” Laughed Saoirse, her glasses lopsided as she jumped to wrap her arms around Patrick’s neck in a fit of emotions. 

His nose was engulfed in her jasmine and sandalwood scent, slowly but surely buried itself in cerulean strands of hair. “Yeah, we won,” he chuckled, his hand going to her upper back. “You have a lot of Slytherin pride to be a Ravenclaw, you know.” 

“I don’t think I would mind being a snake.” Muttered Saoirse, pulling away from their embrace, much to Patrick’s disappointment. 

As the two made their way down the stands, with Tom dragging his feet in tow, they congratulated the Slytherin team on winning the first game, a sign of good luck for the rest of the season. 

For once, Saoirse enjoyed being around loud people, despite how sweaty they were when they pulled her into the group hug they shared. In all of her life, she never laughed this much before; Mahoutokoro was never a place for laughter, after all. 

The group made their way to the locker rooms, with Eloise, Miles, Abraxas—and to Saoirse’s surprise, Orion, all sang boisterously with their arms hooked together as they skipped their way across the field. 

“Saoirse,” a voice said, the figure tapping on the girl’s shoulder. “I need to talk to you for a second.” 

Turning around, Saoirse looked up to see Eugene staring down at her. 

“You can talk to her later, she’s busy.” Said Patrick, his eyebrows set in a scrunch as he pulled Saoirse gently by the wrist. 

“Please, I just need to ask a question—it’s about Ava-Lynn.” 

“Patrick,” Saoirse said softly. “I think I’ll be fine, don’t worry; I’ll find you later, okay?” 

With a smile, the girl slipped out of the boy’s grasp, walking back out into the middle of the field to speak to the Hufflepuff. 

“Have you spoken to Lee lately,” Eugene asked. “I kind of got into an argument with her a week ago, and I haven’t seen her since.” He sighed, his hand disappearing behind his neck. 

The two sat down in the grass, the cold sending chills up Saoirse’s body as the dew drops made contact with her shins. 

“Usually I would talk to Tracy about this, but he talks to her frequently so…but basically she led me on, I have no other ways to describe it other than that. For weeks, I put everything into her—into us, what we could have been; I was just waiting on her, and I’m just starting to unpack it now. It hurts—she hurt me; she put me through so much, just for it to end in a few words. I did everything for her; she said she loved me multiple times, too, but then she had the gall to tell me that she ‘didn’t want this outcome’ like I was the one who said we couldn’t be together.

“And I would sit there, plead with her; tell her everyday why I loved her, why I thought she was so unbelievably amazing in every aspect. I just…I put so much time and energy into her for weeks, for someone who I thought loved me, to someone who actively said they loved me. And I would have been fine if we were still friends, but she had the nerve to make me go through all of that just to tell me, ‘I’m not going to talk to you anymore.’ Like, who the fuck are you? I did nothing but make you comfortable and safe and you want to leave me in the dust? I never want to be spoken like that ever again, just for someone to say ‘I don’t want you in my life anymore.’” 

Saoirse sat stunned in the grass. She was never close to Eugene, she had only known him for about two weeks, after all. He seemed so sad, his lanky body almost collapsing in on itself as he held his head in his hands. She couldn’t tell if he was crying or not, but she wouldn’t be surprised if he was weeping into his palms at the moment. 

She didn’t know how to comfort him, let alone comfort someone in general. After all, Patrick was the only boy who’s shown any genuine interest in her; Saoirse had never experienced heartbreak of any sort before. 

“Well,” she coughed. “It’ll all pass, won’t it? I don’t know you all that well yet, but, maybe it’s for the best. People come and go, and only the people that truly matter in your life will stay. It’ll be a slow process, I’m sure, but eventually you’ll be a brand new person with a brand new perspective. Always focus on yourself, Eugene; never pour your energy into people who don’t want it, especially now that you know she doesn’t want it.” 

The boy, silent, muddled over her words, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek. “I guess so,” he sighed, “and I’m sorry for pouring all of this onto you��you barely know me, like you said.” He laughed, though without any humor left in his tone. 

“That’s okay, stuff happens.” Saoirse shrugged. 

“Why are you so nice? I would be so annoyed if I were in your position.” 

“I guess I’m just nosy, but I’m not annoyed at all. You seem like a good guy to talk to, and I’m sorry you’re going through a hard time right now. It must be difficult to keep to yourself. I’m really flattered that you feel comfortable enough to tell me this.” 

Eugene gave her an upside-down smile, his downturned eyes blinking wet tears away as he sniffled. “Thank you, Saoirse.”

───────────

The boys each plopped onto a nearby cushion in their dorm, bodies complaining as they ached and begged for a soothing touch. 

“I’m so exhausted,” Eloise coughed. “That ice bath didn't do a thing, I could barely walk here.”

A knock was heard from the door, “Hello, room service!”

In the entrance stood Cassius, with Abraxas and Louis all in comfortable clothes, their hair cascading down to their shoulders. Tom, as the others expected, strutted in with his robes rippling behind him, a hardened look on his features as he walked up to Patrick. 

The boy, currently on his back and staring at the ceiling in thought, was thrown into a world of knives and needles as the Slytherin Heir used the Cruciatus curse. 

“You really think you had me fooled,” drawled Tom, the other boys stumbling in a line as they witnessed their friend seizing up in the comfort of his own duvet, sweat dripping down his temple as his glasses fell to the side of his head. “That girl is turning your brain into pulp; you need to focus on your objectives—your loyalty to me and me only.” 

“I am focusing on my tasks,” Yelled Patrick, blue eyes wild with fear and anger. “I’m getting information from her, and I’m keeping her close—which wasn’t something I was supposed to be doing, by the way! Abraxas and Orion were supposed to be doing that, not me!” 

“Don’t talk back to me!” Tom chastised. He jabbed his wand to the boy, the curse stabbing into every inch of his skin and twisting into his guts. 

“My Lord,” Abraxas stuttered, taking a brave step forward. “Patrick is doing all he can—”

Tom craned his head in the blond’s direction, his lips set in a thin line as he flicked his wand. The Knights fell to the ground, their already exhausted bodies pleading for a blissful death as they met the same fate at Patrick.

“I think all of you are forgetting our mission.” He seethed, lifting the curse, but only just. 

The boys were silent, now nothing but limp figures—puppets for Tom to manipulate at his every whim. 

“That girl,” he muttered. “Is a threat to us getting to the Chamber—I cannot have her alive while I do all that I can for us— for our livelihoods!” 

He paced around on the carpet, his heavy step echoing with the pulsating aches of their heads. “I have done so much for you, and this is how you repay me? Running off to snog a girl, wasting time with a pointless and outrageous sport; it’s pathetic…” 

With a quick flip of his pale wrist, Tom had fifteen minutes before Astronomy class. He straightened his robes, a hand running through his sculpted hair before turning his focus back to the shivering young aristocrats on the ground. 

“I do believe I have enough time to stress the importance of my words.”

Credit(s): Dividing banner (^^^) by Chen Lu (1436 - 1449) - "Plum Blossoms in Moonlight" scroll painting; sourced through Pinterest

[dwellordream]

Lillian Faderman, Odd Girls and Twilight Lovers: A History of Lesbian Life in 20th Century America

[badaziraphaletakes]

This is as exquisite as a fine wine

"7 people found this helpful"... well, I guess I'm an 8th, because this review was very helpful in supplying top-quality bad-take content for today's post. 😁

If there's a #BadGoodOmens take the entire fandom can agree is foul, this has gotta be it. 10/10, I have no notes. This is the perfect bad take, the bad take supreme. It surpasses the powers of a poor mortal like me to attempt to engage with it. Trying to actually explain why it's problematic would be like trying to scale a glass wall.

Instead, I propose we take a moment to savor the irony of the fact that that they misspelled "earnest" as "Ernest" when that happens to be the central pun in "The Importance of Being Earnest" - a pillar of queer literature.

I detest the stereotype that every homophobe is a queer person in the closet with every fiber of my being, but I am only human, and I confess that I am struggling mightily against the temptation to make a Freudian slip joke. Or at least, I would be if I thought this person had a sufficient level of intellectual sophistication to have even heard of Oscar Wilde or ''The Importance of Being Earnest", let alone read it.

[hollymacycomic]

Holly & Macy and Everyone Else

Chapter 4: Page 24

Start at the Beginning | About the comic | Tip-jar 

🌘 Support the comic & read the next page now on Patreon! 🌘

[igotsnothing]

Beginning/Previous/Next

[syrips]

i love when my homophobic relatives try to 'debate' queer stuff with me, and they say stuff like 'all women look at women and think theyre beautiful though' and i respond with stuff like 'idk, i know some straight women who dont see that. are you sure youre not bi?' and watching them immediately go into blue screen mode

[junietwohundred]

every time I see the phrase "gay panic" used to mean "aaaaah I don't know what to do with my feelings! ahhhhhhh!" I go on a fucking journey. When I was growing up - well into my adulthood, actually - gay panic was the defense people used when a queer person came on to them and then they would "panic" and kill the queer person. Gay panic defenses worked often enough that the LGBTQ+ Bar has records of the tactic being used as recently as 2018.

I'm glad the meaning is different now, but woof, that is a lot of baggage to get past.

[workingdownthewordmine]

Love Thy Neighbour - Chapter 5 Every Man Is Guilty

Bucky struggles with the attitudes of his so-called friends and Hive makes themself scarce.

Read this chapter on AO3 here.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 4

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Nonbinary OC, Steve Rogers Rating: T CW: Guilt, bullying (mention), violent child abuse (mention), homophobia (mention), mild dissociation Prompts filled: @lgbtqbingo : Hickeys @fluffbruary : Day 6 - Embarrassment @multifandom-flash (Compliments) : You are better than you think you are

@fandom-free-bingo (World Book Night Edition card 1) : "I don't need you." @fandom-free-bingo (Flight Edition) : Can't make it to dinner, Teasing @anyfandomangstbingo : Best friend's boyfriend @febuwhump : Day 24 - "I'm doing this because I care about you." @seasonaldelightsbingo (Winter Wonderland) : Situationship

Dividers by @unfortunate-beetle-and-friends

Chapter 5 – Every Man is Guilty

“But I have my life, I’m living it. It’s twisted, exhausting, uncertain, and full of guilt, but nonetheless, there’s something there.”

Banana Yoshimoto

“You’re not selling me on this, Steve.” Bucky leant back on the kitchen wall, chin lowered and arms crossed.

“I can’t give you specifics right now. Security’s too tight. If you’ll just come and talk to Fury-”

This was the guy who’d lied to every draft office in the tri-state area? When had Steve become so damn hidebound? “I’m not interested. I told you before, I’m not going to work for SHIELD. And you can save Barton and Romanov’s very touching Different Call story. I’m grateful for what you did for me, really, but I never agreed to get away from Hydra just to sell my soul to someone else.”

Steve’s hands dug deeper into his pockets. “SHIELD isn’t Hydra, Buck. It’s not the same at all. Just let me set up a chat with the director and you’ll see that.”

“Why won’t you let this drop? You’ve got your whole Captain America deal with your team. I’ve got an actual life of my own now. You don’t need me.”

“Fine. You’re right. I don’t need you.”

Never had someone agreeing with him felt so much like a fist in the gut. Bucky didn’t get the chance to tell him to go fuck himself. Steve kept going. “This isn’t about me needing your help, Buck. I’m here because I want your help. I need people around me that I can trust and I trust you. You’re my oldest friend. And I gotta say, Bucky, this whole ‘new life’ you say you’ve got going on looks a lot like walling yourself up in a different cell. I’m doing this because I care about you. What good was getting them to let you go free if you’re just going to lock yourself back up? You look like shit, Buck. When did you last eat? Or drink anything that wasn’t coffee or at least eighty proof? You aren’t one of the bad guys anymore. You can do something worthwhile with your life. You don’t have to be all alone. Why won’t you let me help you?”

“Fuck you, Steve. I’m not gonna be your goddamn bad guy outreach program poster boy. And I had a cheese sandwich just last night, as though it’s any of your fucking business.” And I’m not alone…

They both looked up at the same moment, both heads turned towards the hall closet. “Shit’s always falling down somewhere round here. Place has gone to hell.” But even Steve wasn’t dumb enough not to recognise a sneeze when he heard it.

“For a guy with his windows rigged to blow, you’re weirdly calm about someone climbing around inside your walls.” The tinge of suspicion he heard in Steve’s voice hurt more than Bucky had expected. Who the hell did he think he’d be hiding in a wall cavity? Then he cringed inwardly as Steve began looking around with more intent than he had before. Bucky practically felt his eyes rest for a moment on the extra sleeping bag. His eyebrows visibly rose when he spotted the mug with its weird cute cartoon dragon thing. “Buck?” The suspicion had gone from Steve’s voice and Bucky missed it already.

“Hey, kid, it’s okay. Just a social call.” He listened for a beat of silence, then he and Steve both hear the departing scraping of Hive heading up to the roof. Knowing what he did, Bucky could pick up the unevenness in their movement and made a note to ask to check their injuries later. If he ever saw them again, of course. They might be too spooked to come back at all. He looked down at their mug. They’d be back. He hoped.

“I guess it’s cool that some things don’t change. But I don’t remember you being this coy about your girlfriends even in the forties.”

“‘Girlfriend’ is a real strong word for anyone I passed the time with back then. And that’s not… what this is. They’re just a friend.” Or something. This was definitely not the time to start seriously questioning the weird-ass situation he’d found himself in the last twelve hours or so.

“A friend who hides in the wall when your other friends drop by?”

Other friends? Did Steve think Bucky was having poker nights with the guys every week? What other friends?

“They’re shy, okay?”

“Buck, you don’t have to be embarrassed. I’m glad you’ve found someone you don’t mind having around. I hated thinking of you cooped up here with nothing but a bunch of old memories.” Steve, buddy, you have no idea… “Think I’ll ever get to meet them? What? I can’t be curious about the first person apart from me to ever know the notorious Bucky Barnes well enough to leave a mug at his place?” He couldn’t help but be mildly impressed at Steve’s rapid and unquestioning switch to the neutral pronoun.

“I doubt it. They’re shy, like I said. And it’s not really an ‘introductions to old friends’ kind of thing.” Of at least that much he was sure. Hell, it wasn’t even a thing. Just a really weird couple of days… that had left an extra sleeping bag on his floor.

Steve was frowning again. “You, uh, you’re not in trouble, right? I’ll believe you, whatever you say. I just can’t help noticing you’re a bit more banged up than I’ve seen you in a while. And you smell like that stuff your mom used to cover my hives in when we were kids.” He tried a weak grin.

Well, believe it or not a Hive was responsible… Buck almost returned the smile before he shook himself.  “I’m good. Just had a run in with some kind of funky old insulation while I was doing some repairs. Nothing to worry your pretty head about. The scratches are all healed up anyway.” He turned his shoulder to indicate the one Hive had uncovered. “Only covered them up so I wouldn’t get blood on anything, just didn’t get round to taking off the rest of the bandages before you stopped in for the little recruitment drive. Speaking of which –”

Steve held up a hand to stop him. “Speaking of which, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said… a lot of what I did. It wasn’t my place to judge what you’ve got going on here. I’m sorry.” The renewed anger Bucky had been preparing to unleash petered out more quickly than he had expected. “I meant it though, about wanting to work with you again.”

Buck grunted. “Howling Commandoes reunion tour? This time with one hundred percent less falling out of trains, right?” He hadn’t expected Steve to take the weak joke so hard. Steve hadn’t looked this green since a kid landed a kick in his stomach that left him puking his guts into a trash can. He’d been waiting on the ground by the can when Buck came back with split knuckles and a grin of triumph. They’d gone back to Buck’s place to clean up before Steve’s dad could see the mess on his shirt and add a bloody nose to Steve’s problems. Buck’s place. This place. The sink where they’d rinsed out that faded threadbare shirt had been torn out long ago or it would have been right about where Steve was standing now.

“I should have looked harder.”

“Huh?” Maybe Hive’s attention span was catching, somehow. It took him a second to reconnect the dots.

“I went back. To the pass. I went back about a dozen times, looking for – well – for a body, I guess. Maybe if I’d been smarter about it, I would’ve… would’ve found you. Maybe we wouldn’t be where we are now.” Steve’s words sounded like he was trying to swallow them rather than speak them aloud. “But we are. And I can’t fix what I abandoned you to, but I can’t walk away again. Please, Buck, stop by the compound sometime – nothing to do with SHIELD, just come say hi. Or answer your phone once in a while. I miss my best friend, Buck. The guy I knew back in forty-five, back when our lives made some sort of sense.”

“That guy died in the fall, Steve.”

Steve shook his head. “No, I think he’s very much alive. I see him in there. Don’t bury my best friend in this place, Buck, please. You might feel like you deserve that but you don’t. I’m not talking about showing off how ‘rehabilitated’ you are or anything like that. I mean that guy still deserves the life he should have got the first time around.”

Was that part of you given a choice?

Yes.

There’s always a choice.

No. I would never have chosen that…

Bucky managed to look up at Steve’s eyes. Still fucking insane that he was taller than Buck now. “He’s getting a life. And, I guess, if you’re going to be clingy dork about it, that life can involve spending more time with you than it has done so far. Happy?”

“Yeah, happy. Jerk.”

“We’re in the twenty-first century now, for fuck’s sake, Steve. Learn to curse, I’m begging you.” For just a second they shared a grin. The moment was broken by a beep from Steve’s phone. The sudden awkward energy that radiated from him came as a surprise. “I don’t care if you check your phone, you know? World might be hours from destruction or something.”

“That’s unlikely.” Steve blushed. “It’s probably personal.”

“Stark sending out mass dick pics or something? You’re practically glowing there, Rogers.” The blond head ducked, Steve pushing a hand through his hair. He successfully blocked the blush from view but the new angle… “Steve, that’s a fucking hickey! That’s… at least three hickeys!” Captain America’s complexion was a riot of crimson, the blush spreading down to the livid bruise just below his jaw. “You bruise like I do – those are new and vicious. Christ, Steve, you been hooking up with a moray eel?”

“I, ah, I’m seeing someone.”

“No shit.” Probably he should have expected it. Steve must be one of the most eligible bachelors in the country now. Superpowers, a name like “Captain America”, and serum-enhanced looks on tops of his natural Steve-ness… The girls were probably all over him. Weird thought. “Well? Who is she? Do I need to check she’s good enough for my best friend?”

The tips of Steve’s ears became practically scarlet. “It, uh, look, Buck, I–” Bucky frowned. “The person I’m dating is… he’s a guy.”

Well, Bucky couldn’t say he’d never wondered. The immediate mental maelstrom was much the same as it would have been in the forties. How much trouble was this going to cause him? How many more beatings because hiding himself was absolutely alien to Steve’s nature? It took a few seconds for the twenty-first century to impose itself on his thinking. No, probably no beating for Captain America, but public opinion could be a hell of a thing to reckon with – especially for the nation’s golden boy. And Steve was standing there right now closer to cringing than Buck had seen him since his dad was alive. God, there was a man – if he even deserved the word – who would have exploded at the news that his son was a fairy. He probably would have tried to thrash it out of him, Avenger or no.

“He’s not off the hook for best friend judgement just because he’s male, you know. Do I get to meet him?” He felt the pressure in the room change as Steve relaxed. Had he really expected hostility over his confession? From Bucky?

He doesn’t trust you…

“Uh, I guess, sometime. No one else has yet but it’s not… not really a secret. The team knows.”

Bucky nodded. “Well? You gonna see what he wants?” On cue, Steve’s phone chimed again. Reluctantly, ears still hot, he pulled it out of his pocket.

“Just asking where I want to get dinner tonight.” He tapped out a reply, making Buck smile at the geriatric concentration he had to put into the exercise, betraying the boyish face.

“Cute.”

He knows, deep down, what a monster he unleashed by letting you go.

Stop.

That’s why he’s scared of you, even now. Guilt for leaving you behind? More likely guilt for not finishing what he started when he let you fall.

He didn’t “let me fall”.

We’ve been over this, asset. You used to be less naïve. You know the resources he has at his disposal. Do you really believe he didn’t just decide you weren’t worth the trouble?

Steve pushed his phone back into his pocket and grinned sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”

Bucky waved the apology away.

“I should probably get going. I’ll see you? Soon?”

Bucky nodded, but…

Empty offer. You really think he and his new friends want someone around who tried to kill them – however poorly you executed your assignment? Stark didn’t even trust you unsupervised in this dump, let alone in his precious Tower.

“Steve, you sure the others won’t mind me just stopping by? Doubt I‘m popular over there. Not real eager to get teargassed soon as I set foot over the perimeter.”

Steve smiled, his confidence returning. He’d swung his leg over the sill already. “Sure, I’m sure. It’s not like everyone trusted Natasha when she first showed up either. They’re the good guys, Buck. They believe in second chances.” His smile was warm as ever as he ducked out of the window, not seeing the way the temperature of Bucky’s blood had plummeted. “And charge your phone,” Bucky heard him say as his feet landed on the tarmac.

Second chances… isn’t that sweet? So much for his assurances of your deep and abiding innocent soul, it seems. You could have almost believed that choir boy act, couldn’t you?

It was three hours before Hive returned the way they had left. The hum of the generator wasn’t quite enough to drown out their scuffling descent. The faceless apparition was unnerving until they loosened their hood strings and pulled their hoodie down to uncover their lower face. “Protection,” they explained, though Bucky had already guessed as much. From the looks of the stretched fabric round their wrists, they’d had the sleeves pulled down over their hands too.

“Good call. Skin still itches like shit.” He’d had another go with the cream – Steve was right about the smell barely having changed in almost a century – but ran into the same problem as before. He’d had to spend a good twenty minutes scrubbing the stuff out of the joints in his arm with a toothbrush.

He was turning to offer Hive some of the beans he’d been heating on the camping stove, when he realised what else had bothered him about their appearance. They were huddled in the hallway, dressed as they’d been when they made their exit earlier – hoodie, cargoes, black and purple striped socks…

“You’ve been hanging around Brooklyn with no fucking shoes on?”

“You’d be amazed. Saw one guy with no shoes, no socks, and only half a pair of trousers. Guess I should be grateful for what I’ve got. Anyway, I wasn’t stopping for pre-flight checks while I was busy fleeing for my life, was I?”

“You need to check that you’re wearing shoes?”

“Told ya,” They seemed almost proud. “My brain is wrong.”

“Won’t be the only thing that’s wrong if you do shit like that. You’re lucky you haven’t got tetanus or something.”

“Probably too soon to be sure if I have or not,” they pointed out as they dropped down by the fire and stuck their feet out to warm near the flames.

“Not real comforting, kid.”

Hive watched him for a moment, maybe wondering the same thing he was: at what point had their continued well-being become a matter of comfort to him. Then again, maybe not.

“You call me that a lot. Kid. ‘M not a kid, you know.”

He grunted in reply. “I’m an old man, kid. Don’t take it personally.” That was apparently acceptable. They huffed but smirked. They wiggled their toes. Unsurprisingly, the soles of their socks were filthy, damp, and holes in more than one place. One big toe poked free. They saw him looking and wagged it pointedly at him.

“Rude to stare.” They were grinning.

“Sure your feet are okay? There are landfills cleaner than the streets round here. No cuts or anything?”

“Will you feel better if I check?”

“I’ll have less concern about my apartment stinking of gangrene tomorrow, yeah.”

They rolled their eyes but folded their legs and peeled off their socks.

He doled out beans, giving Hive the bowl and keeping his own in the pan, while they performed their inspection.

“All good,” they pronounced, hopping up with only a bit of a wobble to rinse their hands under the lonely sinkless faucet. Bucky wasn’t sure if it had been seeing Steve standing in the old place, looking not so much like he’d grown as like the room had shrunk around him, or if it was just having someone else inhabiting the space with him for a while, but the apartment’s wasted, skeletal feel was more noticeable to him now. He was making food over a camping stove. His bed was a sleeping bag. For someone who’d finally come back home, he looked pretty homeless right now, didn’t he? Was that what Steve had seen? Did Bucky have that same look? An abandoned shell, like the building?

What makes you think you deserve any better? You could have been so much more…

“Cheers.” Hands clean, Hive had grabbed their bowl and clunked it lightly against the pan. Seeing his confusion, they repeated, “A toast to toes not turning grey and dropping off! Which… now that I hear it again, may not have been the most genteel toast ever raised at a meal. Oops. Hope I didn’t put you off.” They tucked into their own food with no sign of discomfort.

“A toast to not losing body parts gets my vote,” he conceded. They shared a grin. “Where did you go earlier anyway? Guessing you didn’t find a café that didn’t care about the lack of shoes.”

“Rooftops, mostly. Nearby ones. Figured if it was a social call I probably didn’t need to flee the state. Thought about a library but figured I’d attract a bit too much attention.”

“Library?”

“They have books there! The wild kind, not the kind you have to pay for. Like a book zoo – except members can foster the animals. The analogy got a bit lost, sorry.”

“I followed, most of it anyway. I do know what a library is. We had ‘em when I was a kid too, you know.”

While he did the sparse dishes, Bucky could see Hive moving around out of the corner of his eye. A glance found them rolling up their sleeping bag and gathering the small quantity of trash they’d been accumulating into a sack. He dried his hands and grabbed his phone; it had turned up beside the plant pot. The generator fell quiet. Bucky turned the phone on and almost immediately wished he hadn’t. It lit up with message after message, the device rattling in his metal grip.

Steve: Been a while. How are you getting on?

Steve: Hope you are doing okay. There is a briefing later today that you might be interested in. Let me know.

Banner: Shuri sent me over your updated records. I think we should discuss a pain management regimen. Contact me.

Steve: Clint and Natasha are planning a movie night. How about joining us?

Steve: You really need to answer a text (or a call) once in a while.

Fen: You’re 30m late

Fen: Where are you??

Fen: Call me, James

Steve: I tried to call twice and didn’t get an answer. I’m going to drop by this morning. There’s some SHIELD business I want to discuss and it’s been a long time since you checked in. Miss you, man.

Fen: This is real shitty of you. You’re decent at the job and I like you but you can’t just ditch for the day without a word. The garage was busy today. We need to talk.

Steve: ETA 10 minutes.

“Fuck.” Hive looked up. “Everything going on since yesterday… Seems I forgot to go to work today.” He started moving automatically, grabbing his jacket off a picture nail, and toeing his boots upright. Hive must have taken them off for him while he was unconscious. He’d have expected to feel more latent objection to the idea but he definitely did not have time to stop and consider the unfamiliar close, warm sensation he experienced instead.

“I should have thought… sorry.”

“Huh?” He stopped, half inside his jacket.

“I mean, I knew, didn’t I? Where you work. That’s how I found you in the first place. Should have occurred to me that you ought to be there.”

He was already four hours late. What difference was five more minutes likely to make to his boss’s bad mood. “Wasn’t your problem if I went to work or not. I’m a big enough boy to handle my own routine.” He was a bit unsettled to see Hive huddling into a corner again, much as they’d done last night. They were still on their feet but they’d shrunken down into their hoodie and were not looking at him. “Hey, kid, it’ll be okay. My huge personal charm will smooth things over with my boss and anyway it is not up to you to have shit to do with my schedule.” They nodded but still wouldn’t meet his eyes. Their gaze was unfocused, drifting around the floor. Trying not to wonder why he cared, he cast around for something to ground them.

“Know what? I’m gonna try to make a dinner tonight that doesn’t come straight out of a can. What do ya think? Sound good?”

“I mean… it’s pretty vague.” He was relieved to see some… presence come back into their face. “Are we talking closer to a dead pigeon you found on the roof or delicately braised sustainably-farmed salmon?” Bucky’s expression apparently satisfied. They grinned a little.

“I guess somewhere in the middle but a little closer to the dead pigeon. I’ll do my best.”

The grin brightened. “Sounds good. I don’t like salmon much anyway.”

He nodded. “No salmon. Got it. See you later – gotta go save my job.”

The garage hadn’t been too bad. Fen had been obliged to rake him over the coals a little – sure it was real useful having a guy on staff who could jack up a car on one hand, in addition to being able to handle basically any bike issue she could remember being brought, but only if he was gonna decide to turn up when expected and not just when it was convenient to him. He knew she took no pleasure in playing the hard-ass, except with assholes who didn’t believe she was more than capable of dismantling their tricked out dick substitutes down to the nuts and then reassembling it faster than they could jerk off over a climate change denial manifesto; she just wanted her garage running smooth. He’d worked out the rest of the day and hung out past close to put away some late deliveries by way of apology and all ruffled feathers had settled. His extended shift had meant it was already past dark when he got to his supply run, though. He hoped Hive wasn’t getting too hungry waiting.

If they were, it wasn’t causing any notable chaos. The building was quiet and dark. Maybe they were taking the opportunity for some much needed sleep. A smile crept over his lips at the thought. He tried to keep quiet and not disturb them when he manoeuvred his awkward haul through the window, catching the new wok as it made a dash for the floor. But he’d no sooner set things down than he knew the apartment was deserted. It felt empty in a way he couldn’t recall it feeling before they’d arrived. He stuck his head out into the hallway but the whole building had the same mournful, abandoned echo. A shiver gripped him – all the more dramatic in a body that always ran so hot. He searched the apartment. Their sleeping bag was folded neatly in a corner of the hall. His own he found moved to his bedroom, spread out with pillow, blanket and a sheet of paper laid on top. He recognised their handwriting.

Hey Bucky,

Wasn’t sure when to expect you back. I’m so sorry – looks like I might have to miss dinner after all. I need to go do something. Should be back by 9 at the latest so… maybe save me some if I didn’t piss you off too much by ditching? Sorry, again. Sorry sorry sorry. See you later.

Hive x

Bucky stood in his bedroom doorway with the note in his hand and shot a look at the things he’d left in the kitchen – the wok and utensils he’d been managing without, the extra bowl, plate, cutlery, and the bag spilling spring onions and packets of noodles beside them. Gotta do what they gotta do, he supposed. The note creased in his fingers. No problem. Might take him a while to get this right anyway. He’d cook, and they’d probably be back by the time he was done, sure.

With how many people who’d love to know where to find Bucky Barnes in tow?

They don’t want to be found themselves. They wouldn’t bring anyone back here…

The nightmare act really sucked you in, didn’t it? Who knows who they really are? Even if they are in hiding from someone, aren’t there plenty of people who’d trade the whereabouts of the Winter Soldier for better protection than hiding out with a monster who already nearly killed them? Not a high bar, is it?

So what’s your suggestion?

What time is it?

What?

They said they’d be back by nine.

Probably so we’d stay put and off guard.

What time is it?

He’d never bothered to get a clock. He pulled out his phone.

22:27

His eyes shot to the window.

Note: Thanks for reading, y'all! And thank you to all the wonderful providers of prompt events without which I probably wouldn't have started writing again. Special thank you to my boys for inspiring me and keeping me motivated.