#i am a disaster at the clock direction system

[natp20]

time for the witches to try out gentle parenting

[albino-whumpee]

Unrequited Love

CW// Pet whump, dehumanization, human trafficking, amnesia, hot water burns, exhausted whumpee. Pretty mild one honestly. ^^

Ok i didn´t notice it before, but THIS is the corrected version. Idk what happened.  Also taglist? I didn´t tag y´all???

Taglist:  @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @giggly-evil-puppy @cowboysrappin @haro-whumps @burtlederp @neuro-whump @comfortforthepain @whumps-the-word @whole-and-apart-and-between @broken-horn @ashintheairlikesnow @rosesareviolentlyread​ @starnight-whump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @as-a-matter-of-whump  @whumpasaurus101 @grizzlie70​ @twistedcaretaker

During the party, Zarai had gotten the contact she needed to talk to Dune’s Ceo. Or at least the first of three people she needed to stablish contact to get to Gil Jefferson.

So while she was hopping around searching for the phone number of her client, asking for extensions and generally being absent, the whole team needed her approval to finish their jobs. So Albus was the one in charge now.

“Albus, can you check this out and tell me if its ok, please? Was a question he heard at least ten times a day now.

“Serra, talk to management on the next floor and tell them we need the results now” he would nod and fly downstairs.

“Serra I need your sign for this budget…” Zarai had given her authority to do that after Robert’s visit.

“Serra I need your sign for this budget…” Zarai had given her authority to do that after Robert’s visit.

Any problem the marketing and development team had was managed by the albino with a few wretched nerves and increasing eye bags. Then he would inform an overly tired Zarai that everything was in order. But there was always a small mistake she would notice and make him fix in shouting everyone on the office was too surprised to never have seen Albus cry from.

Despite the shouting making it all the way to other side of the office, he simply remained calm, waited for her to finish and then apologized before going to fix it. He just continued to work efficiently. Until there were no mistakes to get yelled at.

Sometimes, one of the new trainees would ask him if he was alright, but he would look at them with a funny look and change the subject. If he was to be honest, he had fully expected to be properly punished when they were alone, at home. He was so grateful he could hang his role as Albus Serra for a moment and allow himself to be only Al, the pet who didn’t hide his collar.

He was bent over some newbie’s desk when he straigthened up with a smile “Now, you just need to click this button, and you will have the whole system on your drive in a few minutes”

The newbie looked at him with adoration “Thank you so much, mister Serra!” He had said with a gleam on his eyes that made him blush.

“Mister Serra, I’ve a few questions about the report I sent you” Albus trotted to the woman.

“Ah, yes. I checked and it’s looking fine. I already sent it so, dont worry about it and give a hand to Ryan, please” the woman blinked “I know it’s not part of your job but look at them…” he cocked his head to the glass covered office of five people laying over their desks, one fully crying and the other lost in infinity. “You’ve got a degree on computer engineering right? The development needs to find the exact problem today. Please lend them a hand”

“Yes, sir” she had answered before walking away. Albus froze for a moment. An strange feeling sitting on his stomach.

He didn’t have time to wonder what it was when he was called again.

—

Albus was staring at the ceiling, serving himself some coffee from the machine at Tony´s office when he blanked out for a second and heard the man yelp.

“Albus it´s spilling!” he shouted loud enough to make the boy react. His half open eyelids fixed on the cup and then on the floor before taking lots of paper and wiping the floor with it “I´m sorry! Imsorry,Imsorry,Imsorry” he muttered before the man grabbed his right wrist and pulled down his soaked sleeve to reveal a growing red spot “Dude you burnt yourself! Are you ok? Does it hurt?” he said lifting him up.

Albus head spinned wildly enough to make him stumble against a wall. The man passed an arm around his waist “Jesus, Albus, what´s wrong?” Albus groaned while rubbing his eyes with his other hand.

“I´m sorry, I´m just… I´m… I´m ok, it doesn´t hurt. I promise I´m sorry” he told the man as he put him down on his chair.

“Hey, hey, it´s ok, it´s just some bean water. Look at me” the boy pulled his red eyes to look at his friend “I´ll go get some ice to put on that, yeah? Sit here for a second” he waited until the boy nodded to walk out of the office. Albus stared at the disaster on the floor and felt horrible. He looked around and found some kleenex on the desk. He hoped he wouldn´t mind and started wiping the floor again.

“Mister Serra?” The trainee asked him outside the office. Albus looked up at him and then at the floor. “Mister Serra you´re green! Please lay down, I´ll call someone to clean that up” the boy trotted to help him sit on the chair again.

“i-it´s fine. I´m ok, Jeremy” he said feeling his head puffy. The boy left him there for a second and then leaned on the frame of the door.

“Lee, can you get me some chocolate from my backpack? Mister Serra isn´t feeling well!” he shouted as the boy shrank on his seat.

“Mister Serra? Does he need some water?” a feminine voice asked with a worried tone. Possibly the intern from last week he had to sign her papers for.

“Yeah! and get someone from cleaning!” Albus heard a reply and felt his cheeks burning as Jeremy knelt next to him.

“Thank you” he whispered to the blonde. He directed a genuine smile at the albino. “Mister Serra has helped me a lot since I got here. Please don´t thank me. It´s the least I can do for you, mister!” Albus felt himself sink into the chair further as Lee handed him Jeremy´s candy bar.

“You´re looking a little pale, mister” She said when he was about to take a bite. Jeremy was about to say something when he heard himself laugh. Lee smiled triumphantly.

“Still, mister, have you slept enough? I saw you doze off during the report meeting with the interns yesterday…” Jeremy continued, his cheeks burning red. Albus swallowed feeling guilty someone had seen him fighting to keep himself awake.

“Don´t fall off yet, soldier, we still got work to do” Sasha came inside the office with Tony behind her. He put the ice on his burnt hand and he didn´t even twitch. The four stared at him with worry. “Does it hurt?” Sasha asked him. Albus didn´t look up, only shrugged.

“Thanks Tony…Sorry for the mess” he apologized putting his hand away. He tried to stand up, but his legs refused to do so.

“Don´t mind it. But maybe you should stay here for a moment” He bit his lip.

“I still have work to do…” he tried to stand up, but Sasha pushed him back to the chair.

“Well, then it´s a good moment to just rely on us for help. You have that meeting with the trainees again don´t you?” he nodded slowly. “You two” she directed the trainees, who squared up instantly “Make a summary and send it to me before clocking out. I´ll make the paperwork and Tony will help with the mails” The boys both responded with “yes, ma´am” Albus jumped trying to stop her, but Sasha gave him a freezing look. “You rest here, workaholic. You trying to imitate Zarai with her unhealthy habits? Just eat your candy bar, boy”

“But we´ve got that meeting with…” she put Tony´s coat on his shoulders.

“You´re in no conditions to listen to old men talking about how far to the right a letter should be to increase sales a 10%” she rubbed his back before pulling away “Just sleep a bit yeah?” she silenced him.

He tugged the cozy coat over his shoulders close to him. Hiding his face with it. “Thank you…”

Sasha smiled and pulled everyone out of Tony´s office as the cleaning lady took care of the mess. Jeremy and Lee walked out the office wishing him to get better soon after leaving some more candy. He thanked them and saw them snickering to each other as they went out.

Albus pulled his knees close to his chest and the coat covered his back when he fell asleep against the desk.

Tony´s coat was warm.

—

He never mentioned it to Zarai, but when he was working at home that night, or well, the early morning of the next day, he received a photo from Tony.

It was him curled up into a ball in the chair with only his white hair sticking out of the brown coat.

“A wild tired cinnamon roll has appeared!” Tony wrote below it.

Sasha keysmashed and put lots of faces laughing.

Albus just shook his head and grinned before he continued working.

Didn´t stop until dawn when Zarai came in to tell him they were leaving in a few minutes.

He arrived to the office with the same exhausted face from yesterday but when he came out, Lee was there with a coffee on her hands.

“Jeremy sends you this sir” she said to the mute boy.

“I…uh…thank you, Lee” he said as he shifted the coffee cup and saw it had a number and a smiley face. He looked up at her with his cheeks fired up. “Uh…”

Lee simply walked away before he could say anything.

He showed it to Tony and Sasha at lunch and snickered to the other “Aren´t you popular, boy! I´ve also had girls ask me for your number!” Tony howlered

“What?” Sasha grinned as he blushed

“But you´re taken already aren´t you? With that freckled boy you always talking about”

“Sann?” Albus widened his eyes. “Oh, I…no, no. It´s not…” he remembered his smile at the party, the tuxedo and the rose on his chest, his dimples, his hair looking like fire in the sunset and immediately went silent. “I wish but It´s more complicated than that”

Both leaned on him. He let out a heavy sigh before staring at the city from their table on the roof top.

“I met him two years ago, but I don´t remember anything from that period. I know I learnt what I know back then…but it´s blank. I feel like something important happened…but everytime I try to remember it´s like…it just hurts and it´s uncomfortable” he said rounding one thumb with the other “I want to remember that meeting, but I can´t. I just recently remembered some… things” he continued to explain, the images of handlers touching him all over came to his head. The shocks. “And then there´s…” the problem that´s he´s someone else´s pet and I´m not supposed to get close to him. “Anyways, it´s messy” he smiled at his quiet friends “It´s dumb to say that I would be completely fine just by seeing him being happy even if I´m far?”

Both stared at him for an uncomfortably long time.

“Does Zarai know of your amnesia?” Sasha asked bluntly, playing with the bracelet in her left wrist. Albus had to shrug.

“Did you have an accident or…?”

Albus had to think hard about it. “…maybe I had someone hit my head repeatedly…” Sasha opened her mouth outraged “No, no it´s ok. I don´t know for sure. I just remember feeling numb after a hit” he hurried to explain. “Can we change the subject?” he asked closing his eyes, feeling ill suddenly.

“…ok” both laid back on their chairs as Albus sighed relieved “You should get that head checked up tho´. Two years is a long time, Albus” Tony told him.

Albus bit his tongue to not spit he didn´t remember most of his life anyways. Or his parent´s faces, or his own name.

He instead tried to put a smile. A mask that pleased everyone was easier to pull than try to uncover the truth.

“So, please help with Jeremy? I don´t wanna break the poor boy´s heart”

It took a while for them to talk normally to him again, but in the end, Jeremy was understanding when he explained he was not available. In fact, he had smiled and thanked him for being honest and Albus could pull an all nighter in peace because of that.

He cried on Lee´s shoulder later at the bus station, but that was something Albus didn´t need to know.

[yelenasdog]

il un a visage gentil (prof!gwilym lee x prof! gn reader)

genre: fluff

summary: who knew the attractive english lit professor also happened to speak french? not his new coworker, that’s for sure.

words: 1.7k

warnings: reader embarassing herself a lil bit, that’s it :)

a/n: hi!! first of all, no pronouns are used as this is from readers pov, so anyone can read. second of all, so i typically don’t write for gwil, but i had this idea in french the other day when my french teacher (sweet old french man who deserves better LMAODSJO) was going over some assignment that for some reason had il un a visage gentil in it LOLOL. that being said, i obvi don’t speak fluent french and this is all fictional! love u, hope u enjoy!!

。·☔︎◎❦·。·

“Hello everyone, and welcome to your first day. I’m Dr Gwilym Lee, and I am the head of the English Literature Department here at Oxford University. Feel free to call me Gwil, it’s what all my students do.”

I slanted my eyes from my position at the door, gripping the frame just a tad tighter than I had been before hearing his voice. I continued to listen to the doctor talk as I made my way behind the last row of seats in the lecture room, trying not to make any noise. My heels were thankfully mute against the carpet, not drawing any attention towards me, the professor keeping complete focus on his students.

“One of the first things I wanted to kind of, um, touch on, is that I will be quite flexible. I understand that you have lives, as do I. As long as I can see an honest effort being put into my class, I will hold no repercussions for late work or being physically late to class.”

With that, he looked up to where I had just sat down, quirking a brow. The eye contact was momentary, only lasting what seemed to be a second, if that.

I cleared my throat, looking to my feet.

“We at the english department are quite proud of our status, ranking 4th in english programs overall in the UK. Now I won’t continue to bore you with the statistics, but-“

I made a scan of the room, seeing how only 1 or 2 pupils were actually listening, the rest either slumped over looking at their phones, or pretending to take notes on a laptop while really watching netflix. (More than one student was watching gossip girl, oddly enough.)

Considering it was only 5 minutes into the hour long lecture, I was confused, as he was holding my attention, at least, quite well.

After about 30 minutes, I realized that my own “first day lecture” was in 15 minutes, which assured that I most definitely had to leave. I was saddened by this (even though I had only even planned on staying in Gwil’s room for a small while.

I sighed quietly, picking myself up from the surprisingly comfortable seats and making my way towards the door. Just as I was about to go, I felt eyes boring holes into the back of my head. I turned, realizing Gwilym to be the perp. I opened my mouth to speak and then closed it again, quickly walking out and down the hallway to my own room.

I made it in, hurrying down the many stairs, past where a few students were waiting.

“Hi, everyone, I’ll just be a few moments, just waiting for the rest of your new classmates to arrive.”

I smiled briefly, before slamming my office door audibly, chest heaving with my back against the shaded window. I closed my eyes, unaware of why I had been so panicked by the brief interaction, not to mention the butterflies it hatched in my stomach.

After giving myself some time to decompress, I exhaled, smoothing out the skirt of my dress and rotating. I placed a hand on the handle, preparing myself for the fresh faced freshman.

As I opened the door, I heard half a knock, before whoever was behind the door (poor soul) essentially fell on top of me.

Expecting to see a red faced pupil who had just made a very interesting first impression, I looked up, suddenly becoming the one with a warm and itchy wave of embarrassment making its way up my neck.

“I’m so terribly sorry,” He stood up, reaching out a hand. I hesitated before reaching forward and gripping tightly, allowing him to tug me up.

“It’s alright, Gwil, really.”

He opened his mouth (not that I was paying any mind to his lips), presumably to ask my name. Before he got the chance, I beat him to it, blurting out my full title, unfortunately in a quite awkward way.

The students that had gathered had mostly turned their attention elsewhere by now, only a few of them still watching the live disaster that was my interaction with the incredibly attractive man in front of me.

He spoke up as I tried to maneuver my way around him to the podium positioned in the front of the room where my laptop was waiting.

“Well, I had assumed you were a student who was trying to sneak off early, but I stand corrected, then.” He looked around my slowly filling space, a slight amusement hiding in his gaze.

“Yes, sorry, I had caught you at a bad time, I was hoping to introduce myself, you know, trying to make a good impression. Feels like the first day of school all over again.” I laughed, bringing a hand up to brush away a stray strand that had somehow managed to escape my bun.

“It’s alright, don’t stress about it. And trust me, I get it. New jobs are scary.”

I huffed, looking out at the sea of judgmental young people that I now would have to face after that fiasco. Lovely.

“You could say that again.”

We sat in a comfortable silence for a short amount of time, the clock striking 2:30 being what woke me from my trance.

“That’s my queue.” I gave a small wave as he walked off, a smile spreading across his face at the motion.

I turned to my teaching assistant, fully believing he was out of earshot.

“Il un a visage gentil, eh?”

She only laughed, nodding her head and plugging in my macbook, allowing the screen to come alive with a flurry of colors in my powerpoint.

“Hi guys! Or should I say bonjour!” I paused, receiving a few chuckles in the crowd.

“I’m sorry for getting us started so late, I had a small mishap. I’m Dr Y/n Y/l/n, and I am your professor this year in the French undergraduate course, where you will have the opportunity to study medieval literature, modern day linguistics, and much more, which I will get into later on.

 We here at Oxford have the single largest French department in Britain, which we have come to have extreme pride in. We also have a french cultural center, where you will find a large selection of programmes and literature to choose from. If you haven’t yet checked it out yet,” I briefly looked up, seeing Gwilym still stood at the top of the stairs. He gave me another small smile, crossing his arms.

“Sorry, lost my place. Where was I?”

-

After class, I walked up to where the tall man had now moved to the side, allowing students to flood right by him.

“Gwil, hi!”

“Hi to yourself.”

I blushed, the feeling of fuzzy-ness once again flooding my entire system at just the brief statement. Odd. Extremely odd.

“That was very nice, I have a feeling this class will be quite popular in the coming years.”

I smiled and nodded my head. “Thank you, I appreciate it, truly. Although, I must say that I can tell everyone is racing to get a spot in Professor Gwilym Lee’s class 100% percent.”

He cocked his head, slimming his eyes.

“Really, you think so?”

We continued to walk down the long hallway, neither of us quite aware of where we happened to be going.

“Oh for sure, I can imagine you’re especially popular with a certain demographic, too.”

His confusion seemed to only grow, stormy blue eyes seemingly lost.

“What do you mean by that, exactly?” His voice slightly raised an octave at the end, earning a chuckle from me.

“Look, all I’m saying is that with looks like that, I bet your roster was full in seconds.”

I paused, the flow of conversation stopping as I came to terms with what I had just accidentally said. Out loud. In front of my new coworker, who happens to be incredibly gorgeous. A wonderful first day I’m having.

We resumed walking, a blanket of complete silence falling upon us all the way until we reached the entrance to the facility.

The chilly December air hit my face immediately, as well as droplets of rain that were falling so hard it felt like small bullets were grazing my nose, which I could barely feel after just a few moments outside.

“Here.” Gwil muttered, pulling out a bright red umbrella and using it to shield us both from the angry pellets sent from above.

“Ah, thank you.”

“Of course.”

Then it was quiet again between us both, minus the sounds of chattering students and the rain hitting and then sliding off of our cover, coming in contact with the ground with a final splat.

“You know,” Gwilym began, always the one to break the silence.

I hummed, turning my head in his direction.

“I speak a little bit of French, as well. And I think you also have a nice face.” He nudged my elbow and laughed, while I closed my eyes and sighed, hanging my head.

“So there really isn’t any other way I could possibly embarrass myself right now, is there?”

He only shrugged, scratching the back of his head. “Actually, now that I think of it, there might be one more thing I can think of?”

“What would that be?”

“Saying no to a cup of coffee?”

It was like I froze over completely, my mind suddenly growing blank when I needed it mostt.

“With me?” I asked, the question more aimed towards myself, a miniscule act of reassurance and affirmation.

Gwilym smiled brightly as he shook his head, and I swear, I had never seen anything more amazing.

“Yes, Y/n, with you.”

I stuttered, embarrassed for what seemed like the millionth time that day, specifically at my lack of verbal skills.

“Yes, yes of course, that sounds amazing.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

He offered me an arm which I gladly took, and we started walking to the quaint campus cafe just across the street from our building.

It was the same cafe where (not that we knew it yet) the both of us would make many late night coffee runs together during midterms week, the stressful time growing to become one of our favorites as it was now filled with giggles and caffeine. 

Usually it would end up with one of us, that one of us usually being me, leaving a ring of coffee on the other’s ungraded assignments. Or even better, spilling an entire drink on the paper, only a “sorry!” written in Gwil’s rushed handwriting at the top of the curiously scented paper as explanation.

But as I said, we didn’t know that yet.

。·☔︎◎❦·。·

kinda gross but whatevs, like and rb if u did indeed enjoy it. mwah, go eat some protein, take an electronics break and drink some water. love u 

xx hj

[blissfulalchemist]

"You took all the pillows so I'm using you as one." + "You are crushing me right now." Red Brooks Bros ♥

Alright here’s a little Brains and Disaster verse for you. Please enjoy your child of a son!

Life still felt out of the ordinary even a year after Eden’s Gate fell apart. There was still a lot to clean up, most of the mess from their savior, and people that needed recovery from that time. The cold winter months didn’t help much with trying to finish putting the pieces all back together, but it did offer a chance for life to feel normal again. Today was one such occasion as Cat waited for the popcorn to start cooking, forced to make it the old fashioned way as no one liked the synthetic butter and it was no longer a good option for her to eat it at this point. It was movie night and nothing was going to stop that from happening even though it was only going to be two of them tonight. 

The blast of cold air hit Cat as Wes stomped through the door brushing the snow off of his coat, goosebumps forming on her exposed skin in the tank top. “Take your shoes off at the door this time Wes,” she called out, finally hearing the popping of kernels. 

Wes came into the kitchen shaking the melting flakes from his hair, a few sizzling as they hit the pot, “Just us tonight?” She nodded giving a light shake of the pot, Cat put her hands warding off some of the droplets that came for her, “Can I pick tonight then?”

“We have time for two,” she looked up to the window seeing the big flakes from the sky, “Maybe more if the snow keeps up like this.”

Wes leaned against the counter picking up one of the cocktail straws they kept around for him, “Might be best. Don’t think John and Raf’ll make it back from where they’re at.” He placed the end of the straw in his mouth.

She shifted the flannel pajama pants letting the folding to shorten them loose, “So long as they’re safe that’s all that matters,” the popping slowed as Wes made his way to the shelves of movies. “How much butter? Or do you just want plain this time?”

“Don’t matter much with the butter,” he looked through movies intently, “Just watch the salt. You made it too salty last time.”

She laughed, “If I remember correctly it was just fine and you asked for more.”

“Nah,” he pulled a few options from the shelf, “that didn’t happen. It was all you.”

She rolled her eyes grabbing the bowls and lemon juice, “Come on I got the bedroom all ready for us.”

“Thought that was a one time thing,” he teased, Cat bumping him into the wall. He gave a small laugh rubbing his upper arm, “Ow.”

“Don’t think I’m not afraid to tarnish your share of popcorn if you keep it up,” she warned, placing the bowls on the nightstand sitting on the edge of the bed. Wes jumped up, fanning the movies out, “You picked out some good ones tonight, Wes.”

He pointed to an Alfred Hitchcock movie, “Say we start with this one,” his finger moving to a musical, “then this one cause know you like it,” he pointed to the last movie, a slice of life romance movie, “End the night with this one.”

She picked up the last one, raising an eyebrow, “Why this one? You didn’t seem to enjoy it last time we watched it.”

He gave a shrug, “With ever’thing seems nice to see normal.”

She smiled nodding, “Then I approve of this plan,” she got up getting the DVD player set up with the movies, still seemed like such a unique find of their six disc player, while Wes got himself settled to sit against the headboard. Cat joined him creating a cushion system with the pillows, one she could use to eventually lie on her side as it always seemed to happen by the end of the first movie. Cat took the bottle of lemon juice, spraying it on her bowl of popcorn, Wes rolling his eyes shaking his head, “Wes, you know this is my thing. You need to stop being so surprised.”

“Not surprised, just weird still.”

She took a bite, “I’d say don’t knock till you try it but it’s even better with the extra butter microwave popcorn.” 

He looked up in thought, “You haven’t been buyin’ much of it lately.”

She slowed her bites, “They say it's bad for you,” she shrugged, “So figure might as well stop eating it you know.”

He looked at her eyes narrowed, looking for any signs of what she was hiding, “You’re the most unhealthy of all us,” he hummed, “Don’t think that’s it.”

“You’re one to talk about being unhealthy,” she poked his stomach, “You hardly eat. If not for us you’d be nothing but bones. Not eating is just as unhealthy.”

He put his hands up in defeat, “Geez calm down. Just an observation is all.” He turned to face the movie again, eyes straying in her direction every now and then. Cat seemed to be her normal self but there was just something a bit different with her, especially with how she answered the last question she asked. Cat deflected like she did when she didn’t want to tell the truth and a lie would be too hard to make believable. By the time the movie was over, Wes got up taking their bowls with him, “Gettin’ a beer. You want some?”

She shook her head, “No. But the ice cream in the freezer would be amazing.”

“Any kind of drink,” he asked again, covering all his bases with her.

“No alcohol for me tonight Wes,” Cat said stretching out along the bed, “Just the ice cream. Oh, and some water.” He nodded leaving her in the room, grabbing what they needed. As he made himself a stronger drink, it started to occur to him that he hadn’t seen her drink at all the last few weeks. The bar was usually a common occurrence but it had been a while since he’d seen her even touch the stuff. He handed her the ice cream, placing the water on the nightstand. She looked so comfortable with all the pillows around her, leaving little room for him. 

He frowned, “Where am I supposed to be?”

Cat looked at the bed, “Oh,” she pursed her lips, “That’s a very good question because I’m already very comfy.” 

He climbed on the bed pushing her back so she was as close as she could be against the headboard, “Now since you took all the pillows,” he lightly patted her stomach before leaning against her, settling himself so his legs wouldn’t be in front of the tv, Cat laughing as he made himself comfortable, “I’m using you as one.”

She rolled her eyes running her fingers through his hair, “Fair is fair I guess. Just be careful okay?”

He looked up to her with his golden sympathetic eyes, “Cramps?”

She didn’t look his way, “Something like that,” she responded as she started up the musical. Her voice filled the room for some of the songs as Wes tried to put pieces together. Something seemed off with her and he was only just starting to realize it, but there were things wrong for almost two months now. Then again, Raf wasn’t entirely himself either, there were a few times he seemed to have drank more than normal, while Cat stayed sober despite having a few drinks. Their diets had changed a bit too, well mostly for Cat it didn’t seem that out of the norm for her husband. 

By the intermission of the musical Cat looked at the clock, “Maybe we ought to call it quits with this one.” She yawned, “Getting kind of tired and I do want to watch the last movie with you,” another sign, she never felt frequently tired unless her mood went way down something that hadn’t been a problem. She patted Wes’ chest, “Here get up I have to go to the bathroom.” Wes watched as she left the room, his brain debating on if he should get to the bottom of this mystery now or….

No, now was the better option. He got up from the bed waiting near the door for her. She walked out, eyes widening in surprise seeing him stand there, cursing under breath as she clutched her chest, “Somethin’s up. Not just with you, but Raf too.”

She took a step to the side, “Don’t know what you’re talking about Wes. Think you’re getting too many ideas in your head,” she wave him off, taking a step forward. 

“No,” he blocked her way into the room, “you two are up to something. I’m gonna find out.” He put his hands on his hips standing straight hoping to intimidate Cat. 

She gave a nod, “Yeah you sure will Wes. Let me know when you do,” Cat pushed past him again.

He let out a breath as he let her take a step, “Didn’t want to have to do this.” He shook out his arms readying himself. 

Cat turned to him confused, “Do what?” She asked before Wes put his arms around her letting her carry his weight. “Wes!”

“Tell me what’s wrong,” he said, pushing against her a bit.

“Wes! Stop it!” She pleaded, her knees starting to bend as he managed to make himself become more dead weight against her.

“I can’t,” a smile on his face as she came closer to the floor, “Gravity it’s increasing,” he proclaimed in a dramatic voice, as he pushed harder against her arms trying to keep him off of her. 

“No it’s not you jerk!” He opened his mouth to quote more, “And no,” Cat huffed, “the same thing didn’t happen to you the last time.” Catlina finally fell to the floor Wes on top of her, she tried and failed to push him off of her, most of her arms trapped under his body. “Wes,” she whined, muffled by his shoulder, “Get off of me.”

He shook his head, “No.”

“Don’t be such a child,” she tried to roll out from under him, his arms wrapping around her tightly, her breathing starting to become restricted, “Wes! You’re crushing me right now!”

“Just tell me,” he repeated, his hands reaching for her waist to tickle her.

She gasped, “Don’t you dare!” Her chest hurt even more as he made her laugh and squirm under him, “Wesley Daniel Brooks! Stop this right now!”

He lifted his head just enough to look her in the eyes, an exaggerated frown, “Now who’s being mean?” He let himself fall against her, knocking the air out of her, “Just tell me.”

She shook her head, “I can’t!” Her laughing started up again, “I want to but I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Not good enough,” her sides were starting to hurt and she felt her arms tire more with each second that passed. 

She laughed, “Okay fine! Fine! But you gotta get off of me first,” he propped himself on his elbows looking down at her, “Like fully off of me so I can catch my breath.” She gave a light push as she brought herself to a sitting position. Wes stood, holding his hand out to her as she took deep breaths, “Thank you,” she said grabbing his hand. He watched her as she smoothed out her tank top and pants, inhaling deeply when she was done.

“So what’s up?”

She pointed a stern finger at him, “You can’t tell anyone else. I shouldn’t even be telling you but you damn near killed me.” She crossed her arms looking to the ground, “I’m pregnant.”

Wes’ eyes went wide, jaw dropping, “What?”

Catlina shrugged, running a hand through her hair, “Raf and I are going to have a kid.”

“Assume he knows right?” She nodded, “This new?”

She bit her lip, a blush coming to her cheeks, “No, not really.” She grabbed Wes’ hand seeing him start to turn sad, “We haven’t told anyone else Wes. In fact, we were planning on telling you next week, then everyone after that.”

He gave a slight tilt of his head, “How far ‘long are ya?”

“Almost three months,” her free hand instinctively went to her lower abdomen, “This is going to sound dumb but we waited becuase there’s a superstition in my family. Tell anyone outside of immediate blood family before three months and you’re gonna jinx it.” She gave a squeeze of his hand, “I’m sorry. I really wanted to tell you but I wasn’t sure how far that superstition went and I,” she shook her head, “I didn’t want anything bad to happen.” She looked up to his eyes, “I’m really sorry Wes. You’re the first person I’ve told other than Raf if that makes you feel any better.”

“Not even your dad or sisters,” he asked.

She shook her head, “No. We just started to get a better relationship going and I don’t know it seemed like too much to drop on them.” She glanced away from him, “How do you feel about it all though? Now that you know.”

“Bit sad you didn’t tell me sooner,” Wes took a breath, “but real happy for ya both. Truly. You always wanted this and it’s happening.” Cat smiled nodding, her eyes filling with tears, “So long you both are happy, that’s all that matters.”

Cat pulled him into a hug, “Thank you Wes. Next time you’ll be better kept in the loop, I promise.” He hugged her tightly lifting her from the ground briefly before putting her on the ground, “But Wes,” he looked at her serious expression, “You can’t tell anyone else. Don’t even let Raf know that you know. Act as surprised as you can when we tell you and John next week. Got it?” Wes gave her a smirk smiling, Cat holding out her pinky, “Promise me.”

Wes wrapped his pinky around Cat’s looking her dead in the eye, “I promise.” She nodded walking back to the bed, “So you gonna name ‘em after me?”

“Wes we don’t even know the gender,” Cat answered rolling her eyes as she made a spot on the bed for herself, Wes following suit.

“Wes could be gender neutral,” he argued.

“Wes Estrada dos Santos doesn’t really have a nice ring to it does it?” She laughed, letting herself lay against him.

Wes hit play on the movie, “I mean, could make it work.”

Catlina rolled her eyes, groaning, “This was a mistake already,” she looked up to him smiling, “Telling you that is.” Wes chuckled, keeping quiet as the movie started.

“Wait,” he said softly, “This mean I’ve to plan a shower now?”

[undergroundkid]

Chapter 1: Dazzling welcome

- Y/N, hey! I thought you were free today?

You hanged your coat and ruffled hands through your hair to get rid of remaining snowflakes from the storm outside. Seriously, winter sucks. No snow for Christmas, but of course February is a perfect time for Mother Nature to bury whole humankind in white disaster.

- New chick needed day off, so I offered. Is that a problem? - Not at all! – your manager smiled sweetly in your direction and started to gather papers for your shift.

Of course it wasn’t like somebody cared about your eighth day in the row here. Or ninth.

Your parents thought it was normal for you to spent all your time working, because what else could you do? Job held you in place and organised your time properly, at least. Without it you would loose yourself, or became some kind of antisocial freak. Too easily to drop into a shameless life of God knows what – parties, alcohol and drugs, surely. Like the daughter of the neighbours, did you see her coming back home at 3 AM with another stranger? Our Y/N isn’t like that, she works hard and behave properly.

Of course she behaves, because she has nothing else to do. You work almost everyday, sell  smiles to hotel guests and offer all the help you can, even if their wishes are absurd sometimes.

Being raised the way you are, you work hard, often making sacrifices of barely existing free time. Your hobbies also started to disappear, since every time you get some moment for yourself, all you could think about was jumping into bed and how to minimaze chances of getting out of comfy sheets. Work, sleep, occasional Netflix – pretty much sums up your life.

No wonder your boyfriend dumped you for some random chick.

- Okay Y/N, all the documents must be ready for morning – thankfully or not, your manager didn’t hear your inner discussion:- Good night!

When he told you he wanted to break up, you were a little surprised and confused – what, why he all of a sudden ..? – but above all, you were unaffected. Few seconds of shock passed and..  your heart still beat all the same. Today, you started to understand his decision – your life was a constant work or dozing off after ten minutes of a tv show. Hella boring for people your age – especially when you compare your life to his present one. His instagram feed was rich with parties and various, attractive girls.

Well, maybe your heart wasn’t all „whatever”. It still stinged a little. Why he didn’t tell you that wasn’t what he wanted? Wait, he was the one who insisted you got a job - so you got one. A tough one, but you managed and you’re known for high job ethic here.

Why do I keep making it sound like it’s the job of my dream? It’s only freaking hotel reception. I’m not even getting paid enough for dealing with such a mess. I’m just stuck here because I’m good enough for management and I probably won’t get any better work than this.

- Good evening, madam.

You moved the documents away along with your moody musings and shifted to smile in the direction of a voice.

Usual greetings died on your tongue though.

You’re used to seeing random guests here, some more modest, some less. Ladies in extra jewelery, quiet men with perfectly tailored suits, fashionable couples clinging to each other – seriously, you saw it all.

But the man standing before you was extraordinary; tall, in slim, striped suit. He was very elegant, even if he was fairly young – maybe your age. He had long, beautiful face and his smile was probably breathtaking because of his plump lips. Sadly, he didn’t smile; big, dark eyes didn’t spoil any secrets.

Maybe he was a model? But hey, you’re sure you would remember him..

- Do you have free rooms? – he asked, not affected by your staring. Probably used to it everyday.

- Ah, y-yes, of course – you stuttered, still a little dizzy from his beauty:- Do you wish to make a reservation, sir?

- Very much so – he sighed, leaning on his elbows; it was when you saw he was holding an umbrella. Dry one. How is that possible in snowstorm outside?

- Alright, just for one or double? – you easily slipped into your work mode, trying to composure yourself.

He shook his head.

- Not exactly. You have apartments here?

- Yes, of course. On the top floor.

- How many?

- Seven doubles, we can move in extra beds if there’s a need.

- No, it’s perfect – he decided without hesitation:- I take all of them. Please arrange it for single guests.

- Oh, all right – you tapped a few commands into computer:- Until when do you wish to make this reservation?

He sighed again, looking at the ceiling in contemplation. His swan like neck made him look even more aristocratic.

- Make it a month for now.

You quickly wrote the date in system; damn. Your manager will go crazy. That amount of money will easily fulfill this month’s budget.

- Alright, we will need advance payment for this one – you informed the mysterious man:- Also the personal data of other guests. And your ID, of course.

- Yes, here it is – he took white envelope out of his jacket and slide it onto the reception’s countertop:- Here’s all the payment. As for the other guests..

You carefully took the envelope, which was heavier than you first thought. Quick look inside suggested it was even more than necessary for his request. You started to question the situation – is he from mafia? Who carry around that amount of cash? Maybe you should check if it’s not counterfeit. What if you just booked whole floor for some damn cartel?

- I’m not quite sure who will arrive or even when, but let them check in by my name – he handed you black card with golden writing. No address, no phone number, just name and minimal drawing of a clock.

- Well, look like it’s time for me to leave – enigmatic gentleman looked at his wristwatch. You barely caught different clock faces on its surface before he straightened his tie and turned around to the exit.

- B-but sir! We need your docu..

- Goodnight, miss Y/L/N – young man gave you last look, already holding the door knob and bowed his head slightly in your direction:- We will meet soon, hopefully.

He didn’t wait for you explanation about how it’s not the way you book rooms here; he disappeared behind the doors. What were you supposed to do? His actions were rather shady. All your thoughts were rational and you can’t deny, whole situation spread suspicious vibes.

But were you intrigued ..?

- Who was it? New guest? – suddenly there was Yoonho next to your desk, dressed in his neatly cleaned uniform:- He looked very young.. Y/N?

You looked at the card in your hand; Chae Hyungwon.

.. Damn right you were.

thank you for reading

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[xsteriism]

Breaking Bad

Breaking Bad (on ao3)

by celestial-irondad

2, 352 words

hello! this is a (late) fic for @princessmisery666’s challenge with @technically-a-little-dragon as co-creator. happy birthday and i hope you enjoyed this little something! (i mentioned tony stark a little since i couldnt help myself, but it’s very brief)

beware of cut!!

----

“I am not in danger, I am the danger,” Peter said as he took two deep breaths. “In fact, hydra should be scared. I’m coming for them and nothing can stop me. I am Peter Parker, I am Spider-Man and I am not afraid of anything.”

He kicked down the heavy metal doors to the hydra base, wincing when the door unhinged and made the loudest ringing noise that seemed to resonate throughout the building. He rushed to pick the doors up, leaning them against the filthy wall, holdings palms out in case they fell again. He heard Bucky chuckling over the comms, followed by the clicking sound of his safety going off. 

“Yep, kiddo, you laugh in the face of danger, don’t you?” 

Peter sighed, wishing the rest of the team was with them, but they were all around the world for various missions tasked by Shield. Natasha was in Budapest with Clint again, doing whatever they were doing. Sam and Steve were in Wakanda for a mandatory meeting about something Peter can’t quite remember. Bruce and Tony were back in the compound, working on the latest updates for their weapons and equipment. And Rhodey was on medical leave, having eaten something… unpleasant the day before. This left Peter and Bucky to deal with this mission— a rescue mission for any potential victims residing in the hydra base.

When they reached the mission site, both superheroes realised there was no way to source for the victims if they didn’t split up, so with great reluctance, Bucky told Peter to meet him at the rendezvous latest by seven in the evening. Peter nodded reluctantly and did as he was told, hence his little pep talk for himself. 

The moment he truly took into account his surroundings, Peter felt something unpleasant churning in his gut. His spider-senses were going haywire, screaming danger, danger, danger in his ears, but Peter just chalked it up to being in a Hydra base and continued in his search for the victims.

Meanwhile, Bucky was also feeling the same unpleasant feeling, instincts screaming at him to leave, but he had a mission to do, so he sucked it up and continued onward. But something was definitely off, Bucky knew. Usually, a Hydra base would be filled with scientists, guards and commanders, but this particular base had nobody in it, completely empty, save for Peter and Bucky. The lights in the building were flickering, dim to the point of being unable to see and the doorknobs were so rusty that even a non-enhanced could break them.

All these pointed to one very obvious fact, realised way too late: this hydra base had been abandoned. Bucky cursed himself for not noticing it sooner, causing the spider-ling to be in danger. Fear thrummed in his veins as he reached for his comms to contact Peter and tell him to get out of the building as soon as possible. Just as he neared the entrance he used, a voice suddenly made itself known, creating a static in his ears that made him realise that his communications system with Peter was offline. 

“Intruder alert. Self-destruction activated,” an automated voice spoke, before metal shutters started coming down from the ceiling, about to trap everyone inside to prevent them from escaping. Bucky cursed again, running faster and sliding under them right before they hit the ground. Before he could calm himself from the adrenaline rush, the building collapsed, some of the debris hitting Bucky along the way, temporarily immobilising him. Bucky could feel his survival instincts coming in, the way Winter was pushing forward to take control of his body.

‘Mission objective: find and protect Peter,’ Bucky managed to tell Winter right before he faded back into his conscience. He trusted the soldier enough to carry out the self-assigned mission, something that didn’t happen often. They were forced to survive, not to have any wants or likes. 

Winter crawled out of the rubble when it was stable enough, immediately starting to dig his way through the chaos to find Peter’s thin body. Before Bucky’s anxiety made Winter panic, they heard Peter's short breaths through the comms and could tell that he was either in the midst of a panic attack, or was about to have one, but at least they knew that the spider-child was alive. They took off in the direction of Peter’s location, with Bucky thanking the lord for the technology the world had in his head.

“Hey, Bucky? You there?" Peter’s voice was too soft over the comms and they could practically feel the panic choking the kid. Winter could faintly hear panicked breathing and broken sobs over the comms as they desperately tried to find Peter. The spider-child must be terrified, buried under the building. Bucky winced as he watched through Winter’s eyes, his heart feeling as if someone wrung it like a cloth and proceeded to stab a thousand needles in it. Damn it, where was Peter?

“Help, I-I’m stuck! I’m stuck! Please... Bucky please help me— I… I…” Peter was crying over the comms and even though it hurt their enhanced ears, he didn’t lower the volume nor did he turn it off. He could hear thudding and crying and silent screaming and Bucky wished they hadn’t split ways in the first place.

“Hold on, kiddo,” Winter’s voice was deeper than Bucky’s and he said the nickname in Russian to let Peter know he was in control. “I’m on my way. You still there?”

It was radio silence on Peter’s end and Bucky’s anxiety was going to consume them whole if the spider-child was hurt in any way. Winter dug through the large slabs of cement, throwing it like they weighed nothing, through snow slapping his face, some even entering his eyes and making him tear up.

No matter how much he denied it, Winter knew he was tearing up for a whole other reason. 

When the soldier found Peter under the disaster, he was cradling an unresponsive girl to his chest. Winter could tell that she was dead. From her pale complexion and her malnourished body, the soldier knew there was no possible way she could have survived the collapsing building. Even so, watching Peter’s tear stained face was almost enough to break the cold-hearted Winter Soldier.

Subconsciously, Winter assessed Peter for any injuries. His leg was bent unnaturally and chances were he had a few cracked ribs. His black suit was ripped, exposing quickly bruising skin. As soon as the adrenaline wore off, Peter would feel the cold and the pain of his injuries. Winter would have to ensure they got to their rendezvous point before then. 

In a moment of uncharacteristic behaviour, he knelt next to Peter, placing his metal arm on the dead girl, slowly prying her out of Peter’s thin but strong arms without him noticing. His flesh arm was wrapped around Peter, trying to provide a comfort he wasn’t used to. The young hero was mumbling, seemingly too out of it to even realise it.

“I… I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice broken, dejected and forlorn. “I’m sorry I didn’t protect you, Uncle Ben. I’m… I promise I’ll do better! I swear I will— I’ll save…”

Winter winced, having no idea on how to break it to Peter that the girl was dead, so he pulled the smaller body closer to his side, hoping the warmth they were giving off would calm him. The soldier hadn’t seen Peter like this before, so bruised, so hurt, so lost, but still so protective of someone he hadn’t even met in his life.

“Peter,” Winter called his name softly, forcing his voice to be comforting, trying not to use his default monotone voice, the same one used to report back to his handler when he was under Hydra’s command. The kid needed his comfort right now and Winter was going to do whatever it took to ensure he was safe.

Once the soldier managed to wrestle the dead body out of Peter’s strong grip, the first thing he did was throw it away from them. He knew it was cruel and disrespectful to someone already dead, but he couldn’t risk Peter gripping it with his super strength. There was only so much Winter’s strength could do against Spider-Man.

Peter thrashed in Winter’s hold as soon as he realised what was happening. “Wint— what are…? No! Stop!”

Winter couldn’t even manage to carry Peter into his arms before he was escaping his hold, crawling on broken legs to the dead body. The soldier’s heart ached for the child, who was so young but already knew of death and destruction.

“Hey, kiddo, it’s okay, you’re safe now. Let’s go back to the quinjet, okay?” Winter coaxed, putting his arm gently on the kid to not scare him. This soft side of the usually cold and threatening soldier was new to Winter, but he knew what he had to do in order to keep him safe— to keep them both safe.

Peter shrugged his hand off his shoulder, reaching out to the dead girl. Winter frowned, the clock in his head ticking like a bomb, calculating how much time they had left before Hydra came to inspect their base for potential survivors.

“Pete, we gotta go,” he tried again, but when the kid ignored him yet again, Winter knew he had to harden his resolve. He slid his knife out of its sheath and, with his mind made up, threw. It was quick, of course. The Winter Soldier never missed by accident. He couldn’t miss, or he’d have to deal with an angry handler and Hydra’s torture methods.

But, the scream that escaped Peter as the white snow stained red was almost enough to wish he had. It nearly made him flinch, his heart feeling like shattered glass as he approached the kid, who was trembling like a leaf.

“Wint— Winter, why… did you do that?” Peter’s voice was barely even a whisper and if it weren’t for their heightened hearing, Winter nor Bucky would’ve heard it. Peter sounded like a parent who witnessed the death of their child. It was awful and heart wrenching.

If it were Bucky who was in control, he would’ve flinched, but even so, the soldier was known for being heartless, after all. It was only recently that he learnt how to love again, how to care and protect again.

“Let’s go, kiddo,” Winter tried again, voice soft, “you’re bleeding out and injured. Let’s go back to the tower and patch you up.”

“No! How could you— how could you just kill her?” Peter shouted, voice cracking with the emotions he was feeling. “I… I had a responsibility to save her and you—”

The ticking in Winter’s head was getting louder and so was Bucky’s panicked shouts to get them both out of there before Hydra found them. So, with a heavy mind and an even heavier heart, Winter knocked Peter out with the safest method he knew how, using his flesh hand and hoping to God he didn’t hit too hard.

Gently gathering the kid into his arms, Winter took off in the direction of their rendezvous point, hoping Shield had received their distress signals when their comms went offline and sent back-up. He nearly collapsed when he saw the quinjet they came in next to the Shield jet, relief coursing through his veins.

Winter ignored the agent waiting by the aircrafts in favour of demanding they get back to the compound as soon as possible. He didn’t even see her face in his haste to get onto the quinjet, Peter still limp in his arms. Tony had been extremely firm when he said Peter was not to be harmed in any way, shape or form, but no one had expected this to happen. 

Both Bucky and Winter knew they would have to do a lot to gain back the trust of Tony Stark, adoptive dad of Peter Parker. Everyone knew how protective the saviour of the world got whenever it came to the— his child. Especially when it came to his spider-child.

The man had lost the child, once, seen him fade to dust right before his eyes, right in his hands. Nobody would blame him if he was more than just a little over-protective of the child. 

Bucky knew he would be, too.

Growing restless by Peter’s unresponsive body, Winter started pacing around in the jet, wanting to go and hunt for the Hydra members but wanting to stay by Peter’s side in case he woke up. Before he could wear the jet down, a firm hand pressed onto his shoulder, stilling in his movements.

“Soldier,” the agent from earlier greeted, voice emotionless and Winter quickly realised that the agent from earlier was Maria Hill, not by Fury’s side for once. “I’ll take care of the kid. You go do what you gotta do.”

Winter faced the agent, eyes narrowed in distrust, stepping closer to Peter’s body and Maria immediately raised her hands in surrender to show she meant no harm, that she was planning no harm. “Will you feel better if I said Tony was the one who sent me when he received the distress signals?”

“Ton— Stark sent you?” Winter asked, body relaxing slightly. If Tony sent her, then she would mean no harm. He was overly cautious when it came to the kid, so unless he was absolutely sure Maria would do no harm to Peter, she wouldn’t be here.

Maria rolled her eyes. “Why do you think I’m not with Nick, right now? I owed Tony a favour, so here I am.”

“If you hurt him, or if he’s hurt while under your care, I’ll kill you right after I come back from killing them,” Winter said, voice rough and eyes hard. Maria nodded, rolling her eyes again and waved him off. Winter grunted, snatching the parachute from the corner and tugged it on before jumping out of the aircraft.

It was time to test if Shuri managed to get his Hydra programming out of his head.

----

hello!!! thank you for reading my fic and please leave a heart if you liked it!! comments are welcomed and follow me for more!!

[dragonhrte]

Destiny? Chapter Five: Out There

Author's Note:

Thank you so much for giving this work a read! Quick disclaimer, for all intents and purposes MHA/BNHA are not mine they do not belong to me. The manga and anime have inspired me to write this fiction and dialogue as well as events are given credit to the beautiful people who have blessed us with this series. Aside from standard story line events this work is mine. Here's a long one for you guys, sorry about the long wait. I've been busy with finals and such.

Please note that

*abc* is a sound effect

'abc' is internal thoughts of whomever

"abc" is dialogue

(abc) is a side note from yours truly ;)

~Love, DragonHearte

After walking home for the day I go to my room and immediately sit down at my desk. I type "Sludge Villain Incident" into the search engine, I get thousands of hits. After clicking on a few articles and videos, I find an amateur video taken from what seems to be a handheld device. The video quality isn't that good and it's also really shaky but it's the only video that taped the beginning of the sighting. The sludge monster appears to have a hostage, the camera zooms in to get a grainy image of 'Bakugo?' I would be able to recognize the utter hatred practically oozing off of him in waves. 

None of the heroes are helping him, I am not able to make out exactly what's being said. I squint at the video on my laptop, closely examining the events that are transpiring, and then widen my eyes, 'The sludge from the villain is covering his nose and filling his mouth! He's probably not even breathing!' Then, for a split second, the camera steadies and focuses on Bakugo's face. A pleading look, devoid of the ever-present scowl on his face. I quickly pause the video before I lose the image. I sit there cross-legged on my desk chair staring at the frozen image before me. 'How is Bakugo of all people even able to make that face? He truly looks like he's asking for help, not that he was helpless. But in a way acknowledging the fact he couldn't get out of that situation on his own. How can you make such a face?' I think this to myself as I stare at the image. The emotion in his eyes striking a chord deep within me. I open a new tab and search for articles on the incident, and I find the aftermath of the situation. At this point, I'm not really looking for anything specific, but I come across the date of the incident. 'This happened this past summer?' I think to myself.

 I can't help but admire the fact that Bakugo is not only strong physically shown by the group exercise, but he is also mentally strong. After enduring such a traumatic experience, he's been able to remain mentally sound. I shake the torrent of my own experiences from my mind, and turn back to the computer. I start to do my homework before I get distracted by my past.

Max is at work late, so I heat up the leftovers from dinner the night before. I set the table for one and carry my reheated meal to my spot. I eat in comfortable silence, not thinking about anything in particular, my mind wanders to the reports that I read earlier that afternoon. 'Bakugo was stuck like that for a while.' My mind flashes the image of his pleading eyes back at me. 'He was devoid of oxygen until Midoriya tried to help him. It was clearly Midoriya because the camera was able to capture a somewhat clear picture of him as he ran to Bakugo's side. Why does Bakugo hate Midoriya if he saved his life?' I dismissed the thought for the moment and put it aside to address another day.

I've gotten settled into bed and finished my homework. I turn off the lamp on my bedside table and allow myself to fall into the dark abyss of sleep.

*Beep*

*Beep*

I wake up to the sound of my alarm clock informing me that it is time to go to school. I reach over, face still stuffed in my pillow to turn it off. I miss the first two times, but I finally hit the right button on my third attempt. I sit up and rub the sleep from my eyes, and simply sit there for a few moments letting myself wake up. I look over at the time sleepily, and see 7:50 am. My eyes snap open, 'Oh no, I hit snooze too many times! I'm gonna be late!' After flinging away my covers and jumping out of bed I rush over to uniform, I have set out and hurriedly start putting it on. I hop over to the bathroom to brush my teeth while getting my second sock on. I grab a slice of toast on the way out the door, then I immediately turn back around to grab my phone and backpack.

I am sprinting through the halls to get to class with the least amount of annoyance on Mr. Aizawa's face when I get there. I skid to a halt right before I enter the room and try to catch my breath. I speed walk my way through the door and make brief eye contact with Mr. Aizawa before falling into a deep bow as I make my way to my seat. I walk in front of the class, then round the corner of the front row of desks. As I approach my seat, I hear a faint tutting noise. I swing my head towards Bakugo and catch him rolling his eyes and looking away from me. I bump into my desk and a short brief screech emits from it, my cheeks slightly heat up from the attention being drawn to myself.

"Schaffer, if you're going to show up to class late, be quiet while doing so," A violent blush spreads across my face as I sit down, "I guess tardiness is a trend today because All Might is late, but he will be meeting with us later on during class. Today we will be doing a rescue training. It's going to teach you how to deal with disaster relief from fires to floods. You can choose to wear your gym uniforms or not, just know that some of your costumes are not well equipped for this training exercise. We're also going to be transported to a separate training location via bus. Anyways, that's it so get changed and let's go."

When the class gets outside, we all are instructed by Ida on the proper way to board the bus. ‘Does he think we’ve never ridden on a bus before?’ I think to myself as I board the bus, I end up in the back and sit next to Yaoyorozu, it's a bit cramped in the back row, but not too bad. I keep to myself, but a conversation between Tsuyu Asui and Midoriya peaks my interest.

"Your quirk is similar to All Might's in many ways, Midoriya." Tsuyu states.

A look of complete panic comes over Midoriya, a bit more than his usual worried or panicked look, a quick thought passes through my head, 'I wonder what that's all about?' Stammering, Midoriya responds, "R-r-really? I n-never notic-ed!"

I quirk my eyebrow in confusion, and then Kirishima pipes up, "That doesn't make any sense, his quirk is different in a big way. He gets hurt whenever he uses his quirk, and All Might doesn't. His quirk is pretty cool, way cooler than my hardening quirk. It's pretty boring, I will admit though that it's handy in a fight."

I frown slightly at his comment about having a boring quirk and then turn my head when I hear Midoriya say, "It's not boring, I think it's really cool and extremely useful."

"Don't forget that in order to go pro, you also need popular appeal." Kirishima adds

"My navel laser is the perfect well-rounded quirk because it's cool and also strong." says the flashy, self-centered blonde, Aoyama.

Ashido cuts in and says, "Your quirk is great and all up until you overuse it and give yourself a stomach ache."

Aoyama's face turns bright red after this comment. Tsuyu says, "Todoroki and Bakugo have really strong quirks, but Bakugo is a giant asshole. He'll probably never be popular enough to be the number one hero."

I try in vain to stifle a laugh, thinking to myself, 'This is what the class thinks of him? That explains why I was the only one who voted for him.'

Bakugo then yells, "Who the fuck do you think you're talking about Frog-face?!"

He then jerks his head in my direction and shouts, "What're you laughing at?!"

I start to turn my head with the intent of responding, but then decide against it and resume looking at the scenery we pass by. I think to myself, 'I’m pleased to know I’m not the only one who thinks that you have a flaming turd for a personality.'

We get to our destination and file out of the bus. The class walks into the large building and there are so many different things to look at. A person in what appears to be a spacesuit approaches the class and says, "There's a zone for any and every disaster and accident possible. There's a flood zone, landslide zone, and conflagration zone to name a few. I built this facility and I call it the, Unforeseen Simulation Joint!"

'Who is this?' I ask myself, and overhear Midoriya say, "It's the space hero, Thirteen! He's a gentleman hero who does his best work in rescue scenarios!"

Thirteen and Mr. Aizawa speak briefly and then Thirteen resumes talking,

"Many of you know I have a quirk called, Black Hole, it can suck and tear apart literally anything. This is a cool but dangerous ability that has a high potential of killing someone. I'm sure many of you have an ability that fits this description. In our society, quirks are kept under control for safety. The system we have in place right now may seem sound, but we shouldn't forget that if we're not careful we can accidentally kill someone with these amazing abilities. Through the battle training you were able to experience that your quirks have the potential to hurt others. Your powers are not meant just to inflict harm, today you will learn how to use those same destructive powers to save people. I want you all to leave here today with the understanding that you are here to become a hero to help others."

When Thirteen is done with his opening statement, he takes a deep bow. The lights flicker and the fountain in the center of the building sputters for a second. I walk over to my group of friends. I poke Kirishima in the shoulder and ask, "What do you think is going on?"

"I don't know, I hope everything's okay though." he says as he casually places his arm on my shoulder.

All of a sudden Mr. Aizawa shouts out, "Huddle up and don't move," I look around at everyone in their costumes, there is collective confusion apparent on their faces. "Thirteen! Protect the students!"

Kirishima puts his other arm that's not resting on my shoulder up to his face to look out at the figures appearing in the center of the building and says, "What the heck is that? More battle robots like the ones we saw during the entrance exam?"

I go on my tiptoes and try and lift myself up to see the figures he's talking about when Mr. Aizawa says, "Don't move those are Villains!" 

"What villains would be stupid enough to come to a school full of soon-to-be heroes?" says Kirishima.

Yoayorozu asks Thirteen, "There are intruder sensors right?"

"Yes, of course!"

I think for a moment about the whole situation and then say, "Well, are they just here or are they at the main building too? Maybe the sensors aren't working because they have someone with a quirk that renders them useless... We're pretty far away from the school's main campus. There's not a lot of people here, but it feels like they picked this time specifically. So, maybe they're not as dumb as they look. Also they probably have an objective. This seems like a well thought out sneak attack."

Mr. Aizawa moves to the edge of the platform we're all on and says, "Thirteen take the kids back to the main campus, evacuate the building. Call the school. Like Schaffer said, there's a high likelihood that one of the villains is jamming the sensors with their quirk. Kaminari can you use your quirk to signal for help?"

"I can try!" Kaminari responds.

"There's too many! Sensei, you can't fight them all alone! Your quirk won't be able to nullify all of theirs. You work best as a subdue and capture hero. Your strength isn't head-on battle." says Midoriya.

Mr. Aizawa pulls his goggles up and over his eyes, then says, "A true pro hero, is well-rounded. Thirteen take care of my students."

He jumps off the ledge and plummets to the horde of villains below. My eyes widen in shock and awe as he's taking them down one after the other. Thirteen and the rest of the class start walking towards the doors to leave the building, but we're stopped by a dark smoky mass.

The smokey mass speaks and says, "I won't allow this. We are the League of Villains, we've come here with one goal in mind. To kill All Might, the symbol of peace. The schedule we intercepted promised he would be here. Perhaps he had a change of plans, it doesn't matter if they have. I still won't let you leave."

I quickly survey my classmates and see the fear in their eyes. I squint through the darkness and catch a glimpse of shiny reflective metal from the center of the mass. "There's something there in the most concentrated part of the entity." I say more to myself than anyone else. Then suddenly Kirishima is gone from my side and so is Bakugo from our group. I see them both dart forward.

*Boom* 

"You'll have to get through us first!" yells Bakugo

Kirishima shouts, "Ha! I bet you didn't think of that when you were planning this!"

"You're right I didn't. We forgot that you're not just students, but you are also going to be the world's best someday,"

"Boys, get back!" Thirteen exclaims.

The talking mass, starts expanding rapidly, blocking out the light. My feet move instinctually, sprinting towards them into the fray, with nothing going through my mind other than, 'Save them.'

An ominous message rings out, "Begone. Writhe in torment until you breathe you last breath." 

It's the last thing I hear before the darkness consumes me, and everything goes dark.

Chapter Six: Elsewhere

[pettyrevenge-base]

Screwed over DM by leaving and she messed up paperwork so they had to pay me extra.

About 1.5 years ago I was working at a retail cell phone store in a super slow location (I had been with the company for about 3 years at this time). It was me, two other sales reps and a manager. The two other reps did bare minimum and I was constantly having to pick up their slack to keep the store looking nice. The manager actually requested a demotion to transfer to a store closer to home because he had an hour commute to the store and wasn’t making enough to make it worth it.

Right when the manager was trying to transfer, a new District Manager took over our region. She put through my managers transfer and offered me the manager position of our store. I was stoked. She told me I would initially be on a trial period to see how I did, and then if I did well she would keep me as manager permanently instead of looking to hire someone else. I was fine with this since I had no manager experience and knew I would just need to prove myself. Once my two coworkers got word that I was offered the manager position they were pissed, they immediately told the DM they had second jobs and now were only available on the weekends, meaning I was the only employee left to work during the week. On top of this, I would come back from them working the weekend to the store being a disaster- the trash never being taken out, the demo phones not stored properly, and voicemails being left on the phone implying that the store wasn’t actually open during the times it was supposed to be. At this point the promotion wasn’t actually put through so I had no power to do anything about it, and I never saw them because they worked weekends and I worked weekdays.

With the other two reps only working weekends and me being the only rep during the week, that meant I was working open to close (9am-7pm) by myself with no breaks since I couldn’t close the store. The DM told me she was looking for replacements and a couple days a week had coverage from the store an hour away come help out but I was still mostly working alone with no breaks, and was still not in the system as a manager so I was getting annoyed.

After about a week of this the DM called me and told me that she had actually opened the manager position to outside hires and that I would be the interim manager and if I did well and they didn’t find anyone else to hire as the manager they would consider keeping me on. I was pissed. I had been given the promotion then essentially had it taken away. Up until this point I had been looking for a new job, I wasn’t very happy there even before this all started so I had been keeping my options. Pretty much the same day she told me I basically wasn’t getting the promotion I was called for an interview somewhere else.

The next week she called and told me even though I wasn’t getting the promotion, she still wanted me to do the manager duties since at this point there was no manager at the store. (She claimed I would receive manager pay for this but I highly doubted that would ever actually happen. And at this location manager pay was $4 an hour more than I was making but I wouldn’t be receiving my bonus as a sales rep or the managers bonus since I wasn’t actually a manager, so I would lose money by taking the manager pay). I told her no thank you, as I am no longer going to become the manager, I have no desire to have to learn and take on those new roles (it also would mean driving two hours away once a week for manager meetings). She then offered me the assistant manager position (a position that had never existed at this location but she was going to make exist because she needed someone to run the store until she could hire someone). This position would be $2 more an hour, and until they could hire a new manager, I would be required to handle the manager duties. I again said no thank you, I would just keep my current position and responsibilities. I could tell she was annoyed because she would now have to either come out herself, or get a manager from another location to come do manager duties at this location.

The next day I was called for a second interview at the new job I was looking into and ended up being offered the position. It just so happened it was a Friday and I didn’t work weekends so I waited until I was just about off for the day, sent in my two weeks notice, and then didn’t check any messages until my next work day. At this point she knew she was screwed because she had two reps that didn’t do their jobs well, no manager and the only rep that kept the store functioning was leaving so on top of needing to hire a manager, she now needed to find a replacement for me.

The next two weeks I got screwed over hard, I was scheduled by myself from open to close, got chewed out every day for not clocking out for a break because I couldn’t take one without closing the store, but I did get lots of overtime and the company had to pay lots of meal penalty fines for not giving me a way of properly taking my break.

On my last day, I somehow had a super busy day at the store and made a ton of money in profit. We had a district wide group me so everyone in our area got the alerts. She tried to call me out saying it was a shame I was leaving since I had such a good day. I called her back out saying it “would have been nice to have been given the opportunity to have more good days like that for myself and for the company but she fucked up by offering me the manager position and then taking it back. And also good luck to my shitty coworkers that did nothing but create more of a mess for me to deal with”

The best part, I had given my two weeks notice and the DM fucked something up so my final check didn’t arrive on my last day of work like it was supposed to. My DM kept trying to tell me it would just be direct deposited into my account but by law where I live the final check has to be a paper check, it can’t be a direct deposit. She couldn’t tell me whether it was going to the store or to my house, and the people in charge of paychecks just happened to be out of office for the weekend. I pulled up the state laws to know what my rights were since they weren’t giving me my final check and discovered that for every day I didn’t get my final check, they had to pay me. I ended up getting an extra three days pay because she didn’t know how to put the paperwork through properly.

And since she hadn’t found a new manager for the store, or a replacement for me by the time I left (no one was willing to transfer to my location because they would make less money) she had to pay some manager from a store 3 hours away to drive to my store to run it everyday. Screw that company.

ETA TLDR; District Manager offered me manager position, then took it away, then made me work days all alone. I immediately found new job and quit leaving them high and dry. They also had to pay me extra for messing up my final check.

Source: reddit.com/r/pettyrevenge

[turtle-steverogers]

Happy Fucking Halloween

I meant to post this earlier, but i forgot. Anyway, enjoy some disaster boys on Halloween. Kinda late now, but whatever.

Also these boys have a singular brain cell between them- they trade it off

Also this isn’t edited but it’s fine

Can you spot the vine reference? yeet

Ship: Ralbert

Warning: THEYRE HIGH AGAIN (can you tell i have fun writing them high?)

“HAPPY HALLOWEEN, ASSHOLE,” Race nearly threw his phone in surprise when his boyfriend, Albert, bust into his bedroom wearing a skeleton onesie.

“Babe, it’s only been Halloween for like,” he glanced at the clock, which read 12:02 am, “Two minutes.”

“Exactly,” Albert said, hopping onto Race’s bed, a manic glint in his eye, “We’re wasting time.”

“Wasting time to do what?”

“C’mon, get up,” Albert tugged at his arm, pulling him into a sitting position, “I wanna go ghost hunting.”

“You wanna- wait, what?”

“Ghost hunting. I wanna do it. It’s the spookiest day of the year, I wanna make the most of it.”

“Where exactly do you intend to do this?” Race asked, picking up his sweatshirt off the floor and pulling it over his head.

“There’s a cemetery not far off campus, so I was thinking we’d start there?”

“Okay. Sure, what am I gonna do? Say no?” Race said, throwing his hands up.

Albert grinned, “That’s the spooky spirit. Lemme just get something from my room, then we’ll go,” he launched himself off of Race’s bed and sprinted out of the room. Race chuckled to himself and grabbed his shoes from beside his door before heading out to the living room. He sat down on the floor and slipped on his sneakers. A few more minutes passed, then Albert slid out of his room and across their wood floor in a pair of ghost slippers, nearly falling into Race in the process. He had put the hood of his onesie up and a drawstring bag was secured on his back. What was in the bag, Race didn’t wanna know. But, he assumed he’d find out either way.

“Okay,” He exclaimed, clapping his hands together, “Let’s go.”

The walk to the cemetery was shorter than Race had anticipated and soon enough, they were climbing the polished wooden fence that surrounded it. The cemetery itself had a mix of older and newer looking graves. If Race squinted, he could make out the outline of an old building near the back and he had a feeling that’s where Albert wanted to go. Albert swung his drawstring bag around to his front and pulled out a flashlight. He clicked it on and held it under his chin as he continued to rummage through the bag.

“Fuck,” He murmured, “I coulda sworn I’d packed my- aha!” With a triumphant flourish, he pulled out a small pen-like object.

“Albert,” He groaned, “You brought your dab pen? Seriously? I don’t think we should be getting high in here.”

Albert studied him for a moment, then took a long drag, “So you have the brain cell today. Interesting.”

Race let out an offended squawk, “Excuse me, I always have the brain cell.”

“Debatable,” Albert held the dab pen out for Race, who scowled before taking it from him. He inhaled deeply, holding it in his lungs for a moment to allow the weed to process in his system.

They traded the pen back and forth several more times before Albert stowed it back into his bag. Race began to giggle as the weed took affect. Albert loosely grabbed his arm, pulling him between graves as they made their way to the building in the back.

“Albie,” Race said, sounding out each syllable, “What the fuck is that building. It looks so spooky,” he giggled again.

“I dunno, Race,” Albert slurred as they approached the front door, “But you’re so right it does look fuckin’ spooky, brah!”

Race blinked a few times as his eyes started to dry out. His mouth felt like it was filled with cotton and he smacked his lips a few times, “M’mouth is all funny.”

“Itsa kissable mouth,” Albert turned towards him and grabbed his face, kissing him sloppily.

“Albert, no,” Race said, pushing him away, “No kissing. Not here.”

Albert furrowed his brow, then nodded, “Yeah. No kissing, brah,” He paused, then pouted, “I don’t like that I keep saying brah. Makes me feel like a surfer dude.”

“Aha! Sahhh dude,” Race laughed.

“Sahh, dude- AH!”

Both of them jumped as a loud thump came from within the house. It sounded like it was coming from the loft.

“Ah, fuck,” Albert said, pointing the flashlight in the direction that the sound came from, “The ghosts are here.”

“Albieeeeee, I don’t wanna dieee. Can we leave?” Race whined, trying to tug Albert away from the house.

“No,” Albert said, determination in his unfocused eyes, “I wanted to hunt ghosts. We’re hunting ghosts.”

“You owe me,” Race said, glaring at Albert.

“Owe you what?”

“I dunno, something good.”

“I’ll suck your dick later.”

Race lit up, “Okay! Let’s go hunt ghosts!”

Albert shouldered open the door and the two of them tiptoed inside. It was dark and mostly empty. It looked like it had once been some sort of storage building, but had long since been abandoned- no doubt a result of the graveyard being built around it.

“Where to?” Race whispered loudly.

“Uhhhh,” Albert scanned the room until his light landed on a flight of stairs near one corner, “There.”

The stairs creaked violently as they half-walked, half-stumbled up towards the second floor. The next level was also empty, save for a small ladder leading to the loft in one corner and a heap of wood by a window. It looked like the wood had been tampered with. There were planks scattered messily around the initial pile and upon closer inspection, they found skeletons of small mammals strewn across the floor.

“The fuck?” Albert wrinkled his nose.

Race shrugged, his eyelids drooping heavily as he bent down to pick at a mouse skeleton, “I dunno, man,” He laughed and shoved the skeleton in Albert’s face, causing him to go crossed eyed, “Oh my fuckin’ god, she fuckin’ dead.”

Albert reached out and flicked his forehead, “Dumbass.”

“Hey! You said I have the brain cell, you-”

Before he could finish, something dropped out of the loft, hissing at them loudly. Albert and Race screamed, backing into the wall as the creature advanced towards them.

“Albie, ohmygod,” Race half-shouted, half-sobbed,”We’re gonna die! Fuck, we’re gonna die and you didn’t even get to suck my dick!”

Albert was trying to climb onto the pile of wood as he screamed, “What the fuck, Race. What the fuck is that- it looks like Spot!”

The thing kept lumbering towards them, slowly gaining speed, “I don’t know!” Race shouted, “Throw something at it!”

Albert picked up a plank of wood, throwing aimlessly in the direction of the animal. It landed loudly a few feet away from the animal and for a moment, it was distracted. It changed course, waddling instead towards the wood and Albert and Race took the opportunity to scramble off the pile towards the stairs. As they passed the animal, Albert shone his light on it. It was a fucking badger.

They didn’t stop running until they reached the fence. Climbing the fence while sober was one thing, but climbing it while high was a different story completely. It took them several attempts and more than a few scrapes, but eventually they landed unsteadily on the other side, panting heavily.

“The fuck was that?” Race asked, collapsing on the grass and draping an arm across his eyes.

“A fucking, uh, badger,�� Albert answered, “The stripey head things.”

“You have a stripey head.”

“Take that back, motherfucker.”

“No.”

They caught their breath for a few more minutes, then began the journey back to campus. When they returned, it was a little passed 1:30 am. They buzzed into their dorm building, only to be met by Jack and Spot leaving.

“Race? Al?” Jack asked, “We were just aboutta go look for y’all. You weren’t in your dorm when we came to get you for Elmer’s Halloween thing, so we figured you’d gone to do something stupid.”

“And it looks like we were right,” Spot raised his eyebrows, taking in the two boys in front of him, “Are you two high?”

Race fixed him with a dazed look, “A fucking badger, Spot. A fucking badger.”

Spot cocked his head, eyes narrowing in confusion, “What?”

Albert snickered, “It looked like you, Spottie.”

“You two are so fucked,” Jack said, shaking his head.

Race chuckled and leaned into Albert’s side, “Happy Halloween, queens. Happy fucking Halloween.”

TAG LIST:

@bencookisagod

@we-dont-sell-papes

@suddenly-im-respecsable

@aw-jus-let-em-spook

@well-the-kids-do-too

@spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn

@thatpoorguysheadisspinning

@newsies-of-nyc

@andthewoildwillknow

@the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog

@sunshine-e-cigarettes

@have-we-got-news-for-you

@musical-shitposts

@thebroadwayaesthetic

[puffyswritings]

Home Sweet Home (Kacchako One-Shot)

AKA Oh look! It’s another Kacchako short!!

Rating: Teen (for cursing)

Word Count: 2,908

Other Notes: I stayed up last night writing this. I edited it a lot today so it should be better; in terms of flow and detail, I mean. Here, they are all in their late-20′s. You’ll get more backstory as you read along, but this was originally for KPW but I got busy so..... I don’t look at it as that anymore, but just a fic where I can write from Hot Head’s POV and have fun! I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!! The story begins at the link below!

“Thank you so much, Ground Zero! I am so glad you agreed to let us interview you here!” The host continue giving his praises, expressing his happiness through wide gestures. Bakugo nods along, somewhat out of the one-sided conversation.

“Anything for a fan,” the Hero says after snapping back into the conversation a moment later. The host’s smile grows impossibly wider and Bakugo can think of a hundred things he could be doing right now rather than sitting in this freezing studio. Cleaning his apartment could be one; going over remodeling ideas for the agency or sitting through another board meeting. Hell, he’d rather peel paint than be here.

Of course, while all of those things could be something he could have left to do minutes ago, he promised a certain friend that he’d go through an interview. Every bit. From the make-up to the closing notes; even this. It’s annoying and grating his nerves--how far does this guy think he’ll get just by flattering Bakugo anyway?--but he isn’t going to back out. Besides, this guy is saying something at least remotely interesting.

“Are you traveling anywhere anytime soon?”

The Pro shrugs. “I don’t plan on it. But if I need to…”

The host jumps forward, earning a pair of narrowed eyes in his direction. “So you keep contact with Heroes from other countries?”

“Yeah.”

“What about Heroes who have moved--and or visited--another country. The same Heroes who are from Japan?”

What is he getting at? “Of course I do; and not only me. We try to keep good ties with Heroes everywhere. In the case that there is an emergency, say, in, France, and they have been severely attacked and they need backup. Then hey, some friends in Germany would go and assist.”

“What is considered an “emergency”?”

“Global panic, natural disasters, an organized rising of a villain or villains.”

Nodding, the host leans back. To the audience, he seems as if he’s thinking, and hard. To Bakugo, it’s all staged; and he can’t help but feel as if he is playing right along with it. “It’s coincidental you mention that, Ground Zero. Because I actually wanted to ask about the most difficult--most dangerous--organized villains in recent history: the League of Villains.

“Is that alright?”

At least he has the fucking decency to ask first, is the Pro’s first thought. His second is to shrug it off. That would be off-putting and crossing the line to his promise though. Which leaves him with two options: Either give his assent, or tell this guy--with as much professionalism and politeness he can muster--to go fuck himself. Neither are ideal, nor do they leave him with any wiggle room. Because if he says yes, those damn feelings will come back; the ones he has conquered and resolved, but still arise. If he says no, then he disappoints his friend and looks like a little bitch. So.

Bakugo straightens in his chair, uncomfortable leather sliding along his slick suit, only to slide back down. He levels his perfected, “you’re on fucking thin ice but you may speak” look at the man. In the steadiest tone he can manage, Bakugo says, “Go ahead.”

---

“You did amazing!!”

“Eat shit.”

Brushing off the good-intentioned compliment, Pro Hero, Ground Zero, tosses an empty water bottle into the nearby trashcan, making his way to the only person who has believed in him since he was a tiny little fuck up.

Izuku Midoriya--or Deku nowadays--beams his trademark smile, unfazed by the harmless remark. “Though I’m surprised you let him ask you about the League…” The shorter man trails off, eyebrows knitted together in thought. Bakugo remains silent. He isn’t all that surprised he talked about the single most traumatizing years of his life. It isn’t as if he hasn’t before.

As they walk down the hall, leaving the small apartment Bakugo has called home the past four years, he looks down at the green-haired Hero and can’t help but smirk. Izuku has stood by him through thick and thin--though more of the former than any. He couldn’t be happier to call this fucking dork his friend.

His sweating hand hits Izuku on the top of his head, roughly rubbing it. “Don’t worry. It’s just a bunch a questions.”

Izuku slaps Bakugo’s hand, moving away and scowling. “I can worry if I want.”

Crimson eyes roll. “Yeah, do whatever the fuck you want I guess.” Izuku crinkles his nose, but Bakugo ignores it. He stuffs his hands into his pant pockets, eyes looking around them.

It’s a habit he picked up at UA: Vigilance. Not knowing where you are or what’s around you, will fuck you up. You think you’re heading home and end up face-to-face with a pile of shit, barely alive ten minutes later. Being lost has never been something Bakugo liked, or liked admitting. It’s annoying, and a pain in the ass. That’s why his memory is so great; he had unconsciously trained himself to remember his location, how he got from Point A to Point B, vice versa, and everything along the way. Going from his agency to the nearest grocery store is only a fifteen minutes walk at worst and he could navigate himself there with his eyes closed.

The apartments and townhouses begin to grow farther apart as they walk down the street. Civilians come by, stopping the Pros as they pass. Bakugo rolls his eyes at Izuku’s own excitement, the work he put into getting to this point sos obviously paying off. It isn’t that Bakugo would ever admit, but seeing Izuku like this, happy smile stretching across his face as bright eyes widen at every “Deku!!! Please sign this!!” Even Bakugo has a wide arrange of adoring fans; not that it’s all surprising.

When the crowd thins, Bakugo notices they have ended up close to one of the train stations. He looks around them, catching sight of the time on one of the clocks. “Where the hell are we going, Deku?” he asks after the last fan leaves.

Izuku perks up at the question, dropping his hand from waving. He nods to the train station, beginning to walk ahead. “Don’t you remember?” he calls by the time Bakugo catches up to him, huffing in fake annoyance. “We’re going to see Uraraka!”

He stumbles. Bakugo fucking stumbles.

It takes him more than a couple seconds to find his voice. When he does, he isn’t proud of his high-pitched, cracking tone either. “She’s back?”

Izuku nods, either deciding it’s wise not to comment on the two-in-a-row blunders made by Bakugo, or not caring. “Not yet; but soon! A few and the other Heroes and I wanted to prepare a welcome home party for Uraraka before she actually gets back.”

Bakugo’s first thought is to wonder why in the fucking hell this dumbass has Ochako’s keys in the first place. Until he remembers that he isn’t the only who has access to her house.

“What the fuck for?”

“She’s coming back home. It’s been two years, Katsuki... Aren’t you excited?”  Not that he needed to be reminded, but fuck you too Izuku.

Of course he knows how long Uravity has been overseas. Training to become a better Hero in other countries; learning their styles and systems to bring back and improve Japan or some shit. It came as no surprise, but Bakugo has to close his eyes over the crashing wave of pain that accompanies the numbers. Twenty-five months. Twenty-five-fucking months.

“Thanks for the reminder, jackass,” Bakugo mumbles. Balling his hands into slick fists, the Pro stuffs them back into his pockets. He kicks at the ground once before stalking ahead. He doesn’t exactly know where Izuku is going, but sticks to the idea that he want to take the train to her house and heads that way. I can’t believe it.

“I’m so--I didn’t mean to upset you, Katsuki,” Izuku says after running to catch up to the other’s fast strides ahead.

“Sounds like an apology,” as tedious as it is. Bakugo has always hated constant apologies. No matter what for. People should only apologize when it matters. Upsetting him doesn’t; it happens. No one can apologize for the number of times Bakugo has been upset or an asshole; and Izuku has tried. “You’re right though,” he grumbles after more than a couple thoughtful moments. It’s painful. Hurts like unlike anything; and he has been throws into a building by a mammoth of a villain before. He’s done his best to forget, to distract, and to push aside the ache that comes with missing her. He’s done it. At least he thought so.

Izuku gives the other a mildly shocked look. “I am?”

Slowing to a stop, Bakugo gives his infamous sharp grin. It wobbles at first, and he panics that maybe it won’t hold. It does. This is familiar at least, pretending to be one thing while all he wants to do is cry alone in his bed. When he finally has Izuku waiting long enough, Bakugo declares with a surprisingly strong voice, “Uraraka’s home.”

---

Urakara is late.

“What the fuck.”

To a majority’s surprise, Bakugo leaves his supposed hiding place. He makes his way to Izuku, Half-and-Half, Earphone Jack, and Pikachu around him by the stove in the kitchen. “What’s going on, Deku?” he all but demands in his barely-shouting voice.

Earphone Jack roles her eyes as Izuku begins to scroll at something on his phone a bit more frantically. “Calm down, Bakugo,” she says in an overly exaggerated tone.

“Yeah man. Are you--I get it.” Pikachu moves a couple inches backwards after being tossed a famous glare. True enough, it has lost some of it luster since his middle school days, but it has gotten easier for his former classmates to tell when Bakugo is not in the mood to be played with. This is one of those times.

Swinging crimson orbs to the left and locking on to his next victim, Bakugo grounds out the same sentence from a moment ago.This time, Izuku passes his phone to Bakugo. “She’s stuck at the airport, Katsuki. I don’t--”

“Are you going to get her?” Bakugo asks, still looking down at the most recent exchange between the two friends. Seems like traffic is backed up again; guess I’ll be here a while:p

For a moment, no one says anything. The other Heroes have gone silent, and when Bakuo looks up, he finds no change in his thought that Izuku is still an airhead. “Since you aren’t, I’ll go.” He pivots on one foot, reaching across one of the chairs for his jacket. Izuku calls out to him, but Bakugo responds in only lifting his hand to flip him off. He stomps across the wooden floors, staring only at the door. The few other Heroes scattered across the living room avert their eyes as he passes them, but he could care less. “Damn extras.”

Once the door is closed behind him, Bakugo realizes that he left his phone in there. “I’m not going back,” he mumble as he jogs down the porch steps, and then to his car. He stops in front of it, keys dangling from one finger. The black thing needs a wash. The  few wrappers and papers left behind need to be cleaned out as well.

A passing car’s honk disturbs him from his thoughts. He scowls. Of all the times to worry about cleaning, it’s now.It’s something that strikes a nerve; and a big one. He should be on his way to When pick up Ochako. Ochako.

Exhaling what he can, Bakugo swings open his car door. He slams it shut behind himself, a bit too hard. This is ridiculous. It’s been two years since he last saw her and here he is acting like his teenage self. At least I’m not as shitty as I was back then, he thinks darkly, pulling out of the driveway.

Making his way through the city to the airport, he makes a plan for himself. It doesn’t feel like much, but by the end, he feels...better, but only marginally. The expressway is crowded and the airport is painstakingly more so. By the time he actually gets to the gate Ochako said she would be waiting at--per her text to Izuku--two hours have passed. He feels nerves begin to intensify, gnawing at his stomach. The familiar chemical smell that has become apart of himself intensifies. He tries--stupidly--to wipe his hands on the small towelette in his car. He leaves his car, unbelievably nervous.

The crowd is awful.There is a mass of many brown-haired people, and being as short as she is doesn’t help out all that much. So much so that doesn’t see her at first. He wonders around, standing on the tips of his toes, moving people aside, just to try and get a break through the masses. After a while of passing through people and being stopped, Bakugo comes close to one of the airport shops, and spots a small crowd by the window.

He narrows his eyes, recognizing a familiar uniform. “It’s so amazing to actually meet you!” he hears as he approaches the crowd. A quick scan at the people in the back and he knows they’re fans. Now how many Heroes are scheduled to leave the airport today?

He nears the end, catching the quick reply. “Aww!! Thank you so much!” Bingo.

Bakugo rounds the side of the crowd, pushing newcomers out of his way. He actually feels his heart skip a beat after hearing her soft responses, shy laughs.  Along the way, he manages to catch sight of short brown hair; a dimple; the corner of a smile. It’s like falling in love with her all over again.

The window ends up blocking her in. He notices this as he comes to the side, the small opening just ahead of him. But he also sees why she also chose it. The chair to her right block fans from getting as close as the left side, especially when no one notices the opening behind the plastic chairs when someone they admires is standing in a crowded airport.

He moves closer to the opening. Unlike when he was walking around the crowd, people have begun to notice him. He flashes a quick grin, feeling almost giddy at just how close he’s coming to finally seeing all of her.

She’s finishing talking to a fan, her back turned to him as he calls out to her over the crowd. “Oi! That you, round face?”

The moment recognition registers on her face, Bakugo feels happiness swell in his chest. It took her a couple seconds to spot him, and then she runs to him--something he didn’t expect her to do. If he’s being honest, the first time he sees her in two years, he expected for her to--as crazy as it kind of seems--to hit him for being stupid. For not talking to her, almost avoiding her entirely. Even thousands of miles away.

“Katsuki!” she exclaims as she throws bare arms around his neck. He doesn’t stumble, taking her lift-off and spinning her around. “You’re here!” she whispers.

He chuckles, suddenly choked up. “Why wouldn’t I?” is what he almost asks. He stumbles over the words on his tongue. So instead of being able to say anything at all, Bakugo sets Ochako down, but not yet pulling back from her; just as she continues holding onto him. Looking down at her, he can hardly put it into words; just that it’s making him want to kiss her right now, this warm feeling in his chest.

Brown eyes lift to search his own. From his eyes to his chin, to his hair and ears. He holds his breath as her eyes flicker over his face, searching for something he can’t figure out. He’s as much entranced by her appearance as she is by his. The woman hasn’t aged a day. Her usually short hair seems only a little longer, eyes as deep and beautiful as ever.

He hasn’t talked to her in seven months. He hasn’t seen her in two years. There is a crowd, a packed airport. He is tired and pissed he had to waste two hours in traffic, and search around the building for this woman for nearly an hour. The party is making his eye twitch whenever he thinks about, but all their friends are there. They are the reason he’s here, but he can’t stay angry. Just thinking about going home with her, talking to her--it all makes him want to sweep her up again and take her out of here. He wants to give this woman the world. He’ll suffer a hundred more crappy parties just for her.

There are a so many other things he could be doing the longer he stares down at her; things that he should be doing. Yet he can’t think of a single one as he leans down. He watches her head tip back ever-so-slightly, eyes closed as she leans into him. Seconds later, he’s capturing pink lips in his own.

This is what I missed. He breaks the connection some time later, breathless and face red. The crowd around them--how did he forget?--make assorted noises, but he ignores them. “I missed you,” he whispered hoarsely. Ochako just smiles, an awestruck expression on her face. I feel just right in these arms.

[arabellaflynn]

Anxiety II: Resources

The single biggest problem in my life is a lack of money.

I live well below the poverty line. I do contract work, as health permits. One missed paycheck is a disaster. In August, my biggest contract missed a paycheck. (Several, actually. They had four outstanding invoices, of which they now have managed to pay three. And I have turned in two more since then, so we'll see how they do on that.) Their new direct deposit service is a dumpster fire; they had to ask for my bank info twice, their estimate of when the money will be in my account is optimistic by several days, and somehow one week they just... didn't send money. Just, none. I told them this was not okay, and they agreed, but agreement that the situation sucks is not the same as money.

Several things bounced. My bank is nice about giving you a business day to reconcile whatever is going on, but there was no way to get it fixed that fast. I am out almost $200 in NSF fees from an accumulation of small transactions that hit between the date the money was supposed to be there and when I noticed it wasn't. I don't have $200 available for soaking up damage. I don't have $20 for that. I regularly have to choose between transit fare and groceries.

I scratch and scrape to pay rent every month. It's not a relief. It just resets the clock on the "how long until I'm homeless" crisis. I am always looking for more work, but part-time work that doesn't require me to be on my feet 6+ hours at a time is stupidly hard to come by. I tried being a phone psychic. They advertise a decent hourly rate, but that rate is for the time you spend on the phone. The time you spend waiting for them to route a call to you is uncompensated. The newer you are, the lower you are on the list. I can't waste entire days waiting for a call, and I can't be late to any of the work I do have because I'm stuck on a call I can't disengage from.

I keep being told this is not a referendum on my worth as a human, or as an artist, as if self-esteem is supposed to make it more bearable to starve to death. It doesn't matter how valuable you think I am in an emotional sense if I am not valuable enough in the economic sense to buy my right to exist. Since I was a tiny designated-genius child trapped in the public school system, I have gotten the sense that people who give me praise think that is the most precious thing they can contribute to my life. Validation! Acclaim! Other people approve of you! Surely this talent will propel you to great success (defined, by most people, as the ability to make a living off your abilities)! Somehow everyone always thinks that someone else will be the one who doles out rewards. I do believe in their kind intentions, but lack of kudos is not a problem I have. Lack of resources is. I cannot eat accolades. Hire me for your project. Cast me in your show. Buy me groceries.

'Thank you for your words, but please pay me,' doesn't ever go over well.

Someone tried to tell me 'oh, make an Amazon wishlist for your birthday! People can send you little fun things from it!' I stared at the app for half an hour and I cannot for the life of me come up with anything. I don't want new shoes or books or games. I want the power bill paid. I want my phone service to continue. I want to order more phenibut before I run out. I want to not sit here googling 'food bank hours of operation' only to find out that the local ones are too far to walk the boxes home from, and I can't pay bus fare with a bank balance of -$35.28. 

Normally the only thing I get for birthdays, aside from a bunch of wall posts from people who have been reminded by Facebook, is the takeout I order for myself, and some kind of inexpensive booze. A couple people have offered to cover it. I keep telling them that anything they send is going to bills. I miss feeling like a competent adult way more than I miss pizza.

I understand that a lot of this is not so much me failing life as my society failing around me. The distinction is irrelevant in the same way that my artistic skill is irrelevant to my landlord. If I sound like I am spiraling bitterly into a pit, it's only because I am. There are few things that ruin one's mood like watching Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs collapse into a smoking pile of rubble.

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[lazywonderlnds-blog]

FIC: What’s My Age Again?

Pairing: Harry/Draco Rating: NC-17 Word Count: 12,249 Kinks/Tropes: Top!Harry, Bottom!Draco, Quidditch Player!Harry, Ministry Worker!Draco, Confident!Harry, Bisexual!Harry, Hung!Harry, Rimming, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Multiple Orgasms, Rough Sex, UST, Flirting Warnings: Minor recreational drug use Summary: Harry Potter has had enough of pleasing the public, and his reckless tendencies are finally getting out of hand. The Quidditch World Cup is only a week away; as Captain of the English National Team, Hermione has assured him that his immaturity won’t be tolerated by the Ministry. And then Malfoy shows up. (Inspired by the blink-182 song of the same name.) Links: AO3 Notes: WOW, I’ve been working on this forever and here it finally is! Likes and reblogs are, of course, greatly loved and appreciated. ❤️

                                                        *  *  *

                        “ No one should take themselves so seriously                               With many years ahead to fall in line                                  Why would you wish that on me?                                      I never wanna act my age

                                       What's my age again?  ”

                                                                 - blink-182

                                                          *  *  *

 Harry’s flat was in utter shambles; Hermione had come by in the middle of her work day to help him restore order.

Some time last night while he had been out having a pint with Ron and Dean Thomas, somebody had come into his London apartment and trashed the place. 

Not just somebody, though — it had been Emily, the cute little blonde-haired witch he’d been dating a year now, who had turned out to be not so much cute and little as she was needy and suffocating. This disaster was the proof, if he’d needed it.

With a wave of his wand, Harry repaired an electric lamp that had smashed into a million pieces across his hardwood floor, sending it flying back into place on an end table. The leather couch beside it had been slashed to ribbons, as well — the stuffing had been everywhere — but Hermione had already taken care of that one, and an hour later it looked good as new.

“I suppose this means we’re not dating anymore, does it?” said Harry, lifting an eyebrow as he surveyed the flat, trying to spot anything they’d missed. Hermione finished straightening the clock that sat on top of his mantel and then turned to look at him.

“That seems like a safe bet considering the 'WE'RE OVER' in red lipstick on your bathroom mirror,” she agreed sardonically, looking exasperated. “What happened? Just a fortnight ago Emily was telling me she thought you might be thinking of proposing. How do you get from that to this? I mean, my goodness, Harry.”

“Proposing?” he echoed, latching onto the word and ignoring the rest of Hermione’s question. “She said she thought I’d be proposing?”

“Well, yes.” Hermione took a seat on the newly-repaired sofa, brushing some hair out of her eyes and fixing Harry with a probing stare. “You’ve been together a year and a half now, she seemed to think that was the direction it was heading. I did, mind you, bring up the fact that you continue to refuse to move in with her, which hardly bodes well for a marriage, but you know Emily.”

“Selective hearing,” said Harry dourly. He felt his irritation mounting. “Well, bollocks to her, then. Crazy wench.”

“Harry!” 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, though he wasn’t. He was confused, yes. Monumentally pissed off, absolutely. But sorry? Not even a little bit. “Good to be rid of her, to tell you the truth. Couldn’t bloody stand it having her here every time I came home from practice. Didn’t even let me take a bath without bringing me a sodding tray of tea and biscuits. Like I can be arsed to eat biscuits when I’m trying to have a fucking soak.”

Hermione, to his surprise, had started chuckling.

“It’s not a bloody joke, Hermione! You try having a relaxing bath with soggy bits of food floating around the bubbles.”

“Why hadn’t you broken up with her, then?” 

Realizing he didn’t have much of an answer, Harry merely shrugged. 

“So, then, what was it?" she scoffed. "What could you possibly have done to provoke the bedlam we just spent an hour cleaning up?” 

“It wasn’t just one thing,” he said, rolling his eyes as he sat down beside Hermione. She lifted an eyebrow. “She’s been cross with me all week. Last Saturday night it started, because of that Ministry event. The fundraiser one, can’t remember what it was for.”

“The one you didn’t show up to,” Hermione said dryly.

“She went off on me like you wouldn’t bloody believe when I told her I wasn’t going,” he went on, ignoring Hermione’s tone entirely. “Should’ve heard the things she was saying. Told me that I haven’t got my priorities straight and I ought to start living up to my name.” 

A hand flew up to Hermione’s mouth, suppressing what was clearly laughter. Harry didn’t bother hiding his own grin. 

“It was really something, I’ll tell you that much. I guess what finally did it, though, was, er — well, I may have forgotten we’d had a date the other night and gone out with the team after practice. It wasn’t on purpose or anything, though!” he said quickly. “Not like I deliberately blew her off.” 

“Harry,” Hermione deadpanned, reminding him forcefully of their years at Hogwarts together. He might have blown off a Transfiguration essay for all the reproach that was soaked into her voice. “While I don’t condone this tantrum she’s thrown, I really do think you owe her an apology. That was incredibly insensitive.”

“I know —”

“And if you were so fed up with her, you should have just broken up with her —”

“I know, Hermione —”

“I mean, really, Harry, there’s just no point, you’re making yourself as miserable as you’re making her —” 

“I know, Hermione!” he barked, exasperated.

“Well, why didn’t you do it, then!” she retorted immediately, looking beady-eyed and disapproving. Any trace of humour had drained from her countenance. “You could have saved us the trouble of repairing your entire flat this afternoon!” 

“I dunno, do I?” he said irritably, standing up from the sofa and dragging a hand through his wildly messy hair. This was a lie, though — he did sort of know why, he just wasn’t keen on discussing his aversion to engaging in any sort of serious conversation. “I didn’t want to deal with it, I suppose. I’d bet you a hundred Galleons she’d have done the same thing if I’d broken up with her, anyway, she’s barking. At least this way it saves me a row.”

Hermione made a throaty noise of disbelief. “What, you think you’re just never going to talk to her again? Harry, you still have to properly end it!” 

“You’re joking, right?” Her face made it very clear she was not. Harry scoffed. “This is what she did to my house, Hermione. Imagine what she’ll do to me.”

“You know, Harry, you are being a bit immature about this —”

“Oh, not you too,” Harry snapped, mood plummeting the instant the word ‘immature’ had left her mouth. His temper was not easy to stoke these days, quite the opposite of the way he’d been before the war — although Harry supposed that might have had something to do with the fact that, in the last few years, he’d stopped taking anything all that seriously. “Like the Prophet isn’t bad enough.” 

“I’m just talking about your relationship, Harry,” Hermione said sharply. She stood up now too, and there was a stern look on her face like she’d moved past exasperation and on to genuine annoyance. “But, you know, if you want my honest opinion, I do think you’ve been acting incredibly immature these last couple years, and it’s only been getting worse.”

“Funny, I don’t remember asking your honest opinion,” he sniped, but Hermione, apparently, had had enough.

“I knew something like this was going to happen,” she snapped, gesturing around the flat which had only an hour ago looked like a nuclear test site. “It was bound to, eventually, the way you’ve been acting! Like a — a —” 

“Go ahead, say it,” Harry bit out. He knew the word she was dancing around — it had been used in conjunction with his name for months now in the media, ever since some sneaky, pathetic reporter had stalked him long enough to get a candid of him hitting a joint, and then sold it to the Daily Prophet for what Harry was sure had been a very large sum of gold. 

“Like a teenager!” she yelled, face pink with emotion. Harry scowled. “You miss nearly every Ministry event you’re invited to, and when you do go, you end up completely sloshed and saying something controversial; you get caught doing Muggle drugs and don’t even make a statement about it, not even an attempt at smoothing things over; and now you’re blowing off dates with your girlfriend and driving her to destroy your flat! Honestly, Harry! I’ve been maintaining for years now that you need to go about this post-war stuff in your own way, get it out of your system, whatever this is, but … but this is where I draw a line! Harry James Potter … I am disappointed in you!”

“Great!” Harry yelled, and his unchecked emotions caused the lightbulb in the electric lamp he’d repaired to explode. Hermione jumped. “Brilliant! Only would you mind being disappointed in me somewhere else? I was looking forward to lighting up a couple joints and premeditating my next really immature publicity stunt!”

Hermione swelled like an angry cat. “Oh, I can’t stand when you get like this! It’s completely useless arguing with you!” Snatching her purse up from a chair, she marched over to the fireplace. “I have to get back to work. Do not forget to be at the pitch at six tonight for the first dry run. The other team will be there to see the stadium and the Israeli Head of International Wizarding Relations will be there as well to meet Kingsley. And Malfoy, since Bosley won’t be there.” 

The name sent another burst of irritation flooding through Harry’s veins; in a fit of childishness that the Prophet would dearly have loved to know about, he grabbed a nearby candle and chucked it across the room, where its glass holder shattered against the opposite wall. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Remind me again why he’s going to be there? Did Bosley and everyone else in the Department die, or something?”

“Bosley’s got a terrible case of dragon pox, so he’s appointed Malfoy to go in his stead. Do not start a fight with him, Harry, I have never been so serious in my life. So help me god, I will hex you within an inch of your life if you make us look bad in front of the Israelis. It’s unprecedented for the Cup to be held in the same country twice within such a short time span, and since the last one here was in —” 

“Ninety-four, yes, I’m well aware of that, Hermione, thanks.”

“Then you know you need to be on your best behaviour if you expect it to be hosted here again within this century!”

“I’m not gonna start anything with him! Merlin’s fucking tits. I thought you had to get back to work, I’ll see you tonight.” 

Hermione, lips pursed and eyes narrowed, took a handful of Floo Powder from a vase on the mantel and disappeared into the green flames. Harry looked around at the glass all over his floor and, with a deep, resentful sigh, went to clean it up.

                                                        *  *  *

  The Cup was especially exciting this year; not only was it being held in Britain, but the English National Team was playing. Hermione, who had quickly risen to become Senior Undersecretary to the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement in their years after Hogwarts, had been deeply involved in the process of getting ready for the 424th Quidditch World Cup.

Traditionally held every four years, the Cup had been postponed in ’98 due to the British Ministry’s need for recovery following the end of the war. Spain had been the winners of the last Cup in 1999, and with Britain in place now to nab the 2003 trophy, Harry had been feeling the pressure from all sides, particularly Fancourt — the Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports — who never missed a chance to let Harry know he’d be counting on him in August.

And now it was August, the Cup was a week away, and the only thing spoiling what should have been the best week of Harry’s life was Draco sodding Malfoy.

After finishing a makeup year at Hogwarts and graduating with only one less N.E.W.T. than Hermione, Malfoy had, in spite of his déclassé name (and because of his excellent marks), managed an entry-level job at the Ministry in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Within four years, he’d risen far enough that he’d become a prominent figure in the Department, and had apparently been hand-chosen by the Department Head — Cadmus Bosley — to represent him tonight when his Israeli counterpart came in.

The stadium was in exactly the same place as it had been when Harry had gone to see the World Cup at fourteen. Only a week away, hundreds of witches and wizards from all over the world with cheap tickets had already begun to gather on the campground outside. Harry arrived at an Apparition point specifically for Ministry officials and the players themselves.

It was ten after six when he walked out onto the pitch, flooded with lights. He saw a good deal of people high up in the air, soaring around the stadium on their brooms, while those in more professional-looking robes were standing in a group in the centre of the field. The only immediately-recognizable one out of the group from a distance, white-blond hair shining like a beacon, was Malfoy.

“There you are!” Hermione said when she saw him, looking incredibly exasperated. Kingsley shot Harry a wink, and Harry smirked at him in return. He glanced once at Malfoy, who lifted an arrogant eyebrow, and then looked away again with every intention of pretending he didn’t exist. Fancourt grabbed Harry’s hand in his turn and shook it once, firmly, with a jovial little “Good to see you, Harry, good to see you!” With those greetings (or lack thereof) out of the way, Hermione directed Harry’s attention to the Israeli wizards. “Harry, this is Moshe Mizrachi, the Israeli Minister for Magic. Minister, this is Harry Potter, our Seeker and Captain.” There was the inevitable lift of eyes to take in his scar, and Harry only just managed not to scowl. “And this is Noam Peretz,” she went on, indicating a second wizard, “their Department Head for International Wizarding Relations. Mr. Peretz, Harry Potter.”

“Delighted, Mr. Potter, truly,” Mr. Peretz said warmly, shaking Harry’s hand and looking up at Harry’s forehead once again. When he tore his eyes away, they landed back on Hermione, then shifted to Malfoy. “I was hoping to go over security details, then …”

As the talk shifted back to business, Harry figured he’d be allowed to sidle off and join the rest of his team, a few of which had landed once they’d seen the Ministry officials wandering off. Harry spared one last glance at Malfoy, who was pointing something out in the stands to Mr. Peretz, before turning and spotting Killian Vance — one of their Beaters — landing a few feet away.

“All right there, Harry?” he said, grinning brightly. “Bradley and I were taking bets on whether you’d show up or not.”

“The hell kind of Captain do you think I am?” Harry scoffed, halfway between amusement and guilt. It was always fairly easy to ignore what the media had to say about him, but when his reputation began cropping up like this, among his friends and his colleagues — when he was forced to face the consequences of his rapidly-deflating sense of responsibility — Harry always felt a small pang of uncertainty.

But he didn’t like to think too much about that if he could help it.

“You’d’ve got away with it if you hadn’t,” Killian said, and judging by the conspiratorial wink, he thought he was paying Harry quite a compliment. Harry tried not to let his exasperation show.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry was engrossed in a deeply complicated conversation with Jeremy Fowler, England’s Keeper, revolving around tactics for the game next week. This made it even more irritating when Malfoy interrupted them. 

“Potter,” he drawled, cutting Fowler off mid-sentence, and Harry felt his hackles instantly rise. Fowler looked nonplussed, and after going back and forth a few times between the looks Harry and Malfoy were giving one another, he apparently decided scarpering was prudent. “We need to discuss —” 

“I was in the middle of a conversation, Malfoy,” Harry snapped. “You’ve got no fucking manners, do you?”

“Language,” Malfoy said breezily. Harry clenched his jaw and forced his fists to remain at his sides. Malfoy seemed to have noticed them, because a look of dark amusement crossed his arrogant face. “As I was saying, we need to discuss your behaviour over the following week.” 

“Excuse me?”

“Your behaviour, Potter. I’m referring, of course, to your penchant for acting like a moronic teenager every time you’re out in public these days.” Harry opened his mouth, ready to start yelling if he wasn’t allowed to throw a punch, but at the very last second managed to swallow back everything he wanted to say. Hermione was about twenty feet from them with the Israeli Minister, and she’d given him a sharp look after having spotted him with Malfoy. He could feel his nails digging into his palm and wondered if he’d broken the skin. Malfoy watched him through all of this with narrowed eyes, perhaps waiting for his outburst; a smirk touched his lips when he appeared to have decided it wasn’t coming. “Very good, Potter. You’ll want to continue exercising discretion until the Cup is over. I know the only thing that comes naturally to you is acting bull-headed and reckless, but if you embarrass the Ministry this week, there will be hell for you to pay. Is that clear?” 

“If that’s the case,” Harry retorted sharply, “you should stay as far away from me as possible, since you’re the only thing that’s making me feel like doing something reckless right now, Malfoy.”

“I’m flattered, truly,” Malfoy said with an ostentatious roll of his eyes. “Do I have your word, then, Potter? No drinking in public, no Muggle drugs, no —”

“What, I can’t smoke any weed this whole week?” he said, mock-surprise colouring his voice with sarcasm. Malfoy’s pouty lips thinned with irritation and Harry could see a muscle working in his jaw. “I dunno, Malfoy, I really can’t promise something like that. You know me, bull-headed and reckless is all I know. Besides, how else do you expect me to relax? It’s like me telling you not to take it up the arse anymore — would you really be able to give that up, Malfoy? Be honest.” 

The sight of Malfoy spluttering incoherently was so satisfying it nearly made up for the destroyed flat that morning.

“That’s what I thought,” Harry said solemnly, ridiculously proud of the way he was successfully holding back his laughter. Laughter, of all things — to think he had been only seconds away from getting drunk instead of coming to this thing seemed impossible now. “Before you ask me to give up something I love, think first about how you’d feel if someone asked you to give up something you love —”

“Shut the fuck up, Potter!” Malfoy shouted; then, seeming to come back to himself, took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Harry thrilled to know how quickly he’d gotten right underneath Malfoy’s skin.

“Language, Malfoy —”

“Potter, I swear to god, one more word,” Malfoy snapped. Harry’s teeth clicked shut and he grinned broadly over them. “Since you are utterly incapable of taking anything seriously —”

“That’s not fair, Malfoy,” Harry interrupted him. Malfoy looked ready to tackle Harry to the ground. “I would seriously love to eat your arse right now —”

“Oh my god,” Malfoy threw his hands up in capitulation, cheeks positively flaming. Harry simply couldn’t hold back a bark of laughter. “You’re completely fucking incorrigible. You know what? See if I care. In fact, I hope you make an arse out of yourself, Potter; then Hewitt can play instead of you.” 

“You’d rather see me put in my place than win the game?”

“Oh please, arrogance looks terrible on you, Scarhead.” Malfoy made a tch-ing sound of disgust in his throat. He looked completely flustered, the blush on his face having spread down his neck, and Harry was only mildly interested to note a stirring of arousal in his belly. Arrogant and intolerable as he might have been, the reality of Malfoy’s physical appeal was unavoidable, and he looked especially delicious right now, worked up on nothing more than Harry’s taunting. He supposed he really wouldn’t have minded eating Malfoy’s arse, in fact. “Anyway, seeing as this is utterly pointless — goodbye, Potter. I so look forward to seeing you watching from the sidelines next week.”

Harry didn’t bother saying anything else, and Malfoy didn’t bother waiting anyhow. His eyes found Malfoy’s arse as he sauntered away, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth. Shagging that contemptuous sneer off his face was unrealistic, maybe, but thinking about it suited Harry just fine.

                                                        *  *  * 

  He’d only smoked marijuana three or four times since the incident six months ago when that incriminating photograph had appeared in the paper, and before having had his row with Malfoy, he’d had no intention at all of lighting up between now and the Cup. 

Of course, there was nothing so tempting as the forbidden fruit, and Harry had always been particularly susceptible when it came to things he wasn’t supposed to do. 

There were two things on his mind that night as he sat drinking a lager amongst a rather large group of his friends, in a pub just down the street from Ron and Hermione's flat: Malfoy, and the eighth of weed trapped inside an airtight jar in his bedroom closet. 

The latter briefly shifted to the back of his mind, however, when the former walked into the pub ahead of a nameless, dark-haired bloke who was holding the door for him.

Nobody else seemed to notice Malfoy’s presence; Malfoy saw him within moments, though, and Harry smirked as soon as their eyes met. 

For having chucked a glass candle-holder across his flat that morning, he was remarkably pleased to be seeing Malfoy now. And perhaps he was acting like a teenager, to be getting off on something as trivial and petty as a schoolyard rivalry; maybe it was immature to be thinking about how good it would feel to have his cock buried in Malfoy’s perfect arse when he should have been thinking about keeping his head down until the Cup was over; but for the first time, it occurred to Harry that maybe, if it meant enjoying himself this much, he rather deserved be childish while he was still young.

Didn't he?

He swigged back the rest of his beer and banged the empty glass down on the table. Dean hollered cheerfully.

“Harry, that was your third, wasn’t it?” Hermione said in a voice of forced casualness; beside her, Ron snorted into his own glass. She shot him a quick, disgusted look before leveling her watchful gaze back on Harry. “Just remember you’ve promised to cut yourself off after three —”

“Oi! The man just got dumped, Hermione, let him live a little tonight,” said Dean, to which Harry laughed and Hermione merely scowled. “What’s he gonna do, go streaking through London?” 

“Don’t make me out to be the bad guy, Dean!” Hermione snapped. Harry rolled his eyes, but nobody seemed to have noticed. “I’m looking out for him. Something which I hope you take into consideration,” she added suddenly, whipping around to look at Harry with blazing eyes. “Getting broken up with was a direct consequence of the way you’ve been acting and you know it.” 

“Yeah, well, you know what?” said Harry tightly, standing up from the table. “I’m only twenty-three fucking years old, Hermione. I spent eleven years in a cupboard under some stairs and the next seven working up to the task of killing an evil fucking maniac, so guess what? If I feel like acting like a teenager, then I’m gonna act like a bloody teenager, all right?” 

“Harry,” Ron said stiffly, standing up as well and dropping a protective arm across Hermione’s shoulders. “Slow down, mate.” 

Hermione, for her part, looked completely gobsmacked and even more horrified; a pinch of guilt settled in Harry’s stomach immediately and he let out a little sigh, thumb and forefinger lifting to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“Look, I’m sorry, Hermione — I just … really need you to lay off me for a bit. It’s a bloody pain in the arse being hounded by reporters and having my life splashed across the news for everybody to judge at their own fucking leisure. It's worse than ever with the Cup around the corner.” He paused, saw Hermione’s lower lip wobbling precariously, and sighed. “I’m sorry, ‘Mione. Really. It’s not your fault I’m on edge.” 

“It’s all right, Harry,” she said softly. One of her small hands found his arm and squeezed. “I … well, we can talk tomorrow. Go on and get another drink.”

He flashed her a grateful smile and, not needing to be told twice, headed off towards the bar.

Malfoy’s back was to Harry, facing the bloke he’d come in with; he looked positively edible in a tight pair of trousers that clung to his arse perfectly, and his date seemed to be well aware of this, for there was a hungry look in his eyes. Harry was a little surprised by the surge of irrational possessiveness this created, but only a little. 

Three beers in and having only that afternoon been reminded of the sort of passion Malfoy could inspire in him, Harry thought it was actually rather unsurprising he should feel jealous of anybody else commanding the blond’s attention.

When he got to the bar, Harry ordered loudly enough that Malfoy would hear, and on cue he spun around. Harry laughed delightedly even as his groin tightened.

“Brilliant,” Malfoy sneered, sizing Harry up with narrowed eyes. “Front row seats to watch you make an embarrassment of yourself once again, Potter. I’ll just get a letter ready to send to Fancourt, shall I? He’ll be devastated — I know for a fact he was looking forward to wanking himself raw at the sight of you on your broomstick next week.”

“Are we talking about Fancourt or you, Malfoy?” Harry said pleasantly. Malfoy scoffed loudly, his eyes going impossibly wide. He had turned to fully face Harry now, having apparently forgotten the bloke standing behind him. “Because Fancourt has kids; meanwhile, you were blushing like a schoolgirl at the thought of me eating you out today, so …” 

“Potter!” Malfoy screeched. The blush had returned, and Harry barely managed to keep from punching the air in triumph. God but Malfoy looked good like that. His date was scowling deeply now, but Malfoy still did not turn back to him. “You’re an uncivilized fucking brute.” 

“You’re blushing again, Malfoy.”

Malfoy spluttered, and the flush deepened prettily.

“Erm — Draco?”

Malfoy turned a withering glare on his date, who shrank back in surprise. “I’m in the middle of a fucking conversation, Connor,” he said hotly. Harry didn’t bother hiding his laugh.

“Well excuse the fuck out of me!” Connor scoffed. “We’re supposed to be on a date, are we not?” 

“Meaning what?” said Malfoy, sneering. “I can’t talk to anyone but you? Merlin help me if that’s the case.”

Connor looked to be somewhere right in the middle of bewildered and angry. 

“I’ll just bloody leave then, shall I?! Since you’d so much rather flirt blatantly with Harry fucking Potter in front of me!”

“Flirt?!” Draco screeched. The barkeeper set Harry’s beer down in front of him — Harry took it with a little nod and a smile and leaned back against the bar to watch Malfoy ream into his date with an expression of polite interest and his free hand stuffed casually into his jeans’ pocket. “Don’t be an idiot, Connor. First of all, I came here with you tonight because you asked me out four separate times and finally wore me down like some useless, lumbering moron. Second, that was fighting, not flirting, halfwit, but it’s no wonder you can’t tell the difference. And third, even if I were flirting with Potter, I hardly think it’s within your jurisdiction to get upset about it, so you can shove your indignant little tirade right up your arse, Connor.”

Wide-eyed and dazed-looking, Connor seemed unable to form speech for a moment. Harry took this opportunity to chime in.

“If I were you, I’d hightail it out of here,” he suggested mildly. 

Malfoy glared at him. “You’re next, Potter.”

“And I’m beside myself with enthusiasm, Malfoy, believe me.” 

With another scoff and a resentful sweep of Malfoy’s body, Connor slammed his drink down on the bar and stalked away. 

“Was that completely necessary, Potter?” Malfoy said waspishly.

“Me?!” Harry laughed incredulously. “The hell did I do?!”

“You stood there like an arrogant toerag!” 

This gave Harry pause; he blinked rather owlishly at Malfoy, who spotted the look and scowled. 

“As vapid as ever, aren’t you, Potter?” he said. But Harry wasn’t really listening; a smile was coming over his face, for a memory had surfaced — or rather a memory of a memory. At one time, it had caused him greatest despair to know what his mum had once thought of his dad, but as he’d gotten older, and as he’d learned how little black-and-white there was to the world, he’d grown rather fond of knowing his parents had overcome a history of … not getting along.

His mother had once referred to his father as an arrogant toerag — Harry could recall it perfectly now, it had been one of Snape’s memories, he and Lily in their fifth year at Hogwarts.

I know James Potter’s an arrogant toerag, she’d said. You don’t have to tell me that.

He didn’t know why it should feel so delightful that Malfoy had unwittingly described him the exact same way Lily Evans had once described James Potter. It just did.

“Malfoy, d’you wanna have a cigarette with me?” he asked suddenly. Malfoy blinked several times in succession.

“What?” he said finally.

“A cigarette. Do you want to have one. With me.” 

“Wh —” he started, and then broke off, looking irritated and a little bit interested, although Malfoy probably didn’t intend for him to see that last bit. “A cigarette?” 

“Yes. With me. I don’t know how else to explain it, Malfoy.” 

“Don’t be a smartarse, Potter,” he snapped. Harry grinned. “Fine … since you’ve done away with my date for the night anyhow. Lead the way, then.”

Harry drained the rest of his beer and gestured towards the door with his head. He pulled a pack of Marlboros out of his back pocket and waved it at Hermione, who had spotted him and Malfoy from across the pub and looked puzzled. She looked like she very much wanted to follow him and ask what was going on, so he was relieved when she didn’t get out of her chair or alert anybody else at the table to what was going on.

He and Malfoy walked to the edge of the building, where a very thin alley divorced it from an overflowing diner. Pulling two cigarettes out, he placed both between his lips, used a Muggle lighter to spark the ends, and then handed one over. Malfoy took it with a strange, indecipherable expression on his face. 

“What’s that look?” Harry half-laughed, cigarette between his thumb and first finger as he took a long drag. 

“Nothing,” Malfoy insisted too quickly. His cheeks reddened, and Harry knew he’d realized how it had sounded. “You’re being irritatingly charming.” 

“Aw, you’re just saying that, Malfoy.”

Malfoy scowled. “It was an insult, Potter.”

“How was that an insult?” Harry laughed.

“Because I’m saying you’re not usually charming!”

“Malfoy, you don’t even know me, how can you say what I’m usually like?”

“I’ve known you since we were eleven, moron.” 

“We’ve spoken three or four times in the last five years.” 

“Exactly — there’s not much to know about you, Potter. You’re all surface-level.”

“Is that why you’ve been blushing around me so prettily all day?” Harry smirked. 

To his credit, Malfoy rolled his eyes rather believably, but the instant color in his cheeks was a dead giveaway. He must have felt it there, because he scowled again.

“Think what you want,” he said, sucking on the end of his cigarette and letting a lazy trail of smoke out from between his full lips. Harry was visited by a sudden, powerful urge to lick inside Malfoy’s mouth and taste the acrid, bitter tobacco on his tongue. “I would never pay you a compliment, Potter — it would give me hives.”

“You know, you’re really rather cute when you’re annoyed with me.”

“I’m not cute, Potter,” Malfoy said tetchily. “And I’m always annoyed with you.” 

Harry leaned one shoulder against the brick wall of the building and flicked away the ash at the end of his cigarette. He said nothing, and watched in amusement as Malfoy began fidgeting under his scrutiny. How had he never noticed before how responsive Malfoy was, how beautifully he reacted to Harry’s relentless teasing? He wondered now how far beneath Malfoy’s shirt that flush had spread. 

“Why did you ask me to come out here with you, Potter?”

Harry considered the question a moment, and then he pushed off the wall and tossed his half-smoked cigarette into the street. Malfoy’s eyebrows drew together. Grinning, Harry plucked the cigarette from Malfoy’s hand as well, cupped his soft cheek with his free one, and without even a suggestion of reluctance leaned in and kissed him hard on the mouth. Malfoy froze, but within seconds he began responding to Harry’s coaxing, drawing his lips apart with a gasp and letting Harry slip his tongue inside. He felt a moan vibrate between them and threw down Malfoy’s cigarette so he could get a hand on his waist instead. 

It tasted bitter from the tobacco and whatever he’d been drinking, but underneath that was the distinctly sweet taste of Malfoy, and it was this that Harry couldn’t get enough of. Their tongues twisted and curled around each other, panting breaths passing frantically between them as they devoured one another. Harry bit down sharply on Malfoy’s pouting lower lip, earning a hiss and a shove in his chest, but Harry held him close and fused their mouths back together impatiently. Malfoy actually whimpered into the kiss, hands fisting in Harry’s worn-out English National League t-shirt.

“Come back to my flat,” Harry said against his jaw, kissing and nipping his way down to Malfoy’s neck now, itching to taste that flushed skin. Malfoy shivered and tightened his fingers; Harry felt sharp nails piercing him through the thin material of his shirt.

“Why?” Malfoy demanded croakily. Harry slipped his hands down from Malfoy’s waist to the swell of his arse and squeezed, pulling their hips together. He could feel Malfoy’s hard cock slide against his own and groaned into the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

“Why the fuck do you think, Malfoy?” he growled. “I can’t eat your arse out here in front of The Red Lion, can I?” 

“You’re very presumptuous, did you know that, Potter?” Malfoy said breathily.

“D’you really want me to back off?” he mumbled into Malfoy’s neck. “Because I will.” 

Malfoy didn’t answer right away; his head tipped back slightly to expose his long, pale throat as it was sucked and licked at, and Harry chuckled against his skin. 

“No,” he said finally, in a weak, helpless sort of voice. “I don’t.”

“Brilliant. Take my hand.” He pulled away and held his palm out, meeting Malfoy’s eyes challengingly with a smirk — after a moment of hesitation Malfoy took it and they spun on the spot, Harry leading him through the unbearably tight pressure of time and space to his flat.

                                                       *  *  *

  He Apparated them directly into his living room, and they weren’t there for more than a few seconds before Malfoy pounced on him.

He laughed delightedly, twining his arms around Malfoy’s slim waist and pulling their bodies flush, hips slotting and cocks rubbing together through their clothing. Malfoy moaned into his mouth, having apparently abandoned any reserve he’d still been holding onto back at the pub.

Harry licked hungrily between his lips, tasting the silky-smooth lining and marveling, somewhere in the back of his mind, at the fact that just this very morning he’d come home to find the living room in a state of utter disrepair — a present from his ex-girlfriend. And now here he was, in the very same room, backing Malfoy up towards a couch which had been slashed to ribbons before Hermione had mended it.

“This is completely moronic,” Malfoy breathed, even as Harry began hurriedly popping the fastenings on his shirt. When his fingers slipped for the third time, he growled low in his throat and simply tore the shirt open, buttons flying haphazardly and landing noisily all across the hardwood floor. “Potter, you fucking barbarian, are you kidding me!”

“First of all,” Harry said lightly, nipping at the corner of Malfoy’s jaw as he pulled the shirt off his bony shoulders, exposing an unearthly amount of gorgeous pale skin. Striped gruesomely across his front were the faded scars from a hex cast long ago in a Hogwarts bathroom. Harry determinedly ignored them for now. “I hardly think moronic is the word to use; second, I’m obviously not kidding, and if you promise to stop whingeing long enough for me to get my mouth on you, I’ll repair the bloody shirt for you later.”

“As if I’d trust you to handle silk —” Malfoy started, but he cut off with a beautiful little gasp when Harry cupped him through his trousers, squeezing lightly around the outline of his cock.

“Malfoy?” Harry said into his ear, stroking him slowly, nowhere near enough. Malfoy whimpered, hands lifting helplessly to Harry’s shoulders and digging his nails in. “Shut up.”

And finally, Malfoy did.

Harry kissed him soundly, sucking at his lips and biting teasingly at the lower one, a vivid shock of heat coiling his belly tighter when Malfoy started fingering at the hem of his tee and then lifted it over his head. Those delicate, slightly cold hands immediately started mapping out his hard torso, but Harry didn’t give him long to explore before he was pressing Malfoy back onto the couch and falling to his knees between his legs.

Malfoy arched up obediently to let Harry drag his trousers and pants down his long, slender legs, and at the sight of his stiff, leaking cock curved up against his tight stomach, dribbling pre-come onto the sparse trail of fine blond hair leading down from his navel, Harry felt a little bit of his sanity drain away.

“Shit, Malfoy, you look so fucking good.” He lifted Malfoy’s legs under the thighs, propping them securely over his shoulders and using his thumbs to spread his arse immodestly, the sight of his tight, pink little pucker making Harry’s cock throb painfully where it was still trapped in his denims. He leaned forward and breathed hotly across it, in reaction to which he felt a full-body shudder move through Malfoy’s willowy frame.

“Potter,” he moaned weakly, shifting his hips like he was trying to get Harry’s mouth on him faster. “This is … this is …”

“Long overdue?” Harry supplied cheekily; he used the pads of his thumbs to stretch Malfoy’s hole just barely, too tight to open him up much more than that. Malfoy made a high keening noise that brought a satisfied smirk to Harry’s face.

“I was going to say absurd.”

Harry snorted but didn’t reply — instead, he passed the flat of his tongue hard across Malfoy’s clenching hole, cock twitching at the sharp, musky taste of him. He groaned and tightened his grip on the fleshy globes of Malfoy’s perfect arse, holding him open and prising his hole as far open as he could. He used the tip of his tongue to trace around the rim and had to redouble his efforts when Malfoy bucked against his face.

He took his time, ignoring his fattening cock in favour of paying his full attention to working Malfoy’s dusky hole open with his mouth. He stabbed the pointed tip of his tongue shallowly inside, dipping slowly, methodically in and out, only stopping long enough to place a glob of spit onto his twitching pucker and then work it inside with his tongue. Malfoy let out a wrecked sob that went straight to Harry’s cock.

“Don’t touch yourself,” Harry snapped, having seen Malfoy’s hand snaking down to his prick, slim fingers an inch away when Harry spoke. “Keep your hands where I can see them, Malfoy, or I’ll stop.”

It appeared to cost Malfoy a great deal to comply, but the fact that he did made Harry feel dizzy with lust. His cheeks were filled with a pretty pink color and some of his golden blond hair had fallen in his face, giving him the appearance of some beautifully-debauched angel, one which Harry was frantic to continue tearing apart.

He pushed in farther this time, dropping his jaw open and pressing his tongue as deeply inside as it could go. He felt Malfoy clenching spasmodically around the wet muscle as he fucked him with it, his hands now gripping his thighs both to assist in holding himself open, and because Harry could see them there. Saliva dripped copiously out of the corners of his mouth and slicked Malfoy’s arse, making the slide easier and loosening him by degrees.

“Fuck … Potter, if you don’t stop I’m gonna — god, I’m gonna come …” The last word was elongated into a devastating moan. Harry’s fingers dug into the meat of his arse but he pulled himself back, swiping a thumb across the loosened hole and rudely dipping it inside, all the way to the knuckle, causing Malfoy to buck and cry out.

“Stop moving,” Harry said, mild yet brooking no argument. Malfoy let his head fall against the back of the couch, chest heaving, eyes shut, golden lashes brushing his effeminately high cheekbones. He looked like he was praying for patience. Watching him closely, Harry pulled his thumb out and replaced it with his middle finger, gliding it in easily through the wetness he’d put there. Malfoy keened but stayed still. “You’re doing so good,” Harry breathed, stuffing a second finger in beside the first and placing a wet kiss to the inside of Malfoy’s thigh.

He built up a rhythm with two fingers, occasionally leaning in to add more spit and ease the friction. Malfoy gasped and moaned beautifully each time Harry brushed deliberately across the sensitive little nub of his prostate, making sure to give it a firm rub on every third or fourth stroke, keeping Malfoy at the very edge of an orgasm.

“Potter!” he sobbed out when Harry squeezed in a third finger and only sped his pace up further. “I’m serious, if you don’t stop I’m gonna —”

“Good,” Harry bit out, slamming his fingers into Malfoy’s arse with brutal enthusiasm, reveling in the slick squelching noises they made. Malfoy’s prick was bobbing helplessly, untouched, smearing pre-come across his hard belly with nothing to rut against but air. “Come for me, then. Go on.”

Harry looped an arm around Malfoy’s thigh, using the leverage to hold him down, and stilled his fingers deep inside his arse, rubbing relentlessly against his prostate. Malfoy’s back tried to arch off the couch only to be held in place by Harry, a moan ripping savagely from his throat as his body convulsed through what looked like an immensely powerful orgasm, ropes of come shooting out of his twitching prick and landing on his chest and his chin. Harry pumped his fingers through it, slowing down as Malfoy’s body first loosened and then began trembling.

“S-stop, please, stop,” he gasped, trying to fumble away from Harry, but Harry continued to hold him down, moving his fingers leisurely through Malfoy’s still-clenching hole. He sobbed weakly, the muscles in his stomach fluttering visibly beneath the skin.

“Did you just say please?” Harry smirked. Malfoy scoffed feebly and Harry finally pulled his fingers out. He got to his feet and bent over him, brushing their lips together.

“Fuck off, Potter.”

Harry laughed against his mouth. “It’s terrible manners to cuss at somebody who’s just given you an orgasm.”

“Have I told you how much I hate you?”

“Not recently, no,” Harry said, kissing him again. Malfoy lifted his neck into it eagerly. “I gathered as much, though,” he added, smiling and pulling back. “Get up on your knees and turn around for me.”

Malfoy let out a tiny huffing breath that seemed as though it was meant to convey annoyance but really just sounded adorable. Harry grinned dopily to himself as Malfoy lowered his legs and shifted onto his knees, turning to face the back of the couch and tentatively resting his hands on it.

“You’re unreal,” Harry said reverently, leaning over him to sweep some of the hair away from the back of his neck and press a kiss to the warm skin there. Malfoy mewled and arched back into him, but Harry stopped him with a firm hand on his lower back.

His cock was painfully hard at this point, and it was with an audible groan of relief that Harry finally pulled it out of the confines of his jeans and divested himself of the rest of his clothing, wandlessly conjuring lube onto his pulsing shaft and stroking the length of it several times before stopping himself. Malfoy, he saw, was looking over his shoulder, eyes wide and rosy lips parted as he watched, the pink flush of his cheeks deepening to a hearty red that made him look much younger.

“Jesus, Potter,” he exhaled, a whiny quality to it that made Harry’s cock twitch in his hand. “What the fuck.”

In spite of himself, Harry laughed as he grabbed Malfoy’s arse again and spread his cheeks, pushing his cock between them slickly.

“You couldn’t just be the bloody Chosen One, could you?” Malfoy said weakly, hands gripping hard at the back of the couch when Harry gripped the base of his straining cock and lined it up with Malfoy’s loosened rim. “Couldn’t just be sodding Boy Who Lived. You had to have a massive prick too, didn’t you?”

Instead of responding to this, Harry tightened his hold on Malfoy’s hip with one hand, and with the other guided his thick length past the twitching muscle of his hole. Malfoy let out a wrecked moan as Harry sank into him, slow but steady, not stopping until every last inch was being relentlessly squeezed by Malfoy’s sinfully tight walls. His pale hands were gripping the back of the sofa so hard they lost what little colour had been there in the first place.

“Shit,” Malfoy hissed, even as he pushed his hips back, forcing Harry’s cock deeper. “Shit, shit, shit …”

“That good?” Harry laughed, bending forwards to press a series of wet kisses between Malfoy’s sharp shoulder blades. “Fuck, you feel fantastic. How are you so tight?”

“Because I’m not a slag, Potter.”

Harry pulled out slowly and then rammed back inside, wrenching a gut-twistingly erotic gasp out of the slim blond beneath him.

“Are you insinuating that I am a slag?” Harry asked casually. He’d stopped moving, buried to the hilt inside of Malfoy’s arse; he could feel Malfoy shivering, and without really knowing why he was doing it, he found himself stroking his fingers soothingly down Malfoy’s sides. Or perhaps worshipfully was a better word.

“Yes,” said Malfoy, though the biting sarcasm was lost amongst the trembling of his voice. “That is exactly what I’m insinuating. Now do me a fucking favour and start moving, you utterly incorrigible twat.”

Grinning broadly, Harry slid his fingers through the back of Malfoy’s hair and gripped hard, pulling his head back so his throat was bared vulnerably. It was a devastatingly appealing sight to behold. He could see Malfoy’s eyes widen, could even feel his breathing increase again, but didn’t let go.

“Do you think demanding things is going to work out for you right now?” Harry whispered, leaning over his body and letting the heat of his breath ghost across the side of Malfoy’s neck. “Because from where I’m standing, you have very little leverage at the moment, kitten.”

“Fuck you, Potter!” It came out as more of a whine than anything else. Malfoy must have been aware of this, because he let out a shuddering breath. “Fuck, just … fuck me already!”

“Can you say please again? I quite liked the sound of it before.”

“Who the fuck are you?!” Malfoy ground out. He tried to thrust his hips back again, but Harry held him steady with the hand not tangled up in his hair. “Just move your cock!”

“That didn’t sound like a ‘please’,” Harry said lightly, and for good measure rocked his hips, knowing by the way Malfoy shuddered that his cock had passed across his prostate. “Come on, kitten … it’s not hard. Just say it, and I’ll fuck you stupid.”

“Stop calling me that!” But again, Malfoy’s words came out as more of a whine than anything really forceful or commanding. Harry let go of his hair and instead moved his hand so his fingers were wrapped gently around Malfoy’s throat; not tightly enough to feel pressure, but firm enough so it would be impossible not to imagine what the pressure would have felt like. To his utter delight, Malfoy responded to this beautifully, arching his back and digging his fingers deeper into the couch.

“Say it,” Harry breathed into his ear. Malfoy whimpered. “I know you wanna come again. I’ll make it so good for you. Just say it.”

He tightened his fingers minimally and felt Malfoy’s Adam’s apple bob when he swallowed.

“Please,” he rasped.

“Please what?”

Malfoy made a sound halfway between a moan and a garbled wail. “Fuck me, you bastard! Please, please fuck me!”

Grinning in triumph and with a powerful surge of possessiveness making his spine tingle, Harry let go of Malfoy’s throat, gripped his hips hard, and started pounding into him with little abandon. Malfoy’s hands scrabbled frantically before gaining purchase and he looked to be holding on for dear life as Harry incessantly pulled out and slammed back in, ceaselessly burying his aching cock in Malfoy’s perfect arse with a reckless sort of urgency. The slick, wet squelching sounds of the lube and Harry’s own pre-come with each devastating thrust only heightened the whole experience.

Malfoy was making the most delicious gasping sounds each time Harry pounded into him, his cock hard again and beading pre-come at the tip. He seemed to have figured out that Harry wasn’t going to let him touch himself, because he wasn’t even trying. At the edge of his own orgasm, Harry waited until he felt Malfoy start shuddering and shaking beneath him to pull out all the way. This earned him a high, mewling sound of protest out of the blond.

“What the fuck!” Malfoy sobbed, pressing his forehead into the couch as his body shook. Harry could feel his heart slamming into his ribs and took several deep breaths, sweat dripping down his back.

“Turn over,” he said a bit breathlessly. Malfoy looked over his shoulder and Harry saw that his full, sensual lips were bitten raw.

“What the fuck are you talking about?! Why did you stop, I was … I was so fucking close!”

Huffing out an impatient breath, Harry manhandled Malfoy onto his back, lengthwise across the couch, and climbed on top of him, between his spread thighs. Their cocks slid together when Harry bent over him, crushing their mouths together into a searing kiss that Malfoy instantly deepened with his tongue.

“I can’t fucking stand you,” Malfoy breathed when he pulled away for air, and even as he said it his fingers were twisting around the black mess of hair at the back of Harry’s head, tugging lightly. Harry chuckled and nipped at his jaw, moving his hips, dragging their pricks together wetly.

“Ask me how much I care.” Harry licked a broad stripe up the side of Malfoy’s neck and shifted his hips, using one hand to line himself up again and start pushing inside that unbearably tight heat.

“There’s not much you do care about these days, is there, Potter?” Malfoy said faintly, voice breaking as he was stuffed full once again. His back arched up off the sofa, hands coming around to Harry’s back where his nails dug in sharply. Harry hissed at the pain.

“Sure there is,” he said tightly, bottoming out and rocking his hips, biting his lip to hide a grin when Malfoy gasped, knowing he’d found his prostate again. “They’re just not the things everybody expects me to care about.”

He started up a tedious rhythm, pressing in deep and then pulling out just as slow, savouring every sensation, every little nuance as Malfoy opened up for him and let some of his uptight façade fade away. His eyes kept fluttering shut despite an obvious effort not to let that happen, something which tugged strangely at Harry’s chest. His nails dug into Harry’s back each time his prostate was grazed.

“Fuck …” Malfoy whimpered after several minutes of this, moving his hips impatiently and bringing his hands around to Harry’s chest, digging his nails in there instead. “God, Potter, I’m close again … faster, please …” The bratty, demanding quality had almost entirely disappeared from his voice, leaving him sounding breathless and desperate and fuck, the sound of it went straight to Harry’s cock.

“I’ve got you,” he said gruffly, losing his own teasing tone as well, the orgasm he’d only temporarily pulled back the reigns on creeping up again with a vengeance. Malfoy’s slender cock was straining between them, smearing their bellies with slick, and Harry finally wrapped a hand around it, tearing a broken cry out of Malfoy’s swollen pink mouth. He dragged the foreskin down, exposing the sensitive, reddened head, and flicked his thumb across it. Malfoy’s hips bucked and his nails dug into Harry’s skin harder.

“Don’t stop,” Malfoy whimpered frantically, and this time, Harry had no plans to. He increased the speed of his thrusts and tugged relentlessly at Malfoy’s throbbing, weeping prick. “Don’t stop, oh my god, I’m coming, d-don’t stop!” Indeed, the words had barely left his mouth when Harry felt his walls clenching down around his cock, body tense and jerking as Harry worked him through his second orgasm, sharp nails drawing blood where they’d latched onto his biceps. It took only moments for Harry to tip over the edge as well, burying his face in Malfoy’s neck as his cock pulsed and throbbed and spilled out what seemed to be an endless amount of come into Malfoy’s clenching hole. It was leaking out around him as he slowed, rocking his hips each time he bottomed out, and finally stopping altogether even as his heart continued to throw itself feverishly against the walls of his ribcage.

He lifted his head when he’d gotten some semblance of a normal breathing rhythm back and looked down at an oddly open-faced Malfoy, whose grey eyes were, for the first time in memory, not cold and calculating but bright with wonder.

“That was … something,” he said, and Harry laughed before he’d even realized he was going to.

“Something,” he echoed, nodding his head and letting his eyes roam freely across this new Malfoy’s face. “Yeah. Definitely something.” He paused, and then leaned down slowly to kiss him again, glad when he met no resistance. It was messy and unhurried and utterly opposite to any other kiss they’d shared so far tonight. When he pulled away, he felt something essential shift between them, and he couldn’t find the necessary will power to stop himself asking, “D’you wanna smoke a joint with me?”

He expected scoffing at the very least, and so was extremely surprised when he received nothing worse than a lifted eyebrow.

“You’re not serious?” Malfoy drawled.

“Er — I think I am, actually, yeah. It’s great after sex, and I’d really like to see you high.”

“Muggle drugs, Potter?” Malfoy lilted. “Really? You’re supposed to be refraining from doing anything stupid until the Cup is over.”

“C’mon, Malfoy, just this once? It feels great, I promise. I won’t tell anyone.”

Malfoy scoffed. “I should hope you wouldn’t. I’ll hex your bollocks off if you tell anyone about this, either.”

Harry rolled his eyes but smiled. “Wouldn’t dream of it. So is that a yes?”

Malfoy paused, looking up at him uncertainly, and finally said, “How long does it last?”

“Dunno, like … couple hours, I guess. Definitely no more than that.”

Another, longer pause. “Fine,” Malfoy said suddenly, and Harry nearly whooped with enthusiasm. He could plainly see Malfoy holding back a smirk even as he rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

After Vanishing their messes, Harry pulled nothing more than his pants back on and waited with a smirk on his face as Malfoy tried to put his shirt on as well, only to have Harry grab his hand and pull him away.

“I’m cold, Potter!” he said as he was dragged to Harry’s bedroom. Harry pulled a jumper out of his dresser and tossed it to him. “What is this?” Malfoy asked, and Harry looked over his shoulder to see him sneering at the Nirvana logo on the front.

“Muggle band,” he explained. He pulled a glass jar from the back of his closet and brought it over to the bed. “You can sit down, you know.”

Malfoy did so hesitantly, his eyes fixed on the jar Harry had just opened.

“What’s that called again?”

“Weed,” said Harry, pulling an already-rolled joint out and closing it back up to set on his bedside table. “It’s really not a big deal. Muggles have got some really nasty shit they do; this stuff is harmless.”

“So it’s legal, then?” Malfoy asked sceptically.

 “Well … no, but —”

“Didn’t think so,” he said airily, but Harry definitely thought he could see a smirk lurking beneath the arrogance. “You’ll never change, Potter. If there’s a rule, you’ll find it and break it.”

“Yes, well, all the fun things are against the rules, aren’t they?” He crossed the bed to where Malfoy was sitting and held the joint up for him to see. “Look, it’s like a cigarette, except it’s got weed in it instead of tobacco. Tastes better, too.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” He narrowed his eyes at it suspiciously. “What does it feel like?”

Harry stuck it between his lips, grabbed a green Muggle lighter off the nightstand, and sparked the end to life with a few deep puffs. He held it in several seconds and then blew it out in a hazy cloud.

“It, er — feels sort of fuzzy, I guess?” he said thickly, holding it out for Malfoy to take. “Try not to take too big a hit, though. It’ll burn your throat first couple times.”

Malfoy took it daintily between his thumb and first finger and held it to his lips. Harry knew immediately that warning him had been the wrong thing to do, because Malfoy had clearly taken it as a challenge and sucked in a deep breath that immediately came back out as a hacking cough. Trying his best not to laugh too loudly, he Conjured water into an empty glass and handed it over.

“I told you that would happen,” he said, grabbing the joint and taking another hit for himself while Malfoy soothed his throat and came down from the fit.

“That’s fucking bollocks,” Malfoy rasped, and snatched the joint to try it again.

It took only fifteen minutes for Malfoy to wind up on his side, cheek pressed into a pillow, eyes bloodshot and half-lidded. They’d smoked through the whole joint and Harry felt as pleasantly buzzed as Malfoy looked.

“You have really soft pillows, Potter,” Malfoy sighed, nuzzling his nose into it briefly and then letting out a highly contented sigh. Harry smiled and scooted closer, tangling their legs together and even boldly dropping an arm across Malfoy’s waist. Malfoy didn’t seem to mind one bit. “It’s like … a cloud or something. Did you Charm them to feel like clouds?”

“No, you’re just really fucking high,” Harry laughed.

“Oh.” Malfoy wrinkled his nose, and then he did something Harry couldn’t have anticipated: he moved even closer, and kissed Harry right on the mouth. “I can’t believe we fucked.”

“I dunno,” Harry mused, brushing a piece of silky hair away from Draco’s face. “I can sort of believe it. I mean, we were eventually gonna either fuck or kill each other, don’t you think?”

“I think you’re too charming to be the real Harry Potter.”

Harry snorted. “I’m going to take that as a compliment.”

“Take it however you want, Potter,” Malfoy saw around a yawn. He’d begun rubbing his foot against Harry’s leg. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” he said. “I reserve the right not to answer, though.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes, but it was half-hearted. “When you said earlier that you don’t care about the things people expect you to care about … what did you mean by that?”

He hadn’t been expecting that, and for a moment it gave Harry pause. He dipped his fingers beneath the Nirvana jumper and trailed them lazily across the warm skin of Malfoy’s back.

“Just … the whole thing, I guess,” he said finally. “It’s like they expected me to keep being the fucking Chosen One even after the bloody thing I was chosen for is done. I mean, look, I’d fight Voldemort a hundred more times if that was what I had to do, but that doesn’t mean I wanna spend my life being everyone’s personal goddamn hero.  I just want a fucking break, y’know? They want me at all these stupid fucking Ministry functions just because it gets people interested when they know I’m there.”

“Typical,” Malfoy drawled.

“Yeah, it is bloody typical. Fancourt would probably pay me to settle down with some bird and start a family. Every interview I’m forced into, that’s the question: ‘When are you getting married?’ and ‘Will you be an Auror when you stop playing Quidditch?’ and ‘How many kids do you want?’ It’s never-fucking-ending. I’m only twenty-three, I mean, fuck. Give me a fucking minute to enjoy the first time I’ve ever been able to do whatever the hell I want, you know?”

He realized suddenly that he’d worked himself up and let out a long, slow breath. His head was still fuzzy, however, and it wasn’t difficult to bring himself back down. Especially not with a high, sleepy-looking Malfoy right there, curled into him.

“So was this some sort of rebellious act, then?” Malfoy asked. There was something unreadable in his eyes when he said it. “Bringing me back to your flat and fucking me?”

“No,” he said at once, studying Malfoy’s pretty face and delicate features while something utterly familiar but long since felt began growing in his chest and making it tight. “You are … wonderfully unexpected, Draco.” 

The use of Malfoy’s first name was a tangible presence between them, especially potent when their eyes met. Harry tried his hardest to ascertain what was going on in his head but found it impossible to read his expression.

“What do you care about, then?” Malfoy said; it could have been a deflection, but Harry fancied there was a note of genuine curiosity in his voice.

“I dunno … enjoying myself?” He shrugged one shoulder as best he could when he was lying on his side. “Just … living, y’know? Having fun. It’s why I decided to play Quidditch instead of becoming an Auror. I guess maybe one day I might do that, but I doubt it.”

“What’s ‘one day’?”

Harry heaved a sigh and removed his hand from Malfoy’s back, using the pad of his thumb to drag down that bitten lower lip he’d been so focused on all night. Malfoy nipped lightly at the tip, bringing a fond smile to Harry’s face.

“No idea,” he said. “I’m only twenty-three. I’ve got time to figure it out.”

“Fair enough, I suppose.” Malfoy yawned again, the fingers of one hand idly tracing a scar he’d found on Harry’s chest. “As long as you win us the Cup, you have my permission to make an arse of yourself however you see fit.”

“And that’s all I need, is it?” Harry said, smiling helplessly. “Your permission?”

“If we’re going to continue shagging, then yes.”

Harry’s chest seemed to expand and he knew that if he could look at himself, he’d see a hopeless tenderness in his eyes as he raked them over Malfoy’s face. “And are we? Going to continue doing this?”

For the first time tonight, Harry saw a hint of something uncertain, even anxious, appear on Malfoy’s face.

“Only if you want to,” he said quietly.

Without hesitation, Harry leaned in and kissed him; he felt Malfoy smile into it and a hurricane of butterflies erupted in his stomach.

“I definitely, definitely want to.”

Malfoy nodded, clearly trying to suppress his grin. “You know, Potter, those Muggle drugs are useless.”

“Why do you say that?” Harry laughed.

“Because all it’s done is make me tired.”

“And adorable,” Harry added, smoothing a thumb across one pink cheek. “Really adorable.”

“I’m always adorable, Potter. Don’t be stupid.”

With that, his grey eyes disappeared behind his lids, and Harry felt his heart must surely burst right out of his chest when Malfoy tucked his head under Harry’s chin, let out a deep, satisfied-sounding breath, and went to sleep.

                                                      *  *  *

  He managed to make it all the way to the day of the World Cup without any bad press, although Harry thought this probably had something to do with the amount of time he and Malfoy spent in his bedroom. The ease with which they fell into a comfortable routine of being around each other might have been eerie had it not felt so utterly, perfectly natural.

True to his word, he didn’t say anything even to Ron and Hermione. It didn’t bother him, mostly because his evenings spent shagging Malfoy breathless had brought him around to the conclusion that he liked him — quite a lot, in fact — and had every intention of making him his boyfriend before August was over. It was a refreshing feeling, being so into somebody, for he realized now that he hadn’t felt this way since he had dated Ginny. The fact that it should be Malfoy to make him feel this way again became less surprising the more he thought about it and the more time they spent in each other’s company.

On the day of the match, there wasn’t much time to see one another. Malfoy was up to his ears with work to do and Harry was busy talking his team through their repertoire of plays one last time. However, just ten minutes before the crowds were due to be let into the stadium, Malfoy pulled him away under the guise of needing to speak with him; they went up to the top box, empty for now, and Harry wasted no time at all shoving his tongue inside that sweet-tasting mouth.

He was absolutely, unequivocally convinced that it gave him his edge during the game, and when they won by a landslide (Harry catching the Snitch forty-five minutes in, when his team was down twenty points), he screamed himself hoarse sixty feet in the air with the weakly-fluttering Snitch clasped tight in his fist and his head full of Malfoy.

One of England’s Chasers, Nerissa Murray, hosted a celebration at the enormous flat she shared with her girlfriend, and it was here that Harry was finally able to get Malfoy alone. 

The flat was on the twenty-fifth floor of a building in the heart of London; it was nearing midnight when Harry, clutching his third beer, pulled Malfoy away from a bloke who was attempting to chat him up and out onto the balcony. 

The view was stunning, and yet all Harry found himself looking at was Malfoy.

“So,” Malfoy said airily, leaning back against the railing and looking far too pretty to be allowed, “Defeater of Dark Lords and now World-Famous Quidditch Star to boot. Not bad, Potter. Not bad at all. You might even say I’m impressed.” 

“Oh yeah?” Harry laughed, digging his pack of smokes out of his back pocket and handing one to Malfoy. As was his wont, he used his green Muggle lighter to spark the end of it before lighting his own. “That’s my lifelong goal realized, then.”

“You’re very funny.”

“That means a lot coming from you, Malfoy,” Harry teased, blowing out a long stream of smoke and then kissing his soft cheek. “I have something for you, by the way.” He pulled the Snitch from the game out of his jumper and pressed it into Malfoy’s free hand.

“What — the Snitch? Potter, this is … this is your World Cup Snitch, don’t be ridiculous. It’s a trophy in and of itself.”

“Yeah, well … I figure, you know, you’ve never got to touch one before, have you? Seeing as I always beat you to it in school.”

"Oh, ha bloody ha," Malfoy scoffed and elbowed Harry hard in the ribs. “Twat,” he added, but when he tried to hand it back, Harry closed his hand around it again.

“I’m taking the piss, Malfoy,” he chuckled. “Really, I want you to have it.”

“Why?”

“Because I fancy you, you great bloody git. Fuck, why do you have to be so difficult all the time?”

Malfoy’s jaw hung open and there was a suspicious look in his eyes that couldn’t entirely hide the burgeoning hopefulness Harry saw underneath. It made him feel warm all over and he had to use a massive amount of willpower to stop from kissing him again.

“Remember you said if I won the Cup for England I’d have your permission to make an arse of myself however I wanted?” he said, tapping some ash off his cigarette over the railing. Malfoy merely lifted an eyebrow.

“I … might recall having said something of that nature. However, I was indisposed thanks to your stupid Muggle drugs, so I can’t be held accountable for any claims I made.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Harry said pleasantly. “You said it, and I caught the Snitch that won us the game. Now I’m going to exercise my right to make an arse of myself.”

“And what is it, exactly, you plan on doing?” Malfoy drawled.

“I was thinking I’d ask you on a date, for starters.” He grinned widely when once again blatant shock registered on Malfoy’s face. “Maybe see if you wanted to do dinner tomorrow night after you’re done with work. Go from there, see what happens.”

“This is arse-backwards, Potter!” Malfoy hissed, voice low to avoid anyone inside hearing them (although it was doubtful over the blaring music). Fist still clutched around the Snitch, he whacked the back of his hand into Harry’s shoulder. “You can’t just fuck me for a week straight and then ask me on a date!”

“Well, why the hell not?” Harry retorted. “Never heard you complaining while my cock was up your arse. Besides, I wasn’t supposed to do anything reckless until after the Cup, remember?”

Malfoy opened his mouth like he was going to argue and then seemed to fall short of anything to say. Instead, he smacked Harry’s arm again, harder this time.

“You bloody wanker,” he said, and a moment later he’d crushed their mouths together so hard Harry dropped his cigarette in surprise. He laughed into the kiss and wound his arms around Malfoy’s waist, pulling him close and working his tongue between those ludicrously addictive lips.

“Is that a yes to the date tomorrow?” Harry said against his mouth a minute later, delighting in the little irritated huff Malfoy let out in response.

“You’re very persistent, aren’t you?”

“Only when I’m serious about something,” Harry hummed, and for good measure slid his hands down to Malfoy’s arse and squeezed. He leaned forwards again and brushed their lips together, loving the way he could feel Malfoy shiver in his arms. “C’mon … say yes. I’d really like to take you out, Malfoy.”

Malfoy must have dropped his own cigarette as well, because he lifted the hand that wasn’t closed around the Snitch and brushed some of Harry’s fringe away from his forehead, not scowling anymore but not smiling either. He looked contemplative now.

“When you say you fancy me …”

“I mean I really, really like you,” Harry said.

“You said yourself we don’t know each other, Potter. All you’ve done is shag me the last week, you can’t know you like me.”

“Well, that’s why I wanna take you on a date, isn’t it?” Harry pointed out, eyebrows raised. “To get to know you better?”

For a long minute, Malfoy said nothing. Then —

“All right.” He gave a little nod, and Harry broke into a megawatt grin.

“You mean it?”

“Yes, you insufferable, gorgeous prat. I mean it. And you’d better take me somewhere nice, or the deal’s off.”

“Brilliant,” Harry laughed, and nearly lifted Malfoy right off his feet when he kissed him again.

The hell of it was, maybe twenty-three wasn’t going to be so bad, after all.

[wilma-flintstones-mother]

In Memorium of ALL that was lost 17 years ago and Also Intentionally Slotted Here This Evening Most Thoughtfully to Act as Motivational Fuel for the Fires that will Rage from Within the Very Core of the hearts and minds and conscience of the soon-to-be in Revolt citizenry of these United States of America in one Final, bloody, intense and all too necessary Shoot-em-up Stand-Off to the death against the Evil Spectres of World Domination and specifically to thwart and completely overpower them before they are able to initiate the communications, media, finances, military, government shutdown and beginning of an unspeakably brutal, inhumane, uber-violent and nightmarish new era of civil war, revolution, mass execution, starvation and instantaneously unleash mass catastrophic casualties not only to the populace but also to the environment, the animal kingdom in it’s entirety, the planned destruction of entire continents through previously un-imagined and practically instantaneous destruction of the planet’s protective ozone layer, resulting in the immediate genocide of all of Earth’s indigenous carbon-based life, it’s plentiful flora, wide variety of fauna and also contaminate what hadn’t already evaporated upon impact the small remaining amounts of precious life-sustaining water, through their perfected secret mastery of previously undiscovered directed energy weaponry that is some form of combined nuclear energy, microwave technology, anti-gravitational frequencies, pure dark anti-matter (!!!seriously!!!NO SHIT!!!), weather, climate and tectonic plate manipulated modification turned up to astronomically dangerous, unstable and very likely mass extinction level event status catastrophic disasters and result in essentially prematurely creating and ejaculating another end of the world as we know it holocaust to end all previous civilizations falls and final death knells (but this time, intentionally caused by the control-freakish political, financial, industrial and military combined governing lords over mankind itself) all inclusive planetary die-off and single, solitary jumping off and into the bottomless abyss, resulting in a.) spill over into the pan-dimensional multiverse (which WAS previously thought to have been theoretically an absolute impossibility!) into the ninth, tenth and twelfth dimensions, respectively, but simultaneously also extinguishing out every last vestige of life-force on the planet in less than a tenth of a second and managed to obliterate each and every one of us from a dimension of sight, sound and mind directly into a (imminently far, far greater than simply a mere) other dimensional plane, consisting of layer upon layer upon layer (infinitude) of vehemently dangerous couplings of essentially MATTER  and  ANTI-MATTER  coming in and back out of direct contact with one another, frequently, shockingly silently co-mingling into and between and surrounding and even bridging and exchanging protons and atoms and black matter as well as sub-atomic particles and potentially even communications, emotions, entanglements, relationships, births, deaths, momentary sharing and exchanging  one another’s very fundamental opposite identities and dimensional realities and physics, with the identifying forces of one’s positive matter actually momentarily embracing and becoming the other’s negative anti-matter in a unproven but most undeniably sexual and familiarly interpersonal most extremely noticeably peculiar and identifiable fashion of cosmic similitude and the commonly shared consciousness of which we all are, have been or one day will be a consciously living, breathing and existing extension of and only temporarily branched out from, as we and every other pattern of energy and cosmic memory perpetually re-emerge from as brand new energy patterns of a dangerously unstable and eventually formidably destructive and destroying on all levels of all layers of all dimensions and each and every one of the millions of universes, galaxies, solar systems, planets, continents, countries, cities, neighborhoods, square blocks, autonomous buildings and personal dwellings, individual living spaces with identifying names defining what activity or necessity of everyday life is executed within each specified room and it’s functional purpose, personal effects, family heirlooms, furniture, keepsakes, entertainments, elemental nourishment preparatory appliances and implements,unique individual life forms laying in bed, tossing and turning back and forth, unable to achieve sound sleep, the myriad cacophony of inner voices, fleeting thoughts, obsessions, scheduling of things to accomplish the following day, what they were going to wear, weather or not so-and-so was interested in dating them, worrying that their car might break down again and having to shell out another $500 out of their laughably inconsequential savings account, the linear dream state of human beings, as it continues to develop and move forward and shift from reality to reality and from moment to moment, never actually ceasing in it’s eternal clockworks, weather the unconscious host dreamer is currently wide awake and existing, thinking, acting and forgetting all about what they had experienced within it’s hyper-reality surrealism and meditative, curative phantasmagoria just a few hours previously when they were still fully immersed in it’s calm and collected, REM-activated trappings and grasp, and even then, the dream they had suddenly woken up from unexpectedly as their alarm clock went off at 8:30 am sharp and they ever so slowly, lackadaisically began to forget all about the wild, memourable, erotic, funny, exciting, evocative dream they had been enjoying just prior to waking up, in which they even got to hang out and experience many different kinds of abstractly disjointed variations and totally irrational and illogical combinations of being in their parent’s house/but also at Disneyland/which was also a Bob’s Big Boy Restaurant/and the hospital corridors you would endless walk through at a time when your grandmother was a patient and died there/which was also your place of employment (probably several jobs ago, the one you really liked but that you really did self-sabotage your being  able to remain at) / which also had a little hidden rumpus room on the other side of the wall from your high school cafeteria, where you and another kid you had a crush on disappeared into so you could smoke a bowl together and then engage in sloppy, failed attempt at performing oral sex upon/which also had a really cool roller coaster right outside the main entrance that you could ride for free/ that would also just so happen to make a stop halfway through just outside of your very own bedroom door/ just as you hear the voice of your little brother who died when he was 10 calling your name as if he were lost somewhere and couldn’t find his way/but that’s stupid, because I KNOW and I REMEMBER that HE DIED YEARS AGO, but I’m glad he’s home and I wonder if he’ll want to go see STAR WARS with me and Jill and Kessie later on tonight at the Rialto in South Pas, that is, if I we can find each other... I hope he doesn’t get too scared/so just as you open your bedroom door and are about to walk in/suddenly you are startled by an annoying loud buzz which you can’t comprehend at first but then you/suddenly open up your sleepy eyes and it’s your alarm clock right on buzz-killing schedule as always, and your bedroom ceiling is awash in vibrant hues of yellowish-orange morning sunlight and all of that provocative zaniness was all just a dream...as always....except you never realize it fully until you have wake up and have emerged out of it’s hypnotic and compelling desire-answering and mood-fulfilling magick theatre-isms, it’s so obvious now that that was all only a dream, even though I remember dreaming that I knew it was all just a dream, even though it always more-than suffices as an even-better alternative to waking life and this reality in lieu of living in it... and those faceless character-actor-ish phantasms who you were never privy to the common knowledge of realizing or even imagining that those people and those images of people you know and knew in real waking life actually do just continue on about within the reality and time frame and space and time curvature of which their usually entertaining, carefree, monstrous hybrid of all things, real, imaginary, past, present and future, entertainment fiction real life trauma as experienced from the top hill of a b&w animated roller coaster originally drawn way back in the late 1920′s just as it begins to spill over the rather substantial incline just as the maximum momentum and locomotion has achieved it’s hand-drawn cell-animated maximum velocity, you notice the entire back half of the train of cars is literally lifting feet above the noisy pencil-drawn wooden tracks they’re allegedly connected to, a few of the people in the last two cars even fly out of their seats at the top of the hill, safely settling back into their chosen seats on the coaster by the time it reaches the bottom of the first hill.... the Fleischer Brothers ain’t got nothin’ on the power and limitless freedom of movement, imagination, unlikelihood, a human animals natural-born connected-ness with the psychic and telekinetic energies, patterns and the Earthen natural resources of magnetism and magnitude, unyielding and unrecoverable decimation, the violently opposing layers and volumes and channels and dimensions and and conflicting reams of liquid space, psychic vibratory beings consisting of nothing but pure energy, shadow and darkness ; abject, complete and unimaginable total non-existence, sequencing which would begin the intention of their callously chickenshit and much, much too prematurely arriving at that moment to end all other moments throughout the nights of time, as they safely secure themselves and their self-importance and their loved ones, pets, favourite records, movies and books, computers and internet connectivity, porn, King James versions of the Bible, all of their very  favourite processed, GMO and cloned foodstuffs, wellspring library of alcohols, sodas, sundry recreational drugs, nibbles, snacks, more cases of bottled water than anyone has ever seen in reality EVER and aperitifs... But they also DIDN’T forget to bring along all of their unnecessary baggage and dirty laundry and bad, bad, bad, bad, and I’m talking... fucking detestable, shameful-ass as-a-mother-fucker bad-bad-ass karma (that is so sullied and so soiled and so unrecognizable as still actually being legally able to be referred to tastefully and realistically as `karma’) Oh, as well as their wealth of compassionate and trustworthy and still gainfully much, much better, handsomer and more worthy, deserving and overall just plain better than you, and all of the expected limited intelligence and tunnel vision perceptions, ever having been able to just kick the fuck back worry-free and enjoy life, goddammit, being born into old, white, American money and profitably living his life day to day, year to year, lost decade to shitty new world-ordered decade, far too privileged for far too long and all the while having succeeded in incontestably lying, deceiving, murdering, littering, poisoning, manipulating, cheating, raping, pillaging, warring, creating unnecessary tensions and divisions out of friends and neighbours, guilty by treason for a lifetime consisting of literally absolute and complete incompetency, crimes against humanity coupled with a competently inhumane disregard for any and all creatures and beings and families and communities, ever able to not just survive but perpetrate every last conceivable attribute of nihilism, misanthropy, xenophobia, sexism, conservative republicanism, needlessly controlling power freak and (just short of legally being able to qualify as tangibly having lived your life and carried out your position of power over all others) just two-steps short of having followed closely in the same footsteps as Hitler, Mussolini, the George W. Bush Dynasty and Justin Bieber himself... having acted upon on all of the very worst and lowest common denominational rhetoric, politics of never more than dirty fucking pool at it’s very lowest n-word notches and, now, safely watching the pandemonium and fiery, avalanche of unprecedented 9.4 earthquakes, tsunami that stay quite far inland wracking up even more unbelievable devastation for weeks at a time, volcanic overflows overtake the Hawaiian island which are now nothing but molten lava and bodies and beaches covered in sizzling, razor-sharp newly born land, otherwise, the rest of the whole of the planet’s surface remains awash in uncontrollable fiery flames that give any imaginings of Hell a sincere run for it’s money, all of the major continents, now broken up and in disarray and many no longer connected to any other large square mile footage of land any longer quickly become one endless, suffocating, inferno of unprecedented loss of resources, life, and destruction so thorough in it’s willful desire of finally claiming and bringing to a halt the previous relative peace, tranquility and beauty of all that had been and thrived there for so long, 200 mph winds signalling the arrival of onslaughts of level 5 hurricanes, tornadoes and the tallest, most ominous and terrifying sight of 300 foot tall rogue tidal waves approaching, one after the other after the other, wiping out any and all previous beach and harbour communities ;  scary, violent new chunks of Earth shooting up from far beneath the surface, destroying everything in it’s wake and ripping-to-shreds the very land masses underneath our feet which had been home to our beloved communities, estuaries, park lands, national monuments, farm lands. rivers, forests, family homesteads, hills and valleys ;  molten lava spewing forth robustly, shooting fiery liquid fumes into the air three miles up and then landing hundreds of miles away, volcanic rock, magma, tectonic plates, mountains, hills, valleys, grasslands, rain forests, beaches, deserts, all cities of the world finally united in one overwhelmingly epic fireball burning every last shelter, building and domicile unmercifully to the ground - As the still-believing-themselves-to-be ever-privileged, special, deserving and just higher-class one per-centers, who just minutes previously inherited the title of  and factually became THE REPRESENTATIVE ENTIRETY OF HUMAN BEINGS ALIVE ON THE PLANET EARTH (or more accurately, deep within the labyrinthine caves and tunnelled out miles and miles of underground civilized word, accommodations, diversionary things like big slides, swings, swimming pools and mineral springs, bowling alleys and skating rinks, exacting replicas of their favourite four star eateries of the previous civilized world, subterranean jungles, arboretums and gardens, a n amusement park with all of the most insane and exciting thrill rides and roller coasters anybody could ever wish for,  exacting duplicate versions (all stolen, of course) from Disneyland’s Matterhorn, Pirates of the Caribbean, the Haunted Mansion, Enchanted Tiki Room and Jungle Cruise rides (poetically, they DID have the taste and intuition to not consider also having their own water flume it’s a small world ride, too!  I mean... that was the VERY LEAST they could have NOT done!) Anyway, with them all together having drinks and a small, five-course light luncheon being served to them by their staff (they DID allow a hundred or so select few of the rest of us to survive the pandemic `natural’ wave of cataclysmic destruction that the Earth and it’s surface and it’s 99% of the rest of the civilized populace, as we knew it, had suffered) and they were all assembled in their single most comfortable, cushy, oversized and simply plush movie theatre/dinner theatre/five star restaurant/full bar and pharmaceutical store/hamburger stand/coffee house/art gallery/television stations and they all watched over CCTV which played out, mechanically filming and panning back and forth and then shifting to another CCTV location and the not-so-surprisingly total loss and unrecognizable current appearance of many previously magnificently beautiful famous and beloved locations of historical and personal significance, all of the destruction and decimation on the planets surface miles above them playing out unashamedly just as unapologetically as it had happened in the first place, for all of them to see with their own eyes the trivial, trifling, megalomaniac spoiled conservative republican, unnecessarily one-sided results of their well-planned escape and future subterranean survivalist underground civilization and continuation of the human animal (or, more accurately, of the most minutely small, inconsequential, minor, petty, self-obsessed and inbred of any and all possible cliques of individuals who might ever have possibly been the few select `lucky ones’ to have actually been the only living representatives of all human life on the planet, 99% of which had just recently been violently killed in one freakish manner due to one or another of the extinction level event cataclysmic disasters that had simultaneously murdered off the entire planet itself!  They sat in surprising silence as they interestingly took in all of the devastation they witnessed live on the very large 70mm cinerama dome-like vinyl motion picture screen and, for the very first time, I believe it may have actually been the single only time ever that a group of fascistic, right wing republican conservative born again Christians ever sat together in such an immense and comfortable entertainment center, and did not open their retarded mouths to say not one fucking snide little comment about all of those unlucky one’s above who had just perished...  I believe that even if it may just have been a trick of the light or something, that I may possibly have just witnessed a conservative republican shedding a tear or two over somebody who was neither himself, a member of his family and actually who had been one of those bleeding-heart liberal democrats who ruined our country so thoroughly and ran that shit right into the ground before we did the right thing and saw to it that they finally got WTF they deserved, those stupid fucking N-word  M*%%# F&@#%$......

[garywonghc]

The Natural World

by His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama

If there is one area in which both education and the media have a special responsibility, it is, I believe, our natural environment. This responsibility has less to do with questions of right or wrong than with the question of survival. The natural world is our home. It is not necessarily sacred or holy. It is simply where we live.

It is therefore in our interest to look after it. This is common sense. But only recently have the size of our population and the power of science and technology grown to the point that they have a direct impact on nature. To put it another way, until now, Mother Earth has been able to tolerate our sloppy house habits. However, the stage has now been reached where she can no longer accept our behaviour in silence. The problems caused by environmental disasters can be seen as her response to our irresponsible behaviour. She is warning us that there are limits even to her tolerance.

Nowhere are the consequences of our failure to exercise discipline in the way we relate to our environment more apparent than in the case of present-day Tibet. It is no exaggeration to say that the Tibet I grew up in was a wildlife paradise. Every traveller who visited Tibet before the middle of the twentieth century remarked on this.

Animals were rarely hunted, except in the remotest areas where crops could not be grown. Indeed, it was customary for government officials annually to issue a proclamation protecting wildlife: Nobody, it read, however humble or noble, shall harm or do violence to the creatures of the waters or the wild. The only exceptions to this were rats and wolves. As a young man, I recall seeing great numbers of different species whenever I travelled outside Lhasa. My chief memory of the three-month journey across Tibet from my birthplace at Takster in the East to Lhasa, where I was formally proclaimed Dalai Lama as a four-year-old boy, is of the wildlife we encountered along the way.

Immense herds of kiang (wild asses) and drong (wild yak) freely roamed the great plains. Occasionally we would catch sight of shimmering herds of gowa, the shy Tibetan gazelle, of wa, the white-lipped deer, or of tso, our majestic antelope. I remember, too, my fascination for the little chibi, or pika, which would congregate on grassy areas. They were so friendly. I loved to watch the birds: the dignified gho (the bearded eagle) soaring high above monasteries and perched up in the mountains; the flocks of geese (nangbar); and occasionally, at night, to hear the call of the wookpa (the long-eared owl).

Even in Lhasa, one did not feel in any way cut off from the natural world. In my rooms at the top of the Potala, the winter palace of the Dalai Lamas, I spent countless hours as a child studying the behaviour of the red-beaked khyungkar which nested in the crevices of its walls. And behind the Norbulingka, the summer palace, I often saw pairs of trung trung Oapanes blacknecked cranes), birds which for me are the epitome of elegance and grace, that lived in the marshlands there. And all this is not to mention the crowning glory of Tibetan fauna: the bears and mountain foxes, the chanku (wolves), and sazik (the beautiful snow leopard), and thesik (lynx) which struck terror into the hearts of the normal farmer - or the gentle-faced giant panda (thorn tra), whi.ch is native to the border area between Tibet and China.

Sadly, this profusion of wildlife is no longer to be found. Partly due to hunting but primarily due to loss of habitat, what remains half a century after Tibet was occupied is only a small fraction of what there was. Without exception, every Tibetan I have spoken with who has been back to visit Tibet after thirty to forty years has reported on a striking absence of wildlife. Whereas before wild animals would often come close to the house, today they are hardly anywhere to be seen.

Equally troubling is the devastation of Tibet's forests. In the past, the hills were all thickly wooded; today those who have been back report that they are clean-shaven like a monk's head. The government in Beijing has admitted that the tragic flooding of western China, and further afield, is in part due to this. And yet I hear continuous reports of round-the-clock convoys oftrucks carrying logs east out of Tibet. This is especially tragic given the country's mountainous terrain and harsh climate. It means that replanting requites sustained care and attention. Unfortunately there is little evidence of this.

None of this is to say that, historically, we Tibetans were deliberately 'conservationist'. We were not. The idea of something called 'pollution' simply never occurred to us. There is no denying we were rather spoiled in this respect. A small population inhabited a very large area with clean, dry air and an abundance of pure mountain water. This innocent attitude toward cleanliness meant that when we Tibetans went into exile, we were astonished to discover, for example, the existence of streams whose water is not drinkable. Like an only child, no matter what we did, Mother Earth tolerated our behaviour. The result was that we had no proper understanding of cleanliness and hygiene. People would spit or blow their nose in the street without giving it a second thought. Indeed, saying this, I recall one elderly Khampa, a former bodyguard who used to come each day to circumambulate my residence in Dharamsala (a popular devotion). Unfortunately, he suffered greatly from bronchitis. This was exacerbated by the incense he carried. At each corner, therefore, he would pause to cough and expectorate so ferociously that I sometimes wondered whether he had come to pray or just to spit!

Over the years, since our first arriving in exile, I have taken a close interest in environmental issues. The Tibetan government in exile has paid particular attention to introducing our children to their responsibilities as residents of this fragile planet. And I never hesitate to speak out on the subject whenever I am given the opportunity. In particular, I always stress the need to consider how our actions, in affecting the environment, are likely to affect others. I admit that this is very often difficult to judge. We cannot say for sure what the ultimate effects of, for example, deforestation might be on the soil and the local rainfall, let alone what the implications are for the planet's weather systems. The only clear thing is that we humans are the only species with the power to destroy the earth as we know it. The birds have no such power, nor do the insects, nor does any mammal. Yet if we have the capacity to destroy the earth, so, too, do we have the capacity to protect it.

What is essential is that we find methods of manufacture that do not destroy nature. We need to find ways of cutting down on our use of wood and other limited natural resources. I am no expert in this field, and I cannot suggest how this might be done. I know only that it is possible, given the necessary determination. For example, I recall hearing on a visit to Stockholm some years ago that for the first time in many years fish were returning to the river that runs through the city. Until recently, there were none due to industrial pollution. Yet this improvement was by no means the result of all the local factories closing down. Likewise, on a visit to Germany, I was shown an industrial development designed to produce no pollution. So, clearly, solutions do exist to limit damage to the natural world without bringing industry to a halt.

This does not mean that I believe that we can rely on technology to overcome all our problems. Nor do I believe we can afford to continue destructive practices in anticipation of technical fixes being developed. Besides, the environment does not need fixing. It is our behaviour in relation to it that needs to change. I question whether, in the case of such a massive looming disaster as that caused by the greenhouse effect, a fix could ever exist, even in theory. And supposing it could, we have to ask whether it would ever be feasible to apply it on the scale that would be required. What of the expense and what of the cost in terms of our natural resources? I suspect that these would be prohibitively high. There is also the fact that in many other fields-such as in the humanitarian relief of hunger-there are already insufficient funds to cover the work that could be undertaken. Therefore, even if one were to argue that the necessary funds could be raised, morally speaking this would be almost impossible to justify given such deficiencies. It would not be right to deploy huge sums simply in order to enable the industrialised nations to continue their harmful practices while people in other places cannot even feed themselves.

All this points to the need to recognise the universal dimension of our actions and, based on this, to exercise restraint. The necessity of this is forcefully demonstrated when we come to consider the propagation of our species. Although from 'the point of view of all the major religions, the more humans the better, and although it may be true that some of the latest studies suggest a population implosion a century from now, still I believe we cannot ignore this issue. As a monk, it is perhaps inappropriate for me to comment on these matters. I believe that family planning is important. Of course, I do pot mean to suggest we should not have children. Human life is a precious resource and married couples should have children unless there are compelling reasons not to. The idea of not having children just because we want to enjoy a full life without responsibility is quite mistaken I think. At the same time, couples do have a duty to consider the impact our numbers have on the natural environment. This is especially true given the impact of modern 'technology.

Fortunately, more and more people are coming to recognise the importance of ethical discipline as a means to ensuring a healthy place to live. For this reason I am optimistic that disaster can be averted. Until comparatively recently, few people gave much thought to the effects of human activity on our planet. Yet today there are even political parties whose main concern is this. Moreover, the fact that the air we breathe, the water we drink, the forests and oceans which sustain millions of different life forms, and the Climatic patterns which govern out weather systems all transcend national boundaries is a source of hope. It means that no country,  no matter how rich and powerful or how poor and weak it may be, can afford not to take action in respect of this issue.

As far as the individual is concerned, the problems resulting from our neglect of our natural environment are a powerful reminder that we all have a contribution to make. And while one person's actions may not have a significant impact, the combined effect of millions of individuals' actions certainly does. This means that it is time for all those living in the industrially developed nations to give serious thought to changing their lifestyle. Again this is not so much a question of ethics. The fact that the population of the rest of the world has an equal right to improve their standard of living is in some ways more important than the affluent being able to continue their lifestyle. If this is to be fulfilled without causing irredeemable violence to the natural world-with all the negative consequences for happiness that this would entail-the richer countries must set an example. The cost to the planet, and thus the cost to humanity, of ever-increasing standards of living, is simply too great.

[jeramymobley]

Coronavirus: Brand Moves for Thursday April 2

In China, the biggest public health crisis in two decades has enticed 3,000 newcomers to the Personal Protective Equipment industry this year, according to the Sina news portal, adding to a field of 4,000 who produced 4.2 billion face masks last year or half the world’s output, according to government data. Among the ‘new’ entrants are a clutch of juggernauts – car makers BYD and SAIC-GM-Wuling, iPhone assembler Foxconn and oil and gas producer Sinopec. BYD chairman and founder Wang Chuanfu led a team of 3,000 engineers working round the clock to build a factory in Shenzhen over the weekend. The nation’s largest electric car maker will install the world’s largest line with a capacity of 5 million masks per day. SAIC-GM-Wuling, a General Motors joint venture in China, said last month its production capacity in the southwest Guangxi region had reached 1.7 million masks a day.

Cloud-based creative software specialists Adobe has made a $3 million commitment to helping local and global organizations offer support to the vulnerable. Adobe is joining forces with other tech leaders in the Bay Area to support the COVID-19 Coronavirus Regional Response Fund of the Silicon Valley Community Foundation, a trusted foundation that serves a network of local non-profits. Adobe’s $1 million donation will help provide low-income individuals and families in Santa Clara County through The Santa Clara County Homelessness Prevention System Financial Assistance Program with immediate financial assistance to help pay rent or meet other basic needs. The firm is also making a $1 million donation to the COVID-19 Fund of the International Federation of Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies, the recognized global leader in providing rapid disaster relief and basic human and medical services. Adobe’s support will help aid vulnerable communities impacted by COVID-19 around the world. And they are committing $1 million to match – and double – employee donations to organizations that are providing direct COVID-19 relief efforts in the Bay Area and in the communities where they operate around the world.

After recently donating protective equipment and supplies to the state of New York, and following last week’s news that singer Rihanna will pledge a donation of $5M in COVID-19 relief support through her Clara Lionel Foundation, it has been confirmed that rapper Jay-Z will match her support in the amount of $1M through the Shawn Carter Foundation. By joining forces, the two entrepreneurs and philanthropists will commit a total of $2M to aiding financial crises for undocumented workers in New York City and Los Angeles, children of healthcare professionals and first-responders, as well as elderly and homeless populations, who are most directly impacted by the unprecedented effects of the coronavirus pandemic. According to a statement, the grants previously announced by CLF will support on-the-ground efforts in marginalized communities throughout the United States, Caribbean and Africa. Funding provided by the artists will go specifically towards organizations including the Mayor’s Fund for L.A, Fund for Public Schools, the New York Immigration Coalition and the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU).

At the other end of the musical spectrum, country music legend Dolly Parton has donated $1m (£800,000) to research into a coronavirus vaccine. The star wrote on Instagram:

“My longtime friend Dr Naji Abumrad, who’s been involved in research at Vanderbilt for many years, informed me that they were making some exciting advancements towards that research of the coronavirus for a cure. I am making a donation of $1 million to Vanderbilt towards that research and to encourage people that can afford it to make donations.” Abumrad works at the Vanderbilt Institute for Infection, Immunology and Inflammationat Vanderbilt University hospital in Nashville, Tennessee. He and Parton became friends in 2014 after the singer was involved in a car accident and was treated at Vanderbilt.

Japanese motorcycle manufacturer Yamaha has made a donation of 1.5 million yuan (US $211,000)  to Chinese relief efforts through the Shanghai Charity Foundation. In a statement, the company said: “Our thoughts and prayers go out to those who have been affected by the novel coronavirus (COVID-19), particularly in Wuhan, Hubei Province, China. Yamaha Motor Co., Ltd., with our group companies in China, have together provided a donation of 1.5 million yuan through the Shanghai Charity Foundation as part of efforts to help and prevent further spread of the infection. It is our sincere hope that the affected people recover as quickly as possible, and that we can effectively combat the infection going forward.”

Google CEO Sundar Pichai has announced that the company is committing $800 million in resources, targeted to help small businesses and those responsible for responding to the pandemic. A majority of the $800 million figure (about $510 million) will come in the form of ad grants and Google Ad credits. The company will donate a $250 million ad grant to the World Health Organization and more than 100 other government agencies to spread information on how to prevent COVID-19 from spreading. Last month, Google had committed about $25 million to this effort. Google also said it would help increase production of personal protective equipment (PPE) and other medical equipment. The company said it would offer financial support, but did not disclose an amount. Google would also enlist its employees to help the federal government and other manufacturers of much-needed equipment with the effort. Small and medium-sized businesses will also be able to take advantage of about $340 million in Google Ad credits. Google will automatically add the credits to eligible accounts and will be available through 2020. It is unclear how Google will decide which businesses are eligible for the credits and how much they would receive.

Pichai also said the company would help underserved small businesses by offering a $200 million investment fund. The fund would support financial institutions and other non-governmental organizations finance operations in offering availability of cash. Meanwhile, another partnership between Google and California educational authorities has been announced to improve wifi and broadband access, with 100,000 hotspot points of access throughout the state to high-quality broadband, free for at least 3 months. Google has also announced that they will be providing thousands of Chromebooks to students.

Global payment facilitators Mastercard have joined with the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation and Wellcome Trust to speed up the response to the COVID-19 epidemic. matching employee donations to relief efforts, and have contributed to funds like the China Women’s Development Foundation, local food banks in the U.S. and donated 25,000 respirator masks to New York City hospitals. And, through their partnership with Scholastic, they are making our Girls4Tech online curriculum for grades 3–7 available to parents and teachers looking for learning resources.

Telecomms network Verizon are tripling the data allowance for Verizon Innovative Learning schools and committing $10 million to nonprofits directed at supporting students and first responder healthcare workers. “Verizon stands ready to support our community members during this challenging time,” said Hans Vestberg, Verizon Chairman and CEO. “We will continue to work closely with partners to help provide resources and care for those who need it most.”

Salesforce is making some of its technology available free for a period of time to help customers and partners navigate through the crisis. They have launched Salesforce Care rapid response solutions to help companies stay connected to their employees, customers and communities, in addition to making Quip Starter available to any business and providing access to Health Cloud for healthcare systems experiencing an influx of COVID-19 requests. And governments and organizations around the world are using Tableau’s COVID-19 data hub to see and understand data about the pandemic.

They are also continuing to support communities at the local, national and global levels – to date, they’ve donated $3 million to UCSF’s COVID-19 Response Fund, the CDC Foundation’s Emergency Response Fund and San Francisco’s Give2SF Fund and have been matching employee donations to eligible organizations. The firm has also contributed medical masks to the UCSF hospital system in San Francisco, the Telangana State Medical Services and Infrastructure Corporation in Hyderabad and SOS Médecins in Paris. In Israel, they have donated to Magen David Adom to support its emergency response to the virus. They are working hard across all of their resources and relationships, say the company, to deliver additional masks and critical personal protective equipment to hospitals and medical professionals.

The Coca-Cola Company and the Robert W. Woodruff Foundation (set up by one of the Coca-Cola company’s long-time leaders) have pledged $10 million to the Community Foundation for Greater Atlanta and United Way of Greater Atlanta n support of the Greater Atlanta COVID-19 Response and Recovery Fund. The foundation and the company will donate $5 million each to the fund to help address the needs of those most vulnerable to economic and health-related impacts caused by the coronavirus pandemic. Launched on Tuesday with $1 million from CFGA and $500,000 from United Way, the fund will award grants to nonprofits and agencies focused on providing critical services to high-risk populations, including seniors, families with children who normally receive free or reduced meals at school, families in need of child care, homeowners and renters at risk of eviction, and hourly/low-wage workers.

As grocery stores around the world have struggled to meet high demands, Kraft Heinz Co. supported their efforts by donating $12 million in both cash and food. The American food company also launched the#WeGotYouAmerica campaign, showing appreciation for all the plant workers ramping up food production.

The outerwear brand Canada Goose will make scrubs and patient gowns to be distributed across Canada. It also donated 1 million Canadian dollars to theWuhan Charity Federation.

Luxury brand Chanel has given 1.2 million euros to an emergency fund for the public hospital system and promised its employees eight weeks of salary. It also plans to make masks and gowns.

In London, high-end shoemaker Jimmy Choo will donate $500,000 to support relief efforts both in the brand’s home country of the UK and globally. Half will go to the National Health Service, and the other half will go to the World Health Organization’s COVID-19 Solidarity Response Fund.

In Milan, Versace is donating a total of $500,000 to support local institutions, including the San Raffaele Hospital’s intensive-care unit and the National Chamber of Italian Fashion (Camera Nazionale Della Moda Italiana). This is in addition to the 1 million yen that Versace donated in February to support the Chinese Red Cross Foundation.

WarnerMedia has promised to provide a $100 million relief fund for those who were working on productions across the corporation. CEO John Stankey’s memo to employees said, “We are stepping up with a commitment of more than $100 million to assist team members of those productions during this time. And as things evolve, we’ll continue to evaluate how we can best respond to the challenges we face as an industry as a result of this pandemic.”

NBCUniversal chair Jeff Shell, who was diagnosed March 26 with a mild case of coronavirus, said the corporation would commit “over $150 million across our film, television and parks businesses to help our employees and other workers, and to at least partially bridge the period before normal operations can restart.”

Netflix was one of the first companies to announce a coronavirus relief fund, with the bulk of the $100 million set to go toward laid-off production workers.

The BBC has donated more than $800,000 to the UK’s Film and TV Charity, aimed particularly at freelancers who are out of work during the pandemic.

In partnership with Nestlé, Freshly is donating $500,000 to Meals on Wheels America and is still accepting donations

In response to the global economic impact of COVID-19, social media software maker Hootsuite is offering free access to its Professional plan to help small businesses and nonprofits stay connected to their customers and audiences, plus, they’re offering access to a free library of Hootsuite Training Videos to help businesses engage with their audience, create content efficiently, and manage crisis communications.

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