#in under one hour he destroyed harris

[workersolidarity]

[ 📹 Scenes of evidence left behind after Israeli occupation naval gunboats fired artillery shells at fishing boats on the Mediterranean coast of Rafah, in the southern Gaza Strip. Following the shelling, the gunboats waited until residents and first responders arrived to put out the flames before shelling them as well. ]

🇮🇱⚔️🇵🇸 🚀🏘️💥🚑 🚨

DAY 229: HEALTHCARE SYSTEM COLLAPSING IN NORTHERN GAZA, NORWAY, IRELAND AND SPAIN RECOGNIZE PALESTINIAN STATE, ISRAELI MASSACRES IN GAZA CONTINUE

On 229th day of the Israeli occupation's ongoing special genocide operation in the Gaza Strip, the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) committed a total of 6 new massacres of Palestinian families, resulting in the deaths of no less than 62 Palestinian civilians, mostly women and children, while another 138 others were wounded over the previous 24-hours.

It should be noted that as a result of the constant Israeli bombardment of Gaza's healthcare system, infrastructure, residential and commercial buildings, local paramedic and civil defense crews are unable to recover countless hundreds, even thousands of victims who remain trapped under the rubble, or who's bodies remain strewn across the streets of Gaza.

In move welcomed by Palestinians and Arabs across the world, Spain, Ireland and Norway have officially recognized Palestinian Statehood, to take effect on May 28th.

The Prime Ministers of all three countries announced their recognition of Palestine as an independent State on Wednesday, May 22nd, calling on more Western countries to follow suit.

In his announcement, Norwegian Prime Minister, Jonas Gahr, said the goal of recognition was to establish a cohesive Palestinian state based around the Palestinian Authority, further noting that a two-state solution is in the interest of the Israeli occupation authorities.

Reflecting on his own country's recognition of a Palestinian state, Spanish Prime Minister Pedro Sanchez said "We are a peaceful people, and this is what thousands of demonstrators show in the protests against the Gaza massacres."

Sanchez went on to accuse the Israeli Prime Minister, Benjamin Netanyahu, of working to destroy the Gaza Strip, further endangering a two-state solution.

Irish Prime Minister, Simon Harris, made a similar announcement regarding his country's recognition of Palestine, adding that he expected more nations to recognize Palestinian statehood in the coming weeks, adding that "there is no future for the extremist version of Zionism that fuels settler violence and land seizures."

He went on to add that "there can be no peace without equality, and it is important that our decision is not misinterpreted."

In response to the announcements, the Israeli occupation authorities summoned the ambassadors for Norway and Ireland in order to "conduct emergency consultations."

In other news, in an urgent warning issued by the World Health Organization (WHO), doctors with the international healthcare organization say the last two hospitals remaining in the northern Gaza Strip, Al-Awda Hospital in Jabalia and Kamal Adwan Hospital in Beit Lahiya, are barely functional after 8 months of non-stop bombardment, and the blockade of fuel and medical supplies by the Israeli occupation.

Doctors with the two hospitals told reporters that the Israeli occupation army continues to open fire on associated buildings, while occupation snipers have been posted on nearby rooftops at one of the hospitals.

According to Dr. Muhammad Saleh, the acting Director of Al-Awda Hospital, today marks the "third day of the siege of Al-Awda Hospital in northern Gaza," while the Israeli occupation forces continue "shooting at the hospital buildings" while Israeli "snipers" have taken positions in nearby homes.

Dr. Saleh went on tell journalists that the Israeli occupation has destroyed the southern wall of Al-Awda Hospital, while "all the medical staff and patients" remain inside the hospital's wings, which have become "very difficult to move between."

The doctor went on to add that hospital staff are forced to bring water from one hospital building to the other, a result of IOF soldiers having "struck the first building with a shell that targeted the fifth floor and destroyed the water tanks."

Speaking from a press conference in Geneva, Switzerland, the head of the World Health Organization (WHO), Tedros Adhanom Ghebreyesus, told reporters that “148 hospital workers and 22 patients and their companions are trapped inside” the hospital.

Following several recent visits to Al-Awda Hospital by WHO staff to deliver medical supplies and fuel, Ghebreyesus says Israeli snipers targeted the hospital, while occupation artillery shelled the fifth floor of the building.

Similarly, the Emergency Relief Coordinator for Doctor's Without Borders, Donia Al-Dakheili, said that "nothing enters or exits" the Al-Awda Hospital for fear of the Israeli snipers who remain looming over the building from nearby rooftops.

Previously, the Israeli occupation army besieged Al-Awda Hospital for several days, during which, two staff members were killed while many others were arrested and detained.

Kamal Adwan Hospital is in similarly dire circumstances, coming under fire in recent days, forcing the evacuation of patients and staff, according to Dr. Hossam Abu Safia, the hospital's Director.

"Currently, the hospital is being evacuated of the wounded, patients, and medical staff... There are many patients that the medical teams were not able to evacuate," Dr. Safia said of the attacks, adding that "the reception and emergency gate at Kamal Adwan Hospital was subjected to artillery shelling" as the occupation army advanced towards the complex.

According to Rick Peppercorn, a representative with the WHO, the reception center in the Intensive Care Unit for Kamal Adwan Hospital was bombed by the IOF.

"At the moment, there are still 20 health staff members and 13 patients," Pepperkorn said, adding that Kamal Adwan and Al-Awda are "the only two hospitals that are still working, and we cannot afford for them to stop working."

Even while Gaza's healthcare system verges on collapse as supplies run thinner than ever before, the Israeli occupation forces continued the closure of the Rafah and Karm Abu Salem border crossings for the 16th consecutive day, blocking humanitarian and medical aid trucks, along with fuel, from entering Gaza.

According to press reporting, more than 3'000 aid trucks have been prevented from entering Gaza, along with preventing at least 700 sick and wounded Palestinians from leaving Gaza for treatment abroad during the period the two crossings have been closed.

Meanwhile, the bombardment of the Gaza Strip continues unabated as occupation bombing, shelling, drone and missile strikes continued to target civilian residences and infrastructure, resulting in dozens of casualties.

Local reporting stated that the Israeli occupation forces fired several artillery shells into civilian neighborhoods in the Tal al-Hawa area, southwest of Gaza City, while Israeli warplanes bombed a residential home belonging to the Abu Zaida family in the Al-Faluga neighborhood of Jabalia, in the northern Gaza Strip, killing 6 civilians and wounding 6 more.

In another atrocity, occupation fighter jets bombed a barracks in the vicinity of Terrence al-Baba, where displaced Palestinian families were sheltering from the war in the town of Al-Zawaida, in the central Gaza Strip, slaughtering at least 10 civilians, including an infant pulled from her mother's womb, and wounding a number of others.

Wounded civilians were transported to Al-Aqsa Martyrs Hospital in neighboring Deir al-Balah.

A similar assault targeted residential areas of the Al-Zaytoun neighborhood, southeast of Gaza City, martyring 2 Palestinians and wounding several others who were taken to the Baptist Hospital in the city.

Occupation artillery shelling also targeted the northern and southern neighborhoods of Gaza City, while neighborhoods east of the Nuseirat Camp also endured intense shelling.

At the same time, aircraft belonging to the Israeli occupation army bombed the Farhat family home in the Tal al-Sultan neighborhood, west of the city of Rafah, in the southern Gaza Strip, wounding several people who were transported to the Kuwait Specialized Hospital.

Additionally, occupation artillery forces renewed their shelling of central and eastern Rafah, and Israeli quadcopters opened fire on several areas of the Tal al-Sultan neighborhood. Meanwhile, Israeli fighter jets bombed civilian targets in residential neighborhoods of central Rafah.

Occupation gunboats also shelled Palestinian fishing boats off the coast of Rafah, after which, the gunboats opened fire on civilians who rushed to put out fires resulting from the shelling.

As a result of the Israeli occupation's ongoing special genocide operation in the Gaza Strip, the current death toll has risen once again, now exceeding 35'709 Palestinians killed, including upwards of 15'000 children and over 10'000 women, while another 79'990 others have been wounded since the start of the current round of Zionist aggression, beginning with the events of October 7th, 2023.

May 22nd, 2024.

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@WorkerSolidarityNews

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Any thoughts on the mystery behind the Veil of Death and the three brothers?

ana-lyz: So... What does it mean to be the Master of Death in HP universe? And like what does being MOD mean specifically for Harry?

Okay, funny thing is I got the first of your asks like an hour after I added to my drafts a post titled "Master of Death", so I was just thinking about it. And then I started answering it and you sent the second ask, so, great minds think alike, I guess.

Long post ahead:

The Veil, Death, and its Master

I'm going to cover what we know from the books, my opinions on it, and some of my evidence-based headcanons, since there is a lot of speculation on my part.

The Afterlife and the Veil

So, I wanna talk a bit about death, as it appears in the Harry Potter books. We know an afterlife exists in the HP world both when Harry dies and when he speaks to Nearly Headless Nick after Sirius dies.

I want to start with the scene in Deathly Hallows in the King's Cross limbo. Specifically these few sections:

Barely had the wish formed in his head than robes appeared a short distance away. He took them and put them on. They were soft, clean, and warm. It was extraordinary how they had appeared just like that, the moment he had wanted them. . . . He stood up, looking around. Was he in some great Room of Requirement?

(DH, 596)

“Where are we, exactly?” “Well, I was going to ask you that,” said Dumbledore, looking around. “Where would you say that we are?” Until Dumbledore had asked, Harry had not known. Now, however, he found that he had an answer ready to give. “It looks,” he said slowly, “like King’s Cross station. Except a lot cleaner and empty, and there are no trains as far as I can see.” “King’s Cross station!” Dumbledore was chuckling immoderately. “Good gracious, really?” “Well, where do you think we are?” asked Harry, a little defensively. “My dear boy, I have no idea. This is, as they say, your party.”

(DH, 601)

“Tell me one last thing,” said Harry. “Is this real? Or has this been happening inside my head?” Dumbledore beamed at him, and his voice sounded loud and strong in Harry’s ears even though the bright white mist was descending again, obscuring his figure. “Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?

(DH, 610)

I don't think this place Harry was in is the Afterlife, or even connected to the Afterlife. I think it is in Harry's head. Harry having complete control over it, actually calling it out as behaving like the Room of Requirement, Dumbledore not knowing where they are until Harry knows where they are, etc. All this doesn't fit with it being a limbo on the way to death and the figure there being the real Dumbledore. Dumbledore, throughout this scene, acts kind of strange, way more helpful and finally says all the right things Harry wants to hear.

Not-Dumbledore himself tells Harry he already knows everything he explains to him:

“Explain,” said Harry. “But you already know,” said Dumbledore. He twiddled his thumbs together

(DH, 597)

So, I truly believe it isn't really happening. That this isn't death and it isn't Dumbledore. throughout the scene, Dumbledore doesn't actually give Harry new information Harry couldn't guess on his own. He's just going over things Harry already knew and creating a nice narrative out of them. At some points, he asks Harry what he thinks, and only starts explaining once Harry knows the answer (or what he wants the answer to be). I think this is Harry's subconscious coping and not actual death.

Additionally, there's the disturbing baby Voldemort thing. Now, the real Voldemort is still alive, so contrary to what Not-Dumbledore says, it isn't actually Tom Riddle:

“Oh yes!” said Dumbledore. “Yes, he destroyed it. Your soul is whole, and completely your own, Harry.” “But then . . . ” Harry glanced over his shoulder to where the small, maimed creature trembled under the chair. “What is that, Professor?” “Something that is beyond either of our help,” said Dumbledore

(DH, 598)

What I believe it is, is the soul in the Horcrux in Harry. Separated from Harry's own soul within his mind. That's the only thing it can be, in my opinion. I don't believe the soul shards in the Horcruxes could pass into an afterlife, or even to limbo. They were created to be bound to life and passing away is against their very nature (unless, maybe, if you throw them through the veil).

Besides all these oddities in the scene, it just doesn't make sense for Dumbledore to be there. Nearly Headless Nick gives some insight about death and the Afterlife:

“He will not come back,” repeated Nick quietly. “He will have . . . gone on.” “What d’you mean, ‘gone on’?” said Harry quickly. “Gone on where? Listen — what happens when you die, anyway? Where do you go? Why doesn’t everyone come back? Why isn’t this place full of ghosts? Why — ?” “I cannot answer,” said Nick. “You’re dead, aren’t you?” said Harry exasperatedly. “Who can answer better than you?” “I was afraid of death,” said Nick. “I chose to remain behind. I sometimes wonder whether I oughtn’t to have . . . Well, that is neither here nor there. . . . In fact, I am neither here nor there. . . .” He gave a small sad chuckle. “I know nothing of the secrets of death, Harry, for I chose my feeble imitation of life instead. I believe learned wizards study the matter in the Department of Mysteries —”

(OotP, 861)

From the way Nick speaks, ghosts are caught between life and death, part of them remains among the living while the rest moves on. Ghosts live in limbo, unable to be alive or dead. From his words, it also implies the properly dead, those who chose to move on, stay dead. They stay gone.

If that's the case, how could Dumbledore come to greet Harry in limbo? He's dead, truly gone, and death has no exceptions. There is no reason Dumbledore could speak to Harry in limbo and his parents won't. Once you're dead, you reach the afterlife and there you stay.

So I don't think the white King's Cross in Harry's death vision was connected to the afterlife, nor was it the real Dumbledore there. So, what is the actual afterlife?

Well, we don't really know. But, I can cover what we do know about the nature of death in the HP universe.

From Nick's words, the afterlife is the better option, than becoming a ghost. Nick describes ghosts as imprints left behind, but imprints of what specifically?

I talked about this already when I discussed how to make Horcruxes, but in alchemy, everything is comprised of three things:

Sulfur - soul

Mercury - spirit (that binds the body and the soul)

Salt - body

A ghost doesn't have a body, and we know all that moves on to the afterlife is one's soul. Therefore, it stands to reason ghosts are an imprint of a soul, while the spirit leaves at the moment of death. That's what an Avada Kedavra does, it removes the spirit, the connection between the body and the soul. That's how it kills instantly and without a trace.

So, when someone passes into the afterlife, it's their soul that passes away.

What about the echoes of Harry's parents and Cedric in Voldemort's wand during the duel in the graveyard?

Well, they're dead, they moved on, so it can't be their soul. The figures aren't even described the same way as ghosts or diary Tom, figures we know are made of souls:

and then something much larger began to blossom from Voldemort’s wand tip, a great, grayish something, that looked as though it were made of the solidest, densest smoke. . . . It was a head . . . now a chest and arms . . . the torso of Cedric Diggory. the dense shadow of a second head, If ever Harry might have released his wand from shock, it would have been then, but instinct kept him clutching his wand tightly, so that the thread of golden light remained unbroken, even though the thick gray ghost of Cedric Diggory (was it a ghost? it looked so solid) emerged in its entirety from the end of Voldemort’s wand, as though it were squeezing itself out of a very narrow tunnel . . . and this shade of Cedric stood up, and looked up and down the golden thread of light, and spoke.

(GoF, 665-666)

Their bodies are buried, and Cedric's is just lying there, neither are they physical enough to be bodies. I believe this is their spirit. Remember what I said about the Killing Curse just now, it severs the tie, and as such, it keeps the spirit. So, Harry is speaking to his parents' spirit, the echoes of their lives, not souls.

Now, let's talk about the veil. The veil is one of the most fascinating things introduced in the books, and the way it is introduced is fascinating on its own, but that's for later. The veil is a physical archway into the world of the dead.

The concept of such an entrance exists in multiple mythologies. In Greek mythology, many heroes (Odysseus, Orpheus, Heracles, Theseus, etc.) all travel through the underworld in one way or another, this is why the hero's journey goes through the underworld, it's very common. In Mesopotamian mythology, Gilgamesh and Ishtar both travel to the underworld. The point is, a gateway into the afterlife you can travel through, is a concept humanity has been toying with for millennia.

What's interesting is that, like Thestrals, those who've seen death (Harry, Luna, and Neville) can hear whispers from it. They experience it differently from others who haven't witnessed death (Ron, Hermione, and Ginny) who feel unnerved by it (although, Neville and Luna react differently from Harry, but more on that later). Not much more can be said about it, except that unlike all these gates into the underworld from myths, the veil is meant to be a one-way ticket.

In general, the afterlife in the Wizarding World is a one-way passage. Once you're gone, you're gone. Hence the closest thing to proper necromancy they have is creating inferi, which are soulless since the soul can't be pulled back from the afterlife.

The veil was also there before the Ministry of Magic, which was built around it. My guess is that some ancient wizards made it, and how or why were forgotten over time.

As the Peverell brothers were born around the 1210s and the Ministry of Magic was founded in 1707, it's possible, that the same Peverells from the story have built the veil. I actually think it's quite likely.

Death Himself

The idea of death personified is just as old and prevalent in many myths and cultures as a gateway leading into the afterlife. Whether Death, as a being, exists in the Wizarding World, I'm uncertain, but I don't think it's likely.

God-like spirits like Death feel out of place in the world in a way. Like, having a pantheon of gods feels wrong for the world of Harry Potter. It feels out of place with the established lore and magic. We don't see any evidence of wizarding society having any kind of unique religion in which such beings exist. Death, in the tale, is also described as similar to a dementor, making the idea that the author based Death's appearance on that of a dementor plausible.

That being said, Death's similarity to dementors could be the other way around. As in, the dementors look like death because of their connection to him. And, Death from the Tale doesn't really act like a god. How he behaves and is spoken of in the Tale of the Three Brothers reminds me a lot of a fae-like creature. Like, a powerful being who's a trickster that twists your wishes into something that he can use against you.

However I look at it, I still don't feel a being like this would fit in the world of Harry Potter, it feels wrong to add gods (or fae) in there. We don't see any hint that such beings might exist, which makes me feel they don't. So, I don't really think a personification of Death as appearing in the tale actually exists, but they do have an afterlife, as established above.

The Peverells and the Hallows

So we all know the legend about the three Peverell brothers who cheated death and received his gifts. Dumbledore (the one Harry imagines in his death fever dream) is certain it went down a little differently. That the tale is to explain incredibly powerful magical artifacts made by extraordinary wizards:

“Oh yes, I think so. Whether they met Death on a lonely road . . . I think it more likely that the Peverell brothers were simply gifted, dangerous wizards who succeeded in creating those powerful objects. The story of them being Death’s own Hallows seems to me the sort of legend that might have sprung up around such creations.

(DH, 602)

While it's not really Dumbledore and more Harry's own mind, I agree with him the Peverell brothers were probably no run-of-the-mill wizards, and I agree it's unlikely they've met Death, as I don't believe he exists.

Now, all the Hallows have a sentience to them beyond just any magical artifact. Even the wand is more sentient than any other wand, which are already quite sentient ("the wand chooses the wizard").

The wand of the first brother is a Hallow I already wrote about how it chooses its master. It is a wand intrinsically connected with death, having a core of Thestral hair. (I wonder if a core from a Thestral would agree to work for a wizard who hasn't seen death, but I digress)

This wand is actually the least impressive Hallow, in my opinion. Even though it said to be unbeatable:

Naturally, with the Elder Wand as his weapon, he could not fail to win the duel that followed. Leaving his enemy dead upon the floor

(DH, 352)

Its user is beaten quite often, that's how the wand changes owners, after all. This wand's tendency for even more sentience than other wands is what is particularly unique about it. How it chooses its master repeatedly, and sometimes even decides it prefers another over its current master, something unheard of for any other wand.

The Resurrection Stone has the supposed ability to pull a soul imprint from the afterlife:

“Yet she was sad and cold, separated from him as by a veil. Though she had returned to the mortal world, she did not truly belong there and suffered.

(DH, 352)

Something that I just discussed above should be impossible. Once dead and in the afterlife, nothing comes back out. Harry uses it as well for the same purpose and describes them as being similar to Tom from the diary:

They were neither ghost nor truly flesh, he could see that. They resembled most closely the Riddle that had escaped from the diary so long ago, and he had been memory made nearly solid. less substantial than living bodies, but much more than ghosts, they moved toward him, and on each face, there was the same loving smile.

(DH, 589)

Because that's what the stone brings back, echoes of souls, but they aren't what Tom Riddle was in CoS.

“We are part of you,” said Sirius. “Invisible to anyone else.”

(DH, 590)

This line, made me believe the resurrection stone does something different than its name suggests and more similar to the lie Tom in the diary told Harry. They aren't souls, they're memories, echoes from within Harry himself. "Memory made solid"

Magic, in the world of Harry Potter, can't bring back someone who has moved on to the afterlife. It's a one-way ticket, as I've established before, once your soul moves on, that's it (if you try to resurrect someone immediately after they died and their soul hasn't yet moved on it's a different story). So I think, these shades are based on Harry's memories, and not actual souls brought back. It'll make more sense magically since his thoughts and memories are there, but the souls have gone on.

It also makes the tale of the second brother make more sense. He suffered because it wasn't really his wife that came back, but a shade based on his own memory. The tale said that she suffered, but I think it was Cadmus who suffered, not truly having her back. However, depending on how she died, her suffering might've been his memories of her that the stone resurrected, or the tale made it all up just like it made up Death.

The stone is just as picky about its master as the wand. It does not seem to have worked for anyone other than Cadmus Peverell and Harry himself. We don't hear of any Gaunts who used the stone, nor do we hear from Dumbledore he succeded in using it (I don't think it's actually Dumbledore in the conversation in King's Cross as I mentioned above). Regardless, I think the real Dumbledore probably did try to use it, and I will hazard a guess he failed. Since the stone didn't choose him.

The Cloak is unique in many ways. Lasting centuries, way longer than any invisibility cloak can, passing from parent to child for generations. It also does a better job of concealing you than another invisibility cloak, if, it still has its limits:

“...We are talking about a cloak that really and truly renders the wearer completely invisible, and endures eternally, giving constant and impenetrable concealment, no matter what spells are cast at it. How many cloaks have you ever seen like that, Miss Granger?”

(DH, 354)

The cloak is similar to the other Hallows in how picky it is regarding its master. The cloak wouldn't belong to anyone who just possesses it, it's not enough. It has to be passed willingly on the owner's deathbed, as they greet death as an old friend. It means that in the books, no one but Harry could be its owner.

All artifacts are powerful, but they aren't capable of anything that breaks the laws of nature (as the stone doesn't really resurrect), they are also sentient and picky, but it isn't something beyond the capacity of wizards. Why, we know of four wizards who made three sentient magical artifacts already — The Hogwarts founders.

The four founders enchanted the sorting hat together, but more relevant to the discussion of the Hallows are the Book of Admittance and the Quill of Acceptance.

At the precise moment that a child first exhibits signs of magic, the Quill, which is believed to have been taken from an Augurey, floats up out of its inkpot and attempts to inscribe the name of that child upon the pages of the Book (Augurey feathers are known to repel ink and the inkpot is empty; nobody has ever managed to analyse precisely what the silvery fluid flowing from the enchanted Quill is). Those few who have observed the process (several headmasters and headmistresses have enjoyed spending quiet hours in the Book and Quill’s tower, hoping to catch them in action) agree that the Quill might be judged more lenient than the Book. A mere whiff of magic suffices for the Quill. The Book, however, will often snap shut, refusing to be written upon until it receives sufficiently dramatic evidence of magical ability.

(from pottermore)

The idea of multiple sentient, powerful magical artifacts that need to agree is something wizards are capable of. And that, I think, is the secret to becoming the Master of Death — having all 3 Hallows pick you. Just like the book and quill need to agree a student should be admitted to Hogwarts.

Master of Death

Or more specifically what does that actually mean and why I think even if someone retrieved all 3 Hallows they wouldn't have become the Master of Death if their name isn't Harry James Potter.

This is definitely more in the headcanon territory, but the first scene that really made me think about it is the one in the Death Chamber in the Department of Mysteries. Because I think Harry and death always had a weird connection, it might've been around before the failed killing curse, and it was definitely around before Harry mastered all 3 Hallows.

So, why do I think Harry was always bound to be the Master of Death, and even if Dumbledore or Voldemort had all the Hallows it wouldn't have helped them?

There, are a few things that led me to this conclusion.

First, as I mentioned above, the cloak can not belong to anyone other than Harry in the books. It means that no one but Harry could master all of the Deathly Hallows, regardless of what they did.

Second, This first scene in the Death Chamber with the veil. I'll copy parts of it below and ask you to note, as you read, that Harry, Neville, and Luna are the only three who can see Thestrals and therefore should react more to the veil:

“Who’s there?” said Harry, jumping down onto the bench below. There was no answering voice, but the veil continued to flutter and sway. “Careful!” whispered Hermione. ... He had the strangest feeling that there was someone standing right behind the veil on the other side of the archway. ... “Let’s go,” called Hermione from halfway up the stone steps. “This isn’t right, Harry, come on, let’s go. . . .” She sounded scared, much more scared than she had in the room where the brains swam, yet Harry thought the archway had a kind of beauty about it, old though it was. The gently rippling veil intrigued him; he felt a very strong inclination to climb up on the dais and walk through it. “Harry, let’s go, okay?” said Hermione more forcefully. “Okay,” he said, but he did not move. He had just heard something. There were faint whispering, murmuring noises coming from the other side of the veil. “What are you saying?” he said very loudly, so that the words echoed all around the surrounding stone benches. “Nobody’s talking, Harry!” said Hermione, now moving over to him. “Someone’s whispering behind there,” he said, moving out of her reach and continuing to frown at the veil. “Is that you, Ron?” “I’m here, mate,” said Ron, appearing around the side of the archway. “Can’t anyone else hear it?” Harry demanded, for the whispering and murmuring was becoming louder; without really meaning to put it there, he found his foot was on the dais. “I can hear them too,” breathed Luna, joining them around the side of the archway and gazing at the swaying veil. “There are people in there!” .... “Sirius,” Harry repeated, still gazing, mesmerized, at the continuously swaying veil. “Yeah . . .” ... On the other side, Ginny and Neville were staring, apparently entranced, at the veil too.

(OotP, 773-775)

The interesting to note:

Luna, who can see Thestrals, also hears the whispering. I assume Neville does too.

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny are mesmerized but unnerved by the veil. Ron and Hermione seem to fight this memorization in their fear for Harry as he nears the veil.

Harry is the only one who is drawn to the veil He is the only one that moved, the only one whose feet take him against his will to the dias with the veil.

Harry thinks of it as oddly beautiful.

He has an urge to pass through that no one else does. All of them are frozen in place.

Harry is so affected he needs to be reminded twice that he's there to save Sirius before he can draw himself away from the veil.

Third, later in the book, after Sirius fell through the veil, there's this part:

He had reached the floor, his breath coming in searing gasps. Sirius must be just behind the curtain, he, Harry, would pull him back out again. . . . But as he reached the ground and sprinted toward the dais, Lupin grabbed Harry around the chest, holding him back. “There’s nothing you can do, Harry —” “Get him, save him, he’s only just gone through!” “It’s too late, Harry —” “We can still reach him —” Harry struggled hard and viciously, but Lupin would not let go. . . . “There’s nothing you can do, Harry . . . nothing. . . . He’s gone.”

(OotP, 806)

Harry's instinct to go through the veil to get Sirius out is so odd. The way he thinks that he himself can pull him out, not anyone else, but he... I don't know, but, this scene is interesting. It almost makes me feel Harry could pull Sirius back out. He defied death already once and will defy it again in the 7th book, so why not? Why wouldn't he be able to pull someone back from beyond the veil if they fell through just now (the timing is relevant, I don't think Hary could pull, say, his parents out).

My headcanon is that in that very moment if Lupin let Harry pull Sirius out, it would've worked. Caused a pandemonium about the fact Harry can apparently resurrect the dead (even if it's not really what he did), but that it would've worked. (I actually really want to write a fic like this)

Fourth, throughout the 7th book, once Harry finds out about the Hallows, he can't let the thought go. He knows his cloak is one, he is convinced the stone is in the snitch Dumbledore left him, way before he opened it. He just has a sense about it, and a fixation on it that's almost instinct:

Dumbledore had left the sign of the Hallows for Hermione to decipher, and he had also, Harry remained convinced of it, left the Resurrection Stone hidden in the golden Snitch. Neither can live while the other survives. . . master of Death. . . Why didn’t Ron and Hermione understand? “‘The last enemy shall be destroyed is death,”’ Harry quoted calmly

(DH, 374-375)

So, these are my reasons why I believe Harry is the only character in the books that could or would be the MOD. It's just that he always was, in a way. The Hallows already chose him before he ever held any of them.

But what does it mean to be the Master of Death?

“Well, of course not,” said Xenophilius, maddeningly smug. “That is a children’s tale, told to amuse rather than to instruct. Those of us who understand these matters, however, recognize that the ancient story refers to three objects, or Hallows, which, if united, will make the possessor master of Death.” ... “When you say ‘master of Death’—” said Ron. “Master,” said Xenophilius, waving an airy hand. “Conqueror. Vanquisher. Whichever term you prefer.”

(DH, 353)

We don't really get much besides this. Along with what's written on James and Lily's grave:

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.

(DH, 283)

Harry believes all phrases, along with the prophecy are connected and lead him to believe he should become the Master of Death:

Three objects, or Hallows, which, if united, will make the possessor master of Death. . . Master. . . Conqueror. . . Vanquisher. . . The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death. . . . And he saw himself, possessor of the Hallows, facing Voldemort, whose Horcruxes were no match. . . Neither can live while the other survives. . . Was this the answer?

(DH, 369-370)

So what can the Master of Death do? Death isn't a personified deity, what is defeating or contouring death mean? Does it mean immortality?

I don't know if I'll say full immortality, I think the Master of Death can die the same way Ignotus Peverell did. I think Ignotus Peverell was the first Master of Death, in a way, he at least represented the concept:

And then he greeted Death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life

(DH, 352)

He was death's equal, he could escape it and live a fulfilling life, before choosing to meet Death on his own terms. I think that's what it means, that Death won't find Harry until he is ready to move on, and when he finally chooses to move on, Death would greet him with open arms.

The crux of it is the choice. That death can't touch you until you choose to allow it. And those who become Masters of Death, would always eventually choose to greet death, as these are the type of people the 3 Hallows would choose. It's all about choices.

(For the record, yes, I think there could be more than one MOD, I think Ignotus was until his death, and then in the books, Harry is)

And considering how much emphasis is put on choices and intentions in the magic of this world, it seems only right to be so relevant here too.

Like with the Mirror or Erised, which only let someone who wanted to have the Philosopher's Stone but not use it, have it; the Hallows won't choose a master who wouldn't, eventually, be willing to accept death. Because mastering death, isn't only not dying, it's understanding it, and accepting it. Both the deaths of others and eventually your own.

Also, as I mentioned above, I headcanon that Harry could pull Sirius out the moment he fell in through the veil. I don't think anyone but Harry could. I believe, as a Master of Death, Harry is the only wizard (well, being) that can go into the afterlife, walk past the veil, and come back out. A Master of Death is the only one who the afterlife isn't a one-way ticket for.

(Although, I think it's possible that if you wear the invisibility cloak you might be able to pass into the veil and come out even without being the MOD, but, I wouldn't bet on it)

Summary of my thoughts

The afterlife exists in the Wizarding World and nothing that passes beyond the veil can return. It's a one-way ticket.

The scene in Deathly Hallows with Dumbledore in King's Cross station limbo didn't actually happen.

Death, as a deity of sorts most likely doesn't exist.

The Peverell brothers were powerful wizards who made the Deathly Hallows and perhaps the veil too.

The Resurrection stone can't bring a soul back from beyond the veil so it does the next best thing — reviving an illusion of a memory.

All 3 Deathly Hallows are very sentient magical artifacts like the sorting hat. Each of them is very picky when choosing its own master.

When all 3 Hallows choose the same master, this person is the Master of Death.

Being the Master of Death means the MOD won't die until the time of their choice. But the MOD will always choose to die eventually because that's the kind of person the Hallows would pick.

There can, over time, be more than one MOD (not at the same time though). And it's possible Ignotus Peverell was one, in a way.

The MOD might be the only person who can go into the veil and come back out.

The invisibility cloak might also allow you to make a trip into the veil and then back out.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Curt Devine, Casey Tolan, Audrey Ash, and Kyung Lah at CNN:

Last month, Russell Vought sat in a five-star Washington, DC, hotel suite, bowing his head in prayer with two men he thought were relatives of a wealthy conservative donor.

Vought, one of the key authors of Project 2025, a right-wing blueprint for a second Trump term, expected the meeting would help his think tank secure a substantial contribution. For nearly two hours, he talked candidly about his behind-the-scenes work to prepare policy for former President Donald Trump, his expansive views on presidential power, his plans to restrict pornography and immigration, and his complaints that the GOP was too focused on “religious liberty” instead of “Christian nation-ism.” But the men Vought was talking to actually worked for a British journalism nonprofit and were secretly recording him the entire time. The nonprofit, the Centre for Climate Reporting, published a video of the meeting on Thursday – offering a window into the thinking of one of the top policy minds of the MAGA movement, who’s been floated as a possible White House chief of staff. Trump has publicly rejected Project 2025 as Vice President Kamala Harris’ campaign has sought to tie him to some of the plan’s most extreme proposals. But in private, Vought said that those disavowals were merely “graduate-level politics.”

Vought said his group, the Center for Renewing America, was secretly drafting hundreds of executive orders, regulations, and memos that would lay the groundwork for rapid action on Trump’s plans if he wins, describing his work as creating “shadow” agencies. He claimed that Trump has “blessed” his organization and “he’s very supportive of what we do.” “Eighty percent of my time is working on the plans of what’s necessary to take control of these bureaucracies,” Vought said. “And we are working doggedly on that, whether it’s destroying their agencies’ notion of independence … whether that is thinking through how the deportation would work.” In discussing Trump’s plan to carry out the largest deportation in US history – which the former president has called for publicly – Vought said the expulsion of millions of undocumented immigrants could help “save the country.” Once deportations begin, “you’re really going to be winning a debate along the way about what that looks like,” Vought said. “And so that’s going to cause us to get us off of multiculturalism, just to be able to sustain and defend the deportation, right?”

The video is the latest example of secret recordings exposing political figures’ private comments. The tactics used by the Centre – which created fake websites and a fake LinkedIn profile to deceive Vought – are typically rejected by mainstream American news outlets. But using hidden cameras and deceptive practices in reporting is more common in the UK, where the Centre is based, and it’s been on the rise on the fringe of the US media as well. The conservative group Project Veritas has long conducted sting operations and published selectively edited videos, and earlier this year, a liberal activist released audio recordings of conversations she had with Supreme Court Justice Samuel Alito and his wife, as well as Chief Justice John Roberts.

[...]

An elaborate ruse

Vought served as the director of the Office of Management and Budget under Trump, where he made a name for himself as a policy wonk committed to the MAGA movement. In public, Trump repeatedly praised Vought for doing an “incredible” and “fantastic” job at OMB. After Trump left office, Vought started the Center for Renewing America, a nonprofit that describes itself as the “tip of the America First spear.” CRA was one of many right-leaning groups that partnered on Project 2025, a more than 900-page blueprint for Trump’s second term that was led by the Heritage Foundation. Vought personally authored the project’s chapter on the executive office of the president, and his group contributed to several other chapters of the plan as well. Vought also served as the policy director of the Republican National Convention committee that rewrote the GOP’s official platform this year – a sign of how central he is to Republicans’ policy goals. 

Last month, Vought’s team was approached by employees with the Centre for Climate Reporting, which has previously published investigations into climate negotiations and Saudi Arabia’s energy policy. The Centre spun an elaborate fiction, with a journalist and a paid actor posing as the brother and son-in-law of a reclusive New Mexico investor. The nonexistent patriarch had watched Vought’s appearances on Steve Bannon’s “War Room” show while recuperating from an illness – and wanted to make a seven-figure contribution to CRA after previously focusing his philanthropy on classical music, they claimed. The meeting took place on July 24, the week after the Republican convention, at the presidential suite of the Rosewood hotel in DC, where the Centre had placed several hidden cameras and microphones, Carter said. After the Centre’s employees suggested starting the meeting with a prayer, they peppered Vought with questions about his work and views, the video shows.

CNN reports a secretly recorded video by Centre For Climate Reporting featuring Project 2025 co-author Russ Vought discussing his secret work preparing for a second Trump term that includes drafts for executive orders numbering in the hundreds.

See Also:

MMFA: In undercover interview, Project 2025 architect gets candid on the initiative’s radical goals and connections to Trump

[coridotmp3]

this song reminded me of you

aka the hangster playlist masterpost (and maybe some of the fics inspired by them)

i have an unhealthy love of character playlists so i wanted to make one semi-organized post to keep track of the hangster ones !! if you want me to add yours, send me an ask or a dm!! if i've posted yours without tagging you, let me know and i'll correct it! (i might make an icemav one too if y'all want)

hangman's direct hits -> glen powell is the biggest hangster shipper around so this counts and you'll never be able to tell me otherwise thank you

songs bradley would play to jake at the hard deck -> "b serenading j all over again" // @crooked-jes

b&j -> also by my love @crooked-jes :)

"hangman you look...good" -> "i'm feeling very normal about these two fighter pilots"

IWTBY -> the accompanying playlist for everyone's favorite hangster nfl fake dating au "i want to brainwash you into loving me forever" // @hangmanbradshaw

uh oh! you fell from your perch! -> do you wanna cry? yes? okay cool listen to this playlist while reading "as he falls from his perch" - you're welcome // @urmomsonfire

ok bagman -> another accompanying playlist !! this time for "the whole time, under the lights" by our favorite @/urmomsonfire

do friends fall in love? -> a fic for what will EVENTUALLY be a hangster when harry met sally au - i just have to finish writing it first :) // @/coridotmp3

hangman. you look...good -> "i am good, rooster. i'm very good || rivals to friends to lovers, found family, and an asshole that cares about his friends more than he let's on" // @miraculousmultifan

hangster ✈ -> "just some bradley rooster bradshaw and jake hangman seresin vibes" (this one is over 15 hours long <3)

summer hangster (top gun maverick) -> "you look good" // @hangsterwheel

all about that slow ride -> "hangman thinking about rooster" also by @/hangsterwheel <3

hangster (lovers to exes back to lovers) -> "actually its: lovers to eves to rivals to friends to lovers" // @keenmarvellover

fucking sereshaw i guess -> "this is going to destroy me i can just tell"

yang on yin -> "bradley about jake" // @/hangsterwheel

yin on yang -> "jake about bradley" // @/hangsterwheel

"let me go. and i'll let you" -> "the exes to fwb to lovers one" // @/coridotmp3

==

i'll keep adding more as i find them, but i figured this was a good start !!

[its-in-the-woods]

Coyote Head - Part 3 - Head on a pike

master list

Part 1, Part 2,

Pairing: Cooper Howard x Lucy Maclean 

Alternative Universe where I make things up cause I can

Synopsis: Things are not always what they seem, a tossed house, a walk through the woods. What will they find...

MINOR GET OUT. Rating/Warning:  Animal death, blOod/G0re, Alternative Universe, Slow Burn, Death, Aging, Family Feuding, Eventually: Older Man/Younger Woman, Horror themes, long form fic,

Note: that I will not be spoiling any of the reading. So you have been warned. I will keep my tags relevant without spoiling what is happening in the story.

Getting out of the truck, the door squeaks, as Lucy makes her way up the set of steps. She could see the madness of her living space, bookshelves toppled, art and paperwork strewn about the space. Dozens of large dents are in the drywall. Every kitchen cupboard had been opened and tossed. Her bed flipped against the window, blankets scattered, pillows torn, stuffing covering the floor. It was as if a tornado had gone through her home and rucked up everything. She stood in the living room trying to comprehend what had happened. Her stomach revolted as she made her way to the sink, what little breakfast she had coming out into the sink.

“Whoa, whoa,” Cooper said, coming over and rubbing her back, “It’s gonna be alright.”

Lucy's head hung as she turned on the tape, willing the sludge to go down the drain. She moved to grab a glass and filled it up. The man removed his hand much to her disappointment.

“I was only gone for a few hours,” She mumbles, taking a sip of water, tears poking at the corners of her eyes. The whole house was upside down, it was as if someone had hit her in the stomach. She hadn’t lived there long, but it was still her home, the loss of privacy feeling so intimate.

“Sure looks like they were lookin’ for somethin’,” Cooper says, watching Lucy as she sips the water, his eyes moving over the scene in front of them.

“Nothing here but papers,” Lucy hisses, her head still spinning from the vomiting. The reasoning escaping her grasp, she had little to no possession, and it wasn’t like she kept money lying around. Her mind drifted to the reaction of her family members in the small lawyer's office. Was it possible this was something they had organized, maybe in a bid to scare her out of the place?

Cooper looks around, “Did they take anythin’?” His head turning toward the front door. The sound of gravel crunching under tires had them both looking out the window. Uncle Harris was out of his old truck with his 2-70 in hand. Face set in a firm grimace, as he made his way quickly to the front door.

“Don’t shoot,” Cooper chuckles as the man makes his way up the steps, holding his hands in the air in mock surrender.

“Should shoot you on-site, you lead-footed bastard.” Harris grins at the man before his eyes went wide at the scene before him. “Jesus, Lucy, what happened.”

Lucy shook her head, digging around the upturned cabinets for ginger pills. She needed something to take the edge off her nausea.  “Not sure, left about two hours ago and came back to this.”

The two men walking up and down as Lucy took stock of everything around them. Despite the horrid mess, nothing seemed to be gone. The maps were destroyed, and a handful of bookshelves were mangled beyond repair, but that was minor. There were several large holes in the walls, bigger than a man's fist but smaller than a head. Not including a dozen smaller ones that could be mudded over. They’d need to be patched sooner than later. Of course, there was the front door and the fact that half the cupboard doors were off their hinges.  It all felt so daunting to look at, where would she even start with all of this mess?

“I am gonna call Margie, get her to come help with this. I think I may have a door in the barn we could use for the front temporarily. Even if it’s just to keep the mice at bay.” Harris rattles on as Lucy gathers up things. She digs around and finds garbage bags and a broom to start cleaning.

“At least the table and desk are okay,” Cooper notes, helping Lucy pile all the papers onto the flat surface. His fingers lingering on hers as he hands her another stack.

“What do you think did this?” Lucy asks, her hands shaking as she makes sure all the papers are there. Thanking herself for having backup copies stored in a cloud online, at least she didn't have to worry about any losses there.

“Looks human to me,” Harris said as he flips open his phone to call his wife while leaning against the broom.

Lucy looks at Cooper, his hand up as if measuring the hole, “I’d agree with you Uncle. Thinkin’ if t’was an animal there’d be scat or other marks.”

Lucy looks at everything, there was no hair, blood, scat, or anything indicating that it was an animal. But it also didn’t feel right, predatory, and clinical, as if something was trying to get under her skin. Not human, but not animal either. It had gotten to her if she was honest, between the lack of sleep and hallucinations of black shadowy creatures. She was about ready to turn tail and not look back. But where would she go? This was her home now, and yes it had been turned upside down, but it was still hers. How could she leave the place her Grandpa had given her? She had never run from anything in her life, despite any hardships she had faced.

Her Uncle left to pick up Lucy’s Aunt, as well as grab a door, some putty for the holes, and a few other pieces to help repair the damage. Lucy and Cooper spent the time gathering up what was salvageable and removing what wasn’t. Ever grateful she had kept the large garbage bin in the yard and had help to move stuff out. It would be a few hours of cleaning before the place was sort of right. It wasn’t really, the place felt darker, like the sun couldn’t shine through the windows. As if a heavy fog had been dropped over them. No matter how much they cleaned, it felt like the stain wouldn't lift. It was like a greyscale filter being slotted over the space.

As Margie and Harris came down the drive; Cooper left to grab his kids, he'd promised to be back with them. Lucy tried to focus on one stack of trash at a time. She really regretted quitting smoking right now, a smoke would be amazing. At least it would help calm her down for a few. She helped her family unload the truck with all the bits and bobs they’d need to make it somewhat livable, or at the very least keep out the mice. Maybe she needed to get a cat on top of a dog or two.

Cooper came in with his two kids in tow, a little dark-haired girl with freckles, and a brown hair boy who loorked strikingly like his Dad. Somewhere along the way, he had also grabbed his hat. Lucy found herself liking that hat, something about a man that could wear one without looking ridiculous was hard to ignore. They were both polite and said hello. It was not lost on Lucy how they took in the place, it was clear they had concerns. Margie had offered to make dinner for everyone, which Lucy and Cooper agreed to. Harris had also insisted that Lucy stay at his place for the night. Lucy was more than happy to take up the offer, the last thing she wanted was to stay overnight here without a lock on the door.

Many of the cupboard doors needed to be fully replaced. Where the front door used to be was now a heavy steel one; that Uncle Harris had bought several years ago for a shed. They had even replaced the door frame. There was no deadbolt, just a handle and hole, but that would have to do for now until Lucy could get back to town. The smaller holes had been mudded, the large ones would need pieces of drywall. Despite everything the place looked somewhat okay. Lucy had even managed to put her small amount of groceries away. Despite the mess being gone, it still felt like the place was dirty. Like somehow the holes would reopen and the papers would throw about spontaneously.

“Why don’t you kids head over to Granny’s place? Let her know we will be having dinner at Margie’s,” Cooper said firmly, handing the keys to his truck to Matthias. Janey whining about never getting to drive.

“Don’t you worry, once you can reach the petals I’ll teach you,” Cooper said with a smile, rubbing Janey’s head of curls. “Now run on home and make sure you’re cleaned up for dinner.”

Magie stood, stretching and kissing Harris, “We should be heading to make sure these hard-working folks got some food.”

Harris nods, before looking at Lucy, eyebrows raised in concern. “You gonna be okay with just Cooper?”

“Yeah, I think I will be fine. I am sure the two of us are more than capable” Lucy replies, plastering on a forced smile. “Just gonna walk the fields and see what we can see.”

Harris walks over to the new door, where he had set his gun, “I am gonna leave this with you along with a spare clip, alright? Get your gun license renewed, and some more ammo. But for now, I will leave that there just encase”

“Thank you, Uncle Harris,” Lucy said with a nod, adding it to her mental checklist. “I will make sure it gets back to you.”

“Hopefully you won’t have to use it,” Margie sighs as she follows her man out the door.

Cooper watches them leave, before turning back to Lucy. “You good if we go for a walk? See what we might find,”

Lucy nods, Cooper grabs his gun placing it over his shoulder, and Lucy does the same along with the spare clip. It felt heavy, an uncomfortable comfort, she had hunted with her Granddad for years. But this felt different like she was the one being hunted. it felt like she was being stalked. Lucy was incredibly grateful that Cooper had offered to come along, she doubted she’d have the nerve to walk around here on her own. In fact, she knew she wouldn’t have gone out there without him beside her.

Cooper turned towards her as they walked towards the edge of the forest, “You mentioned you thought ya saw somethin’ last night?”

“I was tired, thought I saw maybe a dog? Run through the yard.” Lucy answers, shifting the rifle onto her other arm. “I kept feelin like something was watching me ya’no.”

“Mmmhmm, maybe a mountain lion came down,” Cooper adds as they look down at the ground, a well-worn trail in front of them.

“Haven’t been mountain lions sighted here in years,” Lucy adds, she had never had to worry about cougars. Bears, wolves, coyotes sure, but cougars were different.

“The Roths said they saw a Mom and cubs last spring.” Cooper ponders, Lucy liked how he took things seriously but kept his head on him. He never dismissed what she had to say.

“Really? This far east of the mountains.” Lucy spoke, amazed that great feline beasts were back in the prairies.

“Yeah grizzlies too,” Cooper said, stopping to look at some footprints, “Looks like coyotes were here. Not too surprising like rats.”

Lucy took a look at the tracks, it had rained a few days ago, and the mud showed clear impressions of the canine. There were a few smaller ones that looked like rabbits if she peered into the densely wooded area she could make out game trails. Cooper had moved up a bit, looking down into the woods himself. His body ridged like he had spotted one of the mountain lions they were just talking about. Hat tipped up and eyes transfixed on whatever was ahead of him.

“Whatcha see?” Lucy asked, coming to stand beside him and looking into the woods. Down a game trail almost out of sight was a stump stripped of bark. Sitting on top of the starkly white wood was a coyote’s head, not old, but fresh. Its eyes were wide as if its last moments had been full of fear, blood, and gore dripping down the sides of the stump. It was a grotesque scene, something more akin to a horror movie than real life.

“What in the-” Lucy said, going to step down the trail. Cooper’s big hands pulling her back, she turns to see Cooper staring at her, hazel eyes wide with fear.

“Don’t go in there, Lucy.” He said voice low, but forceful. The man was scared and holding onto her arm to stop her from entering the woods. She could feel the way his fingers were digging into her arm.

“It’s just someone trying to mess with us,” Lucy said, trying to brush him off and move past him but he wouldn’t budge. He made sure to keep himself between her and the woods, she would have been offended if it was anyone else.

“No, that’s a warning,” The man said, tugging her away from the place. Lucy looks back at the poor creature. Coyotes were walking vermin for most farmers, but they didn’t deserve to have their heads on pike.

Cooper continues to tug on her arm, “Let’s finish the rounds.” He was already moving them away from the scene. Lucy having to no choice but to follow him.

Lucy jogged trying to keep pace with the man, “Didn’t take you for a superstitious man.”

Cooper turned to her, a small smile crossing his face, “Maybe I am, but somethin’ doesn’t feel right out’er. Never seen anythin’ like that, that was someone trying to make a statement.”

“If they were trying to make a statement why didn’t they put it on my front door?” Lucy adds, Cooper was right something was wrong. Not that it explained why someone would do any of this.

Cooper breathed in and let it out, “I don’t know, Lucy. I don’t know a lot about these things, but I won’t trust something like that back’er. There are things in these woods that we’ll never understand.”

Lucy nods and kept following beside him. Observing more sets of tracks, coyotes, rabbits, and other large prints that look closer to bobcats. Thankfully no other coyote heads on any of the game trails they passed. That dark icky feeling that had crawled over Lucy’s home was also here. Not as pungent as it had been by the coyote's head, but still enough to make her heart speed up.

As they came to the center of the property a large cut had been made through the brush for ATVs to get in and out easily. Once again Lucy was struck with how dark the place felt, even with full sun it felt like the tree’s shadows were longer. The green was closer to black than it had any right to be. It made her feel cold, a shiver covering her arms as she looked into what was once a familiar place. She and Norm had spent many hours on ATVs running around trails; walking with their Grandma to pick berries or wild mint and other herbs. Now, it felt like she had never stepped foot in the place.

As they stood there looking at the space, Lucy spotted the first signs of something wrong. Scuffs in the ground, spaced roughly five feet apart, she walks closer, the ground wasn’t as soft here. The marks were deep gouges lifting roots and leaf mold. She runs her fingers over the dirt, outlining them. With three big toes, the creature had been moving toward the forest judging by the deeper impression facing towards the bush. The prints looked eerily close to an extremely large chicken track.

“Ever seen anything like that?” Lucy asks, Cooper, coming over and crouching down beside her. Using his finger the same way she had to outline the thing. His hat covered his eyes as he looked at the markings.

“Looks like-” He looks forward to the next print and then behind them. “A bird? Like a big bird. But that can’t be right.”

Moving between prints they went back up towards the house slightly and then disappeared. It was like the footprints had dropped out of the sky, much the same as a bird.  Walking back into the woods there were two that went in and then stopped. The two looking all around, trying to find any other evidence of the beast or whatever it was. Lucy looks up and points to what she sees among the trees.

“Look at that.” She whispers, her voice still echoing in the cathedral of trees. “Is that fur?”

The two of them stood side by side looking up into the bunches of pine branches. Up about ten feet was a tuft of brown fur. The more they looked the more they saw, at least half a dozen spots with various sizes of fur on them.

“Maybe the cougar?” Cooper asks, looking at Lucy and then back at the pieces of fur. “Got to be a cougar. They like to drag their meals up into the trees.”

Lucy squinted more, trying to see if there was anything else they were missing, “Got to be it right? How else would that get up there? Do cougars eat coyotes?”

“Cougar doesn’t explain these,” Cooper points down at the marks, “Like if those are tracks, the critter woulda been over ten feet tall. No way it could fit in the trailer.”

Lucy snorts, “In the trailer? How does it just disappear into the woods? There’s what. Five prints. Maybe it’s somethin’ digging in the ground, lookin’ for worms or something. Like a badger?”

Cooper removed his hat and rubbed at his head, looking at all the marks and then back up at the fur. He put his hat back on, dug out his phone, flipping his camera on.

“Do you mind?” He asked Lucy, as he went to take a photo of the prints.

“Nah, go for it.” She said pulling out her phone to do the same thing. Maybe someone they knew would be able to give her answers.

Cooper rubs his forehead, “Badger, maybe but spread out and even like this. Doesn’t make sense, this looks more like an animal walkin’ than something diggin',”

They stood there for a moment looking from the forest and then down at the tracks. Lucy wondering if she should go further in, maybe there would be more clues there. She could feel a small tug on her naval, a spark of something trying to call her in. Yet they stood there frozen, unable to move from their spots beside the other.

The sounds of a truck horn woke both of them from their musing. Lucy let out a sigh and closed her phone. Cooper looking back towards the house and then back into the woods.

“Think that’s our dinner bell,” Lucy said walking towards the house. She got about a hundred yards before turning back. Cooper still stood in the treeline looking around. “Cooper, you comin’?”

Cooper turned to her, blinking a few times as if he had just been awoken before he headed back up the hill. The two of them get to the top and see the kids waiting in the truck by the house. Lucy and Cooper tuck the guns safely away from the kids under the front bench seat, before taking off for dinner.

part four

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

** If you enjoyed the fic let me know! Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated.

** Want to be on the tag list let me know

** Most of my fics will be updated once a weekish possibly more often depending on how much writing I can get done! Want to keep the quality and make sure I am putting out my best work.

Tag: @toogaytofunctiondangit

[paulyenvol6]

Against All Odds (Chapter 2)

Contains: No trigger warnings, just some angst and fighting.

Masterlist of this story

Y/n’s POV

The show was just about to start. Harry was as annoying as always, but her fear and anxiety was so overwhelming, that it wasn’t that big of a deal right now. She was so scared to mess up. She was scared of all the people who’d be there, she was scared of doing something wrong onstage.

Harry would make fun of her and say that he had always been right about her. Or maybe he would even be very angry at her. Not that she usually cared but when it came to music she didn’t want to disappoint anyone, no matter if it was the fans, the rest of the band or even Harry.

Her hands were shaking so much that she didn’t know how she’d be able to play her guitar in a few minutes. She sat a bit further away from the others, because she didn’t want them to see how nervous she was. It was her third show with the band. Of course she had been nervous before the 2 other shows, but this time it was another level of anxiety. She hated to admit it, but Harry’s words and him manipulating her really unsettled her and made her insecure. Of course she tried to hide it though.

Harry’s POV

His body was full of adrenaline as he heard the opening act end their last song. It was time to perform now. His band members went on stage one after another, each welcomed with a big applause. Y/n was the last one to go. He could clearly see her shaking, when she got up from the chair.

Now that he looked at her more closely he saw that she looked kinda sick. She was very pale and even her buttom lip was shaking. He felt a little sorry for her, just for a moment. Yes, it had been his intention to make her feel this way, but right now, as she looked really desperate and miserable, he felt a tiny bit bad. But of course he would never say this to her.

So he just turned to her and signaled her to get onstage „C’mon, it’s time.“ Y/n stood up, didn’t look him in his eyes and walked out of the door. Harry waited in the room for a while until he got the signal to go. He was welcomed with an overwhelming applause and the people were jumping up and down. The light was glowing on his skin and all his senses were overstimulated. He smiled at the crowd. He was about to give them a good damn show.

After about one hour Harry was all sweaty but very happy with the crowd and the show. The next song on the list was gonna be Adore You, a classic. He was kinda curious if y/n would be able to play that solo. He’d find it funny if she’d mess it up, and mocking her about if afterwards would be worth it, but she had looked so miserable backstage… He didn’t know how to feel. Harry wasn’t a monster, but she brought up anger in him he didn’t know had existed.

When the solo started he couldn’t help but turn around and watch her. She really was looking good, Harry had to admit that, even though her terrible character destroyed it all. Y/n had very long and beautiful legs which stuck out through the short skirt she was wearing. Her blonde hair looked messy and there was some mascara under her eyes, which made him think, if she had cried.

She did ok with the solo. Harry knew that it wasn’t a very difficult thing to play, but he still had been curious. She struggled a few times due to her shaking hands and Harry had thought that she played the wrong tone at one point, but apart from that she came through it ok. It kinda annoyed him because it’d have been fun to see her struggle a lot more, but it is as it is.

Harry was very happy with the show. He hugged everyone, except y/n. He didn’t even know why he was that mad at her. There wasn’t a reason behind it, but Harry was annoyed, maybe because of her arrogance, or maybe he just wanted to see her struggle. But y/n took it ok and hugged Sarah, so maybe she didn’t even realize it.

The two met again later that night, just the two. Harry had drunk some alcohol, which made him feel relaxed, excited and funny all at the same time. The crew had gone in a private club and partyed there.

At some point Harry had to use the bathroom, and of course there she was, y/n. He rolled his eyes and kinda pushed her as he passed her. „Hey!“, she complained. „Oh, of course it’s you again.“, she said when she recognized him in the darkness. It was very quiet here, you could only hear the basses from the music. „Yes it’s me.“, he chuckled and didn’t seem to keep walking.

„Do you want anything?“, y/n asked with an annoyed tone. „What are you doing here at the toilets?“ He slightly came closer to her. „What does it have to do with you?“. y/n asked and straighted up. She was as tall as him in her heels. She had such long legs and Harry found that incredibly hot.��Harry smirked and y/n put her face in her hands. „Can you please stop. I’m so tired of these games of yours.“ Harry’s eyes sparkled. „You’re looking very sexy tonight.“ Y/n looked up to him and couldn’t believe what she just heared. „Where the hell did this came from?" 

He sighed. „I hate you, I hate you so much, and I find you so fucking annoying, but god… you’re a snack.“ Y/n slightly shivered at his words and her heart beat faster. Fuck, yes, she found him sexy. And yes, she hated him but he looked so good in his outfit tonight.

He kept talking. „And I think that you find me sexy too.“, he smirked. „Here we go again…“, y/n said. „I really hate to break it to you, Harry, but not every girl in the world wants to fuck you. In fact, I do not want to. And you’re way too disgusting and asshole – ish for me to find you attractive.“ Instead of looking hurt, Harry’s smile just got brighter. „Ok, say it over and over again, maybe I’ll believe you.“ With this words he went back to the party and left a confused y/n. What the fuck just happened? Did he act like this because he had drunk a bit too much?

The next day was awkward for y/n. Harry was still mean and evil, but he was kinda cheeky. For example, the way he licked his lips when she entered the room to rehearse. Or when he bit his lips at the dinner table when he stared directly in her eyes. It almost seemed as if he hated her and flirted with her at the same time.

Then the band traveled to Belgium. At the day of the arrival another confusing situation happened. And of course it was y/n’s stupidity again. She accidently walked into his room, thinking it was her’s. Harry stood there, just a towel around his waist and unfortunately looked very hot. „Oh god, I’m so sorry.“, y/n shouted and immediately and ran away. She was so embarressed by it. Why didn’t she look what room it was?

Harry on the other side was pretty much amused by it. He knew that y/n liked what she saw. Yes, he had been flirty. He wanted to make her blush and see the confusion in her face. He still was like 24/7 annoyed by her but it was so much fun to him making her uncomfortable when he showed his desire to her. It was his new game with her.

About 2 hourse after her running in on his room they saw each other again at dinner in an italian restaurant. There was a little walk of about 5 minutes and Harry immediately looked for a way to go next to her. „Bet you liked what you saw, didn’t you?“, he whispered. Y/n slightly blushed but thought it was best to just ignore him.

„Don’t even wanna apologize? It was quiet rude of you. Could’ve been standing there with less on.“ „I’m sorry.“, she whispered. Harry smiled and slowly whispered. „I know that you want me. I know you like the way I look at you. I know you hate me but you hate yourself even more for wanting me. Oh, and you hate me for bein‘ right about this.“

Y/n got goosebumps hearing him talk like that. Shit, he couldn’t have been more right. How did he do it? She had tried so hard not thinking about his body, his hair, those eyes and those sexy hands, but she did think about him. And at the same time she’d never let Harry know. From the beginning on she was annoyed by how confident he was and how sure he was everyone around him loved him and know she would never do the same thing. She’d never tell him that she had also started to fall for his attractiveness.

That’s why she turned her head away from his mouth that had been pretty close to her ear. „Never. I could never want you. And the fact that you actually think so tells me so much bad about you.“ With this words she quickend her step.

The dinner went very good. It was a funny time and they all laughed a lot. Y/n didn’t want to think about Harry now so she just tried to ignore the situation. Now, at 1am she was laying in her bed and wasn’t able to fall asleep. She turned from one side to another but she wasn’t tired at all and that’s why y/n decided to walk around a bit.

It was very warm so she stayed in her grey short sweatpants and her oversized white t shirt and just put on some sneekers. She didn’t feel like leaving the luxury hotel and walked down to the hotel lobby, where there were still a lot of people. The friendly receptionist asked if everything was alright and if she needed something, but she declined and told him she just needed to take a few steps. He nodded and wished her a pleasant night, when she decided to go to the rehearsel room. There probably wouldn’t be anyone at this time and she was for herself a few minutes. She could maybe play the guitar a bit and then go back to her room.

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: The Generosity of Man

( Please come see me on my new patreon and support me for early access to stories and personal story requests :D https://www.patreon.com/NiqhtLord Every bit helps)

“Hear me alien filth; this is Gonist Myson the 3rd, Commander of the third fleet of the Terran Empire.

Your system is now under the domain of the Terran Empire and as such your immediate expulsion from its borders is required. For no alien menace shall sully the great realm of man.

Under normal circumstances I would not even bother with this announcement. You would know of my coming from the blackening of your skies from my fleet, the roar of engines as my dropships descend, and hear the sound of your very bones snapping under the boots of my legionnaires.

However…..

It is fortunate for you that on this day of reclamation it is the day of celebration of my people. When long ago a lone man would descend from the skies and bring gifts of joy to an otherwise drearier world. He did so with no thought of gain or benefit for himself, but to see those of lesser fortunes be reprieved if only for one day.

In keeping with that tradition I now give you one day to leave this system. I give you my oath that none of your ships shall be fired upon nor harried in any manner as you leave this system. Your embarkation will go unmolested and any religious customs you wish to carry out in these final hours will be respected.

That being said, once the time runs out we will begin our cleansing.

Any alien left will be arrested and sent to penal colony, were they will work for their freedom.

Any cities and monuments will be reduced to rubble and paved over to build pure Terran cities.

Any technology will be scanned and destroyed lest it seek to corrupt our enlightened society.

Any attempts to attack my fleet within the timeframe and I shall negate the previous beneficence and begin the cleansing at once.

You have been given this great boon; I advise you well to use it.”

With a wave of his hand the transmission was canceled and the Commander returned his attention to the tactical display.

“A rather generous offering, if I do say so sir” he heard a voice speak up from behind.

 “Markus,” Gonist said over his shoulder with a weary smile, “how kind of you to finally join us.”

Gonist’s second in command strode on to the command bridge like a ghost. No matter how hard Gonist had listened over the years he had never once heard his second make any noise at all when approaching. He was half convinced that he was an operative from the Ministry of Loyalty meant to shadow him, but never voiced his musings. 

As Markus approached the tactical display his eyes darted back and forth rapidly soaking in the information.

“One might be so bold as to question your commitment to Terran purity,” Markus chirped, ‘had they not seen that the rest of your fleet will take a full day to assemble.”

If he had expected some sort of reaction from the commander he was disappointed to see Gonist remain emotionless. The commander was already planning and aligning the incoming fleet elements to take up different positions around the star system. Come the morrow, this entire system would be put to the torch; and from the ashes would rise the latest domain of the glorious Terran Empire.

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

Show Up, Take Photos

The Meghans are global frauds. Every "good" deed, Every word & Every dollar is a GRIFT. "Nigerian girls & women" my arse.💔

Do they really expect us to believe that a global games event could ever be hosted by a country that repeatedly loses track of women & children? Harry and Meghan have the lowest of low in IQs but the rest of the world can see that THIS poverty tourism trip is yet another SUSSEX SCAM.

No country will send disabled athletes or veterans to compete in a country that cannot keep track of school kids. Shame on Nigeria's Defense Minister and all at Invictus who are involved in this fraudulent visit.

"Bring Back our Girls 2.0

"The abduction of the 287 children in Kaduna state on March 7, 2024 near the West African nation’s capital, is one of the largest school kidnappings in the decade since the kidnapping of schoolgirls in Borno state’s Chibok village in 2014 stunned the world. Analysts and activists say the security lapses that allowed that mass abduction remain..."

"One man was shot dead as he tried to save the students, school authorities said"

"The parallels between the two kidnappings have created more worry for parents, as even to this day nearly 100 of the Chibok girls remain missing."

BY CHINEDU ASADU

March 8, 2024

ABUJA, Nigeria (AP) — "Security forces swept through large forests in Nigeria’s northwest region on Friday in search of nearly 300 children abducted from their school by motorcycle-riding gunmen in the latest mass kidnapping, which analysts and activists blamed on the failure of intelligence and a slow security response.

The abduction of the 287 children in Kaduna state, near the West African nation’s capital, is one of the largest school kidnappings in the decade since the kidnapping of schoolgirls in Borno state’s Chibok village in 2014 stunned the world. Analysts and activists say the security lapses that allowed that mass abduction remain.

The victims of the latest attack — among them at least 100 children aged 12 or under — were surrounded and marched into a forest just as they were starting the school day, said locals in Kuriga town, located 55 miles (89 kilometers) from the city of Kaduna. One man was shot dead as he tried to save the students, school authorities said."

J-P Mauro - published on 03/14/24

"With no word from the abductors, the bishops are calling on the state to identify the kidnappers and save the hostages.

The remote town of Kuriga, in Nigeria’s Kaduna state, is still reeling after dozens of armed extremists kidnapped hundreds of students out of their classes in broad daylight on the morning of March 7. Worried parents are now calling for government intervention, after days without any word from the abductors. As of March 13, the children have yet to be found. 

The AP reports that at least 287 students were abducted – with about 100 of them aged 12 or under – making it one of the largest kidnappings since the 2014 abduction of the Chibok girls, when 275 girls were taken from their school by Boko Haram.

The parallels between the two kidnappings have created more worry for parents, as even to this day nearly 100 of the Chibok girls remain missing. 

The March 7 kidnapping saw children taken from the school just as the day was starting, at around 8 a.m.. They were herded into the forest. It took authorities several hours to respond to the scene and begin a search operation, but it is unclear how deep into the forest the kidnappers went.

Locals have suggested that the abductors belong to a group of bandits who have been terrorizing remote villages in Nigeria’s northwest and central regions.

14-year-old Nigerian girl could declared a martyr. Nigeria is one of the places of most intense suffering for Christians in our day.

Bishop Wilfred Anagbe of Makurdi has called on the government to intercede on behalf of the Christian population, which he said is being targeted by these attacks. Bishop Anagbe told OSV: 

“The kidnappings, killings and destroying churches we are experiencing every day are aimed at finishing Christians. We are worried that despite such killings and kidnappings, the government has never arrested anyone. As a church, we now demand that the government act quickly to stop these vices that continue to dishearten people.”

I try hard not to hate anyone, but The Meghans sure know how to push the right buttons. 🤐🤬

Safety 1st: The UK is unsafe but African countries where Nigerian schoolgirls are kidnapped & Zika Zones for childbearing royals are no problem.

Team Sussex: Global Court Jesters

[grapejuicestyless]

Love Me Until My Breathing Stops?

Harry Styles x Fem!reader

Angst to Fluff

DISCLAIMER!: There are some very serious topics in this. Depression, mentions of fucked up relationships. This is not romanticizing this at all.

Teaser: "Now they'd pass with whispers about how she'd only ever be a shell of who she once was. Destroyed by the weight of the love that she'd given so recklessly and the evil she'd let sleep next to her in her bed at night."

To be honest, I had no idea where it went so irreparably wrong. You never notice you're slipping until your feet are out from under you and your head hits the floor. Maybe that's how I never saw it coming.

My bed was my new home, my tears were my midnight snack and my eyes were probably permanently shut from the puffy skin that was blotchy and irritated beyond belief. My pillow was my sanctuary and the darkness was my friend. I miss my old friend sunshine. I miss the backyard barbeques and the reunions in the park. I miss the kids running from the bees and the smell of the wet grass in the mornings.

It had been a month, two weeks, three days, twenty one hours and thirteen minutes since I'd fallen, unable to pick up the shattered pieces that became my identity. The shadow of the girl who used to find peace in the smiles from people passing by. The girl who threw welcome home parties and tended to her garden every afternoon. Now they'd pass with whispers about how she'd only ever be a shell of who she once was. Destroyed by the weight of the love that she'd given so recklessly and the evil she'd let sleep next to her in her bed at night.

I'd been so convinced that he was the one. Grew up these past few months believing I was all that he saw. Breathing him was slowly killing me. I thought so highly of the man I shared my in's and out's with. I'd wake up early just to see the even rise of his chest, dreaming of his curly hair and our future together. Now in my own suffering, I dreamt that he drowned.

But it wasn't his fault, no he'd asked if I would be okay. I promised I'd be okay. There was no okay, how could he believe me? How can someone simply be okay after wrecking the only thing I'd been sure of in my entire life? No, there wasn't okay. There was simply bad and worse.

Today, was bad.

On days like this, I would talk myself up to a shower. Rid myself of the stench of rock bottom. Ridding myself of the killer that drove him away. How could he be so forgiving to me not being enough? How could he brush off my wasted potential and blame it on himself. Guilt till consumed me whole, even if he'd underlined it in red that it was him, not me. His unfaithfulness that had torn a sweet love story to ashes. Tell me, how could the attentive wife to be miss the smirk hiding beneath his winning smile, his lessons really just weapons targeted at my deepest hurts. Every comforting explanation was twisted way back to what I feared most.

Soon, I'd find myself in the kitchen, raiding the empty cabinets and the ransacked fridge. There was only crumbs and lemon juice in the entire house by now. The appetite I'd worked up gone at just the flashbacks of the slow dances in the crack of the refrigerator light. His hand over mine and his empty promises soothing in my ear. Did he want me or did he want me not? I heard one thing, now I'm hearing another.

I felt rage boiling, the slam of the door rattling the plates in the sink and the pan on the stove. Ripping my hair from my head was the only reliever of the pain, tearing apart my body hoping that eventually it could be put back together into a beautiful bloody mess. Wearing my hurt on my sleeve and praying to god that, that someone could love me just as much for that.

I was thinner now, shedding the pounds like I had anymore to spare. The only clothes that still fit was a white ruffled dress that fell just below my knees. The straps hanging loosely and my feet slipped into black Mary Janes and red socks. I wonder how ghostly I looked stepping into the sun. Skin greyed from the lack of light.

I counted my breathing, noted the cracks on the pavement and counted the daffodils on the walk into town. All to cease the tears pushing behind my eyes.

It was nice out, the air was crisp and warming with the middle of spring having sprung. Vines were growing and the world was getting loud again. It was peaceful, I wanted a piece of that inner silence for myself. Maybe it would bring me a sort of closure, pushing me towards a more okay future.

I listened to the bell rattle with the push of the door, hands hanging loose at my sides. I waved towards the girl working the counter in the flower store. She smiled, recognizing the unrecognizable shadow that waltzed into the humid room. I pasted on the fake togetherness I'd mastered from unexpected visits from family and friends. Trying to imitate the girl who had lost her way long ago.

"Do you have any tulips?" My eyes remained glued to the flower beds as I searched the store for any bright pink clusters.

"A few in the back row, though you might need to hurry, they're quite popular today." I nodded, scurrying to the back in hopes to finally get what I wanted.

There, I saw the empty basket, the last bouquet of bright pink tulips being held up to a tall man. He was maybe six feet tall, but his posture made him seem a little shorter. His hair was chocolatey brown with free falling curls and waves pushed behind his tortoise shell sunglasses. He wore a teal cardigan over a white graphic tee that read something in blue I couldn't quite make out from the angle. His legs fit into lose jeans with rips at the knees and blue and white checkered vans. His laces were ripped slightly, probably from stepping on them, and he smelled like sweet vanilla.

He looked like happiness, a ray of modern day sunshine and fair love, his nose still buried between two flowers, eyes fluttered shut.

Some white carnations lined with a hot pink sat near the tulips, they looked just as beautiful as the fresh flowers that I'd missed by a second too late.

I let myself sigh after taking in the clean smell from the center of them, the crinkling of the paper distracting me from the hurt I felt inside.

"You planning a wedding?" His English accent wasn't horribly noticeable, but still able to be picked up on. I cracked a smile, trying to be polite. Trying to be the girl I missed.

"Something like that, yeah." He laughed, we made eye contact.

I could see his dark green eyes now, sparkling with interest. I can only imagine the lack thereof that I returned to him.

"I'm Harry." He held out his hand, smiling so much so there were crinkles by his eyes.

"I'm y/n." I met his palms. They were soft yet rough around the edges. His fingers had been picked at and he had guitar string scars across his hands.

There was a silence. It was comfortable, relaxed but still, I itched to back away.

"It was nice to meet you." I stepped back, walking away faster than I came to pay for the carnations clenched between my shaking hands.

"Hey wait!" His footsteps were heavy, hammering into the asphalt. I turned, but continued to move backwards, a faint smile played on his lips. Chasing after the beautiful fool who secretly adored the interest the random flower shop boy took in her.

"Missed me already?" I turned back to walk forwards once I felt his arm bump mine.

"Can't help it, you're just so missable!" He joked, flowers facing down at the ground, hitting each other as we walked close together. We left a petal trail as we walked.

"You say that to every girl you meet?"

"Only the runaway brides dressed up like Dorothy on her way to Oz." I covered my smile in my hand, brushing the blush off.

"I'm flattered." We shared a look, walking in silence as we looked at each others eyes.

"So tell me about yourself, Dorothy."

"Dorothy?" He pointed to my shoes, I scoffed.

"Okay..." I thought on it, counting the cracks again.

I knew I was barely together. Barely able to keep up with the work that seemed to just pile itself onto my back. I knew that my finger still stung from when I ripped off the engagement ring and told him to go to hell. I knew I was a fucked in the head, a childish girl who only wanted to be loved like she loved others. I knew at one point I would've said all these things to Harry, a man I'd met only a few minutes ago. Trusted him easily and let him in without an inch of doubt. But I also knew that wasn't fully me anymore.

"I haven't met the new me yet." I smiled at him, chewing at my cheek at the curious eyebrow lift and the breathy laugh.

'What about you, Harry? Who are you?" I looked to my feet.

"I'll let you decide." He looked to my face, my eyes finding it almost impossible to meet his warm gaze.

"Someone who reads too many love stories."

"Says the one dressed as Wendy from Peter Pan." I laughed, meeting his stare finally.

"Am I Wendy or Dorothy?"

"Why not both?" He was unbelievably easy to talk to, even in my mess and hurt, it soothed the panging in my chest with every breath he took.

"Let me walk you home, y/n?" I smiled.

"Okay." We fell into a silence again, out of teasing and jokes to share for the five minute walk remaining. I went back to counting the daffodils and he went back to sniffing his flowers. I went back to silently pulling myself together, picking up any shards of myself that had fallen and focused on my breathing.

"This is mine." I looked towards the dark home, the garden still neat despite the overgrown plants and the few dead plants. I looked back at Harry, then to his feet where his tulip petals continued to fall. They looked bare, hurt and dying now. I met his eyes again.

"Take good care of those tulips for me?" He froze, confused about the sudden request after my silence towards him and his polite offer.

"Yeah, of course." I nodded, turning myself slowly towards my front steps. I took in the pale blue of my paint, the new white shutters beautiful and perfectly matched with the white wrap around porch that hugged the west corner of the home snuggly and the short, white picket fence. You would've never expected such a fuck up to live in such a nice looking home.

"Bye, Harry." Waving, I made my way up the driveway, passing the fence and the the garden. All while he stood there, done with the chase, done with my mood swings. My politeness and my silence. My trust and my question. He stayed outside of my lawn, feet stuck to the sidewalk like gum.

Seven months, one week, six hours and eighteen minutes since I'd fallen, unable to pick up the shattered pieces that became my identity. Seven months, one week, six hours and eighteen minutes since the man who hung the moon for me in my eyes confessed his infidelities and left me to throw a pity party for myself. Almost six months since the next best thing had entered my life. My best friend, Harry.

Unlike my ex-fiancé, Harry came back. He came back and picked up the shards that I'd let crack and bleed under my feet and glued me back together. He'd come by once a week at first, checking up after noticing the vacant look in my eyes when we first parted ways. How I'd slipped into the darkest house he'd ever seen. Cold, tired, worked to the bone. Once turned into twice. Twice turned into four and four turned into almost everyday. His knock at my door my favorite sound. Yet, what he knew of me, wasn't fully me.

Even with Harry and his flowers decorating my home. Even with his laugh and his trusting demeanor, part of that girl I was was forever lost. That engagement ring hadn't only taken skin, it had taken the foolish woman who slept next to a liar and swallowed her pride. It had taken my ability to let people in so easily. And I wish he hadn't taken that from me, because as stupidly blind she was, she was some of the best parts of me.

"The Notebook or Ten Things I Hate About You?" Harry hoped over the back of my couch, his arm falling limp around my shoulders, each hand holding a movie for me to chose.

"Is that even a question?" I snatched the disc with Heath Ledger on the cover and waved it around Harry's face. He smiled, ruffling up my hair before getting up to pop the disc in.

"I need to stop asking you these things, Dorothy. I was hoping for the notebook." I stuck my tongue out, my heart flooding with a familiar warmth only Harry could pull from me.

I bit my cheek until it bled, my shoulder squished between his chest and the bend of his elbow. Silently, I mouthed the lines to the movie, my lips brushing against the soft cotton of Harry's white t-shirt.

"That tickles, my love." He laughed, craning his head down while mine stretched up. Crinkles folded by my eyes, smile lines permanently tattooed on my skin from just the past few months. What was a curse for others, was a permanent reminder of the adoration I had gained for Harry and his ability to fix what was irreparably shattered.

"What?" His whole body shook with a silent giggle, eyes reflecting the movie and an emotion I couldn't pin. I remained silent, eyes flicking down to his lips, his eyes following mine. I felt his touch tighten around my back and his body heat up.

Closer and closer, longer and longer. I panicked the closer I got to wrecking this beautiful relationship we'd built over a silly crush I'd obtained.

Sure, he was nice. He was handsome and possibly the best thing that had ever walked into my life, but stacking every single one of those reasons and more couldn't make me risk everything. I couldn't deal with someone else I loved walking out of my life.

I inched away, scared. I watched his face freeze, eyes relaxed and breath hot on my lips.

"Harry." I whimpered.

"Y/n."

"What if we fuck this up? What if after tonight you change your mind? I can't do that again Harry. I can't pick myself up again." I quietly rambled, tense, scared of the idea that I would face the hatred for my own reflection for weeks and weeks again.

"Y/n." He repeated, softer.

My mouth stopped, eyes flicking to observe his expression over and over. Trying to fight back the tears that built and built.

"I swear to you, I'm not going anywhere. If you trust me, let me in just this once, I wont leave until you're kicking me out." He searched my face now, an internal fight going on in my head. He made it so hard to think being so close him.

"Love me until my breathing stops?" I asked, tears springing from under my eyes and gathering at my waterline now. Scared, just as I was all those months ago. no longer a vacant stare, but one of fear and uncertainty.

"I'll love you until my breathing stops." He wiped under my eyes, fingers quick to land on my cheeks. He waited, patiently for any sign that it would be okay to continue.

I nodded, swallowing.

"Okay."

"Okay?" He smiled, shoulders slumping like a weight had been lifted and he was at ease.

"Okay." I returned the feeling, lips brushing his. They were soft and plump. They tasted of buttery popcorn and chocolate. His nose bumped into mine, skin brushing skin and limbs tangling the longer we tried to hold onto the moment.

When we pulled away, it was breathless, and suddenly I realized the man who'd hurt me seven months, one week, seven hours and three minutes ago hadn't stolen the best parts of me, he only scared her into hiding.

[queen-beefcake-sqx]

Please do your Sanctifying Kim Take!

Perceiving that man through HDB coloured glasses put me off of most fandom depictions of him. Not to mention how absolutely tiny he's depicted when he's of completely average size. (2-3inches shorter than Harry who is above 6ft. Like I get people do be havin size kinks, but that man's not short)

Canon Kim is the most trigger happy cop depicted in the entire game. He shot 6 kids people between working in juvenile detention and processing, is a severely repressed speedfreak with unprocessed grief (still working Dom's cases) and a wild card (not above using Harry's amnesia to manipulate Joyce when he knows him for a couple of hours), who can maybe have 2 Auth over world soggiest superstar but let's be honest don't we all?

He is so petty that he will die in the tribunal if you give away his pen lmao. Like that man is literally two steps above Harry when it comes to being a weird cop, and that's being lovingly understanding. He needs Martinaise just as much as HDB does.

op I am holding your face gently and shaking like a wet chihuahua. you, you get it.

Here’s my thing — as a general theme, I’ve noticed fandom takes seem to lean into the belief that because Harry’s deification of Dora crashed and burned so spectacularly, that (1) deification of Kim would be just as unhealthy and (2) Kim would outright reject that kind of worship.

And like. Okay. I can see how you’d make a case for that, sure. Except as you pointed out Kim is actually really fucking weird, and damaged in his own way, and most importantly — Kim wants to be cool. There’s a purple check that outright states Kim values being perceived as cool FAR MORE than he lets on. I’ve already written a post that mentions how significant it is for Kim that Harry thinks he’s cool, and what I’m gonna say next is an extension of that:

I think, somewhere deep down and repressed, Kim would actually love being deified by someone, and if Harry put in the work to have a healthy relationship with religion, they could actually make that dynamic work.

Long thoughts and explanation under cut:

Alright a little background on me: I was raised Unitarian Universalist and have a history of deifying my lovers. Harry’s anguish over Dora was very heartbreakingly familiar (although I didn’t destroy my life quite as spectacularly), and the way Harry uses inquiry to engage with belief systems (personal, political, scientific, and religious) is VERY Unitarian. One of our precepts is literally the constant and continuous search for truth and meaning in the world, and that’s Harry’s whole MO. So a lot of this is personal experience coloring interpretation.

A few years ago I wrote a piece of meta about why Tian Guan Ci Fu, a novel about a worshiper’s love for a prince turned god, is better treated as a fairy tale instead of a typical character-driven novel. I bring this up because in the meta I set forth that there were three really big themes that the story teaches us about divinity:

Books Two and Four encapsulate Xie Lian’s biggest lesson - that no one person can hope to end all suffering, even a god, and that putting a person on a pedestal places unachievable expectations upon them.

The rest of the books deal with two different but tangential lessons — devotion means seeing the best in people, regardless of their flaws; devotion also means inevitable destruction when you are not valued to the same degree.

I bring this up because, incidentally, these are the EXACT same themes that Disco Elysium deals with in regards to deification and devotion. I firmly believe the rest of the text about Innocences corroborates this, but even just looking at Harry and Dora, these themes are SCREAMINGLY relevant. Harry destroyed himself when Dora, his Innocence and god, left him. Their relationship was never really equal — there was a class difference, the abortion and difference in want for parenthood, the fact she walked out on him at least one before. Harry placed Dora on such a high pedestal that he set her up to fail him when she couldn’t handle Harry’s addiction and deteriorating mental health at a job she encouraged him to pursue.

Because a really important caveat about those themes I didn’t elaborate on — “regardless of flaws” doesn’t mean never acknowledging them. I really think Harry got into his head that Dora could truly do no wrong and found himself increasingly hurt and floundering when she proved just how wrong that was, and instead of acknowledging things they BOTH needed to work on — to do better, to improve, to grow — Harry got angry, resentful, and depressed and Dora got out of there.

And I don’t blame her, nor anybody else who did the same. I don’t blame Jean’s anger with Harry’s carelessness with his life, even if the way he expresses it is actively harmful. But the problem is Harry is a vast, vast soul — he feels things very deeply and extremely. I like fics where he learns to work through it and love a person to a Normal(tm) degree, but there’s a part of me deep down that feels like that is impossible for him. There is vitriol or there is devotion and there is little to nothing in-between for him, and for him a healthy relationship isn’t less devotional/religious as much as it is reconceptualizing what it means to be divine — stealing from my TGCF meta, he needs to remember that deities were human before they were ever his god, and as someone who’s worked as a cop, he should KNOW how messy humans are.

And minus himself, fuck if there isn’t a human messier than Kim Kitsuragi.

I’ve written a bit about Kim’s self-image and the significance of Harry finding him cool before. Kim is honestly a mess. He’s implied to be still struggling with the death of his partner some time in the past, is trigger happy and hates it, and is also implied to be ostracized from his coworkers. Kim does his job because he genuinely thinks it’s one of the only ways he can do good under a military regime that’s got airships ready to attack at a moment’s sign of rebellion. He smokes one cigarette a way to challenge his own volition and give off an air of untouchability because he has to be cool, he has to, he has no power in his life if he doesn’t!

But I genuinely believe that cool is tested at every turn, and I think there’s very few people who see the cool without seeing everything else about him — all the things he’s ashamed of, that make him feel lesser or othered. And Harry sees all those things over time, with a thorough enough run — he learns about “Kimball” and the bad eyesight and his fierce protection of his status as a “true Revacholiere”.

But it’s day one that Harry can call Kim cool. Regardless of flaws you uncover or not, Harry can see Kim as someone to be admired. Because that’s what Harry does with people he likes. And when was the last time anyone called Kim cool and meant it genuinely?

I think it’s noteworthy that Kim tries to stay humble when Harry gets excited about Kim — he downplays himself or pulls Harry out of flights of fancy about the degree of his “coolness”. He reminds Harry that he’s human… even if inwardly he preens at praise and recognition. (I’m too lazy to go through the Fayde viewer right now to back myself up, but just really pay attention to his Empathy checks sometime). Kim keeps Harry from constantly putting him on a pedestal like he did to Dora.

It’s also noteworthy that regardless of what a hot mess you are re: addiction, Kim still respects you as a detective and will defend you to your precinct. Remember that third theme, about relational devotion? Devotion doesn’t work if you’re deifying someone who doesn’t respect you, and thus won’t hold you to the standard of their divinity. There’s a thing in teaching where teachers want to shy away from difficult or disruptive students, thinking we’re accommodating them when in reality we’re not challenging them and are disrespecting their right to learn. Respect also means setting boundaries and trust, and I don’t know how much of either Dora and Harry had by the end.

Kim sets boundaries right off — No, we will not talk about the pissing contest until the field autopsy is done, don’t even try asking again. Yes, I do think now is a bad time for a drink and you should stop being careless with your life. No I will not tell you a secret about myself. Kim isn’t afraid to draw lines in the sand with Harry, because not only does he respect himself, but he wants to see that Harry respects him, too.

And in exchange, Kim displays his respect openly in front of peers — in front of the organization he’s worked to protect his reputation within — to defend Harry. Known drunk, bad-cop-or-cop-with-bad-days, sad sack Harry Du Bois. It’s acknowledgement from the object of his devotion that he’s done good work and can do more, if he keeps putting in the work to get better.

The point is — I don’t think Harry can change how he loves people, I think its just inherent to who he is as a person, but devoting himself to the altar of Kim Kitsuragi might actually work, if only because Kim wants that worship and will hold Harry accountable for not letting it consume them both.

[rmwb-fanfics]

Harry was very aware of footsteps. He had to be.

He’d needed the skill to determine which of his relatives had come to wake him up every morning.

He’d needed to know if he’d receive dust coming down from the stairs as his cousin jumped up and down obnoxiously above.

Or perhaps the rapid knocking of his Aunt Petunia. Forever impatient with Harry’s groggy morning tendencies.

Or, worse still, Uncle Vernon’s lazy opening of the cupboard door. A mumbled “Get up,” as he shuffled off to the kitchen.

Harry had come to know Sirius’s steps as well. They were quiet. Years of sneaking around after hours and running from the Ministry had left him a master of going audibly unnoticed.

Though, when Harry caught it, it was always his heels that gave him away. Scraping on the floor as the man trudged down the many flights of stairs in his childhood home. His old prison regaining its title for caging the pride of Sirius Black.

That knowledge held within Harry’s mind was worthless now, however. Because as the June sun beat down on his tired skin, Harry knew that he’d never hear those footsteps again.

He’d never hear that lazy slide of a heel. Not from Sirius, anyway.

Because those footsteps were lost. Tumbling back behind a veil Harry no longer cared to understand.

It should’ve been Bellatrix, or Wormtail, or anyone other than the one man who had stood up for him. Who had reached through the darkness of Harry’s mind and pulled him to safer, warmer shores.

It wasn’t fair. None of this was. The prophecy, the war, the scars on the back of his hand.

It wasn’t fair to his friends, who had grown attached to a boy doomed to become a murderer, or die in his refusal to do so.

It wasn’t fair to his parents, who had sacrificed their lives for a chance at destroying a shell of a man too afraid to let the inevitable claim his wounded soul.

Harry’s eyes are closed. The light and colour of the world shuttered behind the impenetrable red glow of the back of his eyelids. His back pressed against a tree that had lost so much of its comfort in light of the memory of a boy tormenting his classmate. Of friends and future loves saying things only his nightmares could’ve imagined.

He didn’t care about that now, however. All he thought now was that Sirius had once sat here. His eyes alight with mischief and life. Something Harry had only seen glimpses of. Like a ghost at the end of an unending corridor.

The ebb and flow of the shallow waves from the lake kept his mind at bay. It’s murky depths maintaining his sanity. Letting them hold him up.

He hears footsteps, then. Grass getting pressed into the ground under determined steps. Twigs cracking and bending to the sheer will of whoever was coming.

Harry releases a pained sigh. The tranquility of the moment slipping away with each impending step.

They are neither graceful nor clumsy. Each fall is deliberate, understanding. They’re light, which means it isn’t one of the boys, unless Colin Creevey had come looking for an autograph.

It isn’t Hermione, who marched anywhere she went, while somehow managing to be delicate and hesitant.

Then, as the steps near his place, seated against a tree, they stop. He hears the rumple of robes, and the staticky sound of thousands of strands of grass being folded down under the weight of someone sitting down.

Harry’s irritation swells in his chest. He’d came here to be alone. To sink in his despair and let the world take hold of him. He’d made himself very clear without saying a word to his friends. They’d understood. He’d seen it in Ron’s eyes and Hermione’s frown.

He hears the creak of leather bindings, and the ruffle of pages. Then, the unfamiliar click of a muggle pen. A sound he hadn’t heard in years, really. Save for Mr. Weasley’s incessant questions on the things over the summer.

His throat dry, his voice harsh, Harry says, “I don’t want to talk,”

There’s no immediate response. Just the sound of someone scribbling away on parchment.

“I know,” his mysterious companion mumbled. Her voice like a song in the breeze. He shouldn’t be surprised now, after a year full of them, that it was Ginny Weasley.

She continues to write, and Harry keeps his eyes shut. He can feel the tickle of hair dancing on his right arm. The wind blowing it onto his bicep.

“What are you writing?” he asks as the dull scratching becomes a monotone ringing in his ears.

“I thought you said you didn’t want to talk?” Ginny’s writing stops, and Harry feels his lips quirk upward slightly.

He doesn’t respond. Instead choosing to shift his legs into a more comfortable position. Giving his knees a break and letting the blood move through them.

“I’m writing a story,” she explains after a long silence filled with the distant cheers of simpler lives and waves rolling up a gravelly shore.

“What’s it about?” Harry asks, his voice lighter this time.

Ginny huffs a quiet laugh. “You don’t get the details. You can read it once it’s finished,”

Harry unwinds his arms and let’s them fall comfortably into his lap. “Will I get a free copy?”

“Maybe,” is Ginny’s shrewd response.

Again a silence lapses between them. Harry’s chest rises and falls with every breath.

Every breath he is still here, on one side of a veil.

“It’s about a girl,” Ginny says eventually. He swears he can see her tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her freckled nose twitching in the breeze. “She’s awake and she knows what she wants. She’s happy,”

Harry nods slowly, his eyes stay shut.

“I hope you let me read it some time,”

“Maybe,”

And for hours there was nothing but silent writing, and Harry’s thoughts strayed from Sirius, from the prophecy, and from his parents.

He wanted to know about the girl who knew what she wanted. Who was happy.

[workersolidarity]

[ 📹 📸 Scenes of massive destruction and carnage everywhere following an Israeli occupation forces (IOF) firebelt that destroyed an entire residential block in the Beit Lahiya Project, in the northern Gaza Strip today, killing and wounding large numbers of Palestinian civilians, with children among the casualties. ]

🇮🇱⚔️🇵🇸 🚀🏘️💥🚑 🚨

DAY 227: ISRAELI OCCUPATION INTENSIFIES ATTACKS ON THE GAZA, MASS SLAUGHTERS OVER 100 CIVILIANS IN A DAY WHILE ICC TO ISSUE ARREST WARRANTS FOR NETANYAHU AND SINWAR

On 227th day of the Israeli occupation's ongoing special genocide operation in the Gaza Strip, the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) committed a total of 10 new massacres of Palestinian families, resulting in the deaths of no less than 106 Palestinian civilians, mostly women and children, while another 176 others were wounded over the previous 24-hours.

It should be noted that as a result of the constant Israeli bombardment of Gaza's healthcare system, infrastructure, residential and commercial buildings, local paramedic and civil defense crews are unable to recover countless hundreds, even thousands of victims who remain trapped under the rubble, or who's bodies remain strewn across the streets of Gaza.

This leaves the official death toll vastly undercounted, as Gaza's healthcare officials are unable to accurately tally those killed and maimed in this genocide, which must be kept in mind when considering the scale of the mass murder.

Speaking in an interview with CNN, the prosecutor for the International Criminal Court (ICC) at the Hague, Karim Khan, said he was requesting the Judges of the ICC to issue arrest warrants against Israeli occupation Prime Minister, Benjamin Netanyahu, along with Hamas leader Yahya Sinwar.

The ICC prosecutor said he was also seeking an arrest warrant for occupation Defense Minister Yoav Gallant, as well as two other top Hamas leaders, Mohammed Diab Ibrahim al-Masri, leader of the military-wing of Hamas, the Al-Qassam Brigades, and Ismail Haniyeh, Hamas' political leader.

A panel of judges from the ICC will now consider Khan's request for the warrants, which include charges of "Extermination, murder, taking of hostages, rape and sexual assault in detention."

The arrest warrants would mark the first time a close American ally has been targeted by the Court.

As the ICC looks to indict the Israeli Prime Minister and the leader of Hamas, Yahya Sinwar, the Americans are working to track Sinwar, looking to give the Netanyahu regime a "total victory" so it can end the war in Gaza.

According to US officials who spoke with the Middle East Eye under the condition of anonymity, the US has expanded efforts to track the Hamas leader, whom the Biden administration believe is still hiding inside Hamas' expansive tunnel network under the Gaza Strip, but are also exploring the possibility that Sinwar has fled to Egypt, or even Lebanon or Syria.

According to the report, the Biden administration remains about one month behind the movements of Sinwar, who's last known location was within the Gaza Strip.

When asked what this means, practically, the anonymous official said "One month means you aren't even close to real-time information."

The MEE says tracking Sinwar has taken on a new urgency in the US Intelligence community because the Biden administration believes that tracking down Sinwar's location (likely for an assassination attempt) would help pressure the Israeli occupation authorities to end the war by declaring victory over Hamas.

In an interview with CNN last week, President Biden told reporters "I said to Bibi (Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu), 'Don't make the same mistake we made in America. We wanted to get bin Laden. We'll help you get Sinwar'."

In other news, Ireland intends to become the next country to recognize a State of Palestine. That's according to a speech delivered by Irish Prime Minister, Simon Harris commemorating the victims of the Great Irish Famine of 1845-1852.

It should be noted that Ireland would become the eighth member of the European Union to recognize Palestinian Statehood, alongside the nations of Poland, Bulgaria, the Czech Republic, Romania, Hungary, Slovakia, Sweden and the Southern administration of Cyprus.

Meanwhile, the Israeli occupation ramped-up its bombing and shelling of the Gaza Strip overnight, continuing and intensifying its genocide of the Palestinian population of the enclave.

Israeli military operations expanded in the city of Rafah, in the southern Gaza Strip, over the weekend, pushing more than 800'000 displaced Palestinians out of the city, according to the United Nations Relief and Works Agency for Palestinian Refugees, also known as UNRWA.

In an announcement by UNRWA on Monday, the Humanitarian aid agency said that Israeli ground operations in the Rafah area had forced over 810'000 Palestinians out of the city, most of whom had already been displaced from their homes elsewhere in Gaza due to the occupation's seemingly endless 8-months-long blockade and bombardment.

For the 14th consecutive day, the Israeli authorities continued to keep the Rafah and Karm Abu Salem border crossings near the border with Egypt closed, continuing the policy of starvation and torture, while medical and humanitarian aid trucks continue to be blocked from entering the Gaza Strip.

Nearby, Israeli Merkava tanks were seen advancing towards the Salah al-Din Gate, south of Rafah, and into the Brazil neighborhood near the border with Egypt.

The occupation military was also seen pummeling residential homes in the Al-Salam neighborhood, east of Rafah, while additional tanks and armored vehicles were stationed in the vicinity of the Martyr Abu Youssef Al-Najjar Hospital.

In one Israeli raid, occupation fighter jets bombarded a residential home belonging to the Khafaja family, in the Tal al-Sultan neighborhood, west of Rafah, resulting in the deaths of at least three Palestinians, including the Deputy Director of the Tal al-Sultan Police, Ayman Hamdan Khafaja.

Another 8 civilians who were wounded in the assault were taken to the Kuwait Specialized Hospital in central Rafah.

Violent Israeli airstrikes also hammered neighborhoods east of the Khan Yunis governate as well.

In another horrific war crime, warplanes belonging to the Israeli occupation forces (IOF) bombed a residential home belonging to the Hassan family in the Nuseirat Refugee Camp, in the central Gaza Strip, killing an astounding 31 civilians and wounding many others.

The occupation army also killed the Deputy Director of Investigations in Deir al-Balah, in central Gaza, along with an assistant.

Israeli warplanes further bombarded the area near the Al-Qastal Towers, east of Deir al-Balah, while another raid targeted a residential neighborhood east of the Bureij Camp, also in central Gaza.

Meanwhile, IOF air, missile and drone strikes, along with intense artillery shelling, hammered the Jabalia area, in the northern Gaza Strip, for the second consecutive week, further displacing large numbers of civilians.

Occupation soldiers, stationed along the Netzarim Corridor, an infrastructure built by the Israeli occupation amidst the ongoing war to divide the Gaza Strip into its northern and southern constituent halves, fired shells into the eastern areas of the Al-Zaytoun neighborhood, southeast of Gaza City, while Zionist fighter jets launched at least two raids on the same neighborhood.

Israeli aircraft also bombed in the vicinity of the Sheikh Zakaria Mosque in the Al-Daraj neighborhood, in central Gaza City, after which, the bodies of three martyrs were taken to the Baptist Hospital in the city.

Similarly, occupation warplanes bombed a civilian residence in the Al-Sabra neighborhood, south of Gaza City, while three civilians were killed following an airstrike on the Al-Attar family home in the Abu Iskander area of the Sheikh Radwan neighborhood, north of Gaza City.

The Israeli occupation army went on to bomb neighborhoods east of the Al-Zaytoun neighborhood, southeast of Gaza City, while occupation Apache helicopters opened fire on the Jabalia Refugee Camp, in the north of Gaza.

Meanwhile, Israeli fighter jets bombed a residential apartment belonging to the Labad family in Beit Lahiya, in the northern Gaza Strip, slaughtering 6 Palestinian civilians.

Another Israeli raid bombarded the Abraj al-Qastal area, east of Deir al-Balah, in the central Gaza Strip, and also destroyed a civilian residence east of the Bureij Refugee Camp.

In Gaza's south, Israeli artillery shelling pummeled the outskirts of the town of Al-Qarara, north of Khan Yunis, while occupation gunboats fired shells and machine guns towards the coast of Rafah.

Israeli air raids went on to target various areas of Khan Yunis, Nuseirat Beach, and the Al-Zawayda Beach area.

As a result of the Israeli occupation's ongoing special genocide operation in the Gaza Strip, the death toll among the local population has risen to exceed 35'562 Palestinians killed, including at least 15'000 children and over 10'000 women, while another 79'652 others have been wounded since the start of the current round of Zionist aggression, beginning with the events of October 7th, 2023.

May 20th, 2024.

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#photosource

#videosource

@WorkerSolidarityNews

[winniemaywebber]

Tilt-A-Whirl

Little pockets of joy are few and far between during war time, so these girls snatch it up while they can. A day at the beach during a rare long weekend is just what is needed. Jo and Jean make the most of being beach bums, with a couple of extra friends.

A day on Coney Island, featuring Jo, Jean, Juliet and Ruthie.

It was Friday, and the beginning of a long weekend for Jo Harris and Jean Crosby. The smell of the cusp of summer lay under the fresh scent of Spring, the cool, sky blue days departing without so much as a cool breeze to bid farewell until the next year. The sun shone brightly at the beginning of the week, the heat only getting stronger and stickier as the days progressed, the humidity bordering on unbearable in the night. Thursday had been the worst day for it so far, the girls’ set hairstyles destroyed in the humidity, the wooden seats they sat upon at work slick with sweat, taking to bringing a towel from home and sitting upon that to save some decorum while surrounded by other women and men at the switchboard which they worked. Stockings neglected, the windows of their work building being opened not cooling them down one jot, their boss had beckoned them in a circle right before lunch time. 

“It's just too darn hot,” the bespectacled man had puffed, dabbing at his brow with an already damp, wrung out handkerchief. “The weatherman said it's sure to cool down over the weekend. Go on and take the day tomorrow, see you all back here Monday morning.”

They didn't need to be asked twice, Jo and Jean trotting off to their neighboring cubbies and collecting their handbags before rushing off to the bus stop, the vehicle heavy with the same humidity that hung in the air outside.

—

Arriving home, both girls throw down their handbags and rush to the icebox, letting the cool air wash over them before grabbing a cold drink from it.

Sitting down at the table with a huff, fanning themselves, they find themselves in a companionable silence. It was one of the things they loved most about one another; they could yap for hours about everything and nothing, but could also bask in a slow, gentle quietness, knowing the other was still present in the moment. 

“Gosh, it's stifling,” Jean says, breaking the silence and wafting at herself with yesterday's newspaper. “I couldn't sit there a moment longer. If you looked at the seat of my chair, you'd have thought I'd had some kind of accident! I'm sweating in places I didn't know I could sweat!”

“Ugh,” Jo replies, giggling a little. “I hear ya. The back of my knees are dripping. My knees, for goodness sake!”

The phone rings, startling them both from their complaints, their eyes darting towards the telephone sat upon a small table in the entryway. 

“I've got it!” Jean says, standing slowly so as not to sweat more. “Hello?”

Josephine listens in, scanning the front page of the newspaper Jean had been fanning herself with a few moments before. Shouts of “oh, goodness, you too?” and “what a fabulous idea!” echo from the hallway into the kitchen, Jo’s ears pricking up at every word. “We'd love to! Okay, yes, shall we say around lunchtime? Yes, of course Jo will be there. A friend? Goodness, yes! We can't wait to meet her, Jules…yes, Coney Island, lunchtime. See you then!” 

Jean places the phone back into its holder, rushing back to the table to relay the information to Jo. 

“Jules has a long weekend too! The students were just not getting anything done in this heat, so the principal sent everyone home this morning.”

“Sounds great!” Jo replies, her eyes telling Jean to carry on.

“She says it's the perfect weekend for the beach, and I sure agree. We've been working hard, we deserve to take this long weekend and have fun! She wants to meet us at Coney Island tomorrow afternoon!”

“Oh, a wonderful idea! Especially with Brady being where he is, it'll cheer her up no end. And she's bringing a friend?”

“Yes, a friend from school! Ruthie.”

“I can't wait!”

—

Gripping each other's hands, Jo and Jean push through a crowd as thick as the ongoing heat as they step onto the platform, making sure to keep ahold of their beach bags with their free hands. Shoving slightly, they finally exit the hubbub, glancing around quickly.

“I don't see them,” Jean says, pulling a fan out of her bag and wafting at her face with it. She looks beautifully fresh, forgoing her usual makeup routine and leaving her face mostly bare so as not to deal with melted rouge and smudged mascara. Jo has done the same, hair pinned back in a light scarf, sunglasses covering her bare eyes. 

“Jean! Josephine!” they hear from across the way. There stands Juliet Thompson, hair similarly styled, wrapped in a light dress to cover her swimsuit. Next to her stands a beautiful, tall, dark haired woman, her skin the most beautiful, soft caramel color. 

“Thank goodness we all had the same idea,” Jo mumbles, taking in their beach day outfits as Jean pulls her towards the two girls, squealing as they reach them. 

“I'd say it's been a while,” Juliet says, hugging them both. “But it's barely been a fortnight since our upstate visit!” 

Jo laughs, returning her embrace and once again glancing at her friend. Jean looks as mesmerized at the girl as Jo does, the pair of them blown away by how outstandingly gorgeous she is as she removes her sunglasses to greet Jules’ friends. 

“This is Ruthie! We've been friends since our schooldays. Ruthie, this is Josephine and Jean. Josephine and Jean’s fellas are in the same squadron as Johnny.”

“Hi,” she says meekly, waving nervously. 

“Come on,” Jules urges, starting to push through a new crowd forming at the entrance of the train station. “I need some sun and a few rides on the Tilt-A-Whirl.”

—

“I am not going on that,” Jo protests, nauseous from being tilted too many times on the whirl. After agreeing to take a few rides with Jules, she needed a sit down and a cigarette, her stomach still lurching from the after effects. It flips again, looking up at the tremendously high and dangerous looking Parachute Jump. 

“But it's such a great view of the boardwalk, Jo!” Jules laughs, pointing up.

“I can see it perfectly well from down here, thank you. I'm sure I'll vomit.”

“Fine,” she sighs. “Jean?”

“Go on, then,” she says, gritting her teeth. “I suppose it's something to tell Bing in my next letter. I can show off that I don't get airsick.”

As the pair depart, Jean nervously looking up at the ride with every other step she takes towards it, Jo sits down next to Ruthie. 

“She didn't ask you, girlie.”

“She knows better than to ask me to go on that contraption!” she giggles, looking up and squinting. She shudders, looking at Jo with a huge smile. “Much too high for me. Jules has always had no fear and I was the scaredy-cat.”

“Oh, that's Jean and I,” Jo replies, shaking her head. “I've had a few moments where I'm reading letters from Robert, scared out of my wits for what may happen. But, Jean…she's far more together about each situation. We just–”

“Balance each other out? Jules and I do that, too.”

A moment of silence passes between them, a question on Jo's lips.

“So tell me,” she begins. “Your name. Am I saying it correctly? Ruthie?”

“Yes,” she nods. “My name is actually Ruthvika, but many people seem to have trouble pronouncing that, so since school, I have been Ruthie.”

“Ruthvika,” she murmurs, nodding. “That's so beautiful. That's not hard to pronounce at all. Gosh, people are ridiculous.”

“I wanted to make it easy on people.”

“You'll learn that, with us by your side, you'll never have to do that again. You're Jules’ friend, and by association, one of us. One of the gang. What would you like to be called?”

“I like Vika,” she says, eyes downcast.

“Vika. It's so pretty.”

Jo looks to her left as she sits in the warm sun, The Cyclone in her line of sight. Purely by coincidence that she'd sat there, but she was sure it was her heart leading her there somehow. Her thoughts turn to Robbie: how much she missed him, and how they'd have been here twice, even thrice by now, him poking at her to ride The Cyclone with him and her faking being worn down by him. It didn't ever take much; one look in those pretty blue eyes and she'd say yes to anything.

“You are never getting me on that darn thing again,” Jean scolds, her face the same green as her fan. She turns to Jo and Vika, shaking her head. “That was horrible!” 

“Now you see why I stayed down here with Vika,” Jo laughs, handing Jean her bag. “Come on, let's get the last of the sun!”

“You girls want a picture?” A man calls, having them stand just in front of The Cyclone. 

“Oh, yes please,” Jean says. “We can send one to Robbie and another to Binger.” 

Laughing as they get into position, they place their sunglasses back on their faces as the camera snaps them, huge grins upon their faces.

“Now one of the four of us, for the mantle!” Jean cries, holding her hand out to Ruthie and Jules. “Come on!” 

—

The beach had been heaving when they'd first arrived, deciding to have fun at the fairground and the World of Wax museum, the figures melting in the sweltering heat, the features on the wax slowly dripping off on to the hardwood floor, the girls giggling at a nose plopping off a figure as they left. As the crowds departed, people finally making their way back to the city, the girls finally had some room to lay down their towels on the sand. Jules had grabbed a large parasol from a hut on the beachfront, her and Vika working together to push it into the soft sand at the perfect angle, burying the wooden pole before themselves laying under it. 

“So, Vika,” Jean starts, only needing to be told once of her preferred name. “Do you have a sweetheart?”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I'm too busy studying and working for all that at the moment.”

“I see!” Jean replies. “Where do you work?”

“My parents own and run a hotel on the outskirts of the city, so I help them out there.”

“And do you enjoy it?” Jo probes, her eyebrow furrowed as she shades her eyes from the sun. 

“Hm, I guess. I like being able to help my parents with their day.”

“Well then, that's all that matters, doll. As long as you're happy.”

“Have you both heard from the boys?” Jules’ nervous voice calls from the other side of Vika. “Olive wrote me a few days ago, but they haven't had any update either.”

“We have. Just last week, actually. Can you believe it, my husband thinking he's Captain Marvel trying to stay awake for days at a time? Three days he went with no sleep, until he collapsed on the floor.”

“Robbie told us none of this until after the mission, so there's us, chewing our fingernails clean off and hoping for some news- any news! Only to find out it's ‘yes, darling, I'm fine, but by the way, please tell Jean that Harry is sleeping off a coma.”

“Can one sleep off a coma?” Vika asks, giggling. 

“Jury's out on that one, darling,” Jean sighs, laying back down. “Welcome to the madness.”

She hears sniffling, sitting up once again to look at Jules. 

“Oh, Juliet. No need to cry, darling. Here,” she says, digging a handkerchief out of her bag. Dabbing at her eyes, she wraps an arm around her.

“S-sorry,” Jules sniffs out, steadying her breathing. “I know you both must be so worried but…I'd take that over whatever this is.”

“We know,” Jo sighs, walking over and sitting by her friend, stroking her arm. “I have a good feeling this will all be over soon, and he'll be home before you know it.”

"Yeah,” she sighs, exhaling the next sob away. “I just–I just miss him so much. And not being able to hear from him regularly is torture. It's torture.”

“I know. We know. It's so unfair, Jules, we can understand.”

“Hey,” Jean soothes, her hand now on Juliet's face. “Would you feel better if we did not talk about Harry and Robert? We can do that. We want you around but not at the expense of you getting upset.”

“No, no, goodness no,” she says, waving her hand at them dismissively. “I love hearing about them, it's just–”

“You wish he was there with them, not wherever he is,” Vika pipes up, now kneeling behind Jules. “I'm fascinated at how the three of you are coping. I don't know if–”

“Honestly, so am I,” Jean laughs. “But we have each other, and that makes it all worthwhile. And now we have you, and you're a sweetheart. Come on,” she says, pulling Jules up. “Let's get in the water before it turns freezing. Come on, all of us.”

They stand, all clasping each other's hands. The feeling of togetherness overwhelms them suddenly, smiling at one another through this intense emotion. Four girls, all thrown together because of this beastly war are now, somehow, bonded for life. They run, screaming and laughing all the while as they plunge into the cool, blue water, the joy making all of their cheeks glow.

—

“God, I need a drink,” Jean grumbles, throwing her bag on the counter. “I mean, don't people in this city know manners? Decorum? Goodness me. Three times I asked that man to excuse me, please move so I have a little more space.”

“The joys of the subway,” Jo sighs, welcoming Jules and Vika into the house and leaving the door open to let some of the cooler breeze into the house. 

“Jean, may I use your telephone?” Vika asks. “I need to call my mother.”

“Yes, doll, go right ahead. It's on the table in the entry.”

“Thanks. Won't be long.”

She exits, Jean hearing hushed tones from the hall almost immediately after the number is dialed. 

“What do you think of her?” Juliet asks, biting her lip nervously.

“I love her,” Jean replies, collecting supplies from the mirrored liquor cabinet to make her famous martinis for everyone. “She's a sweetheart.”

“She's a darling,” Jo interjects, wiping her brow with a damp washcloth. “So sweet. We had a nice little talk while you two were parachuting.”

“Oh, that darn thing,” Jean cries, jokingly gagging. “Never again. I'm just like my husband. Weak in the stomach!”

The three of them continue chatting, Jean clinking bottles and cups every so often as she mixes the drink before shaking it. 

“Yes, mother,” they hear. “No, mama. I am safe here, they're Juliet's–yes, I know. I can assure you I'm okay and–mhm, yes. I can take a cab and get the train…”

“Excuse me, ladies,” Jean says, making her way to the hall. As she approaches Vika, she holds her hand out to hold the phone. “May I?” she says, Vika nodding as her eyes begin to fill with tears. 

“Mrs Patel,” she begins. “Mrs Jean Crosby here. Uh-huh, I can sure understand your worries, Mrs Patel. But, she is quite safe here with us and I don't feel terribly comfortable about her leaving my house in a cab and then being at the station at this time of night. Yes, ma'am, she's just grand here…”

Ruthie looks on astonished as Mrs Crosby plainly lays it all out over the phone: she would be spending the night here, with her new friends. 

“Thank you, Mrs Patel. Goodbye!” She places the phone back in its cradle with a triumphant smile. “There, all settled. Would you like a martini?”

“Never had one,” she replies.

“Well then, it's your lucky day!” Jean says, ushering her back into the kitchen.

“Everything okay?” Jules asks, her face etched with concern. 

“Yes!” Vika replies brightly. “Jean spoke with my mother.”

“Oh, wow. And you can stay?”

“I can. I was also promised my first martini.”

“Jean, weaken hers a little for goodness sake. She'll be blown away if she has it the same strength as us for her first one!”

“Don't worry,” Jean says reassuringly. “I'll add some extra ice to Vika’s.”

—

In a giggly, tipsy mess, the girls had decided to camp in the living room, leaving the windows opened wide. The temperature had dropped, if only a little, letting a deliciously cool breeze into the house, the four of them finally able to breathe deeply and dry off. It made setting up the impromptu slumber party much easier: Vika and Jules were top and tail on the couch, and Jean and Jo had dragged mattresses downstairs to sleep on, Jean pulling hers from the guest room. Shrieks of “pivot! No, thatta way!” had sent Vika and Jules into cackling messes, intent on getting up to help them but their hysterical laughter stopping them in their tracks. 

“Hey, Jo,” Jules asks. “How did you and Robbie meet? I don't think I've ever asked.”

“Oh,” she giggles, already blushing. “We met many years ago now. It wasn't until he enlisted and was sent away for training that I–we realized…”

“Realized what?” Vika asks, her tone a little louder from the alcohol.

“Well, that we're in love. Terrible timing, I know, but we don't seem to follow the same path as anyone else.”

“I think it's sweet,” Jean pipes up, sleepily. The alcohol was for sure getting to her, her voice low and slow. “Least he's not distracted and forgetting about you. I suppose that happens, only being married for two weeks before you're sent off into war for years. You forget.”

“Oh, Jean,” Josephine soothes, patting her hand in the dark. “Don't be saying that.”

“You've seen the letters, Jo,” she replies, her voice tight. “Mine are full of love, desperately missing him and his are…” she pauses, not quite able to find the words. “Jeez, look at me,” she sniffs. “Sorry, girls. Not usually like this.”

“No need to apologize,” Vika says, trying her best to make eye contact with her, the room being lit only by the silver moon. “Thank you for letting me come along today. This has been one of the best days I've ever had.”

“I'm glad, doll,” Jo replies, her own eyes growing heavy. “I'm also glad Jean gave your mom what for.”

“I didn't give her what for!” Jean replies in mock outrage. “Just set her straight.”

“It was great,” Vika giggles, snuggling down further in her blanket. 

“I'm so happy we've all taken to each other. All thrown together because of this godforsaken war that's taken so much from us,” Jules chimes in.

“That's true. But you know what it can't take away? This. Friendship.”

[wintersnwnderlnd]

Plot holes in Harry Potter

Off the top of my head

How did Dumbledore just know to send Hagrid to meet Sirius after James and Lily Died

How was McGonagall able to watch the dursleys all day to see if they were suitable guardians when James and lily died not 2 hours before

How did Hagrid find godrics hallow if it was under the fidelius charm?

How did Snape find godrics hallow if under fidelius

How did no one notice a baby outside on the door step in 12°F weather in November

How did no one notice harry never playing with toys or in clothes 3+ sizes too big?

Did Dumbledore tell figg to move to private drive or was she already there and got recruited?

How did the board of governor's never come for the third floor but came for the basilisk?

How did harry as a minor get entered into the tournament unless his guardian(aka dumbledore) approved it?

How did the wards around hogwarts not stop the stone, basilisk, acrimantula, animagus, werewolf attack, blood quill, vanishing cabinet, etc from entering the school grounds?

Why didn't James be his own secret keeper and just hide in godrics hallow until voldie was defeated or gave up?

Why was the statute broken by Hagrid and Molly but they never got warnings?

Why did no one question the 8foot tall half giant in London?

Why did Molly not get yelled at for shouting about the platform

How does no one notice the mystery train as it leaves the station?

Why on a 8hr train ride is only sweets served?

Why didn't voldie keep all his horcruxes on him, in his house, or in his vault?

Why was the stone destroyed and not given back to Nic who kept it safe for 500+ years

Why did the wards around hogwarts allow the dementors

Why are harry and Ron still friends when all they do is fight

Why did harry suddenly develop feelings for "his best friends little sister" who he though of as a sister after she was looking at love potions

Is luna a seer

Why did the twins leave hogwarts literally a month before they graduated

How is olivanders still in business

Why is dark magic bad? Yin and yang, dark and light are both needed for balance

Why did voldie not go the political route and charm/seduce his way to minister

Why did Tom have to go back to muggle London during ww2 every summer why not go to a friend/follower's house

Why did the "Ancient and Noble House of Black" a long line to stuffy purebloods bow to a halfblood

Why do purebloods not realize muggleborns are new family magic and likely children of squibs

Why did no one notice the 4 strongest wizards of the 40s forward were all halfbloods who were abused by muggles[or had siblings that were] (dumbles, tom, sev and harry)

How the fuck does hogwarts legacy fit into the timeline, it shouldnt

How is McGonagall a teacher in the 20s she should have been a student

How the fuck does hogwarts mystery fit into the timeline

Why didn't we see tonks harry first year, she was a 7th year

I have more but can't think of any right now.

[the-mellow-drama]

Another drabble (who is she)

nsfw, explicit sexual content, minors do not engage,

beta'd by EastWindmlk

It was risky to be sneaking around the Ministry, fucking in broom closets and bathrooms, occasionally sucking him off under his desk but Hermione wouldn't have it any other way. It was supposed to be just a mutually beneficial relationship, a way of easing the tension after a long day. Of course, they never went to each other's places; they would simply wait for Ernie to close up and then they would meet each other in an abandoned office or a broom closet. 

But the last time they ever fucked in secret; Draco told her he needed more and if she didn’t like that, she could find someone else.

"This isn't just sex anymore, Hermione, you know that." For Merlin's sake, they were even calling each other by their first name!

"No-Draco, I-" Hermione stuttered, grabbing up her skirt and torn knickers. He would destroy them every time, pleased with the idea of her Apparating home with no knickers on. "I can't, Draco," Hermione sighed, sliding the zipper up her thigh and smoothing out the fabric, busying her hands so that he couldn't see them shake. 

She turned to leave but stopped as she heard Draco say, "If you leave, that's it. You can find someone else to satisfy your needs,”  he spit out the last word as if it was such a burden for him. "Don't act like you didn't get anything out of this. I'm sure it was so challenging to have regular orgasms, Malfoy." The name tumbles past her lips, and she regrets them instantly.

Draco straightens up to his full height, wiping the fleeting look of panic from his face as he sneers down at her. "Fine. Have a good evening, Granger. " He emphasizes her last name, steps past her, and walks out the door, leaving Hermione alone and very, very confused. 

***

Their… ‘arrangement’...had begun very suddenly. It was only supposed to happen one time; exhausted, Hermione had walked a stack of files down to Draco’s office, her eyes drooping shut as he walked her through the case he had been assigned. 

“Granger, are you listening to me?” Draco asked and Hermione’s eyes shot open.

“What were you saying?”

 Draco has smiled at her devilishly and stood up, slowly walking around to sit in front of the chair Hermione was occupying.

“You look stressed, Granger.” He had said and Hermione couldn’t understand why she wanted to pull him toward her and kiss him. “It’s just work. Nothing to worry about.” But he had called her back. 

He offered, "just to take the edge off things" and Hermione had been more than happy to bend over and let someone take care of her, even though it was her childhood nemesis.

After that, they stopped by whenever one of them needed a physical release, usually it was more for Hermione’s benefit than Draco’s, but he assured her it was no problem at all. She would bend over her desk, and he would eat her out until she was so close to orgasm and then he would pull away, sliding his pants down and groaning as he filled her, holding her close to him as she rode out her climax. 

After Harry almost caught them in the locker rooms after a Ministry Quidditch game, they decided that they needed to be more careful going forward. Draco and Hermione decided that staying late after work would be best, considering they already worked late most nights anyway. 

***

Hermione went home that night and drowned her sorrows in a bubble bath with slow jazz music playing in the background. Crookshanks, her scraggly orange cat from Hogwarts rounded the corner of the bathroom, peeked in on her, and then stalked away, seemingly uninterested in her unrequited feelings for a certain blond prat. 

***

A week later, Hermione was an hour late to work, the night before was spent tossing and turning as she fitfully tried to sleep.

Honestly, it was embarrassing that she was this hung up on him. It was supposed to be just sex, but somewhere along the lines, it shifted into something… nice. And comfortable.

She would stop by his office for a quick shag but by the end, they would end up on the couch, sparring about work. Hermione would argue one point and Draco would do his best to convince her she was wrong.

The day before a particularly brutal court case. He would drill her on the facts, statistics, and evidence she was presenting until she stopped stumbling and tripping over her words and met his eyes with a quiet ferocity that spoke to how much the case meant to her. 

When she felt satisfied with the argument, she would present to the Wizengamot, Draco would crush her to his chest and whisper praises into her hair. She would smile and slowly unbutton his dress shirt and, in time they were sweaty and boneless on the couch. 

That afternoon, having got nothing done, she made her way to his corner office. A nice quiet space that resembled him, oddly. Simple furniture and a plant here and there, elegant and understated. 

She knocked on the door, a quick two raps of her knuckles, a pause, and then three more. If this was before, he would already be pulling his tie from his neck and slipping his shoes off. Instead, he simply stated, “Come in,” in a bored and uninterested tone.

Hermione slipped through the door and smiled sheepishly. She had enough foresight to bring a folder on the Donovan case, her appearance to the Wizengamot only days away. She held it up and shrugged. 

“For old time sakes?” She asked and Draco nodded, albeit a bit hesitantly. He asked her the same questions he normally would, attempting to catch her off guard or get her to trip up but his heart wasn’t in it. He looked as though he was waiting for it to be over. When he was satisfied, he closed the file and passed it back to her. 

“You’re ready,” Draco stated simply, and Hermione smiled again. 

“So, how are you?” she asked. Draco scowled.

“Don’t pretend to care for my well-being. Merlin knows you didn’t when you ended things.” He said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

His reaction made Hermione gasp. “Me!? You’re the one that said this was ‘over’!” Hermione shrieked and normally, she would have the decency to be embarrassed but she couldn’t bring herself to feel anything except anger. 

“I said I needed more, and you threw it back into my face,” Draco said, standing up and looming over her. 

“I thought you were having a go, Malfoy! Why the fuck else would you want ‘more’ with me?”

“Because I fucking fell for you!” He shouted and Hermione gaped at him. Draco scoffed and fell back into his chair. “Now you know, and you can leave.” Draco finalized but Hermione shook her head. “You fell for me?” She narrowed her eyes disbelievingly. The notion was laughable. 

“Of course I did, you dolt I fell for our arguments and your hair after we fucked and your smile when I would congratulate you and our quiet conversations about our favorite books.” Draco leaned forward in his chair and continued.

 “Our lunch conversations and our sex in the broom closets, but it wasn’t enough. And you wouldn’t want more, and I knew that and it felt like the easiest way to end it for both of us.” Draco finished quietly and Hermione stalled for a second before smiling and closed the distance between them. She ducked down and instinctively, Draco’s hands wrapped around her waist. “And you didn’t realize that I fell for you, you absolute git” She pressed her lips to his and her body sang, and heart fluttering.

Draco kissed her back just as intensely, standing up and spinning them around so that she sat in his chair instead. 

He kneeled before her and slid his hands up the back of her bare thighs, groaning at the feeling of her soft, warm skin under his palms. He grabbed her legs and dropped her feet on his thighs, working on the straps of her shoes.

When her shoes were off, he kissed her knees and her legs fell apart. His breath ghosted up her skin, and Hermione shivered, biting back a moan. His fingers pushed her skirt up, baring her lace knickers to him and he sighed.

“I’m going to take my time with you now, Granger. Gonna make you mine,” he told her, and Hermione stammered.

“Yes, Draco–please–” she was cut off as his fingers slowly pulled her knickers to the side and he thumbed her clit. He groaned against her thigh.

“You’re so wet for me, Hermione. Gods, you’re beautiful–” He delved between her thighs, and she sighed as he licked up slit, grazing his teeth along her clit nestled between her folds. “You taste divine. All for me,” he rasped, and Hermione let out a shaky breath. “All yours, Draco–” Hermione sighed, and Draco groaned again before pushing up off the floor, eliciting a whine from the witch on his chair. “Need to have you, Granger–please,” he begged, and Hermione was more than happy to oblige.  

He pulled her up and dragged her over to the couch that they had become intimately familiar with. She sprawled out on the couch after peeling off her skirt and practically ripping off her shirt, revealing her lacy brallete to him. She could have sworn he stopped breathing. 

Draco slowly crawled up the length of her, kissing every inch of her exposed skin until he met her lips.

“After this, you’re mine, Granger. Fucking swear it,” he demanded as he bit the skin of her neck and she keened. “Yes, Draco. Please–” Hermione whined and reached for his pants, unbuttoning them and pushing them down his thighs. He grabbed hold of his cock and sliding it between her legs, her arousal coating him, lined himself up, taking one last look at her reverent gaze before slowly filling her.

He couldn’t describe the feeling as anything other than coming home. She clenched around him perfectly, and he couldn’t help but drop to his elbows and bury his face in her neck, whimpering into her skin. 

He filled her until she came, her fingers desperately clutching his hair. He came after, fingers curled around her hair as he shivered before stilling, falling on top of her. 

Hermione carded her fingers through his hair, combing it back off his forehead. He kissed her neck, grabbed her hand, lacing it tightly in his much larger grip, and kissed her knuckles. 

“All mine, Granger. You’ll never get rid of me now,” he told her jokingly, and she laughed. 

“Good, I have no intention of letting you go any time soon.”

[barkingbonzo]

THUNDERBALL 1965

Thunderball is a 1965 spy film and the fourth in the James Bond series produced by Eon Productions, starring Sean Connery as the fictional MI6 agent James Bond. It is an adaptation of the 1961 novel of the same name by Ian Fleming, which in turn was based on an original screenplay by Jack Whittingham devised from a story conceived by Kevin McClory, Whittingham, and Fleming. It was the third and final Bond film to be directed by Terence Young, with its screenplay by Richard Maibaum and John Hopkins.

The film follows Bond's mission to find two NATO atomic bombs stolen by SPECTRE, which holds the world ransom to the tune of £100 million in diamonds under threat of destroying an unspecified metropolis in either the United Kingdom or the United States (later revealed to be Miami). The search leads Bond to the Bahamas, where he encounters Emilio Largo, the card-playing, eyepatch-wearing SPECTRE Number Two. Backed by CIA agent Felix Leiter and Largo's mistress, Domino Derval, Bond's search culminates in an underwater battle with Largo's henchmen. The film's complex production comprised four different units, and about a quarter of the film comprises underwater scenes. Thunderball was the first Bond film shot in widescreen Panavision and the first to have a running time of over two hours.

Although planned by Bond film series producers Albert R. Broccoli and Harry Saltzman as the first entry in the franchise, Thunderball was associated with a legal dispute in 1961 when former Fleming collaborators McClory and Whittingham sued him shortly after the 1961 publication of the novel, claiming he based it upon the screenplay the trio had written for a cinematic translation of James Bond. The lawsuit was settled out of court and Broccoli and Saltzman, fearing a rival McClory film, allowed him to retain certain screen rights to the novel's plot and characters, and for McClory to receive sole producer credit on this film; Broccoli and Saltzman instead served as executive producers.

The film was exceptionally successful: its worldwide box-office receipts of $141.2 million (equivalent to $1,365,200,000 in 2023) exceeded not only that of each of its predecessors but that of every one of the next five Bond films that followed it. Thunderball remains the most financially successful film of the series in North America when adjusted for ticket price inflation. In 1966, John Stears won the Academy Award for Best Visual Effects and BAFTA nominated production designer Ken Adam for an award. Some critics and viewers praised the film and branded it a welcome addition to the series, while others found the aquatic action repetitious. The movie was followed by 1967's You Only Live Twice. In 1983, Warner Bros. released a second film adaptation of the Thunderball novel under the title Never Say Never Again, with McClory as executive producer.