#the proof-reading of this was cursory *at best*

[strangersteddierthings]

Sequel to Good People - The fic in wherein Wayne doesn't like Steve and overheard a conversation he shouldn't have. Here's the aftermath of that :3

Part One🦇Part Two🦇Final Part

-

Wayne had stayed in his bedroom long after he heard the boys leave. Eddie had knocked on his door to let him know he'd be staying at Steve's and to not expect him back until late tomorrow, a courtesy he'd never shown until after he'd been the victim of a manhunt back in spring. Wayne never asked him to do that but he thinks Eddie picked up on how worried Wayne would get if he were gone for any amount of time.

Eddie's always been good at reading people when he bothers to pay attention to them. Maybe that should have been enough reason for him to give pause to his dislike of the Harrington boy, instead of needing to overhear the boy crying about how he thinks there's something rotten deep within him that only Wayne can sense.

He'd been so sure he knew what kind of person Steve Harrington was. Eddie had been hung up on boys just like him pert-near his whole life, Wayne thinks, and it's never ended differently.

It's a Tuesday night and his friends usually gather at the bar on Friday nights, but Wayne needs to get out of the trailer to think. A beer might help. So, he grabs his keys and heads out.

He's been a regular at this bar since before he was even old enough to drink. Used to come with his pa, may he rest in peace, just to get out of the house. He's been a patron longer than any of the staff have worked there, he realizes.

"Hello Linda," Wayne greets as he takes a seat at the bar instead of at his usual table. He'd done a cursory glace when he came in and confirmed none of his drinking buddies were in before choosing the bar.

"This isn't your usual day," Linda says, leaning a hip on the counter, "but it's always a pleasure to see you."

"I got some thinkin' to do," Wayne replies and Linda nods and moves away, returning soon with a bottle of his usual beer. She picks up the bottle open and removes the cap before setting the drink down in front of him.

"Need a sounding board, hun?" She asks.

Wayne does a quick survey of the bar again but it's pretty quiet so he returns his gave to Linda and says, "if you wouldn't mind too much hearin' about how an old man might have messed up."

Linda laughs. "You aren't even half a decade older than me, so you best not be sprouting that 'old man' nonsense around me, 'cause I am not some old lady."

"Terribly sorry, Linda. I'm just really feelin' like an old fool."

A small frown comes to Linda's face then. "Now what could you have possibly done?"

"Well, I guess I'm tryin' to figure out if I did mess up. Eddie's got a friend and I don't trust 'im. Thought I had good reason not to, but, well, I overheard somethin' I wasn't supposed ta and now I'm not sure."

Linda hums, "hmm, that doesn't sound like you, judging someone unrightly. You are usually a good read about people."

"I'll admit, I haven't bothered to spend enough time with the boy to, uhh, judge him."

"Wayne Munson," Linda scolds, "you best not be telling me you judged that boy because of other people."

Judging by Linda's raising brow line, he thinks his guilt must be clear on his face. "You know Eddie, and how people have treated him. And with what he just went through- I just want 'im safe. Sure, his new friend graduated last year, but he was on the basketball team his whole career. And I'm jus' supposed ta believe this one boy didn't side with the group who started the manhunt?"

"Unless you've got evidence otherwise, yes," Linda says, brows furrowed.

Wayne sighs. "I ain't got proof. I got a lot of people sayin' he's good, actually. But it's the Harrington boy. The same boy Eddie would come home and complain 'bout. Harrington, Hagan, Hargrove, though I shouldn't speak ill of the dead. All them boys treatin' Eddie like he wasn't worth nothin' until they wanted somethin' form him."

Linda's mouth is almost a perfectly straight line with how much she's pursed her lips the more he talks, but she doesn't interrupt and no customer calls for her, so he continues.

"And you know what Richard Harrington was like. I know y'all only shared one school year together, but Janice wasn't any better, and she was your year, wasn't she?" Linda gives him one nod in response. "That boy's a product of them. I- You can't fault me for thinkin' differently."

"So, when do you expect Eddie to end up in prison?"

The question throws Wayne and fills him with anger at the same time. "Now, Linda, I ain't likin' what you are implyin'."

"I ain't implyin' nothing," she says, using the same tone with him that he did with her. "I'm applying your logic. Eddie's a product of his parents, ain't he? Al's in prison, and his mama's long gone, bless her soul. And since Eddie ain't sick, last I heard, he must be following after his daddy."

The anger leaves him then, and all he's left with is shame. "Point made. And if I'm bein' fully honest with ya, I don't even need ya to defend that boy. That thing I overheard. That what's eatin' at me. He called me good people."

Linda softens, shoulders dropping, "you are good people, hun."

"That boy told my Eddie that I'm 'good people', and that his parents are bad ones, and I. I don't know what to do about that."

"He thinks his own parents are bad?"

Wayne nods, "is what he said. Thinks I can somehow sense he's also rotten just by association."

"There's nothing to it, then," Linda says, like they've already talked out the tangled mess that is Wayne's thoughts on Steve Harrington and have reached a conclusion. Well, perhaps Linda already has. She's always been bright, and she's usually right. "You, Wayne Robert Munson, need to apologize to that boy. The guilt and shame's gonna put you into your cups otherwise."

Wayne nods slowly, though he isn't even sure if he agrees or is just acknowledging what she said before he takes a long pull from his bottle before lowering both his arms to rest on the counter as he replies, "You're right as usual, Linda my dear. I just gotta let go of the fact he's Richard Harrington's son and try and see just Steve."

"Damn right. Eddie might be Al's by birth, but you raised him and he turned out alright. Maybe Steve got the same treatment. Had his own Wayne around to raise him right."

There might be a bit of truth to that. He's heard enough talk about Steve Harrington over the years to think that. One of his drinking buddies used to be Jim Hopper. He's heard about the amount of parties he'd had to go shut down at the Harrington's house, with no parents to be seen. (Always Jim's biggest gripe back then. "Where's this kids goddamn parents!?) Wayne always assumed their kid just took advantage every time his parents were gone, but maybe it's the opposite. Maybe they were always gone, and Steve had parties to not be alone in his house.

Linda's right. There is nothing to it. He needs to talk to Steve, properly apologize, and go from there.

"It ain't an easy thing, admittin' you might be wrong," Wayne sighs.

Linda reaches across the counter and places a hand on Wayne's arm just below his wrist. Wayne looks up from where he'd ended up staring at his bottle, making eye contact with her. "If your boy is friends with this boy, it's for a reason. Just give him a chance. You are one of the good ones, but even we can have a lapse in judgment now and then. Doesn't make you bad, makes you human."

"Ain't no one perfect but the good Lord," Wayne says and Linda nods in agreement.

"Alright. I'll leave you to your beer and your thoughts for now, but you best keep me updated on your situation. I wanna know how it goes," Linda retracts her hand and heads down the counter to check on the few other people sitting about nursing drinks.

Wayne sits in his thoughts more than he drinks, so by the time he's done with the beer it's warm but that's fine. He will talk to the Harrington kid, but he wants to talk to Eddie first. He owes his nephew that much, and he does recall Eddie saying something to the effect of 'he'll come around' to Steve, and Wayne wants to tell Eddie he'll try.

Also he doesn't want to just corner the boy after he's been somewhat intimidating intentionally. He's going to get Eddie to ask if Steve'll talk to him.

True to his word, Eddie returns home late the next day. The clock says it's almost 6 when Eddie finally comes through the front door. If he's surprised to see Wayne awake, he doesn't show it. He does work the graveyard shift, and he's got a shift at 10 tonight, usually wakes up two hours before his shift. He'd wanted to make sure he caught Eddie, though, so he's been up since three.

"Eddie, you got a minute?" Wayne says.

"Sure. What's up?" Eddie says as he pulls off his jacket, depositing it on the nearest surface before plopping sideways on the couch so he's facing Wayne.

"I gotta come clean. I overheard some of what you and Steve were talkin' about," Wayne says, because he's a man of his word and he's always been good at doing the hard thing if it also turns out to be the right thing. He's got to be honest with Eddie, so he can be honest with himself. "Heard Harr- Steve talkin' 'bout how he thinks I'm a good person, and his parents aren't."

Eddie's quiet for a moment, blinking owlishly back at him while he thinks. "Oh. Umm. Sorry. I just- I think this is the first time I've heard you say Steve's name."

"Not the part I thought you'd focus on," Wayne huffs a laugh, "but I owe your boy an apology and I was hopin' you could help me make it happen."

"My boy- what is happening," Eddie drops his voice to whisper the question to himself.

"What's happening is I'm doin' the thing I always told you ta do. Taking accountability and fixin' my mistake."

"Oh. Oh!" Eddie narrows his eyes at Wayne, "you've made an ass out of me. All those times I assured Steve you were just being standoffish and you were- what were you doing?"

"Intentionally keepin' the boy at a distance 'cause I thought he was gonna hurt you. I sure as hell ain't been friendly. I been judging him because I knew his parents, thinkin' about how an apple don't fall far from the tree," Wayne stops, giving pause to see if Eddie will speak but he isn't. He's just staring at Wayne like he's a puzzle. "It was brought to my attention that it's mighty unfair to judge someone 'cause of how their parents act."

Eddie's brow furrows and his lips purse. It makes him think of Linda. She'd made the exact same face. "I- Jesus fuck this is weird, but I. I think I'm mad at you. Disappointed."

Eddie doesn't say it with an angry tone, and his face still looks more puzzled than mad, but the sentence feels like a kick to the chest anyway. Eddie and he have never been mad at each other, not in the eight years Eddie's lived here with him. They've been worried and scared for each other that, or mad at someone or something else that they take out on each other, but never mad at each other.

"You've every right to be."

Eddie stands from the couch, paces down the hallway, and Wayne thinks this might be the end of any conversation tonight, but instead Eddie comes storming back up the hall. "So, what, did you take me in expecting me to be my dad!?"

"No. He mighta contributed to your birth, but we both know that man ain't nurtured you a day in his life."

"Yeah, well, Steve's parents didn't raise him either, so all this has been bullshit! You made Steve think he's, he's broken and a bad person! And," Eddie's eyes are wet and he's angry but also about to cry. Wayne hasn't seen him like this in a long time. Not since the day they learned Al was in prison, fifteen years with a chance for parole if he's on his best behavior. Eddie had been so angry, and sad, and hurt by the news. Eddie's like that now, worked up so much he's repeating himself as he hiccups his words out around the lump in this throat, "And, and you made me help him feel that way! Because I didn't take him serious when he said, said you didn't like him! I thought you were being, being a dad, all fake gruff to intimidate the guy I like but it's- you were- FUCK!"

Wayne lets him yell. He deserves it, and Eddie needs it. Eddie's not saying anything untrue. He takes in what Eddie is yelling at him; Steve's parents didn't raise him, and how Wayne's cold shoulder must have added to whatever else Steve has going on in his life.

"I, I h-held him while he b-bawled into my shirt last night! He, he thinks- and you, you didn't even trust me! T-trust my own j-judgment of, of Steve! I, I need- I can't-" Eddie doesn't finish the sentence. He turns on his heel and storms back down the hall, the slamming of his door finalizing this conversation.

To say that Wayne feels terrible is inadequate. He's hurt his boy, and he's hurt his boy's boy, and he's got no one to blame but himself.

Now he's got two apologies to make.

I tried to tag as many people as I could remember that expressed interest in a follow up fic. I am SO sorry if I missed you. Please let me know if you want to be tagged in the final part. I will only be tagging people who ask to be tagged going forward 'cause it's a lot of people to remember and my memory is garbage.

@i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @afewproblems @skepsiss @unclewaynemunson @itsthestrangestthings @emofratboy @devondespresso @finntheehumaneater @loopholesinmydreams @yourmom-isgay @wrenisflying @emsgoodthinkin @messrs-weasley @madigoround @jackiemonroe5512 @gutterflower77 @zerokrox-blog @eriquin @samyuck @lunarmaruna @mugloversonly @kaij-basil-lionelli88

[atmosphericradar]

Found another odd tag — keyed off the word "hiding" — and this time it's a long one!

So, the full tag is:

#blac chyna is hiding true feelings about her ‘rebirth’ makeover – her ‘lip clamps & droops’ are the proof

This sounds like a celebrity gossip headline! And sure enough, this tag is full-to-bursting with this article exclusively.

I got this from the desktop site, because it's wild to see. It's just a wall of the same article, all the way down, for multiple pages.

They're all from early November 2023, and all from blogs with names that end in *-polycom, *-mag, or *news. It seems fairly self-evident that this is the work of some kind of tabloid, but I'm a curious cat. I want to dig deeper.

Digging Deeper

Most of these posts tell you (they don't provide links!) to go read the full article on POLYCOM. Ok, what is a POLYCOM? I don't think it's Poly Inc., maker of video- and teleconferencing appliances, but a few cursory Google and DuckDuckGo searches yield no evidence of anything else.

The most recent post tells us to go track down the article ourselves on "IN TREND", but provides no URL or link. Searching around for "IN TREND" on the web is fairly difficult, returning results for well-known fashion publications, trend analytics, and a brand of clothing called "Intrend". Searching for "In Trend Today" returned more interesting results, including an InTrendToday YouTube Channel and Facebook page. The Facebook page seems to have stopped posting in late 2018, but the YouTube Channel last posted a video on Dec 18, 2023. I'll talk more about the YouTube Channel under the cut at the end of this post.

Some of these posts do have "read more" links pointing to posts on Wordpress, all of which claim to be "on MAG NEWS". Each *-mag blog links out to a separate Wordpress account which seems to be re-uploading the same story. All of these Wordpress Accounts are deleted (for violating Wordpress ToS), and all of these linked posts are gone (here are two examples):

Somehow, I doubt this is some covert arm of the Maricopa Association of Governments newsroom.

Digging down into the results on Tumblr, I found a copy of this post made by the blog vouxsportsnews. They link a Wordpress article from another dead Wordpress account:

BUT, their most recent post on their blog (a gossip article about Zendaya posted on Jan 5, 2024) does have a working Wordpress link, to vouxsportsnews.wordpress.com (clever 🙄):

This is an archetypal internet-based gossip rag. I didn't know these still existed! I guess Wordpress is hunting them down for sport?

The "Read More ..." link in the article goes to a website called top.neotrends.today, which is a sketchy link I will not be clicking on. The "full article" is apparently hosted on www.primesky.media, which I also will not be directly navigating to. I did manage to get a screenshot of the front page of primesky today (Jan 8, 2024) using a webtool:

I blurred the article shown on this page to preserve the privacy of the person it featured.

Primesky is hosted on a Cloudflare virtual private server, and no public info is available on who owns the primesky URL. A search for "redroads amag" on DuckDuckGo leads back to primesky. A search of the same on Google leads to a website at www.clickhere.world, which is immensely sketchy and looks identical to primesky. At this point, I'm going to end my search for a culprit.

Conclusion

I thought I could find the tabloid hydra's body, but I just found more heads. I'm not surprised the operators of a gossip rag bot network on Tumblr are also playing dirty on Wordpress, and covering their digital tracks well. Sometimes it's best to just report spam and go on with your day.

It should go without saying, but DO NOT NAVIGATE to these websites! At worst, they will give you every virus. At best, they will mine crypto in the background of your browser (and rot your brain).

The YouTube Channel Digression

The YouTube channel intrendtoday was created on Oct 4, 2017, and it has more than 53,000 subscribers as of my posting this post (Jan 8, 2024). However, the earliest video on the channel was posted on Nov 7, 2023. That is suspiciously close to when all of these Blac Chyna spam articles went up.

Given that the videos posted get less than 50 views on average, I think the grossly-out-of-proportion subscriber count is evidence of bot subscribers. Maybe the channel re-branded and deleted a prior back-catalog? Archive.org has no snapshots of this YouTube channel, but SocialBlade claims they lost nearly 3.5 million video views in early September of 2023 (indicating they deleted a lot of videos).

SocialBlade also indexes this channel under the name "demattradinginfo", not "intrendtoday". Archive.org doesn't have records of a YouTube URL for the channel demattradinginfo, but a Google search of that name shows results for Demat Accounts, which are a type of financial account commonly used in India to hold securities and trade stocks.

It's possible that whomever is behind the gossip news spam is also in control of this YouTube channel. I wouldn't be surprised, given how frequently people offering financial advice on social media are either scammers or spammers (and sometimes both!). However, I have no proof that the people behind this YouTube channel are the same people behind this social media gossip spamming.

[lucan-multiverse]

cosmic sidestep - their multiverse p4 [Part 1], [Part 2], [Part 3]

--

The days crawl by in his not-life.

He’s out of place. Lost. Purposeless. There’s too much time to think, to remember, to compare. Sleep becomes a chore and the moment his head hits the pillow, Luc discovers himself lost in wretched dreams where Blake and Ryan somehow blend together and he’s trying to reach for them only for his own face and his own hands to shove him away.

He always wakes up disorientated. Dry heaving, choking back tears and fighting for air in a way that brings the nice doctor running to his side and injecting him with something calming until he can breathe again.

Once, Luc had thought he was past this. Not the bitter tang of his grief – that would never fade, but the sharpness of it. It had dulled under the spark of hope he nursed close to his chest. Hope that Blake was still out there. Hope that the only man he belongs to isn’t truly gone.

He could never truly be gone. Luc refuses to accept that possibility.

But the days wear on and yet another year rolls by since the mission to explore closer to the rift had been given the go ahead and Blake had been chosen. Of course he had. He was one of the best.

And then Luc’s parents too. Chosen by the Galaxy Alliance’s top brass too, for the same reason.

And Luc, far away on the outer rim, had only just made it back in time to watch the launch from the deck of the Astral Horizon with his sister and her brood at their side.

It was supposed to only be a flyby, a cursory scouting run, but no one had anticipated the flare. One minute they were there, the next, the anomaly’s readings were off the charts. It flashed, a blinding, bright crescendo-

Then… they were gone.

Luc still counted every single day. Every hour. Every moment without them.

How he functioned – losing his husband and his parents in the same pulsing swell of light and heat– Luc didn’t know. Olivia had been distraught, but her children and her husband had saved her from succumbing to despair completely.

There hadn’t been anyone left to save Luc. Just the ghosts that walked with him through the empty voids of his heart.

--

“This whole thing is fucking insane,” Luca spits angrily, and not for the first time, falling backwards onto the bunk he had once called his own. It hadn’t been that long since he had carted his small bag of all his worldly possessions, his little drone and his guitar to settle into Ryan’s quarters near the bridge but this bunk still felt a little bit like home. Familiar, really.

Harris gives him a sympathetic pat.

“It is fucking wild,” she agrees.

Luca shakes his head furiously, mouth hard and tense. It’s easier to channel his low grade unease and anxiety into anger than it is to face what’s really happening. It’s crazy. It’s insane. It’s…. it terrifies him in a way he can’t bring himself to face.

Much easier to wield his denials like a weapon.

“We don’t even look alike!” he continues to vent.

Burgaw snorts from the other bunk. “Yeah, you do.”

“Bullshit!”

“Luca, he’s literally you. Fifteen years from now,” Harris says. She gives his cheek a cheeky pinch in an effort to lighten the mood. He knows she’s trying to make everything less weird, to ease his unease but all it does is make him seethe. “I knew you would always keep this babyface even in your thirties, though, and now there’s proof.”

He slaps her hand away, wanting to give in to the hot tears pricking behind his eyes. “Shut up.”

“It’s gonna be okay, Luca,” Burgaw sighs. Her voice is a disembodied echo from the top bunk. She’s lying back and he can’t see her eyes, only her profile as she stares at the Berlin’s metal ceilings. “Aren’t you even a little bit curious about his world? Where he came from? Your other life?”

There’s a lot he wants to say to that. It all percolates around in his brain, too many thoughts and fears and same sickening replay of his stomach dropping into his boots. The first time they had explained who the stranger was, where they had found him – none of it seemed real. Right up until they put them in a room together, Luca had thought the whole damn thing was a joke.

In the end, it was the expression on his other self’s face – his face, just… older - when Ryan had walked into the room that had made Luca suddenly believe.

Luca had never had anything worth losing before, but he already knows what he will look like if he lost Ryan.

--

Luc isn’t particularly surprised when Mason tracks him down in the starboard observation lounge. The captain had deemed him safe enough to have run of the ship, except for the hulking escort that shadowed his movements. Some behemoth with super powers that didn’t exist in his world. What did they call it? Bio-ticks? Close. Biotics.

Luc had tried briefly to strike up a conversation with the man, only to get vague grunts in reply. Clearly not a talker and Luc didn’t have the energy to push it.

When the door opens, he doesn’t look away from the nebular swirling in the distance. He expected it to be his escort, only he gets his Dad instead.

The urge to call him that is tight in his chest. Mason, in his world, had been the one to stay home with them when they were younger. Then his parents had swapped and it had been Isaac at the forefront of Luc’s teenage years. It’s unsettling coming face to face with Mason now. Mason with a different face.

Luc almost half expects to see his twin on Mason’s heels and the sudden bout of longing for his sister slams him so hard he almost forgets how to breathe.

The devastation must show on his face because Mason’s lips purse. “If this isn’t a good time, I can come back.”

Typical Mason. “No,” Luc sighs, gesturing to the couch across from him. He’s resigned to this.  It’s been a long time coming. “I figured you would have questions eventually. You talked to Isaac?”

Mason crosses the room, stalking almost. He moves like a predator and he watches Luc just as intently. It’s not natural. In fact, it’s downright terrifying if Luc allows himself to think about it too much. He swallows as Mason lowers himself to the seat, trying to guess at all the parts of him that had been augmented.

He’s heard the rumors too. And the ship’s intranet was a gossip and information goldmine that had been embarrassingly easy to get access to.

Too easy. Luc couldn’t help but wonder if he had had a little help.

He eyes Mason now and tries to smile. Odd to think this lethal killing machine in front of him considered him to be the threat. But he’s typical, a-grade all human. There’s nothing particularly special about him except that he slipped through a tear in the space time continuum and ended up in the wrong reality.

Mason leans back, stare unblinking. “I did.”

“So…” Luc waits for Mason to say more but he doesn’t. “You know.”

Mason nods, giving little away. “I do.”

The beat goes on too long. Silence in the wake of the ship’s life support systems and only the ragged edge to Luc’s breathing. He feels himself fraying. All his edges, held tight protectively, somehow start to unravel.

And he has to ask.

He has to know.

“Can you help me?” Luc whispers through dry lips, even though he knows it’s pointless. They’re at war, their resources here are stretched pitifully thin. There’s no guarantee he’s even in the right time slip.

There’s no guarantee they’re even alive… but Luca won’t forgive himself if he doesn’t try so he squeezes his eyes closed and pins his hopes on a dream. “Can you help me find them?”

-- Mason hadn’t meant to seek Luc out, but he runs twelve laps around the Berlin and still finds himself restless. He slows, grabbing a barely needed towel and wiping the few minor drops of sweat from his augmented body and finds Luc in the observation lounge.

Now that he looks closer, he can see the echoes of Isaac in him so clearly. The straight spine, the lifted chin, the shade of his eyes and the line of his nose. Luc is fine boned, lean, and even in his 30’s he still looks obscenely youthful even if he’s shed the ever present softness of his cheeks his younger counterpart still sports. Luc carries himself with the confidence of a soldier. A military man. And with what Mason has learned of their other selves, he’s not surprised this Luc followed his father and went career too.

But now that he was here, looking into Luc’s slightly wary face, Mason isn’t sure what to say.

In another world, this young man is his son.

The magnitude of it. The longing. It’s bittersweet to know.

“Did something happen?” Luc finally asks, long after Mason had known he’d been speaking for Isaac too when he promised they would do what they could. What could they do other than hover and wait by the tear? They couldn’t sit out the entire war on the fringes, he knew that. But for now… they’d stay.  “Or do you need to ask something?”

The invitation for more is there, laid starkly on the table. Luc knows Mason is curious and Mason doesn’t bother to hide it.

“Is it weird for you to talk about?” Mason finally says, shifting in his seat. It seems vaguely unnatural, like he’s only playing at being human. It’s less disconcerting the more time Luc spends with him and somehow, the separation makes the ache inside him hurt less.

“No,” he finally answers. “Not really. I kind of like it, I guess. Makes me remember. Makes me think about them – makes them feel real. Otherwise I just end up wondering if it’s all a dream.”

“Still. It can’t be easy.” Mason lifts a dark brow and Luca knows he’s pointing in a roundabout way to his father and his husband. “Being here with us.”

Luc leans forward, linking his fingers. “Well. Yeah. Some parts more than others.”

Mason doesn’t need the explanation. He had never understood the intensity that brewed between the Berlin’s pilot and the much younger engineer but he’s less surprised than he should have been to know it transcended lives. It makes him think of his own changing feelings. Of the nights he had spent recently in the Captain’s quarters, savoring with delight the way Isaac shivered and melted and came apart under his touch after succumbing to Mason's first kiss. Mason thought he had lost his home, had resigned himself to being alone the day he had slipped the ring off his finger and dropped it bitterly into the ship’s recyclers, only to realize now it had only been a waypoint for something so much deeper.

Something real and profound. And unexpected.

He pulls his attention back to the dark haired man in front of him. Luc’s dark eyes watch him knowingly.

“Your… husband,” Mason cringes slightly to say the word and he’s not entirely sure why. “I don’t know why it feels weird to hear you say that when you talk about Ryan.”

“Blake was my flight instructor back in basic,” Luc half laughs. He’s almost smiling, even if his eyes are a little shiny. Mason can see how he still smarts from his loss but he’s trying to muscle through. “I took one look at him, felt something I couldn't explain, and pursued him relentlessly.”

Mason hadn’t expected to hear that. He tries to reconcile it with the version of Luca he knows - young, unsure. Crippling self-doubt. He can see here this is where the two of them diverge and he needs to know more. “You pursued him?”

“Well, we fucked the first night,” Luc says blithely, waving a hand. Mason blinks and chuckles inwardly. Yeah, still Luca. “-and I couldn’t let him go. Luckily it was mutual. But when almost got caught and when Blake realized our relationship might mean I wouldn’t be allowed to graduate, he sorta tried to pump the brakes-“

Now that didn’t sound like the Blake Ryan Mason knew.

“But,” Luc continues, this time with a genuine grin. “I convinced him to just marry me instead.”

As quickly as it came, Luc’s smile slips but Mason tries to hold onto the moment.

“I don’t imagine that took a lot of effort,” Mason said dryly, half smiling. He was thinking of the Luca and Ryan he knows, their sheer codependence and Ryan’s protective fierceness every time someone looked twice at him curled around his boy.

“No,” Luc agreed. “It didn’t. But we had to keep it secret for a long time.”

Mason’s frown makes Luc clarify. “Galaxy alliance regs. So we wouldn’t be separated.” He slumps back against the couch and turns his face to the stars outside the viewport. “But I guess that didn’t work out so well after all.” -- [part 4]

[opinions-about-tiaras]

again, this is pure “if you don’t support the gulf war, you’re a saddam lover” logic. wanting to de-escalate=/=support for the enemy. 

My logic here is “Russia is going all-out against Ukraine and has demonstrated it has no desire to de-escalate; at best, it has made some noises about wanting a cease-fire, which means ‘we get to keep the land we’ve conquered and say is ours.’ The Ukrainians have rejected this utterly, and there is no credible evidence they are being forced to reject this. Therefore, taking the position of ‘we shouldn’t be supporting Ukraine so much, and we should be using such support as we do have to twist their arms to get them to the peace table and then twisting it more to give up land to the fash’ is hard to read as anything other than support for Putin.”

Your analogy to the Iraq War is flawed given that the US were the ones invading Iraq on thin pretexts; one can reasonably take a stance of “we shouldn’t invade countries on thin pretexts, even shitty ones.” This is much different from “a country has been invaded on a thin pretext... but we shouldn’t be trying to hard to help them.”

an absolute joke for you to pretend that it was just “an opinion” , ] and it’s obvious that it wasn’t just “an opinion” from even a cursory look at the contents of the recording. 

This is, of course, not true. Not one bit. You’re the one who provided the link, which is one hundred percent not a conversation about who was going to be installed into Ukrainian leadership against the wishes of the Rada. The tapes don’t show that. They do not.

oh so the armed militias making explicit threats of violence had no effect at all then. okay. 

Not enough of one to de-legitimate either Yanukovych’s impeachment, or, again, the subsequent elections. It’s sort of important to note that as far as I’m aware, few if any of the deputies involved have come forward with anything resembling “I felt I had to vote to remove Yanukovych or I’d be shot.” The Rada has stood by its decision, which had and has quite a lot of support and has been ratified four times since in future elections.

oh and how many of those countries weren’t staunch US allies. 

Hungary was in there. The Kazakhs as well.

But, is your position actually “if a country is a staunch US ally, its election observers should be regarded a priori as not to be trusted?”

This is very nearly getting to “unfalsifiable conspiracy theory” levels. Because it seems like you’re taking the position of “the two elections in 2014 and then the two more in 2019 can’t be trusted, despite the presence of mass international and domestic observers, many of them ideologically hostile to the dominant Ukrainian political coalitions, because they were conducted primarily by nations friendly with the US.”

If you are contending that, that’s bananaballs. If you’re not I don’t know WHAT you’re contending. If you have some strong proof that Ukrainian democracy isn’t a thing, that those elections were shams, I’d like to see it.

again, a demonstration that you will treat anyone who attempts to push for any kind of peace whatsoever as being in bed with the enemy, because you’d rather see more lives lost in this pointless war than make any kind of compromise for peace. 

Whether or not a compromise is made should be left up to Ukraine. Others are entitled to an opinion as to what their optimal courses of action are, but as a structural matter this should be in their hands.

And this is, of course, not true. I have stated multiple times how favor in peace I am; all Russia has to do is turn around and go home. We could have peace tomorrow. It is the invader and conqueror who is the obstacle of peace, not the people being invaded.

You are the one who is cloaking himself in the language of the left, while demanding that the US exert power and leverage to get a smaller state dependent on its aid to give up territory to a fascist invader which has as its goal the destruction of that state and its people, while SIMULTANEOUSLY saying that US diplomats jawing about future Ukrainian leadership prospects represents an unacceptable use of coercion. This is a strange kind of leftism.

if the things your country is currently doing are a worse version of what you’re pointing the finger at another country for doing, you are in no position for your country to take the role of world policeman, and you would be better off trying to pressure your own country to be the change you want to see in the world. 

Even if I accept this logic, which I don’t, the US is not in fact currently engaged in a worse version of anything Russia is doing, so this would seem not to apply to Ukraine.

You might be able to make the case of “the PRC is substantially better than the US across multiple axes of domestic and international policy when it comes to things like freedom and tyranny” but this seems unlikely.

And, again, I reject the logic of “if your country is doing bad shit, you can’t advocate for it to do good shit.” In fact, I am pressuring my country to be the change I want to see in the world; the change I want to see in the world is “fascists dont’ get to plunder and conquer” and supporting Ukraine is a very great way to achieve that change.

[liberal voice]: the idea that you should care about the indigenous people being neglected in hawaii is just a right-wing narrative! the true, progressive, left-wing narrative is that we must increase military funding to defeat the nefarious threat of red china

[textsfromthetva]

Finally...

Title: Designated Breaks

Pairing: Loki/Mobius/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 3,3k

Summary: Reader pegs Mobius while Loki watches. I don’t know what else to tell you, that’s pretty much it.

AO3 Link

“Where did you even get these?” Loki asks you, frowning as he rummages through the toys. “I mean, you never leave the TVA... and I doubt they are purchasable in the commissary.”

You silently raise an eyebrow at him while carefully untangling the leather harness you dug out from the same box. ‘Take a guess’ is heavily implied.

So Loki continues, his voice ponderous. “Which means...” he looks up at Mobius, a smile slowly spreading on his face as he figures it out. “You brought them back.”

Mobius, sitting on the edge of his bed, wearing only his underwear and his shirt, unbuttoned, blushes. “Look at you,” he says. “Using deductive reasoning. Almost like a proper agent.”

Loki scoffs. “I’m not-” he catches himself, realizing that Mobius is deflecting. “But you never leave this place either, unless you’re going on a mission...” he trails off, his smile widening. “You got a hold of these while out in the field. What did you do, sneak off to the nearest sex shop while the Hunters were busy? Hide them in your pockets?” He picks up the largest dildo of the bunch. “Surely it would be difficult to carry this on your person without anyone noticing.”

“I had a bag with me,” Mobius replies, cheeks growing more and more red.

Loki laughs, obviously delighted. You’ve come to appreciate the sound of his genuine laughter, the one devoid of scorn or darkness. Sure, he’s taking joy in teasing Mobius right now, but there is no trace of malice in it. “So you came prepared,” he says. “You planned it. Tell me, what would you have done if someone found out? Went through your little bag of goodies?”

“I would have claimed it was related to the mission,” Mobius promptly answers.

Loki’s smile could light up a room. “Ah, so what you’re saying is, there was absolutely nothing spontaneous about these purchases.”

Mobius tries to keep a straight face but fails spectacularly. “No,” he admits.

Loki hums, running slim fingers over the array of sex toys. “I must admit, I did not see this coming.”

“Well that just shows an extreme lack of imagination on your part,” you say. “Now, why don’t you pick one for us?”

Loki looks pleasantly surprised. “Why thank you for trusting me like that, Agent.” He speaks the title like it’s a regular name by now. He still doesn’t know your real one, and you intend to keep it like that. “Does he get a say?” Loki asks, nudging his head in Mobius’ direction.

Mobius lowers his chin, face bright red even as he stares Loki down. “Do your worst, kitten.”

Loki chuckles and picks up a dildo. It’s black in color, but shaped like a real cock, veins and all. It’s not the biggest you own, but it’s large enough to be noteworthy, and it matches your plain black panties. Loki turns it over in his hands, judging the weight and size, and eventually he makes a low noise of approval. “This one, I think.”

You’re knelt on the bed next to Mobius, and so you get to see his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. Loki has inadvertently picked one of his favorites.

You grin at the trickster god. “Excellent choice.” You hold out your hand, and Loki passes you the dildo. “Now, let me show you how it’s done.”

Loki smirks. “I cannot wait.”

Nervous tension is practically coming off Mobius in waves, so you drop the dildo next to you on the bed and put a finger under his chin, urging him to turn his face so you can kiss him. His edginess lessens almost immediately as he turns his body towards you and melts into the kiss, only trembling a little when you stroke your hand down his neck and help him out of his shirt.

One of these days you may stop constantly keeping tabs on Loki during these sessions, but not yet, so even as you and Mobius’ kisses grow more heated, and his heavy breathing fills the air, you make sure to listen to Loki moving around the room. When you hear him dragging a chair across the floor, you open one eyes and spare him a glance out of the corner of it. He has picked the only armchair Mobius owns and placed it far enough from the bed to signal his readiness to remain a spectator for now. He sits down. Well, slides into the seat with annoying elegance, hooking one leg over the armrest, legs spread wide. He looks very appealing like that. It doesn’t hurt that he’s already hard, the outline of his erection clearly visible through the tight fabric of his trousers. He doesn’t move to touch himself though.

Mobius must have sensed your momentary distraction, because he makes an impatient sound and presses his body closer to yours.

“Sorry, love,” you mutter against his lips, stroking your fingers through his hair while your other hand travels along his side with enough pressure to avoid tickling him. Mobius hums with pleasure, delighting in your undivided attention as you kiss him and trail your fingertips in random patterns over his upper chest. You do love his body, all pliant flesh and smooth skin. Loki might be strikingly beautiful, his lean frame looking like it was carved from marble be an artist with a crush, but Mobius is yours, from the soft lines of his belly and love-handles, to his full lips and twinkling eyes. A sudden rush of possessiveness rushes through you and you tighten your fingers around the curve of his hip while grabbing a handful of his hair, pulling it to make him arch his head back. You trace your lips and teeth down the column of his throat, leaving red marks that won’t be faded entirely by the time you all leave here. You’re normally not this brazen. People might notice. They might think Loki did it. But you’ll know it was you, and that’s what matters.

Mobius obviously approves as well, because he moans deeply, a hand coming to rest on your thigh while the other gropes at your shoulder. “Please,” he breathes.

You could ask him to elaborate, make him use his words, but you can sense his growing desperation, and decide to indulge him this time. You hook your fingers under the waistband of his underwear and give it a little snap. “Off.”

Mobius moves off the bed and to his feet. Standing where he is, you find yourself tantalizingly close to his very hard cock when he gets the underwear off. It’s just too tempting, too easy, to grab his hip with one hand and his dick with the other, stroking the impressive length and looking up at him playfully. He lets out a shuddering breath but meets your gaze, his eyes dark and pupils wide. His hips sway back and forth, not thrusting per se, just gently following the rhythm of your languid strokes.

You lean forward, and Mobius inhales sharply when you swipe your tongue over the head of his cock, licking away the precome that had formed at the slit. You’re tempted to take him into your mouth, but you’re afraid you won’t be able to stop once you’ve begun, not until he has come, and that’s not the plan. Instead you press a kiss to his lower stomach and murmur, “On all fours. Now.”

While Mobius scrambles to obey, you take a second to check on Loki. His right hand has moved, now resting on his upper thigh, thumb idly stroking along the edge of the tent in his pants. “That was cruel, Agent” he says once he notices you watching him.

“You obviously haven’t seen me be cruel,” you reply.

Loki’s grin reminds you of a shark. “Another time, perhaps?”

You like this, the banter, but Mobius in now on his hands and knees on the bed, and that’s a lot more important. His body is trembling, and he almost jumps when you touch his hip. He’s not usually this high-strung, but having an audience, having Loki as an audience, is obviously affecting him more than you had assumed it would. You can’t decide whether you like that.

Jealousy is an ugly thing, you decide, as you reach for the lube that you left on the bedspread. Plus, you’re the one who’s trailing your lube-slick finger down the cleft of Mobius’s gorgeous ass moments later, while Loki is only allowed to watch, so who is the real winner here?

Mobius’s breath is turning ragged, and when you push a finger inside him, it hitches. You let out a soothing sound and just like that he exhales, muscles relaxing as he spreads his thighs and drops down on his elbows. So beautifully responsive, rocking back and forth as you work a second finger into him, and then a third. He’s tight, as always, but you’re nothing if not patient and dedicated to his pleasure, murmuring words of encouragement and stroking his flank with your free hand, keeping focus even as you hear the sound of Loki’s zipper being pulled down. A moment later a soft exhale lets you know he has taken himself in hand. You’d look, but you’re currently transfixed by the blush spreading across Mobius’ shoulders and the back of his neck. Sweat is starting to glisten on his skin and you lean down, dragging you tongue along his spine.

“Ready?” you ask.

“Yeah,” Mobius replies. “Very.”

Getting into a strap-on harness with one hand slippery with lube isn’t easy, but you’ve got no small amount of practice. When everything is in place, you shuffle up to Mobius, who shifts his legs, spreading them far enough to allow you to kneel between his knees. You use one hand to line up the dildo while the other holds his hips steady, then you carefully push forward.

Mobius lets out a gorgeous noise, quivering under your hand as the dildo disappears into him by tiny increments until you’re fully buried inside him, your hips pressed against his backside. Off to the side, you can hear Loki’s breathing growing more labored. You pull back, and then push forward again hard enough to make Mobius gasp. Another sharp thrust, followed by half a dozen slower ones, and he’s already moaning needily, rocking back to meet you. You grab his hips to hold him steady.

You know just how he likes it; how he loves the build-up from slow and measured to hard and desperate, and you give him exactly what he wants, leisurely rocking back and forth to begin with, looking down to watch the dildo sliding in and out of him, which has no business being as hot as it is.

You make the mistake of glancing over at Loki, and almost falter in your established rhythm. He looks amazing. Face flushed, hand carefully working his hard cock in time with your thrusts. His trousers are barely pushed clear of his hips. At some point he has unbuttoned his shirt, and his free hand is resting on his chest, fingertips circling his nipple. He notices you looking, and his face briefly lights up under the weight of your attention, a sly grin spreading over his features. He somehow manages to sprawl out further, the movement of his hand speeding up, his breathing even heavier and faster than it was before, eyes still fixed on you and Mobius.

You decide to follow his example. Your abdominal muscles and hips are starting to ache a little from the effort, but you ignore the discomfort in favor of picking up the pace. Mobius obviously approves, his moans getting increasingly wanton. When you snake one hand around his middle and press your hand against his stomach. he obediently moves until he’s sitting upright in your lap, back pressed tightly against your chest. This new position is easier on you, allowing you to shallowly thrust up into him, while he helps keeping the rhythm by moving up and down on his own. It also makes the dildo hit his prostrate with each thrust, and the desperation in his movements and mewling moans reflect this fact.

“How does he look?” you ask Loki, your voice strained.

“Beautiful,” Loki answers without even a moment’s hesitation. “The both of you... you’re beautiful.”

You don’t know why, but that last part makes you smile, and you press your face against the back of Mobius’ neck to hide your expression from Loki. You reach for Mobius’s cock, wrapping your fingers around it and letting your hand follow the rhythm of your increasingly erratic thrusts. Mobius lets out a sound of pleasured relief, head lolling back to rest on your shoulder. The position puts your mouth in reach of his throat, and you place a wet kiss there, before biting down where his shoulder meets his neck.

Mobius gasps, twists his hips, and comes with a long groan, spilling all over your hand and his sheets. His movements falter, but you pick up the slack, thrusting up into him, letting him ride out the pleasure. You only stop once you feel him shudder with overstimulation, dropping your weight down on your heels just as Mobius’ thighs give out as well. You support the both of you for a little bit, one hand on the curve of Mobius’ hip, the other caressing his stomach, but then the adrenaline starts fading, and it becomes too hard to keep you both upright. Mobius notices your discomfort and very carefully drops forward onto his hands and knees once more, allowing you to pull back. When the dildo slides out of his body, Mobius makes a sound of discomfort, so you lean forward and place a kiss on his lower back. “You did so well, sweetheart.”

Mobius makes a satisfied noise, flopping down on the bed and rolling over, exposing you to the sight of his thoroughly fucked out expression, the glow of pleasure and relaxation that’s painted clearly on his features and the way he stretches his body.

“Agent.”

You turn your attention to Loki. In all the excitement, you have somehow missed him reaching his own climax, which makes you unexpectantly disappointed. Not that this sight isn’t attractive as well. His muscles fully relaxed for once, limps splayed out, his normally pale skin flushed with residual arousal. And there’s the whole thing where he is slowly licking his fingers clean om his own come. Can’t forget that part.

“Yeah?” you ask. You realize that you still sound breathless and tense.

“I would very much like to make you come.”

You inhale slowly, pretending to consider it. “If you wish.”

Loki is on his feet in an instant, crossing the distance between you in three long strides while you move to the edge of the mattress. He effortlessly drops to his knees by the side of the bed, helping you out of the harness when nimble fingers, tossing it and the dildo over his shoulder once it’s free of your legs. Your panties quickly follow, and you don’t even get the chance to shift forward, Loki’s hands are already on your hips, firmly pulling you straight to the edge of the bed and pressing his lips to your cunt without preamble. You let out a strangled moan, only now realizing just how sensitive your arousal has left you. When Loki slides two of his impossibly long fingers into you, you let yourself drop backwards onto the mattress.

He doesn’t tease for once, licking firmly at your clit while steadily thrusting his fingers in and out of your cunt. It’s a tried-and-true strategy, and within a minute your back is arching off the bed, your fingers burying themselves in Loki’s hair, needlessly holding him in place as you stubbornly try to keep as quiet as possible. Like he doesn’t know the effect he has on you, like he cannot feel your thigh muscles quivering while your cunt tightens around his clever fingers. Just when you think you cannot stand it any longer without falling apart, Mobius appears in your field of vision. His hair is still wild, his eyes bright, and when he kisses you, his mustache tickles your upper lip, a feeling so familiar to you that you sometimes dream about it. You reach up one hand up to clutch at his shoulder, holding onto Loki’s hair with the other.

You’re not proud of the way you cry out the god’s name when you finally come, but no one is perfect.

By the time you’ve regained your senses, Loki, now devoid of his clothes, is climbing onto the bed and into Mobius’ arms, wrapping himself around him like an octopus. They meet in a deep kiss and Mobius growls, pulling back to lick obscenely at Loki’s bottom lip. “I love tasting her on your mouth,” he confesses, and you feel your face growing even hotter than it already was, while Loki only smiles and offers himself up for another messy kiss. He remains surprisingly passive, letting Mobius suck at his lips and lick into his mouth while you watch in silence, mesmerized by the display.

Loki is hard again when Mobius finally decides to let him go, and the god whines pathetically when Mobius seems genuinely intent on winding the whole thing down. He digs his fingers into Mobius’ shoulders, and although he may seem unabashedly desperate, you can see calculation in the arch of his back, how he holds himself in the most enticing way he knows how, kiss-swollen lips parted, eyes hooded.

“I’m tired, kitten,” Mobius murmurs, planting soft kisses along Loki’s jaw regardless. “Not all of us have your stamina.”

Loki throws you a desperate glance, and although you’re probably just as tired, you feel uncharacteristically indulgent. “All right,” you say, lying back and letting your legs drop open in the laziest way possible. “You’ve got ten minutes before I have to leave for my shift.”

Loki is on you immediately, and it’s clear from the way he shivers when he guides his cock into you that the ten-minute deadline won’t be a problem. You know you’re still tight from your previous orgasm and showing Loki tenderness during round two always works like a charm, so you wrap your arms loosely around his neck and pull him down into an uncharacteristically soft kiss. Loki makes a pitifully desperate sound, seizing your left hip in an iron grip with one hand, gently cradling your cheek with the other, all while he thrusts steadily into you. It isn’t until he releases your hip to reach for your sex that you realize he intends to bring you off again. Luckily he doesn’t misinterpret your amused hum for something negative when his fingertips clumsily circle over your clit. You’re so wet, it’s difficult for him to get proper friction going, but in your state it’s enough.

Your second orgasm isn’t as overwhelming as the first, but it’s longer and somehow more satisfying, the feeling of a cock moving inside you adding to the pleasure in a way a couple of fingers just can’t manage. You muffle your moans against Loki’s mouth, and you can feel the buildup of his orgasm by the way his attention to the kiss wavers, until he’s simply panting against your cheek. He comes with a sound that’s equal parts pleasure and relief.

Your lovers are lazy, you decide as you exit the bathroom five minutes later, having already cleaned up and gotten dressed. Loki and Mobius are still lying on Mobius’ bed, limbs tangled, naked, the former obviously sleeping.

“We have work to do,” you say.

Mobius looks very apologetic. “Can’t. I’m cuddling a kitten. You shouldn’t wake them, you know.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine, I’ll cover for you. You get one hour.”

The smile Mobius gives you is so fond, it makes your heart ache. “Thank you, Agent.”

You snort, only allowing yourself to grin stupidly once your back is turned.

[gojoho]

KARMA

• premise; he's seen a lot of curses in his time, how they damage those around them but would gladly be the savior if it meant getting his fill.

• pairing; vol.0!suguru geto x reader [ nsfw ]

• words; 3,779

• note & warning; so this has been sitting in my drafts for a while, wasn’t going to post it since i kinda hate it but…fuck it. here’s some vol 0 suguru. enjoy, i guess? oh yeah, you guys know i can’t proof read for shit so some grammatical mistakes. it isn’t crazy, just some light degradation, choking, if you squint really hard gaslighting and manipulation, lastly unprotected sex ( wrap it before you tap it )

Suguru Geto was a name that went alongside indiscretion, and his presence was not always as welcomed as he would have wanted. A cursory circumstance; whether you liked him or despised him, either way, it was a grisly fate that awaited those who were brave enough to stand in his opposition. No stranger to your sharp tongue or defiance, he was well aware that this time around it was hatred that followed his character.

Submission was demanded through intimidation. A predator of the defenseless, feeding on their vulnerabilities. Curses were not just seen by everyone, not totally, but that didn't make them any less of a threat. And, his talent to discern the evil among humanity earned him respect. Why the interests of your destitute elders collide with his vanity. Believing that the hand of a God would save your body from those so-called demons, not realizing that they were handing you over to a devil. Beseeching him to remove the impurity from your hips.

"All the king’s horses and all the king’s men," were his exact words. Neither formal compliance nor rejection, but he knew his voice—resonant and filled with merited arrogance— kept meaning with you.

He did, however, appreciate the irony of your reliance on his every last word. After all, you did your best to denigrate every single one (in what he would consider a pitiful insurrection). Your feeble attempts to regulate the rush of excitement, the curse's ferocious hunger; it was all amusing. Finally, Karma was on his side.

Most evenings were spent in silence, excluding your whines now and then. He’d offer a glance at where your curse had opted to feed and immediately found himself taken with how swiftly your body reacted to such an illusory touch. The very idea of modesty lost beneath midnight, but it was the ghostly sight of your pleasure that had buried his consciousness alive. Condemning his sorrowful insomnia, this was a far better reason to be awake rather than simple paranoia.

A full state of obedience that begged for more, a wonderful warm pink glow in your cheeks to rival the one he envisioned below your pelvis, and with that his blood starts to boil. The very concept of your flavor was contemporary and nothing short of delicious to his imagination. Tender flesh, more delicate than anything his tongue had ever encountered.

Suguru's self-indulgence is why, more often than not, a glance transforms into a gaze. Seeing you surrender to the greedy hands of your curse, whether it was between your knees or your chest. Your desperate efforts to keep the sounds of your pleasure at bay only fuel his need to hear them out in the open. More or less commanded by his own hand.

What was to be your moments of humility have devolved into nothing more than his own punishment. Because, with all his senses obscured by a long-neglected hunger, he can't help but succumb to his curiosity. Longing for a taste, a feel. "Curses are a product of humanity's indiscretion."

And as his voice fills the night for the first time in what seems like weeks, you could only raise your usual objections. The day went on longer for not only him it would seem, "I'm not in the mood for one of your lectures."

Not that he'd have it any other way, your stubbornness is the only constant in all his confusion. It was almost...assuring.

"The incompetence of emotion feeds their livelihood, it is their life force." All but one of the candles went out, their flames smother by his dull fingers. "Without their hunger, they might as well already be dead."

"Let me guess, I should probably be thanking you for all you've done for me and my people."

Suguru chuckled wryly, allowing for the moon's turmoil to guide his eyes to the back of your frame. The frail pins in your hair, help the back of your neck remain subjected to attention. His fingers twitched at the thought of being coiled around it, trapped in its delicacy and his fervor.

“Wouldn’t think a monkey like you were capable of gratitude.” His words, low as they were, picked your nerves apart. He could very much feel it. The usual condescension in his tone stirs the rebellion in you that’s been dormant for days. Thickening the tension that suffocates his sagacity.

The room, his room—Suguru found too much enjoyment in your suffering to have you settle with the rest of his flock. More importantly, even though you were a thorn in his side, you were inexplicably dangerous among the others. Whether it was Suda's disapproval or your ignorance, death wasn't yet an impossibility. Exasperating as it was, you were of no use to him dead, and with the furrow of your brow compromised by the warm color in your cheeks—it would be a shame to let such an opportunity waste. As much of a nuisance that was, he’d give credit where it was due and your skin under moonlight deserved much more than praise. It deserved a mark, specifically those of his teeth.

"Don't call me that."

He hummed, stepping forward to hover at the foot of the bed. The robes hung loosely from his shoulders barely kept up with their duties at this hour. Putting up on display the full course of his well-fitted chest, something unusual for a supposed monk. The thought was slightly promiscuous with the gentle expression in his half-lidded eyes. “And what should I call you, if it is not the very thing you are?”

You'd have half a mind letting him call you something so degrading, but Suguru’s only explanation for your quietness resides in the beady eyes of your pudgy curse peering at him from the shadows. It’s sticky hands creeping up for a feel of your chest, while two more creep around your hips.

The disgusting creature, he noted while your breath rushes through your lips, has a habit of going straight for its meal. Groping feverishly at the axis of your thighs, which he found pitiful. To enjoy the fruits of labor, it first must be earned and if it were up to him he'd earn your taste. Starting slow until it's like meat falling from the bone.

Your whimper is tempting but Suguru takes a moment to watch the pressure work over your body. How it fights to keep from crumbling right where you sat on his bed.

“You wish to be something more, to replace that fear of being nothing, so my callings are a threat to you, but you see…” He trailed, bringing a finger to your chin, forcing your lustful eyes to look upon his own. “In this world, those who are blind can never expect to see the heavens without first witnessing hell.”

The curse-user pulled at your bottom lip before he pressed his thumb to your tongue. The warmth of your mouth ran straight through his body with a shock. And as your breath meets his skin, all else fades without importance.

He suppose, killing the curse the first time he laid eyes on it would've saved him the trouble in his loins, but the defying salacious look all over your face would've been lost to the constant pondering of what if. So with no hesitation, he pushed his finger further into your mouth half expecting some sort of wrenching resistance but there was nothing.

“Well, well,” he mused, “You really do have such a filthy mouth.”

Your groan only encouraged his teasing, and the saliva gathered around his digit traces your lips entirely until they glistened. Suguru clicked his tongue, “We’ll just have to fix that as well. Give it something else to do other than run on and on.”

The worrisome expression on your face is all the more amusing when it dilutes into a flustered and timid blush. “Relax, pet, I’m not the monster you make me out to be. Not even I am that cruel. Besides you wouldn’t be able to handle all of me in one night.”

It was as if he could see the cogs turning behind your eyes, their little glimmer from the scattered moonlight illuminating a look he’s never seen in them. Fascinating was the first word to come to mind, anything after followed a play of what he would do to you within the span of the next few minutes.

“But you’d like that, wouldn’t you? To know that you'd been right all along about the snake their garden.” He cajoled, cupping your jaw with the same hand t before leaning down to brush his lips against your neck. “Or is it something else?”

The intoxicating gentle scent of jasmine and vanilla bombards his nose at such close range; it’s suffocating. With one deep breath and a feathery kiss just beneath your ear, he is addicted. He grinned at the patent irony, unabashed about whether or not you can feel his lips spread.

“Don’t-“ you choked out to his surprise.

And it’s then he sees it in his lowering gaze, just how tightly your knees are clamped together. Grasping at the little friction your thighs give off. Though more importantly, the tender swelling poking out from the fabric that covers your chest. Admittedly it was a bit of a chill evening but your reaction wasn’t just provoked by the cold.

He hummed, grinning wider now, still lingering below your ear. “What was that little one? Don’t tell me you’ve gone all shy on me now? I was looking forward to that fire of yours.”

The curse, still annoyingly alive, gurgled, and soon after you whimper directly into his ear. “Don’t tease me.”

At this, he shoots up with a rambunctious chuckle. Pulling away from you in amusement. The single candle left gave him enough light to work with the embarrassment written into your expression.

“You know, you’re quite cute,” Suguru smirked, “Rebellious and stubborn one minute, and the next you’re a flustered mess. I can’t help but to be flattered knowing I have this much of an affect on you.”

“Fuck you.”

“We’ll get to that part, but first…” he quipped, raking back a few strays of hair that managed to slip free from their tie. His tone grows darker when he speaks again, “Admit just how you need a tyrant like me to heal that body of yours. That is what you called me isn’t it, a tyrant?”

Amongst all the words in your colorful vocabulary, 'tyrant' is the one that stuck with him the most. A newfound sense of pride came from hearing it. It's inaccurate but precious to think that you're well established to waste your strength on non-curse users.

“Is that not the very thing you are?” You mock his words from earlier, and while he knows it’s a weak jab at his ego Suguru scoffs.

“Even now you pass judgment,” he looked down at you with a condescending brow. “When your body is the way it is. If I were you I’d beg.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Let’s settle this,” he sighs pulling his hair-free. Letting a stream of black silk spill over his shoulders and down his face. “Beg.”

Your curse sputters out more of its incoherent nonsense when a new taste comes from your body, but between his temper and little patience, Suguru flicks his hand. He found it irritating, how such a filthy creature had been reaping his benefits. If only you weren’t so stubborn, he thought, then maybe you wouldn’t be in this state.

The curse shrinks in on itself, rounding over its edges into a dense mass of energy. The force its density has against the floor is loud but only a slight creak to your ears. He can see the mix of relief and confusion stretch in your brows as you tilt your head to look at him, wondering what's going on.

“If you know whats good for you,” —he worked his fingers through his hair, tying everything back up into a neat and quick bun— “don’t make me repeat myself.”

“You’re crazy,” you whisper out in disbelief. “What makes you think I’ll do what you say?”

“I don’t think,” he sneered, “I know you’ll do as I say. That is if you want to finally orgasm. How long has it been? Weeks?”

He can practically hear your heartbeat from where he stood, the change in your breathing as he works his obi from around his torso obvious to ears like his.

“Curses are restless, kill one and two more sprung up in its place. How long do you think it is before another sniffs you out?” There isn't much under his yukata, and when his obi is loose enough to collapse with the slightest touch Suguru looks at you expectantly.

“You don’t have to be so crude,” you murmur timidly, complying with the inevitable.

He could have teased you, but after exorcising the curse, Suguru had used up all of his patience. Instead, he stalked back over to the bed and appointed himself between your knees. Pinning your reaching wrists above your head, he let your scent fill his nose once more as his lips found your neck again.

“Then be a good pet,” he hummed gently against your skin. “Give me what I want and I’ll show you just how sweet I can be.”

You were used to everyone at your beck and call, following every order, having admiration follow your name. But then he slithered through the grass and into the clearing. He was well aware you wouldn’t succumb to his facade, but he never imagined it would lead the two of you here.

Your body, warm and writhing beneath him, responds easily to his touch. The way his lips trail down the ridge of your neck and along your collarbone, or the way his free hand skims the wide surface of your thigh as it folds around his hips.

“Suguru.”

It isn’t the first time you've said his name, but the gentle sultry tone in which it falls from your lips is a betrayal to all the times before. A sound sweet enough to stroke his ego, and have his cock twitch to life. Yet he’s antagonizing slow with his peppered kisses, each one aiding your arching back up further against him wanting more. And as he trails further down he keeps his eyes on your face; parting lips, skewed brows, and eyes rolled back.

Karma is so sweet to him, he thought giving one long swipe of his tongue down your sternum. Suguru can’t think of a better way to break your pride and reinforce his own.

“C’mon,” he cooed, “You can do better than that.”

“I…” you whisper with a voice that is not your own. It is too weak with desperation written so plainly into a single word. “I need it.”

“Need what?”

And in defeat, you rasp out “You. I need you.”

He doesn't hesitate to secure one of your breasts into his hot mouth and the other into his hand. Freeing your wrist to let them guide your hands into his hair. The tug on his scalp sends a jolt of electricity through him and settles in his groin. His lap presses firmly to the back of your thighs, giving acknowledgment to his growing bulge.

Your nipples harden under his tongue and fingers, inviting him in for more. He playful nips at them, and your hips relax into the bed, allowing him to press further against you. The length of your yukata never crossed his mind, but the more he pressed against you, the more obvious it became. He wouldn't complain about it now, your heat is keeping his erection entertained with occasional throbbing.

He lets go of your nipple with a slight pop, and then gives the next nipple the same abuse. Meeting your hips as you grind into him, it’s a faint sensation, the sticky dampness between you two. Whether it’s been from your arousal or his own, it makes things much easier.

Pulling back from your chest, he rests on his knees. Watching you heave feverishly awaiting his next move. He sheds from his yukata, and then pulls at yours, stripping you bare before him. His eyes are sharp, darkly baring into yours as his lips move parallel to his fingers to spit into them.

His hand is cold against his cock, but Suguru doesn’t hesitate to give himself a slow stroke down to the hilt and back to the tip. Watching your fluttering lashes staring at his hand while your hips buck in time with it. The warmth of his knuckles over your tender bud soothes the ache that’s been there for days.

“You look so pathetic,” he says softly. “So hungry for my cock.”

With no warning, he pushes your hips up against his lap, and fits his girth between your folds, as he thrusts slowly against you.

“And to think I was worried you’d ruin everything. If I’d known you’d been this desperate for a cock, I’d fuck you a lot sooner.”

You frown, getting ready to protest but with a few light taps over your clit with his tip and a slow thrust your mouth falls open for a different reason. “That’s it, no need to get all worked up. Just relax, and be a good pet. ”

He wore your walls thin, stretching you out around his cock to satisfy the inexplicable neediness in them. The gasp parting your lips is a mere compliment in dramatics. Suguru chuckled a low rumbling that reached deep into the pit of your stomach.

"Good," he mumbled, the pad of his thumb pressing against your clit. Teasing its ache with a gentle swipe, before spreading your labia wider. Eyeing where your body met his own.

 Suguru would’ve thought otherwise with just how homely it was there inside your cunt, but he was sure it wasn’t the first time you’ve been with a man, maybe the first in a long while. Still, surely not the first. 

He turned his attention back to where you needed it the most, pressing himself on top of the nerves. Your writhing made him seep deeper. Musing, he watched your hips roll over him, impatient with his stagnant position. "Like a bitch in heat, this is all you needed isn’t it? A good filling."

His pace was slow, but powerful and sharp all the same. Each thrust brings your hips onto him ruthlessly. A sting outweighed by pleasure. The drive anchoring you beneath him. "Don’t you...don’t you think you're being a little, fuck, rough."

There’s a moment of silence as he leans closer to your face, the closest he’s ever been, and the sincere plead in your brows makes him chuckle.

"Oh baby," He mewled, nose brushing up your cheek. Inhaling that scent he loved so much, before whispering "This isn’t even the half of it."

In line with his words, Suguru wrapped a hand around your throat with another on your side and rocked with a generous rhythm. Fucking into you without pity. All his stress from over the past week funneling into his pelvis slamming down into your own. You deserved this, earned it really. For causing him so much trouble. All because you’d been in need of a good fuck.

Surprised but unbothered by his hand around your throat, the slight squeeze made it barely seem as if it’d been there. As much as you drove him crazy, you made him feel equally as good. The face you give him as he drives into you proves the vice versa.

“There you go,” he breathed out. “Take it.”

And you do; you take every inch of his cock whimpering, whining, and moaning till there are tears forming at the corner of your eyes. Afraid to cry out and have everyone hear just how good he’s making you feel. So to compensate for his pleasure in drilling his cock into you mercilessly, his lips finally meet yours for the first time all night.

Suguru releases your neck and wraps his arm under you, pulling you closer, and swallows your groans. He was mental, absolutely insane, but the way you feel over his cock and his lips makes it all seem worth it. His curiosity was solved effortlessly. To have you melt for him, submit to him one way or another—he could cum right then and there. Though he didn’t want to be over so soon. He just got his hands on you, and so he slows his strokes, giving you both a chance to catch your breaths.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper on his lips. “For the love of god, please don’t stop.”

The sounds of your avidity, make him moan and for a minute he forgets everything that led up to that point. The only thought in his head was that sooner or later he was going explode. Helpless and craving for that release, he buries his head into your neck panting uncontrollably. His limbs are firm, tense with anticipation, “Cum for me.”

“Make me,” you beg. Even after your strong front earlier into the evening there you were begging.

He grunts at the slight contraction sucking him back in and take note of your legs locking around him. You were close. And so he shifted his weight around, grabbed a handful of your hair, and pulled your head back. Forcing your eyes to meet his own.

“Cum for me.” He repeated firmly, nearly drawing all the way out of your body to slam back inside at a bruising pace.

“Yes,” you whine once, then twice before doing so over and over with each one of his thrusts until finally, you’re shuddering beneath him.

Your fluttering walls, earn a few more sloppy thrusts until he rests his forehead against yours grunting lowly as his cock spasmed. Spilling the tension that bound his muscles. All over you. Inside you.

He holds you still, unable to handle any sudden movements. Even his own twitching proved to be a problem for his composure. It’s silent for a split second, nothing but heavy breaths filling in the ambience.

“Hey,” you spoke quietly after relearning to breathe. “Just answer me honestly. Are you really a monk?”

“Fuck,” he hissed his hand still tangled in your hair.

Suguru rolled his eyes, but still spared a glance at you. Your eyes are softer than normal, not filled with the usual hatred or disgust but with…hope.

“No,” he said flatly.

It’s then he noticed that the candle had long gone out and that he’d just been close enough to see the look on your face. While he expected some sort of reaction for having known the truth, there’s nothing but simple quiet despondent “okay” in return.

[hacawijo]

Okay so,

It’s like, I DO love the whole, “LI is completely devoted to MC” thing, I do. It gives me butterflies. “Who did this to you” is an excellent trope, love a grand gesture, love proof that someone has been devoted and pining for a lot longer than they’ve let on. All that stuff is great.

BUT,

That doesn’t mean I want that person to no longer care about ANYTHING ELSE except their romantic partner. I DNF’d the third book of the FBAA series, but from the things I’ve heard and the pieces of the newer books I’ve read, Casteel is a completely different person. He no longer seems to care about anything at all except for Poppy, and most of the time he only cares about fulfilling her sexual desires. This is good fantasy fodder, I understand why this trope is appealing, but it’s the transition from a complex, multi-motived character to a bona fide disciple that is really disappointing.

I recognize that I haven’t read all of those books, so I can’t speak on it with total certainty, but -

I HAVE read all of the ACOTAR books, and while I don’t think Rhys’s character has degraded to the same level or degree as Casteel’s seems to have, I have still been really disappointed with his behavior since the middle of ACOWAR. It seems like he doesn’t really care about anyone except for Feyre and now their child, and that makes me sad. He’s screwed over Azriel, Cassian, and Mor, a few of them more than once, and hasn’t seemed apologetic at all.

These are supposed to be the people he DOES value and DOES want to protect. I understand that he was ruthless under the mountain, but he was ruthless for their sake. He’s lied to all of them and on several occasions basically refused to consider their feelings beyond a cursory mind-to-mind convo with Feyre. In fact, Feyre seems to be the only one of the two of them who still tries to prioritize their friends’ happiness and well-being even if it’s less convenient/a bit of a headache for her and Rhys.

Yes, I’m referring to Rhys pretty dismissively and harshly warning Azriel off of Elain in the bonus POV (really, Rhys, your best friend of five hundred years and you think he’s just tryna whet his whistle with one of the most “off-limits” women in Prythian?) , but also the way he handled the alliance with Eris and the bargain with Keir in relation to Mor, his asking Azriel to lie to Cassian about the illyrian rebels and essentially withholding crucial information from Cassian, and his lack of consideration for Elain’s opinion in the court machinations he’s laid out in his head. Even if Elain does want to be with Lucien (though I definitely don’t think she does) Rhys doesn’t seem interested in finding out.

But I’m not even here to argue about the ships! I just wish that authors would allow their male LIs to still have loyalties and motivations beyond their significant other. That’s what keeps the ship interesting! They can be together 100%, be completely and undoubtedly in love with each other, but still care about other things and people. I know you can make the case that Rhys wasn’t just disregarding his family for Feyre but also for the greater good, but then he put literally his entire court and really all of Prythian at risk when he made the death pact with Feyre.

Idk, this is a bit of a ramble, I’m not even sure if I have a definitive thesis here. I’d love to hear other takes on this but to me, Rhys’s abandonment of every other loyalty in his life to prioritize not just Feyre’s life, but also anything that might complicate their situation non-lethally, is not great.

I just, I don’t want complex characters to lose their complexity! That’s no fun! And it leads to a really boring and unsatisfying phase or end for a lot of otherwise fantastic ships.

[esoterium]

"i swear. we'll be side by side. i wouldn't think of anything less," mina does her best to reassure her as she tangles there fingers together giving physical proof to the promise she made only by words. her eyes, round and dark and imploring the other, more frightful of the pair to believe in her. that she'll do her best to keep them safe. no matter what.

they have shelter from the storm. and can go further inside. where the walls aren't broken. but thick stone and marble and better suited to keep them safe. mina's certain there's a fireplace somewhere. there has to be. as priests once lived her many years ago.

so? she guides her friend in that direction. where it is darker but more secure and does her best not to show the clenching of her jaw when branches scratch and scrape against the outside put her own nerves on edge. because lucy needs her to be strong and strong she will be. a slow inhale and she steadies her nerves at poor lucy's question.

mina pauses. stopping long enough to turn to face her fully and lift her free hand to cup lucy's cheek and caress her cheekbone reassuringly. though she does give into the temptation to give the pews and the church behind them a cursory glance for any shadows that might move. ones not shaped like wicked little tree branches blowing in the wind. or leaves dancing about in the air like tiny bat wings fluttering in the night.

"ghost stories meant to scare little children away from the ruins so that they aren't harmed, my love. i promise. only that and nothing more. tales like the ones in our novels we used to read out loud underneath the blankets as children," she grins. "you remember those? we couldn't sleep all night!" her feet move backwards carefully, luring her towards where she hopes is a chance to toss broken legs or chairs. or tables. or pages of books into a hearth that may or may not exist. and to hope that there is a means to light them.

Lucy purses her lips, she has her doubts about finding anything of use here, aside from having a roof over their head. Still, she nods at her friend's words, it would be better if they keep moving, she supposes, rather than stand still and freeze in their soppy clothes.

"Yes, but pleass don't run ahead." The blonde asks as she looks around, taking a step closer to Mina's side; she is not quite sure that they won't end up in the path of some animals lurking in the shadows or worse another person in here.

"I wish there was something we could do to warm up. Perhaps, you are right, we'll find something of use to us in our predicament, Mina dear." Lucy muses, reaching out to take her hand. She really does not want to walk around alone in the abandoned building, worrying for both herself and Mina.

"You don't think the ghost story is true, do you?" She whispers, her green eyes darting around the benches. "About the dead vicar... ." Lucy shudders, squeezing her hand and letting out a whimper as a branch hits the window from the storm raging on outside. Yes, there is no denying of Lucy's fearful state at being in the abandoned church, which in the sunlight she may be more open to explore on their adventures with Mina. Make a day out of it even, but being forced to be in here, with so little light and all wet, that is another matter entirely for the young socialite.

[danteinthedevildom]

A Royal Pajama Party “Analysis” - Part 4 (of 7)

We’ll skip over the Jenga scene for now; there’s nothing I really want to add on from it, and typing up another post is going to kill me. Instead, we’re going straight to the next activity - and a fairly major split between choices. 

This Devilgram is absolutely spoilt for choice when it comes (ironically) to choices - and each one brings about something new to learn. You can consider some of these latter parts joined up, then; I’ve just grouped together different route options for sake of reading. 

Of course, we’re deep into the Devilgram now, so all territory covered is locked behind Story Keys! This is your cursory spoiler warning. 

Here we begin, back to our regular schedule of Diavolo angst. 

There’s a potential you thought “watching a movie together” was bad enough to write on a list of things Diavolo’s never experienced before, and wants to share in this rare moment of time he’s managed to attain alone with you. Perhaps you even thought “playing Jenga” was worse. 

Neither of those activities, however, have anything on the concept that Diavolo actually, genuinely wrote down, on his list of things he’s always wanted to do with you, “lazing around, doing nothing at all”. 

This is, I think, the biggest indicator that he’s just... never had an actual, genuine, casual friendship before. He’s never had someone willing to spend time with him doing nothing. 

Which - well. We already knew that. He’s told us before (as I mentioned in part 1) that he genuinely struggles to remember he can just invite you over without having to trick you with “event planning”. He forgets you’re willing to be around him. 

But there’s a difference between “oh, I forgot - you actually don’t mind spending time with me” and “I’ve decided that I want to schedule actual time to just do something so simple and basic, it usually happens when most people hang out, but I’ve never been able to experience it before and I think I’d enjoy that time with you more than anything.”

It hurts to realise most demons won’t spend time in his presence without reason, but it’s actively worse to realise this reaction means he cherishes the ability to do nothing with you. To just savour the fact that you’re there, you’ve stayed, and you really would be happy doing nothing at all. That someone can enjoy just being in his presence, nothing important going on, because they have nothing else to do but focus on him and they don’t mind. 

It’s proof that he’s really enough. Proof that, despite how reluctant others may be to put up with him, you see something in him worth enjoying. He doesn’t need to take you out anywhere, or do anything special. He doesn’t need to make it perfect. He doesn’t need to awe and wow you to stay by his side. 

He can just sit around, nothing planned, and you’ll stay. 

The only times he’s been able to keep demons at his side, he’s had to tie them down with oaths and pleas. These demons have expressed annoyance, at times, when he’s tried to spend time with them - admittedly because they are busy demons, and they don’t quite enjoy the same things as Diavolo, but that doesn’t exactly make the rejection feel much better. So it’s very possible that Diavolo struggles to recognise his own self worth.

It’s very possible that he doesn’t think himself a good enough reason to enjoy a night in. Most friends can say - and often do - that they happily spend time together just hanging out. Talking, lounging around, relaxing, but not really doing much more than basking in the other’s company. Yet Diavolo can’t. Experience tells him “Diavolo’s company” isn’t enough to make someone stay. 

That’s why it’s important to him to schedule this time in, despite how natural it should be. It’s not natural to him. It’s exceedingly rare, actually, and thus an activity he wants to enjoy when he has the opportunity for it. 

But it’s also a reminder - proof - that at least to you, “Diavolo’s company” means something. That, to you, he means enough on his own to be worth spending time with.  

Moreover, this time with you is likely dear to him due to how busy his usual schedule is. After all...

How much free time does a prince get? 

How much time can he spend doing nothing, especially with you - someone so desired, people actively fight over your time and attention? 

There is no better way to savour the fact he - for once - has all your time and attention, no pressing matters to attend to, than to do nothing. He can just sit there and enjoy you. No interruptions. No distractions. Nothing to fret over or worry about. Just the two of you, content in each other’s company. It’s a reassurance. A moment of, “wow, this is really real, isn’t it?”

More importantly, however, is the fact that it’s you. He’d love “nothing more. Together with you, that is...” 

He doesn’t want to be on his own. That’s not the point of the activity. It’s not that he wants to do nothing, that he wants to just sit there and read or eat some fruit as if those things are significant on their own. He doesn’t just want free time because he’s busy and overworked and doing nothing is fun. 

It’s specifically because you’re there. Because he’s not alone. Because these things he maybe does in his free time feel different when he’s doing them with you.    

Of course, if you noticed, there’s two choices he gives you above: read, or eat fruit. I’ve gone for the reading option for this post series, as the fruit open mostly gives a romantic lead and not much development otherwise. 

In this scene, Diavolo’s reading a book to you. It’s actually a single poem from an anthology he loves - from the Human World, once again. 

(The Human World seems to mean a lot to Diavolo. It recurrs a lot. When he’s given the opportunity to pick something, it’s almost always media from the Human World. Whether this is because he hopes it’ll help you two bond over common ground or he just idealises the Human World, or maybe even a bit of both, is uncertain. Interesting, however, that it’s cropped up twice now; even more interesting that the only things he chooses that are Devildom-themed are games and food - things that don’t reflect human culture as much, unless you know more of the context behind them.) 

The poem Diavolo reads is called “The Greatest of All.”

This poem is extremely significant for Diavolo. It’s a huge part of his characterisation in this chapter, and one of the more overt scenes at that - because he’s exceedingly clear that this poem didn’t make sense to him before. He makes it utterly transparent that something has changed - in him, in his life, in his understanding - to suddenly reveal the meaning to him. 

And it’s all because of that final point. 

“Only those beloved by their peers truly rule the earth.”

Diavolo’s a prince. He quite literally rules the Realm he was born in. As far as he’s aware, that’s all there is to ruling; be the monarch, and you’re there. It couldn’t possibly be more literal than that. 

So what does that final line really mean, to a prince? What does it mean to someone who really is the literal definition of “ruling the earth”? 

Almost nothing at all. It’s baffling. It’s nonsensical. How more truly could you rule than to physically be the demon in power?

Of course it would never click for him before. 

He’s never been beloved before you. 

It’s only recently that he’s understood the poem. Only recently has the Exchange Programme been in action, and only recently has he actually gotten closer to you - moreso in the much later Lessons. 

Diavolo has spent much of his life in power, but completely alone. He’s had almost no connections, no friends, no love or intimate, personal attention; no-one he could say he understood like the back of his hand, who understood every aspect of him in turn. 

He has power and wealth but he’s never truly ruled - not until someone who made him feel alive came into his life. 

Because that’s the point of this poem. It’s not about wealth, or power, or bravery, or support - it’s about being loved. 

You could have everything in the world, but you’d still be nothing compared to the person with little to their name expect the love of their friends. 

Only someone who can say “I have friends who’ll stand beside me through thick and thin; who love me as much as I love them; who see the qualities in me even I didn’t know exist; who bring out the best in me and make me want to be better” is truly great. Only they can say that they have achieved the greatest potential in a fulfilling life. 

Diavolo’s realised how empty his life was prior to you appearing in it. He’s realised just how little he had - how much he’s missed out on, how much he wasn’t getting from the other people he considers friends - and how much happier he is now you’re there. How much bigger he feels. How much stronger. How much greater. 

You are the change that helped him make sense of the nonsensical. You, in befriending him, have utterly changed the way he exists; how he feels, how he experiences, how he thinks. You’ve brought to the table things he never would have considered before - things he never would have been able to consider, because he needed a friend to help eek them out of him; a friend he could love, and cherish, and whom loves and cherishes him just as much - and quite suddenly, he realises why having no-one limits a person no matter how much they own materially. 

This poem is, very likely, the reason he understood how much you mean to him. At some point, he re-read it, reached that final line, and pictured you. 

Which is an incredibly poetic way for Diavolo to show just how much you mean to him; how much you’ve improved every aspect of his life. Without having to say your name, or overtly connect you to the poem, it’s clear that it’s about you - that you’re the reason for his understanding. 

Becase this poem means a lot to him, and you’re the person he wants to share it with; the one he wants to know he’s changed for.

Which perfectly leads us to this next part...

You’re his greatest person. He’s still dancing around it, but there’s really no-one else it can be - not with this description. 

Diavolo has spent - if not his entire life, then a good portion of it, wondering who the most important person to him would be. There’s no way to quantify something like that - to know who’s the greatest person in your life, to find the perfect fit for a list of requirements - because everyone needs something different from the people around them. But what would that person look like for him? What would the most important person look like for a prince?

Someone as royal as he? Someone who supports him, bound to his service? Someone who has no choice but to help him in every way?

Or would it look like a human - a plain, simple, ordinary human - brave enough to tangle with demons and kind enough to befriend them, even when they don’t deserve it? 

Someone willing to spend a night with him doing things others might find boring or rudimentary? 

Someone who makes him feel like more than a title; like more than the “Prince of the Devildom”?

Someone who’s changed him - however many thousands of years old he is - in such a very short span of time?

When you think about it like that, really, it could only have ever been you. 

+++

And thus concludes part 4! A middling one this time, I think; a bit long, but that final part was a little shorter than I had anticipated. Still, I hope you enjoyed it, and that it was easy enough to read!

Next post, we’ll be going over the concluding parts of the Devilgram - for the romantic route, at least. It’ll initially go over the scene that preceeds the choice between romantic and platonic, but then dive straight into the romantic aspect of the chapter. 

So, if you’d like, please head over to part 5!

[xiverni]

Redemption and “Consequences”

A lot of talk has been had recently as of chapter 284 of both Endeavor and Bakugo’s “redemptions”, and how they seem to be leading up to some grand consequences for their actions, a final karmic retribution of sorts. People often talk about how these two characters have never had to “pay” for their actions, and that they have never had to face any real consequences. 

Of course, this notion is flawed from the surface all the way to the foundation. Not only have these two characters suffered quite a lot throughout their stay in the story, but the very notion that characters have to “face retribution” in order to become redeemed is an odd, troubling, and frankly reactionary idea that should be discarded as childish nonsense. 

To begin with the idea that Bakugo and Endeavor have not suffered due to the consequences of their actions, even a cursory glance at the story can immediately dispel these arguments. Bakugo, due to his abrasive nature and inferiority complex, spent much of the series losing over and over again. From the initial school training arc to the school festival, Bakugo’s flaws have resulted in him failing at his goals, whether they are beating Deku or fighting Todoroki at his full strength. His anger issues and “villainous” outward appearance even led to a terrorist organization kidnapping him, leading to a situation in which Bakugo spent a good length of time wracked in guilt and trauma over his actions, which he believed contributed to All Might’s fall. This all culminates in his failure in the Provisional License Exams, in which Bakugo’s failings again prevent him from reaching his ambitions. 

It is after his second confrontation with Deku that Bakugo’s development starts picking up real speed, with the next arc that centers around him showing that Bakugo is learning that looking down on those weaker than you will only lead to worse outcomes for yourself. Additionally, it is from here that we begin seeing Bakugo both act more cooperatively with his teammates and (occasionally) prioritize saving people over winning. This is shown when he acts as a cooperative unit with his teammates in the Joint Training Arc, and he is seen saving civilians in the Meta Liberation Arc and the Endeavor Internship Arc. 

When it comes to Endeavor, he is a character that is definitely a lot more contentious than Bakugo, for a number of reasons. For one, Bakugo is an “attractive” character to many of those who read this story, thus he is able to get a lot of leeway as compared to other characters. Additionally, he is a literal child, thus he is treated with a lighter moral weight by the “fandom”. The idea that being under the age of 18 somehow makes you less morally responsible for your actions than anyone arbitrary older than that age has always rubbed me the wrong way. Yes, younger people have a less complete and mature perception of the world, thus it is generally fairer to treat them lighter. However, there are countless adults who suffer from the same immaturity problems and developmental issues as young people do. That said, this is a bit of a tangent already.

From the moment All Might retires, Endeavor has already begun suffering for his actions. He has finally reached the position of number one hero... In the worst way possible : by default. The public is at best ambivalent about his position, and his tenure as the head hero has overseen a sharp rise in crime and disorder in society. What’s worse, as soon as Endeavor finally realizes the horrible things he’s done to his family, it becomes apparent that it’s far too little too late, as Natsuo literally can’t bear being in the same room as Endeavor and Shoto is consistently coldly professional to him. Fuyumi and Rei, the two that are more receptive to Endeavor, are a) doing it out a sense of longing for a “true family” and not particularly out of a sentimental attachment for Endeavor as a person or father, and b) in the case of Rei, not even wanting to see Endeavor. Can you imagine the impact of finally growing and learning from your horrific past mistakes, only to find out that these mistakes will never be able to be moved on from? Can you imagine resolving your pride and selfish desires, choosing to leave behind the family you want to rebuild, all so that they can live comfortably and in peace? Endeavor has almost constantly been suffering since the day All Might retired, and even though it absolutely cannot be said that he doesn’t deserve his suffering, it is in fact still suffering that is being dealt to him.

There is also another argument that centers around legal repercussions for actions committed by these characters, which is something that I both concede has not occurred and simultaneously state is literally of no narrative significance. If these were in fact real people in the real world, there would be a compelling argument that Endeavor deserves to serve time in prison for his abusive behavior. However, appropriate legal punishments are not equivalent to self improvement by the method of narrative punishments. How the fuck would a jail sentence improve Endeavor’s moral character any more than it already has improved? For those who are actually making the claim that these characters should have in universe been given legal repercussions for their actions (as well as those who, hilariously, use Endeavor’s lack of legal consequences as proof that the heroes are bad), Endeavor’s actions are literally unknown to the general public. Additionally, bullying among students is pretty standard in Japan, while it is certainly not a good thing. Furthermore, I really don’t see the point in arguing about “physical violence” in terms of characters in a superhero story throwing around explosions like nothing (I am talking about Bakugo’s more abrasive nature, not Endeavor’s actual physical violence against his children, the latter of which is meant narratively to hold actual weight). People in this universe are obviously a lot more durable than people in our universe. Accept that this is a fictional story with unrealistic aspects, and that in order to critically examine it, you need to accept its basic premises at face value without assuming things using the outside world. 

Now to move to my actual argument, I see so many people obsessed with the idea of “bad” characters having to go through some sort of “trial” or “punishment” in order to become redeemed - as if that’s the way people work. While this may come as a surprise to some, bad people are in fact capable of becoming better human beings without experiencing any sort of karmic retribution. In fact, I would say that the resolve to become better, even without some outside force pushing upon you, is a far harder and meaningful journey than one in which you’re simply pummeled and punished into waving a white flag. It reminds me of the trope “defeat means friendship”, in which the protagonists defeat (typically physically) an enemy, thus converting that enemy into an ally or friend of sorts. 

Think about it like this: would you be more willing to forgive someone who committed a terrible crime, served no time in prison for it, but nonetheless learned from their mistakes and genuinely became a better person.... or someone who committed a terrible crime, served decades in prison, and then came out none the wiser to their own actions?

What makes this situation even funnier is that many of the people demanding karmic retribution for these characters’ actions would, in real life, be advocating for justice reforms that lean towards “rehabilitation” rather than “retribution”. In fact, it has pretty much been proven that rehabilitation is almost universally more effective at actually changing the mindsets of people as opposed to retribution. 

In conclusion, the characters people say haven’t been given consequences have been given consequences, and the prison system should be reformed. Tune in next time for more wacky and unexpected topics like societal collapse and the technological decline of human civilization in BNHA. 

[cadence-talle]

Lavender-Inked Silence

Pairing: Fitz Vacker/Keefe Sencen

Wordcount: 1,883

Summary: Peer grading isn’t fun by any measure, but they can trust each other not to judge. And it’s nice, having a little note to look at before he goes home and has to explain to his father why he only got a 95 on the science test. 

(Keefe keeps all these notes in a box under his bed, ripping them out of tests and rereading them when he can’t sleep. He’s not quite sure why, but they help.)

(There are quite a lot of notes, over the years.)

Notes: Thanks to @loverofallthingssmart for the prompt and @vibing-in-the-void for betaing! (Also for coming up with the title “a for effort, g for gay”, which is the best thing i’ve ever heard. 

Taglist: @everyonehasthoughts, @clearlykeefitz, @loverofallthingssmart, @a-lonely-tatertot, @enbies-and-felonies, @molly-sencen, @lemontarto, @appalyneinstitute1, @ruewen-and-rising, @silver-snow, @linhamon-roll, @hyperlollypop, @never-ever-too-many-fandoms, @keeper-of-the-lost-queers, @impostertamsong, @vibing-in-the-void, @yeetersofthelostcities, @mistythegirlfluxmess, @diamond-dreamerr, @we-have-no-bananas-today, @an-absolute-travesty

(Sometimes, there are words that can’t be understood.)

Spelling tests are, in Keefe’s opinion, the worst thing in the world. 

Some words are easy; “fan”, for example, or “kitten”. They’re written exactly how they sound, so Keefe has no problem with them. It’s only with others that he gets tripped up, the extra vowels and unnecessary consonants, combined with Keefe’s terrible spelling, twisting words into unrecognizable shapes. 

The worst part is, he knows most of these words- he’s seen them in books his father has made him read. He can see the letters in his mind, can see the definition of the word. When he tries to write them down, though, it turns into something completely different. 

“Neither,” the teacher says, walking slowly around the room. “Neither. ‘Not the one nor the other of two people or things; not either’. Neither.”

Niether, Keefe writes, then scribbles it out and changes it to netheir. That doesn’t look right either, but the teacher has already moved on. 

“All right, last one,” she calls as Keefe adds a bill and tiny feet to the duck he’s doodled earlier. “Beer. ‘An alcoholic drink made from yeast-fermented malt flavored with hops.’ Beer.”

To be quite honest, Keefe is pretty sure he knows how to spell beer. Although, with everything he’s learned about spelling, it’s very possible there’s another vowel in there somewhere. Maybe an a? 

But that would be bear, and time’s running out. 

Baer, he scribbles down just as the teacher comes to collect his paper. She gives it a cursory glance, raising an eyebrow in an expression that reminds Keefe of his father. “We’ll be partner-grading these,” she says cooly. “So when you get someone else’s test, I’ll put the answers on the board and you can mark which ones are wrong.”

Keefe sighs a little, tapping the edge of his desk with his pencil. He’s positive he got almost everything wrong, and now one of his classmates will know too. 

Figures. 

He corrects the (few) errors on the test he’s given angrily, not even glancing at the name on the top until he’s done. When he does, his stomach drops a little. 

Fitzroy A. Vacker, the signature at the top reads. Fitz; one of the best students in their class, so well known he can’t walk down the hall without being high-fived. And if Keefe has his test, that means-

“Here you go.” Keefe’s test drops back onto his desk, the other boy appearing next to him. Wordlessly, Keefe hands him his test. Fitz nods and walks back to his seat, and Keefe picks up the paper. 

It’s not as bad as he was expecting. He made a lot of mistakes, true- apparently beer is not, in fact, spelled with an a- but there are no rude comments. Just corrections made in light purple pen. 

And in the corner, next to Keefe’s halfhearted doodle of a duck, is a little note. 

I like your drawing, it says, and then, you’re a really good artist. 

You’re a really good artist. 

No one’s ever said that to Keefe. Art isn’t a thing he’s good at, because it’s not a thing he does for fun- it’s not a thing he’s allowed to do for fun. 

But here, out of the blue, this compliment from someone he barely knows because he drew a stupid duck.

Keefe stares at the paper and smiles. 

(He doesn’t know, not yet. But this, in the form of a lavender-inked note on a spelling test, is the start of something amazing.)

-/-

He doesn’t talk to Fitz, of course. That would be stupid. They’re not friends, so no matter how much he’d like to thank the other boy, he doesn’t. He stays silent, keeps to himself, doesn’t ask his father to arrange a playdate. (Father would be overjoyed if he asked. That’s probably why Keefe doesn't.)  

No, he doesn’t do anything until they have a math quiz.

Keefe is actually pretty good at math. Addition and subtraction have always come easy to him, so he breezes through the questions and is done with time to spare. When Fitz’s quiz lands on his desk again, he’s barely even surprised; they’ll probably just be partnered up for the rest of the year. 

He is surprised, though, when the grade comes out to an 85/100. Not bad, but not good either; certainly not what Keefe would have expected for everyone’s favorite Golden Boy.

But then he remembers the way his father had sneered when he’d come home with his spelling test. The hours he’d had to study on a subject he didn’t understand, words swimming in front of his eyes.

Everyone’s bound to have one bad subject. Maybe this is Fitz’s. 

So Keefe puts a little :) next to the grade, writing great job! before standing up and handing it off to Fitz. The other boy looks at the paper, his face scrunching up as he reads the grade then melting into surprise when he sees the note. 

“Thanks,” he says, looking up at Keefe. “You too.”

(Sometimes, there are words that can’t be understood. Things that can’t be said out loud for fear of breaking them.) 

(But Fitz’s smile, right then, speaks volumes.)

-/-

By third grade, Fitz has switched to using a sky blue pen, and by fifth, he’s writing with green. One thing never changes, though- he and Keefe are always in the same class, and they always grade each other’s work. 

It’s more a decision than a teacher-mandated thing. Peer grading isn’t fun by any measure, but they can trust each other not to judge. And it’s nice, having a little note to look at before he goes home and has to explain to his father why he only got a 95 on the science test. 

(Keefe keeps all these notes in a box under his bed, ripping them out of tests and rereading them when he can’t sleep. He’s not quite sure why, but they help.)

(There are quite a lot of notes, over the years.)

CHEMICAL CHANGES QUIZ: Fitzroy A. Vacker, Class 302

98/100. Pretty sure a flame test isn’t setting something on fire, but good job anyway! I drew you a flower in compinsashun so you would feel better. -Keefe

Basic Fractions Worksheet: Keefe S, Class 401 

100/100! You’re so good at math. -Fitz

Exports & Taxation in the American Revolution: Fitz Vacker, Class 503

100/100. This was really good! I couldn’t stop laughing at the sentence “the colonists rebelled by throwing tea in the ocean”, though. -Keefe

(And there are others, too, not written on schoolwork; tiny messages scrawled in the margin of a sheet of paper and folded into a tight square.)

(Blue ones.)

I passed the principal on my way to class. She’s… not happy. Did you really cover her office in paint? -F

They have no proof. -K

(Green ones.)

Hey, can you come over this afternoon? -K

Yeah, sure. What’s up? -F

I just… I don't want to be alone with my parents. They’re always… nicer. When you’re around. -K

Ok. -F

(And in eighth grade, when Fitz has run out of different colors of pens and is back to purple, there are purple ones.)

Are you going to Stina’s party next weekend? -F

I might. If you’re there. -K

(Sometimes, there are words that can’t be understood. Things that can’t be said out loud for fear of breaking them. Of breaking yourself.) 

(There are a lot of messages. None of them mean much.)

(Keefe keeps them anyway.)

-/-

The house is packed, people laughing and whooping over the loud music. The lights are flashing, there’s something suspiciously bitter in the punch, and almost everyone here is a stranger. 

Keefe’s been at this party for five minutes. He already regrets coming. 

In the crowd, someone lets out a high shout. Fitz flinches slightly at Keefe’s side, taking a step closer to the other boy. 

“You want to get out of here?” Keefe murmurs in his ear. Fitz nods and they turn towards the door. 

The diner they stop at on the way home is bright, but the lights are constant and the slowly rotating cheesecake in the display case is as familiar as it is inedible. Keefe breathes a sigh of relief. “That was terrible,” he says, taking a seat at the counter. Fitz laughs. 

“It really was, wasn’t it? I think most of the people there were highschoolers.”

Keefe nods, thanking the man behind the bar who’s handed him a burger. Fitz is drinking a strawberry milkshake.

“Honestly, I don’t want to go to high school if that’s what people are like.”

Fitz raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think you have much of a choice there, unfortunately.”

“Eh, I don’t know.” Keefe takes a bite of his burger, chewing thoughtfully. “I could always just get held back a year. Wouldn’t be too hard, with my track record.”

Fitz laughs again, bright and happy under the fluorescent lights. Keefe watches him, watches the way his eyes crinkle at the corners, the way his nose scrunches up. He’s beautiful. 

Beautiful. Where did that come from? 

(Sometimes, there are words that can’t be understood. Things that can’t be said out loud for fear of breaking them. Of breaking yourself. Sometimes there are realizations under bright-bright lights that you can never say.)

Beautiful.

Hmm. 

Shit. 

-/-

As it turns out, being in love with your best friend isn’t as hard as it sounds. 

Keefe hasn’t managed to get rid of his feelings, by tenth grade, but he’s managed to ignore them. Ignore the way his gut clenches whenever Fitz grins at him, ignore the flush that appears on his cheeks whenever their hands brush. Ignore, ignore, and hope Fitz ignores too. 

There’s less peer-grading in high school. Tests and projects are more important now, so the teachers grade them in most of his classes. 

Except in Spanish, because apparently the teacher just doesn’t care.

Keefe marks the last incorrect verb conjugation on Fitz’s test, doodling a tiny heart in the paper’s margin and handing the paper to the boy sitting across the aisle from him. Fitz glances at it, eyes narrowing slightly. Keefe knows that look- that’s his determined look. 

He’s not quite sure why Fitz would have something to prove right now, though. He scored a solid 97. Unless-

Shaking his head, Keefe forcefully directs that train of thought.

It comes crashing back in just a second, though, when Fitz hands him his graded test. 

100! It says at the top in purple pen. Do you want to get dinner with me? 

Keefe glances up and towards the other boy, who’s staring at the board as if it contains the secrets of the universe instead of the quiz answers. With shaking fingers, he writes a single word and passes the paper back. 

(Sometimes, there are words that can’t be understood. Things that can’t be said out loud for fear of breaking them. Of breaking yourself. Sometimes there are realizations under bright-bright lights that you can never say.)

(And sometimes, there are notes written in multicolored pens, years and years of silent conversations. A message on top of a Spanish quiz that promises something amazing. Sometimes, there is a word, unspoken but still heard.)

Yes. 

(Sometimes, a lavender-inked note is all you need.)

[attackonmyself]

Every Step You Take--TW Victor Oneshot

Originally inspired by the Day 20 Kinktober Prompt: dubcon. Turned into noncon but not kinky.

TW: Explicit description of nonconsensual sex. Character being drugged. Nothing violent, but tread with caution.

Tonight was the night. The night he would have her, once and for all.

He knew everything about her. Her morning routine. The stores she visited to buy her lemon scented shampoo. Her scheduled hours of work, and how often she stayed in the office late into the night, working tirelessly to advance her career. He had eyes on her every second of the day; he knew every move she made the moment she made it. And she had no idea he was watching.

He looked in the mirror in front of him, combing a rogue tuft of hair. Everything had to be perfect, everything would be perfect--

The chandelier, glittering above him in the low light of the room.

He gritted his teeth, looking down at his shaking hand. Now was not the time to be nervous. One wrong move, and all his hard work would be for nothing.

He moved to the closet, picking out a tie to complement the three piece suit he had made just for this occasion. He ran his fingers over the various patterns, giving each a cursory glance until it hit the one he was looking for--

The synthetic taste of fabric softener as he swallowed.

He shook his head, deciding maybe not that one after all. Better to stick with a patternless one. He wouldn’t want to give the wrong impression, after all, and even the smallest details mattered tonight.

He slipped into the suit, fastening buttons, zippers, and the like. A black belt would match best, he determined, and fastened it quickly--

The clinking of his belt buckle below his line of sight.

“Snap out of it,” he commanded. Tonight was about her, not him. Being out of the spotlight was a key part of the plan. He was simply a guest, blending in with all of the other investors and interested parties. He could not stand out in any way. She shouldn’t notice him until the precise second he planned for her to.

He left the bedroom, and calmly descended the stairs to the garage. A click of a button, and the car door opened automatically. He got in, the door shutting behind him. Time to put things in motion for the main event.

The streets moved past in a blur, and soon he arrived at his destination. Goldman was already waiting for him, anxiously looking up from his watch as he trailed behind his boss. “Sir, what took you so long? You were almost late!”

“None of your business,” Victor replied coolly, signing in at the registration kiosk. They entered the building, where many of Loveland’s high society were mingling.

“A drink, sir?” Asked one of the waitstaff, circling around the venue.

An offered drink, manicured nails encircling the base of the glass.

“No, thank you,” he replied, waving her away. Being in full control of his faculties tonight would make the experience even sweeter, and despite his high tolerance, he didn’t want to leave anything to chance.

He scanned the room, looking for an inconspicuous spot in which he could mingle while the guests waited for the presentation to begin. A few acquaintances were nestled in a corner, so he joined them and engaged in idle chatter about golfing trips, the new mayor, and business ventures.

Finally, the lights dimmed off and on, and everyone made their way to the auditorium. He, of course, had chosen a box seat; centrally located, with a soon to be perfect view of her.

He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He had waited for this moment for such a long time, and now his waiting would finally be over. Anticipation overtook any residual nervousness, excitement coursing through his veins. He’d finally caught her. She was at his mercy, and he could not wait to see the look on her face when she realized what was about to happen.

The audience applauded as she entered the room. She accepted the recognition with a nod and a wave, then made her way towards the podium. The sound of her heels hitting the stage echoed through the auditorium, and she deftly grabbed the microphone.

“Welcome, everyone!”

She flashed the audience a wide, familiar smile, and that was all it took for the memories to fully pull him under, into the past.

It was a business event, back when he was young and naïve. He was well on his way to becoming the successful powerhouse who now ruled the markets, but still green enough to not recognize that her attention was not of the business kind. He could feel her eyes on him from across the room, but had ignored her in favor of familiar associates. He could no longer avoid her, however, when she came right up to him and offered him a drink. He accepted it, and they exchanged pleasantries, her intense and observant stare present even while face to face making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. She was a powerful connection to have, so he pushed down any uneasiness and continued idle chatter until he suddenly started to feel weak and dizzy. He excused himself into a side room, and was splashing his face with water when he saw her slip into the room in the mirror, locking the door behind her.

“What are you doing?” He asked sluggishly.

In the blink of an eye, she approached him, pushed him back onto the couch, and ripped off his tie. He tried to fight back, but whatever was in the drink she gave him left him completely powerless in her hands, too weak and confused to shove her away.

She smiled widely as she shoved his tie into his mouth. “Just relax, and try to enjoy yourself. You’re mine now.”

A chill ran down his spine at her words. This couldn’t be real. It had to be some sort of prank.

Straddling him roughly, her hands expertly shed his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt. She leaned over him, putting her hands on his shoulders, looking him directly in the eye. “Don’t get any ideas about making a scene, ok? No one would believe you. And besides, you have your reputation to think about.” She sat back up, and he heard the soft thud of her skirt hitting the floor. “No one would take you seriously if you made this a big deal. Or tried to, anyways.”

Reality started to kick in. This was happening. A sudden surge of nausea hit him as she began to grind her hips against his. There had to be some way he could get himself out of this. He tried to look around for anything he could use, but he couldn’t muster the energy to turn his head, so the only thing he could see was the chandelier, glittering above him in the low light of the room.

A jolt of pain made him jump slightly; she nipped at his collarbone before tracing the vein in his neck with her lips. He swallowed around the fabric in his mouth, the bitter taste of fabric softener lingering for days after. Her moist breath at his pulse point made him shudder in repulsion. She ran her hands up and down his torso, making him tense up wherever she touched him. He tried to summon up the strength to push her to the ground and gain the advantage, waiting for the right moment to act.

“You’re going to try to give me trouble, aren’t you,” she said, as if reading his mind. “We can’t have that, so just in case…” He heard the rustling of fabric, then felt her lift his arms and bind his wrists together with what felt like the sleeves of his jacket.  

As he struggled to make his muscles move against the fabric, he heard the clink of his belt buckle from beneath his line of sight. It was too late; there was nothing he could do to stop this from happening. As her hands slipped beneath the band of his pants, he could feel his body begin to shut down, mind freezing up and paralysis overtaking his limbs. As her hands wrapped around him and his body betrayed him, his only thought was how he was going to make her pay for this.

She let out a blissful sigh as she slid down to the base, and he flinched internally as she caressed his cheek. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” she said as she began her assault.

He was determined to stay alert and aware; excruciating as it was, he needed to internalize every painful moment to fuel his desire for revenge. He looked her dead in the eyes, trying to convey through a withering look what he could not through his words: he would not let her get away with this. He would make her curse the day she met him if it was the last thing he ever--

“Sir!” A harsh whisper pulled him back into the present. “Sir, are you alright? You look rather sick. Should we leave?” Goldman’s worried expression faded back into view.  

He shook his head, schooling his expression back into a stoic front. He could not control the rapid beating of his heart, however; convinced the danger was still present. He closed his eyes and pressed the tips of his fingers into his palms. “No. I’m fine. This is an important presentation, one I cannot miss.” Goldman sat back into his seat with a final concerned glance. Victor refocused his attention on her, waiting for his plan to play out.

“And with that, let’s look at the data.” She pressed a button on the remote in her hand, and the slides switched.

The lights shut off with a click and the projector went black. Victor sat up in his seat; the moment had finally come. Lines of code flashed across the screen and hushed whispers circled throughout the auditorium as an automated voice began to speak.

Good evening, ladies and gentleman. I know I am quite an unexpected guest, but believe me when I say I am a necessary one. The woman standing before you is not who you believe her to be. She is a liar, and a menace to society.  And I, Key, am here to bring you proof.

Shock spread across the auditorium. Victor looked at the stage, where she was frantically trying to regain control over the presentation. It was futile; she was now at his mercy.

While many medical trials successfully distort their data and get away with it, few minds are clever enough to be able to hack the system and change the numbers completely, especially over a period of close to ten years. But that’s exactly what she has done. It’s hard to trace when done correctly, but there are ways to tell. I took the liberty of personally checking all of her studies for the top selling drugs she has created over the past decade, and every single one had their clinical trial results tampered with. I won’t bore you with the technical details, but you can see for yourself on the live site link displayed on the screen exactly what she did and how she did it.

The projector clicked back on, and began displaying a muted live walkthrough on how to tamper with data at that level, a url displayed at the top. Security was beginning to move towards the stage.

But that’s not the worst crime. No, that would be her deleted side effects data. Not only did she tamper with her results, making her trials more successful than they were in reality, she also hid the data displaying the grossly negative side effects her drugs caused in the early stages of testing. She fixed this by adding painkillers and sedatives to the drugs to stave off some of them--which, by the way, went unreported--but that was only after the death of some of the initial trial subjects, marked down as sudden heart failure or stroke.

The hacker’s voice became lost in the pandemonium erupting in the room. Security had made it to the stage, and had her on her knees, arms behind her back. One of the guards pulled her hanging head up, and Victor managed to lock eyes with her for a split second. Her dull eyes widened in recognition, a hint of fury creeping into them. He let a satisfied smirk play across his lips. While some skeptics wouldn’t believe Key’s words until they had been fact checked by the proper authorities, everything would come back verified, just as the mysterious vigilante had said. Her reputation was ruined; everything she had worked hard for discredited. She would be known as a disgrace in the community. Despite the exposure being credited to Key, the two of them knew who was really behind it all. He had outsmarted her at her own game.

He left the auditorium with the rest of the perplexed guests, his performance not over until he was alone. Goldman bid him a good night at the door to the venue, and he returned to his car, the door closing with a satisfying click. As he sat there, stunned with how thoroughly according to plan everything had gone, a laugh of relief broke through. He had finally won. There would be no more awaking from a flashback induced nightmare and trembling from the knowledge that she was still out there and could get to him again at any moment. He would no longer have to be looking over his shoulder at every fundraiser. He was free. As he turned the key in the ignition, he continued laughing.  He hadn’t felt this relaxed in the five years he spent planning for this night. He felt like he could do anything, having accomplished this so perfectly.

As he stepped through the door of his apartment, he decided it was time to celebrate. He poured himself a glass of brandy, and reclined on the couch looking out at the picturesque skyline. He took a full sip--

The bitter taste of the drug infused champagne.

He spat it out, the brown liquid staining the white couch. He watched it seep into the surrounding fabric, heart racing.

“I’m fine, I’m merely imagining things,” he reassured himself. He prepared the drink himself, from an unopened bottle. There was literally no reason to worry.

He stared at the glass for another long minute, before deciding that perhaps it was too late for a drink tonight. He had work in the morning, and it was already past the typical time he went to bed. He was tired; he needed sleep after the exciting events of the evening. He went through his bedtime routine, and fell asleep soon after his head hit the pillow.

In his dream that night, she was on top of him once more, this time strangling him for what he had done.

[loruleanheart]

Desired Fate, Chapter 2

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Read on AO3

Zelda, Princess of Hyrule, moved about her bedchambers. It was a vast room with grey stonework walls and old furniture that had been in the royal family for generations. One corner held a grand writing desk where she often carried out her research into ancient relics late into the night. Affixed to the wall above were her most treasured research notes.

The princess was dressed for bed, her thick golden hair in a protective side braid, but she wasn’t feeling too tired, her nerves shot by the day’s earlier events. It was the first moment of rest she’d had all day. She had been constantly in the presence of Impa and the knight her father had assigned as her guard. The knight, who she’d learned was named Link, was odd. He barely spoke a word, yet Zelda couldn't disregard that he had saved her that day when a large Guardian that had been unearthed at the Breach of Demise had activated somehow without warning. This, along with the increasing number of monsters throughout the kingdom made their trip to the Royal Tech Lab an arduous one.

Zelda turned over many thoughts in her mind. How the little Guardian that seemed so attached to her had traveled from a Hyrule of ruin. Her father had seemed so vexed by the Guardian’s appearance, although Zelda was not surprised that he would try to discern whether the Guardian could be trusted. The little one did feel somehow familiar in a vague way…. Not to mention, it brought with it a look into the future of the destruction the Calamity would bring. 

A heaviness was descending upon the princess. Impa’s sister, Purah had managed to extract visual data from the little Guardian’s memory - true to life images that showed what the future would hold. Zelda had taken a cursory look through a few images but had quickly become overwhelmed. This was the destruction that would befall Hyrule should she not be able to harness her divine power. But, perhaps the pictures might also hold clues on how the Calamity could be averted.

She powered on the Sheikah Slate, wanting to give the visual data a more thorough analysis before turning in for the night. She scrolled through the horrific images of destruction, this time not having others around whom she had to put on a brave, composed face for. As much as she loathed wallowing in self-pity, she had at least managed not to break down earlier in front of the others. The princess had sensed the understanding of her plight in Impa’s voice earlier as they looked through the images together. 

Not only was Hyrule Castle pictured, but the destruction seemed to be widespread. Akkala Citadel... Fort Hateno…. The Divine Beasts…. All in ruin or corrupted somehow, and the fate of the entire kingdom and its people were bearing down on her.

I will not allow this to come to pass… I’ll do everything I can to stop this… But without the power, how will it ever be enough?

Despair and dread were starting to set in as it often did more and more over the years. She’d already tried everything she could up until now, and still, the power that should have come so naturally seemed to be impossible to find within herself. And the longer her power remained dormant, the more frustrated and cold her father grew. Zelda shut her eyes, holding her hand over her face, trying to calm herself, but it was too late as the tears she’d been holding back for hours broke forth. She quietly sobbed, hoping to not alert the attention of any of her attendants who might hear her cries. She scrolled to the next image and then there was not a location or a Divine Beast, but a picture of a strange man and she went silent. Her green eyes moved over the image. There on the Sheikah Slate was a hooded man in a tattered purple robe, but she could tell he was very handsome, even if not by typical Hylian standards. She couldn’t help but stop and stare. He was very pale and had dark, collarbone length hair. There was a long braid that hung in front of his left eye and was tucked behind his ear, and another that was decorated with gold beads.

He wore a gold circlet and a thick gold collar that draped over his shoulders that reminded her of jewelry worn by Gerudo royalty, although this man clearly wasn’t Gerudo. No male had been born to that tribe in ages. There was an oddity about the circlet though, in that the red stone had what appeared to be a stylized yellow iris painted on it - sort of symbolizing a third eye.

Who was this mysterious man? He must have been on the slate for a reason. The slate’s screen went black, and she realized she’d zoned out. Her mind was flooded with so many questions and speculations. Could someone like him really be out there, somewhere? He looked more like he belonged in some distant past foreign to her. Were they destined to meet? Should she seek him out? She didn’t know, nor did she know how to raise the subject to anyone else. Her father, dear sweet Hylia, her father…. Would almost certainly chastise for wasting her time with images discovered on Sheikah technology which had been banned up until the recent past instead of dedicating every waking moment in prayer to unlock her dormant power. But to Zelda, this felt as crucial as researching relics, perhaps even more so. And then it occurred to Zelda who she could confide in - Urbosa. Based on the jewelry the man wore, maybe she might know something.

And just like that, the heaviness that had pushed her to the edges of despair had lifted, even if only a little bit. Zelda laid the slate on her nightstand before climbing into her stately canopy bed. She found she was able to drift off with relative ease, all things considered. Tomorrow, she was sure, would be another demanding day, and she was eager for the respite sleep would bring.

In her dream that night was a woman in a resplendent white dress, and Zelda sensed she was connected with her. Was this Hylia, the goddess whose blood was said to run through her veins? The goddess smiled to herself in a dreamy way, absorbed in her song as her fingers moved along the strings of a small harp. The goddesses appeared to be singing as her lips moved silently, Zelda not being able to hear her words. Perhaps it was a lullaby. Zelda wished she could hear the goddess’s song. The goddess seemed so passionate about…. something, but all she could do was watch and hope this dream to be a harbinger of good things to come.

oOo

His harbinger turned and left, having imparted to his disciple how it had come to be and how it planned to counter what its “twin” from a ruined Hyrule had set out to do. It was fate that Ganon’s hatred had followed that Guardian through time to possess the one from this era. 

And now, Calamity Ganon’s will can be fulfilled in this time as well… The Prophet of Doom thought. This was all a part of Lord Ganon’s plan to annihilate his enemies completely, leaving no room for victory, even in a separate path in time.

That Guardian by the princess’s side had the means to set this path on a different course, and the prophet knew he couldn’t let some meddlesome piece of junk alter fate’s rightful course. He would subdue the princess and her newfound ally. The thought of destroying the Guardian had already crossed his mind, even before Lord Ganon’s new directive. Now he just had to make those two degenerate, banana-eating goons do his and Lord Ganon’s bidding.

The prophet was elated that he could now receive such clear directives and revelations from Lord Ganon. Had he not met with the harbinger, he would truly be on his own. The harbinger was proof to potential allies that he had indeed been chosen and could know the will of Calamity Ganon, not just interpret it through the constellations or prophetic dreams. Gaining the trust of the Yiga Clan didn’t feel like much, but things were coming together. The Calamity would return and reign down its hatred on Hyrule, and the kingdom would come to its end, at long last.

oOo

“I have selected the candidates for the Divine Beasts. Zora grace, Princess Mipha; Goron vigilance, Daruk; Rito confidence, Revali; and Gerudo spirit, Chief Urbosa. You will go meet with each and explain their role to pilot their respective Divine Beast.” King Rhoam’s voice carried through the main foyer from his place on the balcony.

Zelda looked up at her father and responded. “Yes, I suspected as much… I will meet with Chief Urbosa first. I am... looking forward to seeing her again.”

Rhoam nodded. “Understood. It has been some time since your last meeting with her.” The king’s voice held a respectful tone, perhaps thinking of his late queen who had been close friends with the Gerudo chief. His gaze moved to the little Guardian, and his voice became cold. Zelda stiffened as the words left his mouth. “And? You’re taking this relic with you, I presume?” Rhoam narrowed his eyes at the small Guardian that was currently hiding behind his daughter.

Zelda could sense an admonishment incoming, yet she managed an explanation. “Yes. After talking to Purah and Robbie, we thought it would be best.”

Rhoam took a seat on his throne, considering this. The Guardian moved out from behind her as if emboldened by her voice. “I will remind you once again. Above all else, your duty is of the utmost importance. Are we clear?” Rhoam said, sternly.

For the briefest moment, Zelda thought of the hooded man she’d seen on the Sheikah Slate. “Yes, we are clear. I understand... And I will honor my duty.”

It wasn’t a lie, per se…. Zelda thought. After all I’ve been through, who can say what honoring my duty looks like. Prayer hasn’t worked. I’ve spent over a decade dedicating myself to prayer. If I could just focus my attention elsewhere, perhaps the power will find me in a way nobody could foresee.

Zelda, Link, and Impa departed the castle with the new Guardian in tow. The Princess breathed a soft sigh of frustration as she felt her father’s eyes boring into her, which didn’t go unnoticed by Impa and Link. And in time, the three were laughing and bonding over the little Guardian that acted as if it were a knight in the princess’s service.

[more-pokeimagines]

Stone Cold Body [04] - Chapter 3

A/N: I’m terribly sorry that it took me so long to finish this chapter, and I really hope your still interested in the series because I enjoy writing it so much. However, there’s not much going on in this chapter since I wanted to focus on the reader’s thoughts but I promise there will be a bit more action in the next one. Have fun reading! Feedback is always appreciated.

Warnings: none

Present

You still had no idea what was going on. Just one minute ago you were absolutely sure that there was nothing magical about the statue in the middle of a pretty park but the fact that the people around you stared at you like you had three heads made it almost impossible to deny that something of great importance had happened.

Well. In fact, you knew exactly what had happened. Even though you had always thought that it was just a stupid story to attract tourists, you couldn’t deny that the statue was no longer there. And the body in your arms definitely felt human.

You didn’t dare to look at his face, not even when he groaned quietly as he tried to sit up. It almost felt like you were rooted to the spot, as if you couldn’t move your arms and legs, even if you wanted to. His light grey, military style jacket was gold-embroidered and while it was dusty and ripped in some places, it still looked pristine and expensive.

You noticed that his hands were shaking and that his already pale skin looked almost translucent in the bright sunlight. His eyes, an unusual purple color you had never seen before, were full of confusion and panic.

And suddenly, the realization hit you like a brick. He was the statue. All the stories about the enchanted prince had been true, and now he was sitting here right next to you, trying to figure out what was going on and why everyone was staring at both him and you.

A murmur went through the crowd of tourists surrounding you when they finally realized what was going on: you had lifted the curse, the prince was back, and he was alive. In this moment, even you found it hard to believe that magic wasn’t real anymore.

Cameras started to click all around as the people tried to get a good photo of the scene right before them.

The boy stared at you, his mouth slightly agape. When your eyes met you held your breath for a moment, not quite sure if you really were ready to face the consequences of your actions. The next second, a wave of hatred washed over you. You didn’t understand why but you loathed him, even though you were dead sure that you had never met him before. And yet, here you were, staring at the allegedly dead prince of Galar and trying to resist the sudden urge to slap him across the face.

But before you could do something incredibly stupid, Gloria knelt down next to you and gently touched your arm, snapping you out of your weird thoughts. “Are you okay?” she asked. “Your fall looked a bit painful.”

“I’m fine,” you replied automatically, even though it was technically a lie. You felt weird and you still didn’t understand why you reacted so hostile towards the boy. There was absolutely no reason for your behavior but there was something about him that made you furious.

You watched Gloria bringing her attention to the boy. The prince, you corrected yourself. She let out a shaky breath as she examined him, her glance moving back and forth between him and the spot where the statue had been before you had touched it. Piles of crumbled stone surrounded him, a direct proof that he truly had been trapped in the statue – at least until you had put your hand on his shoulder and freed him.

“Holy moly,” Gloria mumbled to herself. “The stories are really true.”

You darted a cursory glance at the prince. He still seemed to be a bit disoriented but at least he wasn’t as pale as death anylonger. When he returned your look, you noticed that the panic in his eyes had subsided as well, replaced by something you couldn’t really put your finger on. Disfavor, maybe?

You turned your head to avoid his gaze and finally got up from the floor, shaking the dust off your clothes as soon as you were on firm ground again. Then, you offered your hand to the prince to help him up, even though you were really reluctant about touching him. Thankfully, he ignored your outstretched hand and struggled to his feet on his own. He adjusted his jacket, deliberately avoiding looking at you, despite the fact that he was standing right next to you.

After a few more moments of silence, you cleared your throat and finally asked, “Are you okay?”

He raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“I wanted to know if you’re feeling fine,” you repeated, your tone already getting more impatient. In Galar, royalty wasn’t relevant anymore, so you didn’t really care about the fact that you were technically speaking to a prince. “Or if you need something. Water, maybe.”

He shook his head. “I’m alright,” he answered stiffly. And then, as if he suddenly remembered his good manners, he added, “Thank you.” His voice was a bit hoarse, maybe because he hadn’t used it in such a long time, and much to your horror, you realized that it actually sent a shiver down your spine. Damn it. You didn’t want to like his voice. You didn’t want to like anything about him.

“Your grace,” one of the girls in the crowd exclaimed, rushing forward to get a better look at him. “It’s an honor to meet you. Me and my friends always believed that the legends about you were true, so we came here every year to see if there was something we could do for you.”

Once again, he raised his eyebrow but you weren’t sure if it was because of the girl’s impertinent attempts to get his attention or because she mentioned the spell he had been under. Or maybe there was an entirely different reason, and you quickly reassured yourself that you really didn’t need to care about it.

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re talking about,” he finally said. The girl beamed at him, obviously happy about the fact that he decided to start a conversation with her. “About the legends surrounding you. Some people always believed that your soulmate would be able to break the curse and bring you back to life.” She blushed, almost as if it embarrassed her that she hadn’t been the one to free him, especially since she clearly had tried it so often.

“I see.” It was evident that he didn’t believe her at all, and for the first time since you lifted the curse from him you asked yourself if he even realized that he had been trapped in stone for centuries. If he even understood how much the world had changed since then, or if he believed to be in some sort of weird dream in which people dressed strangely and didn’t know how to approach him properly.

Before you even knew what you were doing, you suddenly found yourself right next to him, placing your hand on his arm once again. “I guess there’s a lot we need to explain to you.”

*

It wasn’t much fun to walk around Wyndon with an enchanted prince by your side. The news that the statue had been destroyed by some stranger had already spread like a wildfire, and you felt like almost everyone was staring at you, a mixture of deep respect and utter confusion in their eyes.

You tried to convince yourself that they weren’t gaping at you but at the prince instead, especially since he was still wearing his light grey royal outfit. It suited him well, no doubt, but it was a bit too eye-catching for your liking, especially since it was pretty messed up. He really needed some more ordinary looking clothes if he didn’t want to stand out like a sore thumb, so it was probably best to head for the nearest clothing store to get him a shirt and a pair of jeans.

Thankfully, it didn’t take long to find a shop that wasn’t overly crowded and also not as expensive as some other stores in Wyndon, and only twenty minutes later, the prince had exchanged his noble attire for dark pants, a pair of black sneakers and a sweatshirt that had the exact same color as his eyes. It was obvious that he felt uncomfortable in his new clothes but at least he understood that it was necessary to look as ordinary as possible and other than a few complaints about the scratchy material of the sweatshirt he remained silent.

The prince didn’t talk much in general; he seemed to be completely lost in his own thoughts while he followed you and your friends through the city, and he kept his head down, almost as if he didn’t want anyone to notice him. Occasionally, Gloria tried to talk to him but the answers he gave were so brief and succinctly that she gave up after a few minutes and started a conversation with Hop instead.

As made your way through the small alleys to get back to the old town to grab something for lunch, you listened with half an ear as your friends talked about the plans for the next few days. Originally, you had planned to spend way more time in Wyndon but since you had an enchanted prince by your side now, they weren’t sure if it really was a good idea to stay here. Surely tourists would recognize him sooner or later, especially when those who had been in the park with you earlier on started to post their pictures to social media, and you wouldn’t be able to go anywhere without having a bunch of people surrounding you because they wanted to catch a glimpse of the prince.

You couldn’t deny that they were probably right. The people here in Wyndon had always been convinced that something magical would happen some day, and now that they had been proven right they were going to make a huge deal out of it. Heck, they probably wouldn’t hesitate to pester you with questions too since you had been the one who broke the curse,and just the mere thought was enough to annoy you. This was all Gloria’s fault. If she hadn’t insisted that you touched the statue while posing for a picture, none of this would’ve had happened and you would’ve been able to continue your road trip the way you had planned to. But no, of course things had to get out of hand.

You still thought about it when you arrived at a small restaurant twenty minutes later. It wasn’t a coincidence that Gloria had brought you here: only a few tourists knew about this restaurant, and the dining area was so small that only a few tables fitted in it, so it was actually a pretty private place which was absolutely perfect today.

While Gloria placed your orders at the counter, you found yourself examining the prince once again. There was a slightly arrogant line around his mouth you hadn’t noticed before but what really surprised you was the innocent expression in his eyes as he returned your look. “Do you like what you see?” he asked, his voice as smooth as silk as he raised an eyebrow. It was obvious that he was trying to mock you, so you quickly put on an awfully nice smile and shook your head. “No. I was just wondering if you realize how rude it is that you haven’t introduced yourself so far, Your Grace.”

You somehow managed to make the title sound like an insult but much to your surprise, he didn’t even seem to be bothered by it. Instead, his lips curled into a smile. “Correct would be Your Highness,” he said softly. “But you may call me by my given name”

“And that is-?”

“Bede.”

Your smile grew a bit wider. “There we go. I’m (Y/N), this charming guy right here,” you pointed at Hop who was sitting next to you, “is Hop and the lovely lady at the counter is Gloria. Very nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Bede replied automatically, a wee bit of sarcasm in his voice. You knew that he probably only tried to hide his insecurity about the whole situation underneath his cool exterior but you rolled your eyes nevertheless. Apparently, it was beneath his dignity to at least treat you with some respect.

Luckily, Gloria returned with your drinks and spared you from answering. You had no idea why you got so angry about trivialities when it came to Bede, especially since it wasn’t the first time that he managed to make you livid, but on the other hand, you really weren’t obligated to like him just because you saved him.

Well. At least that’s what you tried to tell yourself because you knew exactly what everyone else would think about the fact that you managed to undo the spell. Everyone who knew about the legend would believe that Bede and you were soulmates; some kind of star-crossed lovers who belonged together, even though you basically knew next to nothing about each other – and if it was up to you it could stay this way forever.

Masterlist / Next

[halothenthehorns]

TLTNL- THE BEGINNING

James sat there for a long time just staring at those stupid pages. He knew the sooner he got started the sooner he'd have his chapter over with, there really couldn't be that much left, it was just so hard to force anymore out. Because even with the end in sight, Harry being forced back to the Dursleys again somehow felt worse every single time!

Harry wasn't looking any more eager to hear anymore. Those feelings were still washing through him, the guilt and memories still filling his every space of mind, yet himself now trying to force an understanding this wasn't truly his fault. All he could think to do, was just keep looking for something else to think about, and cope with this in his own time slowly like he'd been doing. So it was Harry who gave his dad a gentle nudge and asked him to get on with it, least they had Sirius' crappy sense of humor to distract them.

James actually gave a genuine laugh as Sirius pouted at the pair of them for his expense in the joke while James got started.

When he looked back, even a month later, Harry only had scattered memories of the next few days.

Harry could feel himself grimacing already of thinking of his summer, but even a cursory look at what he could be in store for felt heavy hearted.

It was as though he had been through too much to take in any more.

Lily squeezed her eyes tight shut to force herself not to lean over Harry, to check for the millionth time that he was still okay right now.

The worst, was the meeting with the Diggory's.

 "Oh crap," Sirius muttered to himself, knowing there wasn't anything he could say to make this more bearable before it even started. Harry was already getting that absent look back about him, his way so far of trying not to react to the worse things from his past.

They didn't blame him for what happened, the opposite, both thanked him for returning Cedric's body to them.

Lily couldn't stop herself absently brushing at his hair in thanks as well, she felt that went without saying, but Harry seemed surprised by the reaction.

Mr. Diggory sobbed through most of the interview. Mrs. Diggory's grief seemed to be beyond tears.

James hated having to read that, to even think for an instant what that pain had to feel like. Of everything Peter had done to him, and his family, and still he just kept doing it without a trace of remorse...

She was the one to point out that he suffered nothing because of the curse that was used, and he'd died just after he won, so at least he was happy.

Remus knew he couldn't begin to imagine the pain the Diggory's were in, but if that made them feel even the smallest bit better, he wasn't going to correct that.

When they made to leave, Harry tried to shove his winnings at them, but they refused.

Harry really was just trying to give that money away to anyone, James sighed in full agreement, he really hoped Harry still found some way to give it to someone who needed it, just to help ease his sons conscious a bit.

Harry went back to the rest of the school finding himself being stared at now more than ever. No one badgered him with questions upon Dumbledore's request,

While they'd all firmly believed Harry's friends wouldn't do that until he spoke about it first, they were honestly relieved Dumbledore had thought to do that. They didn't trust the student body to have the same restrain, but hopefully with Dumbledore's warning they'd hold back at least a bit.

but instead they skirted corridors and whispered as he passed.

That wasn't what they were hoping for though, as Sirius curled his lip in disdain at that place again treating Harry like some sideshow to be gawked at.

He supposed they all still had Skeeter's stories of him in the brain, and were all guessing their own ideas of what happened, but Harry didn't care. He knew the truth, and he instead spent his time with Ron and Hermione, often in silence.

Remus hummed in agreement, he'd never needed proof their guess was right, and Ron and Hermione for all of their loud mouthed opinions and arguments, truly were the type to recognize when their friend needed his silence.

They hadn't spoken about it yet either, but all seemed to be waiting for something to get started, it was useless to speculate until then.

"Wonder how long that one lasts," Sirius rolled his eyes. He knew they used to spend hours trying to guess what was going on in the war, often greatly exaggerated and glorified in their youth, but once the shock of what had happened wore off, those teenagers would surely start doing the same.

The only time they had spoken of their future was when Ron told Harry Mrs. Weasley had tried to convince Dumbledore to come straight to their house over the summer.

Before Lily could even begin to let the hope seep in, James forced himself to keep going past his own to find out the response.

He'd said no, Harry had to stay there at least at first.

James could not get that out properly, it was too frustrating this continued to happen! He despised the meager explanation Harry had used for why that place should even still be referred to as Harry's home, because the fact that he dreaded going there more than any other place really should negate that stupid technicality!

Harry had an ugly look in place as well. He'd never liked the thought of going back to the Dursleys, but for some reason he was confident this coming summer in particular was going to be an extra layer of unpleasant, and he hadn't previously thought that possible.

Harry asked why, and all Dumbledore had said was that he had his reasons and they just had to trust him.

"No, no we do not," Sirius sneered. "I can't believe I'm standing letting you go back, where the hell was I when this stupid decision was made!"

Harry chose not to respond for the simple fact that he knew he'd never told his godfather a single thing about his living with the Dursleys. Only a few vague comments here and there, so really Sirius wouldn't have had a reason to complain in his time even if he had been there to say anything.

They all knew that answer, hiding out at Remus' and still not having any say in the matter, but that was still managing to make this whole situation even worse.

The only person apart from Ron and Hermione that Harry felt able to talk to was Hagrid.

"I still want to strangle him for those bleeding skrewts of his," James shook his head affectionately.

"Hopefully he's learned his lesson," the smile Sirius used showed quite clearly how much he believed that.

There was no longer a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, they had those lessons free,

"Why is that a recurring thing?" Lily rolled her eyes.

"Because apparently even the Curse Breakers can be stumped," Remus shrugged, regretting his response at once as it only served to cause the others to give him an obvious look, they all knew he could have broken it if he wanted to.

and they used the available time to go visiting him. The first time started pleasantly enough, the weather as beautiful as ever for this time of year and Hagrid greeting them just as sunnily.

When they entered they found two cups already in waiting, and Hagrid explained he'd been having a drink with Olympe, she'd only just left.

"Did we miss something?" Sirius asked with just a bit too much gusto, but here was finally something hours later that wasn't life threatening or horrible to hear about! Just hearing any normal conversation with Hagrid was putting Sirius in the best mood he'd had since the World Cup.

They all had an idea of who it could be, but as they had no clue why Hagrid would be talking to her again, they waited for an answer.

When Ron asked who, Hagrid told that was Maxime's first name.

"Oooh, on a first name basis now are they?" James had a smile peaking on his face at once.

"Why though?" Lily felt a protective surge poses her at Hagrid having to deal with all the drama that woman had caused again. "We clearly missed a conversation where they made up, and until we hear Hermione's theory otherwise, the only way Skeeter could have known about Hagrid was if Maxime told her. Surely Hagrid knows that."

"Hopefully Ron will ask," Harry shrugged, he certainly hoped so as he was sure he found out how Skeeter knew all of this stuff before he met back up with the Dursleys, and he didn't feel Maxime was anywhere close to the answer mostly because he didn't have any bad feelings for her, and he was sure he would if she had.

Ron pointed out the two had made up then, and Hagrid ignored the comment,

"The master of subtlety as always," Sirius smirked.

and instead made them some more tea and doughy cookies.

"Doughy's better than burnt," Remus snorted, "maybe Hagrid's learning."

"So long as there isn't a talon in that to," Lily muttered.

When they'd all sat down, his kind eyes lingered on Harry and asked if he was alright?

Harry just said yeah.

"Why do you do that?" James grumped, "you can talk to Hagrid." Ignoring the painful stab still lingering that Harry was probably more likely to talk to Hagrid than him.

"Didn't really know what to say," Harry whispered, and that was still true enough. He didn't want to relive what had happened to him yet, and he certainly didn't want to accept comfort and understanding that none of it was his fault because he still hadn't agreed. That simple answer was the best way for him to get around all of that.

The four of them still gave him an obvious look, making it clear they believed that as much as Hagrid most likely did, but they weren't going to force an answer out of him either.

Hagrid stated back at once no he wasn't, but he would be.

Sirius laughed softly to himself, he could perfectly believe that. He'd get it through his pup's head, he was sure of it.

Harry could not think up an answer for that.

Hagrid said he wasn't even surprised, he'd always known he'd come back while the kids stared at him in shock.

"I'm not," Remus shrugged, "I'm sure this actually won't come as a shock to most of the people of our generation. Fudge just had his head buried to far up his arse, but surely anyone who lived through it the first time couldn't really be convinced he's gone without a body for proof."

"Apparently they're all ready to believe it," Sirius reminded with a smirk. "Remember all the way back to Harry's first year, and when the Stone was nearly stolen, everyone thought that was Voldemort trying to make a return."

Harry felt a funny bubbling in him, an echo he was sure he wasn't going to enjoy when it fully resurfaced, and it wasn't a pleasant start to how his next few years were going to go.

Hagrid insisted he'd known it for years, he was just out there biding his time. Well now he was back, and they'd just have to make due and fight.

James sighed deeply as he forced himself to read that. He didn't want to hear of another war through his son when he was already well too aware how the first one had ended, and they hadn't even gotten to that yet. He hadn't exactly had a lot of time to revel in the fact that Harry was living in a war free environment while he was at school, but now he wouldn't even get that on top of whatever other mayhem he'd be getting up to.

They were going to try and stop him getting there first, that was Dumbledore's plan.

"Here's hoping for Dumbledore's plan," Sirius mock cheered.

Dumbledore was the best man to be doing it of course, so long as they had him there was nothing to worry about.

Harry felt a frown tugging at the corner of his mouth even as he watched those around him grudgingly nod agreement. They'd all had their doubts and annoyances with Dumbledore's meddling in Harry's life, but no one would deny that one. So why was Harry getting a bad feeling about it?

Hagrid continued watching their disbelieving faces, laughing and saying there was no point in worrying about it. What would come, would come, and they'd meet it when it did.

"Hagrid gives the best advice," Remus smiled pleasantly enough, though he knew better than to even pretend to hope anymore that storm wouldn't come raging in far sooner than they'd ever hope for, like never.

Hagrid explained Dumbledore had told him everything Harry had done, and Hagrid said that's as much as James Potter would've, and that was the best praise that could be offered.

Harry blushed deeply around a pleased smile and tried to utter something, maybe a thanks, maybe a denial, but James wouldn't hear either. He caught his sons eye and gave him a wink, stating, "I can back that up."

Harry's face somehow managed to turn even more red as he returned the smile in thanks.

Harry gave his first smile in days as he asked what Dumbledore had Hagrid planning?

Hagrid simply said he had a job to do over the summer,

"Oh," they all muttered. They hadn't at all forgotten this, and it was reassuring that Hagrid had only said it was to be over the summer, but it still sounded odd to their ears. Hogwarts without Hagrid was unthinkable. If the job was anything like the Order members were thinking though, it could be infinitely useful.

but it was a secret he wasn't supposed to share, not even with them.

"And why not?" Harry grumbled. "He tells us all sorts of other things." He'd meant it more as a joke, it just hadn't come out that way. He could already feel the beginnings of true annoyance at not being told something he had every confidence was an effort to stop Voldemort at whatever he was doing.

He'd convinced Olympe to come along.

"Really wishing I could have sat in on that conversation," Sirius rolled his eyes.

They asked if it had anything to do with Voldemort?

"Most likely," Remus said with a mysterious little smile that didn't fool Harry one bit.

"Well do you know?" He demanded, still sounding pretty huffy over the matter.

Lily didn't take long to think over her answer before saying, "well yes, we've certainly got an idea, but no actual evidence."

When Harry just kept looking at her, she rolled her eyes at him and said, "come on Harry, you know the answer as well as I do. Dumbledore's following the advice he tried to give Fudge, he's sending envoys to the giants."

"Yes, I got that," Harry agreed, "I was just wondering if you guys knew anything more."

"Not really," Sirius shrugged, "if Dumbledore had tried that this time around, we don't know anything about it, he likes to keep all his eggs in separate baskets if you know what I mean. Not everyone in the Order really knows what everyone else gets up to, and Dumbledore insists we keep it that way. So if Hagrid is doing something involving them now, we're really not sure."

Harry was certainly disappointed in this, but stopped his pestering for now.

Hagrid flinched at the sound of the name,

"I guess yelling that name at him didn't get him over it," James muttered to himself.

but only gave a vague answer and switched topics to asking if they wanted to go see the last skrewt?

"Gah," James leaned back in his seat at the very thought. "Talk about a poor subject change, I'd rather discuss Voldemort!"

He quickly promised he'd only been joking at the looks on their faces.

"Please Harry, please tell me he didn't release that into the Forest too!" Sirius begged him.

Harry simply shrugged, he actually wasn't sure what Hagrid had done with it, and he hadn't asked, but he certainly wouldn't put it past him leaving no one in a good mood at the thought.

Scene flip to Harry having to pack away his trunk and head down to the Leaving Feast. So far he'd been avoiding the Great Hall altogether, only coming down at the very latest for when the last bits of food were being served.

James felt his somber mood returning at once, Hagrid's visit really had perfectly distracted them all, but now they were right back to just how hard this was to hear listening to Harry going through all of this with no bright side in sight. The last chapter was always the worst for them in realizing he'd be forced back to those useless relatives, and it somehow felt worse every time.

Normally the place was decked out for the Inter-House Championship winners,

"Did they even do that this year?" Remus asked randomly as he fidgeted with his sleeve, he wasn't looking forward to hearing the rest of this one little bit.

"They certainly took away and added points," Harry shrugged, "I'm sure normally they actually would have had a celebration just to show off to the other schools one more time, but this year it wasn't declared at all, so." He finished with an absent shrug, the weight of what he could sense was coming already pressing down on him heavier by the moment.

but tonight all the drapes were done in black. He knew at once it was a mark of respect for Cedric.

Lily felt her throat vibrate, with anger at the world for what it had done, for sympathy, for a million other things she couldn't put into words as she held her son tighter.

The real Mad-Eye Moody was at the staff table now,

"And I thought I couldn't look at him the same way again before," James scowled at the idea. "Now I'll never be able to meet this guy without taking his flask away for an hour."

"I'll help," Sirius promised.

He was a new kind of twitchy, and jumped every time someone spoke to him.

"If he was paranoid before, I honestly think he shouldn't even be allowed near people now," Lily shivered. She couldn't imagine what state she'd be in after something like this.

Harry couldn't blame him, his imprisonment in his own trunk could only have increased his paranoia.

"You're not paranoid if they're really out to get you," Sirius forced a smirk he knew he'd never use with Moody actually around. This wasn't something he'd make light of in the presence of the man, but right now he'd do anything to get that look off of Harry's face.

Karkaroff's seat was empty, and as Harry took his he wondered just how far he'd run, and how long it would take Voldemort to catch up to him.

"Most likely," James rolled his eyes, "even only having been back for a few minutes, I'm sure tracking him down and exacting his revenge is up there on his to do list."

"I like that better than Harry's name being there," Lily grumbled.

Maxime was sitting next to Hagrid, they were talking quietly together.

"Well there you go, I think that at least implies they've made friends again," Remus smiled genuinely for the pair.

"Hope it lasts this time," Sirius huffed.

Snape sat in his usual spot, and Harry's eyes lingered on him curiously.

Lily really couldn't smother this time everything she felt at the mention of him. She so desperately hoped that somehow, whatever he was out there doing, was for the good side. That he really had realized the errors of his ways and at least in some small part been the man she'd once known again. Whatever that involved. Maybe then, at least he'd have something else to focus on rather than torturing her son.

What was it that Snape had done on Dumbledore's orders, the night that Voldemort returned?

"I've some ideas," Sirius muttered snidely. He was a Death Eater after all, and it would be some irony indeed if Dumbledore really was trying to use Snape's influence in those ranks for his side, but that really explained nothing important, like why Dumbledore thought he could trust one grease slicked word out of his fanged mouth.

Why did Dumbledore trust him to do anything? He concluded the job Snape must be doing was infiltrating the Death Eaters.

"Well you put all that together fast enough," Remus smiled at him.

Harry just shrugged, thinking just the same as his godfather, it didn't answer the important question, why Dumbledore trusted him to do this.

Harry's inner mind was cut off by Dumbledore taking to his feat, and the already subdued Great Hall went completely silent.

"Oh dear," Lily murmured as she watched the lines that shouldn't even be there tighten all the more around James's mouth as he realized what Dumbledore was about to make his speech about by those decorations.

He began by saying this was the end to another year, his eyes lingering on the Hufflepuffs who'd been most silent of all. Dumbledore had a few things he had to say, but first was that he would like them all to raise their glasses with him for a drink to Cedric Diggory.

Remus felt a sharp stinging in his eyes as he watched James read this with far too much familiarity. It was never so personalized, but Dumbledore had given them this speech at the end of all their years in remembrance of all the lives lost during this war. Now it was starting all over again. He hadn't even known Cedric, hadn't liked his father at all, but still to be forced to remember even a small bit of those feelings again while listening to Harry's life...he never would have imagined something like this when they'd first started.

Every bench in the Hall scraped the ground as they all made the toast. Harry spotted Cho's face through the crowd running with tears.

Lily felt herself swallow hard for that poor thing as well as Harry. His first crush was somehow going more disastrously than James's had, and she really hoped that girl had some good friends to help her through this troubling time. She felt bad she hadn't thought of Cho sooner in all this mess, even not knowing much about her, this had to be especially hard on her as well.

Only when they'd sat back down did Dumbledore continue, saying they all had a right to know what had happened, why Cedric wasn't here with them.

"He hadn't told them this already?" Sirius asked in surprise, he thought the headmaster had gone over all of this while Harry'd been in the hospital wing.

"No, Ron and Hermione just said he'd asked everyone not to ask me about it yet. I guess he was waiting for this moment to tell everyone." Harry honestly wished he could tell otherwise, that he wouldn't have to be there for this goodbye speech of Cedric's, but he also knew he'd feel all the worse if he hadn't been able to give even some small goodbye to a man he'd hardly known, but had still been his friend there at the end.

He bluntly stated Cedric had been murdered by Voldemort.

A whispered panic began sweeping the hall at once, and Dumbledore waited for them to mutter themselves into silence before continuing the Ministry did not wish this to be spoken of,

James felt himself tensing in disgust all over again at the thought of how Fudge had reacted to that news. He couldn't imagine anyone so successfully burying their head in the sand, and to be having the whole entire government acting in the exact same way was beyond shameful and just stupid. They had no idea the damage they were causing themselves all because of some arrogant, childish leader.

nor would many parents, as they did not believe in Voldemort's return or thought them too young to know these things.

While Lily could see the fairness in that, there were eleven year olds in there, she honestly couldn't bring herself to begrudge this of Dumbledore. They had as much a right to know as those of age how a fellow student had died even if they couldn't fully grasp it yet.

Dumbledore would not lie to them of this truth though, and felt it would be a insult to Cedric's memory if they weren't told this fact.

Harry rubbed furiously at his eyes behind his glasses again, trying to hide the movement by slightly adjusting them no matter how much he agreed.

Every face in the hall was wrapped with attention at Dumbledore, except Malfoy and his friends. He was having a whispered conversation with Crabbe and Goyle, his goblet untouched.

They all felt a white hot pain strike them at that moment. Of all the hateful, hurtful, disrespectful things Malfoy had done of late, this was by far the worst! No amount of cursing the kid would make the act better, so James forced himself to read past the moment, unbelievably hating him more than he had before.

Harry forced himself to look away, and not react as he continued watching Dumbledore. He was still addressing them, saying there was one more person to be thanked, Harry Potter.

As one, the students seemed to look at him and away again.

"Did he have to?" Harry muttered loud enough they all still heard.

"What you did is as worthy of mentioning as Cedric," Lily quietly reminded.

Harry did not agree, at all, but to argue would be to bring up something he really did not want to speak of at all, so he just gave a quick nod and hoped Dumbledore was brief.

Harry Potter had escaped Voldemort and taken great personal risk to ensure Cedric's body had been returned where it belonged. He had faced Voldemort, and for that he was to be honored.

Dumbledore again raised his glass, and to Harry's shock, as did everyone in the Hall once more as they murmured his name.

No matter how much Harry felt he didn't deserve it, that didn't stop him flushing at such praise any less. Never in his young cupboard living life could he even begin to imagine such a gratitude moment for himself, one that he still didn't feel he'd ever deserved.

To try and avoid a staring eye, he looked again to three particular Slytherins, who still remained unmoving.

Sirius watched his hands twisting into fists. He'd hated Malfoy a lot in this time without having met him, but to continually hear him act like this at every opportunity really had him wanting for Harry to snap already and beat this brat senseless.

Dumbledore, who after all possessed no magical eye, did not see them.

"What could he have done even if he had?" Remus scowled hatefully. "You can't force someone to be a decent person."

Once their seats had been taken again, Dumbledore began addressing why this had even happened. Stating the Triwizard Tournament had been invented to create ties between the schools which were now more important than ever. His eyes lingered over the foreign wizards, and Krum could be seen looking almost fearful in his seat.

"I can see that fear," Remus sighed, "every student there would be afraid the rest of the world would turn on them, having a Death Eater as a Headmaster. If Durmstrang had a bad reputation before, that kind of news won't be helping it."

"Least it's good to know Krum hadn't actually done anything," Sirius sighed. Still feeling bad for his part he'd unknowingly played.

Dumbledore continued somberly though, promising every person in this hall was welcome back any time with open arms. Now was the time where they must stand united, for Voldemort's gift of spreading discord would only strengthen him if they let it. They must find ways to make friendships even in the unlikeliest of places.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment to linger on the warmth he felt beating through at those words, at his dad saying them. He knew he had a long journey to go before this was over, but somehow the end results had landed with him being here, and if that meant he'd made ties with people he'd never dreamed of before, he knew he'd be valuing Dumbledore's advice all the more.

He concluded his speech by saying they would all do well to remember Cedric Diggory, the boy who strayed across Voldemort's path.

Harry's trunk was packed away, Hedwig safely in her cage,

Even realizing that the speech had ended, they all still felt something of it linger in them. They were still bound and determined to never let this happen to Harry, not again, and not to Cedric. Yet Dumbledore had never given a more profound speech, one that everyone of those students as well as them needed to hear.

The trio were waiting on the school grounds for the horseless carriages to arrive, and Harry reflected how different this beautiful lawn was to the dry flower beds he'd be expecting on Private Drive. The thought gave him no pleasure.

"I'd be more worried for your mental sanity if it did," Sirius snapped to get rid of the tightness in his throat.

Fleur found them as he spotted Hagrid helping Maxime into the carriage. She gave them a farewell, telling that she hoped to see them again as she was coming here to get a job helping her English.

"Well that could be interesting," James snorted lightly.

"I'm sure Ron's hoping to see more of her," Remus agreed, having much more fun laughingly thinking if Ron would ever realize if he had even the slightest feelings for Hermione with Fleur hanging around.

Ron quickly told her it was already so good, while Fleur smiled and Hermione scowled.

"Why do I feel like that's going to be a recurring thing?" Lily rolled her eyes, she wasn't looking forward to what that real love triangle could look like.

She gave them all a wave goodbye, and Harry felt his spirits rise as he watched Fleur walk back across the lawn.

All three boys snorted with mirth at that as they pictured much the same thing, but Harry couldn't even be bothered to blush with embarrassment this time, he knew he liked Fleur, and not in the way they were thinking.

Ron was asking how the Durmstrangs would be getting back, what with Karkaroff not being there to steer their ship.

From behind, they were told that Karkaroff hadn't done a thing, he'd stayed in his cabin the whole time.

"That timing," Lily rolled her eyes.

"Why am I not surprised though," James rolled his eyes at the exact same time as his wife.

Krum had come over to say goodbye to Hermione, who followed him slightly away.

Ron shouted after her to hurry, the carriages would be here any minute, but Ron didn't look back towards the gates once while they were gone, instead staying on his toes to see where they'd went.

"So I'm guessing he wasn't watching Fleur get in her carriage and fly away," Sirius raised a brow.

"It's really hard to put a finger on which of these girls Ron likes," Remus mock rubbed his jaw.

They returned soon enough, and Ron didn't get a chance to demand any answers from them as Krum turned to Harry and told that he'd liked Cedric, he'd always been decent to the Durmstrang.

Harry asked if they had a new headmaster yet?

Krum shrugged without care, and offered his hand to shake, then Ron as well. Ron seemed to be under some internal struggle as he shook.

"I can imagine he's fighting the impulse not to break fingers," James snickered.

Finally he burst out if he could have Krum's autograph?

Sirius let out one sharp bark of laughter while the others all dissolved into giggling at such an unexpected response. It had taken Ron a whole year to work himself up to that question after everything!

Hermione turned away, smiling at the horseless carriages that were now trundling toward them up the drive,

Harry blinked spastically at such a description, wondering why he was more sure than ever he should know something about that...*

as Krum, looking surprised but gratified, signed a fragment of parchment for Ron.

"I'm sure he's going to be lording that over whoever he can," Remus chuckled.

"Or burn it while chanting for a quick death, you never know," Sirius smirked.

The three friends got a compartment to themselves, the scene so familiar and yet the complete opposite of the way there. The weather was cloudless, Pig was still hidden under Ron's dress robes, Hedwig was dozing away, and Crookshanks was curled up in a seat like a ginger cushion.

"I'm sure Neville wouldn't recommend using him for that though," James smiled absently, the longer he kept going, the more he forced down every swear word he knew at what was waiting at the end of that train.

Now they talked, as Dumbledore's speech seemed to have caused some kind of release in them. They discussed what Dumbledore's plans could be for the future, how it was all being used to stop Voldemort.

"Called it," Sirius nodded to himself.

"Yes, yes, you're as magical as Trelawney, predicting the actions of teenagers," Lily rolled her eyes at him, "I'm sure you draw from your own current mind set."

Sirius did the mature thing and stuck his tongue out at her.

At one point while Hermione was going through her stuff, an issue of the Daily Prophet fell out. She caught Harry eying it wearily and told him it was safe to look, there wasn't anything in there.

"If there was, I'm sure they'd be very subtly trying to eat it or something," James smirked.

"I think I am going to burn something when I hear Skeeter's spin on this," Remus curled his lip in disgust.

Hermione had been keeping an eye on it, and the only mention of anything was a small piece saying Harry had won. They hadn't even mentioned Cedric.

Harry felt like his own throat was on fire hearing that. It had been rude before not to even acknowledge Cedric in the Tournament in light of Harry's stupid fame, now they didn't even have the guts to admit to what really happened! Harry had half a mind right now to march up to the person in charge of the Prophet and jam his wand in their face until they realized how wrong this was.

Fudge was most likely keeping it all quiet.

"Can he really do that?" Harry spat in disgust.

"Unfortunately," Lily scowled. "There are some ways in which the Ministry has directory over what the Prophet can post, but this is very extreme, and certainly being overused on Fudge's part."

"Wish I was more surprised," Sirius snarled, "but at this rate I'm more shocked he doesn't have them writing pieces about how he's the most brilliant person ever to help his own ego."

Harry pointed out no one could keep Skeeter quiet, and Hermione had an odd smile on her face as she said Skeeter hadn't written anything since the third task.

"Do we finally get to hear what her epiphany was about?" Remus sighed, wishing he was more interested in this than he was. At this rate he was so exhausted by hearing about all this he'd gladly sleep a week straight.

"Sounds like it was right, and she's already using it to keep Skeeter quiet if there hasn't been anything out already." James cocked his head to the side in thought, he at least was enjoying this more because it kept words about Dursleys just that little farther away.

She continued saying Skeeter wouldn't be writing anything for a while lest Hermione spill the beans on her.

The boys demanded to know what she was talking about, and Harry watched her bubble with excitement. It was clear she'd wanted to speak of this for a while, but in light of everything that had happened she'd restrained herself.

"I wish she'd told sooner," Lily sighed as she ran her hand through her hair. "It's about time we heard of some justice for the proper people."

Harry agreed, but he still thought he understood why Hermione hadn't. She'd been watching him so carefully that past week, he knew she'd thought any mention of Skeeter would only make it worse, and Hermione wasn't going to risk that.

Hermione at first explained it was Harry who'd given her the idea, bugging.**

"Well yes, that's when she ran away babbling her head off," Remus narrowed his eyes, "but I still can't imagine where in that she came up with her brilliant plan."

"She's Hermione," Sirius rolled his eyes, "I've long since stopped questioning her Moony."

Harry began to say the electrical ones didn't work, but Hermione quickly said while she dove back into her trunk that it wasn't an electronic bug. No, Skeeter could turn into a real bug, an unregistered Animagus.

"She's a what now?" Lily was absolutely convinced she'd heard that one wrong, but James had only gone slack jawed long enough for his two friends to register his words before reading at high speed.

Finally dislodging a glass jar from her trunk, she showed them a beetle.

"She can't have," Remus whispered to himself, watching James any moment like he was going to start tap dancing. "She absolutely can not have-" He just knew James was going to keep going, and somehow Hermione was wrong about this, there was no way that was the answer!

Ron couldn't believe that was really her in there.

"Oh sweet Merlin," Sirius looked like he was going to be faint any moment now, he was even swaying a bit from so much happiness slamming him at once.

"I-she-just-" Lily stuttered herself into silence, before she cracked and began laughing, hard. Shock, and finally something good happening like Skeeter getting the ultimate comeuppance of Hermione catching her at this, as well as the absolutely gobsmacked look on these boys faces had Lily in near hysterics she was laughing so hard. Harry was very quick to join in, he'd been needing an excuse to full blown let loose like this for some time now, and the raw happiness of thinking about Skeeter in a jar for the past week was a very nice beginning to all the horrid things she'd put him and his friends through.

"I think I'm insulted," James couldn't even pretend to get himself into that emotion, he was still looking down at the pages like his face was going to slip right off. "She used our shtick, and Hermione figured it out!"

"It fits though doesn't it," Remus was looking on ruefully, "a beetle! Couldn't name a more perfect thing for her to be using to get around, she could have been at every one one of those locations and no one would know. Most likely does it all the time, follows people around like that until she gets what she wants."

Sirius still wasn't convinced he was hearing this right, of all the purely ironic ways Skeeter was going around finding all of these secrets out about people and she was using something illegal to do it! He came too and tried to shush Lily and Harry for all the good it would do, and though they hadn't quite settled down when James found his tongue to move on, Sirius still caught every magnificent word.

Hermione insisted that was indeed, she'd caught her on the hospital wing windowsill.

"Bloody hell, that's what that was!" Lily yelped, she was about to run out of air she was laughing so hard. "I honestly thought she'd knocked something over or jumped, or..." she shook her head in disbelief she hadn't more fully registered Hermione's movements at that moment, but she'd been so engrossed in her feelings about Harry and Molly that had barely made a dent on her consciousness.

Harry sat there staring at it, as suddenly he recalled he'd seen a beetle on that statue the night Hagrid had been talking to Maxime.

"Ooh," Lily couldn't help but coo. She honestly felt bad for blaming all of that on Maxime now. She'd never been so happy to be wrong before.

Hermione agreed she'd been buzzing around all year for her stories like this.

James could not stop reading without numb lips from shock! Hermione had put all of this together right under their nose and they hadn't even noticed! Not to mention just what Skeeter had done...this was just a whole new level of scheming he never would have thought she was capable of, and yet the worst part was he would have been grudgingly admirable of it if she hadn't been using it on his son as well as his friends. Now he was fighting the impulse to go grab a jar himself and catch that stupid beetle while she was still practicing at it.

Ron recalled seeing Malfoy under the tree, and Hermione agreed he'd been talking to her in his hand.

"Jeez, he knew about this, for perhaps the whole time, and why am I not even surprised he didn't care," Lily wrinkled up her nose with distaste.

He hadn't cared she was illegal, so long as he got to give her all that dirt.

Hermione took the jar back and and tapped at the glass.

"What's she going to do to her?" Sirius asked slowly, and far too eagerly.

"Nothing that you would," Remus said, and would deny any regret in his voice.

Hermione said she'd let her out in London,

"That's it? Just keep her in a jar for a week? That really is tame," James huffed at Hermione.

"Well she can hardly keep her kidnapped forever," Lily rolled her eyes at these boys, "and most likely she'll keep this blackmail hung above her head for as long as it takes her to learn her lesson about the kind of stories she should and shouldn't be writing about."

"That's still tame," Sirius sighed.

"But I'll take it," Remus smirked.

"What's to stop her from just registering herself though, and continuing to do it?" Harry asked.

"It takes years to become an animagus," James reminded. "You're supposed to be doing it under heavy supervision, honestly it's a bit of a problem for us as well. We're going to have to be really careful and not make it seem like we can already do it when we show up to 'learn' to do it. I sincerely doubt Skeeter will put up with that nonsense."

she'd put an unbreakable Charm on the glass so Skeeter couldn't do anything until then,

"Well that went without saying," Sirius rolled his eyes, a bit bitterly he'd never had the chance to use this on another certain animagus.

and she'd make Skeeter swear not to write any more nasty stories until she learned not to write lies about people, or her secret would be the one to come out.

Smiling to herself, Hermione tucked the jar back away.

"Hermione scares me sometimes," Harry chuckled with the most happiness he'd felt in ages.

"Be happy she's on your side," James gave an exaggerated shiver. "Can you imagine if you'd never made friends with her."

"My school life would be far different, and more difficult," he agreed.

The compartment door opened just then, Malfoy mockingly congratulating Hermione on figuring this out.

"That timing!" This time Remus threw his hands up in exasperation at Harry's conversations always seeming to have someone listening in on them.

"Bet he's real proud of himself," Sirius' eyes gleamed nastily, "popping his head in there to gloat while there aren't any teachers around."

"I'm sure Malfoy would be remiss not to use this opportunity," James agreed wistfully, long since wishing his son was more like him in at least this regard, Malfoy deserved it, but at this rate it seemed more likely he'd be holding Ron back from whatever curses were playing in his head.

He laughed about the reporter being put out and Potter being Dumbledore's favorite again,

"Again? Was there a point where that had really changed?" Remus rolled his eyes.

everything was back to normal. His cold eyes held theirs as he really asked if they were in here thinking about it, trying to pretend none of it had happened?

"I wish you never happened," Lily whispered in a deadly soft voice. How dare this little cretin make fun of her son being in that cemetery!

Harry stood abruptly and told him to get out. He hadn't been in striking distance of Malfoy since he'd been so disrespectful at Dumbledore's speech.

James could feel a rhythmic thumping pumping through him, adrenaline trying to kick start a fight even if he wasn't there, but now he suddenly realized Harry had hit his breaking point with Malfoy, this blond ferret had finally gone one step too far in front of his son, and Harry may well be helping out Ron this time.

Malfoy snapped at him Potter had picked the losing side, Malfoy had warned him that very first train ride.

"I remember a lot about that day," Harry nodded to himself, "meeting my two best friends and finding my first real home. Malfoy acting like an arrogant prat all started blending together over the years though."

The boys laughed softly in agreement while Lily nodded and said, "good of you to keep your priorities straight then."

It was too late now, the Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers were going to be the first to go!

James still couldn't say that foul word without having the urge to bite his own tongue off for having to say it at all, especially with his wife in the room. What he wouldn't give to go back in time and curse the first blighter who dared invent it, but if it hadn't been that than it would have been something else just as derogatory. He just wished Lily wouldn't flinch every time as she was forced to remember someone else calling her that.

Well second, Diggory had been the f-

Harry saw red as he felt that surge of magic beat through him. However angry those around him sounded as they snapped in protest of that being said, it still wasn't comparable to how Harry felt, having to live that.

a box of firework seemed to have gone off in their compartment, and when the fizzle died down, Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle were on the ground from the assortment of hexs Harry, Ron, and Hermione had used.

"You have the best friends in the world," Sirius beamed, bouncing happily in his seat once more. He still wished more than anything he could have been there, to use his own curse on that waste of breath, but hearing that made it bearable.

They weren't the only ones to have done so.

"Eh?" Remus demanded, the smile on his face only growing wider as he hoped to hear maybe Neville had come along and helped out.

Fred popped his face around the corner, stepping onto Goyle as he entered saying how they'd spotted them walking past their compartment.

"Oh this is brilliant," James crowed, somehow these twins just kept getting better every time they heard about them!

"I hope Ron confronts them again about what they've been up to," Sirius perked up with even more excitement. "It's going to drive me crazy if we have to keep waiting to hear it all."

"They might never tell Ron," Lily reminded with a shrug, "I doubt they really think it's his business."

"Stop being a killjoy dear," James told her pleasantly as he turned back to the book with his first real smile in a long time.

His wand was held loosely at his side as well as George's, who made sure to step on Malfoy's fingers as he followed inside.

"A proper entrance then," Remus smiled.

George was inspecting all of their handiwork, and asked who'd used the Furnunculus?

Harry said that had been him, and George noted that shouldn't be mixed with Jelly-Legs, it seemed to have given Malfoy little tentacles on his face.

"I'm taking notes," Sirius beamed.

"So long as I'm not the test dummy for whatever new experiments you're thinking of," Remus chuckled.

They decided to push them out into the hallway, those three definitely didn't go with the décor.

The twins stayed inside and decided to play a game of Exploding Snap, but were only at it for a few hands before they were asked who they'd been blackmailing again.

Fred sighed it didn't matter anymore.

"Course it matters!" James yelped.

"They can't honestly think this wouldn't have some long term effects no matter what's going on," Remus agreed.

George tried to shrug it off, saying they'd given up.

"Something really bad must have happened," Sirius frowned in concern, "that doesn't sound like them at all."

Lily had to resist the impulse to remind this was a good thing, as she agreed, she really did want to hear what on earth they'd been up to.

When they kept pestering though, finally Fred admitted it had been Bagman.

James really did keep expecting the surprises to be over already. "Huh," was all he was able to mutter as they seemed to have actually guessed something right for once, and it didn't feel good.

"He what!" Sirius yelped at once. "For what?!" He hadn't wanted to be right! The twins were really squeezing Bagman for money?

"The, the only thing they've had to do with him was their bet," Remus had his eyes narrowed, "but Harry, you said you saw him pay them back, so I can't even imagine it."

Harry nodded his agreement, as dumbfounded as them, and yet there wasn't a grain of him left leaving him unsure this was true.

Harry was shocked he'd been involved in all that stuff this year.

"Well that was a jump," Sirius frowned, "I just can't figure out what he did do."

"Can you blame him?" Lily defended at once, "he's been acting shifty all year, clearly going out of his way to try and help Harry along, and now he knows the end goal was for him to win-"

"Alright woman, keep your hair on!" Sirius leaned slightly behind Remus to get those sharp eyes off of him for a moment.

George quickly said he hadn't the brains for that, no this had to do with their bet at the World Cup.

"So this is about that bet," Remus muttered, this still wasn't making much sense to him.

He'd paid them back their winnings in leprechaun gold.

"He did what!" Sirius roared in outrage at once.

"That absolute git!" James snapped. "Did he really think he could get away with that just because they were minors? How dare he pull that stunt."

"Maybe it was just an accident," Harry tried wistfully even if he could already feel it not to be true.

"Tch," Lily tisked, "a common person wouldn't just make a stupid mistake like that. What I don't understand is why they tried blackmailing him about it, or what they even had over him and why. Why not just tell their dad, he'd have found a way to sort it out."

"Let me keep going," James groused, "hopefully we get a bit more of what all's been going on."

Ron asked so?

"Oh come on Ron, you just learned your lesson about that earlier this year," James snapped, his voice coming out more testy than he'd meant to because he was still so agitated about this.

Fred impatiently reminded it had vanished hadn't it!

Hermione tried to say it must have been some sort of mistake, and at first the twins had agreed. They'd written to him to try and get it sorted out, but he began avoiding them at all costs.

George sighed that in the end he'd tried to dodge out altogether, saying they were too young to be gambling to begin with.

They hadn't been the only ones, Lee Jordan's dad had also run into some trouble about this.

"So it wasn't just them," Remus' frown deepened, had Bagman really thought he could get away with tricking so many people? Surely he couldn't be so stupid, he was a prominent member of the society being the head of department, not just a Quidditch star.

It turned out Bagman was in a huge debt to some goblins, he'd borrowed a ton of gold from them.

"What an idiot!" Lily said faintly at the very idea of someone getting themselves into that kind of corner.

"Did they ever get more details," James tried digging, "like what kind of trouble this was?"

"Can't imagine it was worth ripping so many people off," Sirius huffed.

"No," James agreed, "just curious is all."

"The poor twins though," Remus kept wincing every time he added a new layer of bad for this situation in his head. "That was all their savings, and with how many must know about this, I can't believe this hasn't been taken public already. It'll take them ages to get their proper winnings back."

"If they even can," Lily agreed pitifully, this hadn't exactly been official at the Cup after all.

They'd cornered him at the World Cup to take away what he'd earned, but that hadn't been enough.

Sirius let out a low, throaty whistle in surprise as he vaguely recalled thinking someone had mugged him back during that, and he'd been sort of right but no where near close.

So they'd started following him around Hogwarts.

Remus almost wanted to laugh as he recalled that odd moment in the Three Broomsticks, how apparently the answer had been hovering just behind him the whole time and they'd had no clue. The world sure worked in a strange way.

Bagman had tried to settle by placing a bet on Harry, that he would win the Tournament.

"That's why he was trying to help you win," James rubbed at his forehead, "though somehow I hate him more for this than our own idea."

"But Harry did win," Sirius perked up, "so at least now Bagman can at least make a start on putting this right."

Remus didn't quite agree, he felt like he could spot a loophole in that bet, but hopefully he was wrong.

Harry said that should be good then, he'd won and they could get their money back.

George shook his head hopelessly, pointing out the goblins had pulled a loophole, technically he'd tied with Cedric. Bagman's bet had been Harry would win outright.

"Ouch," they all winced in horror. This just wasn't right what had been done to the twins.

Still Harry tried, "can't they, I don't know, I hate the Ministry too much right now to want to ask them for anything, but I'm sure they can make this right somehow." He was absolutely convinced now the twins had to get their start up somehow...

"I don't see it," James groaned, "it's really not in their place to fix this, that was a private thing going on, not really their problem if all bets aren't held."

So Bagman had made a run for it, no one had seen him since the third task.

Fred sighed deeply and began dishing out the cards again.

"This is so wrong," Sirius groaned as he started fidgeting in place, his mind still racing for a way to make this better. "There's got to be another way for them to earn all that back, I'll really tear into someone if they can't start their shop because of this mess."

"They'll have to start at the bottom now," Remus tried to pacify, "it'll be harder to work their way up, but with luck they'll get in at Zonko's and go from there."

The rest of the journey felt pleasant enough to Harry, and he wished it would simply go on all summer. Sadly as he'd learned this year, time would not stop just because he was dreading something, and the train pulled in as ever.

James groaned like he'd been punched in the gut. The final blow of learning what had been done to the twins really was that extra kick he didn't need to make this situation worse! Everyone looked the same, like at any moment they were just going to snap the book closed on James's fingers so they could pretend just for one time Harry wouldn't have to deal with them.

Ron and Hermione squeezed out first, but Harry called the twins back before they could leave.

James perked up with interest just for the simple fact he got to put this off for a moment more, but one glance at Harry and he really was eager to keep going. Harry had a smile in place, that same impish look James had learned meant he was going to be proud of his son!

The twins turned. Harry pulled open his trunk and drew out his Triwizard winnings.

"Oh you aren't," Sirius began grinning so widely already his teeth were already starting to flash.

He thrust it into George's hands at once.

"But he is!" Lily squealed as she began clapping her hands with excitement.

Both James and Sirius were laughing boyishly with excitement, they couldn't have been more proud of Harry thinking up this, but Remus caught Harry's eye with pity. "What on earth makes you think they'll take that more than any other Weasley?"

Harry's face was set, he was not taking no for an answer. "Because I'll dump it down their pants if they don't. I don't want it, or need it, and they'll have some use for it that I never will. I'm sure I get them to take it, and they'll be brilliant about it."

"Of that we've no doubts," James giggled, forcing his laughter to cut off so he could see how this played out.

Fred told Harry he was being mental, and Harry insisted he knew what he was doing, he wanted them to have it to start their joke shop.

George now knew Harry was mental.

"In the best way possible!" Sirius beamed.

Harry snapped if they didn't take it, he'd toss it down the drain.

"Now that's just a waste," Lily rolled her eyes even if he didn't mean it. He could at least give it to some sort of charity, even if she did find this just as worthy a cause.

He didn't want it, or need it, but everyone needed some good laughs. Everyone would be needing that soon.

Most of their laughter was dried up as they really got a feeling for what Harry meant, but it only flamed their enthusiasm for the idea all the more. They were sure Fred and George would cave to that, they had already proven how true they felt that was with how they went about their school life.

George insisted this was a thousand Galleons!

"Wasn't this the reason they wanted to win in the first place," James sighed wistfully, "now they get the best parts all to themselves."

"This is brilliant," Sirius agreed, he couldn't have come up with a better idea!

Harry smiled as he pointed out how many Canary Creams that was.

"A lifetime's supply honestly," Remus snickered.

The twins just kept gaping at him as Harry only asked they not tell their mother where it had come from.

"Harry," Lily couldn't help but chide.

Harry gave a small shrug and a smaller smile. "After everything she'd done for me, I really didn't want to do anything to make her hate me, but they deserved it." His throat felt funny there at the end, but he still knew he was right.

Lily huffed softly as she brushed his hair down for a moment, but spoke with utter conviction, "she'd never hate you love. She may not be keen on what her boys are doing, but I can promise you she'd never hate you for it." She felt strange, defending Molly to Harry, when she'd still much rather be seeing Molly as a threat...but she just couldn't do it. Not to the woman who cared so much for her baby when she'd never had a reason to.

Harry wasn't sure he agreed, but he also smiled with pure happiness as he hoped she was right.

Though at this point she shouldn't be wanting them to join the Ministry anyways.

"Well that I'll give her," Remus laughed outright.

Fred tried one last time to protest, but Harry pulled his wand.

"Now you really mean business," Sirius outright cackled.

Telling them to take it or he'd hex them! Then he asked for one more thing, to buy Ron some new dress robes and say it was from them.

"That's even better," James's smile broadened, "giving them a stipulation. It's more like saying go do this favor for me and keep the change!"

"That's a lot of change," Remus rolled his eyes at his idiotic friends.

He left the compartment before they could say another word, leaving the Slytherin trio in the hallway still unconscious.

"Wonder what would happen if someone was left on the train like that," Harry said a little wistfully. In truth he was honestly thinking if he'd be carried back to school, but then they'd probably find some other way to force him back and he'd be in even more trouble for causing the Dursleys to make a visit needlessly. In reality he really was having some sort of memory connected to getting left on the train...

"Never tried," Sirius said with honest regret. "My friends usually got me off with a combination of threats and promises, but now I'm wishing I had stood my ground at least once and see if I couldn't just live it rough a few months."

"Sleeping on a cushioned seat and eating off the trolley for a whole summer is living it rough to you?" Remus looked at him with a smirk. "I'm terrified to see how you really do camping."

"No camping!" Harry said quickly, trying to wave his dad on before this could spiral further.

Vernon was waiting beyond the barrier.

Whatever good mood the twins and his own friends had caused him vanished the moment James was forced to read this final bit. If he couldn't change Voldemort's return, the one thing he knew he'd give his life for again was for Harry to not have to go back with those abusive people!

Mrs. Weasley was hovering right beside him, and hugged him at once at his arrival, promising in his ear he should be coming along to their place very soon.

Lily could feel copper slick on her tongue she was biting it so hard not to rage about Dumbledore making decisions like that for Harry! He should never be forced back into their company!

Ron gave him an enthusiastic goodbye, as did Hermione as she reached up and gave him a kiss on the cheek, which was new.

Sirius was in such a nasty mood picturing that stupid walrus within arms reach of his godson again he didn't bother to make a sarcastic comment about that.

Fred and George gave one last whispered thanks to Harry as he followed his Uncle outside. He decided there was no point in worrying himself yet as he loaded his stuff up and went into the back seat. Hagrid had spoken the truth, whatever happened, would happen, and he'd just have to be ready when it did.

"This book's over." James whispered as he closed this book for the final time. He never would have believed a book could hurt him so bad, but this one had found every pain, every insecurity, every bad feeling he'd ever felt and quantified it plus adding on a few more. He really was astounded Harry had lived through it all without losing his mind.

"About bleeding time," Sirius scowled as he got to his feet at once, he was sick and tired of sitting around for so long, being so forcibly inactive with nothing to do. "I'm going into the backyard to plot murder, anyone want to come?" He didn't wait for a response, but Remus followed him out curiously enough to see what he was really going to be getting up to out there. Lily followed them to the back door with a few mutters about starting an early dinner, really she just had the need for something to do as well, leaving Harry and James in a peaceful enough silence.

Harry struggled for a moment, looking for the right words to say something to him. He tried to string together how much James had meant to him even before he'd met him, the idea of his father had gotten him through most of his childhood even when he hadn't a name and face to put together. James couldn't stop the swell of happiness it caused him to hear that, and finally the taint of bitterness had really left him as he promised, "I know Harry. I wish more than anything you hadn't had to wait so long to meet me, but I really couldn't have picked anyone better than Sirius to be there for you. He acts like an idiot, but you'll never have a better man on your side."

Harry forcefully ignored the tightness in his chest as he nodded his agreement, saying, "I'm sure I get to enjoy that to this very day. He's probably losing his mind right now when I came from."

James found a laugh somewhere in him for the odd idea alone, but then he really turned on Harry and said, "Hey, just in case Sirius didn't get this through your thick head that summer, you do know nothing that happened was your fault, right?"

Harry leaned back and away from him, trying to ignore the sudden shakes and shivers. Around a trembling jaw he managed, "I guess, in theory. It's much harder to convince myself in practice. Especially because I know no one's ever convinced me of it before now."

James felt his own mounting concern, truly wondering just how much Harry could take before he snapped. First he blamed himself for what happened to Sirius, then Peter's escape, now everything Peter had done since then. How had no one ever sat him down and really got it through to him these things were outside of his control? At least he could now, as he began promising no matter what at least Harry had them now, when he heard his infant begin crying upstairs.

James hung his head and cursed his own sons timing.

HPHPHPHP

 * Don't worry, I'll have that brought up and explained in the next book of why Harry saw them at the beginning of next year and not here.

**I didn't bring this up yet because this is the best example, but it actually kind of annoys me how Hermione's used as a plot point of convenience device to get this kind of information a lot. She just so happened to have that book on Flamel, the Basilisk I slightly give Hermione was the only one who knew Harry was a Parselmouth and so put that together, but the Time-Turner she just happened to have that year, and now this? Where the ever loving did she get unregistered animagus from? Beetles are so common it really blows my mind how she put that together. I heard about how this book went through a lot of rewrites, and Skeeter was actually added much later in drafts, so this particular plot point could have been a little better handled in my opinion, I don't know, maybe Harry should have been grumbling about becoming an animagus more than that one time on top of the magical bugging, instead this feels more like it came out of nowhere because Hermione needed to figure something out this year.

[darkblueboxs]

Best Laid Plans

For #aftgsummer

Prompt: Day trip

Pairing: Kandreil 

Read here or on AO3

*

Kevin’s plan for the last day of summer is bullet-proof: he has a huge wall calendar, a copy of his class schedule, a note of every Exy match and banquet date, a print-out of essay deadlines and exam dates, and enough pens and sticky notes to stock a stationary shop. All he has to do is put it all together.

Unfortunately, he forgot to factor his partners into the equation.

He is laying out his highlighters by order of preference when the sound of Neil’s head hitting his desk echoes across the room. Kevin doesn’t even bother with a cursory upwards glance; he can imagine well enough the image of despondency that would meet him if he did.

“Is all of second year going to be like this?” Neil groans into his stack of textbooks.

“No,” Kevin answers, at the same time that Andrew says, “Yes.”

“It’s a matter of planning,” Kevin continues, sending Andrew an arch look. “As long as you make a schedule, stick to it, plan out your work periods and your rest times and stick to a regular sleep pattern-” Neil huffs sceptically, but Kevin continues as though he didn’t hear, “You’ll find it perfectly manageable.”

Neil sits up to cast a doubtful look in Andrew’s direction. Andrew simply shrugs. “It’ll work out.”

“You can’t just say that about everything.” Kevin turns back to his planner. He doesn’t realise Andrew has moved from the sofa until he feels the brush of his breath on the back of his neck. Bracing his arm on the back of Kevin’s chair, Andrew leans over him to inspect Kevin’s progress.

“You have every minute of your every day planned from now until Christmas,” he observes flatly. Curiosity piqued, Neil joins him on Kevin’s other side.

“Wow,” he says as he studies the neat blocks of colour denoting Kevin’s activities. “I’m amazed you didn’t plot your bathroom breaks onto this, too.”

“I don’t need a planner to tell me when to take a shit,” he says irritably.

“What about me and Andrew? Do we get our own highlighter colour?” Neil leans forwards, pretending to read from a particular quadrant. “Sunday, seven am, get boned.”

“You two can ‘bone’ all you want at seven am on a Sunday, I’ll be enjoying my one lie-in of the week, thank you.”

Tired of their bickering, Andrew reaches between them to flip Kevin’s planner shut.

“Hey!”

“We’re going for a drive,” Andrew announces. He doesn’t wait for Neil or Kevin’s response, but leads the way with the typical certainty that they will follow.

Kevin and Neil flick a look at each other. The three of them have come as close to telepathy as anyone ever will, and this is the look that says, is this worth fighting him over?

The answer is, as always, a resounding no.

After Neil wins the scuffle for the front seat, Kevin settles into the middle back seat, arms crossed. Neil flicks a triumphant smirk over his shoulder, which Kevin replies to with a scowl. The Maserati’s engine purrs through the leather as Andrew throws it into gear. Kevin lets his head fall back as they pull onto the motorway, mentally mapping out and re-arranging his plans for the day onto the blank fabric of the ceiling. There’s a rustle as Neil finds the packet of peanuts Kevin stashed in the glove compartment, and a moment later one bounces off his forehead.

“Andrew,” Kevin complains.

Andrew sighs heavily through his nose. “Children.”

Neil cackles, and Kevin reaches around the seat to throttle him, and Andrew threatens to pull over and stuff them both in the boot, bringing the scuffle to an end. At some point during their distraction he pulled off from the road that would take them to downtown Columbia, electing instead to loop around the metropolis.

“Where the hell are we going, Andrew?” Kevin watches as buildings give way to long stretches of scrubland, bleached brown by weeks of sun. Midday is approaching, and soon a stuffy car will be the last place any of them want to be trapped. Andrew shrugs and merges onto another road seemingly at random.

“I think I hitchhiked here once,” Neil muses.

“How? It’s so empty.” The road stretches out like an endless tar river ahead of them. Other traffic is sparse to non-existent; the idea of breaking down out here is daunting enough. Kevin can’t imagine trudging along the roadside in the summer heat, waiting for a truck to take pity on him, subject to the chaotic whims of the world. Kevin isn’t as dependant on company as he was when he left the nest, but still the endless stretches of emptiness scratch at the remaining agoraphobia in the back of his mind.

Suddenly, Andrew slams on the breaks, hard enough that the strap of Kevin’s seatbelt cuts off the flow of oxygen. Neil jolts forwards, saved from smacking his face off the dashboard by Andrew’s arm. The bag of peanuts is not so lucky, scattering over the front seats in a cascade of empty shells.

“Fuck,” Neil chokes out. Kevin reaches forward to grasp his shoulder, and Neil clamps his hand down over it, reassuring each other of their presence. They look to Andrew; the hand that was not thrown out to protect Neil is clamped, white-knuckled, on the wheel.

Their explanation stares at them from the other side of the windscreen, a tall, slender deer with large, brown eyes. Its ear twitches as it watches them, caught between fear and curiosity.

“Move,” Andrew says as though the animal can hear him. “Move, you idiot.”

Neil leans across him to tap the horn. Startled by the noise, the deer darts across the road and disappears amongst the trees. After flicking a glance over Neil, Andrew turns to pinch Kevin’s chin between his fingers, turning his head back and forth to inspect the damage. The seatbelt left a red line across his collarbone, which Kevin insists does not hurt. Andrew prods it with his forefinger, and when he receives no reaction, he nods. He cups Kevin’s cheek briefly before letting go, the closest Andrew comes to acts of reassurance.

“She came out of nowhere,” Neil says. Andrew hums in agreement. He taps his fingers against the wheel, but does not start the engine up again until Kevin’s breathing has returned to normal.

They end up weaving along Lake Murray, bursts of endless, glittering blue backing the rows of trees that flash past. Andrew’s speed is unaffected by their brush with the deer, but his eyes don’t stray from the road ahead, not even to take in the glowing vistas as they pass.

Andrew picks an exit at random, and they pull up near a small jetty. At the peak of summer it would be swarmed with fishers and families in campervans. As the season draws to the end, only a few stragglers remain, a mother watching her toddlers chase each other around the picnic tables while kayakers splash each other with their oars a little way out from the boathouse. The boathouse shares its building with a shop that sells snacks and children’s toys. Andrew swings past the plastic bats and balls to raid the slim freezer of its popsicles while Neil stares at a map marking hiking trails and beauty spots.

They sit on the end of the jetty, feet swinging over the edge while they devour their purchases. Kevin catches Neil using his soda as an ice-pack, and the ensuing squabble nearly ends with them tumbling into the lake. Andrew watches them through lidded eyes, popsicle dangling from his mouth as he leans back on his arms. Noticing the reddening patches spreading across the back of Andrew’s neck, Kevin sends Neil back to the shop with a nod, distracting Andrew from his absence by debating which bird species were responsible for the orchestra of chirps and calls echoing across the forest. Andrew scowls when Neil returns with a bottle of sunscreen, but after a lecture from Kevin and pleading eyes from Neil, he submits to having his arms and neck slathered with factor fifty.

Andrew finds a picnic bench in the shade to drape himself over while Neil drags Kevin along a walking trail that meanders along the ins and outs of the coastline, finishing at a sandy outlet that gives then a panoramic view of the lake. Kevin ruminates on geographical quirks and features of the area until Neil grows tired of Kevin’s musings and persuades him to abandon his socks and shoes on the white sand so they can wade along the shallow embankment. The sludgy sand of the lakebed gives way so easily underfoot that for a second Kevin fells as though he’s being sucked down into quicksand. He stumbles, knocking into Neil as he does so. Neil mistakes it for a challenge, and bumps him back. Kevin, having barely recovered his balance, loses it all over again. He reaches out for Neil’s arm in the vain hope of steadying himself, but succeeds only in pulling Neil over with him.

They crash into the water with identical shouts. When Kevin looks up, Neil is pushing his sodden bangs back from his eyes. Neil takes one look at his expression and bursts out laughing. Kevin reaches for Neil’s shirt, the idea of drowning him in the sapphire lake water growing in its appeal, but is distracted from his mission when Neil catches Kevin’s mouth with his instead.

They stay there a while, drenched clothes plastered to their skin as the cool water swirls and laps at them, kissing the salty-sweet taste of the lake from each other’s lips.

They stumble back to the picnic benches, where they find Andrew absorbed in watching birds flit back and forth between the bird feeders hanging overhead. He levels the dripping pair with a long look.

“You have a hickey,” he says to Neil at last.

“Jealous?” Neil responds. Andrew’s eyes flick to Kevin, as good a confirmation as any. Kevin’s lips twitch as he tilts his head to one side, making a show of looking Andrew over.

“He needs more sunscreen,” Kevin announces. Andrew rolls his eyes.

When Andrew is slathered up once again to Kevin and Neil’s satisfaction, Kevin rewards him with a soft kiss to his pulse-point, enjoying the way Andrew’s body shivers under the point of contact.

“You’re dripping everywhere,” Andrew says.

“You think I did this?” Kevin levels Neil with a pointed look. Neil shrugs the accusation off.

They find an empty stretch of sand to settle down on, leaving the sun to do the heavy work of drying them off. After a cursory glance to ensure they’re alone, Neil pulls his shirt over his head and lies it out on a rock, stretching out on the sand.

“Sun lotion,” Andrew reminds him smugly.

“Fuck you.” Neil yawns. Soon, he is fast asleep, head pillowed in his arms while the sun warms his shoulder blades.

Kevin slides his feet around in the sand, mesmerised by the patterns it makes as the grains shift and tumble around him. Andrew arches an eyebrow at him.

“I travelled a lot, back when I was… in the nest. Never to places like this, though. It was always major cities, sporting events, press ops. Even then, my every minute was filled with promotions and endorsements and matches and interviews. I never had time to see much of anything.” Kevin picks up a handful of sand, enjoys the way it sifts through his fingers. “It’s quiet.”

Andrew pushes up suddenly, stalking off back in the direction of the boat house. He comes back with – Kevin blinks – a plastic toy set in a net bag. Little shovels, a bucket, brightly coloured moulds for pressing shapes of crabs and starfish into the sand. He dumps the contents into Kevin’s lap save for a shovel.

“Sandcastles work best with damp sand,” he offers, before moving off to work on his own project. When Kevin looks up several minutes later, most of Neil’s torso is buried in sand.

He makes a sandcastle, then another, then stacks one on top of the other two, quietly proud when the structure holds.

Neil wakes up as Andrew is smoothing sand over his shoulders with the blunt side of the spade. He wriggles to dislodge the wet sludge before hurling a clump at Andrew’s head. Andrew rolls behind Kevin’s larger frame in time to avoid Neil’s attack, and Kevin glares at Neil until he raises his hands in surrender.

As the sun sinks, the sky smooths into a pool of pinks and oranges, and the lake winks the colours back up to the heavens. They lean against each other and watch, side-by-side, while Andrew points out osprey and egrets as they flit from one end of the horizon to the other.

As the sun falls behind the line of the trees, Kevin realises with a start that the day is over, and he hasn’t done any of the things he planned to do with it. Then, he realises with a slow, creeping kind of irritation that quickly gives way to something warm and painfully affectionate, that this was Andrew’s plan all along.

“Andrew,” Kevin says. Andrew hums, but does not lift his head from its resting place on Kevin’s shoulder.

The words escape him, so Kevin doesn’t try to find them. Andrew will understand; he always does, after all.

It’s going to be a great school year.

*

Thanks for reading!