#when you have just acknowledge the illegality of it in their home country — is absolutely insane

[orlandospride]

of COURSE it was a fucking english bbc journalist, and a man, who asked whether there’s any lesbians or bisexuals in the morocco squad. utterly embarrassing

[writingwithcolor]

Space based story with prison camps: problematic parallels?

Trigger warnings:

Holocaust

Unethical Medical Experimentation (in the post and resources)

ivypool2005 asked:

I'm writing a sci-fi novel set on Mars in the 25th century. There are two countries on Mars: Country A, a hereditary dictatorship, and Country B, a democracy occupied by Country A after losing a war. Country A's government is secretly being puppeted by a company that is illegally testing experimental technology on children. On orders from the company, Country A is putting civilian children from Country B in prison camps, where the company can fake their deaths and experiment on them. (1/2)

My novel takes place in one of the prison camps. I am aware that this setting carries associations with various concentration camps in history. Specifically, I'm worried about the experimentation aspect, as I know traumatic medical experimentation occurred during the Holocaust. Is there anything I should avoid? How can I acknowledge the history while still keeping some fantasy/sci-fi distance from real experiences -- or is it a bad idea to try to straddle that fence at all? Thank you! (2/2)

We are far from being the only people to have suffered traumatic medical experiments.. 

--Shira

TW: Unethical Medical Experimentation (in the post, and all of the links)

Medical experimentation in history

Perhaps without intending to, you have posed an enormous question. 

I will start by saying that we, the Jewish people, are not the only group to have unethical, immoral, vicious experiments performed on our bodies.  Horrific experimentation has been conducted on Black people, on Indigenous people, on disabled people, on poor people of various backgrounds, on women, on queer people... the legacy of human cruelty is long. Here are some very surface-level sources for you, and anyone else interested to go through. Many, many more can be found.

General Wiki Article on Unethical Human Experimentation

US Specific Article  on Unethical Human Experimentation 

The early history of modern American Gynecology is largely comprised of absolutely inhumane experimentation, mostly on enslaved women (with some notable exceptions among Irish immigrant women)

An Article on Gynecological Experimentation on Enslaved Women

I  also recommend reading Medical Bondage by Deirdre Cooper Owens

The Tuskegee Experiment 

First Nations Children Denied Nutrition

Guatemala Syphilis Experiment

Unit 731

AZT Testing on Zimbabwean Women

Project MKUltra

Conversion Therapy

Medical Experiments on Prison Inmates 

Medical Interventions on Intersex Infants and Children

Again, these are only a few, of a tragic multitude of examples. 

While I don't feel comfortable saying, as a blanket statement, that stories like this should never be fictionalized, it feels important to emphasize the historicity of medical experimentation, and indeed, medical horrors. These things happened, in the real world, throughout history, and across the globe. 

The story of this kind of human experimentation is one of immense cruelty, and the complete denial of the humanity of others. Experimentation was done on unwilling subjects, with no real regard for their wellbeing, their physical pain, the trauma they would incur, the effect it would have on families, or on communities. These are stories, not of random, mythical "subjects," but of human beings. These were Black women, already suffering enslavement, who were medically tortured. These were Indigenous children, who were utterly powerless, denied nutrition, just to see what would happen. These were Black men, lied to about their own health, and sent home to infect their spouses, and denied treatment once it was available. These were Aboriginal Australians, forced to have unnecessary medical procedures, children given brutal gynecological exams, and medications that were untested.. These were inmates in US prisons, under the complete control of the state. These were prisoners of war. These were pregnant people, desperate to save their fetuses, lied to by doctors. These were also Jewish people, imprisoned, and brutalized as part of a systematic attempt to destroy us. 

The story of medical torture, of experimentation without any meaningful consent, of the removal of human dignity, and human rights, is so vast, and so long, there is no way to do it justice. It is a story about human beings, without agency, without rights, it's the story of doctors, scientists, and the inquisitive, looking right through a person, and seeing nothing but parts. This is not some vague plot point, or a curiosity to note in passing, it is a real, terrible thing that happened, and is still happening to actual human beings. I understand the draw, to want to write about the Worst of the Worst, the things that happen when people set aside kindness, and pick up cruelty, but this is not simply a device. This kind of torture cannot be used as authorial shorthand, to show who the real bad guys are. 

On writing this subject - research

If you want to write a fictional story that includes this kind of deep, abiding horror, you need to immerse yourself in it. You need to read about it, not only in secondhand accounts, and not only from people stating facts dispassionately. You need to seek out firsthand accounts, read whatever you can find, watch whatever videos you can find. You need to find works recounting these atrocities by the descendants, and community members of people who suffered. 

Then, when you have done that, you need to spend time reflecting, and actively working to recognize the humanity of the people this happened to, and continues to happen to. 

You have to recognize that getting a stamp of approval from three Jewish people on a single website would never be enough, and seek out multiple sensitivity readers who have personal, familial, or cultural experience with forced experimentation.

If that seems like a lot of work, or overkill, I beg you not to write this story. It's simply too important. 

-- Dierdra

If you study public health and sociology, it is often a given that the intersection of institutional power and marginalized populations produces extreme human rights abuses. This is not to say that such abuse should be treated as an inevitability, but rather to help us understand, as Dierdra says, how often we need to be aware of the risk of treating our fellow humans poorly. Much of modern medical history is the story of the unwilling sacrifices made by people unable to defend themselves from the powers that be. Whether we are talking about the poor residents of public hospitals in France during the 18th century whose bodies were used to advance anatomy and pathology, to vaccine testing in the 19th century, to mental asylum patients in the 20th century who endured isolation, lobotomies, colectomies and thorazine, one can easily see this pattern beyond the Holocaust. 

Even when we shift our focus away from abuse justified by “experimentation”, we have many such incidents of institutionalized state collusion in abuse that have made the news within the last 20 years with depressing regularity. Beyond the examples mentioned above, I offer border migrant detention centers and black sites for America, Xinjiang re-education sites and prisoner organ donation in China, Soviet gulags still in use in Russia, and North Korean forced labor camps (FLCs) for political prisoners as more current examples. I agree with Dierdra that these themes affect many people still alive today who have endured such abuses, and are enduring such abuses. 

More on proper research and resources

Given that you are going to be exploring a topic when the pain is still so fresh, so raw, I think you had better have something meaningful to say. Dierdra’s recommendation to immerse yourself in nonfiction primary sources is essential, but I think you will also want to brush up on many established works of dystopian fiction featuring themes relating to state institutions and the exploitation of vulnerable populations. While doing so, read about the authors and how the circumstances of their environments and time periods influenced their stories’ messages and themes. I further recommend that you do so both slowly and deliberately so you can both properly take in the information while also checking in with your own comfort. 

- Marika

[mojave-pete]

What Would It Take to Convince You The Election Was Rigged?

By AL PERROTTA Published on November 10, 2020 • 2 Comments

Al Perrotta

Yesterday I laid out, with the help of the BBC and State Department, the six signs to look for when determining if an election was stolen.

There is some indisputable evidence — and many very suggestive indications — that each of those conditions for concluding fraud in this election has been met. But many still refuse to even entertain the idea that this election was as crooked as a witch’s nose. After she’s been in 100 MMA fights. And fell from her broom flat onto her face.

The media and Big Tech sensors are working overtime to crush the evidence. So a lot of people don’t even know what is being alleged in sworn affidavits. I desperately want to believe that people, if presented the evidence, will accept it. Or at the very least be open to it, awaiting further confirmation. Please tell me my belief is not unfounded.

But before we get there, I want to ask a simple question:

Remember that a) lying in a sworn affidavit to a court is a crime. And b) doing anything that is seen as helping Trump will subject you to all manner of hell.  In light of that, do you believe the countless witnesses who now have sworn to seeing illegal activity leading up to and through the election would lie?

Would Any of This Be Right?

Now, for those fair-minded people who support Biden, may I ask a few questions? Do you believe

It would be wrong for election supervisors to coach workers to correct mail-in ballots for Biden, but not for Trump?

That it would also be wrong for election workers to coach voters to vote for Biden and Democrats, and follow them to the ballot station?

It would be wrong for poll workers to go out to a Biden-Harris van in the middle of the night and fill out ballots?

That it would be likewise wrong for poll workers to fill in the names of people who hadn’t yet voted when a “voter” comes in who is not on the voter rolls?

It’s wrong for poll workers to ignore matching signature requirements?

That it’s wrong for counting centers to keep Republican poll watchers from observing hundreds of thousands of mail-in ballots?

It was wrong for Philadelphia Democrats to ignore a court order that demanded poll watchers have their rightful access?

That it’s wrong for a Democratic- controlled ballot-counting center Fulton County, Georgia to tell GOP observers they were done counting for the night … then resume counting the minute the observers left?

It was wrong for Nevada voting officials to fabricate proof of residence data for non-eligible voters?

That it was likewise wrong for postal supervisors in several states to order workers to post-date late arriving ballots, so it would falsely appear they arrived on time?

It is wrong to cast ballots using the dead?

That it is wrong to count ballots from people ineligible to vote in a particular state?

It is wrong for a state supreme court to ignore state law and the U.S. constitution to change the voting rules right before an election? Rules guaranteed to make the process more susceptible to fraud?

Each of those statements is asserted in 131 sworn affidavits from poll workers, poll watchers and whistleblowers or happened in broad daylight.

Please Support The Stream

: Equipping Christians to Think Clearly About the Political, Economic and Moral Issues of Our Day.

So please answer me honestly: How many of these wrongs laid out in lawsuits are you willing to outright dismiss? Doesn’t fairness dictate you at least listen to what these people have to say? How many people must swear under penalty of imprisonment for perjury before you acknowledge the vote tallies are horribly tarnished?

Would Any of This Be Suspicious?

Now, my Biden-supporting (or Trump-hating) friends, can we do a little gut check? Aren’t you a little bit queasy about …

Tens of thousands of ballots suddenly appearing from out-of-state with only the presidential race filled out … and all filled out for Joe Biden?

Hundreds of thousands of votes popping up overnight election night … after the inexplicable halt in counting … in some places, 100% for Joe Biden?

Philadelphia, a city notorious for election fraud, absolutely refusing to let Republican observers anywhere near the people handling mail-in ballots?

In several states, piles of Trump votes suddenly getting taken from him, then the same exact number suddenly popping up for Biden?

Dominion, the company behind the election system used in these states, being connected to the Clinton Foundation and George Soros?

Dozens of states accepting Dominion’s system, despite its security weaknesses being so evident that Texas rejected it three times?

The Associated Press reporting just last year that Dominion and its sister companies “had long skimped on security in favor of convenience and operated under a shroud of financial and operational secrecy despite their critical role in elections.”

Lindsay Graham’s report on evidence of a ballot harvesting operation at Pennsylvania nursing homes which could have netted Biden 25,000 votes? (Ballot harvesting is illegal in Pennsylvania.)

Biden vote totals in specific swing cities … and nowhere else … exceeding Obama’s by up to 40%?

Vote tallies for Biden in Milwaukee exceeding Obama’s 2008 landslide … despite Milwaukee having fewer people than it did in 2008? (And despite Donald Trump greatly increasing his share of the minority vote.)

Joe Biden underperforming Hillary Clinton almost everywhere … except in a couple crucial swing state cities … and only after counting in those states was halted?

Joe Biden handily losing bell-weather states Florida and Ohio, but somehow defying history and won? This despite very little campaigning, a non-existent ground game, and a campaign message that ran counter to the economic interests of the American people.

Honesty is the Path to Unity

Yes, it is possible a good percentage of people could go, “I don’t care. Orange Man Bad.” But I want to believe that a majority of Biden voters will be honest enough to check their dislike of Trump long enough to acknowledge the reality of all the smoke, and the possibility of fire.

That they would rather have an honest count of legitimate — and only legitimate — votes. And they would want to see those who have committed fraud punished.

I hope they agree that the only path to re-unifying the country is the assurance of an honest count. And it is worth a few weeks of time to check it all out.

Even if Orange Man is Bad, a Stolen Election is far, far worse.

Al Perrotta is the Managing Editor of The Stream and co-author, with @JZmirak, of The Politically Incorrect Guide to Immigration. You can follow him at @StreamingAl. And if you aren’t already, please follow The Stream at @Streamdotorg.

[alfredosauce50]

would you be down to do 2p china hc’s? im very curious on how you characterize him!

I’m down! I’m guessing you figured I had my own interpretation of the guy after I answered an ask saying I’d write for him. I really like 2p! China as a character, but I have to say, I haven’t properly written for him before. Nevertheless, I’ll give you my thoughts on him as a person!

2p! China Headcanons

Zao’s appearance doesn’t give away much of his personality. He’s got a bit of a baby face, and he has a sociable and pleasant demeanor for the most part. So if you didn’t know him well enough to see past those traits, you would be surprised at how shady he can be.

Appearance

Like his 1p counterpart, his dark brown hair goes past his shoulders and is tied back in a low ponytail. It’s pretty thin too, so it stays flat against his back. But that’s what makes it look so good. He isn’t the tallest guy out there, as he stands around 170cm or 5′7″. Doesn’t mean you can easily take him out in a fight, though. He’s quite slender, but he’s muscular and knows a few martial arts to boot.

He has a lot of tattoos, and he doesn’t try to hide them. He has dragons curling down his arms, as well as Chinese characters etched into his back. Most of the time, he wears traditional clothing, such as a sleeveless Tang suit, so his arms are exposed. It’s almost as if the colors black and red were made for him. And he knows it. So unless he’s having a bad day where he’ll go for a simple T-shirt, he likes to dress to impress. Not that he even needs to try.

He’s devilishly attractive, and the way he talks gets girls flocking to him.

Personality

Zao is very easy-going and open-minded. He’ll talk about anything with anyone. Everything is fascinating in a way, and nothing seems to faze him either. So he’s the type to question the most trivial things in life--or list drugs as casually as you would your favorite candy bars. It’s also difficult to shock him, or anger him. When life deals him a bad hand, or springs up inconveniences, he’ll go with the flow because that’s life. So unless something involves the person he likes, he keeps himself pretty level-headed.

With his willingness to talk about anything, comes his brutal honesty and bluntness. So sometimes, he’ll find himself offending people even if he never meant to. If he does this to women, they’ll slap him before storming off, leaving him in confusion at what he did wrong. But if he does this to men, he’ll have to be quick on his feet to escape a potential fight. Unlike a few other 2ps, he has a good temperament so he avoids violence, but he’ll resort to it if he absolutely has to.

Despite the careers he’s depicted to have, like being a drug-dealer, something in adult entertainment, night-life, or anything illegal, he has strong fraternal instincts. If somebody embodied the “big brother” trope, it would be him. He cares a lot for his younger siblings, and they look up to him as a role model. But he’ll always tell them, “Do as I say, not as I do!” As comfortable as he is in his own skin, his own identity, he wouldn’t want them taking after him.

He’s very flirtatious, and a huge tease. How he shows he likes you is through making you blush, or embarrassed. He’ll call you pet names. Shower you with compliments. Refer to you as if you and him are already an item. If you bumped into him at a grocery store, he’ll help you shop, then say, “So, is that all we need? I can’t wait for dinner tonight.” Zao is also unapologetically dirty-minded. He’s all about dirty jokes, conversations, and gestures. The bigger reaction he gets, the more addicting they are.

He doesn’t have any qualifications, not even a high school diploma, but he’s street-smart to make up for it. That’s how he makes so many connections and hustles his way up to the top in shady businesses. If you need something, anything, legal or illegal, expensive or cheap, you can ask him, and 99% of the time, he’ll say, “I know a guy.” If he likes you, all he wants in return is something perverted. A kiss, maybe. Or maybe your underwear.

Interests

He loves anything cute, and he doesn’t hide it. Sanrio is a must--he keeps a collection of their plushies, most of them being Hello Kitty, but he also likes other characters such as Cinnamoroll and Pompompurin. Sometimes, he can get a bit obsessive over whatever sells fast. So if he has to, he’ll stay up and keep refreshing the page selling whatever he has his eyes on. If he’s infamous for his connections that let him get pretty much anything he wants, surely he can get his hands on the limited-edition Hello Kitty-themed towel, right!? He isn’t against having other kinds of merchandise either, like household items, but he keeps it lowkey for functionality.

In his house, you’ll find a lot of imports from East-Asian countries. Not only is he used to using them when he was back in China, they’re better than what you can find in America. Or at least, in his opinion. This includes cosmetics, snacks, alcohol, and decorations.

Although he doesn’t have a lot of time to, he enjoys watching anime. That’s why he makes sure to get through the most popular and mainstream ones first.

Zao likes to keep connected with his culture. He doesn’t care to assimilate, and being ‘different’ doesn’t bother him at all--he thinks it’s what gives him a unique personality and background. Since he doesn’t have a lot of friends to speak Mandarin with, he’ll look for his neighbors who can, and strike up a conversation every now and then. As well as that, he’ll give his siblings red pockets for Chinese New Year so they can spend it on food, videogames or whatever they want.

He can’t cook for shit. Even then, he has strong opinions on food, especially Chinese. While he enjoys westernised take out like Panda express, he wishes people would stop assuming Chinese cuisine is just dumplings, fried rice, noodles and yum cha. They’re B-tier at best. For a country with that rich and long a history, there’s so much more to indulge in. Too bad he can’t make anything if he tried.

Psychology + romance

Zao is used to being a second choice. His cheerfulness and bluntness make other people think he’s creepy or weird, so he can’t quite wrap his head around somebody liking him to that degree--or getting particularly close to him. At least, emotionally. There are a lot of girls who want him for one-night stands. But this doesn’t stop him from flirting with someone he genuinely likes, even if he doesn’t expect anything in return. It’s fun because they get flustered, after all. But when they start returning the same energy, get persistent, or even make him suspect that they like him back, he will get nervous. He’s used to being the chaser, not the other way around. So if the tables turn and things start getting real, he will back away.

As confident as he is with his image, it’s difficult for him to get intimate with somebody romantically. He’s open, but can’t be vulnerable. He’d rather keep things casual, so when he really falls for someone, he’ll be conflicted between keeping things the way they are, or pursuing them.

Eventually, these feelings will deepen to the point being just friends becomes suffocating. That’s when Zao loses his cool and gets frustrated. It could happen due to a build-up of his emotions, or an event that makes him explode from jealousy. He’ll get desperate after so long of not doing anything and make it very clear he wants you. “Just date me already!”

When he finally gets together with you, prepare to be coddled. He’ll want to help you with anything the best way he can, and go to extreme lengths to do so. Nothing seems extreme when it’s for somebody he cares so much about. While he never holds it against you--how much he does for you--he may or may not guilt trip you into giving him more affection. But only subtly. Instead of him kissing you, he'll loiter around your presence until you kiss him. And when you do, he’ll smile like an idiot.

He never makes it explicit when he wants to take you out on a date. Zao will just ask you if you’re free, and take you out for the night. He doesn’t see a point in labelling it as a ‘date’, because he doesn’t just see quality time with you through a romantic and sexual lens. He values the friendship aspect of it as well, and you really appreciate him for it.

Zao loves to cuddle. He doesn’t hug you much throughout the day, but when you’re at home and about to sleep, he will hug you, a lot. He won’t let go while he talks to you, and will only loosen his coils when you fall asleep.

Acknowledgements

I was mainly inspired by the 2p! China in the story, “Dragon District”, written by xYourHero. So props to them. The fandom’s perception of him has definitely deepened because of it, and it’s great seeing underrated 2ps finally getting the attention they deserve! I’m one of the people who’s had my characterization of Zao take after hers, so I’ll also be crediting her for my headcanons.

You can find the story on DeviantArt, Archive of our own and Wattpad. I adored that fic back in the day. Such good memories. I wasn’t even writing back when I was reading it. Any who, let’s get right into it. I’ve divided the headcanons into subcategories, appearance, personality, interests, and psychology + romance.

(Look at this fanart is by Amphany on DeviantArt. It was drawn for xYourHero. I’m gonna put it here for reference. https://www.deviantart.com/amphany/art/Dragon-smoke-548426383)

[zee-writes-and-draws]

Truly Important

Summary: A look at some of the more important birthdays that Saw Paing has had, and the one he celebrated right after the tournament.

A/n: It's still July 8th, so I'm on time w/this. Nonetheless, I slept five hours so I apologize for lack of proofreading.

------

The first birthday that Saw Paing truly considers important is his fifth one, the day he gets to start Lethwei training for the very first time. He comes home covered in scratches and bruises and a trickle of blood running down his forehead. His father fusses a little and his ma doesn’t let him up until she bandages every little cut and bruise but nothing can spoil his good mood as Ne Win Paing puts him in a headlock and their little sister congratulates him on the start of his training.

------

Most birthdays to Saw Paing aren’t majorly important beyond the fact that even as a fighter Pa Paing did his best to see every single child on their birthday every year. But some are important because there’s new people in his life, people who aren't’ there, certain benchmarks and events that are important in and of themselves, but are easier to tie to years and dates and celebrations.

Saw Paing’s sixteenth birthday is remembered fondly only because it is one week before he meets his eternal rival for the very first time, a boy named Gaolang Wongsawat.

------

Seventeen. Nothing particularly important. Current youngest brother starts his training that year.

Eighteen. Important solely by the freedom it grants in travelling. Almost all countries recognize eighteen as an age of majority, an age where you can do a lot of things that would be illegal otherwise like go somewhere without an adult’s supervision or rent a car so you have your own transport. Going to places outside of Myanmar and Thailand is the most interesting he’s done in his entire life.

Nineteen. He finally gets a job outside the village. The weapons corporation that hired him is run by an old man and a teenage girl with a vicious streak longer than the destruction radius of the missiles she’s designed. Still, they hired him to safety test things and work to rescue people in afflicted areas, not attack them. It’s Togo Tomari’s brilliant ruthlessness that causes him to end up in the same place as Muteba for a month. Another friendship struck up with someone he’s fought against. A birthday gift of an absolutely gorgeous button-up with twelve patterns and wild color is dropped off at his door that year. Even though the gifter will likely never see it, Saw Paing wears the shirt with pride as often as he can for the next few years.

Twenty. Barely important but it was Gaolang’s eighteenth birthday that year and the time the title ‘God of War’ starts creeping into people’s thoughts about him. Saw Paing cheers his rival on whenever possible.

Twenty-one. Nothing. Little sister asks out crush, dates her for seven months and change before they have to break up because the crush’s family is moving. He and Muteba have each others numbers saved and text between missions.

Twenty-two. He and Ne Win Paing get to fight outside of legal matches for the first time. It’s exhilarating. Their father hugs them both afterwards and tells them how proud he is.

Twenty-three. The first birthday in their family celebrated after Pa Paing passes. It’s somber. Saw Paing would rather have skipped the day entirely if not for how his youngest siblings all seemed determined to follow traditions for at least the illusion of normalcy  and he’s not about to ruin their coping process just because he’s sad. With Ne Win Paing travelling nearly full-time and recovering when he’s home, Saw Paing is the de facto leader of the family and he’s not going to let them down so easily.

That night there’s a card delivered to him by a hassled-looking mail carrier. It’s from Gaolang.

I heard about your father’s death, Saw Paing. My deepest condolences to both you and your family. Take care of yourself. Do what you must to feel more stable.

To anyone else the writing would be cold and impersonal. Saw Paing re-reads it over and over until a drop splashes onto it and the crinkling of paper registers and then he hurriedly folds it and drops it onto the desk in his room so it doesn’t get destroyed.

If in two weeks when they next see each other, Gaolang relents and truly fights Saw Paing for twenty minutes before declaring a defeat form boredom, neither of them acknowledge the change in routine anymore than they acknowledge that Saw Paing’s yelling is more like loud talking and that Gaolang had made an extra plate of his favorite fish seemingly just in case.

------

Twenty-four. Saw Paing meets Sayaka for the very first time that year, a bright and sunshine-sweet teenager who screams out his intro and doesn’t seem to mind that he’s super-loud or that his opponent throws him into the commentators box and nearly crushes her by accident.

When he had apologized she made a joke about it. He made one back. A friendship stronger than any other he’d made was started that day. Sayaka reminds him of his little sisters, friendly and upbeat and ready to take on the world if she has to and come out with a smile, sharp wit and keen mind concealed under a bubbly layer that requires no lying to maintain.

That year his birthday includes a surprise delivery of a completely new set of cookware with a small note attached.

Happy birthday, Saw! Sorry I couldn’t make it, dad scheduled fifty matches for this week alone so I’m not even sleeping, but I hope you like it! See you in May (PS I’m secretly rooting for you!)

That night Saw Paing makes dinner for everyone with said cookware and an unflappable grin on his face.

------

Twenty-five. Nothing.

Twenty-six. His little sister is now formally competing on a near-national level. His brothers, no longer so small but always little in his eyes, work hard to bring in food and water and trade with the local villages and Saw Paing never stops feeling proud of them.

Twenty-seven. More and more fights in the arena. He leaves Tomari’s contracts behind but keeps in touch with Muteba. A chance metal concert allows him to meet Yoshiko, who in turn introduces him to Sawada. Saw Paing mails him several CDs of traditional Burmese music for the other man’s birthday. Gets a collection of ballet remixes in exchange. Listens to the collection every night for weeks and weeks on end until he can whistle half the songs without thinking. Smiles at how many small reminders he has now of the people he cares about.

------

Twenty-eight. The coldest and harshest one yet. Ne Win Paing is not there that year. Everyone’s energy is lower than usual. Saw Paing spends the day mostly taking care of the youngest siblings and visiting the graves of those he’s lost. He can feel the wrongness of this land on his skin, it’s Yoroizuka’s home and that’s better than the alternatives but it is not his home or their home or the home that his family deserved and had grown up in and lost because of Ne Win Paing or maybe because Saw Paing should have noticed sooner, should have caught onto the damage his brother had taken.

Sayaka leaves twenty voicemails and thirty texts, all reassurance and compassion and kindness that Saw Paing is beginning to doubt he deserves. Sawada had arranged for several boxes of their favorite sweets from all over the world to be delivered to his house. Muteba messages him a list of names and places if he needs to fight the emotions out or to talk to a professional specializing in fighters and loss of loved ones and tells him to cherish the rest of his family.

Gaolang visits that evening, sleeplessness evident in his posture and eyebags. It’s rarer and rarer for the two of them to see each other now, between the jobs they both hold and duties they’re bound to. Saw Paing’s first priority will always be his family, just as at the end of the day the Thai God of War is not that but the bodyguard of Prince Rama of Thailand. And yet here they are, sitting next to a firepit just outside a house that was not truly meant for Saw Paing’s family, in a country outside of Gaolang’s own.

“Are you alright?” Gaolang asks him. Saw Paing looks up.

I’ll be fine, he wants to say, thinks instead because even things like talking feel like too much right now. He settles for a nod instead, one that feels too slow and tired to really be him but has to be because who else could he be? Gaolang does not look reassured by this. He sits down next to Saw Paing and talks. That quiet voice, normally at least partially twinged with annoyance and exhaustion, now flows with an undertone of gentle energy. It’s not the fire that Saw Paing usually feels running through his veins. Nor is it Ne Win Paing’s quick fury or Pa Paing’s ruthless confidence.

No, it’s the other kind of energy, the kind that Gaolang always emits though it’s hidden under the day-to-day life’s mundaneness. Gaolang tell him about fights, about what guarding Prince Rama has been like for him, some recipe his parents love and he despises because of how annoyingly spicy it is and how Saw Paing would probably like it. And then he talks about staring into a fire.

“Look,” Gaolang motions at it. “It moves so incredibly, alive and unalive at once.” Saw Paing looks into the fire, watches the moving flames flicker and dance in and out of existence. Next to him, Gaolang smiles.

“It reminds me of you sometimes. The difference is fire burns out. I truly hope you never do.” They sit next to each other, watching for a while until something in Saw Paing’s chest undoes itself, letting some feeling back in. Gaolang notices.

“Tell me about Ne Win Paing,” he asks, shoulder brushing against Saw Paing’s own, warmer than the air around by just enough to be noticeable without feeling too off-balance. And so he does, spilling out every little detail he can remember about his brother and all of the memories that were crafted for as long as he can remember. The sky is light when he finishes, still tired but somehow lighter. That something that had unwound a bit earlier is almost completely gone. He’s still saddened by the loss of one of the greatest people in his life, but things look a little better.

Gaolang leaves then, apologetic but unable to stay. Saw Paing nods at him again to say it’s alright and it must come across sufficiently this time, because Gaolang’s smiling softly as he walks to his car and drives back to his too-loud and too-busy life for such a quiet man and yet a life that couldn’t be anyone else’s.

Saw Paing’s younger siblings are slowly waking up, coming out to check up on him and start their day. He hugs them, feeling his spirit coming back to something normal.

------

Twenty-nine. Still a tad colder than before but mostly better.

Thirty. A year with little occurring beyond the increasing amount of kengan matches and the frequency that he gets to see old friends like Sayaka. The tournament that happens later in the year is undoubtedly something unforgettable that he;ll treasure for the rest of his life. So many new friends made, so many bonds forged and strengthened. He makes it a point to keep correspondence with all of them, even the more quiet ones like Karo and Rei. They clearly need the company if they're quite that quiet.

Thirty-one. He wakes up expecting another birthday that’s rather insignificant. His sisters and brothers in college call and Skype and do whatever else they need to say hello first thing in the morning, yelling through the screen loud enough that he can her the dorm’s complaints through the call. The siblings still at home whether from sentimentality or youth wake him minutes before that by running into his room and wishing a happy birthday to him at the top of their lungs. He’s so proud of their lung training being quite so successful.

He checks his phone after all of the younger siblings hang up out of habit. There’s another twelve messages from various members of the assassin clans he’s befriended, a missed call from Cosmo, a notification about a post from Adam, and an alert of the local post office telling him about several packages that are addressed to him.

On the journey to the post office and back he gets six more calls. As he’s balancing reading a short ‘happy birthday!’ texted to him from Cosmo and a rambly congratulation courtesy of Okubo that is interrupted by an incoming call from either Hanafusa or Yoshizawa, a wonderfully familiar voice calls out.

“Saw! Over here!” Sayaka stands by the edge of the road, looking as red carpet-ready as always, except for the small trolley of boxes and bags she’s keeping from rolling away.

“HEY SAYAKAAAA!!!!!” He yells to her as he runs over. She’s hugging him so there’s no reason not to complete their usual greeting by picking her up and spinning in several circles.

“Happy birthday, Saw!” She laughs as he puts her down. “Sorry I didn’t warn you, but there was a lot of last minute stuff and everyone wanted to send something to you and it was ‘one more thing’ this and ‘oh wait here!’ that, and it’s so great to see you again! Here!” the packages he was holding until two seconds ago are now in Sayaka’s hands, traded for a fancy-looking photo album.

“It’s for you. I wish I could stay, but Retsudo’s been flipping out for six hours and he threatened to send a SAR squad again, but I promise i’ll call this evening, kay? See ya soon, Saw Paing!” She runs to the familiar figures of Takyama and Misasa, waving the whole time they drive away until she’s out of his line of sight. Only tnen does Saw Paing turn his attention to the trolley and the photo album.

Getting everything home requires ignoring messages and calls so his plan to find out what these things are that everyone was so determined to send to him has to wait another hour or so but then he finally has the time to check everything out.

There’s two gorgeous shirts that fit perfectly, bright greens and yellows combining with the soft fabric and reminding him of his old shirt but nicer. This, he knows without even needing to check the card, is a gift that only someone like Muteba would have gotten him. A thick book of various recipes from several different regions in Japan, along with an impressively full binder of leaflet instructions for dishes made in the mountains is sent courtesy of Sekibayashi and Haruo.

A sharp-looking knife that seems to be more familiar with intestines sliding across its blade than vegetables is gifted by the Kures he’d met after Hayami’s rebellion, right next to several ‘free assassination’ coupons Reichii and Fusui must have snuck in as a half-joke and and half-true gift.

Most of the things are actually quite small, just fragile and packaged with an insane amount of cushioning, he realizes. It’s nothing particularly fancy, but they’re all things that will remind him of the senders, be it the scalpel that Hanafusa mailed him with instructions on how to DIY surgery or the old shogi set Kaneda gifts along with a book on most famous shogi strategies played throughout history.

Saw Paing moves everything to where it should be once everything but the photo album has been looked through. The cookbooks go to a specific shelf in the kitchen that no one else can reach. The weapons are hidden in a small box under his bed to avoid any incidents. Muteba’s shirts go onto hangers, Sawada’s fancy candies are set on a plate for eating while looking at this final gift, and then the album is opened.

The first photo makes him smile, a perfect snapshot from one of his earliest fights in the Kengan matches, capturing the moment they had both gone from enemies to friends mid-blow. A date, presumably of when the photo was taken, is written on the border in Sayaka’s neat writing. The second one is of Ne Win Paing from seven years ago. This time, the date is in heavier, blockier writing, not unlike Hollis’s. Saw Paing flips through the album a little more, taking it in. there’s plenty of photos of his various friends, fellow fighters, and even some family from the tournament and before it, but there’s also old photos of his brother and father, and even one of his mother back when she had fought in occasional matches, along with candids of some of the more stoic people. They must have been collected over several months, and not just by Sayaka.

Saw Paing already knows what will happen this evening. Gaolang will come over with some kind of small yet so deeply personal way of also saying happy birthday. Sayaka will call again, most likely throwing a small party in the Katahara house and inviting everyone she can. Rei might stop by and even if he doesn’t, he’ll Skype before the sun sets because he’s a punctual person by both nature and training.

But that’s still hours away, and in the meantime, Saw Paing decides to keep looking at the beautiful snapshots of the past, enjoying the present to it’s fullest.

------

END.

[ironmandeficiency]

all over the road

all over the road

pairing: frankie “catfish” morales / reader

word count: 1345

summary: you and frankie get pulled over.

a/n: first time writing for frankie! and literally any pedro pascal character ever! i’m excited bc i love them both so dang much asdfghjkl, and personally i’m yearning for summer to end so please excuse my yearning for autumn. tagging @scribbledghost​ and @catfishingmorales​ who said they were excited for this. here’s the song i listened to while writing

warnings: mild cursing, suggestive themes, getting pulled over

red and blue flashed from behind frankie’s truck. the colors that normally symbolized freedom in that moment meant anything but, the cop’s sirens piercing the crisp autumn air. frankie groaned in frustration and let his head fall back against the headrest. he told you this could happen if you didn’t stay on your side of the truck. but how could he deny you, with the way you were kissing his neck and the hand sliding up and down his thigh.

despite what most logic is telling, you don’t remove yourself from frankie’s side as the officer knocks on the window.

your boyfriend doesn’t make any attempt to move you away from him, instead deciding to try and pretend that nothing was wrong. “good evenin’, officer.” it made you want to laugh and amp up the teasing but you had at least a little bit of dignity.

“good evenin’. license and registration please.”

“of course.”

the officer who pulled you over seemed to be having a decent day, and he also didn’t seem like an asshole. maybe this wouldn’t end in a ticket. he disappeared back to his vehicle to run frankie’s information and as soon as he had reached the back of frankie’s truck, your boyfriend’s lips were on yours.

“i cannot believe you,” he softly laughed into the kiss, “i told you this was gonna happen.”

“how was i supposed to know?”

“you know good and well that if it weren’t for bad luck you’d have no luck at all.” his chuckle followed the phrase he’s often repeated to you. it was an inside joke, a reference to the way you both met.

frankie’s day had been shit and he figured that drinkin’ away his troubles was less illegal than the alternative, so he found himself at the bar. you had been knockin’ drinks back one after another since frankie saw you for the first time at the crowded bar. from what he could tell, you’d been there for a bit and had no imminent plans that involved slowing down. the stool next to you was the only one open and he sat down on it, flagging the bartender to get him a drink.

it was hard to not notice the handsome stranger that had taken a seat next to you. he had a calming air about him that had you slowing down in your chugging of the drink in your hand. “rough day?” it was a simple question yet simultaneously the understatement of the century. you knew it was a question directed towards you, you catching him looking at you in your peripheral vision and not minding it as much as you would have a few drinks earlier.

“you could say that,” you huffed as you finished the last sip of your drink, hand immediately raising to order another. you hadn’t been keeping track but it didn’t matter how many you had, somehow you still hadn’t forgotten the nightmare that was the day’s events.

first you had been blamed for something going wrong at work that was most definitely your fault (it was that bitch becky with the good hair, the one that had been passed up for the promotion you had gotten a few months earlier when you were previously below her in the company food chain).

then, on your way home from what was a terrible day already, you’re rear-ended and sent into the back end of the car in front of you, a nasty gash on your head and now a car that needed repair. the repairs needed were costly and would take a week at the least, and a ride to work wasn’t a sure bet.

you’d never been more grateful that you lived across the street from the bar you now occupied.

he asked you about what made the day so terrible that you were now turning your blood with slight alcohol content to alcohol with a little bit of blood, and you were nearly brought to tears by how genuine he sounded, how concerned he seemed to be over a complete stranger. so you told him all about your terrible day and not even a minute in had him rubbing your back in soothing circles.

“well damn hon,” he sympathized, “if it weren’t for bad luck you’d have none at all.”

that was the start of a friendship that was quick to turn to something more…

which had you in this precarious situation that you were now in. in the side view mirror you could see the officer getting out of his vehicle, but you made no move to take your hand from frankie’s thigh or lips from his neck. frankie knew you were doing this just to taunt him and he wasn’t going to give in by gently pushing you away.

“sir, have you been drinking this evening?”

“no sir, not even one beer.”

“then can you explain why you were in the other lane and hoggin’ the road all the way back from the city limits sign?”

that was the perfect moment to raise your hand a little higher up his thigh and squeezing in that little spot oh so close to the crease between hip and thigh that drove him crazy. he had to fake a cough to hide the moan from the officer, whose eyebrow raised at the two of you.

“well officer, you see this sweet thing here? she’s been teasin’ me since we got in the car. i’m doing my best and i know i’m all over the road, but i can’t help it.”

the officer isn’t impressed. not by a long shot. however, he does acknowledge your presence latched onto frankie. “ma’am, are you wanting to cause a wreck?”

it takes you a moment too long to comprehend the fact that the officer is talking to you. not until frankie’s got your chin in his hands and is pulling it away from his neck to look the officer in the eyes. “no sir, i don’t.” you genuinely meant no harm, that shouldn’t have been a question. part of you was offended at the insinuation but voicing that discontent would do nothing but make it all the more likely that frankie would get a ticket for his driving.

he seemed to be pondering something for a second, studying the two of you intently before speaking once again. “then please ma’am, be a bit more merciful to mr. morales in the future. i’ll let you off with a warning if you promise to not distract him till you get to wherever you’re going.” he was starting to find the situation a bit funnier than he had when he first saw the pickup swerving all over the road.

you quickly nod your agreement to his terms and sit back in the passenger seat, appreciation flowing from your lips and frankie’s as he printed out the warning slip. “you two have a good evening, and drive safe.”

“yes officer, absolutely. thank you.”

with that, the officer left and you were free to go. once the officer was out of earshot, the two of you were cackling at the situation you just endured. it was like it was pulled straight out of a movie or something. wait, movie wasn’t right.

frankie turned the key in the ignition and the radio crackled back to life and it was uncanny the song that came on.

no sir i ain't been drinkin'

i ain't even had one beer

this sweet thing's got me buzzin'

from whisperin' in my ear

just take a peek up in here

at this little hot mess

mister, you'll understand

i'm doin' my best

and i know i'm all over the road...

it was a song. your life had officially become a country song and it was hilarious. the grin on frankie’s face as he recognized the tune had you clutching your sides in a vain attempt to hold yourself together. the hilarity increased when he sang along, shooting you flirty winks the whole time and not bothering to keep any sort of pitch.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #475

(from two days ago, oops)

What is your favorite background noise? (Ex. Water dripping, people talking.) I really like a steady rain tapping on the windows. Do you like taking selfies? Why or why not? No, because I'm ugly. It's annoying because I've been wanting to take pics with Girt considering even as just friends literally none exist of us, but yeah. I fucking hate taking pictures of myself and it takes a billion and two tries to get a picture I deem "acceptable" anyway. Were you named after anyone? No. What was the last comic book you read? I don't and never have read comic books. What is your heritage? German, Irish, and Polish. Describe the worst friend you have ever befriended. All things considered, somehow my former best friend was the worst. She was homophobic, racist, extremely self-centered, drama-driven, excessively bossy, ungrateful... I will never be able to explain how our friendship ever worked. If you found the recipe for immortality, would you sell it or would you burn it? Burn it. With certainty. We just aren't meant to live forever. What is the most embarrassing, cringe-worthy thing you have ever done? 99% of my life has been Cringe. What is the worst thing someone could do on a date? Be distracted/not pay attention to the other, like by constantly using their phone. It's so rude. That would immediately make me lose interest in you. If you could turn one legal thing illegal, what would it be? I dunno. What is something you swore you would never do when you grew up, but you did anyway? I was absolutely going to college as a kid. Fast-forward to the future, I've dropped out three times and am going nowhere. Little me saw me as so, so much more successful. Do you actually iron your clothes? No. Unless it's a formal occasion. Do you rent or own your current home? We rent. Have you ever used cursive after school, aside from your signature? My handwriting is naturally mostly cursive. Do you have your groceries delivered or do you buy them yourself? We order our groceries for pick-up, so we have to go to the store, but not in. Do you have a gym membership? Sigh. I do, but Mom and I have really been neglecting going since my time with my personal trainer ran out... What’s your favorite computer game genre? Horror, of course. Do you have any exes your parents never liked? No. Have you ever been severely mentally ill? I am. What was the last thing you purchased from a small local business? I don't know. Have you ever used chewing tobacco? EW no, that shit grosses me out so much. If someone’s laughing, do you instantly think they’re laughing at you? Suuuure do. How would you react if your parents told you they were having another baby? Well, they're divorced, Mom cannot stand my dad, and she also had a complete hysterectomy when she had ovarian cancer, so like... Have you ever had a garage or yard sale before? How much did you make? Over the course of my life, we've had a few yard sales. I don't remember how much we made at any. Have you ever had to evacuate your home for any reason? No. Which mythological creature is your favorite? DRAGONS. I love dragons. Have you ever been to a butterfly garden before? No, but that sounds amazing. What's the biggest bird you've ever seen up close? Oh my god y'all, when I volunteered once at a wildlife rehab center, I was FEET away from some sort of falcon. Guys, you would not believe JUST how big birds of prey are. I was shocked and in total awe. Have you ever seen a double rainbow before? More than once. Were you ever afraid of the dark as a child? I don't THINK I was? What is the strangest thing you’ve been asked? Something inappropriate that really pissed me off. What was your favorite game as a child? I was obsessed with the original Spryo trilogy and would play all three obsessively. What is the darkest thing you have seen on the internet? I don't know, dark shit. Do you crack your knuckles, neck or toes constantly? No, but ugh Girt does that with his neck and it drives me insane alsdkjfaljdlfkwe. Are you constantly catching colds or other sicknesses? No, my immune system is a legend. Are you afraid of mice? No, they're precious. What type of souvenir do you usually purchase when on vacation? I go on vacations so irregularly that I can't really answer this. I've been on a vacation maybe twice in my entire life. Do you own more than one copy or edition of a book? No. If you could see any musical on Broadway right now, what would it be? I don't like musicals. Will you willingly sing in front of other people besides your family? God no. Do you eat soup when you’re sick? No. I don't like soup. Who can never fail to make you laugh? Absolutely my boyfriend. He's the funniest person I know. Have you ever been on a tour bus? No. Do you prefer listening to things through headphones or speakers? Earplugs. Are you listening to music right now? No; I'm watching Gab play The Evil Within. Have you ever unbuttoned your ex’s pants? Just one of them, but we were together at the time. What are you planning on eating for dinner tonight if you haven’t already? Mom made pizza. What was the worst news you’ve heard this entire week? Girt's mother has Covid. He's vaccinated, but nevertheless, he's still getting a test done just to be safe, and also because if he's contracted it, I might have it. And that means my mother could get it, which just cannot happen, even if she's vaccinated, too. The poor guy is really freaking out about it, but ASTONISHINGLY, I'm not panicking yet. Girt's health has seemed fine, I'm fine, so... We'll just have to wait to see what his test says. Do you have a lot of trees around your house? What about buildings? No; yes. I hate living in the suburbs, it sucks here. Would you say either one of your parents are 'pack-rats?' No. Have you ever disowned anyone in your family? For what reasons? No. Has anyone ever called you a sociopath before? No. Do you have freckles? Do you like/dislike them? Not on my face, no. I have a few randomly on my body though. Would you ever consider getting dreadlocks? No. Have you downloaded extra fonts for your computer? Oh, plenty. Who is the latest great YouTuber you’ve discovered? The latest, uhhhh. I'd probably say John Wolfe as a truly "great" one considering I watch him regularly now. Do you read the Bible regularly? Yeah, no. All the Bible does is piss me off, frankly. Name three patriotic songs you like. I don't know about three, but I do shockingly like this one country song with a name I can't remember. All I know is it has "red, white, and blue" in the title. ... I think. Oh! There's "Deutschland" by Rammstein, even though it's not about my own country. Has it ever snowed on your birthday? Maybe at some point as a kid? Idr. Do you like the way your name is spelled? No, actually. I wish it was "Brittney." It's more true to the pronunciation. Do you believe in astrology? Not in the slightest, and while I really shouldn't care, like believe what you want, it's a genuine pet peeve of mine when others base their fucking lives around what positions some goddamn stars are in in an infinite universe. They make decisions based on bullshit being spat at them that might not be suitable. I know, it's stupid to care, but I can never seem to NOT roll my eyes when I see/hear people blaming their flaws and shit on this stuff. Are you one of those people who has like a hundred apps on their phone? No; I have very few. What’s the band that you love even though you know they’re awful? I can't help but love some Blood on the Dance Floor songs. :x Do you coo over other people’s babies? No, not really. Like I can acknowledge a cute picture and be like "awww," but it's nothing I lose my mind over at all. What is something that makes you very squeamish? VOMIT. If you’re out of high school, have you stayed in touch with your high school friends? If you’re still in school, do you think you will? The only high school friend of mine I'm still actively friends with/is still in my life is Girt, obviously. Like I have HS friends on Facebook that I still very much love and will react to what they post and sometimes comment, but we don't really talk-talk. Do you dye your hair regularly? No. :/ That's not something I can afford to do. Do you have an alter ego? Describe them: No. Do you know both of your biological parents? Which one do you prefer? I do, and I love them both. Do you store a lot of pictures you’ve taken that no one else has seen? I'm a wanna-be photographer, of course I do. If you had to name your kid after an American state, which would you choose? Probably "Dakota" for either gender. What do you use to dry your clothes? (Tumble dryer, radiator, etc) We have your normal dryer. Do you ever play the built-in games on your computer? Which ones? Nah. Do/did you doodle on your books at school? My notebooks and binders, ohhhh yes. Actual school textbooks, absolutely not. Who’d you last see in a tux? The groom and groomsmen of the last wedding I shot. Who’s the bravest person you know? Sara. Have you ever dated someone who was real sportsy? No.

[lopithecusfanfiction]

Skies on Fire

Author: Lopithecus Pairing: Evan “Buck” Buckley/Eddie Diaz Rating: General Audiences Word Count: 2905 Alternate: AO3 Summary: "'Okay, Mister ‘I don’t like the 4th of July.’ What’s your opinion on fireworks?' Chim asks.

Eddie shrugs and scrunches up his nose in that way Buck finds adorable. 'They’re loud.'"

It's the 4th of July and Eddie hates fireworks. Warnings: 

PTSD

Mild Hurt/Comfort

Eddie Diaz has PTSD

Author's Note: I can’t believe no one has written a 4th of July Buddie fic (that I could find using the search function at least. If there is one, please send me a link because I would love to read it.) So, obviously I had to write one myself. Enjoy!

Buck loves the 4th of July. He loves the excitement that it instills in everyone, he loves the celebration of it, the food that is served during the cookouts, and most importantly, Buck loves the fireworks that are set off at night. Overall, the day is usually filled with good spirits and lots and lots of food.

 The first year Buck was in L.A. for the 4th of July, Bobby had hosted it at the firehouse, cooking for the entire team. The second year, Athena had hosted it at her house, inviting Buck, Hen, Chimney, Maddie, and Eddie over for the cookout in which, again, Bobby was cooking. Eddie, however, had declined the invite, claiming he was going to spend it with his own family but when Buck asked Christopher about it later, Christopher had informed him that Eddie had not gone with him to his Abuela’s and that Pepa had brought Christopher there. When he then questioned Eddie about it, the man had completely avoided answering. Buck filed it away as an Eddie Diaz mystery he’ll probably never get an answer to and moved on. This year, they all are scheduled to work.

Buck struts into the station, clothes bag slung over his shoulder. It’s going to be a long 24-hour shift but Buck isn’t going to let that ruin his mood. Bobby had promised to cook for everyone again and he’s honestly looking forward to it. Plus, if they’re lucky, they’ll be out on a call, outside, when the fireworks start. Of course, Buck doesn’t want a life-threatening call to happen just so he can watch the fireworks, but if there’s a scared cat stuck up in a tree then he’ll take it.

He walks into the locker room where Hen, Chimney, and Eddie are already halfway through changing. Buck tries to not watch Eddie as the other man gets dressed, approaching his own locker to get into his uniform. “Who’s ready for the 4th of July rush?” Buck asks enthusiastically, giving a quick glance towards Eddie who is currently shirtless.

Eddie gives him a wary, curious look. “What do you mean?”

“People are dumb on the 4th of July,” Hen answers for Buck as Buck forces himself to look away from Eddie and opens his locker to start changing. “There’s always more calls than on a usual day because people like to set off fireworks that they got illegally or play with firecrackers that end up blowing up in their hand or in their face or in their pants.”

Eddie’s head tilts at that last statement, blinking in confusion. “Their pants?”

Hen shakes her head. “You don’t want to know.”

Buck chuckles, shucking off his pants and pulling on his uniform bottoms. “I love the 4th of July.”

“More like you love Cap’s cooking,” Chimney states from behind him, shutting his locker a little too loudly.

“I do,” Buck agrees, pulling his shirt off and turning to Chimney. “But I also love everything else to do with the 4th of July.”

“Here we go,” Hen mumbles.

Buck turns to her, smile in place. “Come on Hen, you have to agree that fireworks are awesome.”

Hen gives him a small smile. “Okay, the 4th of July isn’t that bad but I just hate how stupid people get during it.”

“Well, I’m with Buck,” Chimney says. “I love the 4th of July. It’s one of the few days you actually have a valid excuse to get absolutely drunk off your ass.”

Buck turns to Eddie. “Eddie?”

Eddie looks up from where he was studying his button up to his uniform. “Hmm?”

Buck smiles at him. “Do you like the 4th of July?”

“I hate it.”

All of them look at Eddie with surprise. Buck’s eyes go wide in shock. “What! No, Eddie, no one can hate the 4th of July!”

“I’m pretty sure other countries hate it, Buck,” Hen comments.

“Okay, if you’re an American, you can’t hate it,” he amends. “You’re, like, obligated to like it.”

Eddie watches Buck as he slides on his button up. “Sorry, Buck, but I just don’t like the 4th of July.”

“But why?” he asks but Eddie just shrugs. “Okay, what about fireworks? Everyone loves fireworks. Hen?”

Hen finishes tying her boots and stands. “They’re pretty, I guess.”

“Come on, Hen!” Buck pouts at her. “I love fireworks! They’re amazing, you know! With all the colors and how big they can get.”

“They do have a certain appeal to them,” Chim mentions with a small laugh before turning towards Eddie who is staring absently into his locker. “Okay, Mister ‘I don’t like the 4th of July,’ what’s your opinion on fireworks?” Chim asks.

Eddie shrugs and scrunches up his nose in that way Buck finds adorable. “They’re loud.” He quickly looks at all of them before turning back to his locker to dig around in it.

Buck’s heart drops as realization starts setting in while Hen huffs a laugh, heading towards the door. “Yeah, and they scare animals all over.” She leaves the room, Chimney following her with an amused smile, both apparently oblivious to what Eddie is implying.

Buck watches them go, frown now set in place on his face. Turning back to Eddie, he watches silently as the man continues to dig through his locker, looking slightly panicked. Buck thins his lips, deep in thought, before reaching into his own locker and picking up a small packet of earplugs. He walks over to Eddie and holds them out. “Here.”

Eddie looks down at them, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. His eyes lift to Buck. “How’d you know?”

Buck shrugs. “Good guess.” Eddie gives him a thankful smile and takes the earplugs, fiddling with the package.

Eddie gestures towards his locker, not meeting Buck’s eyes. “I thought I had brought some but I guess I forgot. Why do you have some?”

Buck smiles at him reassuringly. “I wear them when I try to get some sleep here. I can still hear the bell if it goes off but not everything else.” Eddie nods at his explanation and Buck wishes he could make this easier on Eddie. He’s obviously feeling a little embarrassed. “What did you do last year?” Buck tries, hoping he won’t be shot down this time.

Eddie sighs heavily and shuts his locker, shoving the earplugs into his pocket for later. “I closed all the windows in the house, turned on the TV full volume, and blasted music in my ears.”

“Did it work?” Eddie just shrugs. “Are you going to be okay? I’m sure Bobby wouldn’t care if you went home.”

Eddie shakes his head, walking past Buck. “I can’t let this dictate my life, Buck. You guys need me today so I’m going to be here.”

“But Eddie-”

“No, Buck,” Eddie stops him. “I’ll be fine.” He walks away then, clearly ending the conversation there.

*~~~*

As Hen had predicted, it’s a busy day. Since eight in the morning to eight at night, there have been fifteen calls. From fires to car accidents to people having firecrackers blow up in their faces, everything that is going to happen seems to be happening. They are just getting back from their last call of a child stuck up in a tree that the nine-year-old decided to climb up, when they get another call of a possible drowning in a pool.

Buck has noticed how on edge Eddie has been all day; quiet, more so than usual, and hyperaware of his surroundings. He can’t seem to relax and as Buck sits next to him on the firetruck, he can feel just how stiff Eddie is holding himself. He wishes he knew how else to calm his best friend down but knows that anything he says won’t help in the slightest.

Buck nudges Eddie’s shoulders, getting his attention. “Hey, you might want to put the earplugs in now. The fireworks are going to be starting soon.”

Eddie nods and reaches into his pocket. He frowns, removes his hand, and reaches into his pocket on the other side. This hand also comes out empty. “They must have fallen out at some point.”

Buck is frowning now as well, full of concern. “You going to be okay?”

Eddie nods curtly. “Yeah, I’ll be fine.”

Buck can feel Bobby’s eyes on them from the front, the older man glancing over his shoulder. Neither he nor Eddie acknowledges Bobby’s look. Buck figures Bobby has probably figured out the problem already anyway.

It doesn’t take them much longer to arrive on the scene. Hen and Chimney pull the ambulance around, parking it in a way that will make transporting the injured party into the vehicle easier. They all rush over to the scene, following the wife of the man who almost drowned.

They get to work right away, Chimney doing chest compressions as Hen and Eddie work on hooking him up to fluids and air. The husband comes back quite quickly to everyone’s relief and coughs up water. Moving him onto a backboard and then to a gurney, they all make their way over to the ambulance, loading the man in and letting the wife follow. She says her thanks and Chimney shuts the back doors, Hen driving away with the sirens blaring. Overall, it’s a smooth mission and nothing goes wrong.

That is, until the first firework booms in the air, bright and loud.

Eddie flinches so violently, that he knocks into Buck, and, Buck not having expected that, they both go tumbling down to the ground. Buck lands on his bottom, catching himself with his hands and causing pain to shoot up into his arms from his wrists. Bobby is crouching in front of them, asking them if he’s okay and another firework soars in the night sky and explodes in a beautiful hue of blue.

Buck ignores Bobby’s questioning and turns to Eddie who is also sitting on the ground except that his legs are drawn up close to him and his head is dipped between his knees with his hands covering his ears. He’s stiffened up even more than he has been all day and Buck can see tremors running through his body. Buck scrambles up, reaches out to touch Eddie, but then stops short. He quickly pulls his hand back.

“Eddie?” he begins gently. “Eddie, it’s Buck. Can you hear me?”

Eddie doesn’t give Buck an answer, doesn’t even look up at him, but Buck can hear Eddie’s heavy breathing and quiet sobs. Bobby places a hand on Buck’s shoulder, getting his attention. “I need to get back. You got this?” Buck nods. “When he’s back, bring him home. You two can end your shift early.”

“Are you sure?” Buck asks.

Bobby nods towards Eddie. “Take care of him.” He then gets up and leaves, giving Eddie one last concerned look. Buck knows that if Bobby could, he would stay too, but he can’t. Not on one of their busiest days.

Buck watches Bobby leave before turning his attention back to Eddie. “Eddie? Can I touch you?” Still, he gets no answer. “I’m going to touch your knee, okay?”

More fireworks are shooting up in the sky, getting closer to the grand finale. He knows they aren’t helping the situation at all. Another loud and bright firework makes Eddie flinch again and his entire body shudders as a whimper escapes from his mouth.

Buck slowly stretches his arm out, gently placing a hand on Eddie’s knee. Eddie doesn’t react to it, doesn’t look up at Buck but also doesn’t jerk away from the touch so Buck figures it must be fine to do so. He continues to talk to Eddie, keeping his voice low and calm. “Eds, you’re out on a call. You’re in someone’s backyard, near the pool. What you are hearing are fireworks. They are not bombs, you’re no longer in Afganistan, you’re safe.”

The finale to the fireworks starts up and Eddie curls into himself more, pulling away from Buck’s hand. Buck doesn’t try to touch him again, waits the finale out, and then tries again when everything settles.

“Eddie, it’s still Buck. Can you hear me?” A small nod. “Okay, listen to my voice. Again, you are not in Afganistan anymore. You’re in L.A. and those were fireworks, not bombs. You’re safe. I’m here. You’re not in danger.” Eddie lifts his head some but doesn’t look at Buck. His eyes are far away, not really focusing on anything. “Can I touch you again?” Another small nod. Buck crawls a little closer, places a hand on Eddie’s shoulder.

“Can you feel the ground?” Eddie nods. “Can you feel my hand?” Again, a nod. “Okay, what do you see? What do you see around you, where you’re safe?”

It takes Eddie a few tries and Buck repeating the question again before he can answer him. “You.”

“What else?”

Eddie swallows and lifts a shaky hand to wipe the tears away. He’s still not very focused, blinking rapidly. “You.”

“Okay,” Buck says, moving on. “What can you hear. Can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“What else can you hear? What else can you hear in this backyard where you’re safe? Where you’re safe with me? You’re safe.”

Eddie’s eyes flutter shut and his face scrunches in agony. “Open your eyes,” Buck tells him and he does. “Can I hug you?” Eddie nods and Buck maneuvers himself so he’s sitting down at an angle to Eddie, wrapping his arms lightly around the smaller man. He wants to be sure Eddie can still see him but also ground him more in the present by giving him more physical touch. “Now what can you hear besides my voice?”

Eddie is still shaking but his muscles relax. Still he doesn’t answer Buck, staring off into the distance. “Eddie?” Eddie snaps back.

“The pool. I can hear the…” a long pause as Eddie blinks. “The pool.”

“Okay, good. Can you hear the water in the pool?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you still hear me?”

“Yeah.”

“What can you smell?” Buck asks, moving onto the next sense. “What do you smell around you, here and now?” He carefully rubs a hand up and down Eddie’s bicep, gauging Eddie’s reaction. He doesn’t reject the movement so Buck continues doing it.

“I can smell…” Again, Eddie quiets, staring at the ground. His body is relaxing though so Buck decides that what he is doing must be working at least a little. 

“Eddie, what do you smell?” he asks again.

Eddie blinks, doesn’t answer, and Buck asks for the third time. “I smell your cologne or… or deodorant.” He sinks into Buck, blinking slowly. “I smell… I can smell the pool. Freshly cut grass.”

“Good, now I want you to describe to me, if you could choose any place, where would you want to be at this very moment?” Buck chuckles. “It doesn’t even have to be attainable.”

Eddie licks his lips, rubs a hand slowly over his knee, and looks like he might dissociate again but then he starts talking, voice slow and slightly slurred. “At home with Christopher and you.”

“Yeah?” Buck smiles. “What would we be doing?”

Eddie does dissociate again, staying quiet for several minutes before Buck can get him back and ask the question once more. “Watching a movie.”

“What movie?”

“I don’t know.”

“Describe to me the scene you’re thinking.”

Eddie’s hand rubs over the ground and he lifts his hand to look at his palm. He stares at it for a few seconds before placing it down on the ground again. Buck repeats what he said. “Christopher would be sitting on the floor in a heap of blankets. You and I would be on the couch, sitting close.”

“Like this?”

Eddie nods. “Yeah. One of us would be holding the other and…” he trails off.

Buck runs a hand through Eddie’s hair, deciding to end it there. “Can you stand?”

Eddie swallows and nods. They both stand up, Eddie swaying in his spot. Buck can tell he’s not entirely back with him, the other man looking around his surroundings as if confused as to where he is. Buck orders an Uber and when it arrives, he carefully guides Eddie inside it.

They arrive at Eddie’s place and Buck immediately transports Eddie to his bed, helping him to undress and lie down in it. “You’re home now, Eddie. Do you know where you are?”

“Home,” he answers. “I’m home.” He’s coming back now, getting more alert. Still, he looks exhausted with his eyes droopy and slow movements. “Thank you for helping me, Buck.”

Buck sits down on the edge of the bed and runs a hand through Eddie’s hair. “I’ve got your back, Eddie.” He shrugs. “And next year, we’ll be more prepared. No more losing the earplugs.”

Eddie chuckles at that, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Deal.”

They stare at each other for a long time before Buck finally asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Eddie shakes his head. “No.” Buck nods, accepting that answer. “But I would like it if you stayed.”

“Yeah, of course, I’ll stay.”

“No, I mean in the bed.”

“With you?” Buck asks.

“I feel safer with you.” Eddie is avoiding eye contact but the statement makes Buck smile nonetheless.

“I’ll stay, then.”

Eddie smiles, small and soft, eyes closing slowly. “Thank you.”

Buck leans down and presses a kiss to Eddie’s temple. “Always.”

———————————————————————————————————–

A/N: And there you have it. Though I do think fireworks are pretty I also think they are obnoxious and loud, and, since they are literally bombs going off in the air, I can’t imagine Eddie not having some kind of reaction to them.

Thank you to this website that helped me write what Buck should do for Eddie during his flashback.

Thank you for reading!

[livixbobbiex]

Let me just talk for a second about how the UK government have handled the corona situation for students

First of all! Hi, I usually like to use this blog for positive things, and rarely anything that really effects my life. If you don’t know, I’m a university student in England, and the government have just announced there’s going to be another national lock down. 

What I need to state, very clearly, is that just before September there was a lot of uncertainty about the return to education, even with the dwindling infection numbers at the time. Lots of people even wanted to put it off for a year, but the government, universities, and wider media endorsed that it was completely safe to return to campus, and we would receive a blended teaching style, which had both online and in person classes. In fact, many students (lots of them international) were told that they actually HAD to be on campus. That’s forced people to find somewhere to live, all across the country, and thus pay thousands in rent costs. 

Of course, with the government endorsing this mass movement around the country, infections rose immediately. Let it be known that there was no real plan or guideline, arrivals were not staggered, particularly when it came to first year students who went into halls (dorms) instead of an actual house. 

Students then became a media scapegoat for the rise in infections. Whilst there are absolutely cases of people have illegal raves and house parties, actions I do not condone, this was not the sole reason for the infection rise. There were plenty of (largely middle aged) people completely ignoring the rules. Added to the fact that students are more likely to have service industry jobs such as working in retail or catering, and thus more likely to be regularly exposed to people as ‘we can’t do our jobs online’. 

This might be a little confusing to those unfamiliar with the English system, but the government does actually have some control over the fees universities are allowed to charge. In fact, the reason most people pay £9,250 in fees is because that’s what it’s capped at. What’s included in those tuition fees is of course classes themselves, but also every facility on campus. Access to libraries, for example. When a reduction in these fees was debated by the government, the conclusion was essentially ‘not our problem’. 

Now, the UK is majority Christian, and the government decided to make special allowances so that people could return home for Christmas. Never mind that they imposed strict lockdowns on Eid and Diwali for much of the country, but that’s a whole other argument. The point being, students were actively encouraged to return to their family homes in the space of a few days at the start of December, with the vague narrative that if they didn’t, they wouldn’t get to see their families. Following the month long lockdown in November, many students of course took this chance to see their families again. 

Where we’re at now is a brand new lock down. Except, this time, most people are stuck in their family homes. Although maybe fine for some, many aren’t that lucky. There are many reasons that a student might be better off at university, for example access to laptops and wifi, among others. Some people might not even have space to study at home. Now, many students are paying thousands in rent for places the government forced them to go to, and is not physically allowing them to return. 

I want to state clearly, I do agree that a lockdown is necessary. What I don’t agree with is the way the government has handled this situation for us. About university students, unless we’re needed to be a scapegoat, the government has shown they don’t even care to acknowledge us. We’re left out of the conversation, despite how much money and academics we’re contributing to society in general. 

I also don’t blame most professors for this, and I know that many of them are trying their best. But it is not enough. Boris Johnson, despite any rational judgement, clamped down again and again on not closing primary and secondary schools in England. Now that he has been forced to do that, he is effectively cancelling exams. This is an admission that online learning is not sufficient or equal to in person learning, in terms of education and mental health. So why, then, is online learning completely fine for universities, but insufficient for any other area of education? 

The government has not done enough, or much at all, for us. And it’s the same case with the higher ups in most universities too. We’re abandoned in this. And it absolutely sucks, considering that we were put in this position largely by the government in the first place. 

I don’t even know what I want to fix it anymore. I don’t have an answer. But I’m angry that we’re being ignored now. And, I know it’s odd to talk about this on tumblr of all places, but I do know I have somewhat of a platform here, however small, and I feel the urge to bring some awareness to this. 

Anyway TLDR, the English government is treating students like shit

[morfinwen]

For the 10 facts ask: Christopher, Reagan, Connie, Q, Niner, and Darcy, please!

Here, have a readmore:

Ten Facts about Chris

1. His mother's ancestry is mostly Italian, with some of the nearby countries mixed in. On his father's side, his grandfather's ancestors came from England in the early 1800s, while his grandmother's parents immigrated from Russia.

2. While she's almost as insanely talented as Chris, his older sister Marie has focused more on scientific, technical pursuits in comparison to his artistic ones: he's into theater and music, she works for NASA.

3. He's actually pretty rich, relatively speaking. Both his parents came from well-off families, particularly his father's, and his mother was not too proud to accept help from her former in-laws after her ex-husband left and didn't pay his child support.

4. He's never been out of state, let alone the country. It's something he'd like to do, it just keeps getting pushed further down the list as he takes on other things.

5. Chris is generally a pretty even-keeled, if not positive person. But when he gets angry, he gets angry. It's usually pretty targeted at whatever/whomever made him angry, but it's safest to get out of the blast radius all the same.

6. It took him an unusually long time to learn trumpet -- unusually long by average standards even, not just his own. He still isn't sure he's got the hang of it.

7. His mother took them to Catholic mass a few times every year when he was growing up, always intending to make it more regularly.

8. He occasionally attends Catholic mass as an adult, but he also visits Russian Orthodox services. His grandmother took him to one as a child several times, and there are aspects of it that appeal to him more (like the music).

9. His sister is married and has two kids. Chris has met his brother-in-law a few times, his nephew once, and his niece never. It's a bit of a sore point between them.

10. Cats just love Chris, even ones that normally hate all people. He used to feed stray cats, and he visits an animal shelter regularly to say hi to all the cats that don't get enough love.

Ten Facts about Reagan

1. In every way but emotional, her aunt Jane did a decent if not good job raising her. Emotionally, it was a total failure. Reagan doesn't hate her aunt, but she doesn't miss her.

2. It bothers her a little that she doesn't miss the woman who raised her.

3. She takes after her father more than her mother -- she knows this mostly because her aunt kept complaining about how different she was.

4. She didn't get diagnosed with dyslexia until her first year of high school. She'd learned to work around it, for the most part, but the diagnosis gave her more tools.

5. Her aunt made her learn piano (because Reagan's mother played piano), but Reagan preferred the guitar. She still has some piano pieces memorized, but rarely plays.

6. She's got deft fingers. This was partially learned by sneaking money from her aunt when she refused to buy Reagan something (her aunt often refused, but Reagan only stole from her a few times), but mostly to sneak things into the pockets of kids who were bothering her at school. She rarely got caught.

7. More than once, Reagan has ended up in a "second-in-command" type of position: she doesn't like being told what to do, she doesn't like being in charge, but she doesn't mind telling people to do what someone else told them to do, and if someone proves to her they know what to do and have a good plan in place to do it, she'll go along with it.

8. She doesn't like the cold, or driving in snow, but the worst part of winter is how dark it gets in the afternoon.

9. She occasionally works on writing her own songs; instrumental, since she can't write lyrics worth a darn. She's never shared them with anyone.

10. She doesn't mind being tall in and of itself, but it makes clothes shopping hard, people are liable to comment on the fact that she's so tall for a woman, and she's hit her head on more than one low-hanging doorway.

Ten Facts about Connie

1. Plenty of people have assumed "Connie" is a girls' name. He doesn't mind. People only tend to tease him about it good-naturedly anyway.

2. Of all his many, many siblings, only his older brother Dylan ever really understood him: why Connie preferred reading indoors to rough-housing outside, why he spent more time on his science and math homework than playing sports, why he hated all those big group events. It would have been better if Dylan could be around more when he was a kid, but just having someone understand helped a lot.

3. While Connie was at college, a scandal broke out in his pack back home that ripped it down the line, and his parents were right in the middle of it. More specifically, his father was one of the causes of the scandal.

4. He hasn't talked to his father since.

5. He is more open to talking to his mother, but their conversations alternate between her trying to guilt him to come home, her being upset with him for being at college when it all happened, and her being depressed. He doesn't talk to his mother much.

6. He hates wearing pants. In professional contexts, he wears them because he has to, but otherwise he only wears shorts.

7. He hates wearing shoes, too. He's constantly having to buy new pairs, in part because he just doesn't take good care of the ones he has.

8. He can play the guitar and the cello, the former very well. Most people don't know this because he doesn't play often, and never in public.

9. He doesn't like to listen to music much, which is another reason people are surprised to know he plays. His mother made him learn.

10. Like a lot of werewolves in that part of the country, his pack had a church that was somewhat LDS, though it's questionable whether it would have been acknowledged as such by the official church. He's moved away from that, but Connie does believe in a God, he's just not sure which one.

Ten Facts about Q

1. He has a large number of contingency plans, for a large number of extreme scenarios. Some are more plausible than others. Some are considerably less plausible than others.

2. He was envious of his cousin, for having parents and for being so rich, for exactly two years. He has never envied him since.

3. His parents are not actually dead, they got involved with faeries, messed up, and are currently paying off their debt. Q has no idea.

4. He hates his aunt more than his uncle. They're both awful people, but Maitland is much more explicit in his awfulness, and if you have something to offer him, is willing to work around any dislike he may have of you. Chantal is manipulative, cunning, and always comes out on top.

5. Has the phone numbers of multiple celebrities, famous athletes, rich people, and foreign royalty saved from his days in boarding school. He doesn't reach out to these people often, but he keeps their contact info, just in case.

6. Gained a reputation in boarding school for being up for anything not stupidly dangerous or seriously illegal, as long as he was being offered money to do it.

7. Knows a ton of things about rich people, a bunch of common strategies for poor people, and absolutely nothing about the middle class.

8. Went by Dell as a kid, switched to Q when he moved to the states. Not particularly fond of either name, but they beat Quincy Odell.

9. He's never liked a girl strongly enough to feel it was worth taking the risk to ask her out. His one romantic relationship came about because she asked him out, and ended in part because he wore himself out trying to make it work by being who she wanted him to be.

10. Between a drug dealer roommate in LA and his cousin's ... friends, it's a toss-up whether he knows more professional criminals than royalty. Some days, he reflects on this, and lets out a soft, pained groan.

Ten Facts about Niner

1. After more than twenty years together, Niner's parents are still affectionate. Disgustingly, honeymoon-phase, over-the-top affectionate. None of their children can stand it.

2. She is going to master the fast part of "Hardware Store" by Weird Al. She's still struggling with the first few lines, but it will happen someday.

3. Gets along really well with Connie, despite werecats and werewolves not generally being known for getting along.

4. Gets along terribly with Aidan, though with no clear indicators as to whether him being a "bird" (phoenix) is part of that.

5. About the only people towards whom Niner will openly show affection are her younger siblings. She has a lot of them, but she adores each and every one of them.

6. Hates, hates, hates the vacuum cleaner. Just Ash bringing it out of the closet is enough to send her running, and she won't be back for at least two hours.

7. Wants to climb a mountain. Particularly Mount Everest, but she's accepted that she should start with one of the smaller ones.

8. She doesn't talk a lot about her past. Not because it was painful or anything, it's just not something she does.

9. In the latter part of her time on her own, she and another werecat split off from the group they were hanging with, as most werecats do when they form a relationship. Niner's relationship went south. Badly south. She's never spoken about it to anyone.

10. With the exception of cheese, she doesn't care about condiments on things like burgers or hot dogs. Just cheese, the works, lots of mustard, she barely even notices.

Ten Facts about Darcy

1. He comes across as the least upset about the move to Chicago, and he is. It bothers him more than he lets on, but Darcy doesn't have friends to miss like Kira, or feel half as cooped up in the city as Susanna.

2. People sometimes mistake him for the oldest, when he gets to talk on one of his special interests, or the youngest, when in social situations.

3. He has one, maybe two very vague memories of his parents. He insists he doesn't miss them, because he doesn't recognize his emotions for what they are, and because he doesn't realize that you don't need to remember someone well to miss them.

4. Darcy is unquestionably intelligent. He is a little lacking in common sense.

5. His special interests are math, science, and history. History is the most appealing to him personally, but people tend to be more impressed with his grasp of math and science, and he likes impressing people. He doesn't dislike math or science, either.

6. He was named after his mother's best friend in college, and his middle name is his father's best friend since childhood. He's met both of them, but when he was much too young to remember.

7. He's actually a decent actor, he has a great memory, and he gets terrible stage fright. There are a couple very awkward school plays in his past.

8. Darcy still has a crush on Kelsey, the pretty blonde high-schooler he had as a babysitter when he was six. In general, the existence of pretty blonde girls make him glad that a) he's naturally quiet around other people and b) he doesn't blush easily.

9. He typically spends his time in Minecraft building computers and playing very simple versions of Minesweeper and Solitaire on them. Susanna thinks he's entirely missing the point of Minecraft.

10. His ideal pet is a dragon.

Thanks for asking! 

[greenninjagal-blog]

It’s Always Been This Way (Hasn’t It?)pt2

Hello! Did someone order 52 pages of Virgil angst, gayness, and magical shenanigans? If you missed the prologue you can find it right [here]!

Summary: After deciding not to go back to Hogwarts for their final year of school, Virgil, Roman, Patton, and Logan all enjoy living together in their quiet muggle neighborhood and doing small tasks for the Order. It would be nice, Virgil thinks, if he wasn’t actively lying to their faces every day.

Also if the Neo Death Eaters weren’t trying to kill his friends.

Words: 21,080 (and no thats not some joke)

Read on AO3 ||  My General Writing Masterlist

Chapter One: Liar, Liar (House On Fire)

“This is absolute bullshit and they know it!” Virgil yells to no one, as he slams the morning paper on the table.

From somewhere not far away, Patton’s voice calls out “language”, but Virgil doesn’t really register it at all. He’s too busy reading over the front page article again as if he missed something the previous four times he had read it. He flicks his wand (Cypress, 9 inches, semi flexible) across the kitchen with barely a thought which makes the coffee pot start up and his favored mug place itself under it.

It’s somewhere past eight in the morning, and Virgil still feels drowsy which probably isn’t helping his mood at all. He hasn’t gotten a full night's rest in at least three years, and he doesn’t expect to get it for another ten years. And that’s only if his half muggle born ass survives that long.

He snarls at the paper again, slamming a fist on the table hard enough that the stinging goes all the way up his arm to the back of his eyes, and that in turn ruffles the owl on the perch in the corner out of its trance.

“Sorry Logan.” Virgil breathes in deep and snarls it back out.

The horned owl titters on the perch turning towards him, blinks twice in a sophisticated way that’s made doubly effective by the strange rectangular pattern around its eyes, and then reaches out its wings. With powerful gust and a blur of brown, white, and black feathers, the animal leaps into the air. It morphs with precision, a complex series of motions that elongates its body, shrinks the eyes, and changes the number of bones under its feathers all together. Its fascinating to watch: in less than a second the air is filled by a stern looking seventeen year old with square glasses, a sharp nose, and matted dark hair that rarely appears to have a strand out of place.

But then again, Virgil thinks its fascinating every time Logan breaks the law at all. There’s something about seeing a man so rule orientated like Logan breaking those very same rules that makes Virgil’s heart flutter in that entirely unhelpful way.

“Salutations, Virgil,” Logan says, sounding exactly like he had just swallowed a muggle computer. “May I inquire what has your frustrations today?”

Virgil huffs, sliding the paper across the table for his friend. “See for yourself.”

Logan picks it up at the same time as Virgil flicks his wand at his mug and exchanges it for the one Logan favored. Logan’s still frowning at the article when both the cups come levitating through the air and set themselves on the table between them.

The Daily Prophet had never been Virgil’s favorite source of information. It didn’t take a genius to know when a reporter was being paid to report--or not report-- something. Not to mention it was practically controlled by the Ministry and that it was more concerned with sales than with accuracy.

Still, Virgil is too much of a sucker for routine to cancel his subscription to the utter nonsense. Which leads him to mornings such as this: grumbling into his coffee mug, with his illegal animagus of a friend across from him equally displeased and showing it in the way his eyebrows furrow and his thin lips squeeze together, with Patton in the other room somewhere, probably stress cleaning again (which is marginally better than when he’s stress eating), and Roman out on his morning jog through the quiet muggle neighborhood they called their own.

It’s strange, Virgil thinks, knowing that none of their neighbors are aware of the nuclear bombs that rest in each of their pockets disguised as sticks that they might have picked up in the park last Saturday.

It’s strange, Virgil thinks, that its September fourth and none of them are at Hogwarts, or even intending on going to the esteemed magic school that had been their homes for six years prior.

It’s strange, Virgil thinks, knowing that Dee’s family had helped finance the Dark Lady's rise to political power and then had started murdering muggles in distant countries and the Daily Prophet was refusing to acknowledge any of it at all.

They’d all be seventh years this year, completing the second half of their courses and preparing for the NEWTS and practicing their nonverbal spells. And maybe Virgil’s spent too much time in his own head this summer because he misses going the kitchens and tapping out the rhythmic pattern of “Helga Hufflepuff” on the barrel that would open up to the soft, cozy, and quiet common room. From the very first moment he had done it himself, Virgil had always felt a bit like he was walking home when he entered the Hufflepuff dorms, as ridiculous a notion as it was. (And he’d die before he’d admit that to anyone else.)

But even here, in Roman’s semi-modest muggle neighborhood, it feels a bit like that. He can’t pretend that he doesn’t like waking up and seeing those three again and again and again. He doesn’t want to either.

He feels guilty about it. A whole lot of guilty. For the first month of them living together, Virgil hadn’t been able to sleep at all, because he’d been so afraid of waking up, and finding the spell over them had broken.

Virgil can survive losing a lot-- he’s done it before with his mother, his home, his holidays, his sanity (on Thursdays, specifically),-- he doesn’t think he can survive losing them too. And that’s partially his fault, he supposes: his defining character trait has always been that fierce loyalty, with a more than a dash of selfishness that his mother hadn’t managed to iron out of him. 

He loves the spell that was over them. He also hates that he loves the spell that was over them.

The second they found out it would be over and they’d never forgive him for using them like stepping stones.

His fingers tighten around the mug at the spiral of his own thoughts. Logan’s eyes flick up from his reading to look at him, and Virgil wished he knew what that sort of look meant. If they had actually been friends for five years, he probably would have known.

Its a little late to ask.

It doesn’t matter much because the next moment the front door opens with a loud boom and a louder voice sings the ending line of some Disney song that Virgil recognizes only because it had been in the back of his head for three days straight. (That song from that night when the four of them had curled up in the living room and Roman had tugged him into a cuddle and then forgotten to let go of him before he fell asleep with his head on Virgil’s shoulder and-- and he was blushing just thinking about it.)

Virgil makes a mistake of swallowing his coffee at the same time as Roman Prince comes tromping into the kitchen after his morning run. And hell, if it didn’t take every single muscle in his body to keep from spitting his drink back up.

Virgil has seen Roman come back from runs before: it was part of his routine that he rarely switched up and he had admitted to Virgil once that it was when he did his best thinking. Alone with his music in his ear, his wand in his pocket, and the rhythmic pounding of his sneakers on the pavement-- Virgil could see how it was appealing. If it didn’t require getting up so early, or going outside, or like...exercising, Virgil would have totally been down to run with him. 

But the way that Roman comes into the room-- his shirt in his hands, instead of on his body like a normal person, glistening with sweat that seemed to drip off every single muscle which was only emphasized by the smug look on his face, his eyes sparking with his endorphins running rampid and his face still flushed from his workout--like he knew, the little shit, knew that he was making Virgil short circuit by looking like that.

Virgil swallows his coffee, with his hands around his mug so tightly he thinks it might take a crowbar or diffindo to get them apart.

Logan turns into an owl again.

(Animals don’t feel emotions quite like humans, Logan had said once and Virgil has never been able to get over that particular jealousy.)

“What's the matter, Morgan le Fretful?” Roman asks with that shit eating grin of his that, by itself, can turn Virgil’s thought process into a first graders string art project. That smile coupled with his gleaming abs and Virgil’s complete and utter gayness? Oh he’s down for the count and out of the game all together.

“Boo,” Virgil manages, “Weak.”

“I think it was a good one!” Roman responds so blithe and warm that Virgil wonders if the sun came to earth for the day. Logan flutters his feathers, which only makes Roman laugh more.

“Put on a shirt, Princey,” Virgil says, deliberately not looking at him as he says it. He steals the paper back from Logan’s place, and pretends to find the articles in it interesting and not at all offensive. 

"And if I don't?" Roman's wiggling his eyebrows and Virgil can tell because the picture of Celestina Warbeck (the famed Singing Sorceress, whom Roman had once said should be the next Disney Princess) was blushing furiously and waving her face in her article.

Virgil glares at the singer and she gives him a wink like she knows exactly what his heart is doing in his chest. He changes pages as fast as he can, grabs his mug and his wand in one hand, and does not look up at Roman.

"If you don't, Patton's gonna have a hard time putting out the Bluebell flames I'm gonna--"

Virgil stops mid sentence as his eyes catch on a familiar face on the page. A face he hadn't seen in a year, but saw each and every time he had a nightmare. The paper crinkled in his hand.

"Virgil?" Roman says playfulness gone. "If it's really that much of a bother I'll put it on--"

Virgil blinks once, twice, and he swallows hard. "What? No its-- Its fine. I don't care." He folds the paper and sticks it under his arm as he convinces himself to keep breathing.

Roman stares at him (shirt around his neck like hawaiian lei). Logan gives a ruffle of feathers and touches down at the edge of the table next to Virgil's elbow. Despite being a bird, and despite the fact the markings around his eyes only look like glasses, the gaze he holds is sophisticated and knowing. Virgil refuses to look at him, at either of them. He finds a spot just over Roman’s shoulder to stare at in conviction.

"I'm fine," Virgil says again, as if that will convince them. 

"You're clearly not." Logan's voice says and Virgil just barely restrains himself from batting the glasses off his face. (When the first animagus was done, why didn't they included a sound with their morphing? A bell ringing? A tumblr notification noise? Something???)

"Yeah, last time you acted like this after reading the paper, you disappeared for a day, without explanation." Roman says (and Virgil doesn't flinch, does not, does not), "So to prevent Patton from worrying all day, I'm gonna wait for an answer that's the truth."

"It is the truth!" Virgil responds. And its not a lie. Not a whole lie. Barely a partial lie. Its nothing compared to the other lies he's been telling.

And when neither of them fall for it, he lets out a defeated breath. "You guys remember Professor Remus Dukeson?"

Roman snorts, "Crazy Divination teacher? The one who ate a physical teacup in third year?”

Logan picks up a feather from the table, one of his own feathers, and twists it in his fingers, “What about him, Virgil?”

“Do you know what Alstroemeria flowers represent?”

Virgil unfolds the paper from under his arm, “He’s dead.”

Virgil doesn’t expect them to understand. He can’t expect them to. Logan thought Divination was a waste of school funds. It was the only class he didn’t even attempt to master. And Roman and Professor Remus never once got along. After the disaster of third year Roman had dropped Divination like it had been going out of style, and maybe it had. By fourth year only half the class had stuck around. 

And Virgil had been one of them.

He hadn’t been particularly good at it: he didn’t like his tea without sugar, the crystal balls never once filled with smoke for him, and he mixed up the head and life lines on his during the Palmistry portion of his OWLs despite having had the class for three whole years by then. Professor Remus had mentioned he had a latent talent once upon a time, but the man had also said that Roman was going to cast a forbidden curse at Virgil and Logan was going to win a duel with Professor Sanders, so Virgil hadn’t put much merit in his words.

But seeing the teachers face, his smirking mouth, his mustache that always had something in it, and even seeing his picture shuffling side to side as he was trying to stripe which unfortunately was not a new phenomenon to anyone who took his class...seeing Professor Remus in the Obituaries with the cause of death being labeled as an unsolvable murder? Oh, there was something cold about that, something that makes Virgil’s empty stomach churn and his head feel warm, and his fingers itch for the coin in the secret pocket over his heart. 

Theres a flash of red in the corner of his eye and Virgil freezes, but in the end its just Roman tugging his shirt over his head, and pushing back his sweat drenched bangs. He’s frowning, as people do when they hear someone died.

“Oh man,” Roman says, “That’s pretty awful. I mean he was a terrible teacher, but I never wanted to see him dead.”

“Agreed,” Logan says. He flips the paper to read the small written eulogy himself. “I wonder who the new teacher in his place is?”

“Maybe they brought back Trelawney?” Roman suggests.

And just like that the topic is gone and Remus Dukeson is forgotten. Virgil wishes that his right hand would stop feeling like someone had stabbed him with a thousand needles in the meantime, please and thanks.

Listening to them feels a lot like they’re standing on opposite sides of a one-way glass wall. They keep talking, the topic gone, and in a few minutes Virgil’s little freak out will have been forgotten to them. Virgil thinks he should be thankful for that: with his life on the line he really doesn’t need them to be prodding into why exactly crazy Remus Dukeson’s death matters all that much.

Crazy Remus Dukeson who would have been the only one who could have helped him out of the hole he’d been digging for himself for the past two years. But if he was dead, then there was no one left who could vouch for him when all of this was over, no one who would be able to stand in a court room and say without a doubt that Virgil had done the only thing he could have done, no one who would want to believe Virgil was a good guy.

And, of course, Logan was not stupid in any manner. If past memories hadn’t secured such a reaction as his as one of normality, then surely he would have put two and two together. Surely if he hadn’t had five years of false memories under his belt he would have realized that Virgil was hiding something behind that glass mirror of his, and that it was bad and evil and going to get them killed.

Virgil slips out of the room about the same time as Roman and Logan start arguing over whether Divination should even be a course offered at school (a debate of which has been ongoing for three years now). Part of him wants to be sad that it's so easy to just fade away from and exit the room without making them even turn from each other.

But Virgil knows how Roman and Logan stare at each other when they get into a debate, how everyone stares at Logan when he gets filled with that prim-and-proper, fuck-you fire. Outside of seeing him break the laws with ease, watching Logan get passionate is one of Virgil’s favorite sights. (Even if the first memory of it that Virgil has also includes Logan giving him a bloody nose and Patton crying--) 

Roman isn’t any different. That’s why he purposely eggs the ravenclaw on, and then stares stupidly at Logan’s flushed cheeks with a cocky smirk that is absolutely impossible for Virgil to witness when the other still hasn’t showered from his run.

So really its for his own sanity that he manages to escape the room when he does.

***

Virgil is coming down from his room at a quarter after four when Patton assaults him with the brightest wand-lighting charm Virgil has ever seen performed. 

“Pat! Fuck!” Virgil stumbles back on the stairs covering his eyes against the white light. “Warn a dude!”

“Virgil!” Patton yelps, “Language!” But he giggling far too much for it to come out stern. Virgil feels the other boy batting his hands away from his face, “Stop, stop that, Virgil!”

Virgil squints past the glare, “What are you--”

“Smile!”

Then there's a flash of light even brighter than Patton’s wand followed by a puff of purple smoke that practically spelled out what was going on.

Virgil coughs, waving off the smoke while Patton removes the wizard polaroid photo from his camera. His brain is working overtime trying to remember what holiday it is because Patton never breaks the camera out unless its an important date. But Virgil had his calendar in the room marked with all their birthdays, and the major and minor national holidays--magic and muggle alike because Patton had started crying the last time they forgot to tell him about Arbor Day and Virgil wasn’t ready for that to happen again in this lifetime or the next or the one after that. He’s even marked the full moon, because he was pretty sure the girl from the public library was a werewolf and didn’t want to accidentally wander outside if she missed a potion on one of those nights.

“Pat,” Virgil says in a sort of defeated, anxiety ridden tone. “What’s going on? Who’s birthday--”

Patton just laughs at him, and Virgil has to shut up at that. Patton’s laugh was like a waterfall, like bells chiming, like angels signing. Virgil would rather pitch himself from the Astronomy Tower than miss any second of his glorious happiness. 

Its unhealthy. Its gonna be the end of him.

Virgil can’t help but smile at the other’s toothy grin. And if he gets a hug out of it? Well, someone once mentioned that that Virgil was touch starved, so that’s the reason he melts at Patton’s touch.

Patton shows him the picture without relinquishing any hold on him. Somehow that leads to them stumbling around on the stairs until Virgil’s sitting and Patton’s basically in his lap, fuck. But Patton doesn’t even seem to notice at all.

“It’s no one’s birthday!” Patton says, “I just was cleaning up earlier and I came across a bunch of photos from school!”

And just like that Virgil’s short lived happiness evaporates. Dread settles on his shoulders like a cloak, and anxiety wriggles straight down his throat to grip his pulsating heart. “Oh?”

It comes out too innocent. Patton doesn’t notice.

“Yeah! I got so many pictures of Logan and Roman and Me! I used to carry this camera around everywhere! Don’t you remember?”

Virgil remembers. He remembers it very well. Especially when he can see the crack on the side where the flash bulb hooked on before he had accio-ed it right out of Patton’s hands in second year and tossed it back and forth with Dee until even Logan had come to Patton’s defense. Especially when Logan had called all three of them childish and then Dee had laughed some sort of nasty laugh and tossed the camera right over the edge of the moving staircase, before linking hands with Virgil and dragging him out to the quidditch pitch for the rest of the time before dinner.

Virgil mentions none of this. “Yeah? What about it?”

Patton waves the photo in his face and, really, it's a pretty terrible photo of him. He didn't even know skin could be that pale and his hair is sticking up from where he had been running a hand through it all evening, and his irises were red from staring directly into the flash.

“I saw that we don’t have any pictures with you in them!” Patton sighed, “It’s terrible! You’ve been our friend for so many years! I can’t believe that you aren’t in any of our pictures!”

Virgil forces himself to keep smiling. It hurts his cheeks. “Well you know me…”

“So we have to take a bunch of pictures right now!”

Patton sets those blue eyes of his on him, and Virgil cannot believe that he’s 100% wizard. Somewhere someone in his family line had to be part selkie because those are definitely baby seal eyes, and who the fuck is gonna say no to them? Not Virgil!

“Okay,” Virgil says. “Alright sure, whatever you want.”

And he means it. He’d give Patton all the stars in the universe if he didn’t think removing them would make Logan lose his shit about order and necessity.

Besides Virgil has just as few photos of them as Patton has of him. So when the photo session is over and Patton’s hair was dusted purple and Virgil’s eyes hurt from the brightness and they were both crying from laughter, Virgil makes sure to snag one of the better photos for his own room.

(It was always so easy to laugh with Patton, so easy, nearly too easy. But that was okay for now.)

“Oh! I almost forgot!” Patton says, looking up from his glistening stack of pictures suddenly, “The Order is having a meeting next week.”

“Oh?” Virgil swallows nervously, “you mean like, having a meeting, here?” He folds the picture of him and Patton in his pocket, running the edge of the photo between his nail and the skin under it. (He’s pretty sure the photo version of Patton is talking the photo version of himself out of a panic attack, but he disregards it.) His other hand comes to his mouth, and he nips away at the black chipped nail polish. 

Patton shakes his head, and Virgil can’t but help a sigh of relief. “Nope! No worries, kiddo! Thomas-- wow, it sure is silly to call him by his first name!-- Professor Sanders and I talked about how uncomfortable you are with anyone new in the house, so instead we agreed that it was easier for us to go to him to give our reports!”

Patton hums looking at another picture, where he had magicked up some cat ears for the two of them. “Plus it would be a pain to have to undo all those charms you set up for one measely meeting!”

“Cool,” Virgil says.

It's not really, because Virgil hates leaving the house, hates stepping into an area that could so easily be compromised, hates when he can’t be sure if he’s leading his friends into a trap or if he’s just being paranoid again. But that’s definitely better than inviting people, even the Order, into the house that Virgil had made sure was their safe haven.

But Patton takes his quietness with grace. He gives up one of his blinding smiles and Virgil is vividly reminded of how pretty he looks like this. Virgil knows that the secrets he’s keeping from them are unforgivable, knows what they did to the trio of boys is terrible and deplorable and shameful. Despite that, Virgil can’t help but feel...relief that Patton is smiling like this.

Patton doesn’t remember why he should never smile at Virgil, doesn’t remember the year after year of Virgil tearing him down, doesn’t remember what Virgil and Dee did to him. And Virgil is selfish enough to be grateful for that.

“Oh would you look at the time!” Patton says brightly, “I better go start dinner before Roman gets into the pantry again! Are you going to be joining us, Vee?”

Virgil nods, even though he doesn’t really catch whats being said to him.

“Yay!” Patton holds his new pictures to his chest, “I’ll call you when its ready then! Love you, VeeVee!”

He says it so effortlessly.

Virgil wishes it didn’t feel like a snake wrapping around his chest and squeezing the breath right out of him. Patton pops back down the stairs, leaving a cold empty space in Virgil’s lap where he used to be. He jumps the last step and gives one last wave to Virgil as he turns the corner--

“Hey, uh, Pat?” Virgil says at the last second.

Patton hums to show he’s listening, even though he’s still flipping through their pictures. “Yeah, kiddo?”

“Will Remy be there?”

Patton blinks and looks up the stairs at him. Virgil’s nails dig into the banister. Something flickers in the Ravenclaws eyes, confusion or pity. Virgil’s not sure there’s a difference at this point.

“Remy? Oh! You mean the Ravenclaw that joined the Order the year before us!” Patton shuffles the photos with a smile, “And you mean at the Order meeting, right?” He tilts his head to the side as he thinks, before shrugging and offering, “I’m not sure!”

Virgil breathes like he’s a drowned man finally come up from the water. “Uh, cool! That’s cool.”

The itch to recheck his charms hits him then. Like being trampled by a Mountain Troll.

Remy’s not a threat, Virgil tells himself.

Except that he is. Virgil had met the Ravenclaw twice before, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t acutely aware that Remy was a very skilled Legilimens. 

And the last thing Virgil needs right now is someone poking around in his head. Virgil’s seen first hand what a Legilimens can do to someone: Patton looks at him with a smile instead of with tears, Roman challenges him to duels over the spot on the couch rather than to the death, Logan has no clue how attractive he looks angry out of his mind and giving people nosebleeds with his barefists.

“I do.”

No, Virgil doesn’t need someone looking in his memories, even at a glance. Not now, not when they’ve come so far and the Order is so, so very close to being able to combat the Dark Lady before she takes over the Ministry of Magic.

At best, he’ll be labeled a Neo-Death Eater. At worst, no one will ask any questions and they’ll just kill him without hesitation.

He needs to check the charms on the house, because that’s something other that just sitting on a staircase in the center of the house and having a break down where one of the others will see him.

Virgil launches himself to his feet and takes the six stairs upwards two at a time. He runs his fingers over the wall as he goes, picking at the peeling wallpaper that none of them have taken the time to fix yet. There are pictures of baby Roman and his muggle family at the beach on the walls and classical music coming from beyond the closed door of Logan’s room. Virgil moves beyond it all to his room at the end of the hall.

Well he calls it his room, and so do the others. Virgil thinks they might be a little upset if they ventured into the room that Roman had given him and found it was nearly the same as it had been at the beginning of summer break two years ago.

The window facing the street had the blinds drawn and a thick layer of dust over the windowsill because Virgil was not in the process of airing his dirty laundry or his room. The bed was neatly tucked in from his routine habit, the floor was clean and clear, his extra shoes lined up at the foot of the bed so he couldn't trip over them in the night--those were things he did to remember his mother; she always did like it when he kept his room neat. He had a total of eight outfits in the closet, which he was sure if Roman knew about he'd have a heart attack. So far Virgil had avoiding the issue by magically changing the shade of black in his shirts every other day.

The only things that Virgil had brought into the room that weren't absolutely necessary for him to have was that calendar on his wall, a collection of seventh year textbooks he had bought himself even though he wasn't going to school, his school trunk that he hadn't touched since getting off the train last year, and now, a picture of him and Patton making silly faces and laughing (very happy to be unfolded).

He slips out his wand and wanders towards the window.

The spells are all over the house, on every window, over every wall, under every carpet. Roman had put the first layer on himself when he was sixteen, and later when he, Patton, Logan, and Virgil had been inducted into the Order of the Phoenix, Thomas Sanders had come over and reapplied more of them. Once the Transfiguration Teacher had finished, Virgil had then moved in and quietly applied his own.

They were subtle differences in magic, in skill, in finesse. Virgil had smoothed over the rough edges and connected the corners that no one else might have noticed if they hadn’t gone looking for them. Every full moon Virgil had snuck around quietly checking the magic cloaking spell and then muggle deterrent spell and the silencing spells---

Needless to say the one time the girl scouts had rang the doorbell, Virgil had nearly had a heart attack. Patton had bought ten boxes of cookies with Roman’s money before Logan had managed to get Virgil to put his wand away.

Virgil had obsessively checked the spells after the girls had left until he found the loophole that had allowed the girls to get all the way to their front door. By the time he found it dinner had gone cold and only Logan was left awake to witness Virgil trip down the stairs in his haste to fix it.

Roman hadn’t even known he had been adding spells at all until Logan had tried to floo Remy Dormire into the house.

So Virgil’s first time meeting the legilimens is really not a good one. There had been something about the way that Remy had looked at him while Roman gave him the “dude what in Merlin’s name??” speech that made Virgil uneasy. Something about the way that a smile had flickered across Remy’s face and he sipped on his homemade tea that only Patton had touched, something about the way that Virgil felt like Remy had gotten inside his head without him drawing his wand, something about the way that Remy had said “It’s all cool hun! Paranoia is all part of the game!”, which made it sound like Virgil was overreacting yet again.

Something about the guy feels wrong to Virgil.

So he adds more charms to the house, ones he’s sure no one but himself and the trio of boys he lives with can get through.

It doesn’t feel like enough.

And in the end, he's right about that.

***

Their role in the Order is small really. They’re all too young to be doing anything important like infiltrating the Ministry-- except Logan, who despite choosing not to graduate from the esteemed magic school had been offered several internships over the summer which he had denied. Patton’s Uncle Kiddel had been very adamant that Patton be as far removed from danger as he could get, and while Roman had been a bit bummed at the lack of action he had jumped at a chance to offer his family’s house for their activities while his parents took an extended vacation to some place that Virgil doesn’t remember.

The combination of parents between the four of them is depressing: Roman’s muggle parents are unreachable, Patton’s are dead, Logan’s Dad took his mom to a safe place in another country, and Virgil’s mom… well, there’s an understanding between the four of them not to bring up parents unless they were trying to bring the mood down to rock bottom.

So really they are just four seventeen year olds living in the house together. Roman monitors the muggles near them, Logan handles correspondence between certain branches of the Order (although Virgil suspects that Thomas Sanders fields some of the letters before they get to them). Patton monitors the wizarding world. Virgil exists to be anxious on the edge of their consciousnesses.

He doesn’t have a job title really, but Virgil is the one who does his best to keep the rest of them alive and safe and not killing each other (which, surprisingly, happens at least once a week, when Roman gets tired of having no logical reason to practice magic and then starts charming things in the house that shouldn’t be charmed, when Logan runs out of work to do and restlessly snaps at them until a fight starts, when Patton gets too far in his head about what would happen if the Dark Lady manages to win against them and refuses to let any of them leave the room lest they disappear on him--)

So their part of the Order’s functions are minuscule. 

Virgil doesn’t see why they have to go at all, but he goes with Patton, Logan, and Roman to the Order meeting all the same. The location they pick is a townhouse that magically doesn’t exist until they need it to. When it does exist, its across the country so they take the brooms there, which makes Roman so happy he cries five minutes into flying, and almost makes Virgil not hate the heights so much.

(Roman, of course, used to be a Quidditch player, a Chaser, up until he decided not to go back to school that year. Virgil used to split his attention between watching Roman’s windswept hair and Dee’s cheeky smile when the latter managed to beat a bludger just right to knock the Quaffle right out of Roman’s hands.)

Virgil sidelines those memories and grips the handle of his broom until his knuckles are white and the cold air of the upper atmosphere begs him to stop holding so tight. Patton flies beside him, naturally swerving like a lackadaisical snake with the ease that only comes with having ridden brooms since he was in diapers. Ahead of them Roman does a loopdeloop and tries to goad Logan into racing him, who in turns calls him every childish name in the book.

It takes them forty minutes to get there. Roman wins the race, and because Logan is petty, he changes the color of Roman’s firetruck red robes to a dull beige.

“Hello Professor!” Patton waves to Thomas Sanders as the older man appears on the street across from them, and because Virgil’s luck is terrible, Remy Dormire appears next to him.

“Patton,” Thomas greets them all warmly. “I’ve told you guys to call me Thomas before.”

Said Ravenclaw ducks his head sheepishly, “Its just feels so strange! You’re always going to be my Transfiguration teacher to me!”

Remy cooes at him and pats Patton on the head, “You are so adorable, hun.” He says, “Come on Bitches! Its cold as balls out here and I’m ready to hear all the juicy gossip you babes have been collecting!”

Virgil is more worried about a muggle peeking out their windows and seeing four teenagers with brooms and long cloaks so for once he agrees with the magic mind reader. The glasses on the older boy's head are mirrored, which makes it hard to tell who he’s looking at, who’s mind he’s reading. Virgil reaffirms his mental walls as he follows the others inside.

The inside of the townhouse looks pretty much like it hasn’t been used in years. There’s layers of dust on everything. Which Virgil guesses is why Remy’s face screws up when Thomas’s hand lands on his shoulder and guides the older boy towards one of the rooms. Remy shrugs his hand off as soon as he physically can, and then brushes the area on his leather jacket that Thomas had touched, like he could wipe the phantom traces of the man off it.

“Vintage Leather, Babe!” Remy doesn’t quite hiss, but it’s a close thing. “No touching!”

Thomas laughs good naturedly and Remy’s snarl fades a bit back to that condescending look that Virgil always associated with him. Roman sneezes three times in succession, and his eyes start watering and he croaks something about dust being the bane of his existence.

“Pardon me,” Logan says to Thomas, “He will be completely unhelpful until this is cleared up. Scourgify!”

It was frankly impressive. At least, to Virgil it was. Patton always got that excited look on his face when someone did magic, and Roman was too busy sniffling and rubbing his red eyes to really watch. Remy rolled his eyes and Thomas smiled at Logan when he performed the charm that left the previously untouchable room into a cozy living room with plenty of space for the six of them.

“Excellent job, Logan!” Thomas said.

(For a moment Virgil feels like he’s back in class and Logan just won another ten points to his house for being naturally gifted at forcing things to shapeshift.)

Logan blushes at the compliment, so Virgil thinks he’s not alone in the flashback.

“Yeah, yeah, he’s great,” Remy bulldozes the compliment and tosses himself on a length of sofa meant for two people. “Its time for the good gossip, girls!”

“None of us are female presenting--” Logan starts, but Remy rolls his eyes and waves him off. 

“What-everrr! Pat come sit with me, babes!”

Virgil wants to drag Patton far away from Remy, but the older Ravenclaw raises an eyebrow at him like a dare. Virgil counts to four and reminds himself that Remy is part of the Order and Thomas is there and even if he is a legilimens that doesn’t mean that he’s going to read any of their minds. In fact, he’s likely there just because he got bored doing whatever the fuck Thomas has him doing.

Patton jumps on the cushion next to Remy and bounces on the seat like an excited child. Logan opts for a spot on the adjacent couch with Thomas, Roman on the floor like a drama queen who needs to be the center of attention, and Virgil ends up perched on the armrest next to Logan’s elbow where he can easily see both the fireplace and the door to the dusty parlor. 

Thomas is a comforting presence, Virgil thinks as the discussion starts. He had been their professor and he had taught all of them and had been right beside them when they were sworn into the Order. He had never been cagey about this past, being a half blood from Hufflepuff who had been there that day that Harry Potter had defeated Voldemort and witnessed all the fighting first hand. He had joined the Order not long after that final battle by tracking down Headmistress McGonagall and subtly asking if there were any alternative plans for if another dark wizard started raising.

According to Thomas he had gotten the job as a Transfiguration teacher less than a year after that and Virgil really never had the guts to exist in the same room as Headmistress McGonagall long enough to ask her if that was true. 

“Remy?” Logan says, after a lull in the conversation, which Virgil, himself, only realizes because Logan’s elbow slides onto the armrest and its dangerously close to touching Virgil’s thigh.

The other member of the Order takes another moment to respond which makes the hairs on Virgil’s neck raise. Remy’s hand is twisting through Patton’s hair so casually and somehow they ended up with Patton leaning heavily on Remy’s shoulder. Virgil thinks it would be weird for anyone else, but Patton likes to touch and its most likely that Logan and Virgil haven’t been providing enough of those touches recently. Remy’s still wearing those stupid sunglasses even though they are inside and its dark in here, but Virgil knows instinctively that he was reading thoughts. 

Probably. 

“Hmm, doll?” Remy says, “Sorry I zoned out when y’all started getting boring. You know me; I just can’t keep my focus on things when theres a cute boy around!”

Virgil wants to point out that they don’t know him, but Patton meets his gaze and Virgil loses the courage to say anything.

Right, they should be avoiding instigating a fight here.

Regardless Roman spread himself out on the ground and sighs dramatically, “I know what you mean, Rem! All these glor--”

“Remy,” Remy says, peering down his nose at Roman, “Its Remy. Or just don’t address me at all, hun.” 

Virgil thinks the whole room is thrown for a moment. Remy’s tone isn’t necessarily icy or cold, and he’s still grinning when he talks, as if they’re sharing a private joke. He twists one of Patton’s curls so gently, it almost looks intimate. Virgil can see Logan’s jaw shift at the motion, and how Patton seems to be unsure if he should be moving away or staying still.

“S-sorry?” Roman says, unsuredly.

Remy smiles at him, with something that’s borderline unfriendly, “Sure, hun. Now are we done here, or are y’all still doing that small talk thing?”

Thomas shifts in his seat, “Actually there is one more thing I want to let you four know about.”

At once he has all of their attentions. Logan who had been talking the most moves to straighten his tie again, and Roman sits back up so he can see the Professor clearly. The room gets a sort of eerie feeling to it, and Virgil swears for a moment that he can see his breath in the air.

“We’ve gotten some suspicious reports about the Dark Lady and her followers.” Thomas says, “I’ve had some suspicions for a while, but we recently got proof-- thanks to Remy-- that the Dark Lady has a time turner on her.”

“A Time Turner?” Logan says, “I thought all of them had been rendered useless after the Battle of the Department of Mysteries when they were all caught in a time loop?”

“Wait wait wait, we’re saying the lady who wants to legalize casual genocide now has the ability to go back in time?” Roman yelped. “Doesn’t this mean all of our possible plans are useless then?”

"I told you, babe!" Remy sings, boredly, "All it would do is worry the poor things!" He rests his chin on Patton's shoulder, which startles a ticklish giggle from the younger Ravenclaw. 

Thomas ignores him, "We're not sure what the implications are if it yet." He admits, "Headmistress Mcgonagall, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, and Ron Weasley are all discussing the possibilities of it now. I was told to advise you guys of the situation." Thomas gives them each a look, and then he smiles, "Don't worry too much about it, boys. We'll take it slow and smart and we'll figure this out."

Its a pep talk, Virgil realizes. And in a weird way, Virgil guesses he does feel a little reassured.

In another way Virgil's mind tunnels downward towards the forbidden memories of a Slytherin boy who told him two years ago that the Dark Lady possessed a means to turn back time and what both of them had done about that.

Thomas is looking at him, he notes, suddenly. 

"What?" Virgil asks right as his palms begin to sweat, and his mouth tastes like his black nail polish as he forces his hand away from his mouth.

Thomas frowns, "I...well, I assumed that you would find this information a bit more surprising."

Virgil squeezes the sleeves of his jacket. His jaw creaks open, reminding him pathetically of how tense he was. "Well its like you said," he defends lamely. "We shouldn't worry too much. If the Lady already has a Time Turner, we can't do anything about it now."

Remy is grinning at him. Like the cat that caught the canary and Virgil is the very dead canary in this scenario.

“I’m sure I’ll have a break down later and, you know, over analyze absolutely everything.” Virgil hurriedly says. Which maybe isn’t the best thing to say because now Patton’s staring at him with those wide doe eyes that he makes when he wants to wrap Virgil in a hug. Roman and Logan share a look that shows that maybe they aren’t as convinced, but Thomas nods understandingly and doesn’t push it.

He stands up from the couch and addresses Roman, Logan, and Patton, “I trust you three to keep an eye on him, please? Despite the new news, the Order’s decision so far is to continue work as usual. I’ll be in touch if that changes.”

Logan stands to mirror Thomas and offers his hand. “We’ll do our best.”

Which sounds a little strange to Virgil, because really they weren’t doing much of anything. Thomas had tried talking the four of them into going back to school this year but Roman had gotten antsy about the muggle murders and had dropped out to take care of his parents. Logan and Patton would die before being separated from the Gryffindor, and of course Virgil had followed along with them. 

Thomas had set them up with easy jobs and then sent them magical homework via Owl so they were still learning things although Logan seemed to be the only one who was truly excited about more homework. Its enough for now.

Virgil gathers their brooms while Roman breaks into one of his glorious tales of living life in a Muggle neighborhood, followed by Patton make a pun that makes Thomas laugh and Logan groan. When they finally stumbled outside, it’s nearing ten at night and the stars are out.

“Interesting,” Logan states with his eyes to the stars that were just barely seeable behind the halo of the streetlamps. But before Virgil can ask what exactly Logan is seeing in the stars (he had always been the best as Astronomy), Remy vaults down the steps of the house.

“Hey, Badger-boy!” The older Ravenclaw says. He’s grinning again, in a way that makes Virgil’s skin feel too loose, and his palms too slick from sweat, and his mind sing out every protection spell he knows. In the darkness his sunglasses seem even more impractical, and Virgil is left staring at his own reflection rather the other’s eyes.

“What?” Virgil answers, despite the fact he’s not wearing any of his house’s bright yellow and no one had dared call him a badger since he and Dee had put Alfred Hitchcockopolous in the Hospital wing for a day in First Year for it.

Remy laughs. Its the type of laugh that someone gives when their particularly stupid animal does something stupid and has to face the stupid conseqeunces for it.

“Nothing, babe.” He says. “Just wanted to see your face one last time.” He turns to Patton, and flicks his glasses down just enough that he shows off those golden eyes. “Stay adorable, Freckles.”

Then he flashes a peace sign at them and apperates away.

Thomas sends them on their way, with waving hands and farewells and a promise to see them soon. Roman does helix roll once he’s in the air to show off, and Logan berates him for risking the Muggles seeing them, while Patton laughs like an angel beside them.

Virgil glances back at the ground, ignoring the swoop of his stomach at the height difference, to see Thomas staring at the spot Remy had been last with a frown. As if sensing him, Thomas looks up, gives Virgil an unreadable smile, a wave, and then he too apperates away and the street is empty of all the signs they were ever there.

***

“Well that was fun,” Roman hums landing his broom with utmost ease. With a hand through his windswept hair, he turns that charming smile on the rest of them, which somehow still sparkles despite the lack of actual light. He’s a silhouette, a shadow, a half visible fraction, and yet Virgil has absolutely no trouble seeing the full on Roman-ness of the action.

“We have very different definitions of fun,” Logan notes, and turns Roman’s red robes back to a less offensive beige. Virgil bites back a smile when Roman complains about him being petty and uncreative for someone in Ravenclaw.

And if it starts a lighthearted magic battle in the enclosed backyard, well, there are no muggles out at near eleven in their quiet suburban dream neighborhood. In the flashes of red and purple and blue he can see Logan and Roman grinning like fools and he can feel Patton’s laughter reverberating through him when the other boy leans on his shoulder and watches the two quibble.

Its….happy. Virgil is happy.

Watching them like this, watching them laugh and have fun and enjoy themselves, even after they were just told that the evil force they were combating had the ability to change timestreams. They’re so resilient, so optimistic, and Virgil wishes that he could place some complicated spell on the house right here so that they’d never be disturbed and they could just exist like this happy forever. 

But Virgil knows that Roman would detest being stuck to one place for forever and Logan would run out of things to do and turn bitter and Patton would wonder why they weren’t happy anymore and then come to the conclusion it was somehow his fault.

There’s no way to preserve the happiness forever. Virgil spent all of fourth year combing through the books in the restricted section for a spell that he could cast and he had come up blank.

“The best type of prison,” Dee had said, once upon a time, “is one that the prisoners do not know they’re in.” 

“You really think Prince needs to be aware of a prison to want break out of it?” Virgil had shot back.

And Dee had just laughed and flipped the page of his book.

That had been before he had become a Neo-Death Eater, Virgil thinks. Because he hadn’t been wearing the skull clasp on his robes yet, hadn’t started avoiding Virgil like he had contracted Dragon Pox, hadn’t started actually using the mind magic excessively ….

Virgil’s smile slips, and Patton notices almost immediately. “Kiddo?”

Virgil nudges him with his shoulder, “‘M just tired, you know? Talking to people and all that.”

He feels the Ravenclaw laugh softly. Theres a flash of red where the grass by Logan’s feet catches fire, and the other wastes his turn of their duel using aguamenti to put it out before one of the neighbors look out their windows or it spreads to the deck where Patton and Virgil are and then consumes the entire house.

Roman laughs at him. “My house? Are you sure? Virgil’s put so many charms on that thing nothing short of an atomic bomb is going to bring it down!”

Not true, but Virgil feels himself preen at the compliment anyway. He rubs the back of his neck and knows his face is a flushed pink, but its too dark for anyone to make it out.

“Yeah, sure,” He calls to them, “Now, if you excuse me, I’m going to go overthink everything Professor Sanders just told us.”

“Professore Sanders told us--” Logan starts, but Virgil knows that tone all too well and he manages to wave it away.

“I know, I know. Nothing to worry about.” Virgil waves his wand blindly towards the door handle and unlocks it with Alohomora (a spell which only works for one of their four wands). “I’ll see you guys in the morning!”

“Goodnight, Virge!” Patton calls after him, and because he’s a good person he adds, “I’m making french toast tomorrow for breakfast if you want to help!”

“Happy Nightmares, Jack Smellington!” Roman throws in because he’s much less of a good person.

Virgil closes the door behind him. His body leans against it for a second, hearing the sounds of his friends getting back to their shenanigans. He gives it maybe ten minutes before Roman and Patton start up the cheery Hogwarts chants and an impromptu dance routine in which Logan is dragged around the backyard, trying to pretend like he still has dignity.

Its nice. Virgil fumbles through the kitchen, using the light from the magic hall sconces to guide himself down the hall and then up the stairs. The pictures on the walls of the other three laugh and rough house around. Virgil runs his fingers over the picture frames as he walks.

“Get some sleep, kiddo!” One of Patton at a Dragon Petting Zoo from second year tells him.

And Virgil has every intention of it.

He does. 

But he gets to the front of his room and there’s a warmth against his chest that makes his blood freeze. His hand frantically pats his chest, pressing into the warmth, trying to determine if its real or just something in his head, please let it be something in his head, please, please--

Its not in his head. He throws himself into his room and locks it behind him. The lights stay off and he drags the curtains closer together just to make sure that absolutely no one can see inside. Then he crawls into the closet, with his breath coming out in shaky breathes too rapidly to count.

His hands shake too hard to unzip his sweatshirt all the way. It gets jammed by his belly button. The burning against his chest feels like an open flame right to his right pectoral, hissing with heat, demanding to be appeased. Virgil couldn’t have ignored it if he had wanted to. 

He doesn’t want to look.

He looks anyway.

His hand opens the invisible seams of the hidden pocket right over his chest. There are only two items in it, but Virgil drops them both into his lap anyway. He kneads his palms into his eyes and forces himself to take a breath and hold it-- one second, two, three-- which is about as long as it takes for him to remember every lie he’s ever told to the trio outside.

As long as it takes for him to remember whose lives are on the line if he messes up.

As long as it takes for his hands to steady enough to pick up the coin from his lap and for the sudden heat to fade. The closet is doors are firmly pulled closed and Virgil twists his Cypress wand in his hand.

“Lumos,” Virgil whispers scarcely more than a thought. He’s sure that the sound of the dishwasher in the kitchen is louder than his own voice. He’s afraid any louder will make Roman or Logan burst into the room and demand to know what he’s doing and he doesn’t have an explanation, doesn’t have an excuse, doesn’t have an escape.

They’d hate him if they knew.

Virgil hates himself for them.

The coin is a Galleon, but despite the shiny color and the heavy weight, Virgil knows its fake. He made it after all, pouring over the details for most of two days. But it would never stand up to a Goblin; Virgil doubts it would stand up to a normal wizard if they looked for more than a couple seconds at it.

The Protean Charm on it is too strong for it to go unnoticed to a trained eye.

He told the others he collects Galleons with specific dates on them. “A half muggle thing,” He had told Patton who had taken him very seriously and started checking the dates on every coin he came across. Even now, Galleons show up on the kitchen counter with dates of their birthdays and the first day of Hogwarts and the day they would have graduated.

The serial number on the rim of the coin in his hand had changed.

It was a series of four numbers and then various letters that Virgil decoded with a slight glance at-- he had memorized the code and then burned the last key in existence after all, too paranoid to risk someone ever finding it. 

It takes Virgil a second, a moment, a year to understand what date it was. For him to get his brain to work past the dread that bubbling up his throat like a bottle rocket. 

And his breath gets caught in his chest when he does.

It’s tomorrows date.

Its tomorrows date and there’s no time to warn anyone without revealing his source.

Its tomorrows date and someone in the Order is going to die.

Virgil does not have a good night, or happy nightmares, and he most definitely does not sleep at all.

***

“You look like death,” Roman says the next morning when Virgil slumps on the stool at the kitchen counter. Virgil can smell his cinnamon body wash from clear across the kitchen which is entirely unhelpful in the light of things because now he’s thinking about Roman in the shower after his morning run and when there are other things to be thinking about. 

“Gee, thanks Princey,” Virgil says very tiredly.

Patton is cooking bacon to go with the French toast. It’s sizzling. Does all bacon sizzle so loud? It smells so good Virgil might throw up. His stomach feels empty, but the thought of actually chewing and swallowing food makes head dizzy. 

“-rgil, Virgil!” 

Virgil blinks for a second, glancing up from the bacon to see that Logan had somehow appeared next to him.

“You do not appear to have slept at all, Virgil,” Logan says thoughtfully. “If it is about the Dark Lady, I can assure you--”

“It’s not,” Virgil says, which sounds like a lie even to him. 

Patton, Logan, and Roman all share a look. A silent conversation that Virgil feels unnecessarily annoyed to be excluded from.

“What?” He snaps.

“No offense, Helga Hufflegruff,” Roman says, “But its not like you to be this out of it.”

Virgil flicks his wand at the coffee mugs across the kitchen, “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Kiddo,” Patton says.

“The eggs are burning,” Virgil waves him off. And for a moment it works on taking the attention of him. He takes all of one breath, while Patton squeaks over the breakfast and Roman and Logan watch on ready to jump in and help before the fire alarms go off. But the moment passes and he feels the suffocating gaze of his housemates on him again.

Granted he did look awful. The picture of both him and Patton which had taken residency on his desk had winced when Virgil had stumbled from the closet. There’s a crick in his neck that he can’t get rid off no matter how much he rotates his head and his eyes feel heavier than they have any right to be. Screw his eyeshadow, he hadn’t even put any on today.

He was still in his clothes from yesterday, and he was careful to keep his left hand in his pocket or his sleeve, because he had bitten his nails until they bled last night, though if anyone asks he’ll tell them the morning paper Owl had bitten him when he had forgotten to pay it.

“We should do something today,” Virgil says suddenly.

Which is not the right thing to say. At all.

Roman chokes on his orange juice, and ends up spilling more on the floor than he gets in his throat. Patton nearly drops his hot pan in the sink with how quickly he whips around to stare at Virgil.

Logan adjusts his glasses, “Pardon?”

“Are you sick?” Roman blurts out, rasping as he tries to dislodge the last of the juice, “Is it Dragon Pox? Scrofungus? Heartbreak?”

“Heartbreak isn’t a sickness,” Virgil squints at him.

“Additionally how would one’s heart break?” Logan asks, “Unless it was frozen with Glacius by some means--”

“People can die from Heartbreak!” Roman interjects, despite the fact no one suggested anything about dying. Virgil’s stomach churns around and the coffee on his tongue tastes stale at the thought.

“I’m not dying!” He says quickly, hotly. His fingers squeeze his mug tightly, drawing the warmth from the liquid inside it and hoping it covers the coldness that came over him.

“Yes, it seems much more likely that he was affected by the imperious curse,” Logan suggests.

“I’m not under any curse either!” Virgil hisses, “I just… I thought--” He grits his teeth, “I thought it might be nice to get out of the house.”

Entirely. And never come back.

“You never want to get out of the house,” Roman points out.

“Well I do now!”

Logan does that thing he does when he doesn’t believe something-- a mix of tilting his head and tapping his fingers on the nearest surface while his eyes rotate around the surroundings. Virgil likes to think it was a subconscious reaction: he’s actually observing the room for threats so that he could produce a working solution.

Roman summons more orange juice from the fridge and makes it pour him another glass.

Virgil twists his mug in his fingers and chances a look towards Patton. He spent most of the night trying to figure out what to do, trying to figure out what to say, what he could say. He thinks that he turned over every scenario ten times and fought off the nauseous urge to vomit all through the fourth hour that morning.

He thinks that if he can just get Patton to say yes.

He thinks if he can just get Patton to leave the house that he'll be able to keep all of them safe if the attack is at their location.

(Because that's in question too. Its possible that by some blessed fate that the dread and certainty in his stomach does not mean its going to be here thats attacked. Its possible that he's just paranoid. Its possible that when Professor Remus Duke told him he had a natural latent ability for Divination that the teacher was just spouting nonsense like usual. Its possible.)

((Virgil doesn't take chances like that. He won't. Cant.))

"Virge…" Patton says.

Logan adjusts his glasses, "Thomas told us that work should continue as normal. As such, I have several letters I must attend to-- a group in Romania is requesting the Orders help in tracking several suspicious individuals, a wizard in America got apprehended by MACUSA without proper papers, and Thomas asked me to make a list of where a certain wizarding plant can be found and I've received a pile of responses just this morning I have to comb through-- I can't just drop these tasks. Patton has already agreed to help me."

"What?" Roman says, "Why didn't you ask me?"

"I'm afraid that the thought didn't cross my mind," the Ravenclaw admitted somewhat guiltily. "But Patton has a superior knowledge of the wizarding world that I believe would be most beneficial, and-- I mean this with the least amount of offense-- I feel that if you or Virgil were to join us, we'd be more hindered than helped."

"Ouch," Roman says with wounded pride, and jabs Logan in the shoulder. "I cannot believe you think I'd be bad at answering letters! My handwriting is amazing."

"The chicken scratch you call handwriting is atrocious." Logan bats his hand away easily, "but that's not why I think you helping would be counterproductive."

“Its not?” Roman asks.

“Its not?” Virgil echoes with just enough of a teasing tone that Roman turns his coffee mug into a chicken like the disrupting asshole he is. The bird squawks the second its lungs are formed and Virgil drops it the moment the warmth turns from “warm liquid in a mug” to “living thing with a heartbeat he can feel”.

“Roman!” Logan yells, stumbling back to avoid it and crashing into Patton. They both land on the floor in a heap of limbs and cooking utensils. The chicken flaps over them, screeching something awful. Patton’s glasses somehow end up hooked with Logan’s and their faces mere inches apart and brown chicken under feathers in both their hair.

Roman’s laughter almost makes it worth it: breathless and gasping for air, doubled over and wheezing like an idiot.

It only takes a moment before Patton’s laughter joins in with Roman’s, very much sounding like the usual angels on high. Virgil watches the glorious sight of Logan’s entire face turning redder than an Hippocampus skin and immediately transforming himself into in an owl.

Virgil can’t really blame him. If he were hit at point blank by both Roman and Patton’s carefree laughs like that, he’d turn into an Owl too, regardless of if an Owl was his animagus form or not.

It takes Patton three times to turn the chicken back to a mug-- missing twice because he’s laughing too hard to keep his wand from shaking, and once because the chicken is fast-- and by that time Roman’s on the floor with a hand gripping his chest, grin wider than the fucking sun itself, feathers on clinging to his clothes and his shirt riding up his stomach just enough to be a tease. Logan transforms back long enough to move the cup from the floor to the sink, but when he turns around to see the Gryffindor, his cheeks flare back up and Virgil can feel the heat from where he is.

The bacon definitely burns.

Virgil doesn’t really think any of them notice.

He doesn’t even notice until the fire alarm goes off.

Roman groans from the floor and Virgil coughs into his sweatshirt sleeve to hide his face. A sound like that? Even with the background of a shrill alarm and the smell of smoke, it makes the room itself feel hundreds of degrees warmer, makes the whole world seem to fade away, makes Virgil want to plunge his face into a bucket of ice water.

Logan hits the smoke detector with his beak. Patton throws open the kitchen windows, giggling foolishly.

“You’re cute when you blush, Vee,” Roman says from his spot on the floor.

“Fuck off and die,” Virgil tells him.

“Aw, but your little ears!” Roman cooes, dragging himself from the floor like it was some tremendous task. He pinches the air with both his hands like he was supposed to be pinching Virgil’s ears.

Virgil’s hands immediately switch position, covering the tattletale tips of his ears. “Shut up!” He grumbles.

“Not exactly my forte, Virge!” Roman sings, “Just ask anyone!”

Logan does that thing where he lands on a surface and turns back to human, and Virgil gets a front row seat of seeing Owl talons elongate into slender legs that cross ever so confidently as he settles on the barstool next to Virgil. And the way that Logan ever so casually reaches up to loosen his tie just a millimeter?

If Virgil wasn’t blushing before, is now.

(He thinks he likes this version of Logan Ackroyd more: the effortlessly oblivious tease, compared to the bloody knuckled version that so angrily put Virgil in his place in the middle fourth year)

“I can attest to that,” Logan says, with the crease in the corners of his lips that implies a smile being hidden just below the surface, “He really does never shut up.”

“Wh--hey!” Roman gasps,”Patton! Logan’s bullying me!” He drapes himself over the smaller Ravenclaw with a dramatic flare that causes Patton’s whole face to light up. Sunlight bounces off his glasses but his eyes sparkle like the ocean on a sunny day.

“Sorry kiddo!” He says, “That’s just how he is!”

“Falsehood!” Logan calls.

“Losing battle,” Virgil nudges him. Oh god, what just came over him? His elbow feels tingly, like some sort of numbing jinx, but warm and welcome. Logan actually laughs as he straightens himself back on the chair.

(Logan laughs like he’s in a library about to be scolded for being too loud. Virgil isn’t sure what it would take for him to laugh louder. He wishes he had time to figure it out.)

Breakfast comes after that. With Patton severing french toast and Roman spilling orange juice on Logan's plate because the Ravenclaw told him he was putting far too much syrup on his and Virgil convincing Roman to shove an entire piece in his mouth just to prove that he could.

"Really attractive, Princey," Virgil says when the Gryffindor chokes and has to spit out soggy mush.

"You love me," Roman coughs.

"Yeah," Virgil says. It's a mostly meaningless statement. Because Roman thinks everything loves him, because Roman is very loveable, because it's light and witty banter and that's what they do.

Because Virgil’s thinking about the coin in the pocket on his chest, because Virgil is thinking how likely it was for him to be able to pry both Logan and Patton out of the house without a real reason, because Virgil is weighing his friends lives in his head like its just another sucky Arithmancy problem on the homework he put off until an hour before it was due.

And because Virgil is not really thinking about what comes out of his mouth, it comes out honest and true and it takes him three more blinks to realize that Roman is staring at him, with something like akin to...to...surprise?

“What?” Virgil asks, his breath hitching all of a sudden. He was tired but he wasn’t so tired that he could have started just talking out loud-- and even if he had surprise was not the thing that Roman would have on his face. Disgust, maybe. Anger, definitely. What kind of person can look at the people sitting next to him and think about how likely it was for someone on the street to kill them? How could he think about blood purity at a time like this?

But then again how could he not?

“You agreed,” Roman says, a tinge of awe.

“What?” Virgil tries again, because he really doesn’t know what is going on. Logan and Patton are staring at him too, but Patton’s smiling and Logan’s rolling his eyes and they’re tugging Logan’s plate between them in a silent argument of who gets to do the dishes.

“You agreed! About liking me!” Roman says down right giddy.

Virgil’s brow furrows, “Princey, we literally live together. Of course I like you.”

“But you said Love!”

Virgil glances at Patton for help. Patton is enchanting a sponge to wash the cups and is therefore, no help. His stomach does a flop. A flip flop. A flip flop right off a fucking cliff top.

Roman’s face appears right next to his, earnest and full and bright. Virgil thinks its like standing at ground zero of an atomic bomb.

“You never say Love. And I think if I remember correctly the last time you implied you even liked me, it was when Logan tried to cook and you got food poisoning and I gave you a bucket to throw up in.” Roman says. “So this is a big thing!”

Virgil should tell him its nothing, because even with his heart threatening to jump straight out of his chest, and his hands aching to curl in the fluff of his russet hair, and his eyes darting to Roman’s lips which for some reason are still right there next to Virgil’s own-- because even with Virgil thinking of that night years ago when Logan had given him a righteous nosebleed and he had run off and hid behind the One-Eyed Witch Statue on the third floor and had the biggest gay breakdown of his entire life--

Virgil should tell him its nothing because he’s been lying to Roman and Patton and Logan for two years, nearly three.

Virgil should give Roman’s face a shove away and make some insulting comment that will draw out those offended dramatic noises he likes so much.

Virgil should.

“I guess,” Virgil tongue warps around the words without an ounce of his permission. “Don’t go--”

“YES!” Roman hollers over him, throwing his hands in the air so suddenly that Virgil legitimately forgets what he was saying. “This is perfect! Amazing! Splendid!”

Virgil should tell him to calm down, that it means less than nothing. But Virgil threw away his entire life for them: for Roman’s celebratory fist pumping and sparkling eyes, for the quirk of Logan’s lips and the late night sleepy talks about the stars, for the taste of Patton’s baking and the feel of those tight, warm, safe hugs. He wants to dance around the word “Love” and its billions of meanings in billions of languages, because he knows that if he thinks about it for too long, he’ll realize that he loves the three of them in every sense of it.

Which, decidedly, means much more than nothing.

But there’s also that thing.

That thing where Virgil is lying, has been lying, will continue to lie, right to their faces. Which stands to be the absolute worst thing he’s ever done and if he stops it he’ll die a horrible painful wizard death and then they’ll be doubly angry with him for it. 

But isn’t angry with him-- isn’t never wanting to see his face ever again-- better than them being dead? Which is likely what they’re all going to be if Virgil doesn’t do something to convince them to leave the house for the day.

Them, he thinks and then hesitates because its not really “Them”. Patton’s got magical blood: blood so pure it practically glows under his skin and his wandwork is practically flawless. Logan’s got half magic blood, too, which is half more magic blood than sad little muggleborn Roman has. 

The anxious feeling of dread creeps up Virgil’s back, like a dementors fingers ghosting along his spine before it spins him around and gives a soul sucking kiss. Once the thought comes he can’t get it out of his head: the idea that if the Neo-Death Eaters show up here, and they breech the defenses that Virgil’s put up, and they catch them by surprise, the idea that they’d hesitate to hurt Patton or Logan or Virgil, but they’d execute Roman without a thought.

Virgil is staring at Roman.

Virgil is listening to Roman talk about something.

Virgil is thinking about Roman’s corpse lying on the ground in the kitchen, as a green light steals away his life in an echo of two forbidden words.

“Hey Princey,” Virgil says, trying to hide the way his entire body is shaking. “Let’s go on a date.”

Because Roman being angry at him, being unable to ever forgive him, being so enraged he can’t think about Virgil without wanting to put him in St. Mungos, will always be better than Roman being dead and Virgil having not done anything about it.

Roman looks at him and he smiles so prettily Virgil almost thinks he’d be able to forgive himself one day.

***

Virgil has never been on a date before. 

It’s tragic. Embarrassingly so.

If Virgil were watching this broomwreck from the outside, he’d been on the floor in tears from laughter.

Roman bumps his shoulder casually, “Relax, Felbert the Fearful! There are no roofs around to cave in on us.”

The joke doesn’t quite land for Virgil, but he laughs anyway. Roman deserves it, at least.

For putting up with Virgil not knowing the first thing about that how one proceeds on a “date”. He thinks he watched a Hallmark movie on this shit once or twice back before...everything. He thinks that it should have given him some clue how to act, what to say, where to go. But all they do it remind him how completely and utterly bootless he is in the grand scheme of things.

Disney, of course, never really taught the whole “take it slow” sort of thing. And with magic? Forget it. He wonders how Patton’s parents did it, how the famous Weasley’s did it, how any wizard ever did it.

(He supposes that it helped that in most cases that neither partner was hiding a double life behind a cloak of fake memories implanted in the other, but really what did he know.)

They had gone shopping. Kinda.

Roman had gone shopping. Virgil had watched him try on muggle clothes again and again, listened to him complain about prices, and testily remark about color coordinating. He tried paying the girl at the cash register in sickles and Virgil got a good laugh at his face when he realized his mistake. He tried on two T shirts just it looked like he was participating his fair share even bought one, but once it was in the bag he forgot what the design had been.

(He did not forget the way that Roman’s eyes had roamed over him and the way that he had mentioned how nice it would be to see that shirt on his floor.)

Virgil wished his heart was in it, wished that he could get his shoulders to unwind, wished that he could stare at Roman for a few minutes without thinking about what an awful person he was.

They have Ice cream for lunch specifically because Logan is not there to tell them not to. 

It devolves to Virgil splattering Roman’s nose with Chocolate ice cream and only getting half an apology out before Roman shovels a spoonful of strawberry into his mouth. Like a kiss. Indirectly.

Virgil wonders for all of three seconds if Roman’s tongue also tastes like strawberry.

“There’s a music store,” Roman says. “It just opened around the block. I’m sure it has some PG music for you to listen to, Edgelord.”

They hold hands. Virgil can’t tell if Roman can feel him shaking, or if he notices how distracted Virgil in worrying about something he won’t share. The music store is so muggle-like its distressing.

Virgil loves it. The musty smell of the building despite it being brand new, the feel of actual records in his hands, the beats in the background that his head bops unconsciously. Roman makes comments about the artwork on every cover that Virgil flits through, which is impressive because Virgil isn’t even looking as much as pretending to.

Its hard for him to be excited about an album of music when his friends could be in danger.

Its hard to remind himself why he needs to draw out this date as long as he possibly can to make sure that Roman doesn’t go back to the house. 

They catch a movie at the local theater. Virgil doesn’t remember the plot at all because Roman throws an arm over his shoulder halfway through it. Its dark, mostly silent, and Roman smells like cinnamon and ash that somehow is very attractive on him. Virgil leans in, selfishly enjoying the warmth that comes with it.

Virgil’s eyes...close just for a second.

Only a second.

“Hey, Vee,” Roman says, “Maybe we should head home?”

“No!” Virgil snaps awake so suddenly their heads collide. “Ow! Fuck!”

Roman’s pained laughter joins him. The lights are on, now so Virgil must have slept straight through the credits. He wants to curse himself for that one. What if something had happened? What if a Neo Death Eater had tracked them all the way to the theater and crept in during the show?

The ache in his head subsides to a mild annoyance that makes his eyes water. 

“Okay, wow, ow,” Roman says, “If I knew you were gonna wake like that, Stormcloud, I would have done something else!”

Virgil freezes. “What did you just call me?”

Roman blinks a couple times, “Stormcloud? Is that alright? I figured it might be nice to, uh, have a nickname that’s not an insult.” He sounds strangely hesitant, strangely unconfident, strangely not-Roman like.

“Its...fine,” Virgil says and pretends like the name doesn’t strike half a million chords in him. “Totally fine.”

Roman hums like he isn’t convinced. “Yeah well, we should get back to the house. I’m sure, Pat is making dinner.”

“Uhh!” Virgil says, “Or we could not!”

The Gryffindor raises an eyebrow at him. 

“I just, I mean--” Virgil’s not good at excuses. 

“Vee, you literally just fell asleep on my arm in the middle of an action movie. You’ve been unable to focus all day. I have half a mind to think that you only wanted to do this because you’re so sleep deprived that you can’t think straight.”

Virgil doesn’t have anything to say to that. There’s a stain on Roman’s shoulder from where he had been drooling. Roman presses their foreheads together and they both wince where the lumps collide.

“Listen,” Roman says, “I love spending time with you. How about we go back to the house, and throw on a movie and just...cuddle or something?”

Its not fair.

Virgil wants it so badly as whimper builds in his throat. But he doesn’t want to chance it, doesn’t want to risk it, doesn’t, doesn’t, doesn’t.

Roman leads him out the door. 

Its dark outside. Its still not dark enough. The town isn’t far enough from their house, and the longer Virgil is silent the closer they get back to the house. His hands twist in his pockets, his nail rubs over the engravings in his wand.

He needs something, anything, to catch Roman’s attention. Keep him away from the house until the days over and he’s sure there’s no chance that the Neo-Wizard Nazis are going to show up and kill Roman. 

“We should stop at the bookstore and pick up Logan’s order for him,” Virgil suggests.

“Logan just picked up his newest shipment two days ago, remember?” Roman says. “I dropped them and he yelled at me for a full hour.”

“Do we have milk at the house? Maybe we should get some groceries while we’re out.”

“Patton wants to go tomorrow instead. And only he knows the list. But he’ll love if we come with him.”

“A play!” Virgil says weakly.

“Hm?” Roman blinks lazily from beside him. The street lamps give him halo.

“I heard there’s a play going on!”

“There are no plays this week, Virgil.”

“I swear there was one.” Virgil says, “You know we should check just in case--”

Virgil has seen the news on the TV before: he’s seen coverage of car crashes that had lit on fire, of the forests burning in California and the Amazon, of muggle apartment buildings being swallowed entirely from faulty wiring. He’s kept a lighter in his back pocket for the longest time, for emergencies, for those moments when his wand is out his hand and needs to resort to a more unexpected muggle way of defending himself. He’s started tiny fires made of leaves in his backyard, of candles in his moms house when the summer rain storms knocked out the electricity again, of a pile of photos at his feet wiping away any evidence that would allude to what they had done.

Still watching Roman’s house explode is so much more terrifying. The blast of heat burns his body even from down the street. The noise is deafening, but the sight is ghastly: the roof of the building shoots straight into the air and then dissolves apart until its swallowed by the resulting black cloud, the windows break outward sending millions of shards into the surrounding houses, half of that ugly sofa that Virgil had fallen asleep so many times on shattered on the asphalt road barely four feet from the two of them.

Oh, its something straight from a nightmare and it makes Virgil’s stomach violently turnover and his eyes water and his heart jump straight up his throat to the back of his mouth. His limbs freeze at the sight, as if keeping from moving would keep the destruction from following. Flames lick the the inside windows, a thousand twisted toxic tongues that burned brighter than the sun in the night sky. 

In seconds the building is unsalvageable and Virgil’s throat closes up like someone magicked away the very oxygen in the air. 

“Virgil!” Roman yells some a million miles away from him, from right behind him, from beside him with a hand on his upper arm, tight and squeezing and real. “Protego!”

A white shield forms in front of him seconds before a chunk of the TV in the downstairs living room crushes him completely. An arm, Roman’s arm, wraps around him and drags him back from the flaming wreckage.

“Logan!” Roman screams, “Pat!”

And suddenly Virgil snaps back to the present, to the way the noise is louder than life, to the way that they stick out like sore thumbs in the middle of the road. 

“Aguamenti!” Virgil shouts pointing his wand at the the neighbors hedges. He doesn’t remember drawing it or thinking about the spell, but he knows that the family of four that live there just hit a rough patch financially and don’t need to pay for a house on top of that.

By the time he looks back up, Roman is down the street and Virgil doesn’t think there’s a single thing on this planet, magic or muggle that could stop him. So Virgil, the reigning king of making poor decisions in the moment, charges after him.

(Because he knows what this is, know that houses don’t just explode, knows that Roman is about to charge head into battle. He knows that Virgil would never forgive himself from turning tail and running when any of those three are in danger.)

So Virgil-- also reigning king of mistakes and regrets--charges after him with is wand drawn and prays to deities he does not believe in that he won’t see Dee tonight.

There are three Neo-Death Eaters on what used to be Roman’s front lawn. Virgil stumbles at the sight of them, at the sight of their long black cloaks and white theater masks and the skull pendants they wore so proudly. He doesn’t think they can be more than a few years older than him or Roman, but they find another section of the house to use Bombarda on and shriek joyfully when it sends part of dresser into the next door neighbors roof.

Roman makes use of Flipendo Tria on the first one, and clocks the next with his bare fist. Virgil uses Oppugno on several flaming objects (shirts maybe? Logan’s sweater vests?) and sends them wrapping around the face of the last one before she can make any move against Roman. 

“How dare you touch me, Filthy Mudblood!”

Roman punched him again. And then a third time for good measure.

“I may be muggle born, but I’ve never needed magic to fix my problems.”

It would be a good dramatic line if he wasn’t trembling as he delivered it, if Virgil didn’t need to throw protego between him and the guy he had punched because the Neo-Death Eater had managed to get his wand again, if they were acting in a movie this wasn’t real.

Roman snaps the guy’s wand in half and throws it into the fire before sprinting towards the front door.

“Patton!” He yells, “Logan!”

“Roman!” Virgil yells and lunges for him. They go tumbling to the ground, knees scraping on concrete pathway up to the house but Virgil doesn’t notice. He can’t notice, not really. 

He’s too busy imagining Roman as a flambeed corpse, as a crispy unrecognizable mass, as ashes fluttering in the wind.

Roman shoves against him, frantically calling for their friends.

And the smoke robs his throat of any moisture, clogs his lungs with lead laden gases and deteriorates his vision. There’s another explosion (Virgil thinks its the fire reaching the chemical closet in the downstairs powder room) and the force of it knocks Virgil across the lawn. His shoulder slams into the grass with a popping noise Virgil is pretty sure it isn’t supposed to make and his vision goes white for all of a second as his chest flops over and his other shoulder follows in a tumble of limbs. 

When he can see again Roman is right over him. He’s glowing-- kinda. The fire behind him creates a halo effect all over his body. Whatever words he’s saying, they’re lost in the buzz of Virgil’s brain as it reconnects and reboots and the panic comes back.

In the grass by his hand is a burned photo: the one of him and Patton that they took on the staircase, the one he put in his room, the one he kept.

And the fire burned him right out of the picture.

“--irgil!” Roman says, “We have to get up!”

Virgil nods dumbly at him. He tears his eyes away from the picture and grabs Roman’s forearm so he can help him get up. He smells like smoke and ashes and that Cinnamon body wash he liked so much. Virgil breathes it in and chokes on the air.

“We need to get out of here!” He says, “To the Rendezvous point! They’ll find us!”

Virgil isn’t sure Roman hears him at all, isn’t sure that Roman even remembers that they had a rendezvous point for if the base was attacked. But he doesn’t try to go running into the unsalvageable house again, so Virgil thinks that its enough.

(He doesn’t think about Patton on the kitchen floor desperately gasping for raspy breaths pinned under a flaming beam of the house and unable to move. He doesn’t think about Logan screaming as the flames swallow up his pant legs, and his sweater vest and his hair. He doesn’t think about them yelling for them and Virgil dragging Roman away from the fire and leaving them to die. He doesn’t, he doesn’t, he doesn’t--)

Away. They need to get away. Before a Neo-Death Eater shows up that they can’t beat.

Down the street. Virgil’s eyes are watering, his heart is thumping, his thoughts are screaming.

Somehow he still manages to see the enemy before they see him.

Its just that Virgil has absolutely terrible luck. It’s just that the shock makes him forget  Its just that Virgil freezes with half of a hex on his tongue, when his eyes catch on the other figure. Or more specifically, his wand.

Virgil doesnt know a lot about wands, but he thinks he knows more than average. Patton always did have a habit of rambling about his hobbies and wand making happened to be on that list. But even before that, Virgil would know that wand blindfolded: Elm, nine inches, with a rougarou hair core.

And he'd know it by the way it never quite looked like it fit in the hands of its owner.

Said owner, who was staring at him like he was the biggest idiot to ever grace the earth, someone who had been hit with confundgus until he couldnt remember his own name, someone who for some absolutely idiotic reason, decided not to curse a Death Eater the moment he saw one holding a wand at him.

"Virgil!"

Virgil feels the spell blast by him, missing his ear by mere inches. The Death Eater is almost as lucky: the spell hits the black Honda Civic behind him and explodes outward. The Death Eater is launched back towards them rolling across the asphalt, but his cloak took most of the damage.

“Confringo!” Roman shouts again, and another blast of a spell goes out.

"Protego!" The Neo-Death Eater counters and for a moment Virgil doesn't see the shield go up, doesn't see a way for him to escape the spell. 

Virgil grabs at Roman's arm, because it's the only thing he can think to do, and the last half of the flame veer to the side just enough that the enemy can scramble to his feet behind his shield.

"What are you--" Roman snaps, fiery and hot, and demanding of Virgil.

"Adorable!" The Neo-Death Eater cooes at them, "You actually thought those flames could hurt me?"

Virgil feels feverish just hearing that voice. Its a slippery eel of a tone, something sinister and mocking and Virgil knows it too well. So does Roman. So does everyone.

Its the voice he uses when he's scheming, when he's hiding something and wants you to know it, when he's got the upper hand in a conversation.

Its the voice that is undeniably Dee’s, and no one else's.

“Ekans,” Roman growled.

“Guilty as Charged, Prince,” Dee Ekans smiles like snake oil and mistrust, “I take it you saw the Fireworks? They were a bit disappointing for my taste, but then again all things muggle usually are.”

“Sectumsempra!” 

Virgil mouth tastes like ash. Roman’s wand slices the air like a sword, like a knife, like death, and the green spell flies towards Dee faster than Virgil can react. (He knows what that spell does: they’ve all heard the rumors around Hogwarts of the Potions teacher that created a curse that killed from bloodloss, they’ve all heard how it can’t be cured and how Severus Snape took the countercurse with him to the grave--)

Dee throws himself to the side. He’s not smiling anymore, not when the spell shreds the flaming car behind them. His hand moves to the side of his face, the left side of his face, where some part of the magic had skimmed him and left a precise line that welded with cherry red.

Roman raises his wand again, and this time Virgil leaps in front of him. 

“Virgil!”

“Patton, Logan,” Virgil gasps out but he cant remember when he stopped being able to breathe. The world threatens to start swimming so he grabs Roman by the forearms to steady himself. “Patton and Logan.”

Dee hisses violently, “Don’t worry about your blood traitor, Little Raccoon. My father invited him for a stay and when he leaves I’m sure he’ll want nothing to do with you.”

Virgil squeezes Roman’s wrists, but Dee’s face is too proud to be lying about this one.

“Be more worried about the owl.” Dee’s grin came back, a blinding white in the fire of around them. “Last I checked only one wing had been broken, but Mother does move very fast.”

Roman roars and lunges forward, but Dee presses his bloodied fingers to his lips and blows them both a kiss. By the time Roman gets around Virgil, gets close enough to grab the Neo-Death Eater that is Dee Ekans, the Slytherin had twisted up in his cloak and disapparated into a black cloud of smoke. 

Virgil wants to throw up. Distantly he’s aware that there are sirens ringing, and he knows that means that Muggles are on the way.

He should be terrified, but all he can feel is relief. Patton is alive, Dee had said so. He was full wizard, a pureblood, from a pureblood family. He was alive for now.

Virgil grabs Roman by the back of his shirt, “We have to go.”

Roman slaps his hand away, “Why did you do that?!” The flames dance behind him, giving him wings of fire. Somehow his breath his hotter than them. “Why did you stop me from killing him?!”

“We have to go, Roman.” Virgil ignores him, “Logan needs us.”

“Ekans deserves to die!”

“Roman!” Virgil yells, “It’s time to go,” He tugs him towards the end of the road, “I’ll explain later.”

“No!” Roman slaps him away again, “You’ll explain right now! I’m so sick and tired of not knowing what the hell is going on in your brain! Why did you stop me from hitting him? He’s the bad guy, Virgil!” 

“We don’t have time for this!” Virgil says he grabs on to Roman again, yanks him towards the end of the street. Roman fights him every step of the way, smelling like ashes and cinders and charcoal.

“Answer me!”

“You are no good to anyone in wizard jail, Prince!” Virgil snarls back.

“Bullshit!”

Virgil wants to take a swing at him, wants to yank his wand out and litter him so full of spells that he can’t move a muscle until Virgil finds Logan and gets all three of them somewhere safe, wants to cup Roman’s jaw and tell him everything between rough lip-biting kisses.

“You’re always doing shit like this!”

Virgil doesn’t do any of those things. He drags both of them into the community park and the wooden area beyond that. The heat between them blisters his fingers, stinging and burning and telling Virgil that its not worth it. But Virgil is a Hufflepuff, and Hufflepuffs are a loyal sort of people. And really that is Virgil’s biggest flaw.

“Running off, being secretive, pretending to be happy when you obviously aren’t--”

Roman gets a hand under Virgil jaw and shoves him up, up, and away. Virgil hits the ground with this tongue between his teeth and tears threatening in his eyes. 

“Roman!” He snaps, spitting blood from his mouth.

“Whose side are you on?”

Virgil’s body freezes.

Roman stands over him, moonlight shadows painting his face. His wand twists in his hand. He’s always been dangerous, Virgil remembers suddenly, with the effortless magic in his veins and the endless spell knowledge in his head and the whimsical creativity in his words.

“Virgil,” Roman says breathless, and he looks angry. Rightfully so. “The only one of us who would have both the information and the opportunity to give our location to the Death Eaters, is you.”

“What? Why would I--”

“You wanted me out of the house.” Roman says in an accusatory tone that makes Virgil’s blood slow in his veins. “You wanted me--the most powerful of us-- out of the head quarters, for a day of activities you weren’t even enjoying, and on that same day my house is blown up.”

Virgil scrambles to his feet, but he still feels off balanced, “It’s not like that--”

“Isn’t it?” he hisses, “You pestered us all last week about what charms were set up around the house! You said you were adding more! How do we know you didn’t take some off?”

“Because I didn’t!”

“You’re a master at Charms.” Roman snarls, “It would have been a sinch!”

And Virgil doesn’t know what to say to that. His hand slips into his jacket pockets, just barely resisting the urge to go for the hidden pouch over his chest that’s numbly cold--

Roman shoves his wand at him. “No! Hands out of your pockets, Storm.”

“What?”

“You heard me!” Roman said, stepping around him, like he’s some dangerous wild animal and Roman is the hunter come to put him down before he hurts another innocent person. “Did you or did you not give information to the Death Eaters? Did you tell them our location so they could kill us?”

“Roman!” Virgil takes a step back, his hands come out of his pocket and he starts wondering if maybe he should have been reaching for his own wand, after all. 

Roman looks angry; he looks like the fire that had eaten up his house. His hold on his wand is so tight, Virgil can see the red oak wood threatening to split. Small sparks dance at the edge reacting to Roman’s anger. No muggles would be out here in the woods, and the neo Death Eaters should still be dancing around the bonfire of the house. The only person who would come was possibly Logan, and they didn’t-- Logan wasn’t-- 

There was no one to stand between them, or direct attention away. For all intents and purposes they were alone in the world.

“That date was just a ploy,” Roman growls, “A ploy that I fell for!”

“No!” Virgil wants to list all the reasons why it wasn’t just a ploy.

But that of course isn’t the problem here. The problem is that it was a ploy in the first place. It was a ploy that Virgil made and took advantage of Roman to get him to follow in it.

Virgil tongue feels swollen, and he isn’t thinking. He knows he isn’t thinking. Because the next thing out of his mouth is the biggest mistake he’s ever made: “When have I ever done something to purposely harm you guys?”

 “I don’t know, maybe every single school year up until fourth year--”

Roman stops. 

Blinks.

“Every single school year up until…” He repeats, and Virgil feels the cannonball of dread in his stomach swell until shoves its way up through his lungs and up his throat. 

He’s imagined the way it happens a million times. Each one worse than the last, each one dangerous and bad and terrifying. Still the sight of Roman’s copper eyes turning purple and the light that drifts off him like an angelic aura is worse than all of them. Its his nightmares, come to life, and it’s staring at him with a murderous expression.

“Roman?” Virgil whispers, and maybe there’s a faint hope there that he’s wrong and the spell over him hasn’t broken and Virgil hasn’t lost the only thing he’s had for the past two years. 

“These are false memories,” Roman says. It feels like a slap in the face. “Why are there false memories in my head?”

Virgil’s mind tells him to run, and to run fast, but his body doesn’t move an inch. Not even to breathe. Roman had effortlessly used Sectumsempra against Dee, and Virgil is weaponless against him. He needs to get out of there, before either of them do something they’re going to regret. 

But at that moment there a sound of something tumbling through the branches above them, and Virgil looks up out of instinct. 

Its an owl, and it looks like it hell. Virgil lunges to catch it before it hits the ground, because even in the moonlight he’d know that white and brown and black pattern anywhere. 

“Logan!” Virgil calls, slightly more than horrified because he’s no owl expert but he’s pretty sure owls wings aren’t supposed to do that. There’s blood too. Virgil doesn’t know what to do with blood like this. “Roman! Roman I need--”

He stops when he sees the the other hasn’t lowered his wand. “Roman?”

“Avada--”

Virgil doesn’t hear the end of it. All he sees is the green light and then… 

And then there’s just darkness.

***

Dee had told him on the first Train Ride to Hogwarts about the Sorting Hat. 

“It uses Leg-ili-men-cy,” Dee had said holding up identical Chocolate Frog Cards with Salazar Slytherin on it “Thats a type of magic. It reads your thoughts and figures out where you’d best fit.”

Virgil had been so happy to be a Hufflepuff. He had never thought it was going to end up being a death sentence. 

***

“-nnervate.”

Virgil blinks his eyes open groggily. His whole head feels a bit like it was stuffed with tissues, like that Christmas that he spent sick out of his mind and Dee had shown up in the fireplace with more pumpkin pasties than he could carry and sugared butterfly wings for his mom, like that time they had hung out over the summer when Dee had wanted to practice for his position as Beater on the Slytherin Quidditch team and Virgil had dragged out his old baseball supplies only have Dee accidently beam him in the head on the first throw, like that time when Roman had cast a killing curse at him and Virgil hadn’t even tried to move out of the way.

And suddenly the fogginess of his head gives away to absolutely panic and its the cold type that surges through his veins freezing over his muscles and making his lungs work over time for air that only comes in every third heave. Its the panic he remembers and hates because its only happened once before and that was the worst day of his life.

He needs his wand.

His hand doesn’t even reach to his chest, not to mention across his body to the inside of his left boot where he normal keeps it. It takes him a moment to realize its not his lack of coordination, not his lack of focus nor disconnected thought process struggling to comprehend what was going on: his arm was being prohibited from coming forward by a rope.

Whats more is that when Virgil looks up too slowly putting together the pieces, Roman is standing over him with Virgil’s wand in his hand and an angry look on his face.

It feels like a nightmare; one of his worst ones yet. Its the version where he can’t wake up. The one where Roman has his wand and he’s been dragged somewhere he doesn’t recognize (the woods? Some woods somewhere?) and he’s been tied up because they can’t trust him and--

 And Virgil can’t figure out why he’s alive at all.

He knows what curse Roman sent at him. The bad taste in his mouth and the tingling pain in all of his limbs shows he knows it. The object anger in Roman’s expression is just further confirmation.

And yet, Virgil’s still alive, his pulse fluttering like a pixie’s wings as he desperately tried to come up with an excuse, an explanation, something that he can say that wouldn’t get him killed.

“Hey, Storm,” Roman says with a mockery of a smile that makes Virgil flinch. When was the last time he called Virgil by his last name? Fourth year? “I’m glad to see you alive.”

“Ro- roman,” Virgil gasps. He presses his back against the tree as if he can melt into it. The rope scratches at his wrists. Roman leans closer, and he’s always been taller but its never been threatening until now.

“Wanna tell me why there’s a bunch of fake memories in our heads?” Roman suggests with the end of the wand.

Virgil can’t tear his eyes from the tip, the glowing red that lies there ready to spark whenever Roman wants it to. Virgil’s watched Roman do spells for years; he knows how easily magic comes and flows through him and a wand. Even if it wasn’t through his own wand, he rarely ever messed up.

Is that what happened? Roman made a fluke with the killing curse and now Virgil was still alive when he should be dead?

Virgil’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. Pulling it off will probably make his mouth bleed.

“That was not a rhetorical question, Virgil,” Logan’s voice says icily from beyond the wand.

Virgil pries his eyes away from the wand, to where Logan is standing half turned away, with his arm in a makeshift sweatshirt sling and his clothes rumpled and blood crested. There’s a table in front of him where he’s looking at several things with his good hand and his wand is sticking out of his deep pocket like it was just another day out of class. A breeze blows through the trees.

It looks like it should be a happy place.

Virgil doesn’t think he’s ever been so terrified in his life.

“I-”

Roman looks at him impatiently. “You-?”

He wants to say he doesn’t know, but thats a lie. He knows why there are fake memories in their heads, has known for nearly three years. He’s known and lied and he’s so sick of lying.

But if he doesn’t lie, he has to tell the truth.

And the truth will kill him. Literally. Virgil can feel the stinging pain of his forearm, the burning warmth that he isn’t sure his brain is just making up.

He squeezes his eyes shut pressing his back against the bark of the tree he’s tied to. His voice is quieter than the breeze through the leaves. “I can’t.”

“You can’t?” Roman scoffs, “Did you hear that, Logan? He says he can’t tell us.”

Logan doesn’t answer so Roman lunges forward to grab Virgil by the front of his jacket and hauls him to his feet. Virgil’s knees threaten to give out but he forces himself back against the tree again, getting as far away from the Gryffindor as he can. 

(He still smells like ashes, like smoke, like death and danger, and an enemy--) 

“I can’t believe you, Storm,” Roman snarls at him, “All this time you were pretending to be our friend, pretending to be more than a friend, and then you turned right back around and fed information to the neo wizard nazis? Who does that?! Other than you, apparently?”

“It’s not like that!” Virgil wishes he kept silent. His eyes are burning with the desperate need to stop the tears from falling, but he doesn’t think he’s been doing a good enough job.

“Tell me what its like then,” Roman challenges.

And Virgil’s mouth snaps shut. His tongue tastes like blood again. His whole mouth tastes like blood.

“His jacket,” Logan says distantly. “He never goes anywhere without that jacket.”

Virgil’s chest constricts, “No.”

Logan glances back at him, then at Roman and without even saying a word they both nod.

“No!” Virgil squirms back into his hoodie, as if he can make himself smaller or make the jacket stick to his back. “Please! Roman!”

Virgil had been smart when he made his jacket. He had been smart when he shielded it with charms to ward off rain and mud and soda. He had protection against cuts and scrapes and fire. Honestly Virgil could charge into battle with nothing but his jacket and most likely come back unscathed from the amount of spells he put on it.

But he's not stupid enough to think that between Logan’s endless knowledge of spells, Roman’s creativity in making new ones, and their combined level of determined spite, that his charms would do anything more than delay the inevitable.

It takes them twenty minutes.

Virgil’s wand flicks in Roman’s hand and then Virgil is left shivering, tied to a fucking tree, begging uselessly for them to stop. His jacket phases right off him, like it was made of some ghost material that existed in a secondary dimension where they can see it but not touch it. Virgil doesn’t understand beyond the fact that its wrong. 

“Accio,” Logan says.

His jacket-- the one his mother had bought him, the one that he had painstakingly stitched back together after every adventure with Dee, the one that he had enlarged every time he had outgrown it because that jacket was his safety blanket-- his jacket sails right towards Logan and lands over Logan’s broken arm’s shoulder.

Virgil’s voice is raw. “Guys, please. Stop--”

They don't stop.

Virgil almost wonders what his life would be like if they did.

“Logan,” Virgil repeats, “Logan, please, don’t--”

“Specialis Revelio,” Logan says ignoring Virgil entirely. His wand waves over Virgil’s jacket. And Virgil can’t tear his eyes off the interior pocket he had charmed away from normal eyes, that glows red in response to Logan’s spell. 

Logan doesn’t even look at him as he flips the jacket over and tears the patch open. Maybe if he had he would have hesitated, even just a little. Roman crosses his arms, squeezing Virgil’s wand in his hand. Virgil shakes his head, blinking back those unhelpful tears, and the whimper thats climbing up his throat.

“What is he going to find?” Roman demands.

Virgil wishes the rope was just a bit longer, just enough that he could bring his hands up to his ears and block out the accusatory tone.

Logan pulls out the Galleon, and rubs it between his fingers for a moment. Virgil’s breath catches at the sight of it, his dark bangs tumbling into his eye sight and his gaze losing hope when Logan says quietly, “Coin Collecting.”

 He doesn’t sound surprised. He doesn’t sound like anything.

“There’s a Protean Charm on this.” Logan says in that same cold tone. “And the date on the border...this is yesterday’s date.”

Roman snarls, oh god, he snarls. Virgil’s chest seizes at the sound. He’s been crying for the past several minutes but that's nothing compared to the absolute dread that floods over him.

“It’s not like that!” Virgil says, “Guys, please!”

“Isn’t it?” Roman growls, “Who were you talking to?”

“I wasn’t--”

“Roman.” Logan interrupts, and Virgil’s stomach drops out.

Because he knows what's in Logan’s hand now, what can make him take on that face, so pale, so horrified.

He knows deep in his heart that the past two years were never going to end quietly but this is something worse. This is his nightmare, this is the scene that keeps him up at night, keeps him terrified of falling asleep and risking seeing that sort of expression on their faces, except this time there is no gasping awake, no pinching himself until his vision blurs and he’s staring up at the ceiling of the guest bedroom in Roman’s house.

Roman’s hands shake as he takes it from the Ravenclaw, that single little paper, worn with age and love and desperation folded into eighths and hidden in his pocket a million times over. 

“You--” Roman says, and, oh god, those brown eyes rage with a fury so much like the fire, full of so much hatred, that Virgil feels it from where he is tied up. Roman can’t finish the sentence, and that’s as scary as what else he could have said.

Its a picture. The picture.

Its thirteen year old Virgil and thirteen year old Dee and its Virgil biggest mistake.

“You’re still friends?” Roman’s voice shakes just like his hands.

“Its not what you think!” Virgil repeats like a broken record, his eyes burning, his voice begging, “Please it’s not--”

Roman rearranges the two wands in his hand and flips the picture around and pinches the top on either side of the fold and gives just a quick jerk of his wrists--

“ROMAN!” Virgil screams. “NO! Please! No, please don’t!” 

And the picture--

He thrashes against the bindings, and the sound he makes is not human. Its a scream, its desperation, its absolute terror and panic. His eyes blur with tears, and his lungs beg to be allowed to inhale again, and his arms are sticky with blood and burning around the wrists where his movements caused the rope to slice his skin and, and, and.

And all Virgil can see is that picture in halves on the ground between them. One half him, one half Dee, and their winter scarves twisted together so that the yellow and green are on both sides and their arms linked just enough to show off those handmade sweaters.

His knees go weak and Virgil ends up on the ground, without being able to drag his eyes from the way Dee had smiled four years ago and never again.

“Repario,” Virgil whispers desperately, despite the fact he doesn’t have a wand and he’s never had enough skill to perform wandless magic. “Repario, please, Repario.”

His chest heaves, shuddering his entire frame with the pleading gasps and wish, wish, wishing the halves back together because despite the fact that he knows the picture like his own face in the mirror, he needs it to not be torn apart, not be ruined, not to be unrecognizable.

“Please, please, pleasepleaseplease,” Virgil sobs, “Please don’t... take it from me...please Repario, Logan, please!”

He tugs on the bindings again, and his head drops to his chest, vaguely aware that he’s soaked and shivering and this is the longest he’s gone without his jacket since he was ten, and that he hasn’t cried this much since he had last hugged his mom and she had said that she was proud of the man he had grown into and the friend he would die for. 

“Why should we do anything for you?” Roman demands, “You got Patton-- he’s-- and Logan’s arm--” Roman blows his breathe out of his nose like a Chinese Fireball, “You’re a Death Eater!”

“I’m not,” Virgil hiccups, “Please, I swear!”

Roman’s foot slams down on the pieces of the photo and grounds them into the forest floor.

Virgil blubbers his way through another series of pleading that falls on deaf ears. His fingernails dig into his palms, sticky with blood from his wrists. He tugs uselessly at the rope again, as if it had somehow become loose in the past three seconds. Snot runs down his chin, and salty tears burn his eyes and irritate his neck where he can’t wipe them off. His shoulder blades ache, but its really nothing compared to how the cavity in his chest seems to gnaw at him from inside.

Then Roman is right in front of him, dragging him off the ground by his shirt collar and forcing Virgil to meet his gaze and the tip of a wand, Virgil’s own wand, digging into the soft flesh under his jaw.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, stop, I’m sorry--”

“Shut Up!” Roman snaps.

And Virgil’s mouth closes, but the whimper escapes just enough that Roman gives him a violent shake. The back of his head hits the bark of the tree, and Virgil remembers those hands that had held him as they fell asleep on the couch with movies playing, those hands that had caught him when he fell off his broom in sixth year, those hands that had pulled him out of the way of the Whomping Willow-- those same hands were very capable of of crushing his trachea without magic at all.

Roman backs him up until he’s pressed against the tree and Roman is the only thing holding him up. 

“How long have you been feeding information about the Order to Dante Ekans?”

Virgil whimpers.

“Tell me!”

“It’s not like that,” Virgil hiccups, “I swear Roman--”

“Don’t swear to me!” Roman’s fist tightens, “You and that snake put false memories into our heads! You made us believe that we were friends for who knows how long! I can’t believe we trusted you! I can’t believe I really thought--”

He lets out a breathy laugh, that’s void of the warmth he’s known for, “So tell me how long you’ve been a traitor, Storm, or I’ll leave you here for the wolves to enjoy, bite by bite.”

“I--” Virgil squeezes his eyes closed but it does nothing to relieve the feeling of being burned alive by the other’s eyes. “I’m sorry I can’t...Roman...p-please you...have to believe me.”

“Give me something to believe!” Roman hisses between his gritted teeth, the wand jabs him in the jaw, but the whatever magic Roman’s trying to produce won’t come out because its still Virgil’s wand and unicorn hair cores are as faithful as they come.

Roman throws the wand to the side and instead hooks his other hand on Virgil’s collar. “I haven’t heard a single reason why I shouldn’t believe you aren’t a Death Eater or why we shouldn’t leave you tied up right here.”

God, if Virgil wasn’t terrified before, he is now. Because he’s lost a lot, and he was prepared to lose some of it, but he’s never been alone. He’s never not had someone to have his back, never not had someone to remind him what he was fighting for. The idea of Roman and Logan simply apperating away and abandoning him in the middle of this forest by himself causes his lungs to stutter in complete horror.

He doesn’t care if they hate him. He doesn’t care if they keep him tied up, or frozen over with petrificus totalus, just as long as they take him with them.

“Virgil!” Roman yells, and Virgil flinches, at the loudness of his tone, at the closeness of their bodies, at the sharpness of his canines. He’s got to be delirious from terror, because he’s pretty sure Roman’s eyes are rimmed red and there’s lift in his voice that sounds like he’s pleading for the truth.

Virgil doesn’t know how else to apologize to him, so he says the same words again and again and again.

Then all at once he feels it.

The feeling of someone shoving their hand directly into his brain, ripping apart the muscle at each wrinkle. There’s no precision to the attack; its bloody, and violent, and unpracticed. Claws that thrash and slash and its not like Dee’s soft touch. And that alone triggers Virgil’s urge to vomit.

The walls come on instinct: practiced instinct, muscle memory. They’re strong and thunderous and built out of critical necessity to protect and defend. The claws scratch at the barricade dragging along the stone like it can out run Virgil’s ability to set it them up.

“Virgil,” Logan’s voice comes from somewhere far away, strained, tired. He doesn’t say to let him inside, but Virgil can hear the unspoken words.

Of the two of them Dee had always been better at Legilimency and Occlumency. He had to be. Virgil wasn’t great at either, but they had practiced every night for a year, and then Virgil had done it by himself in the following years, and that had to count for something, didn’t it?

“S-stop!” Virgil sobbed, “Logan!” His hands yank the rope again pulling as far as they can but he can’t get anywhere near his own body, much less where Roman is holding him up.

“Let him in.” Roman commands, “Virgil, let him in!”

Logan isn’t a practiced Legilimens. In fact Virgil bets he’s barely done this more than twice, and even then he needs to use a wand for it. He’d get tired long before Virgil’s walls would come down.

Virgil blames his own unstability. He blames it on the rising feelings he’s harbored for Patton and Logan and Roman and he blames it on Dee leaving him with them. He blames it on the feeling of Roman’s skin so warm on his own freezing, on the touch of Logan in his mind which disregarding the raw, rough edges of the claws, still feels like the raven haired ravenclaw and Virgil still wants to hoard those touches and keep them for himself. He blames it on the fact that he’s wanted to tell them for years now, and that he doesn’t want them to hate him, and, and, and. 

And Logan’s claws leap upward and Virgil’s walls are a second slower then they should have been.

Virgil feels his throat burn with his own stomach acids and memories flash by his mind’s eye, tearing them apart as it goes, searching ever so violently for the memory that explains why Virgil is the way he is, as if his whole life hasn’t been building to this outcome.

Virgil snatches them away from Logan, snatches and stashes and saves those tiny bits behind secondary and tertiary walls before Logan can get to them. Again and again and again until Logan is bruised and battered and Virgil can’t breathe and they’re standing in--

The living room he grew up in. His pictures on the mantle with both him and his mom and three of them emptied where the pictures stolen away. The coffee table has three mugs of tea on it and magazines about the city and the remote that was missing a battery because Virgil had stolen it to put in his secondary Xbox control earlier. 

His mom is there, hugging him tightly, “I’m so proud of you, my little storm cloud. I’m always going to be proud of you.”

Virgil tackles Logan out of that memory. 

Grocery store. Virgil’s been staring at the cereal for five minutes. His wand is in his boot, and his hands are in his jacket. Clenched into fists.

“Pardon me, young man? Would you mind helping me reach the great value box up there?”

Mom. She smiles at him. She doesn’t know him. 

“Yeah, sure. This one, right, Ma’am?”

Another person, a shadow from the end of the aisle, No, no, no, not here-- 

Virgil locks the rest in a black box. Logan doesn’t fight it.

“Don’t you dare try to take this from me, Ekans!” 

Anger. Angry. A challenge. Mistake. Mistake. Mista---

“Lo--Logan!” Virgil gasps. 

“Nasty little fates,” The professor mutters, “Nasty indeed. Do you know what Alstroemeria flowers represent?”

“Logan!”

“Face each other! Grip your right hands!”

“Please!”

Fourteen year old Dee is staring at him. Their hands are clasped tightly, and thin stream of red wrapping around their fingers weaving them together. Professor Remus’s wand doesn’t shake. Virgil doesn’t hesitate.

“I do.” 

Virgil goes limp in Roman’s arms. Seven feet away, Logan stumbles back further, tripping over a tree root and hitting the ground almost as hard as Virgil does. Maybe harder with that broken arm of his. Virgil’s not sure from how intensely his own body shakes trying to get rid of the vile feeling of someone else being in his head. 

He lets out another sob, yanking on the rope and falling as far forward as he can. Roman’s embrace isn’t comforting, but its something. His throat feels dry and eyes burn and he wants to get his hands on that pesky time turner that caused them to do all this just so he can stop himself from ever being born in the first place.

“You--” Logan says. He’s pale, paler than before, paler than paper, paler than the ghosts at that stupid castle. “You made an Unbreakable Vow.”

And whatever slim reserve, whatever dignity, Virgil had left, breaks and he’s gone.

(Next Chapter)

Quick Taglist: @whizzie72​ @chelsvans​ @faithfulcat111​ @felicianoromano​ @holliberries​ @jemthebookworm​ @killerfangirl3​ @silverflame-wc @stricken-with-clairvoyancy​ @treasureofpriam​

[purplesurveys]

918

Have a friends survey, because I’m really missing mine.

-- List 8 Friends of Either Gender --

1. Andrew 2. Jo 3. Aya 4. Gabie 5. Hannah 6. Angela 7. Laurice 8. Aliyah

Questions About These Friends

Does number 4 have a driver’s license? Yeah. I’m pretty sure we were part of the first few people in our high school batch who learned how to drive and get our licenses.

Can number 7 speak another language? Well yeah, she can speak Filipino. Everyone on the list can at least speak Filipino.

Does 2 know your parents well? Not so much. She knows the basic stuff about my parents that I tell everyone, like how my dad works abroad.

Have 3 and 5 been in the same room together? Multiple times, until Aya graduated. All three of us were in the same applicant batch in our org so we spent a loooot of time together.

Does 1 have similar music tastes to you? Broadly, yeah. I know we both like R&B and hip-hop but he’s faaaar more passionate about the genre and he’s a lot better at picking out artists and songs.

Has 6 ever stayed at your house? She’s visited a handful of times, but I prefer going to her house instead. I don’t really have a lot to offer here whereas we never run out of things to do at her place.

When did 3 last text you? If we are talking of strictly texts, November 2018. Aya was never a good replier on text lol. But my last notification of her in general was at 4 AM today, when she sent a meme to our friends’ group chat.

Does 5 have any pets? If so, what do they have? Nope. WELP I don’t know actually. She lives all the way in Bacolod so her home life doesn’t get raised much. I know she loves dogs though.

Does 7 live in the same town/city as you? Nah, she’s a south baby through and through.

Have you ever lent something important to 8? I’ve never even met her yet. We keep planning to especially since she works in Metro Manila now, but our schedules just never work out.

Can number 1 sing well? Yes. He’s done a lot of singing gigs and as far as I know he even put out an EP at one point. He has a sick stage name too.

Does 2 have any siblings? Nah, she’s an only child.

If 4 called you at 2 AM, what would your reaction be? Take it and assume she has trouble falling asleep.

Who is 8′s best friend? I’m not sure; I don’t know her all that well. I would assume it’s someone all the way in Mindanao, since that’s where she grew up and went to school and her whole life is there - she really only moved to Metro Manila for work. That’s why I feel for her sometimes and keep offering to meet up, so she can feel less lonely.

Does 6 have a favourite tv show? If so, what is it? She loooves watching TV series but I never knew what her favorite is. Good question, I’ll have to ask her this soon.

Who out of 5 and 7 knows you the best? I say they both know me on the same level but I think Laurice does slightly more. We’ve had deeper conversations, so it’s a safe guess.

Does 4 have a boyfriend/girlfriend? You are reading her answers right now. ;)

Does 2 have a career/knows what they want to be? Yes, she’s always wanted to be a journalist. She’s entering her senior year now and I’m really proud and super impressed with her for being able to keep up such a demanding, brutal passion; I was burned out from journ by freshman year. She even helps run a fact-checking website now :) It had just been a requirement in her class to come up with a fact-checking website but theirs got SO successful, racked up some awards, and now it’s still going.

Have you ever kissed 1? No. He’s like a brother to me and that just sounds like the weirdest scenario.

Does 3 have or want children? Yes. I know she wanted them when she was with Jo, but I’m not sure if she’s changed her mind lately.

Does 6 have any piercings or tattoos? Yep, on her ears.

Do your parents know 8? No. She’s an internet friend, so I never get to raise it in conversations. And I doubt they’ll be happy if they found out I made a friend on the interwebs anyway.

Which Number...

Have you had romantic feelings for? 4.

Have you told a secret to? 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6,7, 8. I’m pretty open with my secrets, as dumb as that sounds lol

Have you shared a bed with? 2, 3, 4, 6, 7.

Have you watched a movie with? I remember watching The Devil Wears Prada with 2 and 3. I’ve watched several movies with 4.

Have you seen cry? 2, 3, 4, 6.

Have seen you cry? 1, 4, 5. 5 hasn’t seen me cry but she has definitely heard me.

Have cooked you something? 6 and 7 :) They’re also the biggest mom friends on the list, so I’m not surprised.

Have a boyfriend/girlfriend? 1, 4, 6. I’m not sure if 2 and 3 are still together; we never get to update each other anymore. Have met your parents? 2, 3, 7 from a meeting we once held at my house. And 4 and 6, of course - they’re my mom’s favorites.

Have been to the same school/college as you? Everyone except 8.

About Number One What age are they? He turned 22 in June.

Have you met their parents? Never. He can’t give less of a shit about his dad so I don’t care for him, though. I know he’s super protective of his mom.

Have you ever been in a relationship with them? Not at all. He wouldn’t be my type, and like I said he’s a brother to me more than anything else.

Do they like most of your other friends? We mostly have mutual friends, so. I know he likes my best frieinds though - he was even the one who reminded me about putting Angela on my thesis acknowledgments.

How often do you two meet up and/or talk? Back in school we used to see each other around 1-2 days a week. He’s a little busier than I am since he takes side gigs, so he’s not in campus all the time.

When did you last argue? We’ve never fought but the last time I got quite upset with him was last December. We were rushing to get our thesis draft submitted on time and apparently he submitted the file to our professor’s VIBER. He for sure got an earful from me that day.

What is their favourite food? I’m not sure. He does tend to have unpopular food opinions so I wouldn’t be surprised if his favorite is not a common choice.

Where is their favourite place to be? On the basketball court or anywhere with Leigh, I’m guessing.

How many close friends do they have? I know of at least two - JM and Blanch. He is friendly and has an extensive circle though, so I’m sure I’m missing several other close friends of his.

Number Two What colour are their eyes? Dark brown.

Have they known you the longest? Not at all. I’ve only known her for three years.

Where were they born? I’m guessing it would either be Manila or Makati.

Why are they your number 2? She just fell on the second slot. I was trying to randomize my friends’ names and hers just turned out to be the second one I thought of.

Do they like children? I don’t know how she feels about them exactly but one thing I know is that she doesn’t hate kids, and we’ve had numerous conversations on what we’d do in certain scenarios involving kids. 

Would they beat you in a race? I think so. But then again I did track at one point, so I’m walking onto that contest already with an advantage.

When did you last spend time alone together? Ugh c’mon man, this question is just sad. Jo had been hanging out at Skywalk less and less ever since most of the people in our friend group graduated last school year, so our last real hangout was probably that time we slept over at Laurice’s in June 2019. We never hung out a lot after that, and of course the lockdown just killed any chances we had of doing so.

Do they have a pet peeve? What is it? She has a lot of pet peeves but I can’t place any of them at the moment.

Number Three What is their hair colour? Black, as do most Filipinos.

What is their job, if they have one? Last I heard she got a gig with a major broadcasting network. I think she’s a segment producer? Segment researcher? Something of the sort.

Do they have their own place? I don’t think so; not just yet.

How many brothers or sisters do they have? I know she has a sister. I’ve forgotten if she has a brother.

Have you ever done something illegal with them? Yes hahaha illegal in university terms, at least. When we had free time and we saw that no one was using one of the classrooms in the college, our friend group snuck inside and played The Devil Wears Prada on the projector. As the only goody-two-shoes in the group I was super uneasy the whole time, but literally no faculty or staff checked in on us for the entire film. That was the moment I knew I was no longer in private school, where everyone watched you like a hawk lol.

How old were you when you met each other? I was 19, she was 21.

Are they more sporty, arty or academic? ARTSY. She’s one of the best artists I’ve ever seen and she can absolutely fucking slay any editorial cartoon.

Have you ever travelled out of country with this person? Nope. I would love to.

Person Four Do they have a favourite musician? St. Vincent’s been her fave for the longest time.

Have you drank alcohol with this person? Many times. When I drink she’s usually around.

Are their parents together? Yes.

What do you enjoy doing with them? EATING OUT!!! I also love going to new places and museum strolling with her, but yeah nothing works for me better than food with my favorite person.

When is their birthday? June 5th.

Do they have long or short hair? Long.

Have you been to a concert with this person? Yes, when we went to (illegally) see Coldplay from the top of a parking lot. Still felt like we were part of the concert grounds though.

If you asked them to describe you, what do you think they would say? Determined, hates to lose, and annoyingly generous.

Person Five Where did you two meet? I met Hannah on our enrollment day for our sophomore year in college. She and Macy had transferred from UPLB to UPD and since Macy and I were already friends from high school, she introduced me to Hannah. Then we became a lot closer when it turned out we were both applying for the same org.

How long ago did they phone you? We both hate phone calls and we’d hate to call/be called.

Do they have a certain sport they play? I don’t think she’s very athletic herself, but she loves watching UAAP games and she has a particular affinity for volleyball.

What about them annoys you sometimes? I never found her annoying. I did notice that her one weakness as a co-worker is her fear of being assertive, putting her foot down, being confident to come up with her own steps on how to come up with steps towards a situation, that kind of stuff. She often wanted someone who she felt like was more knowledgeable to be by her side and make all the decisions. But I did see her bloom a bit after a few months, so I’m proud of the progress.

Are they ruled by their head or their heart? Heart.

Are they male or female? Female.

In what ways are they the opposite of you? She’s religious and she loves to sing and perform.

How many rooms do they have in their house? No clue; I’ve never been to her house. I’ve never even been to her city.

Person Six Can they play an instrument? I think she knows *a bit* of guitar. But she’s not crazy gifted when it comes to musical instruments, I know that much.

Are they close with their mother? VERY. And she has no reason not to be - her mom is the nicest and most compassionate person I’ve ever met. Always treated me like family.

Do you know any of their siblings well? She’s an only child.

How many times have you visited their house? Countless, especially in high school and in our first few years in college.

When did you last go out to eat together? Feb. It was one of the food stalls at The Palace and we needed to eat away all the alcohol lol.

Do they own a bike? I haven’t seen one in her place so I’m assuming no. Her neighborhood is not very bike-friendly to begin with, so it’s understandable.

Do they have a sweet, sour or salty tooth? She has a...green tooth? Hahahaha she likes eating healthily.

What music genre do they listen to most? Pop, pop rock, indie, indie rock.

Person Seven Would you ever consider dating this person? Probably not. She’s SO stable and happy; I’m still working on it. I wouldn’t want to dump my shit on her vibrant and bubbly outlook on life.

Do they prefer cats or dogs? Dog, I think. I don’t know for sure though. 

Are they or do they plan to go to college? To study what? Yes, she’s in her senior year now. She’s also taking up journalism – it’s how we met.

If they did something illegal, what would it be? I highly doubt that would ever happen lmao, she’s super nice and such a goody-two-shoes. If she got caught doing something illegal it’s 100% only because she was with someone who did the thing.

Have you ever shared a sundae with this person? Maybe once or twice.

is their hair dyed or natural? It’s all black now, but at one point she dyed it light brown.

Is this person sarcastic? She can be, especially with people she’s close to.

Is this person more likely to party or sit in and read a book? SIT IN AND READ A BOOK. Literally the most accurate option.

Person Eight Have you ever lied to this person? I probably have. We’ve only ever talked on social media, where it’s a lot easier to tell a tiny lie and get away with it.

Do you know where this person was born? Somewhere in Davao I’m assuming.

Do you know their middle name and do they know yours? We know each others’ second names because have them put out on Facebook; but not our middle names.

Do they have any special talents? If she does, I don’t know about them. She’s amazing at writing though.

What is their starsign? Whatever star sign falls on the first half of December.

What is the first thing you notice about this person? Ever since the time she tweeted that she doesn’t like smiling with her teeth, her smile has always been the first thing I’m drawn to. 

Have you ever had a big row with this person? Never.

Do you like the same types of movies as this person? Not really. We met because she was friends with my friends who liked the same things she did, but when it comes to us we couldn’t really be any more different.

Random Stuff

Which of these friends would you say you are the closest to? Gabie, of course.

Can you remember all of their birthdays? I’ll give it a shot. June 22, December 31, December 5, June 5, January 16, September 15, May 23...and Aliyah’s is in early December, I’m certain.

Is there anything you regret saying to any of them? I guess only towards Gab, because I’m closest with her and we’ve been through the most together.

Which one of these has been there for you the most? Angela.

Which one have you known the longest and the shortest amount of time? I’ve been aware of Gabie the longest (18 years); been friends with Angela the longest (15 years); and been friends with Andrew the shortest (about a year and a half).

If you needed a laugh, you'd call... I wouldn’t call my friends if I needed help...but if I needed a laugh I’d turn to Anj or Andrew.

If you needed advice, you'd call... Mmm I’d pick among Andrew, Aya, Gabie, Angela, and Laurice.

Which one does your parents like the most? ANGELAAAAAAAA. She’s That friend that I can name-drop when I’m asking for permission to go out, and once my mom hears that she’s going to be with me she usually won’t hesitate to say yes haha.

Is there any of these your parents dislike? They don’t dislike any of them but I have a feeling they’ll disapprove of the fact that I made an online friend in Aliyah, especially my mom.

Do any of them share the same initials? Andrew and Aliyah do.

You can invite one with you for a once in a lifetime trip, which one? Angela.

Something you'd like to say to one of them: I miss you. That applies to everyone.

[estdevium]

              [    ⤜    meta topics    !!    *:･ﾟ✧     ]

they deleted​​​    ╱     meta: childhood

the main issue with answering this ask is that to get into my thoughts on dean’s childhood revolves around a lot of topics people don’t want to see on their feeds. because the fact of the matter is, genuinely, dean did not have a childhood   &   what he experienced during his formative years absolutely left traumas you see in his character throughout the course of the show   (   some which seem to get better with some help   &   some of which never go addressed, even more so some of which are still leaving unmitigated severe repercussions on who he is as a person   ).   now some of this is direct canon   &   others is based on conjecture from things dean has alluded to in canon, so I will explain to the best of my abilities; I could talk on this topic for ages   &   never actually reach a point where I feel as if I properly explained it all please bear with me   (   pretty sure this was just supposed to be a throwaway topic I’m sorry for the fact it turned into a monster answer lmao   ).

trigger warnings   for talk about death / trauma, child abuse, prostitution,   &   self harm   (   starvation, etc   ).   also warnings for mentions of weapons   (   guns   ),   fire, alcohol, ableism   &   a multitude of illegal activities   (   stealing, fraud, etc   ).   please do not read this if you are not going to take note of the warnings I tried to make sure I got even the little things.

for starters anyone who knows the basics of the show knows this much: dean, his father   (   john   )   &   his younger brother   (   sam   )   became hunters due to the death of his mother   (   mary   )   when dean was four years old   (   sam, at the time, was four months   ).   this is not only the driving force behind the “why” of the series but is also a pivotal moment in what was to become dean's life. 

dean saw his mother burning alive in his brother’s room. he saw it. this isn’t a debate   &   he was four years old as his home burned   &   his father goes off the rails   &   he’s holding his younger brother   &   now home is the back of his father’s car as they travel from motel to motel   &   john is finding out about all the monsters out there   &   he's learning to be a hunter   (   putting his training from the marines as a vietnam war vet to use   )   while chasing down the thing that killed his wife. this means leaving his sons alone in motel rooms across the country   (   because most other hunters are also not fully right   &   john doesn't trust people   ).   dean, a child himself, is now no longer such. he is now a mother   &   a father to his younger brother   (   learning to cook   &   clean   &   change diapers   &   keep a child entertained   )   while also being a tool for his father   (   intense training from the moment john learned about monsters to also be a hunter, to protect his brother always first   &   foremost. “daddy’s little soldier”   ).   it is impossible to talk about his childhood without acknowledging these two things, specifically,   &   where they originate: sam will always come first   &   to john, dean was a means to an end before he was a son.

          mary    —

as stated above it's kind of incredibly important to take into consideration the effect mary's death had on dean as a whole. for starters we know that dean, when experiencing severe trauma, falls back on selective mutism   (   as a recurring theme   )   &   that he is often   (   forced   )   to push past it for those around him   (   john would not tolerate such behavior   &   sam needed dean to “function” in order to survive   ).   the phrase “broken” comes up a lot in regards to dean, both in what he has done   &   what people need from him. we never experience a moment where people are tolerant of the ways dean closes in on himself   &   deals with traumas   (   often he is berated for coping methods whether they are good or bad, which leads to the real belief dean forces himself through not talking because his father made sure dean understood it was behavior he would not stand for   ).   this in   &   of itself is enough to push the understanding that mary's memory is also a drive for dean, but in a different sense then it was for john. we know that dean had told himself numerous times “she would be proud of me” or “I am making her proud” / etc in order to work through the horrible situations he was put in growing up   (   which has its own horrifying conclusion that is irrelevant to this meta so I digress   )   —   she was often the memory that got him through. john was a furious force of nature working under the drive of “avenge mary” “find her killer”   &   so on enough to not only neglect his sons but also ban the topic of her from their “home”   (   if you can call the backseat of the impala   &   motel rooms “home”   ).   dean was not allowed to speak of her around their father, but sam’s memories of his mother all come from what his brother told him   &   we know dean fought with himself constantly to “properly” remember her   (   but god, bit by bit he lost her   )   in the process. which of course leads into the second part of this all   —

          john   —

the easiest way to depict the vast difference in john as a father   &   john as the man dean grew up following is the fact it's not “dad” to john’s face, it’s “sir”   —   many people have talked at length   (   both in canon   &   real people online   )   about dean's relationship with his father. the general consensus seems to be “john did his best” in a crappy situation because he loves his sons   &   that “dean knows that” with no one ever touching on “dean was a child who experienced severe trauma at a young age” which resulted in him latching onto the only parent he had left when that same person, at the same moment, stopped choosing to be a parent. instead of his father treating dean like the child he was, john needed someone to “step up   &   back him up”   &   dean was a   (   tragically   )   convenient presence to fulfill that need; both the fact sam needed watching   &   john needed a “second” he could trust. I am by no means saying john didn't love his sons   —   I fully believe he did   —   but that doesn't excuse the actions he took “raising” them   (   &   i say that lightly because john did barely any raising it was mostly conditioning, dean raised himself   &   his brother alone   ).   it is not a healthy or solid foundation for a relationship.

john was the equivalent of a drill sergeant dean's whole life who never thought dean met his standards   (   as shown from the multiple instances we see of john berating a young dean to be better be faster be smarter “you would have gotten your brother killed” “always listen to me”   ).   from the moment john became aware of all that goes bump in the night so, too, did dean. I cannot reiterate this enough: dean was a child   &   his father raised him as a soldier to fight monsters   &   never, never question his commands   —   I would argue it is a form of non purposeful brainwashing but that’s a larger argument for later. this training, though, isn't just physical weapons   (   dean has scarily accurate marksmanship   &   is incredibly proficient with a blade, ignoring skills in hand to hand combat   )   but also in illegal activities such as credit card fraud, hustling pool,   &   the like. dean is good at faking it because that's what was required of him   &   he has it ingrained to appear the way his father demanded.   &   that doesn't even touch on the other issues including   (   known   )   child abuse   (   punishment when dean didn't meet his fathers standards or messed up in the many ways a child will mess up, especially with all this   )   to round out deans   (   trauma based   )   idolization of his father. the same father who, once, left dean in a boys home with the phrase “I’m not coming for him, he can rot there”   (   what it's like to be a teenager whose father threw you away for following orders, caught stealing to feed his brother   ). 

while dean certainly understands the issues with his father   (   &   is shown, occasionally, to speak about them to himself   &   acknowledge john was a shitty parent who put him in a bad position all his life   )   that doesn’t change the mentality dean grew up with due to his father’s treatment, which circles back to the third point   —

          sam   —

sam will, no matter what, always be dean’s first priority. the lengths dean has gone to to always put sam before anything else are massive   &   hard to place into the word limit. this is in part based on the responsibilities john placed on dean his whole life   —   it is always “take care of sam”   (   never has it ever been expected that dean is to take care of himself, because in this he is unimportant   ).   the way deans young mind latched onto that, then the ways john punished him when he did not follow that, made sure even into his old age dean kept true to the statement “take care of sam”   (   because sam is, again, what is important   ). 

now dean was a child taking care of and raising a child   (   beyond himself   ).   there are things a child needs: food, shelter, clothing, etc. these things require money, which is not something a child has abundant amounts of to throw around   &   fulfill these needs. john used to leave them in motel rooms with not enough money to last because he would be gone longer than expected   (   just one example of how resourceful dean can be from how far he learned to stretch that money   ).   we know from this that dean has   (   often   )   chosen to starve himself so that sam has something to eat, unable to afford food for them both past what john left for them. we also know when the money would run out he would find other ways in which to get more   (   for things like the motel room, school, ect   )   by   (   as alluded to   )   prostituting himself, lying about his age to get into bars   (   to hustle pool mostly though we also know he can play a number of card games   ),   &   just generally stealing. it was stealing food, specifically, that has gotten him caught in the past   (   &   reprimanded by john when john found out   );   all of which is on top of, should john come home early while dean was out finding food or money, he would be reprimanded for leaving sam alone. every failure in raising sam was punishable. 

but dean also worked to make sure sam had options. he made sure sam spent as many years growing up “normal” as possible   (   hiding the monsters   &   the hunting until sam learned the truth from poking around   ),   going on field trips   &   making friends   (   going to school with the right supplies, doing his homework, etc   ).   all of these are things dean, himself, is not allowed to have   &   never seeks out for himself   (   as he sees it as “selfish” since it would take away from sam   ).   starting to get the picture   ?   it is in part why sam leaving for college both hit as hard as it did   (   “sam no longer needs me the same way I need him” since sam is, often, the driving force behind dean’s push to keep going   )   &   proud   (   “sam will have opportunities”   &   that's what dean has always wanted for him, as essentially sam real parental figure   ).   only now sam is gone   &   john doesn’t need dean anymore, now does he   ?

while not entirely related here we know this mentality is also why dean was willing to sell his soul in exchange for sam's life.

          other   —

something about the fact dean was never put first by either of them both, lived with the expectation he did things because they are used to him doing those things   (   john expected them   &   sam never knew better, dean was good at hiding who he was / is   ),   is important to note. we know his childhood has left him with rather severe self worth issues. he does not think himself intelligent   (   even though we know he is which I will not get into here, but between his father   &   co. calling him a grunt   &   the teachers in school writing him off + dean dropping out once he could to work to keep sam fed / housed / ect while helping their father did not help fix that perception   ).   he does not think himself worth peoples time   (   everyone is always leaving him behind, so he is clearly only worth what he can offer them in return   ).   he is also suicidal   (   building off previous points   )   &   will purposefully punish himself for perceived wrongs   (   we often see him pick a fight, drink, starve himself, refuse sleep, amongst other more bloody options   ). 

dean had an absent   (   often drunk   )   abusive father, a younger brother who thinks he knows best   (   &,   while I think this is not intentional on sam’s part, he takes a lot of advantage of dean because of this   ),   no real friends   (   he grew up alone without any help outside an occasional visit to bobby's scrap yard or pastor jim’s church; john chased away most people in the hunting community   )   because he stopped trying to at school. we know he started sleeping around   &   drinking before he was of age   (   the sex seemingly a coping mechanism over the fact dean is both touch starved   &   has never really experienced someone loving / caring for him but that’s a meta for another day. the alcohol because it was what everyone around him was doing ie: other hunters   ). 

here I could talk about how dean doesn’t have people who stay, in his experience. I could talk about how all of this has led to his sense of responsibility   &   lack of understanding of “love” as a concept. I could go into his codependency on sam   (   that is NOT reciprocated in the same sense, because sam will always be dean's kid while dean will always be sam’s caregiver. their relationship is not on even footing but again something for later   ).   I think what is most important to talk about, in conclusion, is that with everything dean has experienced he learned at a really young age the importance of a lie. because a lie is what keeps cps from taking sam away   (   &   dean, too, but again he doesn't see himself as anything worth noting   ),   lying is what kept food in sams belly   &   a roof over sams head   &   people off their backs. dean is a disarming smile on a pretty face that he learned to weaponize as a means of survival. none of his childhood is anything he sees as worth noting so, most of the time, everyone around him doesn’t know   (   it is not like john treated him as enough to seemingly even understand the weight he placed on dean's shoulders   )   because he learned the best ways to hide it. a bruise is dropping a book on his face, a broken arm is tripping down the stairs, his father missing is “for work”   (   even if it's the bar down the street   ).   he is proficient at forging signatures not to make fake ids but to sign report cards. he is light on his feet   &   has fast reflexes because stealing a loaf of bread is just as important as dodging the swipe of a werewolf. it's a terrible childhood, really   (   no wonder he suppresses it   ).

[mieczyhale]

a messy explanation of things and unnecessary information about life lately

soooo... right. i’m sorry i haven’t really been around aside from popping in here and there, and that i’ve been taking longer than usual to reply to things / not replying to things at all. it’s NOT that i’m upset with anyone or trying to ignore / avoid anyone, and it’s not that i don’t care / don’t love talking to you (whomstever you may be) i love chatting with y’all and wish i could get myself to reply to things quicker but i do not control the me lmfao honestly my sleep has never had a schedule but in recent weeks it’s kinda been operating like there’s a lil gremlin in my head who spins a wheel and picks my sleeping times at random - and it’s either like.. two hours or most of a day. there hasn’t been a lot of in between so that’s a thing!!

also in a fun added mix of maybe sleep?, missing meds, being stuck in the house more often than not, and the FUCKING EVERYTHING happening in the world right now my mental health is... probably run by the same goblin that runs my sleep schedule lmao consistency whomst?? since the lockdown started the depression has of course been around more but actually, worse than that, is how my anxiety - and by extension: my ocd - have really amped up and i need y’all to know that the struggle is painfully real (and another thing that affects shit like my replies and writing. reading as well. fics have been kinda stressful and that should be illegal. who authorized this?) i don’t hate talking about it but i don’t really like it either?? especially like.. in depth. but i will say there has been crying, screaming, pain!, and i’ve acquired a few physical injuries.

so

yeah

on a personal level - a ‘just me’ level - shit is an even bigger mess than usual lmao but all these things will get better eventually - they always do. 

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

NOW

ON A PERSONAL LEVEL - THE FULL LEVEL - THINGS.... are pretty great actually! i mean aside from the state of my fucking house e__e but Josh has been working from home for two (2) months now and it’s been really nice - people complaining about their partners being home?? can’t relate. yknow what?? i just might love that tall bastard even more from all this.fuck all y’all miserable fucks

we’ve been going out for drives and we’ve gone fishing and the only place i’ve gone too that’s re-opened is goodwill. because i require.. the shop. they do have a masks required rule! (at least at the one here) and, alongside that, the places we’ve gone that never closed (like grocery stores and the gas station and the hardware store) have social distancing rules and stuff in place which i love. can we keep social distancing after this is all over?? more things here in wisconsin are opening up and we might go to some. idk though. we also might not. either way its still a weird kind of exciting to see things opening back up?? even though i do think we’re not totally in the clear because most of our gov. sucks (our mayor tried to extend our stay-at-home order - keyword there is TRIED. we are the land of cheese, cows, and no fucking braincells for anyone) 

having pets is obviously not a new thing for me but it’s still a thing. so it takes time and effort and energy and patience and love and a certain disregard for your own safety (claws. they really be as sharp as you think) so... it can be stressful, especially cuz we’ve had to keep them inside more as it gets hot out and something keeps breaking our porch screens (our cats are allowed onto our screened in porch or they can go out in a harness but we will never let them run free outside. fuck that noise)  my bbies are all so cute and their personalities and idiosyncrasies are just... *chefs kiss* i love em and they’re definitely a part of what has made quarantine better

i’ve seen my mom a few times, like for my birthday and when she needed help moving Isaiah from one dorm to another and such, but that’s primarily been an option because she has become anti-mask and anti-stay-at-home-order. initially she wasn’t - she gave Isaiah and i fun lil masks since at that time trying to buy them would be impossible and she thought nothing of staying home - but i guess either as its dragged on or as she’s consumed her middle-right wing news that changed s o. she does take social distancing in public very seriously though, so at least there’s that. our favorite coffee shop, where we - pre-lockdown - always went one (1) or two (2) times a week to do art for hours re-opens on monday and that’s one of the few things i’ve truly missed.

josh’s camping trip for this weekend with his friends had to be cancelled because the parks weren’t going to open in time. so today they’re going somewhere to do at least some of the things they would have done if they had gone camping. bikes, bonfires, and cigars. i’m kinda jealous negl but he was really excited about it so mostly i’m happy

trying to figure out how human services was running things during lockdown was rough but thankfully it didn’t take much to get it sorted. mostly because my mom made the phone call i was supposed to lol (the phone anxiety is on its own level) so wednesday afternoon my mom sat with me while i had the appointment with my psychiatrist over speakerphone (which was.. an experience)

ummm.....

OH YEAH! Probably absolutely my favorite thing that’s happened is: WE’RE STARTING THE SEARCH FOR A NEW HOUSE!!!! it doesn’t mean we’re gonna be moving soon or anything, we don’t want to make the same mistake twice (buying the first house you tour that you love) because while it is a great house ultimately it is way too small for us. i mean there’s me and josh, all six cats, and ALL OUR SHIT. listen: i have an entire room dedicated to my various hobbies. and a walk in closet that isn’t big enough. and we both have collections we love and want to display (right now upstairs its hello kitty and downstairs its astronomy and the titanic. and then there’s pop figures, mtg, collectibles, our bottle collection and various knickknacks, etc.) plus all our books! then furniture and cat furniture (i.e towers) and all their shit because they are spoiled babies. and god forbid we ever have a human kid?? yeah. it’s just not big enough. 

so we’re gonna take more time with this choice but what we do know is:: we wanna live out in the country (i’m paranoid and don’t like to be looked at and he loves the outdoors, lived on a farm for awhile. i also enjoy the outdoors but mostly since we moved into this house i’ve struggled with doing anything outside... while we only have one neighbor on our road. but there’s one across the road and one at the other side of our backyard and that’s just too much lol) 

lets see.. um.... my birthday was may 2nd and that was pretty nice, for a pandemic birthday. there’s been a lot of stuff happening involving josh’s family but that’s not something i really wanna get into on here, tho i will say things have been better in recent weeks and it’s been... really nice. josh and i went to his mom’s house the other night and got drunk with her for fun and i actually had a really good time?? and didn’t complain about going?? that’s kinda unheard of.

i don’t have a job anymore - haven’t since early march-ish - and it kinda sucks but also the universe really did me a solid because my choices were either allow myself to work until i have a mental break again or quit. and i was leaning towards quitting (things had been going down hill with the owner and other employees and just the business as a whole for awhile and there’s a limit to the amount of bullshit i can take thanks) but now it doesn’t seem i have to. why do i think i’m jobless? i was barely working anyway, bc of the snow business was slow, and in march i got really sick and stayed home for a week. the day i was supposed to go back i was still sick, and covid19 was starting to become more of a serious situation everywhere, so josh called in for me and explained that between still being sick and my anxiety over covid (asthma + a not so great immune system) i wasn’t going in that day. i never heard from them again. so. 

but it’s all good - there are some options but i’m not looking into them seriously until it’s safe to.

SO

THAT’S ALL OF FUCKING THAT ON THAT

i felt it wouldn’t be a bad idea to come on here and explain A. what’s been going on and B. where i’ve been and C. that if i haven’t responded to you or acknowledged something you sent me / tagged me in it’s literally just because i either forgot to (for all reasons and none) or i don’t have the mental space / energy to. but that doesn’t mean you have to stop talking to me! even if i don’t respond or respond immediately i do read everything and i would die for any one of you fuckers (especially my clowns and the tom hardy movie) 

oh! and just btw - sometimes i don’t get notifications (quelle surprise) tumblr and skype should really pair up and talk about their truly great systems that function so well /s 8| ANYWAY: the best and most reliable ways to get my attention are twitter ( @/mieczyhale) and discord (same name) because i have yet to see their notifications fail. ahem.

i feel like i’m missing things / forgetting things but honestly this post is long enough and also enough of a rambley mess that i’m just gonna try and ignore that feeling and carry on with my goddamn day so i might actually accomplish something. sorry if there’s spelling off or missing words. i’m not taking the time to re-read this and might even delete it bc it’s already giving me anxiety bUT WE’LL SEE ALRIGHT HI AND BYE I LOVE YOU GUYS <3

[fortheheavenssake]

PG MM Anon Interpretation Collection- 14

💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻PG INTERPRETATION OF MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

91: Oct. 19

MM ANON …… “ O no , not another f%#ing beautiful Sunday “…… All together, a ROYAL reunion 🦄🦎👸🤴… “ she’s not invited, again🧣“……” O Philip, do lets watch this documentary 🤣🤣“ …… “Really, old thing, really ?”…… “ bloody hell , Charlottes a better actress “……… “ Mummy!! I’ve lost my 🦎” ……” What next LG , the Caribbean and North America with the children?”…… “ Mmmm , Marm that would work ,next year’ someone will be jealous!!” …… “ “what’s that ol’ thing , I’m reading skippy Philip”

💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON, I DO HOPE YOU’RE WELL🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

October 19/2019 1245 hrs CST

“ O no , not another f%#ing beautiful Sunday “…

Sunday is historically day to attend worship and spend time with family. It’s also, in more urban areas the day when the biggest newspapers come out. Another beautiful but blanked up day because this curse still hangs in the air, no justice yet but it’s coming! Justice is coming! Sunday’s will soon be as they once were, different, through life experiences but they will family days again!

All together, a ROYAL reunion 🦄🦎👸🤴…

The Duke and Duchess of Cambridge just returned back to London last night after a five day tour of Pakistan 🇵🇰. The Royal tour was successful far and above expectations. They had promised the children a family weekend. I am certain there were lots of tears along the way despite FaceTime and talking, lots of hugs upon return home. Princess Charlotte has developed a passion for unicorns. Over the summer, as boys do, will all of the garden time that the Duchess did with her family he must have seen salamanders and lizards or just fell for them via books perhaps. So the whole family happily back together along with boss baby , Prince Louis. He acquired that title from his facial expression, priceless ones, during the flyover on Buckingham Palace balcony.

“ she’s not invited, again🧣“…

The Christmas church service last year, upon exiting, madam tried to engage Prince William in conversation, he was wise to her moves and made himself very busy fiddling with his scarf. She then tried Prince Charles who in turn ignored her. The term scarfing has truly taken on a life of its own online🤣🤣🤣😂😂. I think this is clearly Prince William putting his foot down clearly expressing his opinion.The line she’s not invited, also has a bit of a cite reference, the day of Prince Louis’ christening, as they left the chapel to walk back into the entrance, Princess Charlotte said to the amassed media, “you’re not coming”, was tremendously funny and sweet. Her personality was already showing!

” O Philip, do lets watch this documentary 🤣🤣““Really, old thing, really ?”…… “ bloody hell , Charlottes a better actress “…

HMTQ and PP, likely over the evening cocktail chatting, she jokingly states the above, his replies are the latter two quotes. I am glad they are able to talk and find some humour in this situation! Oh how l would love to be a fly on the wall, meaning love to hear some of their discussions!

“ Mummy!! I’ve lost my 🦎” …

Well trauma, upset, tears of sadness and shrieks of OH NO!! Prince George has lost his lizard, l hope not inside or shrieks of horror, outside, just a very sad little boy. I am certain a replacement lizard could be sourced post haste!

” What next LG , the Caribbean and North America with the children?”

Prince William and HMTQ, and Duchess Catherine likely reviewed/debriefed the events of the tour with LG in attendance. I can hear ideas thrown about on how to continue this success to build on the success of the monarchy. I think half jokingly William said, what next, do you propose such a trip with all three children? I know rumours out there of madam being pregnant but not confirmed, besides another a Royal tour doesn’t happen with her, because SHE IS NOT ROYAL!!! I know the Cambridges took their own private medic along to Pakistan 🇵🇰. I have a feeling she may already be or will shorten announced that she is expecting another child.

“ Mmmm , Marm that would work ,next year’ someone will be jealous!!” …This is definitely LG responding to the notion of an entire a Cambridge family Royal tour! Can you just imagine the coverage? There would have never been anything like it before, and madam would be climbing the walls of her cell or padded room when she learned of that. She will be forever jealous and hateful.

“ “what’s that ol’ thing , I’m reading skippy Philip”

HMTQ reading when PP says something to her, she replies with the above quote! See 💜🐼💜, l have told youn🐼, THEY DO READ YOUR BLOG,!! This is an absolute confirmation of a suspicion l have had and have talked about! So feel free to express yourself!! WE LOVE AND BELIEVE IN HARRY, WE WANT HIM BACK!!!💜💜💜💜GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

October 19/2019 1315 hrs CST

Thank you dear PG….what a fun happy riddle today. I love the tidbits about the children…..I want you know we greatly appreciate the time and effort you put into deciphering these riddles for us. Well…I hope if HM does read here….she will let us know she is ok…😉.💜💜💜💜💜💜

Ask Skippy submission

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92: oct 20

💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻This riddle was extremely difficult 🙏🏻🙏🏻💜🤣

MM Anon

MM ANON … A disruption in the FORCE… … give a lot , take a little …… sighted for perpetuity …… 🎼matter of fact, it’s all dark 🎼……… multiple numbers …… his backhander slush fund …… silent outrage in Carshalton …… “ But O, how bitter a thing”………” bending of the heart flings” ……… a comfortable exorcism …… “ sunshine is the best…” …… “ sunshine is the best…”

💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU DEAR MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

October 20/2019 1405 hrs CST

A disruption in the FORCE

In all the a Star Wars movies the FORCE is the power of the energy for good to fight evil. The force be with you has become common usage when you wish some good luck or best wishes in all kinds of situations. Here we are now, dear MM ANON has the word force , in all capitals , meaning extreme, pay attention, some people say all caps means you’re yelling. I personally do not, many of you know when o type in all caps l am expressing my emotions or concerned topic. MM ANON is in deadly seriously telling us that evil, and we all know the evil, it has a name and backers and ultimately the biggest backer who takes souls and laughs at God! There is an extremely concerted effort, especially today to take down HMTQ and the Monarchy, this is as serious a things get folks. There is a disruption, Harry was the access point, evil got in, has been using him everyday. I do not know what will happen today, tonight , tomorrow or the day after. But vigilance is needed, pray if you’re so inclined. This is the most serious battle and attack HMTQ has ever faced!

give a lot , take a little

That’s the phrase, climate change, leave less carbon footprints , charity give your time, etc. HMTQ and many royals give so much time, yes they get to live in mansions etc, but how many of us could keep HMTQ schedule for 93 years, still smile as if everything was fine. I think no future generations will have those skills. The world has changed, everybody is famous with their Instagram etc etc.

We have madam who has taken and taken , taken, taken, taken,taken, taken, was well with open arms publicly, despite manipulating her way in. She has taken very perk there is. NO GRATITUDE, give an inch, she takes 100 miles, so to speak. What does HMTQ get for this? Fingered up, every way, every day, now the poor card will be played after using and exhausting all her other cards. Few have asked me how l am, wah wah wah. She screams privacy, privacy, don’t take my picture, how can anyone ask you anything? She has treated the British people so vile lay, why would they even WANT TO ASK? They want her gone, pick a country, leave!! Just stop,your whinging , word salad, environmental preaching while taking six private jet flights. On and on and on….

sighted for perpetuity ……

Perpetuity is an interesting word, it’s used in financial terms but does have another usage. Let’s let our friend google help us understand it. One meaning is a bond or other security with no fixed maturity date. The second meaning is used as a legal meaning. It is

a restriction making an estate inalienable perpetually or for a period beyond certain limits fixed by law. Now let’s be clear on what inalienable means that something or someone is unable to be taken away from or given away by the possessor. Basically this is meaning , Harry’s inheritance from his mother, his great grandmother, the Queen mum, any other such funds, homes, jets etc etc CANNOT be taken away from him FOREVER. So should there be a divorce or annulment, she has no legal grounds or recourse to go after any of these items. A payout yes, so the royal family has sound legal and financial admin setting up their assets. Thank God!!!

🎼matter of fact, it’s all dark 🎼………

My dear MM ANON, l must say , l was absolutely expecting a return to this gem today! Pink Floyd’s Eclipse. The lyrics of this song about basically everything in life, l can’t put them in here due to copyright but you can easily find them The song ends with the eclipse. The thought is during a lunar/eclipse of the moon, the moon goes dark and the side we can’t see is still lit up. The song ends by this phrase that MM ANON gave us , it’s all dark. Extrapolating that to the situation at hand, it’s all dark. There is no sliver of a silver lining, bit of light or hope that madam will have an a-ha moment, fall on her knees, acknowledging her sins and beg forgiveness. No no no no, it’s all dark, no redemption will be sought. This is very dire friends, very dire indeed, the prognosis is dark. Hence my feelings of anxiety.

multiple numbers ……

Well what is this? We know madam has had multiple number partners, marriages, sex videos, tax issues, merching, basically everything. What is MM ANON referencing here? Discrepancy in items on her taxes? There are so many possibilities.here

his backhander slush fund

This has an informal British meaning of a secret payment, typically one made illegally; a bribe. So, a slush fund is extra cash , hidden, in case of emergency etc. Who is ‘his’ here? Is it PH? Did he think he could at first, just pay her for the booty call and she would go away, vastly unaware of the plot. Is this PP or PC who have such a fund, if needed. Is this PA, who also may have a fund of this nature, if needed. I have no idea which one but this confirms that such fund exists and the purpose for it, but l don’t know who or why it may have been started or if/when/how often it has been used. Yet another piece of this ever-growing larger puzzle.

silent outrage in Carshalton

Carshalton s a town, with an historic village in the London Borough of Sutton, South London. Historically Carshalton is part of Surrey. The Earl and Countess of Wessex live in Bagshot Park, Surrey. Sophie does so much in her duties. She is exceptionally close to HMTQ. I saw an interview with her and Prince Edward. They said basically every weekend they spend together, doing outdoorsy things, horses etc. She said also, since so close she often goes for tea with HMTQ. Prince Edward has been reportedly been called her favourite son. Edward will inherit his fathers title, the a Duke of a Edinburgh when that time comes. I think the both of them must be terribly concerned for HMTQ and PP, their health, this stress etc etc.

“ But O, how bitter a thing”………” bending of the heart flings”

From Shakespeare’s As You Like It. First quote referencing seeing another’s happiness through their eyes. Harry saw/sees in William and Catherine’s relationship, then marriage, the three beautiful children, their complete and utter love and devotion. These are all things he longs to have, achingly so. I ache for Harry. I cannot seem to locate the second quote, that’s very odd/unusual. I shall figure it out. Longing for something, sometimes one bends or does something they would never nor do, if they think it can get them what they desire. Flings can be a very casual relationship vacation fling, holiday flings etc, now maybe a booty call. So here we have a young man , struggling with his emotional state, severe anxiety, depression and PTSD, has every tangible thing in the world, except he longs for , desires the intangible, love, utter devotion and children of his own, they become tangible or real. This describes the situation exactly when the attack was made on the BRF via Harry. This steams my tea kettle!!

a comfortable exorcism

Exorcism, in its truest meaning, is a person possessed by a demon, or demons/Satan and a Priest or pastor uses Scripture and other things to set the victim free releasing them. This word, demon,is often used now to describe addiction or other really difficult things that have a hold on someone, therapy, AA, exercise etc etc etc can be used to exorcise oneself. So here we have a comfortable getting rid of the thing that has a hold of some. God l plead this means that Harry will be released from the grasp he is under, if l read this correctly, comfortable means exactly that. How this will be done, LG and HMTQ know. Please let me be correct🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

“ sunshine is the best…”

Sunshine is the best disinfectant there is, you hang sheets, quilts laundry and the UV, ultra-violet rays kill anything. Just look at what it does to our skin! MM ANON is being cheeky with a double entendre here, Sunshine Sachs, the supposed master PR firm that ‘uses the dark arts for clients’. Since they have come on board, the boat has tilted and started quickly the process of sinking. So they have done nothing to help, on,y made this worse. However, we can count on God’s glorious creation, the sun, to sterilize the filth that’s made public so far and will be made public in the future!!! So come on, pullback the curtain, let the filth out!

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

October 29/2019

1520 hrs CST

You missed the last hint….

a very lumpy bed nutmeg

“A very lumpy bed nutmeg “

I think this in anticipation of a nice bed in an expensive building with lots of hired staff and she will get to wear designer orange jumpsuit! MM ANON hinting at either hospitalization or incarceration. I have an extensive 20 plus years working in the mental health field, inpatient treatment for any personality is in effective, they quickly adapt, learn staff weaknesses etc etc.

Preparing to hope the orange jumpsuit time comes!

Sorry love forgot this one guys, when l cut and pasted the riddle this didn’t appear.

Thank you PG…again looks interesting! Thank you for all that you do. Much appreciated!😁💜💜💜

Ask Skippy submission

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93: oct 21

MM ANON …… rejected ‘ now reflect!!…… A colonial decision …… Cain un-Abel………… he’s not heavy …… “re-tune your bloody violin”…… “ change the channel 🤣 old thing”…… a broken mendacity …… Calipornia scheming …… “f***that cottage,I wanted the house”…… “ the family I never asked for” …… “all to plan ma’am”……🎼”Paperback Writer? “🎼…… cry-Sis,What cry-Sis.

💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

October 21/2019 1340 hrs CST

rejected ‘ now reflect!!

We have had a clue very similar wording, l cannot recall exactly. Madam feels very rejected by the big bad U.K. l have been there a number of times, trust me, l was treated like royalty by my friends there!! The people are feeling very angry by her poor me poor me, the final straw l think the camels back is nearly completely fractured. That’s a phrase when something in life has been building and building and then some happens, the last straw and the person collapses mentally, or becomes violent or leaves a marriage. I hope l am explaining that so it makes sense! Harry will have six weeks to reflect, on everything he has done at HMTQ and LG behest. He has given his all for HMTQ.

Cain un-Abel

In Scripture, Cain and Abel they are the first two sons of Adam and Eve. God was given sacrifices for worship, he found favour in Abel’s sacrifice. Cain murdered Abel , jealousy? Here we have un-Abel. This is clearly Prince William and Prince Harry, not ever the murdering part. I think MM ANON is meaning one brother married and has lovely family and will be King. However Prince Harry’s marriage is bogus as is amw. Prince Harry is obviously struggling in every way. One brother just unable to find the love and family, life partner as the other has. I pray for them both!🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

A colonial decision ……

The colonies is what America was called before they separated taxation without representation! So madam has decided to return to the colonies, live her filthy life, write a book and continue to cause carnage, SO SHE THINKS!! She has absolutely no idea what will hit her when reality comes. No more delusional lies, the long list of alleged things done wrong and the laws alleged involved. Oh God, let justice be meted out SOON!🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 P.S. madam, most people in the colonies have no idea who you are and more so they don’t care! She will be seen as a whiner etc etc.

he’s not heavy ……

Phrase, and song, he’s not heavy, he’s my brother. In the garbage last night, Harry did not confirm any falling out, he said they’re both on different paths, busy life. But he’s my brother, they will always be brothers and always be there for each other. TO ME THAT SAYS IT ALL!!

“re-tune your bloody violin”……

Old saying when someone is whinging or feeling sorry for thematic, being a drama queen etc another person puts their hand up and rubs their thumb and index finger together. They then asker the whinging person, do you know what this is? It’s the worlds smallest violin playing just for you!🤣🤣🤣🤣😂 PP wants a change in the tune, make it louder so madam cannot be heard!!!🤣🤣🤣🤣😂😂

“ change the channel 🤣 old thing”…

PP and HMTQ started watching the garbage last night, PP chuckling says to her to change the tv channel! I picture them in their evening close, lovely fireplace, comfy elegant room and furniture, having a cocktail and just enjoying each other’s company. As they have done their entire marriage, they are at each other’s side, just beautiful, brings tears actually how horrible this massive attack has been!

a broken mendacity

Mendacity is untruthfulness, lies. Broken lies, well how many times have we seen this with madam. Dozens, she tells so many lies as does her PR, things get twisted and nothing gets amended, they lie their way out of it when questioned. If it weren’t so deadly serious it would be funny. Like a kid with chocolate all over his face and mum asks if he ate chocolate and he says no. She really is stunted about age 14 , lies like some teenagers do!

Calipornia scheming ……

Well she scheming what else she can do to blow the Monarchy apart and completely destroy it Prince Harry. This six weeks away, home in L.A.?Doing porn, or finding wealthy person to be used by for money.perhaps meeting with her backers. I hear rumours of an interview with OW. The whole group of ba let’s will rally around and continue their unrelenting plot to destroy destroy destroy.

“f***that cottage,I wanted the house”…

Well no surprise there, Frogmore Cottage blech , she wanted FROGMORE HOUSE THE MANSION! What unmitigated gall this stupid, egocentric, narcissistic, evil possessed bint! She probably thinks since their offices are at BP she should be given BP!

“ the family I never asked for” ……

Initially, she was saying the Royal family, was family that she had never had. She knew nothing of them, LIE! In the engagement interview she said everything she knew about the Royal family she leaned from Prince Harry and from actually meeting them. Now she has figuratively slapped them all across the face. Talking about how mentally damaging it is to live using a stiff upper lip. I won’t go into detail of how successful, having this life ethos has helped them get through wars, etc etc, you all know this and what a complete disrespect she has shown to them. To say Tutu was historic leader glad amw could meet, UNBELIEVABLE! HMTQ has reigned for nearly 70 years seen it all. Absolutely no respect for her and the Monarchy itself. I am so angered that this stupid, perverted, sold herself in every possible DARE DARE DARE!!! This degree of vulgarity and disrespect my blood is boiling, l am so angry!

“all to plan ma’am”…

LG giving HMTQ an update on how their work is progressing. He seems very pleased with last nights tv garbage. He has been patiently working with his team to deal with this. He has been playing the ultimate game of chess with someone who cannot play checkers. He has given her many opportunities to show her true self. Last night she was all laid bare, pun intended, videos or photos l am certain will be public at some point. She has walked confidently into every single trap that was laid out for her. Now all captured in living colour, in her own words!! Treason! She was not pregnant, fauxmegnancy! , if there is some surrogate child, it’s not Prince Harry’s child.

🎼”Paperback Writer? “🎼…

This is a great song by the TRUE Fab Four, The Beatles! It actually mentions the Daily Mail and the gossipy things that appear in tabloids. This is telling us that madam is or will be writing a book. She has no limits in her grand focuses and cause maximum carnage with our a Royal family. Her backers probably will pull some strings and make sure it gets maximum coverage. The big bad Brits and the Royal famine didn’t ask her if she was ok. Give me strength Lord🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻.

cry-Sis,What cry-Sis.

Cry-sis is an actual UK charity to assist new parents when their babies have problematic sleep patterns. However, MM ANON, always clever, this is Crisis, what crisis? Someone is in denial. There are several real things happening in the U.K. that fit the word crisis. Brexit, politics, BOJO misleading HMTQ, madam and her backers plan to cause the Royal family to break and crumble. In last night garbage, in an area where life and death issues are occurring, she is 110% self focused. SHE HAS FIRST WORLD PROBLEMS! Yammering on about her tough life standing on African soil where there are many third world problems. She is selfish to a degree l have never seen, it’s evil, Satan working through her! She has completely sold her soul.

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

October 21/2019 1455 hrs CST

Fascinating read dear PG! Looking good, all going as planned! Thank you so much, again…much appreciated! 🙏🏻💜💜💜💜💜💜

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94: Oct 22

MM ANON …… dodging the Boo-lets…… November is a wicked month ……… Banksgiving … … “He’s untouchable” …… Dispatches Dispatched…… “ l stand by my husband “s,millions …… “ you’ve lost your mojo mate” …… 🎼” when I was 21,it was a very good year”🎼…… Marry and Hagon …… “meanwhile, back at BP”…… “mummy,mummy a Halloween unicorn 🦄 “…… “ I’m going as a 🦎”…… “well we’re going as M&H”…… “yeah, it’s a pity I listened to my d***”. …… “ nothings impossible mate”…… “look’ here’s your out!!”

💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

October 22/2019 1345 hrs CST

… dodging the Boo-lets

Today, now as we speak, madam is wearing her purple maternity dress which magically fits her, whilst attending the One World Youth Symposium at Royal Victoria and Albert Hall. Oh how l would love to see it, l so wish l were well enough to, alas, l am already digressing. This 💜💜”The annual One Young World Summit convenes the brightest young talent from every country and sector, working to accelerate social impact. Delegates from 190+ countries are counselled by influential political, business and humanitarian leaders such as Justin Trudeau, Paul Polman and Meghan Markle, amongst many other global figures.

Delegates participate in four transformative days of speeches, panels, networking and workshops. All delegates have the opportunity to apply to give keynote speeches, sharing a platform with world leaders with the world’s media in attendance. As well as listening to keynote speakers, delegates have the opportunity to challenge world leaders, interact and be mentored by influencers. Delegates make lasting connections throughout the Summit, celebrating their participation at social events and the unforgettable Opening and Closing Ceremonies.

The One Young World Summit 2019 sees the global forum for young leaders return ‘home’ for the first time since the inaugural Summit in 2010. With over 300 languages to be heard on its streets, London is one of the most diverse places in the world. The city is home to nearly 9 million people, one of the world’s biggest financial centres and countless historic sites such as Buckingham Palace and Big Ben. A city where the past and future merge, London provides the ideal backdrop for young leaders from more than 190 countries to work together to accelerate positive change.” 💜💜 Information taken from one young world.com

It’s important because young people are vulnerable. This woman has no shame, After all the fireworks she has set off, she strolls in there, wearing someone else’s hair, in her maternity dress! An enigma wrapped in a riddle, quite literally is she.

Since the audience is composed of young people the addition of let’s after boo, refers to that. The hope of many is that she would be in direct line of receiving public anger. The brief bit l saw was Higgs kiss you etc, no boos nothing. Now l am never one to wish ill will on anyone but consequences for behaviours? ABSOLUTELY!! Consequences will at some point catch up with her!

November is a wicked month …

MM ANON you do enjoy the book don’t you, this is the second time you have referenced it but changed the month. My memory is still intact🤣🤣😂.l shall help others catch up. The book is entitled August is a Wicked Month by Edna O’Brien. The plot revolves around a woman who has moved to a foreign city, separated from her husband, dreadfully unhappy and moves south to find a new life in the sunshine. Well, we are in October, rumours abound about madam moving to Africa or Canada. On behalf of Canada, sorry we are closed for business, if you leave a message NOBODY WILL RESPOND!😂😂🤣🤣 l know l have used that line BRF but it’s so funny😂😂🤣🤣. What November, six weeks off, off to the sunshine in L.A. Oh God please let her lose her passport or have the IRS or FBI awaiting her arrival.

I must say, l have been pleading for Harry, PTSD, combat fatigue, that he be assessed medically for that pain, and psychologically regarding the off the charts stress of this role he has been playing. Thank you HMTQ and LG for giving him six weeks leave, he is so badly in need of it.

Banksgiving

Madam returning home for American Thanksgiving which occurs much later than ours(Canadian)does. There is no bank holiday for Thanksgiving in the U.K. so what’s the meaning here? Is madam going to earn some money during the sex, l meant six weeks off?? I know she’s resourceful, has no shame, long history of letting every bit of her, body heart soul used. So l won’t think further, you can all imagine ways she might find a ‘bank’ in America.

“ l stand by my husband “s,millions

Old country music song Stand by Your Man, l think Tammy Wynette? Yes, madam has stood by her H , so many times, loving, supportive, so concerned when he was in pain, always let’s him go first, never interrupts him, praises HMTQ, treats people respectfully, especially during Royal tours, follows protocol in every way, oh oh oh, wait, l am thinking of Catherine! Yes the Duchess of Cambridge stands by her man! Madam stands by Prince Harry for his money and his fathers money, heck, anyone s money just as long as they give it too her. I may be jovial today is some comments, l have been awake since 0300 hrs bad night, but you all know by know how seriously l take to do justice to dear MM ANON in interpreting her riddles! Humour is a coping mechanism, l have honed that skill well!

“ you’ve lost your mojo mate” …

Prince Harry likely spending time with friends he has not seen for awhile. Likely he can share only certain things. Everyone who has eyes can see HES lost weight, depressed etc etc. The word mojo, when l was little, mojos were little fruit chewy candies, 5 for two cents. Mojo, means ones drive for life, zest to do new things or go back to doing things you used to enjoy. This is a very loving and honest person telling Harry this. I am so glad he’s got so many who love him. Harry, there are lots like me, who believe in you 100% , pray for you and want the octopus tentacles untethered from around you!

… 🎼” when I was 21,it was a very good year”🎼…

What MM ANON., no Pink Floyd. Now this is my jam, ‘ol blue eyes himself, Mr. Frank Sinatra, when music was music. This is a sentimental song. The lyrics take us through four phases in a mans life, ages 17,21,35 and autumn , the older years. It describes relationships with women, no let me take that back, it’s about how males see females at different ages. Seventeen is all teeny bopper love. Twenty one, things get far more intimate. Thirty five is interest, because Harry is due to turn 35. That part of the song, the lyrics speak of relationship with blue blooded woman, limousines, chauffeurs. I am interpreting this as an annulment or divorce before he turns 35. Hope and a future to look forward to real love, a real family of his very own. I wish that with all my heart for our Harry!

… Marry and Hagon

Marry and Hagon? Harry and Magon……..She will be gone. Harry will be Harry but she will be gone!!!!!

“meanwhile, back at BP”……

Old saying meanwhile back at the ranch, means change the topic or in tv shows change of scene. So with all that has gone on, HMTQ remains doing her duty each and every day. How l love her in purple!! She follows her routine, to the letter, giving each appearance her all. One would never ever know of all the things that have happened and are continuing to happen behind the scenes. The stiff upper lip, that’s how one gets things done, it’s not mentally damaging. HOBBIES , sniff sniff, snort snort, the like madam loves, and PERVERSION are mentally damaging. There is a saying, when the going gets tough, the tough get going. One doesn’t whimper and moan. With my current life, since my spinal lesion and constant pain, my life changed fir sure. Stiff upper lip and humour have got me through. I think pretty much anyone who has read my words, or messaged me, can attest to the fact that l have a serious side along with a silly side! Stiff upper lip!!

“mummy,mummy a Halloween unicorn 🦄 “…… “ I’m going as a 🦎”… “well we’re going as M&H”…

Well, how much would l LOVE to see these beautiful children in their Halloween costumes!! Princess Charlotte, a unicorn, Prince George as a lizard, William and Catherine’s joking as who they will be. MM ANON, can you please find out what boss baby Prince Louis’ costume will be!! Thank God for the beautiful Cambridge family,they are so beloved.

“yeah, it’s a pity I listened to my d***”.

Prince Harry, again in conversation, l would say definitely with a male due to usage of the d word, starts with d rhymes with pick. Talking together with how he got into this mess. It was a booty call, just a booty call. To have that lead where it has, is terrifying. Pay attention kids! No casual sex! It eats away at your soul.

“ nothings impossible mate”……

Continuing in the conversation, his friend is reassuring Prince Harry that he has fulfilled his duty. This relationship will end in annulment or divorce and the future is bright. He has learned so much about himself, about life, about what’s truly important and there is definitely possibility for him to find love and have his own family. All thank a God he has supportive friends and family who live him!

“look’ here’s your out!!”

Madam, wah wah wah, nobody asks me if l am ok, and saying in vague terms that she maybe cannot continue, it’s near the end of the interview, l cannot recall the exact words. She will go to America , hit the ground running there🤣🤣😂😂😂🤣🤣. The only way she will hit the ground running is if she parachutes off the plane! Her doing this, his friend is saying that Harry’s out, it’s a short way to say, you can get out of a situation. This means get out of the marriage. I am still not 100% there is a legal marriage, Harry held up the register as he signed, plus non-consumation, (no intimacy after vows)annulment. I think the fact that this alleged baby is NOT his, that is critical point as well. Treason, madam trying to pass off baby as being of the body, fauxmegnancy, and no DNA matching Harry.

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

October 22/2019 1500 hrs CST💜💜💜💜💜

Thank you dear PG! This is great….things are happening in the background….I too would love to know what PL will be! Much appreciated as usual…😊💜💜💜💜

Ask Skippy submission

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💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻PG APOLOGISES🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

💜💜💜I have to apologize, l after the submission, noted two clues were missed by me.

l have changed how l work on the riddles, in terms of where on my iPad. It has happened several times that l miss clues since that time.

MM ANON, l mostly apologize to you, l know you work so hard on your riddles.

Am l forgiven!???🥺

GSTQAOBC🇨🇦

PG, no need to apologize…we appreciate you and all the time and effort you put in…😊💜💜💜💜

*********

💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻FOR MM ANON FROM PG🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

MM Anon💜💜💜💜💜

MM ANON …… pg … no apologies never!!! You’re input as with others who give such a wealth of interpretations. Time for me to thank everyone for their esteemed efforts , my sincere and humble thanks. One last riddle ……… “ The pain in gain stays mainly on the wane.” (( difficult)) … but fun.

Eliza Doolittle

the rain in Spain stats mainly in the plains

MY FAIR LADY awe come on that was easy! Rex Harrison always my idea of an Englishman!

Seriously thank you for your kind words!

💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

GSTQAOBC🇨🇦

Thank you PG😊❤️❤️❤️

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95: oct 24

MM Anon I DONT KNOW WHY IT WAS ALL JUMBLED UP I HAVE REDONE IT

MM ANON …… 22 years,sex lies drugs and video tapes …… little boy lost (and found) …… LGs long rope …… 🎼don’t cry for me …… 🎼……… DVDelivery …… LGs records. …… 🎼”cold comfort for change”🎼MA……… “ No darling, 42 and counting “……… “ since 🎼don’t cry for me …… 🎼 before the gathering of unhappy people old thing”……… inadmissible but relevant …… “ a brilliant QC”……… “ a very thick brief📇⚖️“…… “as tight as a ducks@$$ under water’ ma’am”…… “one is reluctant you understand!

💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

October 24/2019 0500 hrs CST

Sorry it’s submitted so late!

22 years,sex lies drugs and video tapes

Madam has a long, sordid past and present, her future is unknown, one can always pray for redemption. This clue is telling us of several decades of vulgarity, substance(s) use and abuse, pornographic videos etc etc etc. Some people somewhere have the videos. There has to be many many witnesses or people out there who have first hand knowledge either participating in or observing these behaviours. Thus far there has been no whistle blowers so to speak. That tells us a lot of money has been paid or threats made to silence people.

little boy lost (and found)

This has been the title of numerous tings, sculpture, film, novel and a poem by poem by William Blake in the 1700’s. I will focus on that. It is written by a Christian, he uses the metaphor of a young boy walking behind his father but loses his way, endings up all wet and muddy. Here we have little boy lost and found. This is of course our Harry. He was lost emotionally decades after he lost his mum. Lifestyle choices were not the best, shall leave it at that. He met madam on a booty call, here we are today. Harry has, l still believe! been working covertly for all the reasons l have stated reported in my interpretations. Hence the little boy, now a man has been giving his all to make up for his mistake(s) to his own physical peril. Weight loss, depression etc etc. He now has six weeks leave!

LGs long rope

LG has made a long game plan, every step of the way madam, thinking she’s getting her way, has fallen into every trap, the ultimate being the video interview with Tom Brady, Harry’s friend going way back! The old saying give a guy a rope and he will hang himself , metaphorically, like give an inch , she will take a mile. Give her bit of freedom and she ends up looking like an idiot. Well she truly has incriminated herself, the video was brilliant in capturing everything in HER OWN WORDS!

🎼don’t cry for me …… 🎼

Fantastic musical entitled Evita! Based on the life of Evita Peron . She was born Maria Eva Duarte’s in a small village in Argentina, in a very poor family. At young age she moved to Buenos Aires with big dreams of being famous actress. A year there she met her future husband at a charity event. Juan Peron became president in 1946 and she was First Lady until 1952, year she died. The Musial became very successful even became a film with Madonna. Anyhow we know madam spent time in Argentina as arranged by one of her uncles, working in some job at the embassy/ consulate. Those years are murky but she didn’t last long , she allegedly left suddenly with some guy. The irony of both women’s lives cannot be lost!

DVDelivery

DVD, we know recordings of sex exist. Who sent them and who received them? Who has copies. There are videos onlin, l won’t watch but some say yes, some say no regarding whose in them. I would think, LG has long long had possession of that and worse. We know the DM has a million dossier ready to go , ready BEFORE the day of unhappy people!

LGs records.

LG has the most distinguished record of service to HMTQ and country. I am certain he has kept a volume of data, in all forms of all the information he and his team and other agencies have collected. I am as certain of that as l am certain of anything.

🎼”cold comfort for change”🎼MA

MM ANON takes us again to Pink Floyd. I used to love! this song, Wish You Were Here, can be used with any loss, or at least l found it to be thus. Madam and MA have been an illicit pair for years and years. Just imagine what the two of them got up to together! Using SoHo, MA knows EVERYBODY,, He probably has dirt of EVERYBODY as well! These two, longing for each other’s company and their plans to outwit the backers or make that go rogue, marry baby etc etc. Their continued secret communications, thinking LG had no idea😂😂😂😂🤣. Oh they’re both in a world of hurt, missing their partner in crime, a common phrase but here think a literal meaning!!!

“ No darling, 42 and counting “…

There has long long long been speculation that madam is not and has never been truthful about her real age. MM ANON is telling us 42 and counting so what is her real exact age??? Old as her tongue and a little older than her teeth😂😂😂🤣🤣.

“ since 🎼don’t cry for me …… 🎼 before the gathering of unhappy people old thing”

I put these two clues together because MM ANON started and ended the quotation marks. The song Don’t Cry for Me Argentina is from the musical Evita. It was a film in 1996. Evita the stage version started as a rock musical in 1976, came to the West End in 1978, Andrew Lloyd Webber, the brilliant creator. Let’s do some math 2019 - 1976 mmmm what’s that give us 43! Madam is 43!!!! She was 42 at the gathering of unhappy people!!LIAR CRY FOUL, LEST BE A LIAR!!!

inadmissible but relevant

Evidence, has to be obtained legally or given voluntarily in order for it to be used in court. So what evidence exists that is relevant but inadmissible? Anything subjective, gut feeling, something told under duress, that sort of thing.

“ a brilliant QC”…

To those unfamiliar, in the U.K. and Canada the “Queen’s Counsel”, an honour given to a senior and distinguished barrister in recognition of an outstanding career during Queen Victoria’s reign. K.C. means King’s Counsel. K.C.

In Canada, the honourary title of Queen’s Counsel, or QC, is used to recognize Canadian lawyers for exceptional merit and contribution to the legal profession. These barristers or attorneys/lawyers are responsible for bringing legal cases to court for prosecution. They must need a brilliant one to process the litany of alleged crimes to be charged. I have absolutely no doubt there are many capable and they have alright had decisions made in this regard.

“ a very thick brief📇⚖️“…

A brief is a written legal document used in various legal adversarial systems that is presented to a court arguing why one party to a particular case should prevail. Upon a barrister devolves the duty of taking charge of a case when it comes into court, but all the preliminary work, such as the drawing up of the case, serving papers, marshalling evidence, etc., is performed by a solicitor. The delivery of a brief to counsel gives him authority to act for his client in all matters which the litigation involves.The brief was probably so called from its first being only a copy of the original writ. From wiki. So given the number and brevity of likely charges, one can only begin to imagine the amount of paperwork, evidence , briefs etc etc etc

“as tight as a ducks@$$ under water’ ma’am”

LG and HMTQ in conversation, he is reassuring her, the evidence with corresponding charges is wrapped up solid.Her reply follows below.

“one is reluctant you understand!

She is reluctant to give the official go ahead, with all the unknown reverberations that could occur across the country, the U.K. , the Commonwealth and the globe, especially in light of Brexit. She has so much on her shoulders. Let’s do remember HMTQ in our prayers.🙏🏻🙏🏻

GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦

October 24/2019 0605 C

This worked PG….thank you😊❤️❤️❤️

——————

96: Oct 24

💜RESUBMITTING THE RIGHT RIDDLE NOW💜

MM Anon

MM ANON …… six weeks in rehab🤫……… Invictus recovery …… loyally remembered …… unhook the Tender…… burned boats……political ambition …… nutmegs WH moment … sugar queen…… 🎼” When I was young it seemed that life …“🎼 …… The casting of the Runes……” EU-bloody-REKA old thing “…… safe inside WC…… “a strategic move to Winchester 📵”

💜💜🙏🏻🙏🏻THANK YOU MM ANON🙏🏻🙏🏻💜💜

October 24/2019

1130 hrs CST

six weeks in rehab🤫

Rehab on the dl as the kids used to say. Down low, secretly. The emoji is the shhhh emoji, so it’s information to be kept quiet. So is that what visits to L.A. are now? Rehab? Is it compelled rehab?? She truly does need help, l also think a full medical and psychiatric work-up/assessment would be prudent. A long history of paranoia, people medicate themselves when experiencing psychotic symptoms. Unsure when this will happen. Harry needs family rehab, medical care, therapist but most of all time away from madam, of any appearances with her. Time to recharge his personal batteries, get his mojo back, as MM ANON used the word mojo, the other day!😊

Invictus recovery

Invictus, Harry’s blood sweat and l am certain many tears were the impetus for him creating Invictus. Invictus from the Latin means undefeated or unconquered. It is the perfect word for describing the individuals who are veterans with visible or not visible post war trauma. The next a Invictus Games are you be held at The Hague, The Netherlands in May, 2020. Harry did a quick visit there while madam was having her fauxmegnancy. This organization has helped uncounted veterans and their families, through the games, the camaraderie etc. He has done extremely well and he should be very very proud of helping sooo many including himself!

… loyally remembered November 11/2019, the eleventh hour, the eleventh day of the eleventh month we all or should stop to remain those veterans and those fallen in battle for our freedoms. It is always a day that many attend services, the Royal family always do, they spread out and cover various places. Harry is Colonel-in-Chief of the Army Air Corps (AAC), and as HMTQ Personal Aide-de-Camp. He will be dressed in his dress uniform and likely attend several places. I think it might be especially poignant and painful this year due to the suicide of his close friend, who helped train him for the South Pole adventure, Jules Roberts.

unhook the Tender…

Unhook means to open or take/out down like curtain pins, or bra. Tender can mean gentle, Tender is also money, called legal tender. So who is taking down money and from where for what reason? Tender l just read can also be a battery or electrical charger. As l think now, this may be a right metaphor MM ANON has given. Unhook the tender, at any point you want a spark or a charge it’s ready and waiting! Voila, LG has all the evidence collected, case tight, all i‘S dotted and t’s crossed. Everything ship shape, nothing remotely left to chance, right down to MI6 watching over a Grandpa Tom in Mexico. Kids , it’s as close as it gets, hang on!

burned boats

H

Burned bridges can be literal actually burning a bridge but it can also mean damage or break your future options, connections,reputation, opportunities, by some act, particularly intentionally. Even if you fired from a job take care not to burn your bridges with unseemly comments on the way out, since you never know who you will meet again. Here we have burned boats, has madam lost any and all contacts in her yachting world, source of money. She very likely has, no one would be interested now, especially wealthy men, they don’t want the obvious scandal that would come if they were seen and perchance she be recognized. The obvious reason is her age, she , as my cousin who has a horse ranch would say, she been ridden hard and put away wet! You must rubdown a horse after riding. She’s aged and not well, her hobbies have really taken their toll.

political ambition

It has been rumoured for quite sometime that madam has political aspirations and even rumoured of her taking a run for the White House where the president of America has his office and home. All l can do is 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂🤣🤣

nutmegs WH moment

Madam met BO when he was President, she was the plus one guest of Ron Burkle , of SoHo. I wonder what on earth she had to do, to get that plus one invite!!!!🤢🤢🤢 Likely nothing she has not done numerous times before!

sugar queen…

Madams cult-like brainwashed ‘fans’ mostly younger and a certain demographic. They, l don’t know why, are called sugars. They worship her she is their queen, they fully believe she should be the next Queen. Since doing these riddles l have, sadly, learned of the ‘urban dictionary’, here is their definition,💜💜” A bisexual male that is stylish and easy to talk to to usually attractive and full of talent and advice 💜💜 A person who supports any and all activities (past, present, and future) done by the former z-list actress and current failure-as-a-royal and by several puns involving the name “Sussex.” Sugars owe their unfortunate allegiance to a number of factors, including (but not limited to) congenitally-low IQ, complete ignorance of etiquette and royal protocol, an excess of entitlement, self-esteem at a level warranted by godhood (with nothing to back it up), and the feeble defenses of “Jealousy!” and “Racist!” when challenged.💜💜 Actually, they are pretty much lower-rent clones of their low-rent diva goddess. I just can’t believe this sorry folks l am as shocked as you will be reading this!! The items between the Purple Hearts are from the urban dictionary!!They have actually MADE UP A WORD JUST FOR MADAM!

🎼” When I was young it seemed that life …“🎼

Life was just for fun… This song, All By Myself, has been covered/performed by many, my favourite being Celine Dion. The song talk about being young, casual sex, flings, and getting older. The entire premise of the song is someone who desperately does not want to be alone and grow old alone. This is our Harry. I won’t repeat his history, relationships, we all know all of it. Once madam is no longer in the picture, incarceration, moved whatever, he will begin the process of figuring out who he is after this experience. He will need a lot of time talking with a professional to help him, his pre-existing depression, PTSD compounded with the trauma of the last two years. He is young, healthy, has a big family who live him dearly. I have hope for him to find his love and have a real family of his own. Now l am going to hav this song in my head all day!

The casting of the Runes

Let’s educate ourselves on what Runes means. Wiki tells me it has several meanings, l am only familiar with it as stones. a letter of an ancient Germanic alphabet, related to the Roman alphabet. Wiki

a mark or letter of mysterious or magic significance.

small stones, pieces of bone, etc., bearing runes, and used as divinatory symbols Casting the Runes“ is a short story written by the English writer M.R. James The story briefly wiki Mr. Edward Dunning is a researcher for the British Museum. At the beginning of the story he has recently reviewed The Truth of Alchemy by a Mr. Karswell, an alchemist and occultist. Afterwards he begins seeing the name John Harrington displayed wherever he goes. He learns that Harrington also reviewed Karswell’s work and died in a freak accident not long after.

Harrington’s brother helps Dunning to discover that Karswell cursed both men by slipping them a piece of paper with some runes on it. They deduce that the curse, once cast, will cause the bearer to die in three months. They track down Karswell a day before the curse is set to kill Dunning and manage to return the runes to him. Karswell dies the next day, killed by a stone that fell from scaffolding around St. Wulfram’s Church in Abbeville.

I couldn’t shorten it and do it justice. So basically madam has cast the runes, a horrible spell on Harry, he has suffered under it through it and his family has been exerting every possible intervention to help him, gather intel and evidence of alleged crimes. There will be justice, it is coming. JUSTICE IS COMING RACHEL!! TICK TOCK 🕰

” EU-bloody-REKA old thing “…

Eureka is what the miners used to shout when they struck gold, oil, diamonds etc. Here MM ANON has written EU-bloody-REKA old thing. They are talking about Brexit and what the nation has been going through ever since the votes came in. Lots is still unknown and everyone is on edge, to put it mildly.

safe inside WC

Safe has at least two meaning, one is to be kept from harm, contented or a metal device or strong box that holds valuables, jewels cash, papers, wills, bonds etc etc. I am certain there is a safe in Windsor Castle ie WC. HMTQ is also safe at WC, there are plenty of RPO’S to protect her from anything and everything. I am very interested in what is the topic MM ANON is sharing with us. What’s in the safe?? Photos, dvd(s), recordings, on and on! Something of importance that’s for certain!

“a strategic move to Winchester 📵”

The emoji indicates blockage of cell phone/mobile device usage. Two places l know of for certain hospitals and prisons. The city of Winchester has both, and they are right across the street from each other. Clever eh? Rehab in one, no outside communication, alone with her thoughts, no hobbies no cope, it’s going to be a personal hell to detox. I’ve seen it many times, it’s horrible. Strategic in terms of containing for personal safety, not harm self, no contact with others, no news or what’s happening in the world etc etc. GSTQAOBC 🇨🇦 October 24/2019 1315 hrs CST

Thank you dear PG😊💜💜💜

——————

[momo-de-avis]

There is a saying in Portugal---but bear with me before I tell you what it is. There’s a collective consciousness about ‘popular knowledge’. Everyone knows the people---the rural, the uneducated, the non-city dwellers, what have you---know best. It’s them who teach you that you use white wine to take a red wine stain out of the table cloth. It’s them who make benzeduras with olive oil to heal you of all evil. It’s them who know just the right tea to heal your every malady. It’s them who recite the mnemonics you’ve known since you were a kid that become life-savers as an adult. Knock on wood three times. Never open an umbrella inside the house. Putting a shirt on backwards brings good fortune. A dog who barks doesn’t bite. A spider in the home means money. Seagulls on land, storm at sea. Use a broom to sweep the feet of an unmarried person, they’ll never marry. Get rid of unwanted guests by turning a stool upside down behind a closed door. Rural knowledge.

All of these have a background---they’re superstitions in a country with a strong pagan heritage. Most of these exist side-by-side with catholicism, they’re not really frowned upon---hell, you’ll hear an old lady say she knows better than the local priest. They are just there. They have been passed down for generations and held close to heart. Most of these exist in sayings, popular singings people chant, just that.

But there’s one particular saying that has stuck with me because it exists in spite of something really wicked. ‘Never stick a spoon between a husband a wife’ (it’s silly because it’s supposed to rhyme). It means you should never---no matter what---interfere with a husband and wife fighting. I suppose in principle, it sounds about right. Not in praxis.

When Conta-me Como Foi was on---a show about a family living back in the dictatorship---one of the episodes was about domestic violence. The family kept hearing the woman screaming while the man beat her so loudly they could hear his hand smack against her head, cutlery clanking against the floor while a glass, or a dish, or the whole dining set given by one of the in-laws as a wedding present, shattered. Something knocked over, a table or a cabinet. And those wailings in the background, of a woman begging to stop, the man’s roars, imposing: shut up, bitch. The family ignored. The kid was terrified. To ease his spirit, the mother said: never stick a spoon between a husband and a wife. 

My mom was watching and said: I remember that being common, everyone had a neighbour whose wife lived through hell. We all heard women crying, weeping, begging to be saved, and no one did a thing---because you never stick a spoon between a husband and a wife. She shook her head. I remembered the tons of books she read about muslim women being oppressed with hijabs, niqabs and burqas, the tone of disgust on her face when she explained the story of one poor woman who was stoned in public because she put her hand on her brother’s knee. My mother always tried to be a feminist, but in the end, she’s very western.

A few years later, we were watching the news---her, me and my uncle. Domestic violence had increased in the past few years. With Troika and the financial crisis, the number of mothers committing suicide-homicide---suffocating to death inside their cars with their children because they couldn’t bear to witness them go hungry---had gone up. But so did domestic violence. The victims: overwhelmingly women, and the children: unreported. The subject was severe: it demanded to be talked about in public, urgently.

My mother looked at my uncle. “I don’t remember this ever existing back in our days.”

I immediately went pale. I remembered the day she agreed with that domestic violence episode of the TV show, the piles of books about oppressed muslim women, the anger on her face when she told the story of widows in India being forced to beg because they were barred from working. Her very own story ceased to exist. The things she had witnessed, that had been such a common territory for every portuguese person of her time, erased.

I said: “You’re joking, right?”

My uncle added gasoline to the fire: “You didn’t hear about this.”

I was already breaking off. “Because it was a dictatorship. You had censorship torturing people. You told me you were scared to death of reading a Gorky book. You work with lawyers every single day of your life, you know the constitution acknowledged women as objects. You had to ask your dad permission to drive, otherwise it was illegal. As it was illegal to talk about it. What are you talking about? Of course, you didn’t hear about it---and however uncomfortable it is for you to hear about it at the dinner table, I’m glad I at least live in a world where it is on the news and I am allowed to publically discuss it.”

More years down the line. I’m in my mom’s living room when I hear screaming outside. I lived in a street where often drunk people walked past to get home, so I didn’t mind---until I heard a child cry. And a woman’s voice. And a man, angry. ‘Stop,’ she was saying. ‘Please, not in front of the kid’. I went outside, to the balcony, but couldn’t see very well. Then, I heard a slap. It just echoed across the roundabout and reverberated into my goddamn brain---I had absolutely no doubt about what I was witnessing. I looked down and saw two women holding a child, a man---drunk---throwing kicks and punches. I looked up: the younger people in the building were peering out their windows, phone in hand, calling the cops. One of them screamed: hey, you’re such a man why won’t you come here and beat me, you piece of shit? The man ignored him. I grabbed my phone, just when my mother appeared next to me.

She looked down, quiet as a mouse. Whenever there was a fight in the building, she never said a word. Often, she’ll talk about someone who is not there in whispers, because she’s afraid someone will hear. Secrecy was a big part of one’s education back in the dictatorship. She told me several times one of her father’s greatest lessons: never talk about politics inside the house, you never know who’s listening. There was a snitch living in the next building. She said he used to sit for hours on the balcony, watching. Occasionally, someone in the city disappeared---reappeared then completely torn, broken. Everyone knew they went to Caxias, got tortured because the snitch gave them away. It wasn’t hard, after all---this is a communist city.

Every time there was loud screaming, my mother’s immediate reaction was to shut off the sound of the TV and perk her chin up to listen carefully. My downstairs neighbours made her do that a lot. The upstairs neighbours---all of them---as well. She never intervened. Her second reaction was---after everything had quieted down---to pick up the phone, call my godmother (who lived one floor below) and ask: did you just hear that? And then they would discuss. When my godmother wouldn’t answer, she’d ask me---I always brushed it off, pretended I didn’t hear. I hate prying into other people’s businesses, and could tell the fight was just a fight. But they would never interfere: that meant taking sides, listening to someone. This way, they could speculate all they wanted without really having to admit someone was in the wrong. This way, the husband and the wife were both crazy.

So when we both witnessed a woman and her child being physically assaulted by the kid’s father in public, her immediate reaction was to draw back. “Close the window,” she said. “They might see you.” And she disappeared back into her room.

Never stick a spoon between a husband a wife.

I can guarantee you there isn’t a single person in this country that does not know one woman who has been physically abused. We all had grandmothers, mothers, great-grandmothers. My friend L’s grandmother was forced to give birth to all her children completely alone because her husband wouldn’t let anyone look at his wife’s vagina. I know women who are in long, excruciating judicial battles against their aggressors, while their children are forced by court to live with the man they witnessed beat their mother on the ground. I’ve heard women tell me ‘my grandfather beat my grandmother to death’. I know people whose grandmothers and grand-aunts had 20 children because their husbands had their way with them, and there was no possible way for them to prevent that from happening. I’ve heard stories spoken so sweetly it took me years to realize it was abuse. ‘He beat me, but he was a good man’ and ‘he only slapped me once’ is a common thing to say.

That night, I called the cops---a bit late, too. The caller told me I was about the fifth one to make the call, which gave me a breath of relief. At least, I saw the guy being hauled into the back of a police van, screaming ‘I’ve been in jail before’ (and you’ll be again, said the cop---a woman, too). My mother went back to her room, didn’t think about it again. That same room was stacked with books about non-western women being oppressed by their societies, the same she preaches on about in that gloriously ironic western way. She still thinks it’s so funny that my grandfather once ran out of shirts to wear because there was not a single woman nearby to wash them for him.

This thing, this saying---never stick a spoon between a husband and a wife---it’s so ingrained into our brains even the most liberal woman (like my ever-growing-feminist mother) acknowledge it as law. In theory, the contrary works---you should really see the way she talks about oppressed women everywhere else in the world. But the moment it happens before our eyes, we have to snap them shut. 

Every single one of us knows a case of a girl who was in an abusive relationship. A guy who stalked. A dude who gaslighted her into insanity. A guy who showed up unannounced at her doorstep, who followed her everywhere after they broke up, who controlled her social media. At one point, we accepted it, because you never stick a spoon between a husband and a wife. I’m not going to pretend I was very avant-garde in this matter: I wasn’t. I was taught to shut up whenever I witnessed abuse. I was taught to swallow cause life is just that way. So there’s this taboo that abuse doesn’t belong in the public space---it belongs in the home, in the secrecy that my mother was brought up with---and consequentially taught me---that allows for a man to beat his wife to death.

Because you don’t challenge, you avoid. My brother still thinks his friend was stupid for geing back to his wife because he quit a high-paying job, and she got fat. My sister-in-law goes berserk at the sight of her son in pink. My mother wasted her every effort into forcing me to be a girly-girl: cleaning products for toys, loads of baby-dolls, pushing me into maternity. You never know---you have to avoid, you have to prevent. But you never speak about, never make it public. It’s impolite to say those things in public.

Over the past few years, our country has reached the highest numbers of women killed by their husbands in many decades. The judicial system protects the abuser. One guy just recently took the electronic bracelet off a guy’s ankle after he beat his wife until she became deaf. The same guy, a while back, absolved a woman’s husband and lover from beating her to unconsciousness together by quoting the bible to justify how much the man’s dignity had been affected by her cheating.

I live in a country where the judicial system, the men in charge---white, old, the ones who ruled the country when my mother had to ask permission to drive---consider us toys to garnish the men. We exist in a script, inside and outside our bodies. I remember the case of a 50-something-year-old woman who had invasive surgery to her vagina and was given a last minute change she didn’t consent to. As a result, she has to wear diapers and is in constant excruciating pain. The doctors did that because ‘at 50, a woman’s sex life is non-existent’. The court ruled in the doctor’s favour. She got financial compensation---not nearly enough for a few month’s rent. I am thirty---I suppose I have twenty years to enjoy my sex life, then. Because the men in charge have dictated the next line in my womanly script: I can’t fuck. So they can just... ravage me on a surgical table if they wish. No court will ever stand up for me---as they didn’t in the past.

I have no brilliant conclusion to this. In fact, I have no conclusion at all. Tonight I was faced with yet another piece of horrific news: a woman’s head was found inside a plastic bag. People are making fun of it on Facebook, joke after joke: haha, she lost her head! Who ate the rest of the body? Women are gonna lose their head with this one!

And I am just overwhelmingly tired. I acknowledge that I live in a backwards country that refuses to grow out of its own catholic past, imposed by 50 years of fascism we just cannot, no matter what, let go of. I am just completely worn out by the women on TV like my mother, who think they’re so avant-garde by saying a niqab is oppressive, but who will slam their window shut when they hear a woman screaming for help. I am tired of people who tell me this saying I was brought up with, smothered by the need for secrecy, that just strengthens every abuser in their own home and ruins the lives of women and children everywhere you have to live with bruises and scars inside and out: never stick a spoon between a husband and a wife. Because though right now I am in a loving relationship with a wonderful man who witnessed this same domestic abuse and will stand up himself---however necessary---in the face of it, me, as a woman---then a girl---there was a time in my life when I couldn’t help but think: it’s going to happen to me, because it happens to everyone.

Sorry for the long post.