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rathologic · 5 months

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biggest disconnect in pathologic's reception has kind of always been a divide between "patho is driven by mechanics" and "patho is driven by story" camps where opinions only ever come from one of these extremes... around p1's development and release the developers considered it exclusively a survival challenge sim, not a game marketed for its story (despite story representing a huge fraction of the time and thought put into it). In The Society Of Dead Poets goes into so much detail about this. and it WAS a stunning technical work under the circumstances, but the complex story was what gave the franchise cult appeal, or at least enough so for it to get a sequel... reviews from the period tend to go along the lines of "this game looks and plays like shit but it's extremely thought-provoking". there's a little to be said about the mainstream view of a "Gamer" in 2005 and what they would be interested in marketing-wise not tracking with story games yet; anyway, the one-dimensionality here was consistent with the studio's approach to games as a whole (cf BoneHouse.ppt).

so IPL's perception of their work was what informed p2's priorities, which turned out to be A Way Better Survival Challenge at the expense of things like characters having complex motivations (expansion on this has been omitted; iykyk), and they did an incredible job with that & basically perfected what they had been going for mechanically. which created this weird divide where p2 fans think 1 isn't worth playing because it's less engaging as a gaming experience, and p1 fans (me included, to be clear) see 2's story changes as a spit in the face of everything that made the series work. like, neither of these are fundamentally incorrect, but they refer to completely non-overlapping paradigms of engaging with the material. when hopefully it can be agreed that a Video Game is comprised of Both a narrative aspect and an interactive aspect, and that they need to work together to create the player's transformative experience (again, premise of BoneHouse.ppt).

Anyway. that helps explain a lot of hbomb's stance on the franchise, particularly that he can endorse patho2 without comment as an ostensibly leftist youtuber when even the most cursory playthrough is enough to let players in on its gleeful centering of ecofascism... that game's representation of colonial relations as an unfixable divide employing the racist trope of reciprocal violence, its obsession with maintaining status quo, and its completely tasteless approach to MMIW are all elements of Story and thus all secondary to p2's huge improvements on the survival system. in the same vein, his discussion of p1's changeling's route is limited to the constant reputation decrease and the repeated quests because those are the only mechanical features introduced over the previous routes, even while clararoute text is fundamental to understanding most characters... his video isn't like Bad for getting the interactive experience p1 would present to you, but it sucks for engaging with the story because it's not about the story. and unfortunately, on discussion posting websites, we do usually post about story

#pathologic #I'm so tired.#FAQ: BoneHouse was a presentation given by an IPL writer who will go unnamed here regarding his philosophy to gamedev. ItSODP was a lengthy #interview with the same (there's an EN translation on archive.org; BoneHouse is on the Files section of the archived IPL webpage).#genuinely I do really enjoy p2 as a survival sim and I think the most interesting things done with it (challenge runs) arise purely from #engaging with that half of the gameplay. but there is nothing to talk about w/o the plot it presents to you and that's why hbomb's video #falls so flat to me in applying that same approach to 1; a game fundamentally not balanced in a way that that's a fair take

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thisapplepielife · 4 months

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Has anyone done a Corroded Coffin-centric fanworks challenge yet?

Where we can focus on all the Corroded Coffin guys, together, or separately?

If not, is there any interest?

The idea popped in my head a couple weeks ago, and I started jotting down prompt ideas. Since I'm still thinking about it all this time later, I thought I'd at least mention it. I think there are definitely enough prompts to have an event, if that's something others would want to participate in.

If it's already been done, just tell me! I haven't been on Tumblr for the entirety of the post-S4 time, and my searching may have missed it!

If there hasn't been, I'm just gauging interest here.

Steddie (and other ships/characters) would be welcome, of course, just as long as Corroded Coffin is involved in some way and you make it fit the prompt!

Please feel free to reblog if you have other Stranger Things friends that you think might be interested!

#corroded coffin #stranger things #eddie munson #gareth (stranger things)#jeff stranger things #unnamed freak stranger things #stranger things polls #steddie #stranger things 4 #fanworks challenge

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steddieas-shegoes · 2 months

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she runs a tight ship

rated t | for @strangerthingsocweek day 1 "introduction" | 1,573 words cw: mentions of illness (just a cold), mildly suggestive language | tags: future fic, corroded coffin, original character, robin gets to have a girlfriend because i said so

author note: a lot of meg's original backstory also revolves around OCs that other people have created, so I've doctored it up a bit to fit in without pulling the other OCs into the mix.

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Meg rolled her eyes the moment she walked onto the tour bus.

The boys, and they were in fact boys since they refused to act like grown men, had left clothes scattered across the floor and couch, empty beer bottles and bags of chips on the table, and a pack of cigarettes on the counter.

Unbelievable.

But actually, totally believable.

They weren’t always like this. It’s just that the first night of the tour was always a celebration when they got off stage and Meg had the unfortunate task of making sure they were alive and prepared for the rest of the tour.

She wasn’t their manager, or security, or really anyone of importance in the grand scheme of things. All of those people were just not good at the job, and she took over quickly to ensure the members of Corroded Coffin didn’t end up ruining their careers before they even got started.

“If I see a single ass cheek when I come back there, I’m quitting!” She yelled towards the back of the bus. It was an empty threat, and they knew it, but she’d seen enough ass cheeks to last a lifetime.

She leaned over to pick up the pile of pants and pair of boots right in front of the door, face crumpling into disgust as she caught a whiff of sweat and weed.

“Meg, good to see ya!” Gareth said as he came from behind the curtain leading to the bunks. “Are we in Cinci already?”

“Yep.” She popped her mouth and continued picking things up off the floor. “Soundcheck in two hours. You guys have to at least try to get your shit together for it.”

“We will! You doin’ okay?” Gareth started gathering the trash on the table, throwing it all in the trash can without even seeing what was full and empty.

“Yeah. Good show last night. Didn’t think you’d do the new one on your first night,” Meg admitted. She’d worked on the song with them for weeks in the studio, curating it exactly to their tastes while still staying true to her own style. She didn’t think it would make the setlist at all, especially since they hadn’t even decided if it would make the next album yet, but sure enough, they performed it last night.

And they’d given credit to their “amazing songwriter friend who made sure they didn’t die or forget to eat.”

She would never admit to the tears that fell when she watched them perform their song.

“Ed and Robin agreed it should be a surprise. I think they both just wanted to see you cry,” Gareth nudged her on his way over to grab the guitar on the couch to put it into its case. “Steve told them not to.”

“This is why Steve’s my favorite,” she joked. Well, half-joked. She considered Steve to be the other half to her Keep Corroded Coffin On Track Team. Without him, Eddie would have been left at a rest stop the first time they went on the road.

“Yeah, that’s no secret.” She could hear the eyeroll in Gareth’s voice, but chose to ignore it. “He was snoring so bad last night, I almost had to consider kicking him off the bus.”

“Wait. Snoring? Steve doesn’t snore unless he’s-”

“Fuck.”

They both realized at the same time what was coming. Gareth looked back at Meg, eyes wide.

“Not now! It’s the beginning of tour!”

“Maybe if I load him up with vitamin C? I have a whole vitamin kit in the van and Robin has that nebulizer for her breathing treatments.”

A round of sneezes came from the back and Meg cursed under her breath.

“He’s gotta get away from everyone. He can take the van with Robin and I’ll bunk on your couch for a few days. Did he have a fever?” Meg was known for being dramatic over small inconveniences, but this wasn’t small. It had the potential to ruin tour dates. If anyone in the band got sick, it could ruin a concert.

“Don’t know. I don’t think so? He seemed fine when we went to sleep. He passed out before all of us though.” Gareth quickly set the guitar down and opened the cabinet closest to the bus door. “We’ve got cold meds. Some cough syrup. Tylenol. Cough drops. You think that’ll be enough?”

Meg nodded. “For now. Let’s see how bad it is first.”

They didn’t have to wait long. Eddie and Jeff came out at the same time, panic written all over their faces.

Meg sighed. “Bad?”

They nodded.

“Okay, stay away from him. It could already be too late, but you guys have to stay healthy.” Meg grabbed the basket of meds and a bottle of water from the fridge. “All of you get outside, tell Robin what’s up, and go with security into the building. I’m gonna get him settled in the van and scrub this place from top to bottom.”

“But I’ll miss him,” Eddie pouted. “How long does he have to stay in the van?”

“Until he can breathe through both nostrils.”

“Can any of us ever really breathe through both nostrils?” Eddie wondered.

Meg blinked at him. “Get a shirt on and get out of here before I make it impossible for you to breathe out of one nostril.”

Eddie threw his head back and groaned. Jeff patted his shoulder and turned to grab a shirt that was still on the couch.

“It’s okay man. Might just be a little cold. Could pass quick!” Gareth tried to reassure him, but Meg could already see how this was gonna go.

She was surrounded by slightly codependent idiots. She loved them all dearly, but she needed them to function individually sometimes.

The door banged open and Robin came up the steps.

“I swear, I sleep in one time and my girlfriend abandons me for her harem of idiot men.” She glances between everyone and tenses. “What’s wrong?”

“You stupid soulmate is sick,” Meg grumbled. “Everyone is in the process of leaving this bus before it happens to them.”

“I’ll wake up Frankie. He’s gonna be pissed,” Jeff sighed. “He got his pillows just right.”

“I’ll get him, you guys go,” Meg shooed them away, waiting for them to all leave before turning to Robin. “Hey, Robbie. Sorry I didn’t wake you up, just wanted you to get plenty of sleep.”

Robin leaned her head on her shoulder and kissed her cheek. “It’s okay, babe. Steve gonna make it?”

“Haven’t put eyes on him yet. Think you could go check? I gotta avoid getting sick, too. The less I’m around him, the better,” Meg handed her the basket and kissed the side of her head. “Get him to the van so he can contaminate that area instead.”

“But then I’ll get sick.” Robin pouted.

Meg couldn’t resist leaning down and pulling Robin’s bottom lip between her teeth, smirking when she let out a yelp.

“You’ll be fine. You’ve got a strong immune system. Promise I'll make it up to you in a few days. Maybe we could convince them to let us have a hotel room so we can-,” Meg said, pulling away when she heard shuffling behind the curtain. “Oh, good, it’s you. The rest of the guys are gone. Steve’s sick. Don’t come back in here until I give the go ahead.”

Frankie yawned, scratched his head, and nodded. “Got it.”

He was slowly becoming her favorite just by the fact that he never really argued with her. Maybe that was because he was terrified of her, but she could enjoy her power a little if she wanted to.

He walked out of the bus in his pajamas, probably not awake enough to realize he wasn’t properly dressed, but also probably not caring at all that he wasn’t. Frankie was a chill guy.

“Eddie?” Steve’s pitiful raspy voice came from behind the curtain. “Eds?”

“I’ll go,” Robin gave one final kiss to Meg’s lips before walking behind the curtain.

Meg only caught a glimpse of Steve, but a glimpse was all she needed to come to the conclusion that he was miserably sick and she needed to air this bus out immediately. She could hear Robin gently explaining where everyone was and trying to bribe him to put some comfy clothes on to move to the van.

She looked around and wondered what he’d touched last night before going to bed.

She opened the window behind the couch, and propped the window by the sink open to get some fresh air in the bus.

“Sorry I’m sick,” Steve suddenly said behind her, his eyes glassy and nose and cheeks bright red with fever and congestion. “Don’t know how.”

Meg smiled sadly at him. “Not your fault, bud. Just make sure to keep your distance from the guys until your fever’s gone. Don’t need them all getting sick at once and having to postpone a concert.”

Steve nodded sadly. “Okay. Can you tell Eddie I love him?”

“‘Course I can.”

Steve was acting like he was dying, but Meg didn’t say anything. Robin had been honest about a lot of her past, their past, but couldn’t say everything. She knew why they were all a bit codependent on each other. Sometimes small things like the common cold felt like a monster they couldn’t fight.

As Robin led Steve out of the bus, Meg made a checklist in her head of everything she needed to do before the show tonight.

Taking care of her boys was always top priority.

#stranger things #strangerthingsocweek #writing challenge #original character #corroded coffin #robin buckley #eddie munson #steve harrington #side steddie #gareth emerson #jeff #frankie or unnammed freak who i have decided is frankie

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small-spark-of-light · 6 months

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day 15 was to draw 3 action scenes each with unique compositions!!!

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tommarvoloriddlesdiary · 1 year

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“Riddle, did you hear about the new war refugees?”

Tom sat comfortably in a fine leather chair by the fireplace. Its top back boasted a swooping curved wood carving of snakes at play, the detail work all done in delicate silver filigree. Admittedly, it wasn’t a very comfortable chair at all, as ostentatious as it was and no doubt older than Headmaster Dippet himself—but Tom would not be seen as picky of all things. His image of imperturbable Head Boy was undoubtedly always at stake.

Glancing up from his book, a spelt hidden copy of Dark Curses; The Uncounterable, Tom deigned Abraxas with his already drifting attention. “You’ll have to be more specific, Abraxas. There have been, after all, nearly sixty or so of them.”

Abraxas never huffed, but this was a near thing, “Yes, yes. Well, all those other ones aren’t worth our time. These refugees have just sorted Slytherin.”

Ah, that was interesting. The children sent here from Grindelwald’s warpath have all been the same in some way. They have come injured almost beyond repair, some still recovering in the medi-wing. They have come devastated by their loss, newly orphaned and longing for their homes. They have come angry, lashing out and vicious, headstrong to a fault— Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs through and through.

It was almost a surprise none had so far come with any ambition or cunning loud enough to sway the hat to their esteemed house. Surely the rumours of Slytherin House and their darker leanings could not have reached every new ear.

It almost had the makings of a conspiracy. Or it had, before these new students.

“More than one?” Tom asked.

Abraxas crossed his arms and raised his chin, pleased to have Tom’s attention. He loved gossiping, a terrible and useful habit that Tom often happily exploited. “Three of them,” he leaned in closer, “and they all claim to be siblings. But it’s absolutely absurd; they look nothing close to related. The only thing they share in common is their surname.”

Tom thought it odd that they would feel the need to lie about something so simple. “When did they arrive?”

“This morning. I passed by Slughorn, who could not help himself from sharing with Avery and me his absolute delight at having new Slytherins to take under his wing.” Abraxas frowned, “Though that was ages ago. It is strange he’s yet to introduce them to you.” He continued muttering, and Tom’s attention returned to his book, “You’re his favourite, Head Boy and all. You’d make the best impression….”

Tom hummed, noncommittal. It wouldn’t do to look anything more than humble, though he doubted Abraxas would notice. “I’m sure we will meet them soon. Lunch starts in an hour.”

— —

And meet, they did.

New students used to be all the rage. Tittering and giggling and whispering abound. Some stares of sympathy, pity. New students used to be an unnecessary building of energy that would last over the course of several days until it inevitably died off. So Tom was grateful when the shiny lustre of sad little children arriving in droves finally pittered into solemn, if curious, acceptance. Not an unusual occurrence by any means.

These three students appear to have brought that ridiculous energy back.

They entered the Great Hall late, and Tom assumed this was reason one of a long list that triggered the excitement. Slughorn and Dippet were decidedly absent, and when they arrived, it was with the new Slytherins in tow. This wouldn’t have caused any fuss if it hadn’t been for Slughorn’s naturally boisterous voice and Dippet’s worried frown at whatever inane things he was spouting. Their conversation drew attention like moths to a flame.

“And this is the Great Hall! Truly a marvel, is it not?” Slughorn proclaimed with large, outstretched hands. Displaying the hall like a muggle magic trick. Disgusting.

Reason two revealed itself in the new students’ reactions. It was customary to feel some sense of awe when seeing the Great Hall for the first time. Tom certainly remembers his. How the night shone brighter than he’d ever known it capable of away from the smog of London. How magic made even the stars that much more attainable.

But one of the students had simply stopped. He was half a head shorter than the other boy and about level with the girl, with dark hair and glasses. Tom couldn’t see much else that distinguished him from any other classmate, but there was a way he held himself that was so different from the other students that had come and toured the castle. He looked upon the duller grey sky of today’s dreary rainstorm with something that wasn’t quiet wonder or amazement. His siblings certainly didn’t share his interest, hardly glancing at the ceiling at all, finding the food much more appealing.

No, Tom was sure he wasn’t taking in the majesty of the hall’s fine spellwork; if anything, he seemed so incredibly relieved.

His siblings’ reactions to his pause, when they finally noticed he’d stopped at the doors and they’d gone on without him, Tom assumed caused reason three for the excitement. They rushed to him with a startled “Harry!” and grabbed his arms, gripping him hard enough to pull him out of his trance. His head bounced rapidly between the two, a lanky ginger and a girl with hair so poofy Tom thought her part puffskein, obviously bewildered.

The girl had gone so far as to cradle his face, her palm pressed to the flat of his cheek. Tom couldn’t make out the words from here, but the students lunching were suddenly less inclined to make much noise, the sound dropping to a polite chatter. Everyone wanted to eavesdrop, it seemed.

This led to reason four: these… siblings… they were really very, very close.

And suddenly the excitement knew no peace.

“Merlin,” Emmett Parkinson scoffed, “what are they? Lovers? I thought you said they were family, Malfoy?”

Abraxas dragged his attention away from their display to respond indignant, “That’s what I was told!”

“He’d also said they were triplets,” Cygnus Black chimed in, revulsion evident across his features. “Those mudbloods seem to have carried a nasty muggle trait here with them,” he smirked, “careful. It could be catching.”

Muted laughter carried its way through the seventh and some sixth-year Slytherins. It was rich of Cygnus to throw such blatant accusations of incest around, but Tom could admit that if they kept this up, the Evans would be torn apart within the day. Such softness was frowned upon in their house.

Slughorn and Dippet brought them to the staff table and quickly introduced them to the Professors. “These three bright minds are Harry, Ronald, and Hermione Evans! Our newest seventh-years! I’ve been told we can expect great things from them,” Slughorn said. He puffed up like he always did when he boasted about his Slytherin students. However, it was rare to see him boast about students he hardly knew.

Then the most curious thing happened.

Slughorn turned toward the Slytherin table, eyes searching until they fell upon Tom and ambled over. This wasn’t surprising; Tom expected to meet them as Abraxas had said and expected Slughorn to introduce them to him first. Abraxas was not wrong about Slughorn favouring Tom over others.

“And this is our very own Head Boy, Tom Riddle! Tom is an exceptional young lad. He’ll be invaluable during your time here regarding any questions or concerns you might have— a vital resource!” Slughorn chortled and patted Tom’s shoulder.

What surprised Tom, and what was wholly unexpected, was the blatant hostility after they were introduced.

Hermione Evans was a plain girl with a deep complexion, made plainer by her pinched brows and tilted head as though Tom were a very disagreeable book but one she just needed to get through to argue its faults fully. Finally, after a long moment of staring, she gave a little nod that seemed more toward herself than him and said, “Hello.”

“Merlin,” started Ronald Evans, broken from whatever trance had consumed him by the girl’s voice. He was decidedly the odd one out of the trio, with his tall frame rivalling Tom’s height and his bright hair and pale, freckled face. Seeing them all up close made it even more apparent how impossible their claims of being triplets were. Surely if they were triplets, they’d be a medical marvel. “I promise we won’t go to you for shite.”

Tom’s brows raised. Hermione Evans hissed out a berating “Ronald” and whipped around to stare at him aghast. She hit his arm when he simply shrugged unapologetically.

Tom ignored them in favour of casting his attention to the final Evans, Harry. Hermione Evans and Harry shared more in common. They shared wild hair and sun-kissed skin and height. Yet their differences were aplenty. Harry’s hair was darker, and his eyes were brighter— a vivid green that Tom couldn’t seem to place but knew was undoubtedly familiar— and he had a long jagged scar that cut down his forehead and through his brow. It marred his face with a dull unhealed red.

Harry did not look at Tom, refused to, and kept his head held high and sight straight ahead to the wall opposite. Such an intense focus.

When it became clear Tom wouldn’t receive much of a greeting from Harry either, he spoke. “Welcome to Hogwarts,” Tom smiled charmingly. It was the kind he pulled out on rare occasions when he knew people were looking down on him for his name and, ultimately, blood status. Though, he didn’t think that to be the problem at the moment. “If you do find yourselves needing assistance, I would be happy to lend a hand.”

“Very good!” Slughorn continued, oblivious or simply ignoring the odd tension. “I’ll be sure to get you your timetables by tomorrow morning, students! For now, enjoy the rest of your day!”

And then they were alone with all of Slytherin House paying very close attention.

Tom opened his mouth, readying himself to invite the trio to sit with him during lunch. If anyone could pick information out efficiently, it would be his knights, but Hermione Evans beat him to it, “Thank you. We would stay, but we have a meeting.”

She hooked her arms through her… brothers’ and stole them away. She dragged them back up the hall and through the doors, clamouring to get out as though the devil were on their tail. How very odd.

What meeting could they possibly have on their first day here?

Druella Rosier scoffed. “Mannerless, who could have guessed?”

“Evans certainly isn’t a wizarding name,” Emmett frowned, “and how are we meant to put up with more siblings? The Blacks are already ridiculous enough. Someone says ‘Black’ once, and five heads turn!”

“Come now, Emmett,” Alphard Black twisted around his brother and smirked. He pointed his fork at Emmett, careless even as it barely grazed Cygnus’s nose, who leant back unamused. “If anything, you could consider us practice. But judging by the look of them,” Alphard sat back and straightened out, “I doubt they’d even answer you if you called.”

The rest of the Slytherins bickered among themselves, content to poke their fun and gossip. Tom held his tongue; he kept a careful ear and tuned out when uninterested. The Evans seemed odd but nothing special. Tom could care less about their decorum or lack thereof as long as they didn’t make any trouble for their house.

— —

Tom spoke too soon.

They had vanished for the remainder of the day. No one had seen hide nor hair of all three Evans since their grand entrance during lunch. Tom was confident they’d gotten lost. But as he settled into his chair by the fireplace once more for the evening, enjoying the last moments of the night before his prefect rounds, they finally arrived.

Harry was in low murmured talks with Ronald, their heads bent close together, while Hermione Evans had her full attention on a tome in her hands. Following behind her in the air was a stack of five or six more. Had that been where they were? The library?

Walburga Black tutted from her perch on the leather chesterfield opposite, “They haven’t even introduced themselves and have hardly been here some hours, yet have already riffled through the library shamelessly?”

Tom was more bemused than offended. How they remembered their way to the library after Slughorn’s (most likely brief) tour was a more pressing mystery. But given how Hermione Evans flipped through pages of a book like a windstorm, he wouldn’t be surprised to learn she had a photographic memory.

And as absorbed in her text as she was, and without her brothers’ careful guidance while distracted as they were, she walked right into Waylen Mulciber. Who, Tom supposed, in her defence, anticipated her blunder. He had watched her wander deeper into the room with a vicious grin and hadn’t been inclined to move out of the way. Instead, Waylen stood there, arms crossed, wand already out, and took her minor collision with dramatics only rivalled by Abraxas himself.

“Watch yourself, mudblood!” Waylen shoved her back, and Tom’s brows arched as her brothers sprung into gear. Ronald caught her before she fell to the floor, and Harry Evans cast a quick spell to keep her trailing books up as they’d begun to fall when she did. The students still left in the common room took to the scene like the play it was, smiles sharp as they kept a close eye on the performance.

“What a joke,” Waylen continued, “to have tainted—“ his mouth pressed shut into a fine line. He panicked and reached up with both his hands to touch his throat and face, wand delicately balanced, and panicked more when his wand was ripped from his hold.

Harry Evans seemed to have taken Waylen’s starting rant as a cue to silence him and his shock as a cue to disarm him. Tom was nearly impressed at the speed of his casting, blindsiding one of the better duelling students, but it was hardly a fair fight. And Mulciber was an idiot on a good day.

“Harry, wait-stop. It’s all right; he doesn’t matter,” Hermione Evans said, holding a vice grip on Ronald’s arm, reaching out a hesitant hand to Harry’s wrist. His eyes were locked on Waylen’s, a severe frown pulling at his face, but when he turned his gaze to Hermione, they softened.

There was something about that look. It was certainly chastised, very apologetic, but also stern. A sureness that almost radiated. A loud he deserved it echoing throughout the common room.

But it relented. Harry Evans sighed and rolled his eyes to the heavens. When he spoke, Tom noted his voice as quiet, clear, and nearly casually authoritative. “Here. Fetch,” he said and tossed Waylen’s wand across the room. It stopped just beside Tom on the floor, a roll away from the burning fireplace. Tom did not doubt that was artfully intentional, and he felt the amusement of it all curling his lips. “If I ever hear you say that word again, I’ll do more than embarrass you.”

The silence lingered. Or it did until Ronald whistled something low and encouraging, its sound causing Harry and Hermione Evans to look at him bewildered. Then, when he gave Harry a pleased grin and a thumbs-up, the tension popped like apparition.

Harry snorted loud and unattractive. His hand slapped across his face in a poor attempt to conceal his onslaught of… giggles. Hermione shook her head in awe, a growing smile tugging at her lips, and kept a firm hold on Ronald’s arm as she grabbed at the sleeve of Harry’s robes and once again dragged them out and away from their fellow Slytherins. In a commendable show of magic, the tomes still hovering beside Harry kept stable and unwavering, following them out even as Harry Evans’s laughter became near uncontrollable. The sound of it echoed down the hall until the common room door slid shut.

The overall reaction to their escape was mutiny.

Loud screeches of how dare they and someone go stop them and does anyone know the counter for Mulciber rang out across the room amongst the murmured contemplation. When Tom looked over at Walburga and took stock of her appalled face, he was tempted to laugh too.

What a fascinating final year at Hogwarts it was turning out to be.

#tomarry #tomarrymort #harrymort #pov: tom #my fic #2.7k words #fic is unnamed at the moment #hi i forgot i posted that thing while i was at work yesterday so before i got to work today i thought i'd hand it over #i'll be mostly gone the next 12 hours trying to survive my shift so please take my wack attempts at making another tomarry time travel fic #and be kind #because picking names for past people is a challenge i hate #also i didn't read this over one last time before sending it so pray for me that there are minimal errors

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