#*finds out years later we were not all experiencing the horrors every time we spoke to others*

[gideonisms]

this is going to make me sound way too online which at this point is a given. anyway I think that online interactions about shared interests are the way I prefer to make friends full stop. like I have been only partially successful in making friends irl and the experience usually gives me so much anxiety that the process of getting there is grueling. but the people I made friends with 7 years ago due to shipping the same anime boys are like, still my friends and we interact multiple times a week. idk what to do with this information hvjklllkjjk

[landothemuppet]

Far Longer Than Forever (p.p)

Word count: 4737

Pairing : peter parker

Request: YES! ANON I LOVE YOU SO MUCH. The Swan Princess is one of my childhood movie and this was so fun to write. I can’t stop listenning the soundtrack now ! I’m so sorry for the time i took to write this, i had so much work to do with school. But it’s over now and i hope you will like this ! 

N/A:  First, gif not mine but i don’t know who i’m gonna credit on this, i have no clue...This is my first Peter Parker x reader and i hope you all will like it! As always, I remind you that English is not my native language. Don’t hesitate to tell me what you think of the fic! Like, reblogs to support. You can Love you all! xx

Taglist: @angeliquekalampoka @harryhollandsgirlfriend @cedricdiggorysimpp​ - if you want to be notified of all my future writings you can add yourself in my taglist : here

______

As far as you can remember, you've always hated summer. Well, it was partly a lie. You loved the sweltering heat of Queens, the cherry popsicles from Delmar's, not having to worry about what time you had to get up. You liked it but hated the idea of ​​the last two weeks of August.

 This year was no exception. You looked at your half-finished suitcase, a grimace on your face. August still meant the same thing, the same routine: having to spend the last three weeks of his vacation with Peter Parker.

summer 2009

Peter Parker had lost his parents very early on, two years ago. He had lived since then with his aunt May and his uncle Ben. It was your mother's idea to introduce you to each other. Aunt May and your mom were friends from college and luckily, they lived in the same neighborhood. Your first meeting with the one who, many years later, would become Spider-Man, took place on his eighth birthday. You were invited to the party when you weren't even at the same school. Aunt May had simply shared his fears about Peter's difficulty making friends after the trauma he had experienced. Your mother, as the perfect friend that she was, had suggested that Peter and you spend time together.

 There were 3 kids in total at that birthday party, you, Peter - obviously - and a boy from his school whose mother had forced him to be there, too. It was a fact; you were the only girl and you didn't know Peter at all. Your mother walked up to you, got up to your eye level and whispered

 "Can you be nice? May told me she invited Peter's whole class and only this boy came"

 You wanted to please your mother so you nodded before approaching the two boys. Peter and his friend were in the corner of the room, their backs turned to the adults. When you tapping the young boy on the shoulder to make you notice by him, he turned to you with a guilty expression. He had buttercream all over the corner of his mouth and he was holding a cupcake in his hand that looked delicious.

 “My Aunt May tried to bake a cake, but Uncle Ben bought some cupcakes in anticipation. Do you want one?” Peter asked you in a friendly voice

“Why? Is May's cake not good?

“Uncle Ben says that she is not very good at cooking.”

 You let out a little laugh and nodded your head before grabbing the cupcake with a smile. You thanked him and began to taste the little pastry with envy. It was so good! The buttercream was lemony, the cupcake was slightly lemony too but there was a taste you couldn't recognize. You were almost sure you had tasted it before, but you couldn't tell what it was. Peter and the other boy suggested that you go to Peter's room. He wanted to show you the LEGO set his uncle Ben had given him ahead of time and you followed them even though you weren't more excited about the idea.

 And you were right. For several minutes, you were pushed aside while the two young boys spoke spiritedly. You complained several times that you wanted to do something else but Peter didn't seem to listen to you, too excited to finally be able to chat with someone who appreciated Star Wars as much as he did.

 So you were annoyed and slightly angry with Peter but what broke the camel's back is that you started to not feel so good. Your throat was itching and you felt like your tongue was taking up a lot more space in your mouth, getting drier. Peter gave you a distracted look before his eyes widened. He let go of everything he had in his hands before running to his aunt.

 "Aunt May, Aunt May! Y/N's tongue looks like a big, desiccated steak!"

"Peter, don't be rude!" she exclaimed, shocked by her nephew’s words

"No, no come see, she has a huge tongue! I think something is wrong"

 Meanwhile, you ran into the bathroom at Peter's reaction. You weren't sure why he had looked at you like that, but you felt that a few things were wrong. In addition, you were more and more thirsty, your eyes also hurt. And that's when you saw your reflection. You were puffy, your tongue had tripled in size, hence this feeling of dryness and discomfort. It was the same with your throat. You started to cry and when May called you through the bathroom door, you fervently opened it.

 May and your mother's expression of horror was instantaneous and your mother knew exactly what was causing your condition.

 "What did she eat?"

"Nothing..." he tried to escape from being grounded

"Peter, this is very important. What did you eat?"

"We just ate the cupcakes Uncle Ben brought back"

 Ben looked at May with guilty eyes. May had put so much effort into Peter's birthday cake and she felt hurt that they had bought some pastries in anticipation. Your mother was impatiently stamping her foot. It was important to know exactly what you had eaten and above all, you shouldn't waste any more time. Peter felt completely helpless. He had only given a cupcake to his guest, that’s all. What was wrong with giving someone a cupcake?

 "What were those cupcakes flavor?" your mother said impatiently ...

"With lemon and almonds." he said in a very small voice.

 You were panicked. And the eight-year-old that you were was not coping well with stress. Plus, your feeling of being sidelined by Peter and his friend made you feel even worse. So you frowned. You couldn't see a thing but you could feel the torrent of tears escaping your cheeks. You pointed at Peter with rage

 "You tried to kill me !!!" you said somehow with your tongue as big as a little tangerine.

"It's not true!"

"Yes! You are a murderer"

 And you cried even more before your mother takes you to the emergency room as quickly as possible, apologizing for the scene.

 The week later, May forced Peter to apologize for giving you a cupcake, while justifying that he didn't know about your allergy. Your mother forced you to apologize for insulting Peter "a murderer" and accept his apologies.

 But you spent the rest of the vacation arguing with the little guy. After all, you didn't want to be friends with a murderer.

 Summer 2013

Aunt May and your mom didn't let go, however, and every summer you spent three damn weeks with Peter. The summer of your twelve years, you did not thus escape this eternal masquerade but this year, the tide had turned in your favor.

 From the start, you never liked Star Wars. It really wasn't your world. You had always preferred Harry Potter and although Peter had read the books and enjoyed them - which he would never admit to you as that would amount to listing the commonalities you had - he was much more invested in the galactic universe. But on that day, Peter had particularly bothered you. He had first replaced the sugar in your hot chocolate with salt. He kept chanting silly nursery rhymes about you and the downstairs neighbor, insinuating that you were in love: which was not the case. Yes, Peter had been extremely annoying. This time Peter was getting on your nerds by bouncing a small ball against the ceiling as you tried to read your book. Uncle Ben was in the living room watching the sport - you weren't sure exactly which one since it didn't matter to you - so you couldn't go anywhere else to be quiet.

 "Peter, stop it."

"Stop what?" he asked by bouncing the ball once more off his ceiling. You could even make out the smirk on his lips.

"That. Stop it! I can't read."

"This is nothing new."

 You threw him the first thing you found on his desk, c.e, a banana, which he easily dodged. You groaned in frustration. May and your mother didn't understand when you talked about Peter's attitude towards you. He was a calm child, far too shy at school and interested in everything, especially science. He was looking forward to entering Midletown High School in two years. You hated that nerd side about him. Secretly, you were a little jealous of him for being the smartest in the room.

 “I'm gonna hit you so hard you won't know your name anymore”

“ try me, dumbass.”

  A few minutes later, he had finally stopped throwing that damn ball, but obviously Peter's boredom was driving him to find everything the most boring thing than the previous one to drive you crazy. This time, he had simply taken his favorite lightsaber - because he had several - and he was poking your shoulder to get your attention.

 "Parker, stop!"

"Don't you want to drop this book and watch a movie?"

"What do you want to watch? Star Wars? No thanks ..."

"Oh come on, Y / N! I'm sure you'll like it!"

 He patted you on the shoulder once more with his lightsaber.

 "Do you want to play this, Parker?" you said before grabbing one of his other lightsabers

"What are you going to do? I'm sure you don't know how to fight with" he mocked.

 You have lit the glowing plastic stick and you are placed in the guard position.

 "Do you want to bet, knothead?"

 He smiled at you and attacked you first. Strangely, this is what most resembled a moment of bond between Peter and you and deep down, you appreciate it. But you also appreciate that possibility of kicking his ass after he's been so irritating. You responded to his lightsaber attacks with ease and joy. It was playful, childish, but it was one of the few times you had fun with Peter. And you really appreciate it. Your two laughs mingled, echoing in the room.

 But suddenly, as you were trying to dodge an attack from the brunet, your elbow made contact with his face. Peter's muffled cry of pain echoed and you froze. He was holding his nose with a grimace and when he took his hand away you both noticed in horror that he was bleeding.

 "Fuck…"

"Pete..." you started talking

"You blew my nose!" Peter shouted

"I did not do it on purpose!" you defended yourself.

"Of course, you do! You fucking blew my nose!"

"Peter, I swear ..."

 But Peter interrupted you by rushing out of his bedroom looking for his aunt who was in the office as she tried to file the important papers, that Ben and her had received this week. You were livid. First, because you didn't mean to hurt Peter on purpose. Second, you couldn't stand the sight of blood and it was literally everywhere. Peter was leaving trails of droplets on the floor of the apartment.

 "Aunt May?!? Y/N blew my nose! Damn, I'm bleeding!"

 After a brief stint in the ER, the rest of the stay was peaceful as you and Peter avoided each other until the end of the summer.

 Summer 2017

Peter was not the Peter you had always known.

 Since the death of his uncle Ben, the young man had closed in on himself and was even further away. Always so intelligent and discreet but much more distant. He had stopped teasing you or doing things that got on your nerves. He was minding his own business. And even though you had tried to be there for him, not denying him any of the offers he made to you during your stay ... you found him really ... overwhelmed. Which was still understandable.

 But this year was worse than the last. May told your mother that last year Peter got an internship at Stark Industry and attended a seminar in Germany but came back with a black eye. He had been acting most weirdly ever more since then. And you could have witnessed it. In the afternoon, when you were busy, and when it was too hot, when you tried to rest, Peter would disappear for hours. When you caught him sneaking back several times, he made you promise not to tell Aunt May.

 And you were starting to have theories about his nighttime getaways. After all, you were 16 and you too had started dating a few boys. But it never really worked. who knows why?! And when you wondered if Peter had a girlfriend, and who she was - he had to have one in view of all his sneaking out - your stomach twisted in a strange feeling. You didn't understand why the thought of Peter having a girlfriend bothered you so much. Over time, you had learned to be friends. It still happened sometimes that you quarreled but the events of the life made you grow up. Your parents had divorced, Peter had lost his uncle. You could tell yourself that you both had grown.

 And it was one night when Peter was sneaking back in again that you discovered two secrets.

 The first one: He was Spider-Man.

 It was around midnight when you heard the sound of the window opening. Since your childhood and this Machiavellian plan of your mother and Aunt May, you had always slept in Peter's room during holiday and more recently in his bed. The noise alerted you and you got up in a sitting position. But the only thing you saw was a foot, placed on this said window, closing it gently. How the hell was that possible?

 You were ready to scream but your gut told you to look up at the ceiling. A figure hung on it and you were paralyzed. Were you having one of those weird experiences called sleep paralysis? Delicately, silently, you grabbed the first blunt object within reach. A chemistry book that Peter seemed particularly fond of. The figure stepped on the ceiling as you were paralyzed. The form turned to land on the ground and then stood up, still with its back to you. You got up gently from Peter's bed and walked over. The man in the suit whose color you couldn't see took off his mask and you hit the air in an attempt to shoot him down. Peter turned around so quickly and blocked your gesture easily, like a reflex.

 "What the ..."

"Bloody hell".

 You both said at the same time. Your big surprised eyes mirrored Peter's. The curly man let go of your hand with an apologetic expression as you walked away from your friend. You turned on the bedside lamp before you discovered his blue and red costume. A very recognizable costume since it was that of Spider-Man. You winced, a look of judgment and incomprehension on your face. Not bothering to look at his face covered with bruises and traces of blood.

 "What the ... are you sneaking out to go to a costume party?"

"What?! No…No Y/N I’m…”

“Spider-Man? Great costume by the way” you joked.

 For a moment, you completely forgot that you just saw your friend glued upside down to the ceiling. Peter looked at you a little jaded, by the tone of your voice your guess was far from a sincere question but more of a mockery. And right now, the young man needed to be honest with you. He needed you.

 "But, I am."

"Yeah that's it. And I slept with the Winter Soldier. You can't imagine what he can do with his metal arm."

 Peter cut you off by pulling a web with his web shooter, tying your hands. The feel of the canvas was unpleasant, sticky but above all resistant. You let out a little cry of surprise, not powerful enough to pass the walls of Peter's room. Your eyes looked like two big golf balls, realizing that your friend was telling the truth.

 "Omg, You're Spider-Man" you almost spoke too loud.

"Yes and don't make me web your mouth. May doesn't have to know"

"damn, peter. What happened to your face!"

“yeah about that…I need you Y/N, please…”

  And without warning, Peter squeezed the spider in the middle of his costume, at chest level. He winced at the action revealing his bruised chest. He staggered a bit from the action, unsure of his legs and the pain in his sides fierce. You might see several bruises and cuts on your friend's body. You were having difficulty swallowing before you told him you were going to the bathroom to get what you needed. Before leaving the room, he made you promise to be discreet and not tell May anything if she ran into you. When you walk back into Peter's room, he's sitting half-lying on his bed, grimacing. You sit next to him, your heart pounding. You never noticed that he was so built. After all, as a superhero, he had to keep fit. But you couldn't deny that it intimidated you. Your cheeks were burning with embarrassment and a desire you never knew before. He had his eyes closed, as if trying to make the pain go away. And there, looking at him, you found him pretty. he was so cute that you couldn't help but run your hand through his curls to signal your presence and soothe him a bit. But Peter already knew you were there. He had heard your footsteps, he had smelled your scent, a sweet scent he had grown used to in his later years. He sighed softly, more relaxed. You started to clean the few shallow wounds.

 "Does it hurt?" you asked quietly

"Mhmm no, not really."

"Did you win?"

"Ouch..No. Not tonight."

"Sorry." you said more for your gesture rather than the fact that he didn't win the fight against the bad guys.

"No, it's perfect ... it's just a little sensitive"

 You smiled but something was wrong. A feeling you've never felt before. You've finished cleaning up Peter's wounds, but your gaze has darkened. As you were about to get up, the brunette gently grabbed your wrist to hold you back. He could hear your calm breathing and yet your heart was racing. He could feel the heat on your cheeks. He too felt that the tension was at its height. Your mind was muddled, he didn't know why, he wasn't a telepath, but he could see it, feel it. Your body betrayed your mind.

 "Y/N, what is it?"

"I..I don't know." you lied.

"You can tell me everything."

"I ... Well…Seeing you like this ... makes me ... makes me realize that I ... I'm afraid of losing you."

"You won't lose me ... I promise"

 You are ashamed of your vulnerable state. How did you go from hating this boy to having an overwhelming fear of losing him? You looked at those chocolate eyes in confusion and distress. You were now fully aware that the little neighborhood spider was none other than your childhood friend. The one you once loved to hate, tease, fight with over trivia. He was also on the youtube videos, who stopped cars with his bare hands.

 “Y/N… you won’t lose me, I promise.”

 Peter dared to walk slowly towards you and in a surge of courage, one of his hands circled your burning cheek, his lips rested on yours. The brunette had always had a crush on you without actually admitting it. After all, you had known each other since you were children but... your relationship had been rather confrontational. But for two years now, everything had changed for him. He appreciated more and more your little arguments, your teasing. His thoughts would sometimes turn darker when you lick your lips or when your fingers scratched that point behind your ear, when you were a little stressed.

 Your lips moved between them in a harmonious dance and you were now clinging desperately to Peter's slightly sweaty brown curls. Your heart was pounding at a speed close to the point of no return, reluctant to stop suddenly in the face of this overstimulation. But all good things came to an end and you slowly walked away. You bit your lip to get the taste of Peter's back. Your mind wandered, lost in the haze of rushing feelings.

 "You..you should rest ..."

 You ended up pulling away, swallowing hard. That night you didn't sleep. You have studied every facial feature of Peter, thinking of every event since your friendship. The next day, you fooled that nothing had happened. Too scared of what that kiss meant to you.

 Summer 2025

It all happened so quickly. After that summer, the summer of your kiss, you promised yourself that you understood your feelings towards Peter. You weren't going to the same high school and even though you were both on social media, you never dared to contact him. You needed time.

 But you haven't had this time. Peter became full-time Spider-Man and then the aliens came to earth, again. The threat of Thanos hovered and within moments, days, hours ... you were gone under his snap.

 When you returned to your childhood apartment, you were alone. Well, alone in front of the family who lived in this place now. The man in his forties simply believed you were a drug-hunting teenager squatter. Five damn years had passed. 5 years where your mother had a new life when you had been eclipsed. You were distraught, alone and it was by happy coincidence that you found May at the F.E.A.S.T project. It was a relief for you to find a familiar face again. She had suggested that you come and live in her new temporary apartment, allowing you to finish high school without having to move to the other end of the United States, with your mother. You declined your offer. You wanted to fend for yourself. And surprisingly, you did pretty well.

 To be exact, Mr. Delmar was looking for a student to work in his store and was kind enough to greet you in the bedroom of one of his daughters who had gone to college. By the greatest of luck, you've never seen Peter. Or rather, you managed to avoid it for an entire year. You had caught a glimpse of him one day, trying to speak Italian to get a travel adapter and a dual headphone adapter. Did you feel foolish thinking that after so long - could we consider those 5 years to be 5 concrete years? - would it still focus on the kiss you shared? After all, you got away from him after that. And then, everything went in a state of madness.

 Every time you turned on the television, you learned that elemental monsters had attacked a different country. They had first started with Mexico and then moved to Europe. Italy, Prague and then London. A certain Mysterio seemed to be taking care of this matter, but you couldn't help but think of Peter. May told you he was supposed to go to Italy. In fact, every time she went to Delmar's for a sandwich, she gave you an update on her nephew's trip. But it wasn't the craziest.

 Upon his return ... Spider-man's identity was revealed. You had watched in horror the video of Mysterio, which appeared on the Daily Buggle newspaper, accusing Peter of wanting to be the new Iron-Man. You were listening to J. Jonah Jameson falsely accusing Peter of being a murderer. You knew Peter, and there was no way he had done such an act. The video was bogus, you were sure. When you tried to reconnect that summer, you noticed Peter's girlfriend. Michelle Jones and ... and that's what kept you from approaching him. He was already supported. He had his best friend, Ned. His girlfriend, MJ. And he had May. It was enough, wasn't it?

  It was the following year, after a new incredible adventure that you met again.

You worked at the store in the evening. Mr Delmar had asked you to help him out urgently because his youngest daughter had a health problem. You accepted with pleasure. You had offered to babysit his daughter but the loving father he was wanted to be with her. And it was precisely this evening that a thug decided to steal the fund from you.

 You were at gunpoint with your hands up in the air when you saw a red and black mass fall behind the thug.

 "Hey buddy, I think the bank is across the street"

 Spider-Man tapped the thief on the shoulder and dodged a punch.

 "But I think I'll arrest you anyway if you went to the bank. You don't seem like a nice guy." Peter joked.

 You were paralyzed as your friend, your best friend if you were honest, chained or avoided them with agility. You swallowed hard, unable to move or run away. A gunshot rang out and you smelled a scared little vintage. Peter squeezed the barrel of the gun in his hand, deviating from his course. It made sense now to say that he had simply defended himself against the assault. After a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, Peter stared the offender against a fridge door, immobilizing him. He then turned to you, oblivious to your identity at the time.

 "Are you okay there?"

"Peter!"

 You didn't give him the chance to realize and you rushed into his arms, hugging him so tight to feel the comfort of his body against yours.

 "Uh, yeah, you're welcome. Cuddles are nice but ..."

 He paused for a moment and his automated eyes widened. He knew his perfume. The flowery, sweet scents that he had missed so much. Is this possible?

 "Y/N?"

 You let go of him and immediately put his mask back on. Adrenaline was controlling your actions and god damn it, you needed that touch. You kissed him, bluntly. Your lips crushed against his in impatience, in ardor, but too bad. You needed to feel it against you, to regain the feeling that you had felt, years ago. After a few seconds, you felt Peter's hands encircle your waist, pulling you closer to him. Your heart was exploding, the ardor was present in your kiss. You were even frustrated that you couldn't grab her brown curls with full hands, settling for only the base of her hair. You let out a moan before pulling away abruptly. He had a girlfriend.

 "I… I'm sorry. I… Sorry, I didn't mean… MJ… and… please don't blame me."

 Peter silenced you with another kiss, shorter this time but so good.

 “There is no MJ .... Just you and me ... Far Longer Than Forever”

 You looked at him hopefully and then burst out laughing after his words.

 "I didn't know you were so romantic, Parker"

"Shut your mouth."

"Make me"

"You are impossible."

"But obviously, you like"

 He was going to say something to nag you, he was looking for it but you caught him off guard, placing your lips on his again. You could feel his smile in the kiss and you couldn't help but do the same. Anyone living in the neighborhood present in the street would have a view of Spider-Man kissing the student cashier from Delmar. But you couldn't care less. You had waited too long and the joy you were feeling now was so intense, you didn't want to stop feeling this. It is reluctantly that Peter moved away from you apologizing for the fact that he had to go on patrol again.

 "Go save the Spider-Man neighborhood"

"Only if you promise me you'll be there when I get back."

"I was thinking of going to say goodnight to May instead ... But if you want, I have a sleeping bag in the storeroom."

"You are incorrigible .... See you later ..."

"See you later."

 You smiled, in a misty state of bliss as Peter disappeared from view. This time, you weren't planning to escape, you wanted to fall into the webs of Peter Parker. You closed the store after the police visit and headed to May's flat. It was late but with her kindness she welcomed you with open arms.

 This summer ... was the best in years but the others to come were going to be even more wonderful.

[sweetcoffeebean]

Fluff & Smut Fic

welp it do be another leon fic that i wrote between the hours of 12 am and 4 am

i believe the longest i’ve written??? which is spicy. this one however features an OC, although not by name. characteristics are mentioned and her personality and backstory, but that’s it. please feel free to immerse yourself and treat it as a leon/reader fic. and if you get the chance, it’s also posted on archiveofourown if you’d like to leave a comment or kudos <3

Another morning comes, where she steps into the quiet kitchen and opens the blinds to the window above the sink, letting in the early rays of light that shine over the countertops and negate the need for the kitchen light. It’s a quiet morning, 7:04 AM on the dot, according to the time on the stove. The silence is welcoming, after too many mornings of action and terror that had plagued her and her love over the years, the likes of which made her forget the rising sun was ever warm and inviting like it was as it spilled into the silent kitchen.

Turning on the coffee pot, she watches as the caffeine slowly drips its way down into a proper morning drink, the scent of it quickly filling the room. She reaches for the mugs in the cabinet just above the pot, the quiet clinks of porcelain on porcelain echoing together, another sign of a peaceful morning. It always hit her hard as she thought about the years before, and how something so normal and commonplace always surprised her when she was in the midst of it. So many people woke up to mornings like this each day, no doubt dreading a long work day or simply going through the motions without a second thought. To her, and to her love, this was paradise. This was what they craved, something they fought for without even realizing it over the fight for peace and the safety of the world’s people.

Only once the coffee had finished brewing and she was pouring it out, did she hear the sound of feet shuffling towards the kitchen. Looking over her shoulder, she sees the man she had grown to love with her entire being over the years.. The man she fought beside, the man she had supported and who supported her through every trial and tribulation.. One of the very few people who knew exactly the horrors she had experienced, and vice versa. Face was unshaven, a five ‘o clock shadow adorning his handsome features, coupled with the dirty blond hair she’d run her fingers through a countless amount of times. Leon barely had his eyes open as he came straight for the counter, straight for her, and wrapped both arms around her waist while she let herself relax against his muscular frame.

“Morning, sweetheart… still getting up so damn early..?” He lets his chin rest on her shoulder, arms staying slightly slack around her waist so she’s still able to move as she tilts the coffee pot, watching as she slowly fills both mugs.

“Old habits are hard to break… but who’s to say we can’t just lay back in bed after we have some coffee? And maybe food. Food would be lovely.”

Leon laughs at her words, knowing full well she would be hungry in the morning as she always was after waking up. She feels the way he brings one arm up, and pushes back her hair off to one side of her body, revealing her neck to him. Next comes the feeling of familiar lips, kissing along her skin languidly… once, twice. A third time over a fading pink mark he had left the night before.

With a soft giggle, she brings one hand up to gently caress his cheek, her soft skin a contrast to the rough stubble on his face. It’s another moment she feared she wouldn’t get to have when they were in the middle of fighting the living dead and those that created them. When they were running for their lives, being shot at, being thrown around like ragdolls. And now here they both are, in a room where the only noise they hear is the sound of their bodies shifting against each other and the dulled sound of birds chirping from the trees outside.

“We deserve to have a day where we just do a whole lot of nothing. I do have to run to the store, though.. But I shouldn’t be gone more than 20 minutes.” She lifts her mug to her lips, blowing on the hot coffee before taking a small sip.

Leon lets go of her waist and moves to pick up the other mug she had poured, not bothering to blow on it the way she did and simply drank it as if it were only warm. Whether or not he did it to show off, or he was simply used to quickly downing a hot drink while he had the chance, was a mystery.

“You’re not in a rush to go, though. Right? We can worry about that later.” As he spoke, he leaned back against the counter, that fringe of hair falling near his right eye as it always did, the signature hairstyle he refused to ever get rid of. Even with his hair being unbrushed, it still fell normally to frame his face as if he had already mostly styled it for the day.

“Mhm… no rush. I want to enjoy the morning with you.” As she speaks, she sets down her mug and looks into his eyes… a beautiful blue like hers, but deeper. Darker when the light wasn’t shining into them.

It was always damn near impossible not to smile when she saw his face, even after all of the years that have passed. All of the years of heartache, fighting to survive, fighting to communicate during it all… it wasn’t easy by any measure. It wasn’t the perfect relationship either, there were personal matters to deal with on both of their ends, on their own and with each other. Ada Wong was a sore topic for a while, it took a lot of time and communication to get Leon to work through what he had going on with her in his mind. That was a point of contention, even she had trouble dealing with it at the time. And on the flip side, Leon being there to help her soften and truly open up to him, to trust him with her heart and let him see the real, unabashed sides of her. To help her learn she was meant to be loved, and she didn’t have to always rely on only herself as she had done for years before.

As she steps forward, Leon leans in towards her, both in sync as they knew what the other wanted from a simple look. Placing a hand on her hip, he gently brings her in closer as she places a hand on his chest, both leaning into each other for a kiss. Soft at first, their kiss is held for only a moment before they pull away, faces still close enough that with a subtle movement their noses would brush together.

Despite what many would think… Leon wore his heart on his sleeve. He was always compassionate, caring, and with a sense of justice like no other. While he may seem stoic and tough in many situations, if you actually talked to him… he could be surprisingly honest and earnest. In moments like these, those parts of him glowed so brightly it was blinding. Never did she think she would feel love radiating off of a man before, not like this. And not towards her.

For so many years, she knew she was a good person. She was kind, she always wanted to help, she did everything she could to help people. Not unlike Leon, really. But she kept herself hidden, spoke about herself and her life yet never told anyone anything of substance that related to her true self, her real feelings. Vulnerability was not something she learned over her years growing up, well into adulthood. Be kind, but not a pushover. Help those in need find a balance between independence and depending on others in times of necessity, but never help herself do the same. There was no such thing as a time of need for dependency to her. Things that applied to others did not apply to her, she was the exception of what she taught others. And because of that, she made peace with knowing she wouldn’t be able to find someone who would genuinely love her… who would ever get the chance to love her. Who she would ever actually be able to open up to. Who can fall for a woman hidden behind so many closed doors, she may as well not exist at all?

And how funny life is, for her to find a man who didn’t think love was an option for him, either. His work had become his life, there was no time for love and affection, for getting to know another person at all. His job being far too dangerous, friends and lovers would be a liability. It almost felt selfish to get too close to people knowing it could make them targets. For a long time, fighting and monsters was all he knew. She helped him see beyond that, to a life where he could wake up in the morning and kiss the love of his life up against the kitchen counter at 7:13 in the morning.

The sun warmed their skin as the light shone on them, both smiling softly as their gazes remained locked.

“I’ll be needing some more of that, you know…” Leon brings both hands up to her hips now, holding her in place.

“Oh…? You mean more coffee? I can pour you some more if one mug isn’t enough.” Her words with that wry smile on her face makes him laugh, making him give a small shake of his head. He pulls her closer, body pressed against body.

“More of this. More of you.”

With those final words, he wraps both arms around her waist, as she drapes her arms over his shoulders to hold him close, lips meeting in the middle again. Their bodies shifted until she stood with his leg between her own, and lips began to part and press together over and over. The sound of their kisses filled the silence of the room, even more so as his tongue slipped in to meet her own, causing a soft moan to reverberate within her throat.

Hands began to wander as one of his dipped below the hem of her shirt, calloused fingers caressing over her stomach as it moved higher and higher, lifting up her shirt with it. As he reached her ribs, just below her chest, the kisses paused as a breathy chuckle escaped his lips.

“Glad you didn’t bother putting on a bra yet.” His fingertips grazed below the curves of her breasts, teasing her.

“Mm… I wasn’t in the mood to… I don’t need one at home, do I?” She speaks softly as she leans in, placing a kiss just below his ear, then another along the side of his neck.

With a slight shiver quickly moving down his spine, Leon finally brings a hand up to properly cup her chest, one thumb brushing over her nipple. Her warm breath grazed his neck, an exhale of pleasure brought out only by a simple touch of his. With that, he spoke in a low tone of voice: “Absolutely not.”

Already, Leon could feel the blood rushing to his cock. It didn’t take much for her to bring that out of him, the curves of her body alone brought so many thoughts to his mind he could hardly stand it. She stood there, beautiful as ever in his arms, knowing that he had permission to run his hands all over her body and bring out the most delicious noises she could make. He remembered their time just the night before, only a few hours ago. When she was laying on their bed, naked, with her legs spread and beckoning for him to take her. Yet another thing that he gets to do with her that makes him forget all about the world outside of their home. The DSO, the government, the villains, the BOW’s… none of them existed in these moments.

Leon could feel the heat between her own legs pressing against his thigh, and while he may still only have just woken up, that has no effect on his strength and determination for her body. His hands reached down to grip both of her thighs, and with a brief little ‘hmph’ he lifted her up as if she hardly weighed a thing, placing her onto the countertop. The shorts she wore only covered part of her thighs, while the rest was bare and felt the cold sting of the marble countertop below her. Only a moment after he heard her mumble the word ‘cold’ did he place his hands onto her inner thighs, gently shifting them apart and responding with, “I’ll warm you up just the way you like…”

Her heart rate picked up now, as he leaned back in to kiss her, far more passionately than he had before… but still not quite as aggressively as they had kissed that night. It was still morning, after all. Part of the kitchen was still dim as the sun had yet to rise quite enough to blanket the entire room with light, much of the world beyond their window still waking up. Even they were still waking up, to a degree. It was something she absolutely loved… something exciting that they rarely ever got to do. Sleepy morning sex.

Sleepy morning sex, now taking place in their kitchen instead of their bed.

And lucky for her, Leon was already half naked. He had walked in wearing only his boxer briefs that morning, having no need to get dressed beyond that when he was staying in their house. Even she wasn’t wearing much, just a pair of underwear, shorts, and a simple t-shirt so on the off chance someone in the far distance glanced over into their windows, they wouldn’t get a free show.

His shirtlessness meant that she did not have to wait to run her fingers over his chest, feeling the taut muscles he’d built up over the years and then having the opportunity to simply look at the man who she gripped onto so tightly when he was slamming into her at top speed, edging so close to orgasm. He drove her crazy, and she drove him crazy right back.

Crazy enough that with her on the counter, rather than coming up to kiss her again, he leaned down to kiss along her inner thighs. Again, he kissed over a few fading pink marks left on her skin… sucking gently on unmarked spots to create new ones. Slowly he made his way up higher, and once he reached the apex of her thighs, he placed his hands along the waistband of her shorts.

“Lift your hips for me, baby.”

There was no hesitation as she obliged, placing her hands to her sides in order to lift herself up, allowing him the access he needed to slide her clothing off and toss it onto the kitchen floor. Leon watched her as she let her legs hang off the counter, thighs still spread apart to give him access to her already wet pussy. Her breath had already begun to pick up, he could see the rise and fall of her chest as she laid herself bare to him, a dusting of redness rising on her cheeks.

Coming forward, Leon grips her outer thighs and leans in, kissing along her skin again… unable to stop himself from teasing.

“This is new… looks like I’m the one that gets to eat first this morning.” The smirk on his lips was absolutely terrible, and she had already parted her lips to say his name, to scold him for making such a silly comment when she was spreading herself for him and trying not to lose her control. The words never came out of her mouth beyond saying the first half of his name, however, as he brought one of his hands forward and slowly dragged his middle finger up from her entrance, all the way up to brush against her clit and spread that wetness he had caused in just a matter of minutes.

Her head lolled backwards as her toes curled for just a moment, her pussy sensitive right from the start as she thought about what they were just getting up to. A soft, brief moan escaped her lips.. Only to be replaced by a sharper moan and exhale of breath, when he brought his head down, spreading her apart and immediately bringing his tongue down onto her clit.

“Leon… shit…” The words slipped out seemingly beyond her control as she shivered, looking down to see that dirty blond head of hair nestled between her legs, feeling that masterful tongue licking up and down, running in circles around her clit and tasting every inch of her. Biting her lip, she watched as his eyes gazed up at her, deep blue eyes that focused solely on her.. And even those teased her, too. Just from the look he gave her… he knew exactly what he was doing. He knew she was melting for him, that he knew every single sensitive spot she had on her body and he knew just how to play with each one.

The feeling of his rough, unshaven face against the softest, most sensitive part of her body adds an entirely new sensation that now has her toes curled indefinitely. Her thighs began to squeeze together, pressing him tighter against her body as he continued to use his tongue to pleasure her, lapping at her as if she was the greatest tasting thing he’d ever experienced. She may just be so, in actuality.

Leon knew she was getting close already, just by the way her body wracked when he reached her clit… and so he no longer focused on anything else. Keeping a tight grip on her thighs, he changed his motions as he alternated between sucking on her and flicking her with his tongue, causing her moans to truly fill the room at this point. Her body shook, hands came down to tangle in his hair… and when the waves of pleasure washed over her, she arched her back and let her head fall backwards, letting out a long drawn out, “Fuuuuccck…..!”

Not once did he stop, not when he could see that her orgasm continued to wrack her body, making her shiver over and over when it reached its peak, came slightly down, and hit her with another peak all over again. Hungrily he helped her ride out her orgasm, and only once her body began to go limp and relaxed did he finally pull back away, quickly swiping the back of his finger over his bottom lip as he brought his gaze back up to her face.

Dazed and content, she smiled as she saw the look on his face, accomplished and satisfied. Unable to help it, she let out a little giggle.

“That was incredible, honey…”

Standing up properly, he leans in and gently cradles the back of her head, fingers gently weaving into her long hair as he leaned in and kissed her cheek, then the corner of her lips. “And it’s not over yet…”

She lets her body come forward, and he watches as she slides herself off the counter onto wobbly legs, her hands coming down to the hem of his boxer-briefs. Already she could see the large bulge that had formed, and knew that he had to be absolutely suffocating with keeping those on. Pulling at the hem, she brought his underwear out and down, freeing his cock and watching as precum instantly came to the tip. Her gentle fingers come down to wrap around him, giving him three long strokes as he closes his eyes and exhales, one hand coming to rest on her lower back and keep her close to him. After only a moment, his blue eyes opened and focused on hers again.

“I can’t wait for you anymore… no foreplay for me.” And she lets out the tiniest yelp of surprise and happiness when he places both hands on her ass, pulling her in for a hard kiss.

Bringing his lips to her ear, his hot breath brushes against her as his words are spoken: “I need to be inside of you. Now.”

Nothing else needs to be said to her with that. While she may have only just orgasmed, it meant nothing. She was ready to go again immediately, feeling as if something was entirely missing now that she’s horny and seeing that absolutely starving look in his eyes.

And while he had half expected her to hop onto the counter again… she decided to go with a position they don’t get to do as often, given that they both value seeing each other’s faces in their throes of passion. Sometimes it was nice to spice things up, and she’d been wanting to do this one for a while.

Leon watches as she takes off her shirt, and turns around. His eyes are completely glued to her as she keeps her feet firmly planted on the ground… and leans over the counter, her upper body now laying on it with her ass out to him, legs slightly spread. From this angle, while he couldn’t see her face… he could absolutely see everything else.

He does get to meet her gaze again however, as she turns to look back at him over her shoulder. And while she’d always been a sweet, very mature woman… she could get absolutely dirty. Keeping his eyes locked to hers, she gives him the dreamiest of smiles, paired with her pleading words:

“I want you to fuck me from behind, Leon. Please…”

As if any man would be able to say no to her like that. His stunning girlfriend, again spread wide for him.. But now he could admire the curve of her back, the way her legs looked as they gently stretched to keep herself planted on the floor, and the way her long, black hair fell over her shoulders and onto the counter where her arms were crossed beneath her head for cushioning.

Words are breathlessly spoken as he moves forward, both hands on her ass not only to keep her steady but to spread her just slightly further apart, lifting her ass and giving him every bit of access he needed for his hardened cock.

“As if I could ever say no to you.”

And with those assertive words, Leon lines himself up with her pussy, something he’d done so many times it was absolutely second nature to him. Moving forward, he lets out a low, quiet groan of pleasure as he feels himself slide inside of her, slowly filling her up until he reaches as deep as he can go. That familiar warmth and wetness, her body felt as if she was made for him… and of course, she felt as if his body was made for her, too. Gently she digs her nails into her arms, biting her lip as he simply rested inside of her for the moment, allowing her the time to get used to him being inside again, as if he hadn’t been in her just hours before.

It’s only once he sees her turn to look over her shoulder at him again, seeing those pretty blue eyes of hers begging without words for him to move, that he slides himself back out again. Leon keeps his hands on her hips now, holding her in place as he thrusts himself back in, unable to keep the moan from escaping his own mouth. While he may not be the loudest in bed, he was surely not shy with the moans and groans that do come out of him.

Picking up the pace, the sound of skin on skin melded with the moans of ecstasy released by them both as Leon continued to fill her to the brim, getting to a point where he refused to pull out of her more than halfway, choosing instead to keep a faster pace and slam into her over and over again. Soon she feels him rest more weight on her, one hand coming down to press onto her clit, causing a much louder gasp from her, a gasp that quickly changed to a shaky whimper of pleasure when he used three fingers at once to rub circles on her clit.

It isn’t long before she begs for more, for him to go faster…. Until he hears those words that always bring him over the edge.

“Leon, please… make me cum…!”

Leon nearly becomes blinded by his own rapture, groaning the word ‘fuck’ desperately under his breath as he holds her steady, holds her close.. Making sure that she never strays far from his thrusts as his dick drove her to the brink all over again, just like he did last night.

He felt it, it built up so fast every time he felt her walls constrict around him, squeezing his cock and driving him insane with the tightness she enveloped him with over and over again. There was nothing else he could do, no more holding himself back as he finally lets out a desperate groan and long exhale, only slightly muffled by her own cries of an orgasm taking over her body all over again, causing her to shake and shiver just as it had before when he ate her out.

Not only did she cum, but he came even harder. She felt it as he unloaded into her, hot and thick cum completely filling her from the inside and nearly making her eyes roll into the back of her head. Never did she let anyone cum inside of her before… only Leon has ever been allowed that privilege. And it was a privilege he never took for granted.

It took a solid few minutes for their orgasms to finally subside, the waves turning to an overwhelming feeling of warmth that remained evenly across their bodies, inside and out. Both bodies turned to jelly as Leon slowly slipped out of her, watching as his cock moved back and he could see his cum beginning to drip out of her. He had to admit, he came pretty hard for what was essentially an early morning quickie. That sleepy morning sex sure as hell woke them both up.

Slowly, she stood back up to face him, taking it easy as her back shifted and returned to a comfortable posture. Without fail, he came forward and hugged her, holding her up against his body so she didn’t have to worry about using strength that had been sapped from her after two back to back orgasms.

“Bet you’re starving now, huh? You were already hungry to begin with.” Leon says with a chuckle in his voice, leaning in to kiss her forehead after the words had been spoken.

An exhausted but contented laugh spills from her own lips as her head tilts, resting against his shoulder and allowing herself to simply be held and loved the way he always did after sex.

“Mhm… but that was all worth it. We earned ourselves a big breakfast and a hot bath together afterwards.”

The smiles remained on both of their lips, even more so as he leaned down to whisper right into her ear: “I love you.”

And as her arms snaked around his body, she hugged him showing how he truly was the most precious person in the world to her. Never would she let him think otherwise.

“I love you too, Leon.”

[jettingtothemoon]

Save You; chapter 9

➳ pairing: hector x witch|reader x alucard ➳ genre: fantasy, angst, fluff ➳ warnings: violence, swearing, smut, mentions of rape, past slavery, spoilers for seasons 1 thorough 3. ➳ word count: 2099 ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ summary: In which y/n and Hector continue to flee from the council of sisters, finding refuge among an unlikely acquaintance with fresh scars and a cold personality. ➳ Part two of, ’Rescue You’.  ➳ tags: @afierayeehaww​

Chapters: 01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07, 08, 09,

Three

The rest of the day felt like years, hours dragging on. Surprisingly, although the three of you- particularly Hector -were a little more awkward than usual, none of you brought up what you spoke of again. It was business as usual. Well, almost.

There was a feeling in your stomach, an excitement, a fear, a feeling you were sure the others were also experiencing. Butterflies that just wouldn't go away. Worry that this might end badly. Would Adrian really be okay? Would this only make things weird between the three of you? That was what you were worried about.

Of course, however, nighttime soon arrived.

You and Hector had headed up before Adrian, allowing him a moment to himself, after tucking Alexander into bed, in order to decide whether he would be joining you or not. You dressed for bed, in your nightgowns as you waited for him, wondering if he really was going to come.

When the door quietly opened and his almost hesitant footsteps walked in, closing the door just as quietly after, you both sat up.

Adrian met your eyes, smiling softly as he took in a deep breath and walked over to accompany you on the bed. He crawled up from the end, sitting on his knees in front of the two of you. Hector reached out for his hand, squeezing it reassuringly in his own whilst you placed a gentle hand against his cheek.

"Are you sure about this?"

He only smiled and brought up his hand to cup your own, fingers delicately wrapping around it as he turned his head to press his soft lips against it.

"I am."

When his lips left your hand, his attention turned to Hector. He reached out, running his fingers through Hector's hair. He just closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. Your hand was soon on Adrian's cheek again, turning his face towards you so that you could kiss him, pulling him closer to the two of you.

For a while, it was just like this. Gentle touches and tender kisses shared between the three of you. The pace was slow, comfortable. But, as the minutes passed, you all began to grow more eager to move on.

It was Hector who first pulled at Adrian's nightgown, helping him remove it whilst you took off your own.

When Adrian said that he had scars all over his body, you hadn't imagined this. They were everywhere. A dark red burnt into his skin, a permanent mark of all the horrors he had been through. You ran your hand over them, starting with the one from his father. He looked away, as if ashamed of them. You took his hand again as the three of you moved, allowing Adrian to lie down against the bed. He sucked in a breath when your lips delicately began to kiss the scars along his arm, slowly working your way up to his shoulder.

"You're so beautiful." You whispered into his ear before kissing him again.

Hector then took over, his hand taking Adrian's most vulnerable organ in his hand. Adrian hissed, eyes closing as Hector began to stroke him whilst kissing along his torso, working his way down to his stomach.

His first moan was such a pleasant sound. So rich and sweet, like a fine dessert wine. It only made both you and Hector want to hear so many more.

It wasn't long before Hector was pleasuring Adrian with his mouth, sucking his already hardened cock with such tenderness. Nothing about this was going to be rough or rushed. You were going to take your time. To enjoy this for as long as you could but also to explore those feelings you were having.

Whilst Hector continued to work on Adrian's lower half, you found yourself kissing him again. Swallowing his little moans and groans for a moment before you lips travelled along his jaw and down onto his neck. From there, you continued to leave little open-mouthed kisses along his collarbone and torso until your mouth was around his nipple, tongue rolling over it before your teeth lightly teased the sensitive skin.

Adrian hummed in pleasure, throwing his head back against the pillow as he bit into his bottom lip.

"H- Hector." He whined, hands carefully pulling the other man off of him before he could go too far and back up so that their lips could meet again.

As the two of them kissed, you made your way between Adrian's legs. You pressed your lips to his thigh, softly kissing the skin there. Whilst your hand slowly ran up and down his leg, fingers lightly smoothing over his scars, you began to suck and bite little marks into his pale skin.

Hector was the one to gather your attention, his hand on your shoulder as he led you to trade places with Adrian. Now you were the one lying beneath them, reaching up to place a hand on each of their cheeks as they smiled down at you. Hector kissed your hand and then his lips began to travel down your arm, his soft lips making sure to savour every inch of your skin. All the while, Adrian's head dived down to your chest.

Never did you think you would ever lie with two men at once and feel such love and care in each and every touch. And yet, that was exactly what this was. Being with them, both of them, brought you a feeling of joy you had never felt before. You loved Hector and he loved you but there was a chance you both loved Adrian too. Or, that you could grow to love him in the near future.

Now Adrian's teeth were on your nipple, being careful not to use his fangs as he lightly bit down and tugged just was you were doing to him only moments ago. Hector soon joined him, his lips tending to your other breast once he was finished with your arm. The feeling alone had your toes curling as you hands ran through their hair. On one side, long, silky golden locks ran elegantly through for fingers. On the other, shorter, wavy silver strands. There was a comfort it in, their hair. A comfort in touching it, running your fingers through it.

You could no longer hold back your voice, allowing moans to slip from your lips as Hector's fingers travelled down, soon pushing into you. With a gasp, your grip on their hair tightened ever so slightly, not enough to pull but enough for them to notice.

Adrian came back, kissing you again. Your tongue was soon in his mouth and his in yours, swirling about as the kiss deepened. The feeling of his fangs occasionally scraping against your tongue was unexpectedly pleasant, it had a danger to it and yet, you never felt any less than safe and comfortable.

When he pulled away, Hector was retracting his fingers from within you, clearly now ready for something more.

"How are we going to do this?" Adrian questioned, kissing your forehead affectionately before turning to Hector for answers.

The answer he received, however, was one neither you nor he had seen coming. Hector simply took his fingers, that were now coated with your own natural lubrication, and began to push one into himself. You and Adrian jumped into worry the moment his face scrunched up in something that wasn't quite pain, and were by his side in seconds.

"You don't have to do that." Adrian reassured but Hector didn't stop, instead, he just rested his head against Adrian's shoulder.

When he put in another, he groaned, "I- I want to."

Adrian looked down at him so softly, wrapping an arm around him before turning his head back to you. You simply offered him a gentle smile and began rubbing soothing circles into Hector's back. When he was finished, or had simply decided it was enough, he pulled his fingers from himself and kissed you.

Soon, he had guided you back to your position on the bed so that you were lying beneath him. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb lightly stroking over your skin as he lined himself up with you. You nodded and he pushed into you with a groan but, before moving, he turned to Adrian and reached out for him to come closer.

Adrian hesitantly approached, taking Hector's hand as he reached the two of you.

"Don't act so clueless, you've laid with a man before." Hector chuckled, not bothering to hide the way his cheeks blushed at his own words.

"But I've never..."

Before he could finish his sentence, he was already pushing himself into Hector, who's face once again turned to one of discomfort. 

Adrian kissed his shoulder, "Does it hurt?"

"J- Just uncomfortable." Hector admitted, opening his eyes to look down at you from where you were beneath him.

You smiled up at him, comforting him with a kiss.

After a quiet moment of adjusting, Hector spoke again, "Y- You can move now."

And so, he did. As Adrian began to roll his hips into Hector, the latter consequently rolled his hips into you. The three of you let out sounds of pleasure. Your arms wrapped around Hector's shoulders whilst his hands gripped the sheets beside you. Adrian's hand soon found it's way to Hector's, their fingers twining together whilst the blonde kissed your hand.

This feeling was like one you had never felt before. Both physically and emotionally. You and Adrian felt good. This felt good. But Hector, he was clearly experiencing something different altogether.

From the looks of it he couldn't muster any words, only moans as the three of you rocked back and forth together. Tears had gathered in the corner of his eyes but it was clear they weren't tears of pain.

You kissed him whilst Adrian peppered kisses across his back, lips brushing against his honeyed skin and toned muscles.

"I'm going to- to-"

You quietened Hector with a kiss, letting him know that it was okay for him to finish inside you. A few more of those gentle thrusts and he came, spilling his load into you as he moaned into your mouth. Not even seconds later, Adrian pulled out and came over Hector's back, your orgasm followed soon after.

The three of you collapsed onto the bed, lying beside each other and panting heavily. Hector remained between you, lying on his front so not to dirty the sheets any further with what was on his back.

"Thank you." Adrian was the first to speak, smiling at the two of you as he did so.

You simply smiled back, knowing now that whatever this was between the three of you was something real. It was also something none of you had ever expected to happen, especially when you once knew him all those years ago.

When you woke up the next day, you were pleased to see the two naked men lying beside you. Hector was snuggled up into Adrian's chest, you had an arm hanging over the pair of them. Legs tangled together, bodies warming each other. This was cosy, it was comfortable and most of all, it was how you wanted to spend the rest of your mornings until the day you died.

Adrian was the next to wake, looking at you with a smile and then down at Hector. He began to run his slender fingers through Hector's hair, gentle enough so not to wake him. The two of you just silently lied there, allowing Hector to sleep just a little while longer since it was clear that last night had truly worn him out.

When he too finally awoke with a sleepy smile, Adrian kissed his forehead before climbing out of bed.

"You two stay here, I'll go prepare breakfast."

You shook your head, "We'll all go prepare breakfast, together."

Your statement may have been true about the matter at hand but it was clear to all of you what the true meaning behind it was. You were going to do things together from now on. You were going to stay together. The three of you, like this. This was the new normal, this was what you wanted. From the way they both looked at you with such love in their eyes, you knew that they both wanted this too.

"Very well, we shall all go make breakfast. But first, perhaps a bath?"

Chapters: 01, 02, 03, 04, 05, 06, 07, 08, 09, 

[sonid6699]

Time travels back to the start by SONid6699

Leipzig, Germany, 2016

"Underoos"

Suddenly a figure in cladded in red and blue leaped out of nowhere and stole Captain's shield, and landed in the most superhero pose ever.

"Hey everyone!!!"

"Nice job kid."

"Thanks well I could have stuck the landing a little better it's just a new suit"

Everyone was looking at the red cladded person "Underoos" as Tony had called him with curiosity and annoyance but the look on Tony's 'I am so done with it' face made him backtrack his statement.

"What it's nothing just a new suit. What. It's nothing Mr. Stark it's perfect thank you"

"Yeah don't really need to start a conversation"

"Cap-Captain big-"

Suddenly his spider sense tingled. Well tingled is a small word, it felt like his senses went overdrive. As if they were screaming at him for an upcoming threat.

Stopping his ramble mid way he observed the airport. The need to find what triggered his senses at such a level was vital. He found nothing.

"Underoos. What are you doing there's nothing over there. Roger is here in the front." Now Tony was getting annoyed and for the tenth time he questioned himself that whether he did the right thing or not by bringing a kid to this fight.

"Something is happening!!!"

"What do you mean something is happening ki-"

"Mr. Stark? I don't feel so good…. "

The tremble and fear in his voice settled a suffocating silence over the airport. All the avengers and non-avengers were trying to identify the actions behind those words but no avail.

Tony definitely did not like where this was going. Somehow he had a bad feeling about it in his gut. "Kid are you alright?" he asked in surprisingly calm voice.

"I don't know… I don't know whats happening…."

Terror invaded in everyone's heart as suddenly the kid fell on his knees the shield long forgotten fell on the ground with a clank. The scream that came next was terrifying.

"aaaahhhh… Aaaaahhhhh……… ItIt….. It… Hu…..hurts!!!!"

By this time even Sam, Barnes, Wanda and Clint had came out of wherever they were hidden to watch the commotion.

"Roos you have to tell us what's going on."

Whatever Mr. Stark was saying fell deaf to Peter's ears. He was terrified. He thought he knew what pain was but this was offwordly. He can't help the scream that escaped his lips. "aaagghh… He..help...it hu.. Hur-"

Silence. Pin drop silence covered the airport for the second time this day. Everyone's face displayed all the emotions. Sympathy, horror, astonishment, pained, terrified…….. No one knew what to say as the kid's body disintegrated into dust. Tha dust that had now flew away with the wind.

Natasha broke the silence "What the fuck!!!!"

Steve collected his composure "Tony I know we aren't on good terms but…But for the sake of God please tell us it was one of the kids trick or your plan to stop us. That the kid disintegrating into fucking dust was all planned."

Tony didn't know what to say. He can't even believe what had happened." Cap do I look like i know what's going on." He was angry know. He knew that he was desperate to stop them and take them into custody but he wasn't that inhuman that he would willing allow a kid to suffer from… Whatever just happened. "And I… don't know ok!!!! As far as I am aware this ain't in his skill set!!!!!"

"Tony I.. Didn't mean it like that. Listen-"

"Can you both fight later and discuss what the hell happened!!" Rhodey cut both of them.

Sam knew he will be seeing weird things once he joined cap but this was on another level. "Guy's listen-"

He abruptly stopped as suddenly the ash that once had fallen started integrating again taking the form of a human body. The kid's body he realized. The formation was as scary as the disintegration.

Looks like he wasn't the only one paying attention as everyone held thier weapons against…… Whatever the hell they are going to face.

¤¤¤¤¤¤

He falls on the ground, pain tearing through every cell, every atom of his body. He can still feel the pain of being torn from its neighbour and sent drifting out into space. He could still feel the pain of his atom binding together, again, and it hurt but the pain was receding. That was good he thought. He was still coughing, body still shaking, weakened due to his unplannes excursion. He was vaguely aware of being held at gun point.

"Ow" he rasped. "I am not a threat. Please…… Not a terrorist. Lower the weapons….. Please……The trial is complete I am innocent. Mysterio and Beck…… Everything was a fucking lie…. ''

Silence laid heavily on surroundings. Not even a whisper disturbing the air.

Odd. Nothing had been this overwhelmingly quiet since he’d been bit by the spider; he could always hear, see, or at least smell something. It was a bit disconcerting, though not entirely unwelcome. Sometimes he really missed having normal senses. The last time this happened was his fucking trial. Being on trial with a shock that disabled his powers was something he didnot want happening. again.

Cutting himself off from that train of thought, Peter realized he should probably try and figure out what the hell was going on and why he was he was experiencing the pain of atoms binding together again rather than be at Ned's funeral. Which he can finally go now since his name was cleared. Realizing his mind was getting off track again, Peter squinted open his eyes.

Get back on track, Parker. He reprimanded himself.

What he was met with when he eventually cracked open his eyes, however, was a dim, shimmering wall of scarlet red (which was not on the list of what he was expecting to see but it wasn’t a bad thing, either). He carefully peeled his eyes fully open, ready to slam them shut again in case the authorities didn't get the memo that he was not a terrorist.

Everything slowly came into focus, and he rapidly sat up, turning in a full circle. "What-" he breathed out. The red dissipated into whisps, and he was face to face with people who had been either dead or who had abandoned him since the funeral.

The Scarlet Witch stared him in the face, eyes returning to a normal murky brown rather than a vibrant red. Peter realized that she had trapped him in what could be described as a... bubble? with her powers so he wasn't disturbed as he regained his senses.

And as Peter spun around yet again, breathing picking up in panicked breaths, he recognized his surroundings.

Around him were the Avengers, every one of them.

He was back at the airport battle in Leipzig.

¤¤¤¤¤¤

Peter's eyes locked on Mr. Stark's, chest heaving, and he immediately thought back to the last time he'd seen the man. Alive.

We won. You did it sir. We won Tony.

Mr. Stark looked confused, eyes raking over Peter's form, clad in a red and black suit with a metallic silver spider sprawled in the middle of his chest.

"Peter?" the man asked, taking a step towards the boy, and that was all he needed to bolt away from everyone. Well in the centre as everyone seemed to be circling him. The reason unknown.

It took him a couple of minutes to arrive at the conclusion that Beck was alive. It was all his game. His fucking plan to fuck with him even more when everything was finally going to be as normal as possible. But no!!! His Peter Tingle™ had to betray him again.

Fury and rage filled him as he spoke. "What the fuck Beck. How can you be so cruel. Wasn't london enough. Want to fuck with me and my mind even more. With what the battle of airport. THIS TIME YOU CAN'T FOOL. I WON'T LET YOU. I DEFEATED YOU ONCE BEFORE. AND I WILL IN EVERY HELL DO IT AGAIN. THIS TIME I WON'T FALL IN YOUR ILLUSIONS YOU ASSHOLE"

By the time he was finished he was breathing heavily. His mind wandered to that one question again and again. How did Beck and his crew got the airport's battle. There was no footage in public media and after London he himself strengthened Stark Industries server.

"Underoos, what-" Mr. Stark said, cutting himself off as he took in the sight of Peter again.

Black and red metallic suit. Eyes filled with rage and fury. But their was hollowness in them like the kid had gone through hell. And London? Beck? Mysterio? Illusions?

"Kid I-"

"Stop!!!!!"

Peter said. No roared. Tony definitely never thought he could piss someone this much in such a short time.

"This is ridiculous" Peter yells ignoring all the looks he was getting. Ignoring the was his heart shattered upon seeing Beck using Mr. Stark's face, again to lure him into his trap.

"Peter it's me Ton-"

"Tony Stark is dead. Has been dead for a fucking whole year. Today is his death anniversary." Peter yells the illusion freezes. "I mourned him. For a whole fucking year. I went to his mother fucking funeral. I met his daughter. Do you really think I am that gullible!"

All the illusions looks confused froze In their spot. Mr. Stark no the illusion rasped "What!"

Peter turns his eyes stinging with tears, pain, exhaustion, rage. He just wanted this to end for good and for forever.

"You want a battle let's have one. And this time do not forget that you can't fool me into thinking you are dead. This time I myself will depart you to Raft."

With that he launched in attack webbing fake-Tony's hands and body to floor along with fake-cap. Disabling fake-Sam's wing and weaving him and Barnes together in a cacoon. He was fast like a shadow.

Suddenly he dodged the cars that fake-Wanda was throwing his way. Immediately webbing her hands up with the strongest webbing he had to disable her hand. This way she won't be able to to conjure magic. All the while dodging repulsor blasts from Fake-Colonel.

Again he dodged the punch fake-T'challa was gonna give and weaved him, fake-Clint and fake-Colonel similar to fake-Sam and fake-Barnes.

What he wasn't prepared was the blast from infinity stone and the sparring from Fake-Natasha.

After dodging and attacking what felt lIke eternity he was defeated. Fake-Natasha had won. But how? He didn't knew Beck's crew had such a skilled fighter. How the Blasts from fake-infinity stone seemed real. His body was aching. He wanted to rest. And he will after he capture Beck.

He tried getting out of her and Fake-Vision's hold but "You can't get out my Peter. Not until you tell us what the you did… You are doing. I thought you were on Stark's side against Cap? And who is Beck? What illusions are you talking about?" Fake-Natasha threatened very…… calmly.

"You of all people know Beck what you are doing" Peter choked. But his mind was just getting confused. The last Beck himself accepted that it was all an illusion. Had he changed tactics?

"Kid! Roos what are talking about? This is real everything is real. Their are no illusions kid." fake-Tony said.

By this time Peter had long given up on fighting instead he was waiting for the families Peter Tingle to tingle. To sense where drones could be. But his senses….. Were calmed. As if he wasn't in middle of illusions and drones. It was wrong. This was feeling real. Too much real.

"Pete-"

"Tell me a thing only my Mr. Stark would know. Something only between the two of us." He cut off fake-tony.

Tony was shocked seeing the kid's composure. The happy, bubby, nervous, like a lost puppy was gone. Instead in front of him was a kis who had suffered too much for his age. He thought of a thing only the kid and he would know."In your room you said 'If bad things happen. And you don't stop even if you have the ability then they happen because of you."

Peter's body went limp. No….. This can't happen. I know time travel is real but…… This can't happen……. Wait….. If I am back this means Mr. Stark isn't dead. He is alive and healthy.

"Mr. Stark????" He whispered. He was scared. What he isn't the real Mr. Stark. What if all this is just a dream just his imagination.

Even Natasha loosened her hold hearing the kid's scared and confused voice.

Peter immediately got out of Natasha's hold. And ran to where Mr. Stark was webbed up. He tore through the web using his super strength and hugged his Mr. Stark with all his force.

OK this wasn't what Tony expected. This kid was hugging him. Just a moment earlier he was fighting all of them and had almost defeated them and now he was hugging with such a force that he thought he might break his ribs.

"Kid-ouch easy" the hold loosened.

"You-you are alive"

Updated periodically on ao3. 4 chapters updated as of 13.5.21

[waywardnerd67]

The Winchester Carol

Summary: Their most important battle is ahead of them and the Winchesters do not know how it will play out. As the leaves fall from trees from the cool wind bring winter to Kansas, Dean Winchester decides to make this holiday season special for the only other person to be by his side. Characters: Dean Winchester, Reader Pairing: Dean x Reader Warnings: Fluff/Slight Angst/Slight AU (you’ll see) Word Count: 1370 Secret Santa: @jaceyneedsabetterusername​ A/N 1: This is for @negans-lucille-tblr​ SPN Secret Santa Fic Exchange A/N 2: I’m sorry in advance.

Dean, you gave me what I needed most. I want to do the same for you.

At the time, he had no idea what Amara had meant before she went off with her brother, Chuck. It was not until he wandered around for a cell signal finding (Y/N) standing before him no older than the day he last saw her he thought he knew what she meant. He did not. Now, the world was truly ending as Chuck was no longer an ally but a foe. The time he had left with her he wanted it to be special, magical, perfect.

From the moment of her return, Dean wasted no time in telling her how he felt. If he was given a second chance then he was not going to take it for granted. Everyday, he lived it like it was the last with her. Most of the time, (Y/N) would find it endearing or sweet. Other times, she would be embarrassed or smack him upside his head. Either way, Dean had never experienced a love like the one he had with her and often was grateful for Amara bringing her back. Now, as the cool December wind brought in the first snow, Dean was sitting in his Baby waiting to pick the love of his life up for a special holiday date.

One of the many things he loved about (Y/N) was that she never needed to be impressed. Dinner and a movie was fine by her especially if it was in the Dean Cave with their favorite pizza and horror movies. When they did get dressed up it was usually because they were already in fed outfits for a case. They would take the opportunity to go out to a nice place and then back to the motel if they were patient. If not, Baby never failed to be a perfect place for them to show their love for one another.

However, this date was particularly special and had taken Dean months to plan out, not to mention, keep secret from her. He got out of his car wiping his hands down his dress slacks nervously. Going up to the Bunker door he rapped his fist against it three times. Even though they lived there together in the same room, he wanted to officially pick her up. Boy, was he glad he had insisted on it.

(Y/N) stepped through the doorway nearly knocking Dean off his feet from her beauty. Her hair swept to one side not a strand out of place. Her make-up simple, emphasizing her already stunning features. It was the outfit that did him in. She had on his red and black buffalo flannel tucked into the waistband of a puffy black skirt that came down to her knees. Then her toned legs went into a pair of red heels making them go on for days. While she was straightening her skirt he snapped a picture of her with his phone to remember the moment.

“Hey handsome, is this alright? You didn’t give me much to go on?” Her sweet voice made his heart flutter.

“You’re perfect.” He held his arm out to her linking hers and walking her to Baby.

They had a twenty minute drive to a local park. Dean parked Baby at the beginning of their path. (Y/N) slipped her winter coat on as the cold breeze picked up slightly. Linking arms once again, led her down memory lane.

“Is that… is that us in Lawrence?” She asked looking at the enlarged framed picture.

He smiled widely, “Sure is. It was the last Christmas before my dad decided to leave Lawrence for good. Of course, we didn’t know that then. I just remember Sammy and I staying at your house on Christmas Eve. We watched Christmas movies, ate cookies and then we stayed up in your room trying to listen for hooves on the roof.”

Her laughter was like music to his ears, “That was the night my parents took a picture of us snuggled together as we watched Frosty the Snowman. It was like they knew we were meant to be together.”

(Y/N) did not often speak of her parents only when it was good memories. That Christmas was a good memory for them both. They stood admiring the picture of them in matching pjs and Santa hats. He moved a strand of her hair back into place before they continued their journey.

“I liked you back then. Even though you had cooties I always thought I wouldn’t mind having hers. I’ll never forget the tantrum I threw when my dad told me we were moving. I always resented him for not even allowing me to say goodbye to my best friend.”

(Y/N) hugged his arm, “It wouldn’t have been goodbye but see you later.”

That brought them to the next picture posted on their path. It was one Sam had taken just after their dad came to get (Y/N) after her parents were in a car accident. They were teens at the time and Dean did not know what to do to make her feel better. When he asked her all she had whispered was to hold her. That was exactly what he did.

“I knew in that moment I never wanted to let go of you. I also knew that I would need to protect you at all costs since you were going to be living in this life. Of course, I was just a dumb teenage boy at the time who could never say that to you.”

She turned towards him slipping beneath his arm, wrapping her arms around his waist, “I’ve never felt more protective or loved than I do when I’m right in this spot.”

Dean pressed his lips to the top of her head, “Me too, sweetheart.”

They continued down the path with more pictures of the two of them together throughout the years. Including one after Amara had brought her back where she was sleeping against Dean in the car.

He stopped just before the door to the park pavilion, “Every moment, good or bad or ugly, has led us here. I can’t imagine my life without you in it and I don’t want whatever comes after this life to not have you in it either. So…”

Dean knelt down in front of her pulling on a small box revealing a simple gold band. (Y/N) brought her hands to her mouth as a gasp slipped through her lips. He could see her body trembling as spoke from the heart and asked her the most important question of his life.

“(Y/N), will you do me the honors of spending the rest of eternity with me as my wife?” He took her shaking hand placing the ring on her finger.

“Yes. Yes!” she yelled as she leaned down kissing him deeply.

He wrapped his arms around her holding her tightly then whispered, “We’re not done yet.”

Dean opened the door revealing all of their hunter family sitting on either side of an aisle with Castiel standing at the end of it. Sam and Eileen standing on either side of him smiling as they walked in.

“Holy… what? Is this what I think it is?” She looked around bewildered with a slow smile spreading across her face.

“I hope it’s okay, but I don’t want to spend another second without you as my wife.”

She pressed her lips to his once again, “It’s perfect.”

“Hey! You’re not supposed to do that until afterwards!” Sam called out as everyone chuckled.

The ceremony was short and confusing as Castiel performed it but eventually they were announced husband and wife.

Dean leaned down kissing (Y/N) after Castiel prompted him too. When they turned to face their family as Mr. and Mrs. Winchester their smiles vanished. Everyone turned to see what they were staring at as Sam and Eileen flanked either side of the newlyweds.

A slow clap breaking the tense silence in the room, “Congratulations Dean and (Y/N), I truly wish you all the best even if you will only have a short time to enjoy marital bliss.”

Chuck took a few steps forwards before smiling and snapping his fingers.

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[the-weeping-monk]

visions are seldom all they seem (but i know you)

Chapter 2

previous-next/find on ao3

“I’m going to kill that child. The one who shot my Nimue,” Merlin snarled.

“You will?” Morgana paused, an odd, ethereal feeling overtaking her. It was almost like a sixth sense, something she had not had before she became . . . well, whatever this state of being was. At that moment, she believed the wizard in front of her. But Merlin’s resolve wasn’t the thing that made her believe him, rather it was a sense of foreboding, a prickling at the base of her spine. “Yes,” she continued, “I suppose you will.”

With his strike of lightning, Merlin had brought them to his old tower. Morgana had been uneasy with the thought of being discovered, but the wizard had only chuckled darkly.

“Uther won’t be able to face these rooms any time soon,” he had said. “Not after what he did to me.”

Morgana had raised an eyebrow. “You give his conscience a great deal of credit.”

“Perhaps,” Merlin had shrugged, “but I would like to think all of my years have taught me a thing or two on how to read people.”

Now Morgana stared out of one of the tower’s windows, contemplating all that had happened, analyzing Nimue’s final moments. Merlin paced the room, mumbling about revenge and wiping furiously at stray tears. Morgana pretended not to notice, pretended not to notice how she did not share in his grief.

Something wasn’t right. She felt every death as if it were her own, but she had not felt Nimue’s. It was strange, but perhaps the shock hadn’t worn off yet. She had screamed and cried when Iris had shot Nimue, but now she felt numb, as if she wasn’t quite attached to her feelings. Perhaps she would feel different once she accepted Nimue’s death.

Morgana frowned against the thought. She still could not shake the instinctual sense that something was amiss.

“You said that you know the woman who came before me,” Morgana started, breaking the tense silence.

Merlin turned to face her. “Yes,” he said, quiet. “I did. She and I . . . we were old friends.”

Morgana fiddled with her hands, contemplating how to properly phrase her next question. “Did she say anything about how it felt when someone died? Did she feel every death? Or only some?”

She knew that she was toeing a line, knew that if she was not careful, Merlin would figure out what she meant by her seemingly innocent question. He might have been an unreliable drunkard, but that did not mean he wasn’t smart.

Merlin studied her a moment before replying. “She did not tell me much, though I do know she felt every single death that occurred under her jurisdiction.”

That gave Morgana pause. “‘Under her jurisdiction?’” she parroted back.

Nodding, Merlin said, “There are many Daughters of Death. To have only one entity responsible for deaths all over the world is simply improbable—thousands of people could be on the brink of death at once, so of course there would need to be more than one Daughter accountable for them.

"The Daughters of Death, as I know, are separated into regions. The higher the population, the busier they are. The more deaths they would feel.” He frowned. “The Widow did not tell me much of what it felt like to carry the burden of so much death, but I do know that she felt every single departure.”

Morgana pursed her lips. Was Nimue not under her jurisdiction? Was that why she had not felt her death?

Finally, she said, “I see. That makes sense.”

Except for the fact that it didn’t make sense, not where Nimue was concerned. But Morgana couldn’t pry more for fear that Merlin would figure out what she was really asking, and she couldn’t do that to him. She couldn’t give him hope that Nimue was still alive.

“What else can I do now that I am . . .” Morgana gestured at herself, unsure what to make of her new self.

Merlin moved to stand next to her at the window, silent for a few moments as he gazed down at the sea below them. The waves lapped against the shore calmly, belying the horror of the day.

When Merlin spoke, he was looking out into the distance. Morgana would have found it a tad dramatic, had she not realized it was the action of a man who was shipwrecked and lost at sea. It was the action of one who had lost everything and was trying to pick up the pieces from the wreckage.

Guilt crept up her throat. Merlin’s behavior was yet another reminder that she did not feel his loss or pain or agony. Was this the rest of her life? Was she to be devoid of any and all human emotion? Had her empathy departed with her human life?

Morgana turned her face away.

“You, like the Widow and the other Daughters, can travel far distances in mere seconds.” He smiled grimly. “Though, I suppose you already knew that.”

Morgana nodded, still unable to meet his eyes. Being able to teleport was freeing—she could go anywhere, no longer tied down by earthly laws. Though she grieved for her old life, she was learning to enjoy the perks of this new one.

But her sole duty was to take life for the rest of eternity. She could not, in good conscience, enjoy anything about this situation. It wasn’t right.

“Most believe that the Daughters are unable to make contact with the physical world as if they are mere ghosts or apparitions,” Merlin said, shaking his head. “They are wrong. Just because you are no longer human doesn’t mean that you can’t do human things, per se.”

Morgana finally met his gaze. “Like what?”

His eyes gleamed. It took Morgana aback; it was the only emotion other than sorrow that he had shown all day.

“You can travel anywhere in the world and experience things the rest of us cannot. You are no longer limited by your mortal body, Morgana,” he said, a tinge of awe in his voice. “But you can also be human, in the sense that you can enjoy the simple things. You can enjoy the beauty of a sunset or the peace of the ocean.”

Morgana looked out to the sea once more, but instead of taking in its beauty, all she felt was the death inside of it. She could sense the decay on the ocean floor, could feel the life seeping out of a shark’s prey. Nothing about the ocean was beautiful anymore.

It was yet another piece of her human life she would be forced to mourn. She wished that she had not killed the Widow, now more than ever. Morgana would never again be able to enjoy the sun on her face or the tickle of an ocean breeze. She would never be able to look past the death that clung to every living thing.

Morgana would have to suffer through an eternity of this unless someone was kind enough to kill her and foolish enough to take her place.

It was suddenly difficult to breathe. She forced air into her lungs, blinked rapidly. Panic was the only word to describe what she was experiencing.

Eternity, eternity, eternity. The word rattled inside her head. Forever forever foreverforeverforever.

Morgana needed to get out of this room, she needed a distraction.

She stumbled back from the window, knowing where she needed to go. There were so many things she could not control, but she could get closure.

Merlin turned to her, worry etched on his countenance. “Morgana, are you alri—”

“I have to go,” she said at once, and vanished.

. . .

The wind howled through the rocky pass, buffeting against Nimue’s stolen robes. She clutched one of the Red Paladins’ swords in her fist, as if it would give her strength to push forward. She had had the foresight to grab it, knowing that she should be prepared for anything once she arrived at the beach, unsure of what she would find there.

Nimue knew that it was foolish to hope, but she did anyway. Even if King Uther had not betrayed her, once he discovered that she had escaped, there was a chance he would nullify their agreement and order the Fey charter ships to be sunk.

A chill seized her spine at the thought of the watery depths of sea pulling Arthur and Pym down, down, down. Even with magic, Nimue had almost drowned. If King Uther wished it, her friends would not stand a chance.

Nimue pushed herself into a jog, mindful of her footing—fallen rocks littered the path before her. One wrong move, and she could trip and fall into the abyss below.

A twig snapped behind her, and Nimue whirled, sword at the ready, only to lower it a moment later.

“Morgana?” she asked, relief flooding her veins.

Morgana merely stared at her, awe and incredulity shining in her eyes as if she could not believe that this moment was real. Only after she fully accepted the situation, did a huge grin break out onto her face. She rushed forward to embrace her friend, and Nimue’s sword clattered to the ground in anticipation.

“We thought you were dead,” Morgana breathed into Nimue’s hair. “Merlin was so worried—”

“Merlin.” Nimue pulled back from the hug but kept her hands on Morgana’s shoulders. “How is he?”

“Alive. Now that he has his magic back, his wounds are healed.” Morgana’s small smile contorted suddenly. “But, oh God, Nimue—he was so worried—”

“You must let him know that I’m alright,” Nimue said, adamant. “At once.”

“I will, don’t worry, but,” Morgana’s eyes tightened, “how did you even survive? You took two arrows straight to the chest, Nimue.”

Nimue smiled softly. “Merlin helped me.” When Morgana’s brows furrowed in question, Nimue hurried to explain. “Well, not physically, but back at the abandoned palace, he taught me how to  control the Hidden. I made fruit grow from a barren tree—I figured that creation was not far off from healing.” She shrugged. “It was worth a shot.”

“You truly are the rightful Queen of the Fey.” Morgana smiled, not attempting to hide the pride in her voice.

Nimue chuckled dryly. “I almost drowned. That sounds like too simple a death for a queen.” Morgana opened her mouth to object, but Nimue continued. “I feel as if my time as the Fey Queen was only a dream. It doesn’t feel real, anyway.”

Eyes softening, Morgana said, “Nimue, you have conquered wolves and Red Paladins and now you have conquered Death herself. You are the rightful queen who has walked away from every battle victorious. You rose from the lake stronger than you were before.”

Nimue couldn’t help the small smile that pulled at her lips. “You are a good friend, Morgana. I’m lucky to have you by my side.”

“And you’ll always have me,” Morgana replied, pulling Nimue into another hug.

The two girls stayed like that for moments on end, simply enjoying the other’s presence. It seemed as if it had been an eternity since they had felt safe, but they both knew that it wouldn’t last. There was a war to win and Fey to save. It was only when Nimue knew she could stall no longer did she retreat from her friend’s embrace.

“I should get going. Who knows what happened to the Fey while I was gone.” Nimue retrieved her stolen sword from the ground, frowning at its weight. Unlike the Sword of Power, this one was heavy and unbalanced, an impediment rather than an extension of herself. She had half a mind to ask Morgana to retrieve the Sword of Power from Merlin, but decided against it. She would make do with what she had for now.

“What do you want me to do?” Morgana asked.

Nimue’s brow furrowed. “You are a harbinger of death,” she said, incredulous. “You take orders from no one but yourself.”

At that, Morgana’s smile turned grim. “Ah. That.”

“You haven’t accepted your new life.” It was more of a statement than a question, and Morgana’s expression only served to confirm Nimue’s suspicions. “You must move on, Morgana,” Nimue continued. “It took me a long time to accept who I was. If I had done it sooner, I could have saved a lot of people.”

I could have saved my mother, she thought but didn't say.

Morgana’s eyes hardened. Donned in black drapery, she was a fierce sight to behold. “I can’t save anyone. You don’t understand what this—this curse is.” She turned away to glare into the abyss below, face stony. “For the rest of eternity, until someone kills me, I am to make a living out of murder.”

“I used to think my powers were a curse, too, you know,” Nimue said, though not unkindly.

Morgana only shook her head. “Maybe so, but you’re not the one forced to take lives—I am.”

“That’s not what I—”

“I am a Daughter of Death, Nimue,” Morgana snapped, whirling on her. “I am a soul-stealer and a monster, all because I allowed Cailleach to get in my head.” Her teeth were bared, though Nimue suspected that if Morgana was mad, it was at no one but herself. “I knew that Celia died in that fire, I knew that. And yet I still fell for Cailleach’s pretty visions and empty promises.”

“None of that is your fault,” Nimue pacified. “She’s an ancient, powerful being that preyed upon your love for Celia. Do not blame yourself.”

“How can I not? All of this is my fault,” Morgana’s voice broke at the end. “You don’t understand. No one can.”

“Let me try. Please.”

But Morgana only turned away. “I should let Merlin know that you’re alright.”

“Morgana, wait—”

But Morgana was already gone.

Nimue closed her eyes, mad at the world, angry at herself. She should not have brought up Morgana’s new life without thinking of the consequences. Before, when Morgana had rescued her, she had seemed fine with what she had become, had taken it in stride. But Nimue now knew that she had been mistaken.

Morgana was excellent in high-pressure situations—Nimue had seen it in how she reeled in her emotions and focused on the task at hand. She did not let her feelings get in the way of what needed to be done, but Nimue had mistaken that for complacency.

Oh, how wrong she had been.

It was then that Nimue heard it—horse hooves clopping atop the stone bridge. She froze, but quickly came to her senses and shifted into a fighting stance, sword at the ready.

The clopping of the horse was slow and unbothered as if the rider was taking their sweet time. As if no one was after her, as if someone just happened along this path accidentally.

Nimue didn’t buy it.

She could feel the magic thrumming in her veins, could hear the whispers of the Hidden urging her to unleash their power. It would be entirely too easy to make the bridge collapse in on itself.

The whispers reached a crescendo, Nimue called upon the magic—

And promptly stopped.

Because there, in front of her on a horse, sat a boy whom she had never thought she would see again.

“Squirrel?” gasped Nimue, disbelieving.

The boy’s eyes widened comically and a blinding smile broke out over his face. “Nimue!” He scrambled off of the horse, and it was only then that Nimue realized that there was a second rider helping him down.

Nimue’s grip tightened on her sword, but she was careful to make sure the blade didn’t touch Squirrel as he ran into her waiting arms. She pulled him in tight, her eyes not once leaving the second figure. Hugging the boy closer to her chest, Nimue stared down the man who had overseen the burning of her village, the man who had slain innocent Fey that had aided her when no one else would.

The Weeping Monk met her gaze cooly, betraying nothing. His hood was down, and his crystal blue eyes studied her as if he was not sure what to make of her.

Nimue stood abruptly and shoved Squirrel behind her as gently as she could, directing her fury at the Monk. “I don’t know what you’re doing here with Squirrel, but you need to leave. Now,” she snarled. “I have half a mind to kill you where you stand.”

Squirrel stilled behind her.

The Monk’s face was impassive. “I do not doubt it.”

“Then why are you still here? I make good on my threats.” She raised her sword higher for good measure.

Before he could respond, Squirrel darted out from behind Nimue and positioned himself between her sword and the Monk. Nimue opened her mouth to tell him to get back, but before she could, the boy continued. “Don’t hurt him, Nimue. Lancelot saved me from the Red Paladins. He’s good now.”

“Oh?” Her question was aimed at Squirrel, though her eyes remained on the Monk. “And why would he do that?”

The Monk spoke then, voice even. “I was wrong,” he said simply. “I couldn’t continue to follow Father Carden’s orders anymore. It wasn’t right.”

“I’m so glad you’ve come to this conclusion now, when there are only a handful of Fey left that you didn’t murder in cold blood,” Nimue spat.

The Monk didn’t say anything for a moment. Something flickered in his gaze—pain, perhaps, or sadness. Or maybe it was guilt.

Nimue shook off the notion. Men like him felt no guilt or remorse for the things they did. She would not make him out to be anything other than the heartless murderer he was.

Something in her eyes must have betrayed her feelings, for the next words that the Monk spoke were, “I see you are resolute in your judgment of my character.” He paused. “I can assure you that you are mistaken.”

“I know everything I need to know about you,” Nimue hissed.

“You do?” the Monk said, his voice almost patronizing. It made her blood boil.

Her tone was clipped. “Yes.”

There was silence for a few moments, and then, “Why do you suppose I left the Red Paladins?”

“Maybe you got tired of taking orders, or maybe you thought you could exterminate the Fey faster on your own.” She shrugged. “I don’t care because I do not believe a word out of your mouth. Nothing you could say would make me trust you. Ever .”

The Monk nodded as if he accepted her declaration, but the gesture only served to antagonize her further.

Nimue stepped around Squirrel, ignoring his protests as she leveled her sword at the Monk. The tip of the blade was inches from his heart. The Hidden shouted in her head, screamed for his blood. They wanted him to hurt, and she was more than happy to oblige.

The Monk merely stared at the blade. Was that a look of boredom, or of something else, something darker?

Nimue did not care to deliberate on it further, so she spoke instead, voice icy. “I will give you five seconds to leave this place or I will carve out your heart, here and now. Do you understand me?”

He did not respond, but his eyes met hers and she was suddenly struck by how hollow they were. It was as if the fire inside of him had been snuffed out.

The Monk turned his attention behind her to where Squirrel stood, silent. “It seems we will not be able to continue our lessons.”

Nimue tamped down her curiosity and watched the Monk carefully as he backed away from her blade.

“Remember what we talked about, Percival,” he said, his words directed at Squirrel.

“You know I don’t—”

Somehow, the Monk’s voice was soft. “I know. But it is still your name.”

Something passed between the two, an understanding of sorts. Squirrel nodded, resigned, and he said nothing more.

There was no mistaking it this time—there was genuine regret in the Monk’s eyes as he made his way to his horse.

Nimue did not think that the Monk was capable of anything other than violence. It was most likely a trick, an act to get her to take pity on him, to show her that he could be redeemed.

He has killed countless Fey, a voice in her head whispered. He watched as your village went up in flames.

She could not afford to take pity on a murderer.

Nimue watched, her sword still raised in his direction, as the Monk made his way back to his horse. He had a limp, she realized, and it appeared as though it was a struggle for him to get atop the saddle.

The words were out before she could stop them. “What happened?” She was not sure why she asked or why she even cared, but perhaps her curiosity was stronger than she had thought.

The Monk stared at her for a moment before he spoke, his jaw working. “I was injured in a fight with the Trinity Guard before Percival and I escaped,” was all he said.

“Oh.” Nimue paused, and the silence stretched on.

He waited for her to continue, almost as if he knew that there was more she wanted to say.

“I can’t trust you,” she said finally.

His voice was solemn as he said, “I know.”

“Ok.” A beat. “You may travel with us, but if you so much as make one move against me or Squirrel, I will make good on my threat to disembowel you where you stand.”

The Monk blinked at her, even as Squirrel exclaimed, “Really? You’re going to let him come with us?”

Nimue turned back to the boy. “I do not trust him enough to go off on his own and not alert the Red Paladins of our location.”

It was not entirely the reason, but it seemed to satisfy Squirrel. She looked back up at the Monk and fixed him with a sharp look. “Let’s head out.”

“Where are we going?” asked Squirrel.

“To find the Fey.”

[whatisthiscontentyouspeakof]

A Cold Days Night  that Changes Everything

A03 | Previous | Next

Prologue Part 2

The Malfoys were a traditional family, a dark family and generally everything that Dumbledore and the light stood against in their own, so to say there were surprised when they received a patronus from their old Headmaster was a bit of a understatement. They made sure Draco was looked after, being watched over by his nursery house elf, before heading to St Mugo’s wondering why they were summoned but without the time or resources to get the answer in time for meeting with the elder wizard.

A healer assistant was waiting for them by the floo, leading them through the hospital to the Janus Thickey Ward. Narcissa slipped her hand through the crook of Lucius’s elbow, ever the more curious as to why she and her husband were being lead to the spell damage ward of St Mugo’s. As far as she was aware no one they knew, as in where friendly with, where patients there, nor had she heard of any of their aquantaces being injured in a way that would require hospitalization.

Lucius Malfoy patted his wife’s hand, his mask firmly in place. He would not show any concern or other emotion to any passerby’s. The only people he knew that were residences of the Janus Thickey ward were the Longbottoms, neither of whom would ever leave, and even if they did miraculously heal, they knew nothing that would affect any of the Malfoy’s lives.

The Healers Assistant bowed to them as they met up with Dumbledore and a Healer.

“Lord and Lady Malfoy,” the Healer greeted with a bow, showing her respect to the most ancient and most noble house of Malfoy. “ I am Healer Miriam Strout, the Head Healer of the Janus Thickey Ward. Thank you for joining us on such short notice. If you could sign these forms stating that anything you see or any information you learn while on the ward is kept to yourself. The privacy of our patients is of great importance of us. Once the papers are signed then Mr. Dumbledore shall fill you in on why you have been called here.”

“And if we do not wish to sign the forms?” Lucius asked.

Healer Strout smiled at him politely. “I am afraid that that isn’t an option Lord Malfoy. If you decide not to sign the forms then you will not be able to meet my patients until Christmas break when they are no longer patients of mine and thus you won’t need to sign the papers. I do believe that now would be a better time then later.”

Sometimes you had to take risks in life, and neither Malfoy liked the idea of information being kept from them for several months. The two read over their forms carefully, making sure they weren’t signing anything that could be used against them or that trapped them in any way, before signing their names. Healer Strout waved her wand over the forms, activating them, binding the Malfoy by what they had agreed to, before duplicating the papers so each Malfoy could have a copy of what they signed.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. “Some interesting events have happened that need your involvement Lady Malfoy.” he explained as they started to move to the private room section of the ward. Narcissa raised her eyebrow, all the more curious now. She, like her husband, had assumed they were summoned because Dumbledore needed something from Lucius, not her. “There is no easy way to say this. At the end of the war a lot of corners were cut, and laws excused so that we could get through all the trials and put everything behind us as soon as possible. One of those cut corners was not performing pregnancy tests on any females being held for trial. Unfortunately these pregnancy tests weren’t performed upon sentencing and thus it was missed that your sister, Bellatrix, was a few weeks pregnant when shipped off to Azkaban.”

Narcissa couldn’t help it, she placed her hand up to her mouth to stifle her gasp of horror. The idea that Bella had been pregnant when she’d been shipped off to Azkaban was a horror she couldn’t even imagine. It didn’t help that she was standing in the ‘Crazy Ward’ as several, less sensitive purebloods, referred to the Janus Thickey Ward.

“The child?” Lucius asked after a beat of silence.

“Children,” Dumbledore corrected. “Bellatrix gave birth to twins, Vulpecula Ursa Bellatrix Lestrange Black and Cassiopeia Delphini Lestrange Black. Both were adopted into the Black family by Sirius Black upon their birth. Both prefer to use Black for their family name instead of Lestrange.”

“Twins,” Narcissa repeated numbly. “They’re nine then?” the anger started to set in. “How in Merlin’s name did Bellatrix give birth to twins without anyone knowing?”

“Lady Malfoy I understand-“ Dumbledore began.

Narcissa interrupted the old wizard, ignoring her upbringing. “You understand? How could you possibly understand? I have just been informed that I have two nieces that were raised in one of the worst places, if not the worse place, in the Magical World, experiencing how knows what? By Merlin, they spent the last nine years surrounded by Dementers, something that would make any grow witch go insane, much less a bunch of children. So no Albus, I do not thing you understand. I do not think any of us understand what those children have gone through and how they are going to recover.” She took a breath, drawing herself up, putting back on a mask of calm concern before turning to the healer. “When can we see the girls?”

She and Lucius had already figured out why she had been called to St Mugo’s. As the only descendent of the most ancient and most noble house of Black that wasn’t dead, disinherited or imprisoned, she was the only one eligible to raise the twins.

“There is another matter we need to speak of first,” Dumbledore said before Healer Strout could say anything. “As the two of you are aware blood magic is illegal in Europe. Goblin magic isn’t however, even if it involved magic. Ten years ago, a talented young witch, worried that she wouldn’t be there to see her son grow up, used Goblin magic to make it so that, if her son was hurt by someone that was caring for him, that was supposed to look after him, that he’d be magically transported to someone else to raise and look after him, going down the same list she and her husband had included in their will, as long as the person was physically able and magic still accepted them as an acceptable guardian. When the child was one, his parents were murdered as part of the war and he was given to relatives to raise, one of whom hit him, trigger the magic and sending him off to his godfather, only a few months after being placed with his relatives. His godfather adopted him into the Black family months before the twins were born.”

Narcissa’s eyes widened. “Harry Potter.” she whispered. The only male Black imprisoned in Azkaban was Sirius and he only had one godchild.

The saviour of the magical world, or at least magical Europe, was raised in Azkaban.

“Take me to them,” Narcissa ordered, done with waiting around.

At the end of one of the hallways was a private room that was dimly lit, since the children weren’t use to bright colours and lots of lights, with faded colours to start getting the children use to different sights and sound since music was also playing softly in the room. Healer Strout spoke of her plan to slowly introduce the children to bright colours, different sounds, sights, smells, people and so on and so forth throughout the next month so that the three of them would be ready for Hogwarts. While Harry was the only one who was old enough to go to Hogwarts for schooling, it was suggested that the three siblings not be separated as they were being introduced to a whole new world and only knew each other, and had only had each other for their whole lives. For their mental health, the twins would be staying in private chambers with Harry being allowed to visit whenever, so they could alway know where each other are and were always in the same building. They could work on separating the three of them more and getting them used to be apart throughout the school year.

Much like with the twins, Narcissa was the only one eligible to look after Harry, meaning during the Holidays and summer the three children would be staying at Malfoy manor, though both Malfoys knew that was only until Dumbledore figured out a way to discredit them or find another way to get the children to be raised by someone else, someone light.

Until then, the Malfoy had three new children to get to know.

Draco Malfoy wasn’t too worried when his parents were summoned away, they were important people after all. He never expected that they would come back with news that he was about to gain three new siblings, one of which included the Boy-Who-Lived.

Before he was able to met his three new siblings, he first had to spend an hour every day for just over a week with his parents and Healer Strout going over how to interact with them, how to make sure they were comfortable and not overwhelmed and what signs to look for that they needed to get away or see a healer or where about to blow up at someone. They also went over the rough knowledge the three of them had about the wizarding world, all of which was ten years out of date, and how to catch them up on current events and the aftermath of the war as well as the political climate and what people are going to expect of Harry.

After that first week Draco was allowed to see the siblings for the first time, though he would have to wait another day to meet them as he had lessons to get to. The first person he saw was the youngest of the three, Cassiopeia Black as he was informed she preferred to be called, though her siblings called her Delphi, a shortening of her middle name.

She had silver white, not bright blond but silver, hair that fell to her shoulders in slights waves, the tips of which were a stormy blue. Draco realized it was probably the only blue she had ever seen and thus mimic with her Metamorphmagus powers. Draco couldn’t quite make out the colour of her eyes, just that they were dark, likely either a dark grey or brown since those were the two eyes colours that were most common in the Black family. She was tiny, even for what he imagined a nine year old being, he certainly didn’t remember being that small. And she was slim, her robes hanging off her lifelessly, more so then what was normal for non tailored robes.

After her, Draco noticed Cassiopeia’s twin whom was playing a game of one sided chess beside her reading sister. For being the older twin, Vulpecula Black was just a smudge shorter and smaller then her sister, making her appear younger. According to Draco’s mother, Vulpecula looked just like a younger Bellatrix with the same aggressively curly dark brown hair that went to her waist and delicate facial structure. The only different was the admiral blue eyes that stood out form the normal neutral tones of the Black family, standing out even from a distance. She was one of the palest people Draco had ever seen, her sister included in that, though he guessed that made sense since they wouldn’t have seen sunlight in their entire lives. Her robes hanged off her much like her sister, her wrists and hand so tiny and thin that he could clearly seen the bones of them poking through the skin.

Hardwin Black was the last of the three he noticed, the boy his age sitting off to the side meditating. Like his sister, he was pale, though he had a naturally darker skin tone commonly seen throughout the Potter family that made him less so then his sisters. His black hair was pulled back into a thick braid, several of which feathered out from the braid, refusing to be completely contained. He seemed to be taller then the sisters and looked older, which was good since he was two years older, but Draco never would have guessed that the two of them were the same age, Hardwin appearing to be nine while his sisters Draco would have guessed to be closer to six. Draco went to move from the observation glass, he did have lessons, only to stop as Hardwin’s eyes opened and bright green eyes met Draco’s own grey eyes, starring into his soul. A smirk slowly formed on Hardwin’s mouth before he closed his eyes and went back to meditating.

Draco turned away, heart beating, but even more excited to get to know his new brother and sisters.

Theodore ‘Theo’ Nott felt like an outside in his own family some days. Like many kids in his generation he was an only child. He had the chance to have many siblings, all sisters, but they ended up being still born or miscarried, usually from special treatment his father upon finding out the gender of the child. Tertius Nott, his father, was a man of great importance, not because of anything he did, but because no one dared to say anything against him. Theo honestly didn’t know how his father, who was ruthless and violet and openly a blood purist and Voldemort supporter, didn’t get charge with being a Death Eater when he obviously had been.

Tertius Nott followed the thought process of most of the extended Nott family, taught to him by his father, the current Lord Nott, that went back generations. Family ideals and rules included beat down and destroy anyone who got in your way or who was weaker then you, Muggles and Mudbloods were worthless and Half Bloods weren’t much better, You are a Pureblood, you will marry a Pureblood and your children will marry a Pureblood, etc, etc.

That's where Theo mostly found himself feeling like an outside, like someone who didn’t belong in his own family. He didn’t agree with what most his family believed, though he knew better to say anything. He was going to be Lord Nott when his father and the current Lord Nott died and then he would be able to start to change him family image. While he did believe some of the things his family believed in like the fact that Muggleborn and Muggle lovers were ruining the Magical World, destroying tradition and getting ride of many Wizarding customs, replacing them with Muggle ones and that was atrocious, he didn’t believe that Muggleborns were weaker then Purebloods in magic, or that Muggleborns were stealing magic from Pureblood children. He also didn’t believe in judging people by their family. He knew he was nothing like his father, and the Nott men before them, and thus other children couldn’t be exactly like their parents. Some, like Draco Malfoy, obviously mimic their fathers and aimed to be like them, while other, Theo knew, where already trying to be their own person. Theo couldn’t do that quiet yet for fear of his life, after all, his father was still trying to have another son, someone he could use to replace Theo with if he got out of hand.

Theo was excited to get to Hogwarts, to met new people, especially those he wouldn’t ever get to met normally, though he knew he wouldn’t be able to speak with them unless he was disagreeing, in case it got back to his father, but it would be interesting to see all the different view points and perspectives of the other students. He was going to study and learn from his fellow students and then he was going to mould and shape the wizarding world to make it better for all wizard kind, though through laws and government movements and not terror and bloodshed.

The twin sisters loved St. Mugo’s and meeting knew people. They were even more excited for when they’d be moving to Hogwarts in a week. They’d been told stories about the school and the wild, un-contained, lost magic that swirled through the place as common as the air they all breathed. Interesting things had to happen in a place like that.

Vulpecula Ursa Bellatrix Lastrange, Vulpa to her family (except to Sirius who called her his little Lula Lupa), was the eldest of the two of them. No one knew how much older she was, time was hard to keep track of in Azkaban, days really being the only thing they could keep track of consistently, resulting in her and her twin knowing that they were born the same day at the very least. Like both of her siblings, she preferred the Black name as her last name, knowing it was more of a blank slate for a new beginning then Lestrange or Potter. Sirius had adopted all three of them into the Black family within moments of them finding themselves in Azkaban, when Harry had arrived and she and her sister had been born. Besides her mother, Vulpa knew she was going to miss Sirius the most, even more so that her father, whom was nice, but often found himself trapped within memories and the grips of insanity from the Dementers and thus wasn’t really there and thus in her life as a real person.

She was nervous being away from the only home she’d ever known, knowing that she’d never step foot there again, and a part of her felt like the entire world was crushing down on her. Aside from that, she was quite excited for all the new things she was undoubtably going to experience, all the knew places she’d get to experience and things she’d find and the people she’d meet. She couldn’t wait until people got bored of her and her siblings so she could go exploring without worrying about anyone following her or keeping track of where she was going or getting in her way. She wondered what secrets the depths of Hogwarts hid.

Cassiopeia Delpini Lestrange was the youngest of her siblings, though often she was the most mature, at least compared to Vulpa, and Sirius but everyone was more mature then him. Much like with both her siblings, she preferred a shortening of her name, or in her case, her middle name, choosing to be called Delphi by her family. Unlike both her siblings who were fine with being called their shortened forms of their names once they were comfortable enough with a person to get past last names, Delphi knew she’d first let them call her Cassiopeia first, probably because she’d get tired of hearing someone say Black and not know if they were talking about her or her siblings, her full first name still having a level of formality and distance to it for the person to know exactly where they stood.

Delphi felt weird living outside of Azkaban. She like meeting knew people, knowing what made them tick and how that could be used to her advantage or as a way to protect her siblings but the outside world felt…different. She couldn’t explain it. There were things that were obviously different, how warm and dry and light everything was for example. But there was a difference in the air, and it wasn’t the lack of despair, pain and insanity. She couldn’t place her finger on what it was and it unnerved her, made her feel on edge. She couldn't help but wonder what it was and if it was important.

The Weasleys were a large and energetic family. With six boys and one girl, Molly and Arthur Weasley had their hands full. Not to mention over the years, especially during the war and right after, they acted as a safe house for the Order of the Phoenix members between missions, their home a collection of protection charms that prevent people from noticing it, not necessarily preventing from attack as both believed that it best their enemies not find them then rely on shields that may one day fail under strenuous attack.

As the heads of a large family, Arthur and Molly felt the need to protect their children, their children's future and their children’s rights to live the lives they wish to live, as long as they don’t harm other people. As such, it made sense for them, as a ancient light family, to stand against Voldemort during his reign of terror. In times of peace they found themselves to be less busy with anything to do with Order business, allowing them to focus on their children and own hobbies.

They were able to find friends to help teach their eldest son, Bill, the skills he’d need to apply for his curse breaker apprenticeship when the time came, skills he couldn’t get at Hogwarts. Molly had time to bring Charlie to the closest Athenaeum to study and research different creatures when he became especially interested with care for magical creatures, while Arthur spent time with the other kids on his days off. Percy they collected extra money to buy him notebooks and other studying supplies to help him with all his studies, both for school and for personal reasons, to help him expand his knowledge. The twins, well there wasn’t really much they could do with their little trouble makers to reward them, after all they didn’t want to promote behaviour like turning their brother’s hair blue or causing their housemates to speak in rhymes for a week. Instead of rewarding them or helping them specifically, they went easier on them when they got in trouble then they would any of their other children and they turned a blind eye when they pranked one of their siblings in a way that everyone found funny. With Ron, well they didn’t really know what to do with Ron. They got him a second hand wizarding chest set that he seemed happy enough with. Ginny got new clothing that she often got to pick out herself, something the rest of her siblings couldn’t say. She also got her own space the boys couldn’t barge in on and a level of privacy none of her other siblings got.

As happy as they were with spending time with their family and taking care of them and just enjoying life, they knew that should anything happen, they wouldn’t hesitate to help the Order or any of its members out if they needed it. That was why, when Dumbledore stepped through their fireplace, they didn’t hesitate to send their children out to the field for the day to speak with the old wizard in privacy.

They were horrified with what they heard, that Harry Potter, the wizarding world saviour and innocent boy, had grown up in Azkaban, raised by Death Eaters and other monsters. Dumbledore assured them that he was not lost, that the boy still had good in him and would be a figure of the light should he be introduced to the right influences. Unfortunately the Malfoy’s currently had custody of the boy, along with two innocent girls who’d also been raised in Azkaban, and was likely to turn them to the dark much like his old ‘colleagues’ tried to do. Of course, Harry was the one they’d really have to focus on, as he was more likely to turn to the light considering who his parents were until like the girl who parents were Death Eaters locked up with them.

Of course to turn Harry to the light they would first have to get close to him, and the best way to do that… well they did have a lot of children.

Ronald ‘Ron’ Weasley couldn’t wait until he got to Hogwarts. Finally he would have a chance to prove himself and step out from behind his siblings shadows. He’d be the perfect Gryffindor, the star Quidditch player, even better then Charlie and his parents would have no choice but to pay him the same attention they did to the twins or buy him new or special things like they did with the rest of his siblings. Sure he got that Wizard Chess set but he knew not only it was second hand, but he only got it because it was cheap, even for a second hand item, and his parents felt guilty about not giving him anything when they gave his siblings stuff.

Hogwarts would change all that he was sure, maybe even once he learned some magic he’d also be able to stop the twins from using him as their person prank tester without his knowledge or permission. He was willing to serve some detentions if it meant no more teddy’s turned into spiders, or waking up in the nearby river or any thing else that the twins found funny in a given moment

He didn’t realize how quick things would change for him though, how soon he’d get an opportunity to prove himself to his family. No one had really thought too hard about why Dumbledore had come to visit, at least not at first. Then Ron had been called in to speak with his future Headmaster and his parents and since then his siblings wouldn’t stop hounding him to find out what they had spoken about, but Ron refused to say anything. Partially because he’d been asked not to, and partially because it was nice to be in the know about something while his siblings sat in the dark.

Harry Potter, the boy who lived and hero to the Wizarding World, had been raised in Azkaban, surrounded by evil dark wizards who had probably tried to taint his mind and turn him dark like they were. Dumbledore assured him that Harry was still light and that Ron was in charge of making sure he stayed that way, of becoming his friend and keeping him on the path of good, to not give in to the temptation the dark hung over him.

Ron happily agreed. After all, he was a Weasley and Harry was a Potter. It was going to be easy.

Next

[mainly-kpop]

a pirates life for me

EPILOGUE

pairing: Un-named characters Summary: They just wanted ransom money for a princess, you just wanted to be free of palace walls. You are not what he wanted and he was nothing like you anticipated. Word count: 1k Warnings: soft smut, 

‘Are you sure you’re ready?’ He spoke, kissing her neck, running down her collar bone. She whimpered under his touch, pleading for him. He gave in, biting down on her skin, pulling her shirt over her breasts. This was their first time, he had waited, made sure it was going to be perfect for her. That when it did happen, and the pain hit her, it would be worth it. She loved him regardless, willing to accept the pain his ancestors lived with. 

‘I’m ready. Please I can’t wait any longer.’ She pleaded, pulling his face back up to hers. She kissed him hard, the power and love in the one kiss making him crave more, making him whine for her. They had an interesting dynamic, neither one over powering the other, they lay on the same field. He told her early on of the pain that would happen, of the linking souls. She agreed, to wait, to make sure its what she really wanted. Five years down the line, they were now ready, both of them in the right mind. 

He still remembered the day his mother and father told him of the curse, it was awkward to say the least. They told him what it was, and what it entailed. It didn���t seem too bad honestly, that was until the sex came into the conversation. He had blushed crimson, avoiding his mother’s eyes, she had laughed at him, swatting his arm. ‘Don’t be so bashful boy, it’s something we would have to talk about at some point.’ She had smiled, trying to calm the boy down so his father could explain. The rest of the crew had laughed at the way he came out, eyes downcast and horror written across his face. 

He nodded his head, letting her know they would start now, finally getting to the main event. Really, they had done everything else. Sex was an important part of any relationship, but they did everything they could without the end event. She had decided she didn’t want to bother with foreplay, it’s all they had done so far, she didn’t need it again. He slipped her trousers down, trailing his finger through her lips anyway, making sure she was wet enough for this to be comfortable. She was fairly wet, maybe needing a little more coaxing. He slipped a finger inside, curling it into the soft muscle inside. She let out the breath she was holding, enjoying the sensation for a moment. She whispered his name, begging him for the thing she still had to experience. He nodded, climbing off the bed, slipping his trousers down. 

The room that once belonged to his mother and father remained the same to an extent, maybe more modernised. She was more into this interior stuff everyone talked about, so she had redecorated a little. Made it their own, a home. 

He positioned himself above her, coating his dick in her juices, sliding it up and down. She moaned as the tip hit her clit, hips jumping at the sensation. He smirked, pushing the tip in, bottoming out slowly. When his hips finally hit hers, they sighed in relief. She insisted he start moving, that she was ready for that, he nodded, doing as he was told. Pulling out and sliding back in, keeping a steady pace. She kissed him gently, saying I love you without having to say the words. He knew though, to wait five years for this, had to be love. There was no other reason someone would wait that long for something. She knew there was pain coming, neither one experiencing it before. They didn’t know how to prepare, only hearing a briefing of what his mother and father remembered. It wasn’t much, but it still shot the fear through his body. ‘It will feel like your dying, burning from the inside out. Your chest aches and your heart stops. You can’t see or hear, it’s awful truly.’ It really scared him, really put nothing but disgust for the action, but he saw his mother and father. How they could communicate with a glance or get bashful at the dinner table without saying anything. How his father would start a sentence and his mother would say “I know dear” or finished the sentence for him. He wanted that; he didn’t care what pain he had to go through to get it. 

‘I’m so close baby.’ She spoke, begging him to speed up. He traced his finger down her body, landing on her clit, mouth sucking and biting at her neck. She squeezed around him, back arching and a silent scream he loved so much. He came seconds later, grabbing her hands. 

‘It should start soon, breathe with me okay?’ He spoke, now a lot more panicked than he was before. They waited for a couple of seconds, bracing themselves for the pain. He remembered his father telling him not to, but he couldn’t help his body going ridged, waiting for the pain to start. It never came, they waited and waited, wondering if it took a second to happen, but it never came. They shrugged, getting ready for bed instead. He lay awake that night, wondering if his father had lied, if it had all been a very long joke. He would ask them about it the next time they visited the palace, they would probably laugh in his face, tell him it was a lie so he didn’t have sex too young. He would laugh along, rolling his eyes. 

Little did they know, the curse had been broken many years before. She was the one to break the curse for them. Every generation has a soulmate, whether you find them or not is your job. None of the ancestors before found their true soulmate, but Yoongi did, seeking out the woman to break the curse without knowing. They had truly found and loved each other, giving up the ship as soon as their son had come of age, living at the palace so she could be with her family. Yoongi had never known riches like this before, and he didn’t just mean everything the palace could offer. She was his wealth, and him hers. 

[bitter-sweet-farmgirl]

Trials of a Queen

Loki dies tragically on the battlefield, and Lily vows to find the killer and get revenge for the death of Loki.  After several long years of searching and near escapes, she tracks down the person she believes killed Loki.  But before she can kill them, Loki appears and stops her, revealing that he was never dead, that it was all a ruse to see if she would stay true to him.  That was an Asgardian custom, to see if the woman was worthy to be their wife. 

MASTERLIST

OC(s) Used: Lily

Warning(s):  Miscarriage

Word Count: 1,354

~~~~

"Loki, no!"  I screamed, watching in horror as he fell to an enemy sword.  My heart seemed to stop entirely, my body suddenly doused with a horrible, icy-cold chill that sent shivers down my back.  

Laying aside any thought of battle, I ran to his side, falling to my knees next to his prone figure.  "My love, please hold on.  We just need to get you to the palace."  I choked out between my shuddering sobs.  

Loki smiled faintly, his porcelain cheeks paling beyond normal standards as crimson stained his clothing.  Weakly, his hand grasped my own, trying to comfort me.  "Lily-" He began, but his voice was quiet, fading.  

His breath rattled in his throat as his eyes slowly clouded over; his heaving chest falling, never to rise again.

Disbelieving horror filled me, and I took a trembling breath, still clutching Loki's limp hand between my own, hoping that warmth would fill it again, that this was just another of his pranks.

But he remained still, unmoving as his body grew stiff and cold under the cheerless rays of the Asgardian sun.  Leaving me alone, griefstricken to mourn him.

~~~~~~

2 years later....

I darted silently between the rows of wooden crates.  I could hear the loud, rapid breathing of my prey directly ahead; there was no escaping me now.

I had waited two long years for this day; for when I could finally hunt down the scum that killed Loki, and give them the payment they deserved for such a horrible deed.  Two long years where I mourned for Loki with every breath that I took, the ache of his loss still strong within my heart.  

Heading in for the kill, I pounced on the person before me, knocking them to the hard, cold concrete floor of the warehouse we were in.  Silver flashed in the scarce beams of sunlight leaking through the dusty windows as I drew my dagger.

Ensuring that my entire weight was upon their weakly struggling body, I raised the silver weapon high in the air, smiling for the first time in two years, albeit in a grim manner, at my triumph.  Now justice would be served, and my beloved would be avenged.

Just as my dagger began its plunge downwards, straight towards my prey's heart, a sudden voice stopped me.  

"Lily!"  It called, and instantly tears stung my eyes, the melancholy familiarness of it made the ache in my heart throb more painfully.  I had heard that voice many times in the course of the past two years, and by now had learned to ignore its phantom calls.

"It's just a hallucination.  He's not here."  I muttered to myself, taking a deep breath, and repositioning my dagger, my arm falling again as the weapon began another attempt to take a life.

"Lily, stop.  I'm not a hallucination, I'm right here, my love."  

That voice again.  Why did it still torment me?  Why couldn't I just forget all the pain, the anguish I had suffered through?

But curiosity got the better of me, and I relaxed the arm holding the dagger, slowly twisting around to look behind me, towards the source of the noise.  

He stood there, looking exactly the same as I remembered him.  Tall, with long curly black hair cascading onto his shoulders.  He still wore the same sad smile I remembered him wearing in the battle.  

I shuddered at the sight, tears brimming in my eyes as I looked at him, the enemy beneath me forgotten.  

Then, as if in a trance, I stood up, walking slowly towards Loki's figure.  Stopping right in front of him, I looked at him sadly, wishing that he actually stood before me, that he still walked the same paths as me.  But something was very different about this hallucination.  Normally, he faded away as I approached him; but as I now stood before him, he still retained a solid form.

"You've normally faded away by now."  I murmured softly, my eyes raking over each and every one of his features, taking the time to re-etch them into my memory.  

Loki frowned, the expression foreign on his face.  "My love, I am right here.  I will not fade away from you."  He whispered softly, and my eyes widened slightly.  Hesitantly, I reached out a trembling hand towards his gaunt cheek.  

My fingers connected with the warm, comforting flesh that I knew as Loki's.  A startled gasp fled  

my lips, and I quickly raised my other hand to frame his face.  "Loki?"  I breathed, unable to believe what I was seeing and feeling.

Loki smiled, leaning in to kiss me gently.  I hungrily returned his embrace, curling myself closer against his lean body, allowing his arms to encircle me, gently pressing on the small of my back.

Pulling away, I rested my forehead on his, my eyes closed in bliss.  "I thought you were dead."  I whispered, and Loki's chest rumbled against mine as he laughed softly.

"I had to pretend I was, my love.  It is the Asgardian custom to do such a thing to their beloved, to see if they will remain true."  He murmured, and I recoiled away from him, escaping his arms.

"Loki?  Does that mean?"  I asked quietly, and he nodded silently, grinning at me.  My hand flew to my mouth as Loki held out a hand towards me, a thin golden band lying in its center.

"Will you do me the honor of becoming my queen, Lily of Midgard?"  He asked softly, blue eyes showing the slightest hint of nervousness.

Taking a moment to breath and steady my rapidly pounding heart, I nodded.  "Yes, Loki."  I managed to croak out, allowing him to slip the band onto my finger.  Loki then raised my hand to his lips, kissing it gently.

"Shall we return to Asgard then, my queen?"  He asked, smiling the most beautiful, stunning smile I had ever seen cross his face.

~~~~~~

Later that night, Loki and I lay curled up together in his long vacated chambers.  I was snuggled up against his warm torso as he held me in a protective embrace; one that I had sorely missed.

But I couldn't relax, not with a certain memory plaguing me.  Something that I had meant to tell Loki before the battle, but had never gotten the chance to.

"Loki?"  I asked softly, and he hummed lazily in response, his fingertips brushing gently against my face as he traced random patterns on my skin.  "Do you remember when I called you into my room just before the battle?"  

"Yeah, what about it?"  He answered, continuing with his tracings across my arm.  

"I never told you why I called you in there.  The battle interrupted us before I could do so."  I whispered, and Loki suddenly stopped his tracings.

"Go on," he murmured.  

I hesitated a moment before continuing.  "I was going to tell you that I was pregnant."  I said softly, and Loki sat up abruptly, his bare chest illuminated in the moonlight.

"You were pregnant?  Where is the child?"  He asked, staring hard at me with his piercing blue eyes.

I blinked rapidly up at him, biting my lip.  "Loki, I lost the baby.  It was right after the battle, and your..."  I trailed off, "the healer's said it was because of the stress I was experiencing."  

As I spoke, Loki grew somber, and settled himself back down on the mattress.  He pulled me closer to him, burying his face in my hair.  "I'm sorry, Lils.  I didn't know, I should have been there for you."  He muttered against my brown tresses.

"It wasn't your fault, Loki.  You didn't know."  I murmured back, relaxing in his embrace and resting my head in the crook of his neck.  

"But I still should have been there."  He countered, leaving me silent.  One could never win against Loki when it came to games such as this.  

Feigning exhaustion, I yawned.  Loki noticed this, and stopped talking, resuming his gentle pattern tracing on my skin as I drifted off into the best sleep I'd had in several years.

[dreams-of-valeria]

Can I please request A2 with F9 for the Holiday Hopper fic thingy?

Sunshine

A2: Pregnancy scare

F9: Dealer's choice (pet name)

Pairing: Jim Hopper and female reader.

Warnings: Slight self-berrating and crying, mentions of suicide.

A/N: I don't think I was able to incorporate that it was Christmas, but I might edit it later. I hope you like it!

Word count: 1,489

Three minutes. 180 seconds.

That's how long you had before your entire world turned upside down. The difference between life and death would be determined by that one pink line.

Your heart violently thud against your ribcage at the notion of having everything you've built together shatter just by that tiny line. You wished you were exaggerating.

The past two years had been blissful and absolutely perfect. Little did you know that the man who offered to help you fix that flat tire when you'd done it dozens of times before would be the same man you fell in love with. He had been wonderfully accommodating and loving in every respect given his history that you had to learn from Flo, and you had accepted that as his veto.

Even if it made you feel inadequate at times, that you didn't really know him and that there would always be something you could never talk about.

But sometimes, you wondered about his past life and what he like as a father. You always wanted to have kids of your own, but even broaching the subject would either end in a fight, or tears. It was heartbreak either way and you just couldn't win.

And in 2 minutes, you could lose all of it.

You stared at the ominous white stick by your watch on the counter and took a big step back, clenching and unclenching your fists repeatedly.

What was supposed to bring you good news and celebration only made your stomach clench in repulsion--another thing you had the pregnancy to thank for. Alleged pregnancy, you told yourself, just to keep your head afloat.

You tried not to think about what would happen if you were wrong. If you really were carrying Hopper's baby inside you. How were you supposed to break the news to him? Hey, honey, remember that daughter you lost a few years ago and never got over completely and is probably the reason you're borderline suicidal? Well I just went ahead and made another.

You cupped your hands over your face and groaned into them.

You knew it wasn't entirely your doing, of course. You and Hopper had always been careful; he was always a little too careful, doubling up just in case. You understood why he did it, of course. You'd never had children before and couldn't even imagine the horror of slowly losing them, but down the line, it made you feel like he was repelling even the idea of impregnating you, which trickled down and finally manifested into this gut wrenching fear you were experiencing.

One minute.

You tapped your foot and looked up at the mirror, at your unkempt hair and soiled face; it was the poster face for a woman who just realised she was late that month and ran down to the general store and took a pregnancy test in its bathroom because she just had to know.

But you didn't want to think about what came next. Whether you would have to tell him and whether or not he would leave you was not on your mind at all.

You wiped the tears off your face and clutched the edges of the sink, staring at the blank strip as the last 30 seconds ticked away.

You could hear your heartbeat in your ears and the rest of the world faded away. Your eyes were peeled for one thing and one thing alone and that was--

“Y/n?”

You jumped in place at the summon and turned to the door, and immediately felt yourself stiffen again.

Jim's gentle eyes or concerned words should have relaxed you, but you couldn't stop thinking about how you could lose all of it in a second.

“What are you doing here?” he cooed in that tender voice he used only on you, knowing full well how easy you scared. He came up to you and took you in his arms, cradling your face in his hands.

“Joyce told me you came into Melvald's looking upset and ran straight into the bathroom. Are you ok?” His voice oozed small amounts of alarm, but he tried to keep it together knowing full well how you built off his anxiety.

“I'm ok, I just had to . . .” You gulped, unable to lie. What was the point? He would find out eventually.

“You're not ok, sunshine.” He breathed, brushing your haphazard hair back into place. “Now, what am I always saying?”

“We're a team,” you sighed.

“That's right. And how are we supposed to win if we don't communicate?” Hopper sighed. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

“I . . .”

. . . Might be pregnant with your baby. I know this isn't what you wanted and that it couldn't have come at a worse time, but I'm ready to do this, Jim. I know what happened to you was terrible and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy but this has happened too and we just have to deal with it. And if you don't want anything to do with the baby, I understand.

You opened your mouth but the only thing that helped was the air. You took a deep breath and tried to start again, when your watch beeped behind you.

Your eyes widened and you froze in place, overwhelmed by the balancing forces of curiosity and foreboding tugging at you as you came apart at the seams. And just to make your heart stop, Jim heard the beeping too and went to the sink to investigate.

“No, Jim!” You called, but it was too late. His gaze was clearly at the white stick sitting on the sink, and you couldn't even look at it.

Rather, you took him all in, and the realisation struck and then coursed through his veins. You didn't know what immediate reaction to expect of him, but what he ended up doing startled you to this day.

Slowly, like in a dream, he shifted his gaze onto you, the color drained from his face.

“You're pregnant?”

You let out the breath you were holding as your body seemed to sink to the grimy floor. It was all over.

But just before you could explode into a mess of tears and sobs, Hopper's face . . . morphed. It was like something out of the movies where the very architecture of his face shifted and an ear to ear smile split his face into two.

“You're pregnant!” He cried, coming up to you and crushing you in a hug as you struggled to keep on your feet. That amount of force seemed to unlock you from your grieving stance and you reacted by pushing him away to hold his face.

“You're not mad at me?”

“Mad? Why would I be mad, sweetheart? We're having a baby!” He cried again, squeezing your shoulders excitedly as his eyes closed from smiling so huge.

You chuckled incredulously, marvelling in the joy that you were wrong. You hugged him back tight as tears of joy flew down your face, and your mind imploded from all the thoughts and you could barely keep up with them, instead moving your eyes all over the bathroom.

But alas, in their journey, your eyes also happened over the sink, and at fate begging to differ. You paused in his arms and squirmed so he would release you, and picked up the test.

It looked like you had got what you wanted.

“What's wrong?” Hopper asked, palming your face again. You wanted to cry for a completely different reason this time.

“It's only one line,” you swallowed, looking at his face crumple. “I'm not pregnant.”

You stared down the tiles after that, as your mind bombarded you with a different reason to cry every nanosecond.

“So what?”

You looked up at Jim when he spoke, a small smile tugging at his lips already.

“We weren't even trying.” He said, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes. “Imagine if we were.”

Your heart skipped several beats, and he was all that was keeping you alive at the moment.

“Did you say you wanna try?” Your own ears called you a liar for saying it out loud.

“Seems like the right time.” He shrugged, smiling as he brushed your cheek with his thumb.

“But what about . . .” you trailed off, hoping he would get what you were implying. What about that gaping emotional wound?

“Like I said,” Jim smiled, sliding one hand down to your belly. “You and I are a team, and nothing else matters.”

You smiled, unable to believe what he was saying. You'd had him wrong the entire time.

“I love you,” you choked, and he chuckled, wiping at your tears.

“I love you too, sunshine.” he whispered, before tilting your chin up and pressing his lips to yours. It was simple, chaste and innocent, perfectly summing up that moment.

The moment was perfect.

J.

[bubonickitten]

Summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path. 

Chapter 4 is up! 

Previous chapter: tumblr // AO3

Full text & content warnings below the cut.

CWs for Chapter 4: description of a panic attack; blood & injury (within a dream); canon-typical worms; canon-typical horror/nightmare imagery (think MAG 121: Far Away). Also, some canon-typical scopophobia in the form of the continued presence of some unwanted and very rude eldritch tagalongs.

      Chapter 4: Interlude

      Calm down, Jon tells himself, quaking with panic. Breathe. Four seconds in, hold seven seconds, eight seconds out. Just –

  Wait. He has no body. He has no lungs. How – how is he supposed to breathe with no lungs? He can’t – he can’t –

  Stop, stop, stop – shut up and think about it, he reprimands himself.

  No lungs means he’s not hyperventilating. No heart means there are no palpitations. He still has a body, he’s just – disconnected from it right now. And even if he wasn’t, during his first coma he had no pulse or respiration, so – so there’s no way he’s experiencing the physical symptoms of a panic attack right now. He’s imagining it.

  Forget about breathing for now. Think about – think about the positives –

  His plan worked. Sort of. Yes, he’d hoped the rift would take him back to the very beginning – before he started reading statements to that damn tape recorder, before he’d started compelling answers without even realizing he was doing it, before Prentiss and paranoia and burned bridges and the Circus and Sasha and Tim –

  Oh, God. If he could have showed up just a few months earlier, he could have stopped –

  Stop, he thinks, imagining Martin talking him through his racing thoughts, like he used to do whenever Jon got like this. Think about what you can change.

  This is still an improvement on the future he left behind. The world hasn’t ended yet, and now he has an advantage that he didn’t have last time. He knows who Elias really is, what his plans are, and all the little traps that he set along the path.

  Jon can still stop the Grand Ritual.

  Okay. What else?

  He might not have been able to prevent Daisy from ending up in the Buried, but he can still save her, just like he did before.

  And he knows more about Peter’s intentions this time, knows about the Extinction and the extent to which Peter might be exaggerating its imminent threat. He… he can keep Martin from succumbing to the Lonely.

  …can’t he?

  Yes. Yes, he can. He won’t entertain any alternative. He knows Martin much more intimately now, knows himself more intimately. The first time around, it took Jon far too long to identify how he felt about Martin, to find the right word for it, to admit it to himself – and then, it took him even longer to confess it out loud. He was almost too late.

  There is the pressing question of how to approach Martin now. It depends on how soon Jon can wake up and how much of a stranglehold the Lonely has on Martin by then. Lonely or not, though, he probably won't be receptive to a love confession at this point in their timeline. From Martin's perspective, it would seem to come from nowhere. He wouldn't believe it. As difficult as it is to accept, Jon knows that he can't corner Martin with a declaration of love and expect to pick up where they left off. 

  But Jon also knows what words used to comfort Martin and how he liked to be held and where his boundaries lay. Jon had painstakingly learned the best gestures to convey his affection – how best to help Martin believe that he is loved, that he deserves to be cared for, that he doesn’t have to be lonely. Hopefully it will be enough. Hopefully those things are still true, present tense. And if they aren’t, Jon will unlearn it all and relearn how best to be there for Martin here in the past – present, now.

  Jon is feeling calmer already. Okay, good. Go on.

  This is before he started to actively hunt for statements. It’s too late for him to save the ones who came before – and even though they came to the Institute willingly, and even though he didn’t know at the time he took their statements that the nightmares were real, he still feels guilty about the nightmares – but now he knows better, and he knows he can stop.

  He will not take live statements this time. He won’t. It doesn’t matter what it does to him, he just – he won’t do it.

  Keep going. What about the others?   

  Jon isn’t sure exactly what the date is, but based on Martin’s visit just now - his last visit, Jon thinks with a pang - Jon is definitely too late to warn them about the Flesh attack. That means the Slaughter likely has a strong hold on Melanie by now - but if Jon can wake up earlier than he did before, maybe he can save her before she gets any worse. Maybe this time he can find a better way to approach the bullet situation. Maybe. She probably still hates him, but it’s worth a try.

  He can warn Basira about the true motives behind Elias' false leads. Last time, Basira felt like she had to carry everything on her shoulders, but maybe this time, he can give her the support she needs - if she lets him. Maybe this time he can earn her trust again. Maybe this time he’ll even deserve to be trusted.

  And maybe… maybe he can even salvage his relationship with Georgie – if she’s amenable, that is.  

  All of that is bound to be easier said than done, but at least it’s a starting point.

  Now if only he can figure out how to wake up.

      Time has even less meaning here than it did in the apocalypse. Jon can’t Know or even guess at the passing of time as he drifts aimless in the void. He splits his time evenly between panicking, talking himself down from the panic, planning, and sleeping. Or – something like sleep, anyway. It’s more like his mind just goes blank, and it’s – rather nice, actually. It’s the first dreamless rest he’s gotten in years, even if it is under such grim circumstances. 

  It doesn’t last, though. One moment he is nothing and nowhere at all, and the next he’s in a very familiar graveyard surrounded by very, very familiar fog. 

  So much for dreamless sleep, he thinks. A moment later, the muffled sound of crying reaches him through the mist.

  He waits, then, to be overtaken by the nauseating sensation of being puppeted. It was a familiar routine. The dream would string him along, stopping him before each victim in turn. He would be compelled to behold their torment, unable to flee or speak or even close his eyes. It never got any easier, but at some point it had become his new normal, and during his previous coma, after six months of the same endlessly looping nightmares, he did start to feel numb to it all.

  During the apocalypse, though, he didn’t sleep. He didn’t dream. There was no need, not when the nightmare was all around him and he could See all of it at every moment. A creeping sense of dread washes over him at the prospect of returning to this again every time he tries to sleep, and he realizes that the old numbness has worn off. He isn’t looking forward to cultivating it all over again – and he doesn’t know if he can take months of this nonstop a second time.  

  As he stands there lost in his own head, time ticks by second by second until finally he notices that he’s waiting for a compulsion that… doesn’t seem to come. It never takes this long for the dream to commandeer his body.

  Jon decides to take a step forward, and his legs surprise him by obeying. That’s new. He stares blankly at his feet until another choked sob, louder this time, cuts through the fog. He cautiously takes a step toward the sound, and then another, and another, expecting the entire time for the dream to rip his agency away from him again. It doesn’t. He finds himself at the lip of the grave, as usual – but for the first time, he came here of his own volition.

  When he looks down, he sees her sprawled at the bottom of her lonely plot, one hand scrabbling weakly against the earthen wall. The skin on her arms is pallid and covered in gooseflesh; her face is covered in dirt, but where her tears have eroded watery tracks down her cheeks, the skin underneath is ashen. She looks… grey, colorless, as washed out as the mist clinging to her. The moment she sees him, a soft, broken wail clambers up her throat.

  Naomi Herne.

  “Why are you doing this?” Naomi croaks weakly. It’s a refrain that Jon has heard time and time again, and he feels his heart clench painfully in his chest – or at least, a convincing psychosomatic simulation of it. “Why won’t you just leave me alone?”

  “I’m so sorry, Naomi,” Jon whispers.

  They both flinch simultaneously. Naomi flings herself bodily against the wall and Jon jolts backward into thin air so abruptly that he loses his balance and ends up in a heap on the muddy ground.

  He’s never, ever been allowed to speak in this place. Years of apologies have sat heavily on his tongue, piling up and crowding his throat with every live statement he consumed, and never once has he been able to let them out. And more than that, it’s – it’s his voice. It’s not the Archive, it’s just… it’s just Jon. Staring ahead in stunned silence, he brings one hand to his throat and lets it rest there.   

  “I… I…” Naomi’s hoarse voice drifts up into the fog, confused and frightened.

  Limbs still trembling, Jon crawls over to the edge of the grave and looks down again. Naomi watches him, her eyes wide and pale and wet.

  “You… you spoke to me.”

  “I…” Jon clears his throat uncertainly. “I – yes, I – I suppose I did.”

  “You’ve never spoken to me.”

  “Yes,” Jon murmurs, massaging his throat again.

  “Why?” When Jon doesn’t reply, Naomi smacks her palm against the muddy wall of her plot and raises her voice. “Why?”  

  “I –” Jon shakes his head and tries to corral his thoughts into some semblance of order. The fog in his brain just might be as thick as the haze choking the cemetery. “This is the first time I’ve been allowed to speak.”

  “That’s not good enough!” Naomi shouts, rising to her knees now. “Do you realize – do you know how long it’s been, how many times I’ve been forced to sit here, watching you just stare down at me with… and – and how many times have I asked, how many times have I begged for you to just – just say something, or look away, or do anything else other than – than watch me?”

  “I…” Jon clears his throat again. “You gave me your statement on 13 January, 2016. I’m not sure what the exact date is right now, but – I think it’s December? 2017.”

  “Almost two years!” Naomi’s voice cracks. “I can count in double digits the number of decent nights’ sleep I’ve gotten in two years.”

  “I know,” Jon says quietly. “I know, and I’m – I’m so, so sorry.”

  Naomi looks like she wants to rail against him some more, but she seems speechless.

  The apologies are throwing her off. She wants to scream at a monster, and you’re robbing her of the opportunity –

  Jon had forgotten how strong the Knowing is in this place. He swats at the nearest group of eyes hovering around him, and the influx of information is interrupted as they scatter and fade out. Whether he successfully distracted the Eye or simply redirected his own attention, he doesn’t know, but either way, he finds the quiet – at least for the moment.  

  Naomi watches the movement with utter bemusement, then schools her expression back into defiance and suspicion. “So what changed?”

  “I’m… not sure, exactly. This is the first time this has happened, and…” Jon pauses, suddenly feeling self-conscious staring down at Naomi from six feet above. “Do you want –” He cuts himself off. He’s going to have to get used to dancing around questions again. “I can help you out of there. If – if you’d like.”

  “Why?” She sounds less incensed now, but fire still simmers just below the surface of the word.

  “I’ve – I’ve wanted to this entire time,” Jon says haltingly. “I did try, at first, when all of this started. I tried to reach down to you, but I – the dream has never let me move or talk or – or blink before.” 

  Naomi stares at him with narrowed eyes, arms crossed over her chest defensively. “I don’t trust you.”

  “I… yes, I suppose that’s fair.”

  Naomi falls silent. Jon watches her gaze flit nervously from eye to eye to eye as they blink open in the open air out of nothing and then pop out of existence again like soap bubbles, an endless shuffle of Watchers of varying sizes. The light they emit bounces off the water molecules in the air around them, illuminating the fog and bathing the entire area in a sickening greenish glow.

  “Here, let me try…” Jon trails off, closes his human eyes and focuses on shutting the others, hoping to make himself appear just a little less monstrous. At one point he manages to pare their numbers down to just a couple dozen before all at once several dozen more blink open again, every one of them immediately swiveling to fix him with a reproachful stare.

  He’s so preoccupied with glaring back at each of them in turn that he jerks when a hysterical giggle bubbles up out of Naomi’s throat. Now it’s Jon’s turn to look bemused. When his human eyes meet Naomi’s, she laughs harder. She still sounds tear-choked, but Jon can feel the fright draining away from her.

  “Naomi…?” Jon tilts his head slightly, brow furrowing in consternation.

  Naomi wipes tears from the corners of her eyes as she tries to catch her breath. “It’s – nothing, nothing. You just… you looked so put out, and it’s just – it’s hard to feel intimidated by a monster when it’s pouting like a toddler chasing peas around a plate with a fork.”

  Jon feels his face heat, and then suddenly a quiet, involuntary chuckle is clawing its way up and out of his throat as well. It’s just – the tenor of her teasing is so, so reminiscent of Martin.

  “Sure,” he says, his voice taking on the same teary-and-tickled tinge, “bully the penitent monster.”

  Naomi stifles another giggle and doubles over, shivering with the surreal hilarity of it all. Both of them stay like that for a long moment, fighting back the bizarre combination of tears and laughter. Jon can’t remember the last time he’s laughed like this, and the realization brings another swell of tears to his eyes.

  Eventually, Naomi stands on wobbly legs and rubs her eyes, carelessly smearing the moisture and dirt on her cheeks into a thin paste.

  “Well?” She stands on tiptoe and stretches one hand up toward him. “Are you going to help me out of here?”

  With a surge of gratitude – he’s being allowed to help someone for once – Jon stretches out flat against the ground and reaches down. A single eye sprouts uninvited on his palm and he scowls at it until it melts into his skin and out of existence. He looks back at Naomi, expecting fear and disgust, but she just looks fascinated and more than a little amused. When he extends his hand again, she reaches back. Their fingertips just barely brush and he scoots closer, head and shoulders leaning over the edge until Naomi’s clammy hand is clutched firmly in his.

  “Are you actually going to be able to pull me out? You don’t look like you have any upper body strength.”

  “Every day with the schoolyard bullying,” Jon sighs, reaching out a second hand to grip her wrist more firmly. She takes his cue and does the same, clasping his wrist with her other hand until it aches. “It’s a dream, Naomi. I don’t think physical laws matter much.”

  She begins to pull herself up, her bare toes digging into the wall as she clambers up. She slips a few times, and Jon grimaces as he takes more of her weight.

  “Seems like the dream’s decided your noodle arms are just as useless here as they are in the real world,” Naomi says with a strained grunt.   

  “Watch it, I might just drop you.” Jon panics as the retort leaves his mouth and he hastens to add, “I’m – I’m kidding, I wouldn’t – that was in poor taste, I’m sorry –”

  “I know,” Naomi says with a breathless laugh. “Are you always this awkward?”

  With one final burst of energy, she heaves herself upward and Jon shuffles back, pulling her over the edge until she has enough leverage to drag herself up the rest of the way. They both lay there for a few minutes, waiting for the adrenaline to fade.

  “Thank you,” Naomi murmurs shakily.

  “The least I can do, right?”

  “The absolute least.”

  Jon lets out a tired chuckle. When he realizes that one hand is still linked with one of Naomi’s, he starts to pull away, but she tightens her grasp and the look in her eyes turns panicked.

  “Please,” she blurts out and then looks away, embarrassed. “I’m – I’m not trying to make it weird, I just –”

  “It’s okay,” Jon says quietly, and gives her hand a reassuring squeeze. “I understand. We can stay like this for now.”

  Naomi nods gratefully. She still looks a bit mortified – the color is returning to her cheeks, Jon notes – but more than anything else, she seems relieved. They spend the next few minutes in a slightly awkward but mostly companionable silence.

  “I really am sorry, Naomi –”

  “You said.”

  “– but I don’t know how to stop this from happening.” When Naomi doesn’t reply, Jon continues: “I – I promise that if I find out, I’ll do whatever I can to stop it. I just – I wanted to say that, if this is a fluke – if next time we find ourselves here, I’m back to…” Jon hesitates for a moment. “Remember your anchor.”

  “My… anchor?”

  “The first time you got lost in the fog – think about how you found your way out.”

  “Evan,” Naomi whispers, and Jon nods.

  “Next time you find yourself here, if you’re alone, or – or if I’m… unresponsive, remember your anchor. And - and it doesn't have to be Evan, it can be anyone or anything that tethers you to the world you came from. I don’t know if it will lead you out of the fog in a dream – it might not even allow you to leave the grave – but it should… it should help you remember that you're not lost. That this is a dream, and you will wake up from it.” He swallows and closes his human eyes. “That the fog doesn’t actually go on forever, even if… even if sometimes it might seem like it.”

  Naomi is silent for a long moment before she speaks again.

  “Will you stay with me until I wake up?”

  “I – I – yes?” Jon stammers, taken aback by the idea that she’d want to willingly pass the time in his company. “Yes, if you – if that’s what you want.”

  “I wouldn’t have asked otherwise,” Naomi says. She rolls her eyes, but it comes off more as indulgent than annoyed. “Keep talking?”

  Jon opens his mouth and closes it again. He’s never been a great conversationalist, especially with people he doesn’t know well, and it’s not like he’s had much chance to practice for… a long time. Not since he lost Martin. There was Helen, of course, but their chats were seldom rewarding, even before Jon was reduced to speaking in statements.  

  Apparently Naomi senses his struggle, because she fills the silence for him. “Do you have an anchor?”   

  Jon is glad of the assistance. Answering questions – that’s something he can handle.

  “Yes,” he responds, just a bit dreamily, fighting back a smitten half-smile. “Yes, I do.”

  Naomi raises an eyebrow.

  “I… can tell you about him, if you’d like?”  

  “Sure, why not?”  

  “Alright then.” Jon fidgets nervously; being open about this sort of thing doesn't come naturally to him. “Statement of Jonathan Sims, regarding his anchor, and all the intricacies of being Seen.”

  “Wow,” Naomi says flatly. “I take it he’s the one responsible for changing you from an arrogant prick to a besotted puppy?”

  “He… may have had something to do with it,” Jon says, simultaneously fond and abashed. “He’s a poet and a hopeless romantic, and it may or may not have rubbed off on me. Now, do you want to hear this story or not?”

  “Definitely, but I reserve the right to make fun of you when you’re done.”

  “That seems like a fair deal, considering the past couple years.”

  “I think so.” Naomi gives him an expectant look. “Well? Go on.”

  “His name is Martin K. Blackwood.” Jon doesn’t bother holding back his smile this time. “The ‘K’ doesn’t actually stand for anything – he just, and I quote, ‘liked the way it looked’…”

  It doesn't take much prompting for Jon to start rambling about Martin, and it takes him a few minutes to remember that Jonah might be listening in. He hadn’t been planning on mentioning the apocalypse to Naomi, but he reminds himself to be careful not to mention any major events that haven’t happened yet, anything that might hint at his foreknowledge of Jonah’s plans.

  There is a risk of raising suspicion just by talking about Martin in such affectionate terms. At this point in his timeline the first time around, Jon was fully occupied with regularly having his life threatened – and then routinely, studiously refusing to process that ongoing complex trauma in any remotely healthy way. He didn’t exactly have the time or breathing room or emotional capacity to examine his developing feelings for Martin, and even if he had, he wouldn’t have been able to tolerate the vulnerability of admitting it to himself, let alone to Martin. 

  But Jonah can’t always be watching them; he has to assume that he misses out on things from time to time. He probably won’t think too hard on mundane slice-of-life moments involving tea and poetry and debates about what criteria should be used to identify a good cow, as long Jon is vague about the time frame and contextual details of each story. He avoids explicitly putting a label on the nature of their relationship and tones down any particularly romantic interactions. In the end, he succeeds in sounding like he has a not-so-subtle crush on a coworker and is both too emotionally repressed to acknowledge it and too unobservant to realize that it’s reciprocated. (It’s… not a difficult act to pull off.)

  Jon manages to get through several non-incriminating anecdotes like that before Naomi wakes up. He hopes he’ll still have his voice the next time he sees her. It’s… nice, to talk to another person after so long with only the Distortion to keep him company.

  He stands and brushes himself off as well as he can, which isn’t much. Resigning himself to the drying mud clinging to him, he steels himself and prepares to continue his well-traveled tour of the dreamscape.

      Jon’s first stop is Dr. Lionel Elliott’s anatomy lab. Jon manages to snatch the apple away from him before either of them have to catch a glimpse of the molars hidden inside it, but it doesn’t stave off the bone-crunching contortions that always dominate this part of the dream. It takes Jon some very long, very painful minutes to talk Elliott down from his fear long enough to redirect the dream’s trajectory, and even longer to convince the man that he means him no harm.

  Jon does eventually manage to coax him out of the dissection lab and into the hall – (“I think sitting on the floor out there is preferable to staying in here with all the…” – and here, Jon gestures at the nearest blood-spurting heart) – but they don’t get very far into their conversation before Elliott wakes up.

  They’ll have to see each other again the next time Elliott sleeps, though. Jon can try again.

      Next up is Tessa Winters, sat at her computer. She nearly has the keyboard to her lips before Jon manages to reach her. In his haste to stop the dream sequence, he overturns the table and sends the entire setup crashing to the floor, yanking the keyboard away from her for good measure. Tessa promptly drops to the ground and makes a grab for the nearest shard of glass from the broken monitor.

  Unable to control her own body, she shoves the glass between her lips and crunches down on it before Jon can wrest it from her. When it slices into the roof of her mouth, an identical gash opens up in Jon’s, and soon both of them have blood running down their throats. As Tessa reaches out a shaky hand to snatch up another piece, Jon catches her wrist.

  “Tessa, listen to me – you don’t have to do this anymore.”

  The look she gives him is a perfect mix of enraged and terrified, and she tries desperately to pull away.

  “Tessa – Tessa!”

  Shaking her head frantically, she shuts her eyes tight, sending tears streaming down her cheeks. Jon chokes a bit on the blood still pouring freely out of the cut in his mouth. He can only imagine what a sight he must be right now: covered in mud, teeth stained red, all those hungry eyes looking on. He’s loathe to use compulsion, but…

  “Tessa, look at me.”

  She abruptly stops struggling and a glimmer of cognizance flares in her eyes. A moment later, she rips her hand away from his grip and backhands him across the face.

  I probably deserved that, Jon thinks. He puts both of his hands up in a nonthreatening gesture and leans away from her, giving her space.

  “What is wrong with you?” Tessa seethes. She spits blood onto the ground through her teeth, never once breaking eye contact with Jon. With his human eyes, he notes. “I’ve been having this dream for nearly a year and – and…”

  “You… know that this isn’t just a dream.” It isn’t a question; Jon already Knows the answer.

  “It’s a very lucid dream.” She’s clearly aiming for decisive, but Jon can detect the waver of uncertainty concealed underneath. Tessa looks away and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, leaving a crimson streak painted across her skin. 

  “You don’t really think that, though,” Jon says gently. He could tell from the first time he met Tessa in her nightmares that she knew there was an element of the supernatural at play.

  “Then what? You’re – you’re secretly a monster in disguise, siphoning off people’s ghost stories? Feeding on nightmares like some kind of – what, dream vampire?” 

  “I…” Jon frowns. “I’ve never heard it phrased that way, but I suppose? Sort of? I mean I was – I was human once. When you first gave your statement, I hadn’t realized what I was becoming just yet. I was having nightmares like this, but back then I still thought they were just… bad dreams.”  

  “So why are you suddenly talking to me now?”

  “The dream has never let me talk before. Usually I don’t have control of my body, I just get piloted around and made to… well, Watch.”

  “And what, I’m supposed to feel sorry for you?”

  “No, I – not at all, I just –” Jon sighs. “I’m answering your question. The reason I’m just now speaking to you is because this is the first chance I’ve gotten to do so. I don’t intentionally bring you here and I wish it would all just stop. But…” He falters, struggling to get the words out. “But it is because of me that you’re brought here, and so I – I owe you an apology.”

  “Why?” Jon looks at her questioningly. “You’re saying you don’t bring me here, and that you didn’t know what would happen when you took my statement. So, what are you actually apologizing for? Because you feel guilty, and you think saying sorry will make you feel better? That’s not an apology, that’s a cop-out.”

  Jon’s first impulse is to deny it, but he stops himself, because that is the impression he’s giving, isn’t it?

  “I do feel guilty,” he admits, “but apologizing isn’t going to make me feel better, trust me. I’m sorry because… like I said, even if I didn’t expect or intend this specific outcome, it’s still because of me that you’re here. I need to take responsibility for that.”

  Jon gnaws on the inside of his cheek nervously, trying to organize his thoughts. Taking Tessa Winters’ statement was, in retrospect, a watershed moment for him. He had taken several live statements by that point, but all the earlier statement givers had made their way to the Institute independently. (Well, except Helen – Jonah had confessed that he was the one to lead her to the Institute – but Jon didn’t know that at the time.) Tessa was the first time Jon actively and knowingly brought someone to him – and he did it under false pretenses.

  It’s been eating away at him ever since that first nightmare they shared.

  “The forum post that drew you to me,” he says in a rush, “asking for statements.”  

  “What about it?”  

  “I’d never solicited statements before then. People would just come to the Institute on their own.”

  “And?” Tessa fixes him with an intense look. “What changed?”

  “Well, I… I had an ulterior motive in posting on tech savvy message boards specifically.” Jon picks at his cuticles, human eyes carefully averted from Tessa’s. “The laptop you helped me with, it belonged to my predecessor. I didn’t learn until after I was selected to replace her that she was murdered. It was an unsolved case, and I… I needed to know why. I thought, if I could get access to her computer, maybe there would be a clue somewhere.”

  “And if it wasn’t for that post…”

  “You would never have come to the Institute. You wouldn’t be here now.”

  A full minute passes before Tessa speaks.

  “Did it even help?”

  “Not as much as I would have liked, no,” Jon says with a short, humorless laugh.

  Tessa’s lips move wordlessly for a few seconds before she eventually snaps, “Why the hell did you feel like it was your job to solve a murder, anyway?”

  “It seemed unlikely that it would ever be solved – the police certainly didn’t seem invested in it – and I was worried that I would be next.” Jon rubs the back of his neck for a few seconds before twirling a lock of hair around his finger, tugging gently. What does it say about his life that he misses when things were as simple as a workplace murder? “There’s more to the story, but – suffice it to say, I was paranoid and stubborn and - and unstable, and people got hurt because of it.”

  The silence stretches between them for several minutes this time before Tessa speaks again.

  “I don’t forgive you.” Jon winces before he can think better of it, and Tessa continues: “But your apology is accepted.”

  Jon gives her a baffled look. “I… I don’t understand.”  

  “I can appreciate a genuine apology, and you seem sincere enough.” Tessa shrugs. “Sounds like you acted out of disregard for others, rather than out of malicious intent. Still not great, but I don’t think one action defines a person.” Her expression hardens and her voice turns firm. “But that doesn’t mean I have to forgive the action. And I’m not ready to forgive, not when I’m still living through the consequences. Maybe not ever.”

  “That’s fair,” Jon says, and he means it. “Especially since – well, I don’t know how to stop the dreams. If I find a way, I’ll do it, absolutely, but for now… I can’t promise an end to this.”

  Tessa makes a noncommittal noise.

  “I am hoping that I’ll maintain basic bodily autonomy going forward. That way, I can – I can try to intervene again, the next time you get trapped in the loop. I’ve done this a couple times now, with other dreams. So far, it seems that if the script gets interrupted, we can ride out the rest of the dream without the nightmare component.”

  “And if you go back to how you were before?”

  “Then I’m forced back into the role of Watcher, I suppose.” The thought of it fills him with dread, but he isn’t about to make Tessa process that with him, so he quickly moves on. “But – but I think maybe you don’t need me to break the script? It might be enough to just… memorize how you feel right now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This is the first time you’ve been here and still had control of your own actions. The moment you’re sat in front of that computer, you become a passenger in your own body.” Jon gives his hair another gentle tug as he hunts for the right phrasing. “Find something – a word, a gesture, a memory, anything – that you can associate with how you feel right here, right now. Something sensory, or at least simple enough that you can remember even when – when your thoughts start to disintegrate.”

  “'The angles cut me when I try to think,'” Tessa recites quietly. It sends a shiver up Jon’s spine, and he Knows it does the same for her.

  “It’s an accurate description, isn’t it?”

  Tessa gives him a suspicious look. “You can feel it?”

  “Yes.” Jon shifts uncomfortably at the memory of it. “Like having your consciousness shredded until everything is sharp edges and… and noise.”

  Jon can feel Tessa’s anger soften a bit, and he Knows that it’s not out of forgiveness. It’s because she feels vindicated, knowing that the one responsible for her suffering is at least facing the same torture as she is. She feels a twinge of shame over that feeling, he Knows, but even if she didn’t, he wouldn’t hold it against her. Honestly, he isn’t ready to be forgiven any more than Tessa is ready to forgive him.

  “Anyway,” he says, unceremoniously shoving the Knowing away, “breaking the association between the computer and the loss of control might be enough to snap you out of the usual dream sequence.”

  “Trick my brain with a bit of classical conditioning?” Tessa snorts. “That’s your advice?”

  “Just a suggestion.” Jon shrugs. “I’ve found it helpful from time to time.”

  “Alright then, Pavlov’s monster.”

  Jon gives an awkward little laugh. “Never heard that one before, either.”

  “I’m sure I can come up with more,” she says, and graces him with a very small, very tentative smirk. It feels remarkably like an olive branch – or maybe just the ghost of one. He doesn’t feel like he deserves even that.

  Tessa refuses Jon’s offer to stay with her until she wakes up, so he stands and takes his leave.

      Jon isn’t walking for long when the dreamscape shifts around him again. Rain patters down on the asphalt of a lonely road, stretching onward and outward with no end in sight. The harsh police lights refract off of the rain and the mist, the incessant bright flash sending a stabbing pain right to his temples.

  He drifts towards the coffin on autopilot, never once breaking his stride, and he throws the chains aside. Before he can think twice about it, he walks down those familiar steps, taking two at a time in his haste to get through this segment of the dream as quickly as possible.

  The instant the soil closes in around him, he reflexively calls Daisy’s name. It takes him three desperate shouts before he remembers with a sinking feeling that he won’t find her here. The coffin doesn’t allow for sleeping or dreaming, and it will be another few months before Jon can go in after her.

  As soon as he resigns himself to that realization, the earth falls away and he’s standing in a coffin of a different sort, watching Karolina Górka from across a sweltering, buckling train car. All around them, the twisted metal groans and strains under unimaginable pressure. Karolina does not respond to his explanations, his apologies, his offers to help, his questions. She simply watches him, as he used to watch her, and smiles, until the train car collapses in on her and the scenery fades.

  Next time, he tells himself, fighting back nausea and guilt. There has to be some way to reach her, and he has plenty of time to figure it out. Next time.

      When Jon finds himself in front of Helen’s door, standing solitary in open air, he’s half-tempted to fling it open, finally see where it leads in this place. He has to force himself to turn away – 

  Which, as expected, gives him a full view of the undulating carpet of ants. He scans the swarm diligently, watching it writhe and twist until he catches sight of a hand reaching out to him, and he lunges to grab hold of it. As soon as Jordan is free of the horde, he shrinks away in terror, and Jon can feel the way his emotions vacillate: gratitude, confusion, fear, suspicion.

  “This way,” Jon says urgently, trying to keep his mounting fear out of his tone and waving Jordan forward. Jordan looks hesitant until the incinerator door materializes beside them, heralding the appearance of Jane Prentiss. “Keep walking.” Jon's voice is definitely taking on a panicked edge now, despite his best efforts. “Don’t look at her.”

  Much to Jon’s relief, Jordan listens and hastens after him. In this part of the dream, Jordan has always stood there frozen, eyes darting between the Archivist and the hive, unable to decide which was the lesser of two evils. This time – for now, at least – Jordan seems willing to take his chances with Jon.  

  Jon, of course, can’t fully avert his gaze. Even as he walks away, a few mutinous eyes watch behind him, captivated by Jane and the simmering worms wriggling and tunneling through her flesh. Jane’s burning stare burrows into him like larvae, and he fights the urge to scratch.

  “Cover your ears.” Jon is careful to keep the compulsion out of his voice. Luckily, Jordan complies of his own volition – and not a moment too soon, as the hive begins to screech out its death knell only seconds after the words leave Jon’s mouth. He watches as Jane’s eyes liquefy and run down her cheeks. All the while, she screams and screams and screams until finally her throat crumbles to ash along with the rest of her.

  Jon stops then, bending over with his hands on his knees, trying to quell his trembling. Jordan nearly runs right into him, throwing himself backward at the last moment and hitting the ground with a grunt. He takes one look at Jon and begins to scramble away. Now that Jane Prentiss is gone, all of his terror can be directed at the sole remaining monster.  

  “W-wait,” Jon says, voice raspy. “I – I don’t want to hurt you.”

  Jordan stops moving, but continues to stare with wide, terrified eyes.

  “I know what I look like, and I’m – I’m sorry about that, I don’t have control over them.” Jon gestures half-heartedly at the eyes phasing in and out in the air around him. Their focus darts about in all directions, greedy and possessive and eager to See everything there is to See. Even just a momentary glance of their restless movements elicits a burst of annoyance, and he can’t resist once again striking out at the nearest grouping of them. They instantly dissipate and Jon turns his human eyes back to Jordan. “But I want to help.”

  “You’ve never helped before.”

  “I know. The dream wouldn’t let me.”

  “But now suddenly it will?”

  “Yes, and I’m hoping it stays that way. But – but if it doesn’t –”

  Before he can finish, Jordan flickers out of sight as his real body wakes. Jon groans in frustration. He would have liked to outline a contingency plan in the same way that he did with Naomi and Tessa, but… hopefully the next time Jordan sleeps, Jon can continue the discussion. 

  The eyes that he had previously banished pop back into existence one by one to his left.

  “I really, really hate you, you know that?”

  In unison, they all blink and reopen, slow and purposeful. He tries not to assign personality to them, but he can't help thinking that they look amused. 

  Jon swears, turns away from them, and kicks the ground uselessly. Hopefully Jonah isn’t watching this impotent little outburst, but just in case, Jon takes the time to glower up at the Eye looking down on him before he stalks off. It definitely makes him look even more like a petulant child, but at the moment, he can’t bring himself to care.  

      Jon paces feverishly in front of the door to the dissection lab, scratching absently at the back of his burned hand as he tries to calm his nerves. In one fluid motion, he reaches out to grab the door handle, then shrinks back again and runs his fingers through his hair with an agitated sigh. At this rate, she’ll wake up before he works up the courage to go in there.

  He reaches toward the handle again, but stops at the last moment and raps his knuckles lightly against the door instead. Knock-knock, his mind supplies, sending a chill down his spine.

  Even though he’s expecting it, he still starts at the answering, “Hello?”

  Jon steels himself and opens the door, and suddenly he’s eyes-to-eyes with –

  “Georgie…”

  The customary sadness and pity in her expression fade away, replaced by faint surprise.

  “Jon?”

   End Notes:

- JON GETS TO USE HIS WORDS AGAIN! Finally. (There will still be some more Archive-speak peppered in throughout later chapters, though.)

- I took some liberties with Naomi's and Tessa's characterization, since we only got an episode each of them + some glimpses of their nightmares in MAG 121, and Naomi was in the middle of grieving during her episode. Hopefully they don't come off as too OOC, but either way, I was having fun writing their dialogue like this, so I just kinda ran with it.

- The scene with Georgie was running long, so I decided to end it there and pick it up in the next chapter. (Chapter 5 should be ready by this weekend, hopefully.)

- Btw, it was very tempting to title this chapter “How Am I Gonna Be an Optimist About This?” because Bastille’s “Pompeii” has been stuck in my head for days now and honestly?? It's probably not a bad song choice for these first four chapters.

[in-dire-need]

Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge- My Chemical Romance

The only 2004 album that could even come close to giving American Idiot a run for its money is Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge. My Chemical Romance’s second full-length album shot the band out of its familiar water. Its numerous hits continue to reach billboard charts, such as opening track “Helena” and world-renowned “I’m Not Okay.” According to frontman Gerard Way, Revenge stands as a “pseudo-conceptual horror story”. Every track on the album ties into this twisted and supernatural story of the two lovers featured on the cover, which was created by Gerard Way.

“Helena (So Long and Goodnight)” opens this story of Three Cheers with a heartfelt yet twisted dedication to the Way brothers’ grandmother, Elena Rush, had passed away under circumstanced unknown to the public during the band’s tour of I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love. Elena had heavily influenced the brothers from a very young age and inspired them to pursue their dreams. When she passed, Gerard Way was sent into a spiral of anger and self-destructive behavior. He wrote the song to be somewhat of a letter to himself, expressing the hatred he felt for himself at the time. Despite the dark theme behind the lyrics, “Helena” continues to be a radio classic on rock stations everywhere. 

The story element behind the album begins during the second track, “Give ‘Em Hell, Kid”. A man has been divided from his lover after the devil resurrects him from the dead and, in order to resurrect his wife as well, he must kill one thousand evil souls and present them to the devil. While he ventures out to accomplish this, his wife wonders where he has gone and is clueless of his plans. She is livid at him for wrecking their marriage that began when they were young and dumb. In the next few tracks we listen as the protagonist crashes a wedding in order to kill the guests. He begins to question his sexuality and if his wife is worth one thousand souls. Continuing the double-meaning, the “To The End” is also based on the short story “A Rose For Emily” by William Faulkner. In this story, a rich wife begins suspecting that her husband may be a homosexual, so she poisons him before he cheats on her or leaves her. 

“You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us in Prison” features Bert McCracken, frontman of The Used, with whom all of My Chemical Romance was extremely close with at the time of Three Cheers’ release. Gerard was also featured on their 2004 album, In Love and Death, which toured with Three Cheers after its debut. Since then, the bands had a falling-out and didn’t speak for years before heavily hinting that The Used would be opening for My Chemical Romance’s reunion tour that was scheduled for 2020. This information was never officially announced, though, seeing as COVID-19 has ruined every hope and dream that it could lay its greasy paws on. Anger aside, “Prison” continues the protagonist’s journey to kill one thousand evil souls to resurrect his wife as he is arrested in a restaurant gunfight. Once in prison, he begins falling for an inmate of the same sex, which confuses and upsets the protagonist who had assumed he was heterosexual for his entire life. He still dreams of his deceased lover, whom his journey is all for. The other inmates begin to take advantage of him, forcing him to dress in drag and give blowjobs to accommodate to their sexual desires. He begins to lose his sanity and believes that he might as well be executed since he will not be able to fulfill his mission from prison. He decides that when he leaves, he will burn down an entire hotel to quickly raise his body count.

Another track that has gone down in history is number four, “I’m Not Okay (I Promise”. It follows a girl who struggles with dealing with the problems in her life. She vents and complains to her boyfriend, who is dealing with his own problems. He puts them aside to comfort his girlfriend time and time again. She does not take this into account and simply continues to wallow in her own pain, attempting and failing to relate to sad songs with deeper meanings. He has finally had it with her by the end of the song and explodes, telling her that he is not okay and he is done with her melodrama. “The Ghost of You” is another smash hit produced by this album, which continues the story already present. The protagonist expresses the grief he experienced after losing the lover he is trying so hard to save. Later tracks emphasize this as the protagonist begins to doubt his ability to bring his lover back.

Standing as a message of inspiration and a sign not to give up, “Thank You For The Venom” has become very popular within its target audience. Critics began to blame My Chemical Romance for making music purely to become famous, to which the band responded saying that the fans are a huge impact on their music. They never wanted to be on the front covers of magazines and at the head of the rock scene, but at a certain point they could no longer fight the inevitable. The song narrates what is possibly a nun attempting to convert a horrible sinner, then being murdered by the man. The sinner could be the protagonist continuing his killing spree, knowing that no amount of preaching could save him. In the following tracks, he questions again if his lover is really worth kill one thousand evil souls. After a woman representing his lost love holds him at gunpoint and tells him to stop his killing spree, he considers shooting himself and therefore dying for her instead of killing. He trudges on still and vows revenge on this woman as his story nears its end. After killing nine-hundred ninety-nine evil souls, he realizes that the last one he must take is his own. He begins hallucinating that his wife is there with him and even holds conversations with her before remembering that she is not there. It is heavily suggested that his lover committed suicide after getting drunk, though the means are unknown. The protagonist finally comes to terms with the fact that he is destined to die and that he would never have been able to resurrect his wife. 

In the final track, “I Never Told You What I Did For a Living”, the man completes his transaction with the devil. He accepts his fall from grace, but knows that once he is with his love again it will all have been worth it. Once he kills the last soul, himself, it is revealed that the devil tricked him. As a result of his astounding body count, he has been damned to hell instead of being reunited with his lover. His final realization is that it was all for nothing and that he has simply become a monster. 

Three Cheers For Sweet Revenge’s final lines are a callback to the group’s first album, I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love, or Bullets for short. Dozens of lines throughout the album reference Bullets, and the lovers featured are even referred to as two “Demolition Lovers”. Initially, fans and critics believed that the two albums were linked as one continuing story, but that theory has been denied. Past its horrific tale, many songs actually send a buried positive message- keep going. Specifically “I’m Not Okay (I Promise)” and “Thank You For The Venom” have worked to debunk the band’s stereotype of being a suicide cult. Ironically, these songs have also become symbols of this said suicide cult, given the references to death and self-destruction, which leads many younger listeners to fall prey to this cult mentality that the media has created. That very concept was something that My Chemical Romance vehemently spoke out against, seeing as the very reason they began making music was to help people. Even despite being twisted and forgotten by the media, that is still exactly what they did. Although fame wasn’t what they wanted, in the end they achieved exactly what they wanted: to help people. Their worldwide fame simply allowed them to reach farther and wider than ever imagined. 

As previously stated, all tracks on the album not only tie into the crazy narration of two dead lovers, but into the real lives of the bandmates, specifically Gerard and Mikey way. For example, “The Jetset Life is Gonna Kill You” personifies Gerard’s struggle with alcoholism and cocaine addiction in the form of a woman. He says that he could stay with her for hours even though she will eventually kill him. He was able to sober up and toured for Three Cheers during his first full year sober, which he described as extremely difficult. “The Ghost Of You” helps paint the picture of how the brothers were grieving after the loss of their grandmother, Elena.

Elena was one of the most powerful influencers behind the creation of My Chemical Romance and continued to inspire them throughout their entire career. Thanks to her, the band went on to inspire millions of young adults worldwide. Had she not supported her grandchildren like she did, so many more influencers would have never developed the confidence to take their first steps into the sunlight. These influencers include Palaye Royale, Twenty One Pilots, Post Malone, and Yungblud. Who knows how many more celebrities truly are that wouldn’t be where they are without the influential messages of My Chemical Romance? Who knows who the next possible star will be? I guess we’ll just have to wait and find out. Go enjoy yourselves, internet.

“And we'll love again, we'll laugh again We'll cry again, and we'll dance again And it's better off this way, so much better off this way I can't clean the blood off the sheets in my bed!”

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

The Whole Truth - 6

(This chapter is another long one, so use this AO3 link to read more comfortably, or catch up on any you missed! Aziraphale and Crowley find a solution to the curse problem...)

Friday

“Good morning, dear,” Aziraphale said, soft and gentle, when Crowley finally started to stir. He kissed the demon’s forehead, then his nose. “You’re so lovely when you sleep. So warm. So—”

“Knock it off,” Crowley mumbled with a sleep-heavy smile. “Ruin my reputation.”

“You’re a very heavy sleeper, you know,” Aziraphale continued, feeling perfectly content. Some time ago, he’d sat up against the headboard and Crowley had immediately shifted, curling up to lay in his lap. It made for a stunning contrast, the black clothes and red hair against the white duvet.

Aziraphale leaned down and pressed his lips against Crowley again, the temple, then the cheek, the jaw. “I’m going to kiss you today, my love,” he said calmly, though Crowley’s eyes opened in alarm. “I won’t be able to stop myself.”

“Do you…still want me to stop you?” The back of his fingers brushed Aziraphale’s cheek.

“No. I don’t want that at all. But I still think it’s the best idea. Also, I needed a distraction, so your hair is ruined. I’m not sorry, though, and I’m sure you told me bed hair is popular. This probably isn’t what it means, but you could start a new trend.”

Crowley pressed a finger to Aziraphale’s lips, but he was smiling, and his eyes were gentle. “I have things to tell you. But we should get up first.” Crowley sat up, causing his hair to shift. It flared out in every direction, in spikes and waves that defied gravity. Aziraphale’s fingers had been very busy for nearly an hour. Crowley patted at the hopeless mess. “I need to fix this. Then we talk.”

 --

Crowley entered the kitchen just as Aziraphale was setting his omelet on the table. “Sorry, dearest, I know I didn’t ask to use your stove, but as I said…distractions.” He glanced up and, oh dear, Crowley had changed his hair into loose waves and curls again. Aziraphale’s fingers ached to reach for it, to see how much softer it was without all that product in it to keep it in place…

He quickly sat down and started eating.

“How are you feeling? You know, aside from…”

“Aside from the need to constantly assure you of the depth of my love? It is truly fathomless. Do you remember, back in Rome—”

“Yes, besides that.” Crowley still hovered back by the counter, looking nervous.

“I feel…anxious. Defenseless. I’m very much afraid every time I begin to speak, not knowing quite what I’ll say or do. And when I remember this isn’t some random chance, that it was a deliberate attack by a demon, even if directed at another angel, I feel…” he tapped his fork against the plate. “I feel violated.” A weak smile. “And yet, so very glad you’re here, my dear.”

“Angel, I don’t…” Crowley sank into a chair facing Aziraphale, clearing his throat nervously. “You’re not going to like what I say next.”

“Well, I’m already disappointed in this conversation.” He said breezily, watching with horror as his mind hopped to another subject. “I was hoping you would sit in my lap. Next time I’ll have to hide the other chairs.” Oh, not again. He resumed eating with frantic speed.

Long fingers moved across the table and grasped his free hand. “Aziraphale…there isn’t a demonic curse on that book.”

“I beg your pardon?” Aziraphale put his fork down, very nearly pulled his hand away. But then Crowley squeezed his fingers and he decided he would never let go for the rest of eternity. “Yesterday, I cornered someone outside a coffee shop and told them in exquisite detail about the time you and I met Christopher Marlowe. I told a customer on Tuesday that he couldn’t purchase a book because I didn’t like the way he smelled. And just now I have the overwhelming urge to tell you I once spent a century trying to teach myself to draw just so I could have an image of you, but I could never quite get the nose right; but now the lighting in this room is absolutely perfect and I want to try again with you in front of me and – Crowley, how can you say this isn’t a curse?”

The demon calmly waited for the words to subside, then inched his chair closer, closer, until their knees brushed under the table, until he could reach around the plate and take Aziraphale’s other hand as well.

“I said it’s not a demonic curse. And it’s…a human curse wouldn’t affect you. Which leaves…”

“Angels? No, we don’t – angels don’t make cursed objects.” He tried to pick up his fork, to indicate that the matter was closed, but his mouth refused to play along. “I suppose we could. I mean, what’s really the difference between a cursed item and a blessed one?” The horrifying thoughts rose in his mind, one after the next. “I’ve – I’ve certainly done my share of curses, covering for you. They aren’t structurally all that different. And I’ve seen angels create objects that heal, or deliver inspiration…ones that can be used to locate and identify wicked or deceitful beings…oh, Lord.”

His hands convulsed, and Crowley held them, tighter. “I know, Angel, I know…”

“It forces you to tell the truth. To confront secrets you hide from yourself.” His stomach twisted. “That’s not demonic at all. How did I…I’m so stupid. How could I miss something like that?”

“No, come here—” With a tug, he guided Aziraphale over to him, pulled the angel into his lap, wrapped arms around him. “You were looking at the book, not the magic. Like you said last night – it was the perfect trap. For you. A mystery you couldn’t quite solve. How were you supposed to resist? And the longer you touched it, the stronger the compulsion.”

“I’m…the target?” His mind whirled, even worse than before he’d slept. “But who…why…no, the raid…”

“There was never any raid, Angel. Everything’s been quiet on our end for months. It was all a lie.”

“A…another angel…did this to me? On purpose?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Don’t cry, Aziraphale, please.”

“I’m…” Aziraphale sniffed, and realized his cheeks were drenched with tears. When had that started? He wasn’t upset, or angry. He felt strangely calm inside.

No, not calm. Numb.

Crowley held him closer, rocked him, pushed Aziraphale’s head down to rest on his shoulder.

“Have to tell Gabriel. He’ll help me. Always so…so kind. Gives me…so many chances…when I fail, or…or…” He shut his eyes. “He’ll help me…”

“Angel. He gave you the book.”

“No, he…he can’t know. He’s an Archangel, they…they watch over us…care for us…”

Crowley’s lips against his forehead. “I’m sorry. The – the blessing…it’s too strong. One of the Archangels created it.”

“He said if – if I tried to remove the curse, I’d be incinerated. Never even checked for myself.” Stupid, stupid angel. “If it were true…I’d…I’d have felt it immediately, wouldn’t I? Like you did?”

“Yes, but – you’re not – you’re not experienced with these things. You didn’t know you were supposed to feel anything.”

“Gabriel called me an expert. Asked me for a favor. I was so proud. I want…wanted to prove myself…”

“I know. I know.”

Crowley held him, and Aziraphale cried, quietly, his heart breaking into pieces.

--

“So, what do we do?” Aziraphale and Crowley sat on the sofa, an hour later. Aziraphale tried very hard to watch Crowley’s eyes, but his own gaze kept drifting down, just a few inches.

It wasn’t that unusual. He often watched Crowley’s lips when he spoke; with his eyes usually hidden, the best way to catch what the demon was thinking was by those tiny quirks of the lip, the little smirks and frowns at the edges of his usual scowl.

And if Aziraphale wanted to press his lips to the corner of that mouth now…

“Well,” Crowley was saying, and Aziraphale pulled his gaze back up, trying to focus. “I can’t take the blessing off the book. Gabriel might have exaggerated, but it’s still more than either of us can handle.”

“What if we worked together? Combined our powers somehow?”

“Probably make it worse.” Crowley’s lips twitched just a bit, a hint of a smile. “These things are delicate, and combining angel and demon powers…”

“I suppose you’re right.” The tip of Crowley’s tongue appeared, just for a fraction of a second, wetting his lips, and Aziraphale’s own tongue moved in sympathy. Just a little quick kiss, right there at the side of the mouth, what would it hurt? He loved Crowley so much he was about to burst—

“Oh, come here,” Aziraphale snapped, pulling Crowley down to lay across his lap, gliding his fingers through that hair. It was even softer than he’d imagined, strands separating and flowing like water. “Sorry. I hope you don’t mind, but I can’t focus on anything right now, apart from making sure you know how very much I love you. And on how, ironically, that thought is going to get us both killed.”

“I don’t mind,” Crowley sighed, settling against his thighs. “Do your worst, that’s what it’s there for.”

Aziraphale sank both hands into those thick red tresses, running through them from root to tip. “Oh, God, I love you.” He closed his eyes, absorbed in the luxuriant feel. “So, if we can’t take the curse – blessing, I mean – off the book, can we take it off me?”

“That’s easier, generally,” Crowley agreed. “Not even that complicated, it’s like…untying a knot. But this one’s stronger than anything I’ve seen. It’d take years. Decades, maybe.”

“Well, we have six hours. Possibly a bit more, Gabriel always runs late when I’m expecting him.” He tilted his head back to look at the corner, where brilliant white wall met brilliant white ceiling, and ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair again. “Which I’m now realizing is probably not just an unfortunate coincidence, is it? It makes me feel like I’m some – some irritation, like I have to state my business as quickly as possible so he can go back to more important things, apologize for taking up his time, and of course that’s what he wants. Why did I never realize? Why am I so naïve?”

“You’re an angel. You trust the people you’re supposed to trust.” His fingers reached up to brush Aziraphale’s chin, and the angel immediately turned to kiss them, reveling in their slightly salty taste. “Sorry.” Crowley pulled away. “Any idea why he would do this now?”

“Well…I have been avoiding work rather thoroughly lately.” He smiled down at Crowley. “Ever since we reconnected, almost thirty years ago, I’ve been finding every excuse to spend time with you.”

“I thought as much.” Crowley’s fingers traced across his waistcoat, and even through all the layers, it made him shiver. “I mean oh, Crowley, I’m not going to be at the bookshop tonight, I have a reservation at my favorite sushi restaurant. So if you’re planning to bother me, don’t come here. Not exactly subtle.”

“It worked, though, and you showed up in that lovely dress, which I wasn’t expecting at all, black with the embroidered red flowers, your hair all up in a knot. You were beautiful, darling, don’t even try to deny it, I could hardly take my eyes off you all evening and…” Aziraphale bit off the rest of his words. “Yes, well. I have avoided at least…eight assignments that would have taken me outside of London for considerable lengths of time. I couldn’t bear to be apart from you. I suppose my excuses have been rather transparent of late – I told Gabriel I couldn’t go to America because the London sewers were…er…on fire.”

Crowley tipped his head back and laughed, sliding across Aziraphale’s thighs. “He might have started to catch on at that point. But it’s still just a few missed jobs.”

“It’s disobedience.” One finger scratched near Crowley’s ear, and the demon purred. “He doesn’t really need more than that, does he?”

“Nnnnh. Is there more?”

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s fingers brushed through his hair again. “Centuries of it. Long before the Arrangement. I’ve had doubts. I’ve avoided assignments. I…never questioned, but I’ve come close, skirted the line, pushed the boundaries.” Anxious hands twitched. “Has it finally become too much? Has he been trying to catch me out for centuries, and I’ve just been too stupid to notice?”

“Stop saying that, Angel. We both know how clever you are. If he’s trying this on you now, it must mean that in six thousand years, he’s never had anything to go on. That’s good.”

“Whatever he’s looking for, Gabriel’s going to uncover a great deal more tonight than he ever expected.” The panic began climbing its way up his throat again. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m going to betray you, Crowley. I can feel it. I’m going to tell him everything.”

“Look, even if you can’t lie, you can twist it around. Make it sound like all those restaurants and bars and wine tastings and movies and walks in the park were just by yourself?” His thumb caught one of the buttons and rolled across it. “I don’t know how much trouble you’ll be in, but…if they don’t know about me, it won’t be as bad.”

“Impossible.” Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and raised it to his lips again, kissing each knuckle. “Two days ago, I could resist, perhaps, but not anymore. And what if it keeps getting worse? Imagine what I’ll be like in a week…I’ll happily confess to everything.” He thought Crowley’s fingers were trembling, but no – it was his own hand, holding them. “Do you…do you think I’ll Fall? No, that would just send me to you, and I’m starting to believe Gabriel isn’t even that kind. He’ll…he’ll destroy me. No, he’ll destroy you, in front of me, so I can—”

“Angel, shhh, it’s not going to come to that.”

“I won’t let him, Crowley. I told you, I’ll never let them hurt you, I meant it.”

“Shhh.” Crowley tugged his hand, pulling Aziraphale’s towards him, pressing it open to lay kisses on his palm. “There is…one other option. But you’re going to hate it.”

A choked laugh. “Crowley, I’ve hated every one of your ideas for the past six thousand years, and yet I’ve always gone along with them.”

“Because I’m usually right?”

“No, because I’m in love with an idiot.” He bent over with a smile, kissing Crowley’s forehead, then kept going, a line of kisses – the brow, that perfect nose, and…

Crowley put a hand on Aziraphale’s chest, stopping him, holding him back as their breath caressed each other’s lips. “You said you shouldn’t,” Crowley reminded him.

“I know. I shouldn’t. But I want to, my darling, dearest Crowley. I want to kiss you right now, and kiss you until you can’t breathe, and – and – and – I haven’t actually considered what comes next, but we have six hours until we die, we can figure it out. Let’s go back to bed, stay there to the end. Let me groom your wings, let me touch you, I need to tell you, to show you—”

A thumb gently brushed across his lips, though Crowley’s face had gone quite red. Aziraphale was sure his own matched. “Angel,” and his voice sounded a little strained now. “We aren’t going to die.”

“No, you won’t. I’ll find a way to keep you safe. If you return to Hell, you should be…no, the rumors will reach them soon enough. You must leave. What’s that star system you always talk about? Alpha Centauri? Start there, and—”

“A-zir-a-phale,” Crowley drew the name out. “I’m not going anywhere. You said you’d let me be there for you.” The angel nodded weakly. “Neither of us is going to die, because I know how to stop this. I have a plan. But you’ll have to trust me. And stop squeezing me like that.”

Aziraphale realized his arms were clutching at Crowley protectively. He let go, and the demon sat up, resettling on the sofa next to him. Crowley picked up the angel’s hand, pressing it between both of his. “Alright. The blessing has infected your mind. I can’t untangle it fast enough. But I can isolate it, I can pull it out. You’ll go back to the way you’ve always been.”

“Just…like that? It seems too easy.”

“Well, there are a few problems. I’ll need to put it somewhere…so I’ll take it on myself.”

“What? No!” Aziraphale jerked back, but Crowley still held his hand. “That’s – that’s absurd, Crowley, it’s far too dangerous and furthermore, it won’t work at all, as you’d just – just go around babbling to everyone, and your superiors will find out anyway. No, I forbid it.”

Crowley shook his head. “This blessing was designed for you, fed by the time you spent bent over that book, handling it, breathing it in. I barely touched the thing, it’ll be weaker for me. I won’t be able to lie to you, but that should be the only effect.” He smiled. “Won’t even notice the difference. I’ve never lied to you.”

Aziraphale felt his smile return. “Not ever? Even when you said – no, no it’s not important. I’ll concede, it might work, but we obviously can’t stay that way.” He leaned forward eagerly, squeezing Crowley’s hand. “I’ll find a way to undo it. You said years, decades, but I have hundreds of reference tomes in the shop. Surely I can find a way to—”

Crowley lifted Aziraphale’s hand and kissed it. “It’s, um, more an art than a science. You leave that to me. Especially because…because when I take the curse, I’m going to remove all the memories connected to it.”

“No.” This time Aziraphale pulled away, sliding back across the sofa, trying to escape Crowley’s words. “Take my memories? All this last week?” What was his heart doing? His breath? Lord, he was dying right now, every muscle in his body tense and straining. “All those things you said – everything we – you told me you love me. I won’t…you can’t take this from me, Crowley. I won’t allow it.”

“It’s the only way.” Crowley inched towards him, and Aziraphale felt his panic rising. He shrank back, hiding behind his hands, pushing the truth away. “You said – Angel, you said you’d die to keep me safe. But this way no one has to die, or get hurt, or…”

“Dying would be easier! Crowley, I can’t go back to – to not knowing!”

“Look, I can – I can say it again, Angel. Tell you properly this time, take you out for dinner—”

“No, no, I won’t want to hear it, I’ll just – I’ll reject you,” he realized with horror. “Oh, Crowley, I’m sorry, I swear, I’ll think I’m doing it to protect you. You must understand that I – I won’t mean it, but I will...”

“So, I can…I can explain. Tell you about the book and Gabriel and—”

“And I won’t believe you. Oh, Lord, Crowley, I’m going to trust him again. After everything he did…” Aziraphale hunched over himself, arms pressed to his chest, heart palpitating. “I can’t…can’t go back to that…” He could picture himself, following Gabriel around like a puppy, not even aware of how many times he’d been kicked. Had the Archangel ever liked him?

“There’s got to be something we can do. Write yourself a letter, make a video, tell me something only you would know…”

“And then what? Once I’m convinced, I’ll – can you return the memories? That’s what I’ll ask.”

“Yes. I'm not - they won't be destroyed, I'll just be holding them for a while.” Aziraphale felt himself begin to relax. Put that way, it sounded...not good, but at least not terrifying. “But until I’ve removed the blessing you’ll just…wind up like this again. Back where we started.”

“And how long will that take? You said decades…”

“Twenty years,” Crowley shrugged. “Maybe thirty. As I said, untying a knot – if you rush it, it gets worse.”

“That isn’t…so bad,” Aziraphale admitted, rubbing a hand across his face. “But that means…oh, Lord, we’re going to do this, aren’t we?” He moved back across the sofa, set his head on Crowley’s shoulder. “It means you can’t tell me. Not until the memories are ready, because I’ll just insist you return them immediately. And round and round we’ll go. So, you can’t tell me about the curse, or about Gabriel, or…or even…”

“That I love you,” Crowley half-swallowed the word, as if it hurt. He slid his arm around Aziraphale’s waist and pressed his lips to the angel’s temple. “And I’ll have to stand by while you try to please that – that – that—”

“That arrogant sod? That self-righteous pus stain? That condescending, pusillanimous, egotistical, cold-hearted—”

“I was going to say ‘bastard.’ Or maybe ‘wank-wings.’ Where did you even learn that sort of language?”

“I read, darling.” Aziraphale sighed, leaning into his embrace. “We’ve waited six thousand years. What’s twenty more?” He picked up Crowley’s hand and studied it. “Can you restore them as soon as they’re ready?”

“Technically, yes. But even with the blessing removed, you’ll probably be unable to lie for a day or two. Residue. I’ll have to wait until we’re somewhere we won’t be disturbed. And you can be very stubborn about going off the grid.”

“Then try not make it sound like some – some illicit activity and maybe I’ll come along.” He kissed Crowley’s cheek. “And do be sure there’s at least a double bed. Oh, don’t blush so. I don’t plan to let go of you for two days, it’ll need to be big enough for me to hold you while you sleep.” He remembered the way Crowley had looked, in the dawn light, nestled in his arms, and he would happily have lived in that moment for eternity.

They sat together for a few minutes, not talking, just feeling the love flow between them. It was the most honest Aziraphale had ever been.

“So,” he finally broke the silence. “How long will this take?”

“Extracting the blessing and memories – maybe an hour? And you’ll need to rest at least an hour more while your mind recovers.”

“That leaves us…four hours.” He rested his hand on Crowley’s knee. “Closer to three and a half. And I think I’d rather make the most of that time.”

Crowley swallowed, fingers twitching nervously. “Anything you want, Angel.”

“Anything?” He tilted his head up to meet those golden eyes and grinned wickedly. “Anything at all?”

--

Eliza looked at the earrings in the glass counter of the pawn shop. “I mean, they look nice,” she grumbled, “but I still think mom would rather have a watch for her birthday.”

“Would she?” her sister smirked. “Or are you just saying that because the earrings cost more, and you want to go see that band? You know, with that cute drummer from your Uni? What’s their name…?”

“Not everything is about romance, Rebecca,” she said, blushing. “They’re just – it’s a good band, ok? And, yeah, tickets are fifty quid, and the bakery doesn’t pay that well, so—”

The door of the pawn shop flew open and two men walked in – the pale figure Eliza recognized from the bakery, and a tall, lanky bloke with red hair.

“Attention everyone!” The bookseller called cheerfully. “I am Aziraphale, owner and proprietor of A.Z. Fell’s in Soho, which is a perfectly wonderful pseudonym, despite all complaints I have received. This exquisite creature is Anthony J. Crowley, my best friend, the love of my life, and the most darling being in the entire world. We are here to celebrate a love that is entwined into the whole of human history, and anyone who wishes to join us is invited to meet at the duck pond in St James’s Park in half an hour. Anyone who does not approve is invited to go sit on an egg!” He beamed proudly at the man beside him, whose face was almost as red as his hair.

“Yeah, I still don’t think you have that last part right, Angel.”

“Nonsense, what could be more unpleasant than sitting on an egg? You, good sir!” He pointed to the owner of the shop. “We are here to look at jewelry!”

Eliza sighed and turned back to the argument with her sister, but froze at the familiar gleam in Rebecca’s eyes. “No. No we are not going to the park! There’s probably nothing going on! Yesterday that man told me he controls the weather!”

“But they’re in love!” Rebecca squealed. “And whatever’s going on it’ll probably be a riot.” She gasped, grabbing Eliza’s arm. “We should bring cake!”

“No, we’re not – you can’t use my bakery discount for…whatever this is!”

“Oi. Humans.” They looked up to see the man with the dark suit and red hair. His eyes were brilliant gold with slit pupils, like a cat, focused on the case behind them. “You’re standing in front of the rings.” His tone was harsh, but his face was still flushed pink.

“Congratulations,” Rebecca giggled, even as Eliza pushed her out of the way. “There’s a really nice gold one in the back!”

“That’s it,” Eliza groaned. “We can – just – buy mom that dress we saw. Let’s go.”

“Aw, you’re no fun. Look, I’ll pay for your half of the gift, and buy you those concert tickets. Please can we go?”

Eliza rubbed her eye. “What kind of cake?”

--

Half an hour later, Aziraphale stood beside the duck pond, hand tapping excitedly against the fence. The weather was perfect, almost a dozen people had gathered, and most importantly…Crowley was there, pinning a red rosebud to Aziraphale’s lapel.

“You have to stop looking at me like that,” Crowley complained. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Well, anything else would be a lie.” Aziraphale reached up and straightened the white daisy in Crowley’s buttonhole.

“Are you sure you want to do this here? Where we…had our fight?” His eyes tightened just at the mention of it.

“Where better? If we hadn’t fought, I wouldn’t have tried to stop that spy ring, and you wouldn’t have had to save me – and I wouldn’t have realized I love you more than all the wine in France.” He gazed out over the water, and noticed the black swan was there again. "Besides. It was always one of my favorite spots. And when we...weren't speaking...I would come here to remember you."

“Nnh.” Crowley leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together for just a second. “Fine. But…” he turned his head, stealing a glance toward the spectators. “I didn’t think so many would come.”

“You can put your glasses back on, you know. I only mind a little, but your comfort is far more important to me than having this moment be completed by the sight of your gorgeous eyes.”

“No.” He straightened up, and the smile that hovered at the corner of his lips was more brilliant than the light of Heaven. “I told you, while you don’t have your defenses, I don’t have mine.” His eyes darted to their audience again. “Just…why? I thought you didn’t want anyone to see you like this.”

“Because, my dearest love, if I’m not going to remember this moment, at least all of them will.”

“Ngk. If you want. Just.” Another anxious look. “Don’t make me talk to anyone.”

“Just me, I promise.”

Aziraphale pulled out a silver chain from his pocket, and draped it around Crowley’s neck. None of the rings had looked right but this…somehow…was perfect.

“Anthony J. Crowley,” he began, loud enough for his voice to carry. “My darling. My love. I trust you with everything that I am, as I always have, as I always will, forever and ever. You have cared for me, when no one else did, kept me close when I pushed you away, came to my aid when I thought all was lost, with never a moment’s hesitation. You are my best friend, have been for centuries, and I want nothing more than to be by your side for centuries to come. For eternity, if we can have it.” He smiled and ran his fingers across Crowley's new chain. Yes. Perfect.

Crowley glared at his feet, biting his lip. “For Satan’s sake, Angel…” his eyes drifted up, filled with tears. “How am I supposed to follow that?”

Aziraphale took his hand. “However you wish, my Crowley. My love for you isn’t going to change because of a few words.”

“I hope not.” With one last glare towards the crowd – which was perhaps meant to be intimidating, but utterly ruined by the way he blushed – Crowley leaned forward and whispered in Aziraphale’s ear.

“Yes, dear. That…that will do nicely.”

Aziraphale held out his hand and Crowley produced a golden signet ring. He slid it onto Aziraphale’s pinky, where no one would suspect it meant a thing, least of all Aziraphale and twined their fingers together. Both their hands trembled.

“Well,” Aziraphale said,  blinking his eyes clear. “I – thank you all for coming. I suppose that’s…”

“Kiss!” A young woman’s voice called from the crowd. “It’s not official until you kiss!”

“Rebecca, shut up,” another voice cut in.

Aziraphale took both of Crowley’s hands in his. “Well. You heard the excitable young lady.”

“I don’t think there’s anything official about any of this,” Crowley said dryly, but he leaned closer, hesitating. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

The first brush of Crowley’s lips stole his breath away.

The second destroyed him, tore him apart, left him hollow and raw.

The third breathed new life, filled him with a love and hope beyond anything he’d ever experienced.

After that, his tongue brushed Crowley’s bottom lip, and he rather lost track of things.

--

“Wow,” Rebecca said, eyebrows vanishing into her hair. “I did not know old men kissed like that.”

“Why are you so weird?” Eliza sighed. “Are you happy now? We saw their…semi-wedding. Can we go?”

“Eliza, you can’t leave the wedding before the cake.” She held the box up. “Oi! Anyone want cake?”

--

Aziraphale broke off the kiss, turning so suddenly Crowley lost his balance and would have fallen in the pond had the fence not stopped him. The demon gasped for breath, trying to think through the brilliant, golden sparks that filled his mind, trying to feel anything beyond that wonderful, eternal glow of—

“Darling, did you hear that? Someone brought cake!”

--

They sat together, one last time, on the shop sofa, watching the seconds tick away.

“It’s…it’s only twenty years, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, head resting on his shoulder, twisting the new ring on his pinky. It had little wings. Utterly perfect. “It’ll be over before you know it.”

“Nh,” his husband grunted, running a thumb along the silver chain. “Long as something doesn’t go wrong.”

“What would go wrong? The blessing? You’re sure you can unravel it? It might be different from a curse—”

“No,” Crowley interrupted, resting a hand on Aziraphale’s temple. “I can see it clearly now. Twenty…maybe twenty-one years. But what if Gabriel tries something else? You won’t even know to look out for it.”

“Yes, I’m afraid I’ll have to trust you to keep an eye on…well, me.” He carefully unpinned the rosebud from his jacket, spinning it between his fingers. “Don’t let me take any foolish risks, either. I…I’m going to think protecting us both is my job. I’m used to taking care of these things. Be patient with me, and know that I love you.”

Crowley kissed the top of his head. “How will I know when you’re thinking about me?”

“Oh, my dear. I always am.” He sat up to meet those golden eyes. “If I’m talking, I’m trying not to say I love you. If I’m silent, I’m trying to hold it in. If I smile, I’m remembering how much I love you. If I get annoyed, it’s because I can’t believe I love such an idiot. There is no moment that my heart isn’t full of you.” He looked at the clock. Two minutes to go.

Crowley’s fingers landed on his chin, turning him back.

“I – I – I suppose I’ll see you in twenty years?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Crowley smiled. “Movie night.”

“Oh, yes. Something with a wedding at the end, I think, regardless of what I say.” His eyes darted to the clock. “Crowley. Kiss me again.”

It was just as soft – as tender – as passionate – as glorious as the first.

Crowley’s fingers pressed to his temples.

“I love you,” Aziraphale whispered, one last time.

--

An hour later, Crowley stood up, arranging his husband – his best friend – his angel on the sofa.

One last kiss on the forehead. It would have to hold him over for a few decades, and he had a feeling the 2000s were going to be rough.

“Goodnight, Angel,” he said, softly, pulling his glasses out of his pocket, sliding them on his nose. His defense against the world back in place.

Crowley walked out of the bookshop, and began to pick at the edges of the blessing in his mind.

--

The Archangel Gabriel appeared in the dusty collection of records Aziraphale was so fond of. He arrived two hours later than scheduled, knowing it would make the Principality anxious and eager to please.

He had waited thousands of years for this moment.

Ever since Eden, really – since the Guardian of the Eastern Gate had questioned the decision to throw the humans out. It had been a small question – are you sure? – but these things always started small.

He’d been watching for signs of rebellion, signs of doubt. He had his suspicions. Some angels flaunted their disobedience, others carefully hid it, walking the line, pretending to believe while harboring wicked, deceitful thoughts. Well. They all slipped up eventually.

All except Aziraphale.

There he was now, wandering out from a dark corner, eyes stuck on another of those – those books. He glanced up, then jumped, startled. “Oh! Oh, Gabriel. Oh, my. What brings you here?”

“I’ve come for your update.” He folded his hands and waited.

It was the perfect trap. Aziraphale would have spent the last five days touching the blessing, breathing it in, rolling it through his mind and weaving it in his thoughts as he tried to decipher the infinitely-changing text. It should have a complete hold on him now, compelling him to express his deepest secrets. Finally, finally, Gabriel would have the confession he needed to prove Aziraphale was a corrupt, worthless angel.

The Principality blinked his over-bright, nervous eyes.

“Update? On…? I’m sorry, I’ve been terribly busy this week.”

“The book,” Gabriel prompted. Aziraphale shook his head. “The cursed book?”

“Oh, the book! Oh, oh, no, I forgot entirely!” Aziraphale spun, searching the room, hesitating for just a second on a vase full of flowers. “I’m sure I have it around here somewhere. I put it on my desk, thinking this should be quite interesting. Yes! There.” He crossed the floor and picked it up, holding it out to Gabriel with a bland, sheepish grin.

Gabriel waited again, but still no compulsion seemed to loosen Aziraphale’s tongue. “Well? What did you find out?”

“Nothing. I’m sorry, as I said, I’ve been quite busy. Only had a chance to glance at it two, maybe three times.” He tipped up the book to look sadly at the cover. “Fascinating stuff. Pity it has to be destroyed.”

“Yes,” Gabriel said, jaw tight, pulling the tome from his hands. “Pity.” It had taken seven years to create that book, and another three to perfect the blessing. How, how could it have failed? “What have you been up to this week?”

“Oh, this and that. Various concerns of London. Minor healing here, bit of good luck there. Nothing to concern you with, but sadly it kept me out of my shop for days on end.”

That was all. The same blathering, unconfirmable nothing as ever, hidden behind that simpering, smirking face. The lying, treacherous bastard was about to get away with it again. Whatever it was. Gabriel had to fight not to lose his temper, throw the book, smite the disrespectful Principality where he stood.

“Well.” He dropped the book onto a chair. “Sorry to hear that. Perhaps we can get an extension—”

“Oh, no,” Aziraphale frowned. “No, this all sounds quite dangerous. I’m afraid the best thing is to get rid of it as soon as possible. I’ve had a bit of time to think, and mystery aside, there’s not likely anything to be learned from it. After all, the demons associated with it were all killed, correct?”

“Yes,” Gabriel grunted. “I did – I told you I was counting on you for this, didn’t I?”

Aziraphale’s face crumpled into guilt. At least that still worked. “Yes…you did say something to that effect. I’m – I am sorry to disappoint, but—”

“Disappoint? I ordered you to get answers. You know what this means?”

“I – I – I—”

It was almost enough to make Gabriel smile. But that panic wouldn’t do him much good – this job hadn’t been sanctioned by anyone in Heaven, so the worst Gabriel could do was berate the Principality in private, and make a show of forgiving him. That might buy a few years of quiet obedience, but it didn’t solve the core problem, that defective knot that he knew lived in Aziraphale’s soul.

“I – I don’t believe you did.”

“Excuse me?”

“No, I’m sorry, Gabriel, but when you came here on Monday, you said you wanted to consult with me on a cursed book. I…that is, you said this was a favor, not an – an actual order as such. So, while I am sorry to disappoint you, truly I am…”

The Archangel clapped his hands, squeezing them, imagining the core of Aziraphale’s true form was being crushed between them. “No! You’re right. This – this was a favor and…well…” He floundered.

And that absolute bastard smiled at him. “Jolly good. Glad that’s sorted. But, please, Gabriel. Anything you need in future. I would very much like another chance to assist you.”

“Oh, don’t worry. I’ll find something.” He picked up the book and prepared to depart, then hesitated. There was a suspicion that had lurked in his mind for nearly a thousand years. “By the way, was that demon…what’s his name…Crowley? Was he involved in any of this…this business of yours?”

That stupid, nervous smile flashed across Aziraphale’s face, but he was almost entirely calm when he replied: “No, I haven’t seen Crowley all week.”

“Well. See you soon.”

The next instant, Gabriel was back in Heaven, in his private office. He tossed the book aside. So much wasted effort.

Still. There was one big project on the horizon. Something Aziraphale couldn’t help but fail at.

He pressed a button on his desk phone. “Get me an update on the Armageddon plans.”

--

Gabriel left, and Aziraphale felt the knot of worry untie in his stomach. The whole situation with that cursed book had entirely slipped his mind while he…

While he…

What had he been up to this week?

He remembered bits and pieces. Wandering the streets, talking to people, the usual. He’d picked up this lovely golden ring somewhere, and had already grown quite fond of it. But the week had flown by in a rather extraordinary way, and he couldn’t quite account for it.

Well, be that as it may. He was quite glad to spend the rest of the evening in his favorite chair, perhaps reread Hamlet or one of Georgette Heyer’s novels. Yes, he was very much in the mood for a happy ending tonight, though he wasn’t sure why.

On his way to the shelves, he noticed the vase full of daisies again. He couldn’t recall where they came from, but they did brighten up the room wonderfully.

--

(Thank you! Notes for this chapter can be found on AO3, but especial thanks to @under-a-linden-tree for help writing Aziraphale’s wedding vows, because it was just a bit sappier than I usually go! The final two chapters are quick epilogues, which I will have up as soon as possible.)

@black-velvet-roses-tea @witchingwhovian

[spirit-science-blog]

The Perks of Being a Wallflower is a story about the infinite layers between a person's ego and a person's soul, and in that, the self-discovery and expression of the soul through the connection we have with each other. Much of this coming of age story is centered around being an outcast in a world of sameness, telling us of uniqueness, individuality, and that each of us has the potential to live our best lives if we can just get out of our own way. While the story is based in 1991, it relates very well with most demographics of the last 40 years, minus all the mix-tapes, as much of the message is universal to our human consciousness today.

The story was both written and directed by Steven Chbosky, for both the novel and the screenplay - and while generally, we’ll be focusing on the movie, for those interested - the book adds many dimensions to the story that we don’t see in the film. With that, here’s your Spoiler Alert, and here we go!

The film opens and closes with the infinity tunnel, the place which - to the main characters - seems to be a place of pure experience, an experience of the infinite. We see Sam and later Charlie experience this by standing up in the back of a truck, holding their arms out in joyous surrender to the expansive and seemingly never-ending tunnel. There is where we find Charlie's legendary line that became the Tagline of the movie “We are infinite”.

What’s especially amazing and curious about this is that it subtly explores the line between danger and conscious expansion. In the back of the truck, there is a notable sense of danger, as if the truck bounced or a strong wind blew through in the other direction, these kids could fall off the truck and bump their noggins! Yet, in the surrender of the will of the soul, it opens for this expansive experience that few are familiar with, which deepens their connection to themselves, feelings of freedom, and each other.

Now, in the book and a core part of the movie, is that the narrative is told through Charlie writing these letters to us, the audience, essentially providing a more intimate look at what’s going on inside Charlie’s mind and heart. Throughout the story, we peel back the layers of his nature and go deeper into resonance with his soul, but what's more so, we can see the various layers of his personality, both ego, and soul, that are steering the ship of his life.

And truly, one remarkable aspect of this story in particular is that every character feels like real people, which makes it easy for the film to connect well with anyone, as opposed to some of those other Hollywood highschools where everyone is 30… or constantly breaking into song.

But perhaps one of the challenges of going back to high school through this movie is that in a lot of ways, this is really accurate, which brings up all kinds of memories. For myself personally, there’s a lot of this story that just feels like… exactly my high school life.

Take this girl for instance… *play the clips* WHO HURT YOU!?!

But yet - if the story gives us any indication, is that each of us, with our multitude of layers, has this incredible bank of life experience, and all of us have been hurt in some ways, though rarely we show it openly. Throughout the film, we slowly bury deeper into the layers of these characters and explore the abuse that was experienced in childhood, and how they were able to overcome it, and grow as people.

So even as we watch, for those with the heart to explore it, even the people who are not so nice, like the girl in Charlies class, the teacher who calls his student nothing, or Brad and his friends - are all people who are suffering in their own ways, but just haven’t yet faced it within themselves. Perhaps one of the most significant lessons here is that… Hurt people hurt people.

So getting to know Charlie, we learn that he is a young, budding writer, making these journals and describing his life experiences… If we go into our ancient past - we find many legendary sages telling us that it is through our words that we create and steer our lives and reality, and what’s more so, that writing our words give them lasting power, which is why things like journaling and even vision boards can be so powerful both in creating new things in life, and developing wisdom and meaningful self reflection.

Charlie actively demonstrates this throughout the story by the words that he uses while he’s journaling. Early on, he writes about how his old friend and people he used to know don’t want to connect with him, and he says  “well, i’m me, so who am I kidding?” Putting himself down and reinforcing the belief in himself that he’s not worth very much. Yet, he also writes that he wants to make new friends, because he wants to turn things around… and this very intention puts him on the path to actually make some.

Now, the first friend that charlie makes is really his teacher, Paul Rudd, however - charlies own shame prevents him from acknowledging this at the start, but throughout the story, Mr. Rudd essentially becomes charlies guiding mentor, providing him wisdom in the form of books, and supporting him in becoming an intelligent writer.

We are also introduced to Patrick. Patrick really represents the outspoken voice of those who are misrepresented in the world, and one who will stand up for those who are outcasts from society. When we first meet Patrick, he is drawing a beard on himself, pretending to be the shop class teacher, and the teacher comes in and calls him pattycakes. So Patrick says “Look, my name is patrick, so either call me patrick or call me nothing”. And the teacher calls him nothing! In the book, this plays out a bit differently, but we can gleam a lesson here nonetheless.

Because of this exchange, basically all of the kids in school refer to Patrick as nothing. However, by the end of the story we see the transmutation of this energy, as he puts “Nothing hates you” on the top of his hat - owning and even changing the energy, and demonstrating some wisdom and compassion all the same. Nothing hates you, there is only love, get it? Well, this probably went over most people's heads, which... might be a pun, because it was on the top of his hat.

Speaking to friendships, the final of the main trio in the story is Sam. Now the name Sam itself actually translates from Hebrew, meaning “God has Heard” or “Listen, Name of God”, and she plays a significant role not just in her own story, but helping Charlie to open his heart, and supporting him throughout his own self discovery. There is a lesson here too for all of us in the question of - who are we showing up for in our lives? The beautiful thing about Sam is that she really shows up for nearly everyone.

There is a subtle allusion to this in that the first time we see her, she has bright stadium lights behind, depicting angelic radiance. Yet at the same time, Sam herself represents the loss of innocence, for she used to have a reputation of getting drunk with all the boys and you can imagine where that train ends. We can see this in many areas throughout the movie, such as the red and black that she often wears, which falls in stark contrast to the pink wall and twinkly lights of her bedroom, and deeper still, with her story of being taken advantage of by her dad's boss at the age of 11, which twisted her own ego into becoming the girl with the reputation.

Yet, the quality of her soul allowed her to grow as a person - she is not defined by these aspects of herself anymore, moving beyond her past into a higher reality, and progressively does so even to the end, getting into penn state, sharing that things do get better. The tunnel scene, which we explored earlier, is a scene of soaring, flying, trust, and freedom, all things that help Charlie in embodying the same thing by the end too!

Having made some friends, Charlie is initiated into the group by attending his first party, where he experiences his first plant medicine experience, eating a cannabis brownie, and opening up to his new friends in a quirky way, where they essentially adopt him into the group. Welcome to the island of misfit toys, Sam says, after Patrick gives Charlie a toast.

One of the primary activities of this group is going to and participating in the rocky horror picture show. We spoke before about how the tunnel represents freedom, and this is another special place where freedom of expression reigns supreme and inhibitions go out the window. Honestly - these scenes deserve a shout out, both to Steven Chbosky for weaving this into the narrative in a really meaningful way, and also the actors for having such courage to get on stage in front of cameras and an audience of thousands, and perform the Rocky Horror Picture! Mad respect!

Now, one of the primary a

Now, speaking of freedom and big changes, a little while later, Charlie also experiences LSD for the first and probably last time.  In addition to exploring Cannabis, later on Charlie also tries LSD. Cinematically, it’s a funny segway between taking the eucharist at church, and doing a tab - which shows a direct correlation to entering the depths of spirituality and all of the ways we can do this. But nobody ever taught Charlie that the best way to practice with psychedelics is in nature or with meditation, so he doesn’t have the best time. At one point, he ends up shoveling snow in a circle on the driveway for a while... Wait a second, THIS HOUSE HAS 6 GARAGE DOORS. WHAT?! … That seems a little excessive but okay.

Anyway, during this scene Charlie says “I just saw this tree but it was a dragon, then it was a tree again, it just lied to me”, and, I’m certain that this was probably unintentional, but when you learn about Yggdrasil, the norse edition of the Tree of Life system, we find that there is this dragon called Nidhogg. In historical Viking society, Nidhogg was a great and terrible dragon whose actions intended to pull the cosmos into chaos, and who also chewed the bodies of those who were guilty of terrible crimes. This is curious, because it relates to the undercurrent of darkness that runs throughout the story, as both Sam and Charlie, and even Aunt Helen were abused when they were kids. Again - probably not intentional, but Charlie seeing the tree become a dragon could be indicative of uncovering the darkness at the bottom of his own inner tree of life.

See, this part of the story really does begin the inward spiral that leads into himself to uncover the truth of his past, represented by the end of his LSD trip, creating a snow angel - representing his purification and rebirth.

Speaking to this undercurrent of trauma, and how it shows up for us often in life, is this idea that “We accept the love we think we deserve”, a key point made throughout as we see so many characters accepting love that deep down they know is only holding them back from becoming more authentic versions of themselves. Whether it’s Candace and Ponytail Derek, Patrick and his secret lover Brad, Sam and Craig, and Mary Elizabeth and Charlie.

The film really explores the idea that we often do things that we don’t want to do for the wrong reasons. Charlie dates Mary Elizabeth and hates it, he has nothing good to say about it at all, and yet he stays in it - why? Because he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings. Even though it’s not a healthy relationship, Charlie can’t see past his own ego or what he’s creating by staying in the relationship. What's more so, even after the relationship ends, Charlie is still trying to make up with her because he feels bad, he feels guilty - and in this we even gain a subtle reflection for ourselves in how we weave our own traps of suffering…

We can see this expressed during one scene where he has this black dot on his third eye, a symbol of Ash Wednesday from his church, and Mary-elizabeth wipes it off. For much of the film, she seems to represent the spiritual ego, by her tendency to boast about spiritual concepts, but doesn’t really behave much like the buddhist she claims to be.

The story asks us to reflect on our own relationships and our lives in this same way, what are we doing, and why are we doing it? Are our actions in the highest alignment with our souls? However, we must also acknowledge that - as we go deeper, we see that Charlie’s guilt of feeling responsible for his Aunt Helen’s death, also stems into not being able to tell Mary Elizabeth the truth about how he feels. From this, we may discover within ourselves that all of our actions and feelings are interwoven together, far deeper than we know.

To the surprise of many people who first watch it or read the book, towards the end, Charlie goes through what resembles a dark night of the soul, a common thing during the awakening process, where we must face some aspect of our past, we must go through the trauma and the pain, in order to emerge on the other side of it and find healing.

Throughout the film, Charlie’s pain wells up within him in a number of ways, such as the fight in the Cafeteria. Later on, when he is taken to the hospital, he says something very interesting. He asks the doctor how to make it stop, how he can stop seeing everyones pain, that everyone is in pain, all of the time. Yet, the one thing he can’t see is his own pain. It reminded me of a bible verse from Matthew 7 - “First, remove the beam out of your own eye, and then you can see clearly to remove the speck out of your brother’s eye.”  Charlie can’t even see his own pain, but it’s so strongly there that it manifests itself as if he’s seeing everyone elses pain. It’s as if his pain itself has anchored him to this frequency of pain and suffering, but unless he faces the darkness within himself, he won’t be able to stop seeing it in others too.

As he faces his past, and comes to terms with it, he begins to let go and find healing. Something we all must do on our journey of reconciling our own pasts. Here we find another moving lesson, as Charlie lets go of his past, he must also let go of his friends, as they graduate and move on into new realities. Yet, not forgetting or losing their friendship, just adding some distance.

One final aspect of the story we must explore, is this very human moment where Sam and Charlie have a serious talk, and Sam asks… why didn’t you ever ask me out? Now - this might not be a fair question, because she was with someone for a long time and hey, maybe Charlie was just being respectful that she had a boyfriend… Yet, Sam reveals something very deep and moving, something we can all learn from. She says that she doesn’t want to just be someones crush, but that she wants someone to love her for who she truly is. It is a powerful and very heartfelt moment, revealing the deepest part of their characters, showing the soul from all of the ego, and for the characters expressing what they really want most, on a heart-centered level and a natural expression of the soul.

As the story comes to a close, Charlie discovers that we may accept the love we think we deserve but it is our duty to show people that they deserve more. We all deserve to fly through the tunnels, see “the light and everything that makes you wonder, with those who love most in this world, and realize that deep down, in all of our hearts... “We are infinite”!

[antzywew]

Elmond Street

My mother was right when she said not to venture out.

I was seven when I first entered, stars still shining in my eyes as I ran towards the house on Elmond Street, laughing as my hair ripped through the gentle breeze. It was late autumn, I suppose, as the short trees lining the basalt road were fire in color. It might have begun to cool, I could suppose as well, but I was entirely too endeared to the butterflies and bees to notice a difference.

This could have been how the story went, with all of its childish glory, but in actuality, this is not how the story goes.

It was the mystery and impossibility of the abandoned house that intrigued me. The house that sat stoically on the end of Elmond Street was hidden behind a ferocious gate almost double the size of the home. One side of the house spiralled up several stories, cascading up as if it were in a dark fairytale, and it were a tower greedy for height. It was engulfed in overgrown vines and broken shingles hanging by the grimy dark-paneled roof, desperately in need of repairs. The rest of the building was abandoned in a similar fashion, the house rudged and torn apart in seemingly every corner and crevice. On the top of the doorway an angel kneeled, her head overturned, but hands tightly clasped, appearing older than the house itself, which to me quite fit.

The house looked to be one that a person might find in a scary novel and later retell over a dark and dimly lit campfire, but to me, years later, the house was pure safety.

Before I crossed the rickety gate on Elmond Street, before I had dashed away from my mother with roughed up knees and dirt splayed across my face, she crouched in front of me with an unexplainable look in her typically placid eyes.

“Stay by me, dear, won’t you? This isn’t the place for you.” She whispered not unkindly to me, pushing away a stray hair from my face.

“We’re almost home, just keep up, we’ll be good.” My mother continued, glancing around to view the complete emptiness surrounding us. I didn’t understand at the time the reason for her reluctance and paranoia, and the neighborhood, devoid of life, further confused any inventions my young mind created for the conversation.

“Okay, Mama.” I replied quietly to her with the obedience few children had possessed at the same age. We followed down the cement pavement, where my mother gazed around every corner like a hunter without a specific prey. It was then, I remember, when something caught her eye.

“Whatever you do, do not venture out, my bird, and stay close to Mama.” My mother advised me, and I could tell, as much as a seven-year old can, that there was something wrong.

I tried to swivel my head around to see what it was that had caught my mother’s attention, but her hands quickly went up to my cheeks and jaw, firmly keeping my eyes away. Her lips curled down into a frightened scowl, and it took everything out of me not to suddenly snap behind me.

“Are we okay, Mama?” I asked her, my voice awfully low for what had been a casual stroll through the park. I trembled as I spoke, my hands shaking by my side. For just the smallest of seconds, I had turned away to see what was going on, stepping just briefly away from her caring arms. That was my biggest mistake.

I would have appreciated my mother’s response and comfort to my question had she responded, had the hands so delicating placed on my face were not abruptly missing as a result of my movement, and had my mother been standing right beside me. But, it seems, none of that was true, and so I ran.

It was just a coincidence that the house on Elmond Street was nearby, I reasoned later, but truthfully, it was an unforeseen blessing. Once I started running towards the pillars lining the Elmond Street, it was then I heard the screams.

The screams started out shallow and low, though at the beginning, it was near silent. My seven-year old brain could not decipher between young and old, man and female, and now as I look back, it was likely better that way. Quickly, they progressed, and the screams screeched and yelled, piercing my ears where I ran. I wanted them to stop, stop, just stop, but no matter how clenched my hands were or how tightly I squeezed my eyes, there was not an end. The voices that cut into the air were so far away from being like a singing choir, and when I pivoted behind, tall shadow-like people, only not, followed.

I could almost feel their slimy hands and cold, elongated fingers reaching towards my shoulders. They had no faces, only blank masks, lacking any features to mark them as human. Their nightmarish appearance could not be forgotten, and were like wisps of a shadow, as if it were the remains of a human soul.

The entrance to Elmond Street was farther than it ever was before. I ran until I was out of breath, and then some more, with worn out lungs and a throat now scratchy and raw. My heart pounded like a radio, thumping to a station of panic and fright. The neighborhood still stood empty, save for the not-quite living shadows on the tail of my heels, clawing for what was likely my soul.

It must have been less than a second before the living darkness caught up that I managed past the gate of the abandoned house on Elmond Street. The walls of the house were ever-imposing, but in the face of such terror and despair, they were a welcoming sight unlike any other I had ever experienced. When I turned around that split-second after crossing the threshold of Elmond Street, I caught the faces and bodies of the darkness slowly dissolving like salt into water. It cannot be put into words how ecstatic I was inside the borders of the abandoned house, safe from the claws of lost souls. It made sense, I finally realized after all those years, of why at that point I was saved.

Together, the house and I were sides of the same coin. I, the seven-year old who mistakenly stepped away and was thrusted into a world of horror, and it, an abandoned house who by no faults caused its loneliness. The house was lonely and I was alone.

However, I would never see my mother again, but that is a story for a different time.