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incarnateirony · 6 years

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Re: Primordial or Universal Concepts in Supernatural

Let it be said I’m going to try to cover this as... unilaterally and streamlined as I can. I’ve just come to realize, recently, that ideas like void, oblivion, or godhood tend to sit in an area of abstract that people haven’t really sat down and thought about. Most people remember their parents reading the bible about god splitting the waters and making light and darkness, and that’s it, that’s their comprehension of mythology on nothingness. Which is... fair.

But as Supernatural delves deeper and deeper into the primordial: God, Amara, The Shadow, The Empty, and Beyond -- so much as what seemed like a perfectly Reasonable(TM) statement from me about Dreaming In Nothing really seemed to blow out a valve on some people and I had to step back and go, Why Is That? I mean, our show already covers universes that aren’t even remotely attached to our center one (French Mistake vs MainVerse, as opposed to Endverse or AUverse which are timeline divergent), but I think people have had a hard time stacking up some mythological concepts our team is employing.

And it’s not just Random Speculation Of Intertext I Like that they’re employing. Some are in name, some are in direct concept, some are in... episode titles. Be it directly in “Ouroboros”, or more abstractly in Optimism vs Nihilism.

I may employ a few reference visuals and will definitely pull corresponding quotes from dogma(s), but let it be said -- these ideas are not even necessarily unique. I am not going to deep dive into the specifics of these beyond what is needed, because while I’d love to say “it’s obvious they’re using pure hermetics” from my angle, as a hermeticist, with recent titles and themes -- they might not be. They might be mixing and matching and just employing sweeping Omnimyth structure, such as The Hero With 1000 Faces but in mytharc form rather than just hero journey. (Also, read Campbell’s work, cuz reasons.)

THAT SAID.

I’ll carry away immediately into an aside that it was once kinda the swaggy thing to consider Hermeticism as “optimism” and gnosticism as “pessimism,” and they were parallel but not identical philosophies to discussing the origins of the universe. Both philosophies basically go on that the soul can only escape material bondage through deep and special, personal intuitive knowledge. There’s no one path through any of these, they both have respective denominations -- they are more philosophy than hard dogma and are designed for debate and, in some facets, scientific testing and comparison. That said, there’s some paradoxes, which is why I’m not gonna sit here needling any specific vein.

And you know, they touch on other ideas -- Qabbalism, for example; a great many creator myths, and so forth. Most of these resonate from an idea. Once there was nothing, and now there’s something, so we have to figure out how the fuck we got to all this Something out of Nothing. And I mean even if you say “big bang,” a related question in this philosophy is okay, but why was there the infinitely compressed boomy dot and why did it bang, because if there was nothing, how did nothing bang.

You see the catch-22.

SO LET’S TALK ABOUT NOTHING.

I’m going to use the Qabbalistic concepts, but these are in heavy discussion, only slightly divergent, in a variety of these discussions. Change the label as you will, there’s really only so many ways to discuss Nothing.

When we see The Empty in the show, we see black space. Which is fair. We, the viewers, are in a three dimensional world viewing light pouring out of our TV screen, and not in an indefinable void of any concepts, much less space.

Both of these fields use the Qabbalistic tree of life as their way to sort of like, grok how things go from nothing to everything, but even the tree means Something is there. We’ll get to the tree in a bit.

Before it all though, there is Ain. It’s negative existence, an absolute nothingness, sometimes called The Prime Cause or the Originless Origin of all manifestation. It’s not knowable or describable and anything you can say about it is not. In fact, that word pasta is itself still too defined. You feel me?

But once you creep past that, you talk about the Ain Soph. Ain means “Not.” Soph means “End.” Ain Soph is nothing but it’s an infinite nothing, infinite space, and eternity. That is to say, it’s gained some sort of cohesive definition while still being nothing. It’s called the Old One Of All Old Ones and is a total absolute primal darkness. Darkness being relative, of course, because we haven’t comprehended actual things like dark and light, but we’re getting close enough it applies. But it’s sort of a unified form of nothing-everything.

After that you hit the Ain Soph Aur. Aur just means “Light.” And once you hit the Aur, you’ve hit infinite light.

Once we start breaking free of the infinite-nothing-never-was-always-void-never, we discuss Ain Soph Aur as retracted into a point. There’s somehow substance in the nothing. This brings forth the Crown of the Tree of Life, where pretty much all other points in the universe descend.

Here, it splits off into pillars. To the left, the female form, judgment. The negative. Not negative like evil; negative like... magnetism. Atomic structure. Then you have Mercy, the male form, on the right, or the “atomic positive”. Between them is a neutral pillar of mildness and balance, and this makes the cap of your tree. There’s a hidden, or if you will, “unofficial” point called the abyss, which is a realm of ideals. Beneath the abyss is what starts to be considered “reality.” It’s the universe coming together and taking form in its many dimensions, thoughts, feelings, experiences, shapes and forms. Above that, you’re in sort of... primitive state of Ideas(TM).

Now, again, I’m using Qabbalism as a base, I’m not saying this is like... specifically nail on head what the powers that be used.

Now, Qabbalism or not, general creation myth or not, I really don’t believe they’ve hardily stuck through and through top to bottom of running Supernatural on a tree of life path. That would be insanity to suggest in retrograde. A good deal of its existing concepts before inclusion of these primal ideas, in our show, plug well INTO it in retcon or retrograde, but we know pretty much for a fact that when Kripke threw down his little draft about two dudes and a car, he wasn’t really thinking about The Concept Of True God And Oblivion. So I’m going to spare that waterfall of fuckery, perhaps for another day.

But we do know several things about SPNVerse:

There is a definite point of Empty/Nothing

There is a point that Empty starts getting feisty, but is itself separate from the creator

There is a creator represented by light and a “destroyer” represented by darkness, each gendered to these old ideologies.

I mean, we can banter sexism and the ilk, but that actually comes with a very human perspective understanding and a bit of a struggle of understanding that destruction is not necessarily evil and creation is not necessarily good, but both are necessary forces. Now how well Supernatural handled that in execution is another thing entirely, but I’m not here to cover the social aspect of that in this meta -- I’m just here to sort of help with a confusion I’ve witnessed in recent commentary I’ve dropped.

There are many ways this gets listed depending on what... ideology you’re applying to this tree. Hell, there’s Egyptian versions.

Tumblr’s probably gonna shrink that illegibly but if you can’t squint it out, you’ll notice the top is the concealed, source of power, infinite potential and subjective realm, and so on. And that’s already being past the respective Ain Soph of nothing and into the Realm of Light.

TL, DR, basically, the rules of operation that you know in your material, living existence or within your universe are not necessarily employed in the above. Height, depth, width, emotion, feeling, these are all thoughts of this universe. And in theory, there may be other nodes of light that have their own outpouring.

This, in example, might be employed in concepts like The French Mistakeverse which, even according to the angel there, lacked heaven, god, or any of the rules within the SPNverse. It came from another, slightly shittier cascade of light and thought its own thinkie thoughts until it reached that point in an otherwise atheistic universe wherein Sam was something named a Padaleski when he got thrown into it. The rules and terms and conditions of that universe have, in the very least, not followed down the same path on the tree. On the other hand, the tree has shadows, parallels, or different spheres that have different levels of or parallel existences; or of course divergences in timeline in what is otherwise the same cascade of reality.

Again, to not diverge too heavily into a singular train of thought I’m going to cut that off there, but hopefully the concept I’m trying to deliver is clear:

Endverse and AUverse in theory are very likely on a similar waterfall of existence but

French Mistake and Scoobynatural and others like it are likely not.

It is reasonably arguable that Scoobynatural is almost a node within that plane, similar to Gabriel creating a sphere of his own when doing his trickster fuckery. In which case, I point to French Mistake, which was a universe unto itself.

PEDANTICS ASIDE,

I bring you to why I’m talking about this to begin with.

Now, it was a conversation of headcanons and potential-canon thoughts that brought this up, but something that seems to hold fairly canonically sound, if in subtext: The Dream.

When Chuck was mortally wounded by Amara, the universe started... dying. Now, the real question is, if there is a world without god within it, why can it exist while another will fade if its god dies?

Well, first of all, that depends on the concept of an incarnate god; is the French Mistake’s god more of an abstract? Was there an early dream wherein the universe is only vaguely conscious, similar to ours which quantum scientists are testing its reactability as we speak, wherein it behaves differently while observed than not but doesn’t necessarily have angels in togas and trenchcoats popping around in direct view as much as our wavelengths being literal like, forces of the universe most of the time? And what defines consciousness? BIG question in both science and a lot of philosophy.

Before we digress into that, however, let’s talk about the concept of the incarnate god -- I’ll do so in shorthand as to not turn this into some sort of Initiation Class(TM) but essentially, considering it’s canonically sound that Chuck probably wasn’t walkin’ around like a Dude before there were humans for his angels to possess, and we’ve heard the rise of humans over neanderthals, what does that leave us but the awareness that this is an incarnate, and more directly engaged concept monitoring its realm?

And of course, the idea of the dream.

To give some context, I had posted this as an “endgame potential thought,”

“The Everybody Dies BUT” Ending:

The Empty eventually comes for Cas. Also, so as to not auto-revive him, they’ve also killed off Jack, and the Empty claimed him anyway. Be it by battle or long life, Sam and Dean also perish, and are also escorted to the Empty by Billie. However, due to their strong connections, nephilim, profound bond or whatever else, they find each other in oblivion – in this liminal space before God and Amara and Creation – and create their own dream among each other. No angels, no god, or at least none without their version of doing it Right™. A new world – a better one – paradise.

This, I realized, confused people -- and as above, rightfully so to people not really realizing the concept of Nothing is completely outside of the universal construct. I had tried to shorthand it in that blurb, but it kinda whiffed over heads and really, I get why. I’m actually going to use this exchange to see if, now with some context, I can better trade off and fill it out without top-to-bottom trying to Qabbalah through the whole SPNverse:

Other questions came shortly after in asks:

In your "Everybody dies BUT" Ending, when you say TFW 2.0 creates their own paradise, do you mean like they create a dream, like a collective heaven of their own, concious design, where they can be in peace together? Or do you mean it as they go cosmic entity mode, and create a version of the world that they consider perfect, basically becoming God(s)?

To which I replied,

Perhaps people aren’t used to abstract thought wherein the question is, what’s the difference?

What makes a cosmic being beyond being the one to have a thought to create a thing? By nature it is their dream, it is their world and it is thus both subject to them and dependent on them, so chicken or the egg, ouroboros and full cycle, legitimately, what is the difference of one dream or the other?

But again, curse of knowledge/perspective, I realize I kind of missed the mark on that explanation, as was further evidenced by this follow-up ask:

I guess even in abstract terms the definition and perspective between what's real or what's not varies,just like the concept of perfection.I think everyone sees aspects that would represent differences between dream and reality in a some way,but it's always different. For instance,for me the SPN heaven is real in terms of it's existence,but it's also a dream,because it's a reflection of what a individual wanted to be real.It's real,but also a dream,it all varies on the layer you're analysing.

Fair, of course, but as we were addressing this conceptual point, which is -- as shown above, difficult to detail, I replied:

You’re still thinking within the universe.

Heaven, and hell, exist within the universe.

Other universes exist. Some are parallel but varied timelines. Some are French Mistakes with different rules. Some are cartoons. These do not all function under the same rule set.

Heaven is part of the universe that Chuck made. At one point, he existed in oblivion, for whatever reason; we do not know whence he and Amara or even Death among them (chicken or the egg as Death put it) came. They simply were, as far as we can comprehend, as they predate time within the universe. Because Chuck created the universe. Ergo they all existed before the universe.

It requires a form of nonlinear thinking to parse it. But at some point, Chuck Made Everything When There Was Only Nothing. That world can fade out if Chuck dies, even inside the world. Just like, if someone was to die while dreaming, their dream would end as well. Many parts of your dream imagine themselves from your subconscious. Other parts you can become lucid in and start to control and take command of. Many elements run simply on what you know, or the depths of your mind manifests. Such is the nature of a dream.

Heaven isn’t to be treated as separate because it’s within that universe. Now, what Sam and Dean and Cas and maybe Jack might dream of as paradise might not be what Heaven is. Heaven, after all, was only part of Chuck’s vision of creation.

That first primordial spark that made Chuck’s early intangible dream that blossomed into everything he wanted above and below, that’s the universe.

If, as per The Post In Question, TFW started from that same oblivion point… what divides them from Chuck? “Power”? What is power when it is a dream reliant on YOU? You are the power.

And then came this follow-up ask:

I think I see your point.But just to understand your stand on this better,when you say suggest that power would be irrelevant in a situation were power is basically the ability to dream,that makes sense if that's the true source,or at least the initial source,of Gods powers.But what if there was something else,if he, Amara and Death had,for wathever reason,came into being with more power than just creativity?Could a being that came into existence without those powers obtain them,in your opinion?

This is the point in which I dug in my heels, but I now recognize did so unclearly:

I think this opinion requires that the authors are completely bypassing any and all myth regarding the concept of oblivion in multiple legends, and that people are having a hard time wrapping their heads around what ideas like Nothingness actually mean. Black Space is ironically too much. The idea of void predates… I dunno, time, space, height, depth, width, light, dark, that’s why it’s actually void. Most creation principles dawn from the idea that somehow, some way, a spark of thought dawned. What that spark is called, how it manifests, that’s where everybody bickers. But things like “uber power scale” are completely irrelevant when you’re talking about starting points of literal nothing, and that’s ironically the concept of things like the Ouroboros.

You see, the reason I dug my heels in, however, is not pure stubbornness. If we are operating outside of the laws of any mechanical or existing universe in which presence and power is defined, the power and presence within that universe is moot. Once a creature enters that universe it brings with it the weight of its general principle, but within the Empty, all things are relative. If this were not true, the Empty “would have thrown Cas so deep into the Empty that you can’t bother me,” but “except you can’t, or you would have already.”

“Pretty smart, pretty smart, tough guy.”

What we have is the Ain having something from the Aur thrown in and essentially becoming the Ain Soph, there is now Something in the Nothing and the Nothing just wants it to fuck off and leave it alone so it can resume being Nothing. It’s now vaguely aware again, of Things(TM). Of worlds and dreams and people and things, when everything else was just so peaceful Not Existing.

If we defer back to Qabbalah again, this is a breech of something called the Tzimtzum. The tzimtzum is basically the act of when “God” “contracted” into the infinite point of light to barf out space and made its polar parts, it was considered creating “conceptual space” in which these finite and seemingly independent realms could like. Exist. But it made a bunch of empty space around it. Again, space being relative, when talking about Nothing, but doing it in a way we can discuss it. But here we are, putzing around in this place that doesn’t even exists and thus wants to be left the fuck alone. God is even called “Ha Makom” or “The place” in this structure. So there’s The Nothing and The Place. The Place is God’s universe basically.

God, in this structure of naming, actually wouldn’t be Chuck as we know it. Chuck would quite-likely be the male pole with Amara the female, but again, we can’t swear up and down how closely they held to this. It would more be whatever thought hiccupped and made the PrimordialTwins that had their bickering match in season 11, which kind of made the non-space they started having their slap fight in.

Also, realistically, there seems to be a level of retcon in this, as in theory “sealing out the darkness” could also correspond to this idea itself, and there’s a variety of terms one could sling around in treating Amara as herself conceptually outside of this space. The original intent/application could genuinely be either/or, and that’s the fun part of dealing in this level of philosophical fuckery. And the Tzimtzum did lots of cool things, like made not just spiritual and physical worlds but yes, even the very concept of Free Will is on the list of things it made space to exist.

One could also argue no retcon needed, as even if the primordial aspect of Amara was sealed away, the Mark used to do so still waterfalled her concepts and impact through the rest of the known universe via Lucifer, Cain, Dean, and whatever else that shifted along the way. Without the mark, Lucifer wouldn’t have fallen and made demons, and hell wouldn’t exist, still realizing “destruction” or “severity” into the universe. Wherein if she were ironically imprisoned within the realm of light, as it is more metaphorical light at that point, somewhere in the area of Ideas rather than Physical Reality And The Known Universe, it all applies and once that Abyss is crossed is where the Mark instead impacted reality in her stead.

The hermetic God is really Both Of These, not to be confused with the idea of the Christian God, more easily directly encapsulated in Chuck. One simply does not exist without the other. And there’s a billion reads on these in philosophy, some weirder than others and really, the application of these is light enough we need to ask if there were even retcons, much less trying to badly staple over our Favored Denomination Of Thought(TM). Supernatural handled it as brother and sister, one egg if you will. Many versions treat it as a hermaphroditic concept that split in two somehow. Others... get even weirder, we’re not gonna go there because frankly, the show didn’t even really try. We got brother and sister. It is what it is.

So while this post is somewhat in explanation of what I realized sounded like a madhouse theory to people not used to thinking abstractly over what is admittedly a headcanon/hopeful ending concept, it is also -- perhaps oddly to some people -- how I’ve taken to compute most of the ongoing mythology within the Dabb era, naturally as per my base... like... life? And study and teachings?

And frankly probably adds up a hell of a lot better than just assuming it’s a leveled-up power-game, which while from the bottom it looks like such, in the full scale, the top and the bottom are not so unlevel from each other, for -- “as above, so below,” the cardinal concept of the Ouroboros (14.14).

If the Nothing did not Become Infinite, nothing might Be. But if the Infinite Nothing did not then retract itself into a point, then Nothing Could Exist. In retracting to a Point, something existed. That Point births an origin, and all attributes that become the recognized universe and reality, to which there are poles and balance of arguable levels of sentience, and from which all things flow, including -- in this essay-ass meta thing -- Chuck’s creation(s).

Heaven, hell, probably even purgatory, those are all parts of Chuck’s respective dream, that moment Something In Nothing pulled its shit together and started having Thinkie Thoughts. Maybe in French Mistakeverse it became a Big Bang. Maybe it even was in SPNVerse considering the mention of evolution. But the simple fact is, it all came from Somewhere In Nothing.

Which does, yes, roll back to my little idea about a possible ending I’d like to see on a list of a few, but also might help recognize what I mean when I say things like “power scales are pretty relative and abstract at these points” and so forth.

Hindsight edit: @drsilverfish may enjoy.

#supernatural #primordials #chuck #amara #the empty #pagan life #meta #my meta

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jarienn972 · 5 years

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Curse of Undoings - Part 12

My apologies for a slight delay in getting the next chapter posted. Last week was a busy one for my family as my oldest daughter celebrated her birthday. (Still can't believe that I have an actual teenager in my home - yikes!) I made @hookaroo wait a couple of extra days to resolve my cliffhanger and of course, she retaliated with a huge one of her own, so I think we’re even. ;) Also tagging @killian-whump and @castielamigos for this new chapter.

I have one more chapter planned after this one so we're getting close to the end and then it will be time to focus putting some new ideas on paper! Read it from the beginning on AO3 or FF,net or here on Tumblr: Pt1 Pt2 Pt3 Pt4 Pt5 Pt6 Pt7 Pt8 Pt9 Pt10 Pt11

It was over, but at the same time, it wasn't completely over.

The Black Fairy was gone, banished back to whatever private hell awaited her, yet the tempest she'd created with her curse still raged on outside the clock tower. Streetlights flashed on and off and a spray of brilliant sparks flew into the air when a transformer overloaded and exploded. Most of the nearby homes and businesses had already been plunged into darkness as the fury of the storm intensified.

Storybrooke General Hospital, where her husband lay dying, was three quarters of a mile from her current position and without magic to poof herself across town in a split-second, Emma knew she was going to need to brave the weather. She'd have to run as fast as her legs would allow, dodging hailstones and lightning to reach the Bug, but she didn't care. This supernatural storm enveloping the town was frightening, but it wasn't nearly as scary as the thought of losing Killian.

Before she departed the tower, Emma stooped to collect the sword borrowed from Rumplestiltskin that she'd just used to dispatch Fiona to some faraway realm, not willing to leave the weapon she'd come to fear laying around. Even if her visions hadn't been real, she didn't dare allow this sword to fall into the hands of the next villain of the week. As she reached for it, her fingers barely brushed the hilt when Emma noticed that it was glowing again, illuminated with a pale, icy blue light that seemed to be emanating from within the blade itself.

"What the hell?" she exclaimed, not that she was expecting anyone else to hear her. She extended her fingers towards the handle again, hopping backwards when the blade began to vibrate against the wrought iron grating. Emma found herself silently cursing Rumplestiltskin's name as the weapon vanished in a burst of bluish light and before she could brace herself against whatever was about to happen, she discovered she had company.

"Hello, Emma," her companion spoke up as Emma realized she was now face to face with the Blue Fairy in her fae form, sparkling wings fluttering as she hovered above the spot where the sword had previously been laying.

"How the…?" Emma stammered, unable to even form a complete sentence as she tried to piece together what she was witnessing. "Where did you…?"

"Come from?" Blue finished the question. "From the sword. Our combined powers were the only way to defeat the Black Fairy."

"Okay… Rumple said the sword was filled with your magic, but he didn't tell me that it was literally you in the sword…"

"It was the only way – my power to create the sword and yours to wield it. Fiona manipulated those visions you were experiencing, but Emma, you were always intended to wield the weapon that would defeat her."

"Alright then - we've defeated her," Emma began with an impatient tone in her voice, "So - how do we stop this? The storm – the curse? How do we bring Storybrooke's magic back?"

"Storybrooke's magic will return once the curse is fully broken, but I think you know what that entails."

"But how?" Emma sobbed. "Without magic, how can I heal him? Storybrooke is going to vanish and we're all going to die right along with Killian… What good did it do to defeat Fiona if we can't undo her curse?"

"I'm afraid there isn't enough magic here to heal Killian's body," the fairy confessed, watching with empathetic eyes as Emma's head bowed in defeat. "But, there may be enough left to keep his heart beating."

"Then for heaven's sake, do it!" Emma implored her. "You have to save him!"

"I can only provide enough to restart a stopped heart as he's not yet crossed over, but that's all I can do. The rest of the battle will be up to Killian and until he is safe, the storm is going to continue."

"Do it!" Emma cried as tears streamed over her cheeks. "Please, do whatever you can to help him – to help all of us!"

The Blue Fairy nodded and floated closer to Emma. "Hold out your hands for me with your palms turned upward," Blue instructed and Emma obliged. The fairy dipped lower, dusting Emma's palms with glittering dust as she pressed her own tiny palms against Emma's skin, together creating an iridescent orb that materialized between them. "I'm bringing together the traces of your magic that lingered through Fiona's curse with a sprinkling of fairy dust. It will fill his heart, but there is always a chance that it may not be enough."

"It has to be enough," Emma stated, trying her best to remain positive as the orb lifted up from her hand then whooshed away, disappearing through the tower wall. "It has to be enough," she repeated, lifting her head to thank the Blue Fairy for her aid before realizing that she was gone, leaving Emma alone inside the tower once again.

Emma shook her head to clear the gathering cobwebs, worried that she may have just hallucinated the entire exchange, but a scant glance down to the tower floor where no trace of the sword remained confirmed the reality. And now she could only hope that the little orb Blue had conjured would be enough to bring Killian back from the edge. Too many lives depended on it.

"It's been four minutes, Doctor," the nurse advised, reminding everyone how long their patient had been without a pulse.

"I'm not ready to give up just yet," Dr. Whale responded, his arms already aching from the effort required to maintain consistent chest compressions. "Is that damned defibrillator charged back up yet?"

"A few more seconds, Doctor," the nurse responded. "These power fluctuations are making it slower to charge."

"Remind me when this is all over that I need to ask Regina for a bigger generator for this hospital," Whale mumbled, peering down at the ashen face of Killian Jones while concealing a scowl behind his surgical mask. "You're supposed to be the survivor, Hook… Is this really how you want to go out?"

"Doctor, the defibrillator is fully charged," the nurse announced at last, holding the paddles at the ready.

"Hand 'em here!" Whale ordered impatiently as he reached across Killian's torso to grab the handles. "Alright, Jones… Let's try this again, shall we?" With a shout to clear, he pressed the devices against the bare skin of Killian's chest and there was a collective hush in the operating room as all anxiously awaited the response to this attempt to jolt their patient back to life. In the midst of their collective breath-holding, not a single soul noticed the tiny, glistening orb that descended through the ceiling and dropped onto Killian's heart just as the surge of electricity surged through it.

Whale hesitated for a few seconds, paddles hovering in preparation for a second attempt as a series of faint blips lit up the monitor.

"We've got a rhythm again," a nurse said cheerfully as the pattern became more steady.

"Alright, people," Whale spoke up as he handed off the defibrillator paddles to another team member as the machine was powered down and wheeled out of the way. "Let's get back to work here. Somebody get me another forceps so I can yank that damned bullet out of him before he bleeds out all over my operating table." Whale wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but they weren't done yet. There was still a lot of torn flesh to repair and no time to waste.

The increasing intensity of the thunderstorm outside the hospital walls wasn't lost on Emma and Killian's family either as they awaited news on one or both of the newlyweds' fates. David had his arm wrapped around a tense Snow White's shoulders as she leaned against him for support. The fluorescent lights here in the surgical waiting room had flickered a few times before going out completely nearly twenty minutes ago, replaced by two dimmer emergency spotlights when the generator kicked in moments after the outage. The atmosphere was only making the already stressful situation more nerve-wracking as everyone knew this was no run-of-the-mill storm. This was the Black Fairy's evil sorcery descending upon them as the curse threatened to overtake them.

Henry had been momentarily surprised when Regina arrived to join their vigil, having braved the formidable weather to show up dripping wet at the hospital just minutes before the power went out. As happy as he was to have one mother at his side again, Henry was still concerned about his other mom. She was the one he needed to have here the most but she was still out there alone somewhere, battling the Black Fairy in the prophesied final battle.

"Any news yet?" Regina asked as she entered the darkened waiting room that was occupied solely by Henry and the Charmings. "I wasn't sure if cell phone service was still working so I left Leroy in charge at the jail and headed over here."

"Phones still seem to be working okay," David told her. "We just spoke to the sitter who was going to keep the baby downstairs until the storm lets up. And no, we haven't heard anything yet."

"You do realize that this isn't a normal storm?" Regina asked them, almost sarcastically, not willing to believe they'd be this naive.

"It's the curse, isn't it?" Snow wondered.

"It's a veritable typhoon of dark magic," Regina replied, "and we're right in the middle of it. Hook must be clinging to life or we wouldn't even be having this conversation. If the pirate dies, that storm will wipe us all away. There won't be a trace of this town left."

"Even if Emma defeats Fiona in the final battle?" David queried.

"Afraid so, it seems. Every dark curse has a fail-safe built into it somewhere. It looks as though Fiona made sure hers would proceed no matter how Emma's True Love dies and no matter who wins the final battle." Regina's clarifications might have explained the situation better, but it probably only raised anxiety levels.

"I sure as hell hope that Whale can keep him alive," David sighed.

"If he doesn't, Storybrooke and everyone in it will be doomed. That's an awful lot of responsibility falling on Victor," the Queen stated bluntly, but no one could doubt she was right.

"So, all that Killian's sacrifice in saving Henry has accomplished so far was to free us from wherever Fiona sent us?" Snow questioned. "Do you think that it was so we'd all suffer more?"

"If she's anything like her manipulative, enterprising son – and I'm pretty sure she is – of course, she planned for us to suffer," Regina replied.

"Do you think Emma will be strong enough to defeat her?" David asked with a slight crack in his voice. "I mean, after all of those awful vision and premonitions of her death, and all of the awful things she was forced to do while cursed, if this is really the fabled final battle, is Emma going to be strong enough?"

"No one really knows," Regina began, slouching deeper into the vinyl armchair. "The good thing is that Fiona has no magic at the moment, at least not enough to be effective, but that means neither does Emma. This has to be straight combat where skill and cunning will probably determine the victor, but even though it seems to even the odds, we're still talking about the Black Fairy – the mother of everything evil. I'm quite certain she doesn't fight fair."

"I know Mom is strong enough to beat the Black Fairy," Henry insisted, "but I don't know if she'll be able to put everything Fiona made her do behind her so she can focus. The things she said to me, the things she did to Killian – it was all done on purpose to give Fiona an advantage."

"I'm afraid it doesn't really matter, Henry," Regina lamented, her tone decidedly bitter as she weighed the potential outcomes. "It's all a moot point if Hook dies. We're all going to lose no matter who wins that battle. Fiona made damned sure of it, as did her little lackey grandson."

"Well then, Blue had better be right about there being enough magic to keep Killian's heart beating," a voice announced from the corridor beyond the dismal waiting room. Recognizing the voice, everyone immediately turned toward the doorway to see the silhouette of a drenched Emma step into view, little puddles of cursed rainwater pooling at her feet.

"Mom!" Henry exclaimed, leaping to his feet and nearly tackling Emma back into the hallway as he hugged her as tight as he could. "You did it! You beat the Black Fairy!"

"Yeah, kid – I did," Emma replied with a proud, but exhausted smile curling on her lips. Her tone wasn't nearly as excited as her son's since despite her victory, the battle wasn't yet won.

"Fiona's gone?" David asked as he rose from his seat to embrace his daughter, not even caring that his clothing was now nearly as soaking wet as hers. "You killed her?"

"Yes – she's gone, for good, but no, I didn't have to kill her. Apparently, Rumple and the Blue Fairy conspired to brew up a concoction that sent her on a one-way trip to some distant, lonely realm."

"One way?" Regina asked skeptically.

"I asked the same question and according to Rumple, the portal that opened up and sucked her into oblivion has a blood seal on it that prevents her from returning to this realm, or any other, for that matter," Emma explained. "She's trapped there."

"Good riddance," David commented. "No one around here is going to miss her, but hang on, you said that Rumple and Blue were working together on this? I thought he hated fairies."

"It seems that they both hated one particular fairy enough to put their differences aside for once."

"So, the Blue Fairy just showed up?" Snow questioned, trying to figure out what role Blue played in Emma's victory.

"I guess she sort of showed up, although it was after I'd sent Fiona packing," Emma began, trying to determine the best way to explain. "She was somehow inside the sword that Rumple gave me to use against Fiona."

"It was the sword from your visions, wasn't it?" Henry asked her.

"It was. According to Blue, Fiona was manipulating those visions, but she also said that I was always destined to use that sword in battle against the Black Fairy. This Savior stuff is ridiculous sometimes, but I know now that all of the tremors and the visions were Fiona's attempts to weaken me and it damn near worked." Emma flopped onto the sofa next to her mother with an exasperated sigh before adding: "Well, it might still work…"

"What did the Blue Fairy being in the sword do to help you?" Snow wondered, still confused about what had actually transpired. "I guess I'm not understanding what she actually did or even how she got into the sword in the first place."

"I don't completely understand it all either," Emma admitted. "All I know is somehow Rumple put her, or her magic, I really don't know, into the sword so that our combined strengths could beat Fiona and send her away to her own personal hell. I had no idea Blue was even there until she materialized out of the blade when I tried to pick it up again after the battle was over."

"She wasn't able to help stop the curse though?" Henry asked but while Emma knew what he meant by the question, but she wasn't sure the answer would satisfy him – or anyone else for that matter.

"I'm afraid not, kid," she told her son. "There isn't enough magic left in Storybrooke to heal Killian and as you've probably already figured out, breaking the curse unfortunately lies with Killian. Blue took what little magic we had left and tried to use it to keep Killian's heart beating, at least for now. The town and all of us are still here so he's still hanging on, but that storm hasn't gone away either."

"As long as we're all still here, there's still hope," Snow stated, trying to lift everyone's spirits with a beaming smile, but she wasn't even totally convinced it would be enough.

"Well, that deluge outside isn't going to let up until Hook is guaranteed to survive, so we may have a long night ahead of us," Regina stated. "We can't rely on the town's power grid so we're going to have to make sure the hospital's generators keep running."

"I'll take the cruiser out and make a loop through town and see if I can get some help rounding up supplies," David offered. "And then I'll swing over and relieve the sitter. I don't think any of us is going to get much sleep tonight so we might as well bring the little guy over here with us."

"I'll check with Benny over at the power plant and see if he can divert power to this area of town," Regina said as she retrieved her cell phone from her blazer pocket. "Everyone in town needs to be aware that the hospital has priority for power tonight. If they don't like it, explain the alternative."

With the skies already pitch black from the encroaching dark clouds looming overhead, it was nearly impossible to tell when day became night. With little to do in the waiting room, Snow had dozed off with the baby snuggled against her chest and David's protective arm draped around them both. Regina had found a magazine that was a few weeks old and switched seats to be closer to one of the spotlights so she could waste time reading and Henry was trying his best to remain distracted by watching a movie on his phone (after borrowing David's portable charger so his battery wouldn't fizzle out).

Emma had taken to silently pacing along the back wall, her mind arduously replaying every horrific act she'd committed and every hurtful word she'd uttered today. She'd been cursed – that much she understood. She would never have said or done those terrible things had she not been cursed but yet in one of those nagging back corners of her brain, she harbored enough lingering doubt to keep second-guessing herself. What if Fiona's curse had really just brought some of her true feelings to the surface instead of implanted false memories and emotions? What if that awful person really existed somewhere within her psyche? Would she run the risk of hurting her family again one day without realizing it?

It was a fear that Emma didn't dare speak of even though rationally, she knew her parents had similar regrets of their cursed selves. She didn't really know what else to do – torture herself with futile attempts to find the right words to apologize to her husband? Would he even want to still be her husband when this was all through? He'd have every right to push her away if he chose to and as much as it would break her heart, she probably deserved it.

Thankfully, the sound of approaching footsteps would delay those thoughts for a while. Regina was the first to notice the faint echoes in the corridor after the extended silence, but as the sound drew closer, they all snapped to attention, hoping that this would be the good news they'd been anxiously awaiting. David gently nudged his slumbering wife to wake her as Dr. Whale lumbered into the room, still clad in his pale blue surgical scrubs, although he'd already shed the outer protective gown. Before uttering a word, the doctor yanked the matching blue cap off of his head, shoving it into his pocket as he focused his attention on a nearly quivering Emma.

"I'm going to keep this brief because it's been a long night, and I'm not even going to attempt to speculate on where all of those wounds came from. I've got him patched up as best as I can for now. My primary focus was getting that bullet out of his chest and repairing the damage it caused. It tore a hole through his right lung that couldn't entirely be fixed, but he can survive without the piece I had to remove. Honestly, even without that section, his lungs are probably still in better shape than his liver after a couple of centuries of heavy rum swigging, but I shouldn't digress…

"His impaired right lung did collapse from the trauma but it will re-inflate in time. To be safe and to give that lung some help in healing, I'm going to keep him on a ventilator for the next 24 to 48 hours so don't expect him to be awake and talking anytime soon. He's stable for now, but these next couple of days are going to be critical. He coded on the operating table and with these damned power fluctuations, we nearly lost him. I'm not taking any chances.

"In regard to his other injuries, I couldn't do much with all of those lacerations on his back aside from cleaning them up a bit and getting him started on a strong antibiotic to try to clear the infection. Most had already scabbed over so he'll have some nasty new scars to add to his already extensive collection. Lastly, I repaired the most threatening damage from the puncture wound to his left shoulder, but it will likely require additional surgery down the line to remove some bone shards and properly repair the tendon and ligament tears. For now, I've immobilized the arm to prevent further injury to the joint. It's not something I'm going to worry for at least a few days though. Saving his life was far more important."

"You have no idea," Regina muttered under her breath as she glanced over at a visibly shaken Emma who appeared as though she might vomit at any moment. "Thank you for the update, Victor," Regina said aloud after figuring that Emma wasn't ready to speak just yet.

"Will we be able to see him soon?" David asked.

"In a little while," the doctor replied. "I'll send a nurse to get you once he's out of recovery and settled into a room. Let's just all hope that the power holds out so the life-support systems don't fail before he's strong enough for us to wean him off of them."

"That's already been addressed. All of Storybrooke's auxiliary power is being diverted to this quadrant and we've secured additional fuel for the generators," Regina assured him. "It should be enough to keep everything operational for at least another full day if needed. If all goes well, this storm should pass by then."

"Alright, that's good to know," Whale responded with a satisfied nod. "Right now, I'm going to try to get in a little power nap before I collapse, but rest assured that two of Storybrooke's finest nurses are tending to Jones as we speak and know to page me immediately should there be any change. One last thing, when I do give the okay for visitors, no more than two at a time. Emma, as his wife, you're welcome to stay the night, but the rest of you, go home and get some sleep. You all look like a bunch of zombies."

"Thanks, Victor," Emma squeaked out as the doctor turned around and left. Regina wanted to make a snide reply to Whale's zombie remark, but she held her tongue. There was enough tension in the room already and it wasn't going to break with a single wisecrack so Regina knew it was best to settle in for a very long night.

#ouat ff #cs ff #killian jones ff #killian whump #curse of undoings

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stormlight1 · 6 years

Text

Feral - A Labyrinth Story

Just wanted to say a quick word of thanks to those who are reading/liking/commenting/reblogging. I’m getting used to Tumblr’s platform so bear with me.

Two

Sarah lay on the bed in the guest room that had served as her bedroom for the past eight months, a cold compress over her eyes. Despite the relatively early hour, she kept the lights dimmed and the shades drawn, hoping it would help ward off the tension headache she could feel developing in that spot right between her eyes. She'd just gotten off the phone with her divorce lawyer, who'd wanted to go over the proceedings of tomorrow's court case one final time, to make sure she knew what she was supposed to say and do in order to get her fair share of monetary assets out of the deal.

How ironic, came the humorless thought. She'd never realized just how much getting a divorce resembled putting on a play. Move just so, say exactly this, or else it could all be shot to hell, and the act would be ruined.

"Say your right words," she mumbled as her lips curled into a sardonic smile.

Honestly, she didn't really care how much money she got out of it. She knew she wouldn't get the house—that wasn't up for debate—but she didn't want it anyway. And what in the world would she do with furnishings when she had nowhere to put them? The only concerning matter to her was her daughter. In terms of child support, she would put on her little play and make sure she squeezed every penny she could out of that heartless bastard, if it meant ensuring that Katie would be taken care of until she turned eighteen. Augustine was wealthy enough, thanks to his family; he'd been left with a small fortune when his father died three years ago, so he could damn well see to it that his only daughter never wanted for anything.

It was the fact that, within those pages and pages of documents she'd repeatedly gone over with a fine-tooth comb, not a single mention of her husband's parental rights had come up. As far as she could tell, he hadn't asked for anything regarding joint custody. He'd asked for visitation rights, but it looked as if he had no interest in helping to raise his own daughter. No weekend visits, no splitting her down the middle, living six months in one house and six months in the other…

Not that Sarah wasn't relieved by this. She had spent the first two years of her parents' divorce in just such an arrangement, living in Manhattan with her mother (and Jeremy) over summer vacation and winter breaks. Spending the other nine months in the house she'd been born and raised in, so she wouldn't have to transfer schools. Life there was all so normal and boring.

As a teenager she'd loved the excitement of living with her actress mother, spending as much time behind-the-scenes in the playhouses as she did at home. She'd felt like a grownup when her mother took her to bars with her friends after a successful show, celebrating all through the night. Cocktails and expensive food and beautiful, glittering clothes and jewelry … it had all been so glamorous, and Sarah was determined to have such a life for herself when she grew up.

Then, of course, her father had decided that such a hectic lifestyle was no place to raise a teenaged girl. Especially one as strong-willed as Sarah, who was so clearly influenced by the behavior of the adults around her. He'd filed for full custody, having just remarried himself, and the courts had granted it.

Sarah's mother didn't even put up a fight.

Sarah had hated her father for that, and she'd been sure her "evil stepmother" was the one to blame for convincing him to take her away from that life. Add a new little half-brother into the mix, and she'd been certain it was all some elaborate plot to gain a free babysitter and household slave.

So many years later, though, Sarah could admit she'd been ridiculous. She'd so often accused Toby of being spoiled rotten but she'd been spoiled herself, by her mother, her mother's friends… Her father had been right to pull her away from that world and force her into a life of stability. And now the thought of her own daughter possibly going through such an ordeal made Sarah shudder.

So, really, she should be grateful that her husband didn't want Katie. Had he demanded joint custody—or, heaven help her, full custody—she wouldn't have stood a fighting chance. After all, he was the one with the house, the money, and the steady, full-time career. Everything the courts thought important to properly raise a child.

Sarah, on the other hand, was currently homeless, stuck living in her parents' house, working two part-time jobs in an attempt to save enough money for an apartment close to the neighborhood. Just so she wouldn't have to uproot Katie's life any more than it already had been. Now she wished she'd tried to finish her college courses on top of raising a child, because it seemed a mere high school diploma just wasn't going to get her very far, career-wise. And on top of that, while she was relieved that she wouldn't have to fight Augustine to keep her own daughter, she was also completely outraged on Katie's behalf. Exactly how was she supposed to explain to a seven-year-old that Daddy didn't want her anymore?

A hot tear slipped down Sarah's cheek from the corner of her eye. She irritably brushed it away, knocking the compress to the floor. Outside, a flash of lightning briefly outlined the half-drawn shades, illuminated the wooden floor. She mentally counted to five seconds, before the low growl of thunder followed. A storm was approaching, it seemed. More silence, and then another flicker of light. She only got to three when the rumble followed it. It was coming on fast. She frowned, thoughtful. Toby had taken Katie to the park to play, and it was a bit of a walk. They probably wouldn't make it back before the storm hit, and she didn't like the idea of them out in the middle of it by themselves.

Inspiration struck, and she abruptly sat up, headache forgotten as she scanned the floor for her sneakers. She'd go out and meet them halfway. A walk would clear her head a bit, and besides, she'd always liked the way the air smelled just before a storm. Sharp and fresh, like ozone and rain. As a kid, she used to go walking in storms, just for fun (and as an added bonus, it drove Karen crazy when she came home sopping wet, trailing mud and water). There was always the hum of tension in the air, a slight crackle that brushed the fine hairs on her arms, as if the world held its breath in anticipation.

She slipped on her shoes and grabbed a light sweater, pounded down the stairs to snatch a pair of umbrellas out of the stand beside the door. Her parents had gone out to dinner to meet some of her father's old college buddies. They didn't plan to be home until very late, or very early. Which, of course, left Sarah to keep an eye on the kids. Just like old times, she thought dryly, although Toby hardly needed a babysitter anymore. She pocketed a house key and was just about to step out when the telephone rang in the hallway.

She muttered a curse and answered with an impatient "Hello?" A loud burst of static greeted her and she winced and moved the handset away from her ear. "Hello?" she repeated, a bit cautiously. More static, what sounded like a few garbled words that she couldn't quite catch through the white noise. She thought one of them might have been her name. Thunder rumbled again, an ominous warning. She glanced toward the open front door. "Look, I can't understand you," she said loudly. "The storm must be interfering. I have to step out for a bit, so try calling back later, okay?" And she unceremoniously hung up. It had probably just been her lawyer again, wanting to go over the details of her case for the umpteenth time. She personally thought him a bit anal about the entire event, but she supposed that was what made him good at his job.

She stepped outside and closed the door behind her, hopped down the porch steps just as the wind picked up with a sudden shriek. It buffeted her back as she hurried down the street, whipped her hair into a frenzy around her face and tempted a little giggle from her lips despite her sour mood. Two blocks away, she came upon the children, hunkered down against the gale. Katie walked in front as her uncle walked just behind her, pushing her along. "Ahoy there, mateys!" Sarah called. "Need a little help?"

"Mommy!" Her daughter raced ahead and threw herself into Sarah's arms. "The wind almost blowed me away!" she exclaimed, breathless. "Just like Dorothy and the tornado!"

"It did, did it? I was wondering where that flying monkey had come from!" Sarah nudged her brother's side playfully and gained a light punch in the arm in retaliation. A fat raindrop landed on her cheek, another on her upturned hand. The sky growled its displeasure. "Uh-oh!" she gasped in mock terror. "The maelstrom is about to break! The rain goblins are almost here!"

"Oh no!" Katie shrieked in delighted terror. "They sound really mad!"

"Don't worry, we've got force-fields!" Toby grabbed one of Sarah's umbrellas and opened it as a short torrent of cold drops hit them. He held it in front of himself and Katie like a shield, but the wind had other ideas, abruptly switching directions and threatening to turn the flimsy umbrella inside-out. "Goblins … too … strong!" he gasped as he wrestled with it. "Force-field … failing… She cannae take much more o' this, Captain!"

Sarah laughed loudly as another torrent of drops splattered her face. "Then there's only one thing we can do!" she announced dramatically, and swooped down to scoop Katie over her shoulder. "Retreat!" She broke into a sprint as the sky opened up and released its furious downpour.

Toby whooped and followed, easily surpassing the girls as his bellows of "Red alert! Red alert!" echoed down the street, and Katie's joyous screams of laughter threatened to drown even the roiling thunder.

The phone was ringing again when the sopping trio finally made it into the house. Sarah unceremoniously dumped Katie into Toby's arms and hurried to answer it, but the machine picked up before she could reach it. She waited patiently for the recorded greeting to finish, notepad and pen in hand to jot down the caller's information. Instead, another burst of static came through the speaker. She grimaced, again picking up a few random, garbled words through the static before the connection abruptly cut off.

Along with the rest of the power in the house.

"Aw … damn it," she muttered, and heard a snicker and a scandalized giggle from just behind her. She wrinkled her nose. "Sorry."

"Mommy has to put a quarter in the Swear Jar," Katie whispered loudly to Toby. "I've almost got a whole five dollars saved up now."

Toby sniggered again.

"Har har." Sarah fished a crumpled dollar bill from her pocket, slightly damp. "Here. Prepayment." She handed over the bill and the small flashlight she'd dug out of the drawer under the phone. Katie accepted both with another giggle and scurried up the stairs to her bedroom.

"Think Mom and Dad'll be home soon? Think they're okay?" Toby shifted uncomfortably as he glanced out the living room window. He wasn't afraid of storms, but dark places always made him edgy. Sarah often wondered if his fear of the dark wasn't some throwback to that night so long ago, when it had been storming just like this and she'd summoned the Goblin King on him. Some deep part of his subconscious could still potentially remember, right? She tamped down a stab of guilt. What was said was said. No amount of wishful thinking would make it otherwise.

"I don't think they plan to be home until really late this time," she explained. "Don't worry, I'm sure they're fine. That was probably them calling just now to check up on us." She switched on another flashlight and held it under her chin. "If you're bored, we can always sit around the coffee table and tell ghost stories," she teased.

He pulled a face. "Eh. Can't you just teach me to play poker or something?"

She laughed. "We need to play something Katie will enjoy, too. How about Snakes and Ladders?"

After several games of Snakes and Ladders, and then a few more of Candy Land (with a fine dinner of peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches and potato chips in between), the power had yet to turn back on, and the camping lanterns Sarah had dug out of the closet were running low on fuel. The storm had raged a good two hours before finally blowing itself out, and she wondered how many power lines it took out with it. It had been a long time since she'd witnessed a thunderstorm that fierce.

She glanced at the clock. Ten-fifteen, and long past time for little girls to be in bed. Or big ones, for that matter, she thought. She did, after all, have her day in court tomorrow. It wouldn't do to show up exhausted. She tended to get emotional and overstressed when she was exhausted, and her lawyer had made it clear that she needed to remain cool and level-headed. "Okay," she announced, "I think it's about time to put games away and go to bed." She ignored the expected protests and ushered the kids up the stairs to their bedrooms. Toby's old nursery looked far more like a twelve-year-old's playground now, and was just about as messy. Sarah gave him a lantern and hastily bid him goodnight before her neat-freak tendencies could kick in and she started tidying up the place. She'd always hated a disorderly bedroom.

Katie's room still looked as it did when Sarah had occupied it way back when. The furniture sat in the exact same spots. The curtains still framed the window just so. Shelves overflowed with stuffed animals and books, knickknacks lined neatly along the edges of the dresser. Posters and pictures had been tacked all over the walls, although Katie clearly preferred her hand-drawn illustrations of horses and kittens over Sarah's former choices of newspaper clippings and theater production posters. A tattered teddy bear held its place of honor on Katie's pillow and Sarah smiled to see it. She tucked her daughter under the familiar worn quilt with its fraying edges. "Did you brush your teeth?" she asked.

"Yup!" Katie confirmed with a nod.

"Did Launcelot brush his teeth?" Sarah teasingly bopped Katie's nose with the bear's.

"He doesn't have any teeth!" Katie squealed around her giggles.

Sarah laughed and ruffled her golden hair. "Okay now. Settle down and go to sleep. Launcelot is tired."

"You're tired," Katie accused.

"I am. So I'm going to sleep now. Goodnight, Katydid." Sarah kissed her and headed to her own room, slipped from her clothes into a pair of cut-off sweatpants and a T-shirt. She probably looked about as sexy as a bag lady in the getup, but it was comfortable and these days comfort was all that mattered. Besides, Augustine had stopped being impressed with her more risque nightwear a long time ago, so she'd long since given up wearing it.

She sighed, pursed her lips as she examined the scattered papers on the bed. Practically a book's worth, she thought. One of those thick, boring ones a person was forced to read in school for their least favorite class. With a sort of childish satisfaction, she gripped the edges of the designer comforter and gave a mighty shake, up-heaved its contents to send papers scattering and flying every-which-way. "Serves you right," she murmured as she slipped between the cool sheets, pulled the comforter over her head to block out the world for a few hours. She'd be forced to face it again soon enough. For now, at least, she welcomed the comfort of sleep, ready to just forget everything for a little while.

"Mommy!"

Sarah slowly roused, groggy and disoriented. And strangely warm. The air was stifling; in her half-asleep state, it took her several moments to realize that she'd fully buried herself under the blankets. She sluggishly clawed around until she found one end and lifted it to allow cool air to flow into her makeshift nest.

"Mommy!" the little voice said again, and she felt something prod at her, trying to shake her awake. She poked her face out from under the covers, squinted up at the small figure hovering over her.

"Katie, it's—" She glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "—one-thirty in the morning! What are you doing up? Did you have a bad dream?"

The little girl shook her head, expression oddly grim. "There's a funny man asking for you," she half-whispered, as if afraid someone else might overhear.

"A funny man?" Sarah frowned and scrubbed sleep from her eyes, feeling slightly more alert. Not quite alert enough to understand what her daughter was talking about, though. "Are you sure you didn't have a dream?"

"Nu-uh." Katie shook her head emphatically. "He said the telephone didn't work, so he had to call you this way, instead."

"The tele—" Now Sarah was really confused. "Was he the one trying to call earlier?"

"Yes, but it didn't work."

She sat up, ran her fingers through her tangled hair. "He isn't at the door, is he?" Her heart slammed against her chest at the thought. But both of the kids knew better than to answer the door to strangers, especially in the middle of the night! Unless … this man was already inside the house. And that thought drove any remaining sleep clear out of her head. She scrambled out of bed, shoved her feet into the first pair of shoes she found, looked around the room for a suitable weapon. A tall, slender bronze statuette on the corner of the dresser caught her eye. A naked lady in art-deco style. The thing was ugly as sin and had probably cost a small fortune. She hefted it, testing its solid weight. It would do. "Okay, where's the funny man hiding?" she asked, pushing Katie behind her as she crept into the hallway. "Is he in the living room? Your bedroom?"

"No, he's not in the house. He's in the mirror." Katie spoke as if that should have been the most obvious thing in the world.

Sarah froze, felt the world tilt crazily and realized she'd braced one hand against the wall to keep from tipping right over. "The … mirror?" Her voice emerged as a squeak. "A funny man … is in your mirror."

"Yup!" Katie regarded her mother strangely. "Are you sick? You look weird."

Sarah swallowed hard and straightened, walked in slow and measured steps down the hall toward the bedroom located at its end. She pushed open the door to find it illuminated in pink from the rose glass of her daughter's bedside lamp; apparently, power had been restored overnight. She started to step in, hesitated as she glanced at Katie. "How about you go sleep in my bed, okay?" she requested. "I want to talk to the funny man for awhile."

Katie shrugged, unconcerned, and trotted back to Sarah's room without argument. Oh, to possess the courage of a child, Sarah thought dryly as she stepped into the bedroom and shut the door behind her. From her position, she couldn't see very well, so she moved further in until she could get a better look. The top of the dressing table glowed softly in a way that had nothing to do with the lamp, and her eyes widened when she stopped directly in front of it and got a first good look at the mirror.

It was definitely not her own reflection staring back at her.

"H-Hoggle!" His name escaped, hardly louder than a whisper as her heart thumped hard against her ribs. A myriad of emotions flowed through her, come and gone so quickly that she hardly had time to feel them, much less sort them out.

"Hello, Sarah," Hoggle replied, and his gravelly voice sounded so dearly familiar, and he looked so genuinely glad to see her that tears sprang to her eyes.

"Where have you been?" she gasped, as the bronze statuette she still held slipped, forgotten, from nerveless fingers. It landed with a heavy thud on the floor, and the startling noise made her jump. "Do you know how worried I've been? You all just … disappeared! Without so much as a goodbye, and I had no way of contacting you or knowing if anything had happened to you and—" She had to stop talking, then, because the lump in her throat had grown too big and tight to speak around. So she stood there and glowered at him, swallowed convulsively to ease the ache in her throat, and swore that she wouldn't break down and bawl like the little girl she no longer was.

Hoggle had removed his cap and now twisted it in his hands, his expression so full of remorse that Sarah almost felt guilty for going off on him like that. Almost. She'd owed him a good chewing-out for just abandoning her, and he owed her one heck of an explanation. "I'm sorry, Sarah," he began, soft and contrite. "I knows just sayin' that won't fix anything. Should've tried harder t' comes back, but it just gots too difficult. Too dangerous t' try an' talk to yas anymore. We thought … it'd be better t' not risk it." He gave her a one-shouldered shrug and a crooked smile. "Figured after a bit, you'd get over it an' go on with life, like you was supposed to."

"How could you expect that?" she exploded, throwing her hands out. "You three were my best friends! How could I just forget?"

"But humans ain't even supposed t' keep in contact, ya know? They ain't supposed t' remember. When they get sent back, they ferget all about the Labyrinth. 'Course, none o' them ever did what you did. You beat Jareth's game, beat the Labyrinth. Don't surprise me none that you remembered, even after we … lost touch." His smile was equal parts smug and impressed, and his eyes gleamed with pride. "'S why I'm here now," he added. "'Cause I thinks you can help. I shouldn't evens be talkin' t' you—Jareth'd boot me straight into the Bog if he found out—but it's worth the risk."

Sarah's stern expression melted into confusion, touched with alarm. "Help with what?" she pressed. "Hoggle, what's going on? Did … did something happen?" She absently worried a thumbnail. "I always felt … maybe something was wrong, back when you three started visiting less and … acting strange. And when you disappeared I wanted to find my way back but I just didn't know how. I'd even considered calling on Jareth to get there. That's how worried I was." She offered a sardonic grin at his snort.

"Good thing you didn't. He'd've never let you go again."

"Yeah." She nodded. "I figured as much." She shifted on her feet, settled herself into the wooden chair to be more eye-level with him. "Will you tell me what's happening? Why did you stop visiting? Why are you risking Jareth's almighty wrath to contact me now?"

He shifted, brow furrowed. "Well, honestly, Jareth ain't in much of a position t' do much about anything, even if he knows. An' I'm pretty sure he does know, tied to the magic as he is."

"What do you mean?" Despite herself, she couldn't tamp the flicker of alarm that caused her heart to quicken in her chest. "I-is something wrong with him?"

Hoggle's sigh was deep and weary and filled with a decade of hopeless struggle. "We tried t' get him t' ask you for help a lot earlier. But you'd … moved on by then. Like we wanted. He refused. Too proud fer 'is own good." He snorted in disgust. "Kept sayin' he'd handle it hisself. Flat-out threatened t' dunk us all in the Bog an' then banish us t' the Wastelands fer good measure just fer thinkin' about askin'. We didn't dare disobey."

"Hoggle, what happened?" Her voice was sharp with worry, and she took several deep breaths in a useless attempt to calm down.

He shifted again, placed his wrinkled cap upon his head, and met her gaze. "Started not long after you left here, an' got lots worse the more time passed. Ain't nothin' anyone can do. Not even the Goblin King." He shook his head, hands twisting his shirt in place of his hat. "Jareth—the Labyrinth—Everything's dyin', Sarah. An' we thinks you's th' only one who can fix it."

Chapter Three

#Labyrinth #Sarah&Jareth #au #drama #romance #humor #tagging is fun #just kidding

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liuwdere · 7 years

Text

the gay ass anime masterpost*

*not actually a masterpost, since i give about two and a half fucks about keeping this updated or properly categorized. real loose classifications to follow. shit i haven’t seen in italics; stuff i’d highly recommend in bold. now updated w/ streaming links (some are US-only tho, sorry)

no predatory lesbians or okama joke characters or else we’ll be here all day. k? k.

LGBT-THEMED: anime that directly addresses LGBT identity as one of its primary focuses

Revolutionary Girl Utena

the ez one

Yurikuma Arashi

Class S is bullshit, did u know that. Also, thirsty-ass bear girls and a real angry takedown of the patriarchy

Flip Flappers

I don’t know how you can read this show as anything but lesbian sexual awakening, especially given the Class S Yuri Hell episode

Wandering Son (Hourou Musuko)

pls pay attention to the T friends

Aoi Hana (Sweet Blue Flowers)

Showa Genroku Rakugo Shinju

Kikuhiko is def not cishet and i will fite u if u insist otherwise. Half the show’s choices make no sense without that lens

Yuri!!! on Ice

fite me

LGBT-THEMED; LIMITED REP: anime that addresses gender or sexuality as a secondary focus, though perhaps lacking explicit representation (e.g. LGBT narratives in the secondary cast).

The Woman Called Fujiko Mine (from the director of Yuri!!! on Ice)

One of the supporting characters is a gay man struggling w/ masculinity

Gay schoolgirl episode all about female sexual repression

did i mention the titty is good

Princess Jellyfish

Prominent focus on gender presentation

Kuranosuke can be read as a closeted trans woman

Paradise Kiss

Heroine’s love interest is bisexual

Trans woman in the supporting cast; trans identity plays a major role in her story

Ouran High School Host Club

Discusses gender + gender presentation, though protagonist isn’t explicitly stated to be nonbinary

Protagonist’s parents implied to be genderqueer; father definitely bi

Plenty of gay subtext among the male cast

Scum’s Wish

Strong focus on female sexuality; main character is bisexual

Central cast also includes a lesbian

Simoun

Discusses gender as more of an abstraction? Takes place in a world where everyone is born female to later choose a permanent gender. It does less to directly address gender than you’d expect, though, which is why I’m sticking it here

From the New World (Shin Sekai Yori)

Future dystopia where societal norms practically mandate bisexuality. Honestly, I dunno where to put this; the story’s more concerned with sexuality in general than with LGBT identity

Devilman Crybaby

Classic characters reinterpreted through a queer lens; important theme of coming to terms with one’s own sexuality and identity. Ryo is the definition of disaster gay

LGBT REP: anime w/ positive depictions of LGBT characters, though not necessarily concerned w/ addressing queerness directly.

Samurai Flamenco

Four words: gay naked gunpoint proposal. the show makes about that much sense but it’s a lotta fun

i don’t care what the director said

bisexual girl in a poly relationship

No. 6

boys kissing tho???

Miss Kobayashi’s Dragon Maid

pls ignore the manga and its magic dick nonsense

Haruchika

One of the two leads is a gay boy. He explicitly says so in the first episode. Avoid the live-action movie like the plague.

I should probably list Kase-san and Bloom Into You here

Mikagura School Suite

The heroine is REALLY THIRSTY for all the cute girls

Gankutsuou: The Count of Monte Cristo

Beyond the obvious homoerotic overtones of Albert/the Count, there’s Franz’s gay crush

Sympathetic trans girl character in the secondary cast

Michiko and Hatchin (from the director of Yuri!!! on Ice!!!)

Girls are good ok

Atsuko is gay

Macross Delta

two girls in the supporting cast do a hell of a lotta cuddling on screen

some versions of Sailor Moon

namely the ‘90s anime

Sailor Moon Crystal and the manga do address gender in… questionable ways

Tokyo Godfathers

Trans woman in the main cast

Tiger and Bunny

Reasonably respectful portrayal of a gay man once it gets going

Central relationship between two men could be read as romantic

Genshiken

Whispered Words (Sasameki Koto)

Psycho-Pass

One of the officers is a lesbian. She gets a focus episode

Monogatari series

Really just limited to Kanbaru, but she’s the most accurate depiction of the constantly horny dank meme problematic gay (e.g. me) i’ve ever seen, ironic propositioning of her straight dude friend and all. The rest of the franchise is obnoxious though, so ymmv

Kill la Kill?

i don’t know how else you interpret one girl kissing another on the mouth

Attack on Titan

If you’ve been living under a rock and somehow haven’t heard about it Ymir and Christa are all but explicitly stated to be in love with each other

Kino’s Journey

Kino asks people to use non-gendered pronouns, apparently? I haven’t seen this yet.

Knights of Sidonia

Non-binary character in the main cast

The manga goes some iffy places with their character tho, be warned

Really though, I mostly like this show for the sentient pink penis alien

Gatchaman Crowds

Several gender non-conforming characters

Trans girl in the main cast

Cardcaptor Sakura?

Fuuka

One of the dudes is canonically gay, not that it makes much of an improvement to the show

A Centaur’s Life

there’s a moment where a lesbian objects to her PDA being considered more obscene than the straight equivalent, which is nice but pretty off-the-cuff

Rose of Versailles

Oscar’s debatably genderqueer, though the show goes some real questionable places towards the end

Gay ladies?

Hunter x Hunter

Trans girl in the supporting cast. Her story’s extremely minor in the grand scheme of things but it’s there and it’s good

Love and Lies

potato-kun gets a harem that includes his male best friend

Land of the Lustrous

non-gendered rock people searching for meaning in life

Bodacious Space Pirates

via @madscientist212: “two explicitly lesbian characters who are lovers, and one of the story arcs involves the crew helping one of them avoid being forced into an arranged marriage to a dude by her uncle”

Banana Fish

Extremely dated BL-flavored crime drama; unfortunately falls into the pitfalls of old-ass exploitation films: csa, sexual assault, etc. It’s such a problematic fav tho

Kiss Him, Not Me

Reverse harem includes a lesbian

Double Decker! Doug & Kirill

heavy gay subtext between leads and secondary cast members; well-intentioned trans representation that’s... kinda clumsy, tbh

Zombie Land Saga

one of the zombie girls is a trans girl who dies from the shock of puberty. it’s p incidental to her character but the show’s real cute otherwise so go for it

Anima Yell

apparently one of the girls admits to having a crush on a female teacher. or something. idk this show looks hella boring why bother

THE SUBTEXT IS STRONK: not textually gay (some you could argue could fall under category #2 and vice versa; not the point of this post) but can be read that way, even though these shows aren’t super concerned w/ romance in general

Puella Magi Madoka Magica

Neon Genesis Evangelion?

Depending on the version, Shinji’s sexuality can be read a variety of ways. Manga Shinji is pretty clearly bi; TV anime Shinji you could debate.

Free, I guess

Love Live (Sunshine esp.) if I’m counting Free

Symphogear

Dear Brother (Oniisama e, otherwise known as BE STRONG)

Kids on the Slope (Sakamichi no Apollon)

Nominally they’re straight and pining for the same girl but BOY do Kaoru and Sentarou have a LOT of chemistry with each other, so much that it’s hard to read them otherwise

Marimite (Maria Watches Over Us)

Izetta: The Last Thing I Would Watch Even If I Had a Gun Pointed at My Head

Despite what you may have heard, this show is bad and 100% plays in bait territory. Also, obnoxious gun fetishism and way. too. much. goddamn. phallic imagery.

Tanaka-kun is Always Listless

Umamusume: Pretty Derby

Princess Principal

Spiritpact

I have complicated feelings about this goddamn trash fire of a show, but halfway through the second season it turns into a genuinely compelling gay pseudo-romance (?) about two boys navigating heteronormativity. also i guess the main couple exists, tho they spend a ridiculous amount of effort no-homoing

Amanchu

basically any sports anime ever tbh

Golden Kamuy

MADE FOR THE STRAIGHTS BUT STILL OK: the yuri, BL, etc. that’s clearly targeted at a heterosexual audience but respectful enough to be enjoyable for the people they’re about

Doukyuusei

This Boy Caught a Merman

This Boy is a Professional Wizard

Strawberry Panic

Love Stage??? I have some qualms about putting this here but of the trashy BL anime that exist this is probably the least offensive

Maria-Holic

TEXTUALLY GAY BUT BLUGHHHH: the yuri and BL that just sux

Sakura Trick

Junjou Romantica (how the hell does this thing have three seasons)

Sekaiichi Hatsukoi

Gakuen Heaven

Dramatical Murder (POTATO DOGGO)

Super Lovers UGH

idk Gravitation and all that other crappy BL I don’t have the patience to list

GIMME THE TRASH NOW: problematic as all hell but i sure ain’t complainin b/c i’m gay ass trash

Netsuzou Trap (NTR)

Riddle Story of Devil

Love to Lie Angle

if you ever wanted a generic ass harem comedy except with a potato girl instead of a potato guy, here’s that compressed into 3 minutes

Citrus

Corpse Party wwww

Gakuen Handsome FITE ME

NOT TOUCHING THIS HORNET’S NEST WITH A TEN FOOT POLE: pls,,,, save me from the Disk Horse

Sound! Euphonium

One of these days I might organize this a lil better. Maybe if/when Tumblr figures out how to make editing not a pain in the ass

#gay shit #long post

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not-a-space-alien · 7 years

Text

Aziraphale’s Legion, Part 10: Feast

Art by @petimetrek (link for bigger version cause tumblr compresses it)

Series masterpost

On AO3

Crowley excused himself from the clean-up job halfway through and did not return. Aziraphale thought he had probably found some excuse to get distracted and stay inside the shop, since he had been complaining that Aziraphale wouldn’t let him use miracles to get most of it done.

When the job was finally finished, everyone joined him to go back inside, dirty and sweaty. As soon as he opened the door, a delicious scent wafting through the air hit his nose.

Aziraphale went upstairs and popped his head into the kitchen in the adjacent flat to see Oryss at the hob stirring an enormous pot. Crowley was there too, tossing a salad, as well as an angel who was balancing two trays of dinner rolls on his arms and seemed to be listening to some directions Oryss was giving him.

“What’s this?” said Aziraphale.

“Angel!” said Crowley. “Oryss wanted to cook dinner for everyone tonight. Thought it would be nice to celebrate and all that. Wouldn’t do to leave her in the kitchen all by herself with all these mouths to feed.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale. “That’s wonderful.”

“My lord,” said Oryss shyly, and with her gesture Aziraphale realized he was in the way. He stepped to the side, and Adramelech came into the kitchen past him carrying an enormous bag of potatoes, which he set about washing off.

“Ah, anything I can do to help, then?” he said.

“You could take a bath,” said Crowley, gesturing with the salad fork. “You’re filthier than those potatoes.”

Aziraphale did as he was told, drawing a nice hot bath and finding it so relaxing that he accidentally fell asleep in the tub. He was only woken by Botis’s concerned queries as to his wellbeing.

It was starting to get late by the time he came out, and they were still working in the kitchen. There was only one oven, and he suspected they must be cheating judging by the amount of food coming out.

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do to help?” he asked Crowley, who was rolling croissants on a tray.

“Aziraphale,” he said in a low hiss. “You shouldn’t help cook. You’re the lord; it wouldn’t be proper.”

“Oh,” said a disappointed Aziraphale, who had been picturing a small accident in which Crowley smudged something sweet on his face and Aziraphale was responsible for cleaning it off, perhaps with his tongue.

He shuffled out of the kitchen, not feeling much like a lord of anything. He eventually lost himself in a book in his study, although he found it especially difficult to concentrate when they started dragging furniture around.

When it began to grow dark, Botis appeared in the doorway, still fully dressed in his armor. He saluted. “Lord, I was sent to inform you dinner is ready.”

“Thank you, Botis,” said Aziraphale, sliding his chair back, quite hungry by now.

He followed Botis into the flat next door. The dining room had not been big enough to hold such an enormous banquet table or this many people, he was sure. Angels and demons lined the table and the walls. The demons all cheered when he came in.

“Goodness,” he said to Botis quietly. “What are they cheering me for?”

“Our lord has kept us alive and safely seen us through a battle with an archdemon,” Botis answered him.

“I didn’t really do anything, though.”

“Lord,” said Botis, directly into his ear, pushing him towards the head of the table, “it is a rule of thumb that one never gets anywhere in Heaven, Hell, or Earth without taking credit for things they are not responsible for. Let them celebrate.”

He noticed with astonishment that everyone was here. The entire garrison of angels had gathered alongside his demons, and they were mingling. Rosia and Rava were feeding each other pieces of fruit, and the angel and demon Aziraphale had caught in the closet before were getting just a bit too handsy for public view. Adramelech was trying to explain something about the food to the angel next to him, who listened with the bare minimum of polite interest, more focused on the turkey leg that was just barely out of reach now that someone had moved the tray. Even Victoria, who had been in the habit of staying relatively aloof, was there in the kitchen doorway helping Oryss bring in the remainder of the food. Maltha and Beth were squished together in one chair, their words lost in the general buzz of conversation, but looking very content with each other. Noah was sitting on Adam’s lap, drinking what Aziraphale sincerely hoped was apple juice out of a wine glass. And Michael was in the corner, holding Angelo’s hand, and for once nobody looked nervous around him.

And there was Crowley, his beloved demon, smiling at him with those glittering yellow eyes, in the seat next to the head of the table. He felt his heart swelling.

He took his seat and watched as the last few trays of food came out. The table was, if anything, too small. It reminded Aziraphale of a feast he had been to in ancient Greece. It was the only thing he had been to that rivaled this atmosphere.

A few years ago—even a few weeks ago—he would never have believed this were possible. And here they were.

“That’s everything,” Oryss said, nudging a wine bottle aside to make room for a bowl of rolls.

“Let’s give our compliments to the chef, everyone,” said Aziraphale, and the room erupted in cheers and applause. Oryss gave a slightly embarrassed bow.

As everyone scooched their chairs in and piled food onto their plates or poured drinks, Aziraphale felt like it would be proper for him to say something. He tapped a fork on his wine glass until everyone settled down, looking at him expectantly.

It was only then that he realized he did not know what to say. “Ahm… A toast!”

He lifted his glass, and all the angels and demons followed suit. “A toast to…” he continued. “To, ahm…”

He looked over at Crowley, who had amusement dancing in his yellow eyes. Aziraphale knew then what he wanted to toast.

“To love,” he said.

Everyone murmured low approvals, tapping their glasses against each other, and drinking.

Aziraphale regained his seat, preparing to tuck in.

“Hold on,” said Michael. “Aren’t we going to say grace?”

The room fell coldly silent. Aziraphale had no idea what in Michael’s fever-brained mind would have made him think that was an appropriate suggestion. Even Victoria was cringing, waiting for the reactions of the demons in the room.

“Actually…” said Oryss. “I wouldn’t mind that.”

Murmurs and whispers peppered the room.

“If the angels are used to saying grace before they take their meals,” said Adramelech, “then we can suffer through it for their sake.”

“Really?” said Aziraphale.

“Why not?” said Abraxas. “It’s merely a formality. It’s not like He actually pays attention to it.”

Nobody made any objections.

“All right, then,” said Aziraphale cautiously. “Let’s join hands.”

Hands reached out and found each other, from beside one another, across the table, across the aisle, occult and ethereal beings partaking of a gesture that had probably never occurred before in history. Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand in one and a second angel’s in the other.

Aziraphale bowed his head, and everyone else followed suit.

After a few seconds of silence, Aziraphale lifted his head to look at the room

Everyone had their heads bowed and their eyes closed. Except Maltha. She was holding Beth’s hand, but she had flatly refused to take the hand of the angel next to her, and she was staring straight into Aziraphale challengingly.

Aziraphale gave her a pleading look.

He felt a tentacle in his brain as Maltha inserted her thought directly into his ears without speaking. I’m the only one here who looked God Himself in the eye as I fell, and I will die before I bow to Him even one more time. You’ll be waiting a very long time indeed unless you proceed without me.

Aziraphale looked at the faces of the lesser demons around him, heads bowed in respect for someone who had rejected them, and he could sense that perhaps they had wanted to do this all along, but like Oryss approaching Michael, they had been too scared and needed his help.

But Maltha. She was too proud. That was just who she was.

Aziraphale nodded at her. That’s fair.

He bowed his head once more and began. “Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts…”

The generic grace prayer seemed ill-fitting for this group. But what he really wanted to say, he could never say aloud in this company. So he started a separate prayer in his head, sincerely, that maybe God would listen to.

Lord God, I know I cannot question your ineffable judgement.

“…which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Be present at our table, Lord.”

But I care very much for those around the table with me here now. They are kind and merciful and so good. I do not know why you would cast them out…

“Be here and everywhere adored. These mercies bless and grant that we may feast in fellowship with Thee.”

...But perhaps you could find it somewhere, in your infinite mercy and grace, to forgive them—forgive us all—and to bless this strange gathering.

“For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly thankful. In the name of God, the gracious, the merciful. Amen.”

“Amen,” everyone murmured.

Angels rarely pray directly to God, because they simply get their directions from their supervisors and few of them have anything important enough that they would dare speak to God about. And God does not really speak to one, per se. When He wants to communicate with someone, He puts His words directly into the recipient’s brain, similar to what Maltha had just done, except He does not put words in, because that would not be ineffable enough. When one hears from God, they more are left with a sort of impression that they just suddenly remember hearing Him speak a few seconds ago, and are now left with whatever thoughts and feelings they would spawn from hearing that, since He presses it directly onto their brain in a way that’s hard to describe.

And the feelings Aziraphale had as soon as he finished his Amen were associated with the following message God sent to answer his prayer:

Fuck off, you disgusting little creature.

Aziraphale’s hand clamped on Crowley’s, so hard Crowley flinched. Whatever opportunity there might have been to say something to the group as a whole after the prayer was lost as the meal finally began amid the clinking of silverware and the buzz of conversation.

“Angel, are you all right?” said Crowley.

Aziraphale’s eyes roved the dining hall, then finally came to rest on Crowley, bewildered. Crowley’s serpentine eyes grew serious with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I-I…”

“Did…” Crowley returned his grip just as fiercely. “Did He answer you?”

It was a mistake. Just a mistake. He had gotten a message intended for somebody else. Haha. Of course God wouldn’t have said something like that to Aziraphale. Not to him. He was an angel. That kind of talk was only reserved for demons.

Right?

“Angel? Talk to me.”

Aziraphale’s mouth opened and closed. A demon nearby put down their silverware and looked at him with concern.

“He said something I rather did not expect,” said Aziraphale quietly. “But I would prefer not to share it.”

Crowley squeezed his hand again. “Okay.”

“Now why don’t we enjoy this delicious meal our friends have prepared for us?” said Aziraphale.

“Okay.”

Aziraphale’s phone rang.

Aziraphale’s phone never rang. His number was not really a secret, but there were not many people who wanted to get ahold of him. He had thought all of them were here with him.

He still had on the generic ringtone, and its beeping was barely audible in the loud room, but it was insistent. He felt his stomach sinking deeper with each ring, as though the call would be from God himself.

“Angel, you’re phone’s ringing,” said Crowley.

“I-I’d better take this. Please continue on without me,” said Aziraphale. He stood and wobbled out of the room unsurely, holding the vibrating device in his hand.

Crowley watched him go, concern growing in the pit of his stomach. In his absence, Crowley made do with sucking down the hors-d’oeuvres.

Relax, he told himself. Just relax.

Crowley had no idea what response to his prayer Aziraphale could have gotten to unsettle him, but surely it couldn’t have been that bad, right? Otherwise God would have smitten them all by now. Surely it was just something that startled him. And that phone call could be from anyone. A human customer, even. There was nothing to worry about.

He should just enjoy the meal. Everyone seemed to be having a good time already. He took a breath and steadied his nerves, determined not to be shaken so easily. He reached for the wine, poured himself a glass, and began to drink it, resolved to enjoy the evening if it killed him.

Botis appeared in Aziraphale’s seat.

“Botis,” said Crowley, eyeing him strangely. “You can take your armor off, you know.”

“I’d rather keep it on, sir,” said Botis. “I’m going to keep watch after I’ve eaten.”

“….all right,” said Crowley, thinking it was rather unnecessary, but knowing personal defense of his lord seemed to be Botis’s hobby. And with that phone call, who knows, it might be a good idea…

“Sir,” said Botis, colouring. “I…um, I didn’t recognize you until I saw you in your armor. With your staff.”

“Recognize me?”

“The healer. The only healer besides Maltha who fell.”

Now it was Crowley’s turn to flush red. He had never been treated very well once other demons found out he was a healer. “What’s your point?”

Botis ran his fingers along the hilt of his sword. “I…I was among the group of angels who pressured you to join the rebellion in Heaven.”

A shockwave of recognition flashed through Crowley. Take away the horns…Yes, he had known him as an angel.

“You must hate me,” said Botis. “I’m so, so sorry. If I had known what would happen, I wouldn’t have done it. We were all young and stupid.”

Botis had a look of genuine sorrow and distress on his face. Crowley could tell it had been eating at him.

He put a hand on his shoulder. “Botis, that is quite literally ancient history. I think you’ve redeemed yourself by now. The way you threw yourself in front of me and Aziraphale when you thought we would have to fight Agares is plenty.”

Botis’s face dissolved into relief and happiness, but he suppressed it with a serious expression soon enough. “Thank you, sir. I’m just doing my duty.”

“Of course you are. Now, why don’t you get smashed while you have the opportunity?”

Botis saluted and marched off.

Aziraphale did not come back for a worrying long time. Crowley sipped his wine slowly, tension building in his stomach. Victoria caught his eye, staring at him from down the long table.

Crowley broke eye contact and went back to his wine, but Victoria got up and navigated the crowded space to him anyway.

“Is everything all right, Crowley?” she said, slipping into Aziraphale’s empty seat. “You look nervous.”

“Aziraphale got a phone call,” he said.

“Oh,” said Victoria, “is that all? For a minute I thought you were concerned Michael was going to start a fight.”

Crowley looked over at Michael. He could not help but notice the archangel was not eating anything and was starting to look like he was enjoying the meal progressively less and less. Crowley hadn’t been concerned about that before Victoria mentioned it, but he was now.

“I wanted to reassure you I’m committed to making sure everything stays peaceful,” said Victoria.

Crowley nodded. “Thanks.”

Victoria’s fingers idly reached out for a handful of grapes on the table. “So why is it so concerning that Aziraphale got a phone call? Who’s it from?”

“I don’t know. Not many people have his number. I’ve just got a bad feeling.”

“Intuition?”

He shook his head, then occupied himself with emptying his wine glass to avoid meeting the power’s eye. She had taken another handful of grapes by the time he set it back down. “Hey, Victoria?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t think I ever thanked you.”

“What for?”

“For saving my life when Kabata attacked us. When we showed up in Heaven and you took me back down and got Raphael to treat me.”

“Oh, that? It already feels so long ago.”

“Yeah.”

“I was just doing my duty.”

Crowley peered into his empty wine glass, swirling the remnants on the bottom. “To be honest, Victoria, when I opened the portal to get into Heaven, I didn’t expect anyone to save me. I figured the odds of anyone in Heaven being both willing and able to treat a demon’s injuries and being available right then and there were low enough. And that was assuming the person at the gate cared enough about me to try and keep me alive, if they didn’t actively kill me first. When I saw you come out, I half expected you to take Aziraphale off me and then leave me there to die on Heaven’s doorstep.”

Victoria flushed with embarrassment. “Crowley, you really think I’d do that to you?”

He did not dare look up to see her expression. “It wouldn’t be the first time Heaven’s gates closed on me when I needed help.”

“You thought Heaven would let you die, but you still went there?”

Crowley looked away, pretending like he was trying to find a refill for his wine glass. “I knew you’d save Aziraphale. He may not be very popular, but he’s still an angel. I figured at least one of us could survive the attack.”

Crowley took the ensuing silence as a cue that he should finally look up at her. He was shocked to find that her eyes were watering.

“Crowley, I had no idea demons were capable of such selflessness.”

He could have been insulted by it, but he knew she had meant it as a great compliment. He did not know how to respond. So he lifted his wine glass and tipped it to get at the leftovers on the bottom.

“Crowley, you are a creature of great honour and nobleness,” said Victoria, holding out her hand. “I’m so glad that I could get to know you. I’d save your life again in a heartbeat.”

Crowley looked down at her hand; it took a moment to realize she wanted him to shake it. He took it, slightly embarrassed, not feeling very noble at all. “Erm, thanks.”

After the handshake was over, they both just sat there, slightly awkward. Victoria sniffled and pushed her chair back. “Well, I’d better—I’d—Look, your friend wants to talk to you.”

He saw that Maltha was motioning to him to come over.

“I’d better go see what she wants. Thanks, Victoria.”

“Hey, um, Crowley?”

He turned back towards the angel.

Victoria refused to meet his eyes. “Your friend. Beth.”

“Yes?”

“Will you tell her it’s orange?”

“What is?”

“My favourite colour.”

He smiled. “All right, Victoria.”

Crowley navigated his way through the packed room until he could wheedle his way into the space in front of the archdemon. “What is it?”

“I was just talking to Beth,” said Maltha.

“Maltha told me that all demons have an animal form,” said Beth.

“Er, yeah,” said Crowley. “Nobody’s really sure why, it just kind of works out that way.”

Maltha downed an entire glass of wine in one go and then continued, “Yes, and I told her—”

“I asked her what your form was—” Beth slurred.

“But I didn’t tell her—”

“She made me guess—”

“She thought—”

“Shh, babe, I want to tell him!” said Beth, slapping Maltha’s arm.

It was at this point that Crowley noticed the gaggle of empty wine glasses surrounding the pair and their flushed faces. “Are you two drunk already?”

“Yes,” said Maltha, while Beth simultaneously answered, “No.”

“How are you finding the wine?”

“I’m going to be honest with you Crowley,” said Maltha as more wine appeared in her glass. “Of all the things I put effort into learning about in my time on this plant. Planet. Alcohol was not one of them despite my fondness for it. Once I tried to get drunk off of sparkling grape juice. Beth had to explain to me why it wouldn’t work. That’s why I keep her around.”

“Awww, babe,” said Beth as Maltha shook her with drunken revelry.

“My point is I don’t know good wine from grape juice,” said Maltha. “Anyway, that’s not important. I made her guess what your animal was—”

“I thought you were a cat,” said Beth between bouts of laughter.

“A cat?” Crowley exclaimed. “No, no, no. If anyone were a cat, it would have to be Abraxas, wouldn’t it?”

Maltha sloshed wine out of the glass in her hand as she leaned in closer to Crowley. “Abraxas thinks I don’t know what her animal form is, but I do.”

“Erm…” said Crowley. The two of them apparently found it totally hysterical, because they were having trouble breathing between fits of giggling. Abraxas was across the room letting Mittens eat turkey off her plate, too far away to hear them.

“Tell him,” said Beth.

“A mouse,” said Maltha in a strangulated voice. “She’s a mouse.”

“What? No!” said Crowley.

Maltha nodded and waved her wine glass. Beth had been trying to give her a refill and missed.

“No wonder her cats like her so much,” wheezed Maltha. “They’re probably waiting for her to turn her back so they can eat her.”

“And I wanted to ask you,” said Beth. “Crowley, since you’re a snake—”

“Whatever it is you’re about to say, don’t say it.”

“Have you ever eaten a mouse?”

“Well of course!” said Crowley, a tad irritated. “I had to eat while I was in a snake’s body, didn’t I? Couldn’t exactly prepare a sandwich with no hands, could I?”

“No, no, I meant while you were in a human body. You suppress those reptilian instincts all the way?”

Crowley grabbed the wine bottle out of Beth’s hand as she spoke and took a swig from it. “I’m not answering that.”

“You did, didn’t you!” said Beth, unimaginably delighted.

“I’m not answering that.”

“Hey, Crowley, are you all right?” said Maltha.

“Your girlfriend is harassing me.”

“No, seriously, though. You look a little…” One of Maltha’s red pupils drifted off to the side drunkenly while the other remained fixed on Crowley. “On edge?”

Crowley set the wine bottle down. “Maltha, you’re the only one in this room who can protect us, but you’ve gotten too drunk to walk straight. I’m sorry, I’m just a little nervous.”

Maltha put a hand on his arm. “Crowley, I can sober up at the drop of a hat.”

Crowley flushed with embarrassment; he had nearly forgotten about that.

“Nobody can get in at us. And I’m sure by now word of Agares’s death will have spread, and that will make everyone think twice about coming after us. I wouldn’t be surprised if even more came over to our side because of it. Nobody is going to attack us so quickly after that. We’re as safe as we can be right now. Relax. Enjoy yourself. You’re always so tense.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just that Aziraphale got a phone call.”

“Why is that a problem? Expecting trouble?”

“Only because it always seems to chase me.”

Maltha agreed that was fair enough and left him in his tension. Beth also remarked about Michael’s apparent decline with concern, which did not help his nerves at all.

As time passed and the food disappeared, the wine bottles emptied and refilled multiple times, and the drunken merriment climbed higher and higher. At one point, when there was enough space on the table, some board games came out of the closet and appeared amidst the food, and those nearest entered an intense competition. Maltha and Beth decided to play as a team, but they wanted to use the dog token, which one of Michael’s angels had. The angel said he would only give up the dog in exchange for the hat token, but Adramelech had the hat piece and wasn’t willing to part with it no matter what. Maltha ordered him to give it to her on her authority as an archdemon, but Adramelech said the sacred ritual of dibs was of utmost important on Earth and superseded even Hell’s authority. Maltha looked taken aback and believed him, and Beth couldn’t explain anything to her because she was laughing too hard. The Monopoly game started considerably later than the game of Sorry! across the table, which was already in full swing with several murderous eliminations in the bag by the time someone had purchased their first property.

Crowley found himself unable to take Maltha’s advice and let himself relax. Michael got up halfway through the festivities and exited briskly, Angelo chasing after him a minute later. And Crowley kept his eye on the door, hoping Aziraphale would come back soon and tell him the call had just been a wrong number or something.

Aziraphale moved to the bedroom to answer the call, but it was too late and it went to voicemail. The caller did not leave a message, but his phone vibrated in his hand with a call from the same number a few seconds later. He had to steady himself for a few deep breaths before flipping it open.

“Hello?”

“Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale’s blood turned to ice. He knew that voice. He had taken orders from it.

“Camael.”

There was an animalistic hissing on the other end of the line. “Do not call me that.”

“Kabata, then.”

There was silence, as though he hadn’t expected getting Aziraphale to use his preferred name would be so easy. Aziraphale felt like he wanted to catch up. Haven’t spoken in a while. How’s it been? How’s life as a demon? But he thought that it would be inappropriate.

“I know you have the antichrist,” said Kabata.

“I’m not denying that I do.”

Another pause. Perhaps Kabata was struggling because he was still new at being evil.

“Give him to me.”

Aziraphale actually had to stifle a laugh. “No, I’m afraid you won’t get him that easily.”

“What happened the last time we met wasn’t personal, Aziraphale.”

“‘What happened’? You mean when you tried to murder me and Crowley?”

Another hesitation. “Yes. But I don’t have any interest in getting revenge on you, Aziraphale. I want the throne. Now that Agares and her crew aren’t lurking about, you and I can talk about it.”

Aziraphale choked back laughter again. “Kabata, you just fell. Doesn’t that seem a bit…ambitious? You’re competing with archdemons who have served under Satan for millennia.”

“I’m aware,” snarled Kabata. “Which is why I need the antichrist. If I can ignite the apocalypse with his son, Satan’s forces will have no choice but to recognize me.”

“You’re seriously trying to convince me to just give him to you? Surely you must know that won’t work.”

“Well, I’m not just asking for him,” said Kabata. “I’m offering you a deal.”

“…a deal?”

“You can be my second in command in Hell.”

“Not a chance.”

“I’ll let you keep all your demons. Unharmed. Just as they are now. I’ll personally guarantee Crowley’s safety against any of those still thirsty for his blood after what he did. I’ll even let you keep any of those angels who strike your fancy.”

Aziraphale considered it. Just for a moment. He wasn’t proud of that.

“Ahh…” said Kabata. “I see I’ve struck a chord. I know what it is you want.”

“No, Kabata,” he said.

“I’m not going to hurt Noah. I’m going to give him power. Aziraphale, there’s so much we could gain from this.”

“I will not ever participate in any plan that involves the destruction of Creation, do you understand?” Aziraphale shouted. “That’s always been the point.”

“Please reconsider.”

“Kabata,” he said through gritted teeth, “I am currently sitting in a building laced with occult sigils that bar your entry, surrounded by a legion of Heaven’s finest warriors, including the archangel Michael—who I might add has been raring to kill an archdemon for weeks now—as well as a horde of demons that would die fulfilling my commands if I needed them to, and the archdemon who almost bested Satan for his throne while he was still alive. And you are alone, newly fallen, and have made enemies of everyone powerful in Hell already since you’re competing for the throne. I very much doubt you have any ace up your sleeve. If you want the new antichrist so badly, you are free to come and try to take him.”

Aziraphale sucked in a deep breath after this outburst. Kabata was silent.

“Even when I had authority over you, you never did as you were told, Aziraphale,” said Kabata’s voice, which seemed to ooze out of the telephone and prick his neck with a slimy tendril. “And when you’re at your lowest moment, when you’re asking yourself why things turned out this way for you, I want you to remember it’s because you do not do as you are told.”

The line went dead. Aziraphale kept the phone at his ear for a few extra moments, his mind racing.

He snapped it shut, wishing he had not gotten quite so mouthy. Kabata had deserved it, but still. He lay back on the bed and sat there for a while, his head in his hands, feeling positively overwhelmed, not sure what to do.

He lost track of time as he lay there. He heard heavy footsteps thump in the hallway, and he levered himself upright just in time to see Angelo scurrying past the room looking concerned.

“Is everything all right?” Aziraphale called.

Angelo stopped. “Oh. Um. Yeah, everything’s fine. Michael’s just not feeling so well. All the noise was getting to him. We’re going to keep watch on the roof.”

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, thinking that might be a good idea. “All right. Thank you. Let me know if you see anything.”

Angelo disappeared. Aziraphale flopped back onto the bed, then suddenly realized the time. He’d better go tell everyone about the call so that they could be on alert.

When he walked back into the dining room, he saw that the food was mostly gone, and that several board games had appeared. The group closest to him was boisterously fighting over candy-coloured money and small plastic houses and metal tokens in the shape of shoes and cars.

They were all drunk and happy. He could not bring himself to interrupt them. He turned back around, going down the stairs quietly, the loud noises and warm smells fading with the distance.

He found Botis in the main shop standing facing the door, silhouetted against the night through the glass shopfront, weakly illuminated by moonlight.

“Evening, lord,” he said. His cheeks were slightly flushed, obviously also a bit drunk.

“What are you doing down here?”

“He’s keeping watch,” said Crowley’s voice behind him, appearing on the staircase. He padded down the stairs and across the shop, coming up beside them. “I told him to relax for once, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“I just want to be sure my lord is safe,” said Botis.

Aziraphale grabbed his shoulder and squeezed. “Thank you. Botis, Crowley. Will you help me strengthen the anti-demon sigils on the shop?”

“Of course,” said Crowley. “Is something wrong?”

“I’ve gotten a call from an old friend. Nothing to be alarmed about. But I’d rather make sure he can’t get in.”

Crowley seemed to immediately understand who he meant and did not ask questions. Botis did not see any point in asking too many questions of his lord, so he also did not ask questions.

They tightened the glyphs so that no demon was able to enter, full stop. He was sure that Kabata wouldn’t have somehow grown to love the Earth so quickly, not someone like him, but he wanted to take no chances that he would be able to exploit any loopholes the exception might allow. Aziraphale was sure that everyone was already inside the perimeter, and Botis assured him he would make certain nobody left that evening.

He could have a talk with everyone tomorrow about the change. There was no way Kabata would be able to get in, no way he could make good on his threats. And they could pass the night in safety, laughing and drinking, and deal with him tomorrow, whatever pathetic move he decided to try and make.

The universe would have to pull out a lot more than this to scare Aziraphale.

“Michael. Michael, look at me. Look at me.”

Michael was panting, his wings drawn out, his eyes half lidded, covered in sweat.

“It’s okay,” said Angelo. “You’re okay.”

“I wanted to kill her,” said Michael. “Me, I should have killed Agares. I’m the bearer of divine wrath.”

Michael seemed to have a bit too much wrath built up inside him. Angelo took Michael’s head in his hands. “It’s okay.”

“Metatron said this was going to happen,” said Michael, wiping an eye with his palm. “That my bloodlust was going to get worse the longer the war was put off. That I would start to deteriorate. Because I’m…I’m…”

“How can I help you, Michael? What do you need?”

“I need to kill something.”

Angelo could only say “It’s okay” so many times when it obviously wasn’t true. He moved a strand of hair out of Michael’s face. “I’m here.”

They both caught a spark of light and a fizzle out of the corner of their eyes. A piece of parchment fluttered down, landing seal-upright. It was from Gabriel.

Angelo picked it up. It was addressed to Michael, but he opened it anyway. And then he tried to hide it from Michael, but it was too late, because the archangel had been reading it over his shoulder.

“Michael, don’t.”

Michael pushed him off and drew his sword. “Get out of the way, Angelo.”

#good omens #my writing #my good omens fanfic #fanfic #petimetrek

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