#nemself

[williamnessuno]

In my youth’s living room #hipstamatic #tintype #selfportrait #williamnessunoiphoto #livingroom #glasses #nemself #williamnessuno #relaxedgaxe #hometown #alessandria #myparentshome (presso Alessandria, Italy) https://www.instagram.com/p/CnHhV-gKPIz/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[pronoun-checks]

ahh hello ^_^ ive been going by maizie and they/them pronouns for a long time, but sometime months ago i wanted to start using mission and andes as names as well as it/its pronouns. people dont really use those though, so i suppose id like to see what a message might look like using them.

along with mission and andes and it/its being used, id also like to try different gender neutral pronouns? not necessarily noun-pronouns, but like xem/eir.. not just those, but its the only thing i can think of as an example atm ^^" but. to be consise, can i get a message using the names mission and andes interchangeably, as well as it/its and other gender neutral pronouns. lately i have been interested in vocaloid as well as pokemon, if that helps.. thank you so much in advance!!

No problem!

Wait a second, is that Mission? I think I see Mission over there! Do you see it? It’s the one sitting by itself with its headphones on. I wonder what it’s listening to? I know fae said fae likes Vocaloid, so maybe fae’s listening to one of those songs? Anyway, you’ve met Mission before, right? No? Xe also goes by Andes, so maybe you know xem by xyr other name? Really? Well, you’ll have to meet xem sometime; I think you’d get along nicely with em. I’ve only spoken with em once or twice, but ey seem pretty neat. Ae didn’t say much about aerself, though. Ae did say that ae have been interested in Pokémon, though. I forgot to ask aer if e has a favourite pokemon or a favourite game e likes to play. I’ll have to ask tem the next time I talk with tem. Maybe tey prefer watching the show, and tey don’t play the games. Oh, you don’t see zir? Mission’s the one sitting in the red chair by zirself. Do you see zir now? Yup, that’s Mission! Oh, hey! I think ve’s looking this way now! Ve’s definitely waving, but I’m not sure if ve’s waving at us or not. Ve could be waving at someone by us. I think ne’s waving at us? Yeah, ne’s definitely waving at us. Do you want to go meet Andes? Sure, let’s go say hi to nem! Hey, Andes!

[gendercensus]

GOOD NEWS EVERYONE

I felt like doing some important research between annual surveys, and an offhand comment from @averixus prompted a Tournament. This will be the masterpost.

Me and @averixus chose the pairs in the first round using a random number generator on the top 32 pronoun sets from the Gender Census 2023 results.

Round 1

Poll 1: one/one/oneself vs. void/void/voidself

Poll 2: avoid pronouns vs. ze/zir/zirself

Poll 3: pup/pup/pupself vs. vamp/vamp/vampself

Poll 4: star/star/starself vs. thon/thon/thonself

Poll 5: bun/bun/bunself vs. xe/xem/xemself

Poll 6: mew/mew/mewself vs. ae/aer/aerself

Poll 7: xey/xem/xemself vs. they/them/themself

Poll 8: ve/ver/verself vs. ze/zem/zemself

Poll 9: e/em/emself vs. they/them/themselves

Poll 10: ne/nem/nemself vs. he/him/himself

Poll 11: kit/kit/kitself vs. rot/rot/rotself

Poll 12: fae/faer/faeself vs. ey/em/emself

Poll 13: hy/hym/hymself vs. hy/hymn/hymnself

Poll 14: she/her/herself vs. use name as pronoun

Poll 15: voi/void/voidself vs. bug/bug/bugself

Poll 16: it/it/itself vs. ze/hir/hirself

Round 2

Poll 1: one/one/oneself vs. avoid pronouns

Poll 2: vamp/vamp/vampself vs. star/star/starself

Poll 3: xe/xem/xemself vs. ae/aer/aerself

Poll 4: they/them/themself vs. ze/zem/zemself

Poll 5: they/them/themselves vs. he/him/himself

Poll 6: kit/kit/kitself vs. fae/faer/faeself

Poll 7: hy/hymn/hymnself vs. use name as pronoun

Poll 8: voi/void/voidself vs. it/it/itself

Round 3

Poll 1: avoid pronouns vs. star/star/starself

Poll 2: xe/xem/xemself vs. they/them/themself

Poll 3: they/them/themselves vs. fae/faer/faeself

Poll 4: use name as pronoun vs. it/it/itself

Semi-final

Poll 1: avoid pronouns vs. they/them/themself

Poll 2: they/them/themselves vs. it/it/itself

Final

they/them/themself vs. it/it/itself

WINNER: they/them/themself

[artemistorm]

Curious to try on any of these pronoun sets or a new name? Check out the Pronoun Dressing Room!

[disabledavocado]

call sho or avocado. pronouns ne/nem/nir/nirs/nemself. adult.

am autistic level 2, semiverbal, part time aac user. have bunch of other mental disabilities. bad at communication. very anxious n not always know how to communicate n not understand a lot of stuff. physically disabled. always use mobility aids but different (cane, forearm crutches, wheelchair). medium support needs. nir partner is caretaker.

write about autism, sometimes other disabilities. msn experience. having caretaker experience. semiverbal experience. etc. try uplift mid n high support needs voices in disabled community.

am queer (nonbinary intersex loveless aroace enbian polyamorous). not gonna talk about it a lot here but may.

probably will be edited later because suck in intros.

[virtualcarrot]

[KKIR] Pen on paper - Part 2

[Ao3] [Part 1 on tumblr]

-

The hostel is bland and nondescript and Iruka’s teacher is a dickbag.

“Umino, hm?” Masato says during the round of introductions on their first day. All of the students are gathered in one place and the hostel’s lobby is cramped from it. “Kiri used to have such a clan. I suppose you’re one of them.”

Iruka’s parents died without leaving a detailed ancestry, but he has vague recollections of the foundational myth of a mercenary grandfather from Kirigakure. The man’s said to have settled in Konoha somewhere under the Nidaime Hokage. Not that Iruka has any proof.

“I’d be honored,” he says for lack of a better reply.

Masato gives a snort at the sentiment. “Not really. Very fickle people, those. One might even call them traitors.”

Iruka grits his teeth through a polite smile. To his left, Nobuko, who showed up on the evening of Iruka’s arrival, sticks an unlit cigarette between her teeth like a dog gnawing on a bone.

Masato barely gives her a dismissive blink before turning his scorn on a new target. Only the well-established scholars of the group are spared, with whom he instead displays a great deal of talent in the art of obsequiousness.

He's everything Iruka strives to discourage in his own teachers at Konoha Academy. Teaching should never be about prestige. It’s about growth. 

By the time they leave the hostel and follow Masato past the streets and many hills of Kirigakure, a clear hierarchy has been instated within the group.

Iruka’s glad he keeps fairly in shape, because the ups and downs of Kiri’s hillside streets would otherwise prove as challenging to him as to some of the other students. It doesn’t help that the moisture in the air sticks to their skin and clothes like an added layer weighing them down. The mist is unrelenting in the morning, here.

Luckily, after only a few more blocks, they take a fork in the road to a nondescript door set at the foot of a small-sized tower karst. Like pretty much every other building in Kiri, it’s covered in moss. The back of Iruka’s head tingles with residual chakra as they approach.

They surface in the dimly lit ground level of a rotunda carved straight into the hollowed rock, six visible floors of hallways and study rooms rising up around a central tower. Far above, the pinprick eye of a metal-framed oculus delivers sunlight in a smooth, unthreatening gradient. Even inside the hill, a thin layer of mist still covers their steps, although unlike the streets, here it rises no higher than their ankles. The protective jutsu that keep the upper layers of the air dry hum a steady song of chakra that resonates along Iruka’s pathways.

“This place is amazing,” he blurts out in a barely hushed whisper.

So engrossed with the vaulted ceiling of limestone, he nearly bumps into Ryo and makes a quick apology. Ne doesn’t pay it any mind. If anything, ne seems as awe-struck nemself as Iruka, if not more.

Toru takes notice of their excitement.

“Ah, to be young again,” he says brightly, before hastily pinching his lips at the scathing look Masato sends them all the way from his leading position at the front of the line.

Nobuko mutters profanities deep, deep under her breath that nearly sends them into peels of nervous laughter. Commiserating over Masato is proving to be an excellent ice breaker within the student ranks.

It’s a nice little group, this one they’ve formed. Terribly mismatched in as much age as careers as homeland, but well-met. Other than Toru, who wrote a book about twenty years ago before sinking into academic oblivion, they’re in their own little corner of obscurity and all the better for it at the back of the line.

Iruka wonders if Kakashi would be leading the march, had he been a participant, walking without concern among the illustrious. Would the long shadow he cast even reach Iruka, far behind?

He shakes his head to dispel the thought and winces at the sting brought by the motion. A mild headache is already tightening his temples. He’s not strong enough of a sensor to make it into a specialty but he's still too sensitive to the active pulse of constant chakra.

He knows from experience that he’ll need a few days to acclimate to the Archives.

The lecture room they’re shown to is as artificially cool tempered as the rest of the facility. Iruka and his group claim a side of the row of desks for themselves and settle in for the wait while everybody finds a seat.

Masato takes to the dais. Unpacks his bag. Pours himself a glass of water from the small sink in a corner of the room. Walks back. Clears his throat. And, finally, begins the lecture.

It quickly becomes clear that there’s more than just hot air filling the swell of his ego.

A shared sentiment ripples across the room.

Relief.

*

When Toru arrived,  a day after Iruka and dusty from the long trip from Kumo to Kirigakure, a package had already been waiting for him. Iruka watched him open it with a shameful pull of envy, even more so when Toru tilted it to show the contents to the curious onlookers. Half of his wife’s cookies had been pulverized by the journey but Toru was very good-humored about the result. This is how they met.

On the second morning of the course, the hostel receptionist says, “You’ve got mail,” pushes something in Iruka's hands on his way to breakfast and leaves him staring dumbfounded at a wide envelope.

He didn't think he'd be getting any correspondence.

“Need help opening that?” Nobuko asks, sprinkling crumbs of the wrecked cookies Toru's wife sent on her fruit salad.

The hostel’s breakfast buffet is nothing short of underwhelming. Everything tastes slightly stale, even the fresh produce. The cookie crumbles aren't miraculous but they’ll take any help.

With a roll of his eyes, Iruka picks a clean knife and opens the envelope. Naruto’s chicken scratch greets him, along with what appears to be a drawing. He briefly pushes the letter aside to look at what he assumes to be a toddler’s work, before getting back to it.

“Dear Iruka-sensei,” the letter reads, “Boruto drew the Rasengan, can you believe it?! He’s sooo smart. Like his father. I know you’ll be back soon but I wanted you to have this, so you don’t miss us too much. Also so your heart doesn’t give out in shock when you come back and see how talented Boruto is turning out to be! You’re old, you gotta take care of yourself. Hinata agrees! See you soon! Your best and favorite student, Naruto.”

Slightly further, in a much neater handwriting: “I only said that I wish you well, Iruka-sensei. We miss you very much. Best regards, Hinata.”

Iruka puts it down with a shaky breath. His gaze lands on the drawing. Swirls of multicolored crayon lines run over it, clearly put to paper by a pudgy fist, the colors layered so tight and densely that all traces of creamy paper disappear at the center. It’s a common and banal shape for a toddler, especially one as young as Boruto. Only a father’s pride would see a rare jutsu in the result.

Iruka’s so happy to have it.

His eyes burn. Ryo gingerly pats his shoulder in a clumsy display of sympathy.

Nobuko casts a look at the letter and smirks. “The disrespect. You’re not that old. You’re what, forty?”

Iruka sniffs haughtily, glad for the excuse. “I’m thirty one.”

He carefully tucks both letter and drawing back into the envelope before they become a casualty to the many jelly packets opened over the table. Ryo has a sweet tooth.

“Your hairline could’ve fooled me,” Nobuko says drolly before turning towards Ryo. “He’s still much too old for you.”

Flushing bright, Ryo pulls nir hand away from Iruka like ne was burnt.

Toru shakes his head good-naturedly over his tea. It's Iruka's understanding that he and Nobuko have known each other for years, probably from being veterans of the relatively small community of scrolls enthusiasts.

“Don’t let her bully you,” Toru advises. “She likes to test boundaries.”

Ryo furrows nir brows, clearly at a loss.

“Well, fuck you, then,” ne tentatively tells Nobuko, who lets out a smoker-gravel bark of laughter at the audacity. Ne watches with an expression of pure bemusement before throwing nir head back with a more heartfelt whine. “Do we really have to do this? Cuz’ Masato-sensei’s mean enough already.”

They all groan at the reminder and get ready for the day's lesson.

*

By the third day, Iruka still hasn’t gotten used to the chakra feedback from the Archives’ protective seals. He spends his days feeling the skin of his forehead drawing tighter and tighter with every hour, and counts himself grateful that it manifests as more pressure than actual pain.

Which is a shame, really, because that means he doesn't have an excuse to give even himself when Masato peers over his shoulder and clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“I’d have expected better from an Umino. The result of betraying one’s roots, I suppose.” He picks one of Iruka's spare brushes and draws a thumb over the uneven bristles. “Amateur material probably doesn't help either.”

Iruka bites his anger into compliance. He’s a foreigner to this place, in fact pretty much a representative of Konoha. He’s here to learn and nothing more.

“I apologize for my poor performance. Please instruct me, Masato-sensei,” he says, surrendering his inked up brush and a clean sheet of chakra paper.

Masato proceeds to lay precise, succinct strokes, holding his right sleeve with the opposite hand to keep it out of the way. On the paper, the character of Tora emerges, brimming with chakra. The result is of a deceptive symmetry: upon closer look, a slant to the strokes can be seen, channeling the flow of energy. Never before has Iruka seen such a simple seal hold so much charge.

It’s simply masterful.

Masato lays down the brush with a surprising lack of smugness. “Most other villages settle for uninspired seals. We at Kiri’s Archives nurture the Art. Konohagakure is known for its lengthy formulations. It’s all you have left of Uzushiogakure, but you do it sloppily. Layers and layers of convolutions to trick the chakra to do your bidding. A true master knows what's essential and trims off the fat.”

He picks the seal, holds it up and triggers it. The flame goes all the way up to the ceiling before the Archives’ protective spells catch and muffle it into nothingness. Hushed gasps of admiration come up across the room. Iruka winces at the spike in ambient chakra.

He picks another blank sheet from the desk. “Masato-sensei, could you provide me with another sample?”

Masato looks down dismissively. “What for? I expect you know how to write. It's not like you could mimic my work, you must channel the chakra on your own. If you were expecting it to be easy, you shouldn't be here.”

It’s a terrible feeling, disliking someone you admire.

“Of course, Masato-sensei,” Iruka says simply, bowing his head until Masato leaves.

Once their teacher’s busy at another table, Ryo leans over.

“I don’t like him,” ne says.

Ne can talk. Even across the desk, Iruka can hear the discreet, gentle pulse of nir own Tora. He suspects nir seal might, in fact, light into an actual flame if triggered.

*

In the late afternoon, when they leave the Archives, Iruka excuses himself. He’s not in the mood to keep up a brave face and he doesn’t want to inflict his casual misery on his new acquaintances.

Kakashi, he knows, would have down-to-earth advice for him. He’s given it in the past, once, and then never really stopped providing it. Even now, he keeps offering Iruka a calm place of support to air his grievances and self-doubts.

In truth, it’s unfair to him. Iruka’s grown to rely on it too much and really needs to learn to go without.

He feels very alone.

There’s an apothecary two streets over from the Archives. He enters to the timeless sound of a chime, goes through the motions of a greeting and asks for some painkiller for his headaches.

“What kind of pain?” asks the curt old man behind the counter.

“Just a common tension headache.”

“But what from?” the shopkeeper insists, all impatience.

It’s not like he has anyone else to look after. The shop is otherwise empty.

“Chakra resonance, I think?” Iruka replies hesitantly, entirely taken aback.

The many lines on the shopkeeper’s face condense into a frown.

“You’re not from here,” he says, which makes Iruka steel himself for a bigoted follow up. “You one of those fancy people they brought to the Archives?”

Iruka’s never been called fancy in his life.

“I--Yeah? I suppose.”

“You suppose.”

“Yes, I’m one of the researchers.”

The shopkeeper’s wrinkles ease somewhat. “Sensor type, uh? Understandable. Place is a bloody mess, you’re not the first one, we keep saying--”

The end of his sentence is muffled by his departure to the backroom. Iruka gets the feeling he wasn’t particularly expected to keep up anyway.

“Here. Balm of Sea Foam,” the shopkeeper announces when he emerges, sliding a small tin box over the counter.

It’s decorated with an upturned wave and a clear blue sky framed by corals. A couple of v-shaped birds fly in the horizon. Iruka picks it up to look for instructions. There are none.

“How do I…?”

“Rub some on your temples,” the shopkeeper says, miming the motion. He looks terribly aggrieved for someone being helpful. “Push some chakra in it. It’ll create a regulating barrier. Use sensibly.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

The shopkeeper snorts and punches a squeak out of his old till. “Don’t thank me, you’re paying.”

But he looks mollified. He even helps Iruka count the foreign coins.

Iruka starts class the day after by applying it at his desk, and feels no noticeable difference. He worries that the shopkeeper might have sold him snake oil, albeit a surprisingly reasonably priced kind, and leaves it at that.

Only by lunchtime does he take note of the effect. It's hard to observe an absence, after all. Yet, sure enough, he feels lighter. The worst of the pressure’s gone.

He's not quite sealed off. He can still feel the thrumming of the Archives’ protections, hear the gentle distant echoes of their orbits around the halls. It's not unlike a veil curtain letting in sunlight from a window. If he focuses, he can see outside; he can even push it aside to get more of the heat.

Meanwhile, inside, his own energy gets to flow unencumbered, pressing back against the edges of himself in counter pressure, recalibrating. Without the interference of foreign chakra, his own system is forced to regulate. It’s a relief to his sinuses.

On the chakra paper, his seal doesn't spark any more than on the previous session, but the relief that the balm works is enough to lessen the sting of his renewed failure. For now.

*

At the end of their first week, Nobuko drags the three of them to an obscure hole-in-the-wall. The food, she assures, will be greasy and cheap and most of all miles ahead from the hostel’s usual fare.

Iruka blinks at the dim surroundings, taking in the rough wood paneling and the grimy countertop of their table. He reminds himself his cheap teenage self used to eat at much worse places and survived. “I’ll take your word for it.”

There's one laminated menu per table, that they pass around. It's sticky to the touch.

Later, it’s with outbursts of joy that they greet their dishes. The bored waiter barely acknowledges any of it, distributing it all seemingly on autopilot.

Once he's gone, they pass the plates around until they're each in possession of their original order.

“Okay, I'll admit, this is a good fry,” Iruka says, popping up a whole crispy shishamo, head and all. He offers his plate to Ryo, who takes one to nibble tentatively on. “How did you even know of this place?”

“I used to come here a lifetime ago,” Nobuko replies, “back when Masato was younger and better looking.”

“He’s alright,” Ryo says, wiping nir hands on nir trousers with an absent-minded grimace. “Doesn't make up for everything else but at least he's not bad to look at.” Ne looks up with wide eyes at the pointed silence that greets nir words. “I'm being factual, I'm not attracted!”

“There’s a thin line between love and hate,” Toru says sagely.

Nobuko retorts with a long-suffering groan. “What a load of nonsense, no, there isn't! And what are you even talking about, what do you know of hate, you and Numa are sickening together.”

“Thank you. But my life isn't a gauge of absolute truth.”

“Then don't make absolute declarations.”

“Just sharing the experience of my age,” Toru says beatifically, which does not fail to incense Nobuko.

“You can't just lord that--”

Iruka considers his glass while they bicker. It's smudged and slightly foggy. He’s taken worse risks before. Inside the tin pitcher, the water looks clear and refreshing. It tastes slightly metallic after pouring but is otherwise fine.

This place truly is a lesson in judging appearances.

Nobuko and Toru are still arguing when he's done topping up all of their glasses. They've moved onto Toru’s research, to the mounting heat of academic discourse. Iruka would usually consider it high entertainment but there’s a time and place for arguing, preferably not after a full day of Masato’s snide little comments.

Ryo seems to agree, because ne starts fidgeting.

“What about you, Iruka-sensei, do you have someone? Back in Konoha?” ne asks hurriedly, trying to change the topic.

Iruka wishes ne had picked anything but that one.

He rubs the back of his neck. “Ah, I'm afraid not.”

He must not be casual enough about it because, the blood-scenting hound, Toru narrows in on him with the unpleasant accuracy of knowingness. “Oh, is this yearning I hear?”

Iruka amends his thoughts. Toru’s not a hound but a shark.

“Ah…” Iruka sounds out slowly. “Well, I do feel a bit homesick, yeah.”

Nobuko snorts but doesn't segue.

Toru does.

“It’s always lovely when home is a person,” he says mercilessly.

“It’s really not like that,” Iruka says. His cheeks are tingling with the telltale heat of a blush, which only makes him flush even more when he realizes. It’s a self-fulfilling circle of embarrassment. “I’m really not used to being away. With my job, I’m pretty village-bound. I’ve barely left the Land of Fire in years! And one of my former students, his wife’s pregnant again. I know I'm only away for three more months but it feels strange that I’m not there for them.”

“A student? Oh, is it the one who sent that drawing?” Ryo asks. “That’s kind of cute.”

Toru’s eyes don’t waver. “But you did think of someone when I asked, didn’t you?”

To Iruka’s relief, Nobuko doesn’t let him press further. She licks her fingers clean and reaches for her glass of ale with a roll of her eyes.

“Oh, will you drop it?! It won’t kill you to not know.”

“True. Please forgive this old man for his curiosity,” Toru says. He lowers his eyes in misleading meekness. “I’m sure whomever it is isn’t worth mentioning. Some people don’t deserve our interest.”

“That’s bait. He’s baiting you,” Ryo warns Iruka, who breaks into a smile and picks a fat shrimp to peel.

“I have your manual at home,” he tells Toru, hands are slippery from the cooking oil and marinade. “It was my first book on seals as a teen. I’ve cracked the spine, I’ve read it so much.” He pauses for a thoughtful bite. “Didn’t expect you’d be such a bastard but hey, they do say never to meet your heroes.”

Toru grants the point with a good-humored tilt of his head. Nobuko barks in laughter then raises her glass.

“To surviving our first week.”

They all toast.

[Part 3]

[thelastarchangelaskblog]

Seventh Year: Forgiveness Bonus Scene 1

So, I only have the one bonus scene so far for this chapter. There may be one or two more but for now this is it. And this was one I wrote a while in advance because of the vibes. Such vibes.

It'll be pretty evident what this is for. :)

The art is by @the-grey-hunt! Ne did a fabulous job of it. <3

**

Should Samael do this? Probably not, in the most technical sense of the term, but Samael could do it, and that made all the difference. But ne needed a little more information first, and Michael was not going to be the right person to ask.

The last thing Samael wanted to do was cause that terrible grief again. It reminded nem too much of Gabriel’s, though this grief also had a nice helping of guilt. It was a double dose of nastiness and Samael had other people ne could ask.

Only Michael’s friends seemed to be dealing with a hangover from hell. As far as Samael could currently tell, Michael was attempting to console the ones still left behind in the room. He would probably have a better chance of that if he took their hangovers away but Samael wasn’t going to judge him wanting them to learn from experience.

But there were three who weren’t in the room, even if they were all also nursing nasty hangovers. They were in the kitchens, apparently trying to coax some post-hangover meals out of the staff. The food was going okay; the drinks – namely pumpkin juice and butterbeer – not so well, as the staff gave them blank looks on hearing about butterbeer.

“You know, I’m not sure butterbeer is the best cure for a hangover, but sure. We can give it a whirl.”

There was a startled flail from Justin, Ernie, and Neville. Neville knocked over a bucket of eels on the counter that Samael saved from spilling over the floor. Åse would make nir next so many meals miserable if Samael let that happen to their beloved kitchen floor.

“Michael isn’t here,” Ernie said, squinting at Samael. “He’s currently trying to coax the others out of bed.”

It was a mental image Samael had never known ne wanted. Ne refrained from peeking in, since Michael definitely would notice that.

“I know that,” Samael said cheerfully, not making any effort to lower nir voice. “I’m here for you!”

“Why?” Neville asked suspiciously. He steadied himself with a hand on the counter, making sure there wasn’t anything else there he could knock down.

“If this is about last night, I have nothing to tell you,” Ernie said firmly.

Samael paused, giving him a curious look. “Why? What happened last night?”

“Even if I knew I wouldn’t tell you. Malfoy’s smug face this morning is already going to give me nightmares.”

“I’m regretting not taking Michael up on his offer to sober me up,” Justin moaned, rubbing over his forehead. “Now he won’t even bother, since it’s a ‘learning experience.’”

“That sounds like him. Let me know how the learning experience goes.”

“Why are you here again?” Neville asked. “Just to poke fun at us?”

“No. I mean, I could, but that’s not what I’m here for. Why don’t we get some actual food for you and then we can talk?”

They all exchanged doubtful glances.

“Susan’s going to kill us if we don’t return with food,” Ernie said dubiously. “That’s why we’re here.”

“Another thirty minutes won’t kill them,” Samael said dismissively, glancing at Åse and raising nir eyebrows. “Michael’s there.”

With Samael supervising and helping, breakfast was soon ready and plated. Samael also went ahead and made some butterbeer, recalling the ingredients from those DIY recipes when the series had been so popular. It likely wouldn’t be the same given Asgard didn’t have exact matches for the ingredients but it would be close enough.

“I thought you said no butterbeer,” Justin said, though he took the mug when it was offered.

Samael shrugged, sliding down two others for the other two and taking the last for nemself. “I felt sorry for you.”

“…I don’t know if I should say thank you.”

“Don’t,” Neville muttered into his eggs.

Samael muffled a laugh into nir butterbeer. “Take your time.”

It wasn’t until they finished their breakfast and had copious amounts of water that they seemed even remotely ready for the conversation. By this time Samael was on nir second mug of butterbeer.

“You didn’t just come here because you felt sorry for our hangovers,” Neville noted. “Why are you here?”

Samael brushed a finger through the foam of nir butterbeer. “I could have, but you’re right.” Ne licked the foam off nir finger. “I don’t want to ask Michael about this because it would upset him, so I’m asking you. About his parents.”

They’d been wary before, but now they all looked at nem suspiciously. It was marred by how they were still slightly squinty-eyed.

“Why do you want to know?” Justin asked. He still had his head propped up in a hand.

“I can bring them back,” Samael said plainly, “but I won’t if it would hurt him more.”

“Michael couldn’t bring them back,” Ernie said. Unlike Justin and Neville, he was doing his best to appear professional despite how he kept squinting into the light. “He said he couldn’t find them. Why would you be any different?”

So Michael had tried? That was surprising. But perhaps Samael should stop being surprised by him since Michael was so different from the one ne knew before.

“I’m Death,” Samael said simply. “I have a better idea of where they would have gone than he does.”

“How are you Death?” Neville was incredulous. He was also picturing the previous Death, having somehow met him before. “You don’t look at all like him.”

“Wait, when did you meet Death?” Justin demanded, turning towards Neville.

Neville looked a little shifty. “Around.”

“Around? Around? Around when?”

Neville looked down at his drink. “When You-Know-Who died,” he said. “He took care of it.”

Samael very carefully took a drink of butterbeer, watching the three of them.

“You mean the night all of you refuse to tell us about?” Ernie’s voice was dry.

“Yes,” Neville said blandly. “That night.”

Samael wasn’t looking, but it was very difficult to avoid hearing the sound of chewing, as well as the image of a heart being eaten by a mangled mouth. Ah, that was Michael’s work.

“I’m Death,” Samael said, rescuing Neville from having to think any further on that night. Nausea was imminent. “My predecessor passed it on to me. So…deaths fall under my purview – all deaths. So I have the ability to bring them back, but I’d like to know what I’m getting into before I try. Because Michael blames himself for what happened, but I don’t really think it was his fault.”

“It wasn’t,” Justin said immediately.

“What happened?”

They shared uncertain looks.

“If he doesn’t want you to know, I don’t think it’s up to us to share,” Ernie said slowly.

“I didn’t ask him,” Samael admitted. Ne almost had but for that awful, terrible grief. “It would have hurt him more to remember. He was only just able to share what sort of parents they’d been.”

“Is it just morbid curiosity?” Neville asked. “Why do you need to know to be able to bring them back?”

Samael considered nir answer, taking a long drink. Ne wiped a thumb over nir lips, wiping the foam off. “Depending on what happened, they may not want to come back. I won’t force them, but it would help to know the details so I know what I’m looking at.”

The three shared looks again.

“We don’t know the specifics either,” Ernie said eventually, subdued. “Michael never shared, but from what we gathered, it was…bad. You-Know-Who sent Death Eaters after them. His dad…his dad was a Muggle. But his mom… She wasn’t.”

“He blames himself because You-Know-Who knew who he was. He was still alive after what Michael did,” Justin said. “It’s bloody stupid, but he blames himself for it.”

“I can see that.” Samael huffed out a breath, shaking nir head. It was Michael putting the weight of the world on his shoulders, even if it wasn’t solely his burden to bear. Death Eaters… “Which Death Eater?”

“If you’re asking because you want to go after him, he was sentenced to Azkaban,” Justin said. “He was…pretty badly off. I’m not sure what happened there…”

Neville didn’t meet anyone’s eyes, and this time Samael was treated to a full HD, surround-sound image of a blank, emotionless Michael holding a crackling, writhing soul that was screaming.

“I think Michael already did the job there,” Samael said lightly, deliberately not looking at Neville. “Who was it?”

“Carrow,” Justin answered when no one else responded. “Amycus Carrow.”

Samael distinctly remembered asking Michael if Amycus Carrow had been his father. Oh dear.

It put Michael’s utterly aghast expression in a new light.

“Ah. I see.” Samael was briefly disappointed the Dark was dead-dead. How did they just pick the worst vessels to inhabit? “I assume Michael didn’t know what happened until after.”

“We don’t know why,” Justin said. “They knew who he was.”

Samael couldn’t say why either. Maybe for his father, a Muggle, he might not have had time. But his mother…? She probably did have time, given she had magic. Why wouldn’t they have called for help?

“Maybe he can find out,” Samael said.

“You’re getting them back?” Neville asked.

“If they want to.” Samael couldn’t say if they would want to come back. Not everyone who died did. “Don’t tell Michael, as I don’t want to get his hopes up.”

“Why are you even doing this?” Neville stared nem down. “Do you think that by doing this it’ll fix what you did?”

Samael managed a smile. “No. It doesn’t fix anything. But it’s the least of what I can do. Because I can do this – give him something back that he lost. I’m not doing this for anything else beyond the fact that he’s my sibling.”

“That didn’t stop you before.”

Samael’s smile twitched. Ne swallowed, dropping nir gaze. “No. It didn’t.” Ne had been…far too furious at Michael. Blaming him for things out of his control. “I don’t have an excuse for what I did, but that’s a conversation for Michael. And he and I have spoken about this.”

It probably wouldn’t be the last time. Samael still wasn’t sure what to do about the revelation that Michael had just…let nem…do all that. Pain was something even angels shied away from, yet Michael had just…let it happen.

Ne didn’t know if Gabriel knew. It wasn’t something ne felt comfortable telling him at this point, not when ne scarcely knew what to do with it.

“So you’re doing this for him,” Ernie said. “For Michael.”

Samael managed another smile now, and this one came easier. “I think more people should do things just for him, don’t you think? He’s done enough for the rest of us.”

There was no immediate response here, just them studying nem and also glancing at each other. Still, Samael had the impression of having said something they approved of.

“He deserves that,” Justin said. “If that’s what you’re doing…then yes. We’ll keep it quiet for you and hope it works out.”

Samael’s smile widened, more genuine. “I hope so, too.” Ne downed the remainder of the butterbeer, then sent the mug to land neatly in the sink. “It’ll take me a bit. I don’t know how long, but I’ll be out of touch.”

“He won’t go looking for you?” Ernie asked. 

“We’re not in each other’s pockets. We never were. He might notice my absence but probably won’t think anything of it. We’re all adults, technically speaking.” Samael brushed nir hands off. “Thank you. I’ll see you later. Have fun dealing with the hangover.”

Ne didn’t wait for a response, switching between the dimensions for the world of Hogwarts. Death was connected, and so were the afterlives, but it would nonetheless be easier to start in this world.

When Samael stepped through, ne stepped onto a white platform. It was a train station, though the only one way could tell was by the train tracks by the side. There was no ceiling, though pillars stretched up into a white void; there were no walls. The place gave off the impression of a liminal space with no boundaries.

At least it was somewhat familiar – somewhat expected from what Samael knew of this world.

Hands in nir jacket pockets, Samael stepped up to the edge of the platform, waiting for the train that would come.

It didn’t take long. The whistle of a train and the rhythmic chug-chugging of the engine came first before Samael saw a white train emerge from the white nothingness that surrounded this platform. The train didn’t stop, but it did slow, albeit without the hissing of brakes.

In the front of the train, wearing a conductor’s cap, was Billie. She looked very unimpressed with the current state of affairs, one elbow leaning on the window sill while the other took care of driving.

Space slowed, time turning into a crawl. Samael looked up at her. “What are you doing here?”

“Where Death is, so follow nir reapers,” Billie intoned, face impassive. “What are you doing here, Death?”

“You already know.”

“You have no right.”

“I am the only one who has the right.”

“Not even Death can break the rules as ne wishes.”

“No?” Samael raised an eyebrow. “You don’t seem to have kept up to date on the news, Billie.”

“There are rules for a reason, Death.” Billie wasn’t looking at nem but instead the train tracks that stretched on to eternity. “You break them as you wish…chaos ensues. You know how that looks all too well.”

“The former Death and my Father made mistakes, leaving their chaos for us to take care of. Their inaction cost us too much. No one said I was going to break the rules as I wish – I know my own duties too well for that – but following the rules blindly can also lead to chaos. Inflexibility is as gross an injustice as inaction.”

“You are not justice.”

“No,” Samael said softly, “I am death. I am life. I am the nothing. I am the End. I am the beginning and the end of the line. And there is something I can do here – a postponing of a death that happened too soon.”

“That is not your call to make. Death follows its path; everyone has their time.”

Samael straightened nir jacket sleeves, fiddling with the little zipper at nir wrist. Ne didn’t look away from Billie. “Is that your professional opinion as a reaper, Billie?”

“You asked me to help guide you,” Billie said, the slightest hint of wariness entering her tone. “You asked for a second-in-command. Are you rescinding that?”

Samael shrugged, tucking nir hands back in nir pockets. “No. Call me on my bullshit however and whenever you please; I won’t hurt you for that. I’ll take your advice under consideration, but I won’t always listen. Have you ever carried the scythe before?”

“No.”

“Then don’t presume to tell me what is and isn’t my call to make. Not when I feel the pulse of every death in existence – every life that has passed and is about to pass and will pass. Not when I know exactly what boundaries there are and what shouldn’t be crossed. And this? This is no hard boundary. This is a choice I will be offering. A choice I will not offer nearly as much as you’re worrying about.”

“This is a very slippery slope you’re traversing, Samael.”

Samael’s answering smile was cool. “Didn’t you know, Reaper Billie? My existence has been about the slippery slope.”

Billie gave nem a long look, eyes narrowed. “The ego of you angels.”

Samael shrugged. It was true enough. Death had said it frequently. “And yet this was given to me. Consider what that means.”

Billie’s mouth twisted into a grimace. She looked away, back to the train tracks stretching into eternity. “Fine. You and I both know I can’t stop you.” The train whistle screamed, and the brakes hissed as the locomotive slowed, a door opening. “Do as you wish.”

Samael didn’t thank her, grabbing hold of the handholds outside the door and stepping into the moving train. The door slid shut behind nem, and the eerie whiteness of the platform faded.

Billie wasn’t happy with nem, but they had eternity together for Samael to try to form a better working relationship. But this…this was too important for simple rules.

Samael turned to the right, walking through the carriages. It wasn’t like the subway cars of New York City of old. It resembled a train from Europe, which made some sense. There were tables set up on both sides and four seats to a table. The train wasn’t empty, numerous other souls filling the seats.

But they had no features. They were beings of light, composed of numerous lifetimes of memories.

There was nothing to be seen outside the windows beyond shapeless white, but somehow the train still had shadows flickering across the floor and the souls, like there were things outside blocking the light source. The shadows flickered between trees, mountains, buildings… All vague and nebulous.

Perhaps it was for familiarity’s sake for these souls.

Not all the seats were taken. Some had four and some had three. Some had two. Some only had one. They were all silent, watchful, though they didn’t seem alarmed at Samael’s presence.

Samael continued walking down the narrow path through the carriages. Ne didn’t know Eleanor and Alan Hopkins. Ne had never met them, never seen how Michael saw them. Ne only had their names to go off of, but if they were Michael’s human parents… It was likely something of Michael would still cling to them even now.

There was no end to the train. No end to the rhythmic rumbling beneath nir feet. No end or change to the surroundings outside. There were just the shifting shadows inside, as well as the different souls in each carriage.

It was okay. Samael had time. There was no rush.

Eventually, sixty carriages later, something familiar pricked at nir senses. Something warm, like a crackling fireplace on a cold winter’s evening. It wasn’t anywhere near as hot as Michael could run, but it was still him. A sense of him.

There were two souls at the table in the middle of the carriage. They sat next to each other, facing empty seats on the other side of the table.

Samael slowed to a stop next to them, studying them curiously.

Like all the other souls ne had seen thus far, these two were a compilation of numerous lifetimes. There were no names attached to them, just a wealth of experiences and Michael’s energy.

Samael slid into one of the seats in front of them, sliding towards the window and leaning back against it, legs spread out along the length of the bench, which obligingly lost its arm rests. Folding nir arms over nir chest, ne waited, continuing to study them closely.

Finally, there was acknowledgement from one of them. A question asked, an inquiry about what ne wanted.

Samael smiled. “I’d like your names.”

Okay, ne cheated a little here. Nudged a tiny bit, pulling slightly on what was there of Michael’s energy to help the souls remember their most recent lifetime.

It was the one closest to the window who started changing first, the nondescript light of the soul shifting into something more distinct. The light faded, pulling inwards, revealing tan skin and laugh lines around light-colored eyes. Her dark hair was in a braid with only a few gray hair speckled throughout. “My name is Eleanor.”

The other soul changed second, a little more hesitantly. Soon, a dark-skinned man with wire-framed glasses sat next to Eleanor. His eyes were dark, kind, and similarly framed with laugh lines. “Alan.”

Some minute tension Samael hadn’t noticed before left nem. Ne hadn’t thought ne’d gotten it wrong, but there was always the chance… At least now ne could be sure. “My name’s Samael.”

“Samael,” Eleanor repeated, watching nem with open curiosity. “How can we help you?”

“Well, I hope you can.” Samael smiled again, looking at both of them. “You…may be familiar with my brother? Michael? Or…Wayne?”

There was instant recognition on both their faces even before Samael gave the name of Michael’s human alias. Recognition and love. It slammed into Samael with the force of light speed. 

“You’re—” Eleanor covered her mouth with a hand, her other going to grab hold of Alan’s tightly. “Do you know? Is he okay? Is he doing well?”

Samael’s smile brightened into a grin. “He’s doing well, Eleanor.”

Eleanor’s eyes closed in visible relief, her breath escaping with a loud sigh. Alan laid his hand over hers, squeezing it reassuringly. He seemed relieved as well, a quiet sort of relief that was nonetheless still intense.

“What are you doing here?” Alan asked.

Samael shrugged. “I’m here for you. To give you two a choice.”

“A choice?” Eleanor sounded hesitant.

“Yes.” Samael shifted, sitting upright and folding nir hands on the table, leaning forward. “Come back with me.”

Eleanor and Alan exchanged glances, confusion and worry most prominent on their faces.

“We’re dead,” Eleanor said, looking back at Samael.

“Yes,” Samael agreed bluntly, “but you don’t have to stay dead.”

Eleanor inhaled sharply even as Alan shook his head slightly, brow furrowed. They didn’t seem to understand.

“I don’t know what Michael shared with you about what we can do, but resurrecting the dead… It’s entirely possible. So I’m here. Giving you the choice.”

“He…didn’t tell us much,” Alan said after a moment. “I think he was worried how we would respond.”

That sounded very much like Michael. Especially the one Samael knew now. “That doesn’t surprise me.”

“It was our time,” Eleanor said, squeezing Alan’s hand. “Our time to go. I know you’re…an angel?”

“An archangel,” Samael said, “second oldest to Michael.”

Shadows flickered over Eleanor’s face, the odd light changing as the train continued moving. “I…don’t recall seeing your name.”

Samael shrugged, fiddling with the end of nir jacket. “The Bible doesn’t have a lot of us. It names a few – Michael being one. I was in there as well.” Ne didn’t wish to mention Lucifer yet. The goal was to get them back, not scare them off. “I am an archangel, and I do have the ability to reverse death.”

“It was our time,” Eleanor repeated.

“…You died because Michael interfered,” Samael said gently. “Without his presence, you two would have continued living.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” Eleanor said sharply, a surge of protectiveness rising.

“I didn’t say it was. But the fact remains that if he hadn’t acted as he did, you two would never have come into the picture for Voldemort.”

There was a slight flinch from Eleanor at the name, one not mirrored by Alan. He gave her a concerned look, squeezing her hand. 

“If you have to look for a loophole, then you know this isn’t right,” Eleanor said.

“No loophole. Just the hard facts. The only reason Michael didn’t do it himself is because he didn’t know where you two went. You can’t retrieve souls without knowing where the souls are.”

“How did you know?” Eleanor asked.

Samael smiled. “I’m Death.”

Ne wasn’t sure what they saw of nir other aspect, the new power that now resided in nir Grace, but something must have shown, for they both flinched backwards.

“Yama,” Eleanor breathed, a hand at her chest.

It wasn’t a name Samael was familiar with. Hesitating, ne reached out to glean what Eleanor meant by that. They were Hindu? Their Father must have had one hell of a sense of humor to put Michael in a family that believed in pagans. “Ah. No. I’m no god.”

“You said—”

“I’m Death. Not the god of death, but death itself. Death is my domain; all souls that die fall under my purview. So I have that final say on what happens to souls.”

“You said it was our choice,” Alan pointed out, watching Samael warily.

“It is. I won’t take you if you have no desire to go back. But you have the option.”

Eleanor shared glances with Alan once more.

“I don’t regret it,” Eleanor said eventually, turning to meet Samael’s eyes once more. “It wasn’t his fault what happened. He did what was right. What happened afterwards…it was our time. If not then, at some other point in the future. Wayne – Michael will do well without us. He’ll move on.”

Samael could leave it at that – not influence their choices. It was a choice. It was a perfectly fine choice.

Except…ne felt fingers run through nir hair, a warm Grace blanketing nem and trying to reassure nem despite the pain tearing nir Grace apart. The grief that suddenly appeared and then disappeared without warning.

“A med-witch… Was she…where you learned to do that?”

 “When I was still human…yes. She was a good teacher. They both were.”

The grief of loss that never really went away no matter how much time passed. Seeing Gabriel through the years, how he would put on a mask and yes, he had been happy, but it hadn’t been happiness, that grief of loss remaining millions of years later.

And that had just been his friends.

From everything Samael had heard, Michael’s parents had been good. And here, just in this small conversation,  Samael could see that. Could see how much they loved Michael, how much they would do for him. That Eleanor had fought to the death to protect someone who didn’t need that protection.

Samael knew how that felt. Knew what it was like to be so cherished and valued that someone would go to incredible lengths to make sure ne was safe. And it had been by the only real father ne had known.

Gabriel would never know. He had found it awkward enough to be put into that position when Samael had just been Sam, an AI. 

But Samael could never forget.

“Why would you do that after - after everything I did? Everything that – that other me did?”

“…Because I wanted to. Because I could. Because you’re family.”

“You don’t—”

“Regret it? No. Never. I’d do it again if I needed to.”

Ne had always, always known Gabriel would be there for nem. Even after the nightmares. Even after ne found out who ne was. Even after regaining nir Grace and the struggle of rebuilding a relationship that Samael had shattered.

Gabriel had been there.

That security of knowing – that was what was so important.

And Samael cheated again, because Michael was nir sibling and he deserved something. And this was something Samael could fix. “You’re right,” ne agreed. “He’ll be fine. He can take care of himself. But he will never stop grieving you. Or blaming himself for his role in what happened. You should have had long lives, but they ended much sooner because of what he did. Not,” ne said quickly, putting up a hand to forestall the indignant protests, “because it was actually his fault, but because he believes it was. You’re gone because of his interference.”

“He – he’ll move on,” Eleanor managed, voice strangled. “We’re just—”

“Human?” Samael smiled sadly. “You were never just human to him. You were his. Time will pass, but he won’t forget, and he won’t stop grieving. It’s not in our nature.”

Gabriel had never stopped grieving. As Tony, he had it a little easier, able to soften the intensity of an archangel’s grief, but he was still too angelic for that to truly work. They were just two sides of the same coin.

“We all die,” Alan pointed out slowly. “Now or later…there’s no difference.”

“The difference is time. It can make all the difference.” Samael hoped. It hadn’t helped Gabriel much, not with the anvil of his friends disappearing over his head. But maybe Michael was cut from a different cloth.

Eleanor and Alan said nothing, both of them looking at each other and seeming to have a silent conversation that spoke of years together.

Samael gave them a little bit, before nudging once more. “Would you let Michael continue to believe he’s at fault for your deaths?”

Eleanor looked stricken, shaking her head. She pressed a hand to her eyes. Alan frowned, swapping the hand he had over Eleanor’s to pull her into his side.

“This is your choice,” Samael said again. “I’ll let you think it over a little more. I’ll be at the front of the carriage.”

Samael stood, sliding out from behind the table to make nir way to the front and the empty table ne had seen earlier in this carriage. It was still empty. Ne sat down, then laid down on the seats; the armrests once more decided it would be better for them to go elsewhere.

The ceiling of the carriage looked remarkably normal, shadows flitting over it. The seats below Samael rumbled with the slow and steady chug-chug of the train’s engine and the wheels over the train tracks. 

Ne felt for that scar in nir Grace, that wound where Michael’s sword had almost killed nem. It throbbed slightly, an ache that had yet to fade.

There was no such thing as time in this realm, but Samael’s extremely accurate internal clock stated it had been thirty minutes and forty-five seconds by the time ne was approached by Eleanor and Alan.

Ne propped nemself up on nir elbows, hit nir shoulder on the table, winced, and then managed to wiggle back into a upright sitting position. Hopefully without looking too stupid.

Judging from the restrained smiles on both of their faces, that was a failure.

Samael did not rub at nir shoulder. “So, uh…made a decision?”

“Yes,” Eleanor said. “Take us back.”

Their souls were warm against nir Grace. Samael made sure nir grip was gentle, harmless. Billie didn’t stop the train again, but Samael didn’t need her to. Ne opened the door of the moving train and stepped out onto a platform.

The train chugged away, disappearing into the whiteness. Ne tugged nir jacket closer, around the two souls nestled close to nem, and stepped back into the world of the living.

There were a few ways one could revive the dead. One was with their actual bodies, rejuvenating them and putting them back in working order. That was the easiest, since healing what was destroyed was always easier than making something from scratch.

Eleanor and Alan guided nem to their hometown, which was easily enough found. It was a small village on the cusp of being a town in the English countryside. It was quiet and peaceful, so Samael could certainly picture how much of a shock a double-murder must have been.

The cemetery was on the outskirts. It wasn’t very large, which made sense. There was an older one more in the inside of the village by the church, but this one was newer.

It was also here that Samael ran into a snag, because Eleanor and Alan had been cremated. Naturally. Given their culture and religion. They did have two tombstones, but Samael didn’t need to dig down to know they had urns and not caskets.

The tombstones seemed a little impersonal, not at all like Michael had a hand in them himself. But he had cremated them. Personally. His Grace still shrouded their urns.

There was worry from Eleanor and Alan at this, their souls more aware of such matters than they would have been if they were alive.

Samael could try for their ashes, but that seemed a little crass. And ne would have to get past Michael’s Grace to do so.

So option two it was. Ne would have to rebuild their bodies from scratch.

Or maybe mud…? Ne could be traditional about it but skip taking Alan’s rib to make Eleanor.

Ne chose an isolated spot in the middle of the moors for this. There was plenty of earth to use here, to ground them to life.

Samael recalled the physical appearances they’d used on the train. Ne could recreate that easily enough, though the smaller details would be missed because ne had no idea about Alan’s eyesight that led to him wearing glasses. He probably wouldn’t mind having perfect vision…

When asked, Alan just requested his frames, which Samael could do without any issue.

In the end, Samael only used a little bit of earth, a reminder for their souls where they came from. Air went into their lungs, as a way for them to breathe. Water was also used for the composition, since human bodies needed so much of it. 

Ne recreated their clothing based off what they’d been wearing in the train.

Once done, Samael slowly and carefully took their souls and placed them in their new bodies, pressing nir palms to their foreheads and easing the transition. It took several minutes for them to settle, transitioning from an ethereal state of being to something more physical.

Samael watched them closely. It was a little trickier with new bodies instead of their old ones, and this was too important to mess up.

Eleanor was the first who opened her eyes, blinking rapidly and squinting into the light. She caught sight of Samael a moment later, eyes widening.

Samael smiled at her. “Welcome back.”

Eleanor looked over at Alan, who had his eyes screwed tight against the sunlight. She reached out to touch his arm, a little clumsy. “Alan…”

It was a moment before Alan opened his eyes, turning his head towards her. He stared, not speaking.

Eleanor laughed, the sound breaking slightly. “Alan…we’re here.”

Alan reached out to touch her cheek, clumsy and shaky. He didn’t say anything, just touching her.

It felt unbearably intimate, like something Samael shouldn’t be privy to. Ne quickly whisked nemself away, giving them privacy but also still keeping them in eyesight so they knew where ne was. 

Ne sprawled out on the ground, looking up at the sky.

Earth was nice. No other planet compared to it. Though, to be fair, no planets compared to each other either. They were all unique, different.

It was just that Earth was nostalgic. So much about what had happened revolved around it. At least now ne had positive memories and not just…

The sky was pink and orange by the time Eleanor and Alan made their way to nem. Samael sat up as they approached, looping an arm around a knee and watching them.

They carefully sat down by nem, Alan steadying Eleanor. 

“Thank you,” Eleanor told nem. 

“You’re welcome,” Samael said, smiling warmly at them. “It’s not a favor. I didn’t do this to make you owe me anything. This is for Michael. For the boy you call your son.”

“Your name is Samael?” Alan asked.

“I’m his younger sibling,” Samael said. “Though he’s the oldest, so we’re all younger compared to him. But I’m the second oldest.”

“I didn’t see your name in the Bible,” Eleanor said slowly.

Samael’s smile faded. “It was there. But I have more than one.”

Eleanor hesitated. “Which one was it?”

Samael held her gaze for a long moment. “You would have known me as Lucifer.”

Alan stiffened, drawing in a sharp breath. His grip on Eleanor’s hand tightened. Eleanor’s grip tightened in response, the skin at her knuckles whitening.

“Lucifer?” Alan’s voice was quiet.

“At one time.”

“You and Michael were enemies,” Eleanor said, nervous.

“Yeah.” Samael shifted, folding nir legs. “At one time. We’re not anymore. For my part…not for a long time. It’s been less time for Michael.”

“He was supposed to throw you down,” Eleanor whispered. “The serpent.”

Samael winced, folding nir hands together. “…He did. A long time ago. The book of revelations, if you read it…it never came to pass. Or perhaps it did, a version of it.” Gabriel had blown his horn for Lucifer, all those years ago. “But Gabriel dealt with it then.”

“The Messenger?”

Samael hummed in answer. “The youngest of us four. The best of us.” Even if Gabriel would disagree.

Eleanor laid her other hand over Alan’s. “You really didn’t bring us back with any ulterior motives.”

“No.” Samael gave them a smile, as reassuring as ne could make it. “I brought you back because of Michael.”

“Where is he?” Alan asked.

“He isn’t here.” Samael looked out at the moor around them, the vast expanse of brown and green and the pink-and-orange sky. “This is your world, the one where you and he were born. This was the easiest place to bring you back because you were familiar with this. Michael is where I’m from. I can bring you back there.”

“Could you bring him here?”

“Theoretically,” Samael said slowly. “But he doesn’t know I did this. I didn’t want him disappointed if you two decided not to come.”

“You would have respected that,” Eleanor said, wondering.

“I usually did,” Samael admitted quietly. “Lying…was never one of my vices. I know humans said I did – that I lied. But the truth hurts more than lies ever do, and it was a weapon I wielded to achieve my goals.” Ne looked down at nir hands, smaller and gentler than the ones of Nick ne had inhabited so long ago, or even that of Sam Winchester. “Those are goals I no longer hold.”

Eleanor and Alan exchanged glances. Their expressions were difficult to read, though Samael made no effort to, keeping nir eyes turned away from them.

“We believe you,” Eleanor said after a moment. “You’ve given us no reason not to trust you.”

Samael looked at her sidelong. “There are many who would say otherwise. Still…I appreciate your trust.” Ne extended both hands to them. “Would you come with me? To Michael?”

Eleanor and Alan didn’t let go of each other’s hands, but they had two hands, and it was with their free ones that they clasped hold of Samael’s in a silent answer.

Samael exhaled slowly, smiled at them, and linked their fingers together.

Michael was probably going to be happy. At least his human parents could deal with that awful grief-guilt.

[sparklycatnap]

diona NPTs ~(=^‥^)

names ✧

dianne . kittera . purrina(o) . purriona . meowette . pawette . pawesse . nyanne . dionette . meowera . pawera . purrinnette . felis . daria . dianna . chatte . faeleen . purla . dianette . dianesse . dionesse . dia . purrette . purresse . dahlia

pronouns ✧

she/her . it/its . cir/cirself . shx/hxr . cat/catself . meow/meowself . purr/purrself . mi/mir . nya/nyanself . kit/kitself . claw/clawself . whisker/whiskerself . cryo/cryoself . ice/iceself . cold/coldself . katz/katzself . pi/pinkself . pink/pinkself . ni*/nirself . nee*/nerself . nee*/nimself . nee*/nemself *can be changed to ne/nee/ni

titles ✧

prn* who opposes alcohol . the wrath of the wine industry . (the) drink destroying [name] . the bartender of doom . (the) drink desecrator . the anti-alcoholic . the teetotaller . prn* who is a cat . the feline god/dess . ruler of catdom . prn* who rules catdom . the evillest bartender *replace with your pronouns

[voltage-stims]

Seawing ID Pack div credit

another one. seawing this time :]

once again this is meant to be more like. actual names a seawing could have. for fun

Names - whale, dolphin, orca, shark, sardine, starfish, crab, coot, seagull, manatee, seal, krill, shrimp, beluga, eel, wahoo, maritime, marine, bora, brine, tide, wave, cascade, cove, scallop, shell, clam, oyster, azure, cerulean, calypso

Non-themed - they/them - ne/nem/nir/nemself [used in a sentence]

Nounself - ocean/oceans/oceanself - sea/seas/seaself - reef/reefs/reefself - bay/bays/bayself - shore/shores/shoreself - glub/glubs/glubself - bubble/bubbles/bubbleself - float/floats/floatself - blue/blues/blueself - fin/fins/finself - gill/gills/gillself - swim/swims/swimself

[sunsetno4]

how about 7 and 30 for ven? and maybe lulu if youre up for it? :D

Thanks Pulp!! ^^!! And yeah, I can toss in Lulu too. I really need to replay them again, but let's see what I remember for the moment~ >:3

7. Describe them in three words. Now let them describe themself in three words.

Mine for Vendetta: Perfectionist, Empathetic, Theatrical Ven's for Vendetta: Doomed, Essential, Here

Mine for Lulu: Angry, Divided, Romantic (more in the vein of romanticism) Lulu's for Lulu: Righteous, Resourceful, Romantic (same as above).

Vendetta…doesn't really like to think about nemself so directly. Probably why their therapy sessions are Going Great. :’)

And I'm starting to regret not letting Lulu be an art thief too. You would've slayed at it, Lulu. But alas, you want to punch heroes more~ u__u <33

30. What would they do if they knew it would be forgiven?

Boring answer, I'm sorry! Neither Vendetta or Lulu have ever considered forgiveness in terms of the things they do. ^^;; Ven already thinks of nemself as irredeemable, and just lets nir own moral guide nem more than the idea of forgiveness. “No one should forgive me anyways."

And Lulu is a touch self-righteous and detached? They either firmly believe in the things they do (culling incompetent heroes) or they brush it aside as not personal to begin with (civilian causalities). "Some people will die, it's nothing personal."

They miiiiiiiiight be tempted to put Ortega in the hospital for a good few months, just to get her out of their hair for a bit. Being around her makes Lulu remember their more idealistic romantic self instead of the self-righteous romantic self they are nowadays, and they hate that. When that wall finally cracks, oh. I don't think it'll be pretty. :'l Still, forgiveness isn't worth considering. Lulu will do what Lulu feels is right~~

[help-an-alter]

We have a fragment/alter/headmate who seems to give bee vibes, I think?

Need bee related names and pronouns, if you don't mind! Neopronouns and xenopronouns would be preferred :]!!!

Thanks, and have a great day!

hello loves!

names ~

B/Bee/Bea, Harvey, Fuzz, Merry, Felix, Eddie, Jamie, Sal, Dani, Amber, Aspen, Heather, Angelica, Tiger, Violet, Honey, Leo, Basil, Max, Ann

pronouns ~

Buzz/Buzzself, Wick/Wickself, Cloud/Cloudself, Flit/Flitself, Ne/Nemself, Sol/Solaireself

comfort ~

Gardening or Farming/Gardening games (Stardew Valley, Terrarium, etc), Taking Care of Pets/Animals (Real Pets, Tamogotchis, Nintendogs, Self Care Pets, etc!), Cleaning & Organizing (Real Spaces or maybe try games like A Little To The Left!), Baking, Knitting/Embroidery/Crochet/Other Handcrafts

hope this helps!!

~ Mod Lei <3

[williamnessuno]

January the first #hipstamatic #brushstrokeapp #williamnessunoiphoto #backlight #sunglasses #rayban #beard #williamnessuno #selfportrait #nem #nemself #onthewalk #lonewalk #viaflaminiaroma #flaminio (presso Roma Flaminio) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cm3sB3OqXJa/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[pronoun-checks]

Name and pronoun check for meee please :)))

The names nolan and pronouns are

ne/nem/nir/nirs/nemself

That/thats/thatself

Stim/stims/stimself

Chao/chaos/chaoself

Whirl/whirls/whirlself

Friend/friends/friendself

Grrr/grrrs/grrrself

Uh/uhm/uhms/uhmself

No problem!

Wait a second, is that Nolan? I think I see Nolan over there! Do you see nem? Ne’s the one sitting by nemself with thats headphones on. I wonder what that’s listening to? Anyway, you’ve met Nolan before, right? No? Well, you’ll have to meet that sometime; I think you’d get along nicely with stim. I’ve only spoken with stim once or twice, but stim seems pretty neat. Chao didn’t say much about chaoself, though. You don’t see chaos? Whirl’s the one sitting by whirlself over there in the red chair. I’m pretty sure the bag under whirls chair is friends. Do you see friend now? Yup, that’s Nolan! Oh, hey! Friend’s looking this way now! Is grrr waving at us? Grrr could be waving at someone else, or grrr could be waving at us—I’m not sure. I think uh’s waving at us? Yeah, uh’s definitely waving at us. Do you want to go meet Nolan? Sure, let’s go say hi to uhm! Hey! Nolan!

[gendercensus]

[ Masterpost ]

[anarchatranny-almanac]

Epicine & Neopronouns That Predate 1999

This list is very long, with many similar pronouns! Contrary to popular belief, neopronouns aren't that new, and were never that rare. A noticable potrion of this list contains neopronouns 100 or more years old, and even more that are 50+ years old!

The vast majority pronouns in this post are sourced from Aether Lumina. Some pronouns were left off this list, so if you want to dig deeper, check the page out!

And we're not kidding--the list under the cut is LONG!

Non-Alphabetical

[name]/[name]/[name]s/[name]s/[name]self [replace [name] with person’s name, ie Alex would be Alex/Alexs]

*e, h*, h*s, h*s, h*self (splat pronouns, c.1990s) [source] [source2]

þe/þim/þir/þirs/þimself (þ is pronouned th & þe rhymes with he, 1978) [source] [source2]

3e/3im/3er/3ers/3imself (3 is pronounced z &3e sounds like zee, 1995) [source]

ðe (conjugation unknown, 1995) [source]

A-G

a/a/as/as/aself (from Middle english, 1789) [source] [source2]

ae/aer/aer/aers/aerself (1920) [origin/source]

ala/alum/ales/ales/alumself (derived from Latin and Hawai'ian, 1989) [source] [source2]

che/chim/chis/chis/chimself (1951) [source]

co/co/cos/cos/coself (1970) [source]

e/em/eir/eirs/emself

E/Em/E's/E's/E'sself (c.1977) [source]

e/em/es/es/esself or emself (1878 and 1890) [source]

E/Ir/Ir/Irs/Irself (1982) [source]

e/rim/ris/ris/risself (1977) [source]

em/em/ems/ems/emsself (1977) [source]

en/ar/es/es/esself (1974) [source]

en/en/en/ens/enself (1868) [source]

er/er/ers/ers/erself (1863) [source]

et/et/ets/ets/etself (1979) [source]

ey/em/eir/eirs/eirself (Elverson pronouns) [source]

fm/fm/fms/fms/fmself (1972) [source]

ghach (Klingon, conjugation unknown, 1992) [source]

H

ha/hem/hez/hez/hezself (1927) [source]

han/han/hans/hans/hanself (1868) [source]

hann/hann/hanns/hanns/hannself (1984) [source]

he/him/his/his/himself (generic; not actually a neopronoun)

he'er/him'er/his'er/his'er's/his'er'self (1912) [source]

heesh/heesh/heeshs/heeshs/heeshself (c.1940) [source]

heesh/herm/hiser/hisers/hermself (1978) [source]

heesh/himer/hiser/hisers/hiserself (1934) [source]

hem/hem/hes/hes/hesself (1974) [source]

heor/himor/hisor/hisor/himorself (1912) [source]

her'n/her'n/her'ns/her'ns/her'nself (1935) [source]

herm/herm/herm/herms/hermself (1985) [source]

hes/hem/hir/hirs/hirself (1935) [source]

hes/hes/hes/hes/hesself (1984) [source]

hesh/himmer/hizzer/hizzers/hizzerself (1927) [source]

hesh/hiser/himer/himer/hermself (1974) [source]

heshe/hem/hes/hes/hemself (1981) [source]

hey/heir/heir/heirs/heirself (1979) [source]

hi/hem/hes/hes/hesself (1884) [source]

hir/hirem/hires/hires/hirself (1979) [source]

h'orsh'it (1975--joke pronoun but it rocks) [source]

ho/hom/hos/hos/homself (1976--not a joke pronoun but prone to jokes) [source]

hor/hor/hors/hors/horself (1890) [source]

hse/hse/hses/hses/hseself (1945) [source]

hu/hum/hus/hus/huself (1982) [source]

hymer/hymer/hyser/hysers/hyserself (1884) [source]

I-P

id/idre/ids/ids/idself (1989) [source]

ip/ip/ips/ips/ipsself (1884) [source]

ir/im/iro/iros/iroself (1888) [source]

kai/kaim/kais/kais/kaiself (1998) [source]

kin/kin/kins/kins/kinself (1969) [source]

le/lem/les/les/lesself (borrowed from French, 1884) [source]

le/lim/lis/lis/limself (1884) [source]

na/na/nan/nans/nanself (1973) [origin/source] [source2] [source3]

ne/nem/nir/nirs/nemself

ne/nim/nis/nis/nimself (c.1850) [source]

on/on/ons/ons/onsself (1927?) [source]

one/one/ones/ones/oneself (1770) [source]

per/per/pers/pers/perself or personself (1972) [origin-ish/source] [source]

phe/per/per/pers/perself (1998) [source]

po/xe/jhe/jhes/jheself (c.1997) [source]

S-T

s/he / him/er / his/her / his/ers / him/erself (1973) [source]

se/hir/hir/hirs/hirself (1977?) [source]

se/sem/ses/ses/sesself (1990) [source]

she/herim/heris/heris/herisself (1970) [source] [source2]

she/herm/herm/herms/hermself (1976) [source]

SHe/Hir/Hir/Hirs/Hirself (1997 or earlier) [source]

shem/hem/hes/hes/hesself (1974) [source]

shem/herm/herm/herms/hermself (1973) [source]

sheorhe/herorhim/herorhis/hersorhis/herorhimself (1974) [source]

shey/shem/sheir/sheirs/sheirself or shemself (1982 & 1979) [source] [source2]

sie/hir/hir/hirs/hirself (borrowed from German, pre-2001) [source]

soloc/sebita/seniri/siculis/sulago (1998) [source]

su/su/sus/sus/suself (borrowed from Spanish, 1921) [source]

ta/ta/tas/tas/tasself (borrowed from Mandarin Chinese, 1971) [source]

tey/tem/ter/ters/temself (1971) [source]

tey/tem/term/terms/termself (1972) [source]

thir/thim/thiro/thiros/thiroselves (plural form of ir/im, 1888) [source]

thon/thon/thon/thons/thonself (allegedly 1858, definitely existed since or before 1884) [source] [source2]

U-Z

uh/uh/uhs/uhs/uhself (1975) [source]

um/um/ums/ums/umself (1877, 1879) [source]

un/un/uns/uns/unself (1868) [source]

ve/ver/vis/vis/verself (1995) [source]

ve/vim/vis/vis/visself (1974) [source]

ve/vir/vis/vis/visself (1970) [source]

xe/xem/xyr/xyrs/xemself

z/z/z/z/zself (1972) [source]

ze/zim/zee/zees/zeeself (1972) [source]

ze/hir/hir/hirs/hirself (1996) [source]

ze/zir/zir/zirs/zirself

[ghxst-system]

new pronouns just dropped everyone install the update its free with the battlepass

it adds:

Vem/Vems/Vemself

and

Nem/Nems/Nemself

[to sound like "them" pronouns but be more nonhuman]