#Prophet's face is how I feel about this situation

[incorporealbombchelle]

On Earth As It Is In Heaven

Mr.Reed x Fem! Reader (Mid 20s) (18+)

Synopsis: Pt. 3 - (y/n) is introduced to a new system of belief...

⚠️TW: Percieved Heresy, Catholicism Mentions, Condescension, Crude Language, Possible Vague and Obscure Spoilers for 'Heretic' (2024), Age Gap, Lectures, Blood, Violence, A Somewhat Graphic Depiction of Gore, Oral Sex (Male Recipient), Raw P in V Penetration, Terror & Tense Situations, General Smut.

When I come to I'm clothed, and my body is seemingly unharmed but I still feel fuzzy, disoriented.  The taste of the wine I shared with Mr. Reed remains on my tongue and I swallow, noticing a faint smell of perfume and... something else? Something coppery....

I breathe as deeply and quietly as I can and allow my eyes to open. A small room, dimly lit and painted green. It's lined with paintings of gods and prophets, shelves of books and records, and a vinyl player sits off to the side, similar to the bedroom. Looking down, I realize I'm seated in a pew, of which there are rows. Is this... a church?

Two doors line the wall ahead of me, one green and one purple, behind a large desk with a half-burned candlestick on it. From the green door, Mr. Reed emerges in the checkered cardigan I remember him in from when he first ushered me inside, and the pajamas he threw on after we...

I'm extremely confused.

"Well hello!! Look at you!! How're you feeling? Bit groggy, I'd imagine? You were just a *touch* over served, that's on me." He admits, stashing a bright green watering can under the desk and grabbing his notebook and pencil off of it to write something down.

"Seventeen Hours. Good." He looks back to me, an excited grin on his face.

"Mister Reed?" I ask softly.

"Ms. (y/n)?" He chuckles, taking a step closer.

"What happened? What is this? How did I get here?"

"You were drugged, this" he gestures around us "is an institution of learning, and you were carried here. Anything further? No? Good. Let's get cracking!" He claps, rubbing his hands together and I jump in my seat.

"Whu-" I'm more confused than I was initially after this brief, unhelpful explanation but he prattles on;

"A few miligrams of temazepam in the wine, nothing lethal." He narrows his eyes, pointing a finger at me "You were indoctrinated into catholicism from what age?"

"I was baptized at two...why d-"

"Two. Years. Old. TWO, (Y/N)!! Forgive me but that's fucking ridiculous. You had no information and no way of consenting to whatever 'soul-protecting' rituals catholics do to children at two years of age.

You have lived your entire life by the teachings of a cult, my dear. A popular cult with a good handle on architecture and design, but a cult all the same. With their gaudy, artsy buildings and their priests wrapped up in silk and you," he looks me over, his expression sympathetic "Full of all that eternal guilt and shame for your entirely natural feelings and urges. For what? A reward only recieved after death? Heaven is about as meaningful to the living as a gold star sticker on a child's spelling test and I believe, no I know, that you're aware of this, (y/n). "

He sits on the edge of the desk as he lectures me and I take a second to look myself over.

These.... are not my clothes. A long, dark grey wool skirt with... a short-sleeved black mock neck sweater tucked into it..., the inside of the right sleeve is caked in some dark, calcified stain... These are...  comfortable clothes, modest clothes, thank God, but they. Are not. Mine. I shudder. How did he get these? And where is this lecture going? He pulls a few different versions of monopoly and the landlord game from the nearby shelves and likens them to different religions, laying a holy book atop each and telling me about 'iterations' and I am not listening and the stain on the inside of my sleeve that isn't my sleeve is almost definitely someone's blood and now I'm scared and what is going on? There's an immense pressure in my head and I'm breathing too fast -- is this how I die?

In this decidedly unholy place, amongst all these artifacts I've been told would protect me, at the hands of a man who not only led me into temptation, but now purports to have the ability to deliver me from evil? Is he the evil? I'm overwhelmed and I cry.

I cry like I have never cried before. My face is wet and I'm sobbing and I'm hyperventilating and Mr. Reed finally stops talking so I look up, flushed, snivelling, unsure of his next move.

He seems shocked for a moment, eyes widening. Then his brow furrows again as he leaves his place at the desk to stand beside me. "Shhh, shhh, come now. That's a bit dramatic, eh? Catholic school lasts what, twelve years? You can stand to listen to an old man drone on for a minute."

He sheds his cardigan, draping it over my shoulders as they shake. He produces a tissue from one of his pockets and brings it to my face, dabbing away my tears. "You've been extraordinary for me so far, (y/n)." Mr. Reed scoots into the pew next to me, his eyes catch mine and he hums, reassuring "Such a virtuous, reasonable, obedient girl." I take a breath, resenting how much I lust after his blessing, his praise.  "See, I'm just introducing you to something new. Something different than that to which you're accustomed," He resumes, snaking an arm around my shoulder "When you walked in here, you weren't used to having your beliefs challenged. Only affirmed. It was scary, mm? But you let me in. You let me experience all of you, inside and out, because somehow, somewhere, deep inside, you know I'm right. You know this is right : what we do, who we are together. You taught me your doctrine, I owe it to you to teach mine."

"But you- you requested the- why...?" My voice cracks.

He squeezes my shoulder, speaking softly into the crook of my neck "Knowledge, (y/n), is power. Power is... what? Mm? What does power give to us?"

I shiver at the feeling of his breath on my neck and silently curse myself for welcoming it. "Uhm..." I look up at him, uncertain "Control?"

"Control! Exactly! Brilliant!"

I can't help the small smile that arrives on my face at knowing the correct answer to one of his questions.

"Control is the root of each of these doctrines." He gestures to the desk with the games and books laid out on it  "Think of your church. Sit, stand, kneel, listen to some old twat tell you you're unworthy of heaven, sit, stand kneel, stand, sing, kneel again, eat some crackers, go home. It's all programming.  They have you learn all that bovine choreography not because it amplifies your prayers to some all knowing benevolent being, but because it subdues you. It tires you out. Makes your body ache. You need something to do with your hands in those pews so you fold them in reverence because idle hands are the devil's playthings, are they not?"

"... Sure.... Mister Reed? Whose clothes are these?"

"Some things aren't for us to know, (y/n). And some are. Like how I know," he smiles "that you are going to continue to be keen for me, stop asking ridiculous questions, and do what I say. Because we're both thoroughly aware of the fact that I am your god now." His breath is hot on my neck as he chuckles, I can feel his grin, and I flinch.

He's in control. Older. Wiser. Stronger. Smarter. I look up into his eyes and he kisses me before I can even think to move away. His tongue tackles mine, fingers lacing into the hair at the nape of my neck, his other hand squeezes my thigh, my eyes roll back "mmh-" and maybe he is God. He breaks the kiss, looking me over.

His eyes undress me and I wish his hands would follow suit but they don't.

"Walk to the desk, stand in front of it."

I do as he says. There are 4 rows of pews on either side of the room and at the end of the aisle there is a door that seems to lead into a hallway. As I make note of this, Mr. Reed gets up from his place and begins stacking the books and board games, placing them on the floor beside the desk, and setting the needle on the vinyl player. He stands before me, bringing a hand up to stroke my cheek.

The song he's selected begins with a wavering guitar note, and I recognize it immediately. 'If, I could make a wish, I think I'd pass, can't think of anything I need-'

"Have you heard this song before, (y/n)?"

'No, cigarettes no sleep, no light, no sound...' the song plays on.

"Of course, Mr. Reed.  'The Air That I Breathe' by The Hollies? Everyone knows this song."

He closes the short distance between us, smirking down at me as his fingers trail the outside of my arms.

"Not. Everyone. And certainly not everyone your age. Your generation is a mess. All depression and 'memes' and vanity," he rolls his eyes "but it's obvious that you, my dear, are something totally different. You're a person of tradition, sure, but more importantly, one of great intellect. We share this trait. Because of it, people shy away from us. Ostracize us. Call us 'crazy' or 'obsessive' of our interests. Hence why no one's come here looking for you. To them," he takes my hands in his "We are alien in our entirety. But to Me, you are an angel. A lost lamb, searching for truth in every interaction, looking for a god in all things. You were destined to find me eventually, to be freed of your inhibitions and made new... "

His eyes are wide and I watch them flicker with something unidentifiably terrifying. The song ends and the record skips as the room's momentarily warm ambiance is replaced by silence again.

"Mis-mister Reed?" I blink "I won't lie, you're scaring me-"

"Enlightenment can be an entirely horrifying journey. Knowing our souls at a depth others might only see as aspirational...It is scary," he squeezes my hands and my palms are sweating but he doesn't let go, instead  lowering himself to whisper in my ear "but are you frightened more of the depth of knowledge you've acquired, in your short time here?... Or how much you've enjoyed yourself doing so? After all," he continues, "good girls aren't supposed to."

"Aren't supposed to...?"

He pushes his cardigan off my shoulders, letting it fall onto the desk behind me. He then tugs down the zipper on the side of my skirt that isnt my skirt and it slips off my hips, crumpling at my feet. He pushes the fabric of the sweater over my breasts, exposing me further, running a thumb lightly over one nipple, and I wince at the sensitivity of my own body, taking my lower lip between my teeth.

"Aren't supposed to let me do that. But you do. And good girls, (y/n)," he reaches his opposite hand between my legs, feeling how slick I've become over the course of his lecture "don't get wet in dangerous situations... with strange men..." He runs his fingers along my vulva, pressing up gently as he scans my flushed face for a reaction, which he gets easily, as my body responds before I can, bucking against his hand desperately. His fingers dip into me a few times and I moan, breath ragged as I melt for him.

"I-" I am defenseless. I know it and so does he. Mr. Reed knows I'll take anything he gives, give him anything he wants, that I'm addicted to the lightest touch of his hand or gentle word from his lips.

"You, (y/n), are not a good girl. They don't want it, need it, the way you do. Barnes would never behave for me the way you have..." He mutters, bringing his two fingers from one set of lips to the other and my core is tense with anticipation. I don't question him, though I want to. Barnes..?

"Open." I do. Mr. Reed watches my eyes and he doesn't need to tell me to suck because I am a good girl, and my face burns with white-hot shame as I reach for his already half-hardened cock, ready to prove it to him.

I squeeze his shaft gently and it twitches in my hand, stiffening for me as if on command. He takes his fingers from my mouth and watches me play with it through the thin pajama pants, intrigued. "Go on then."

That's all the permission I need and I sink to my knees, taking his boxers and pajama pants down with me as I watch his cock spring forward, throbbing.

I wrap a hand around it, looking up at Mr. Reed as I slowly stroke. I watch open-mouthed as a bead of precum dribbles from his tip. Snapping out of my trance, I lick the underside of his length from base to tip before taking him into my mouth as far back as I can, bobbing my head over him slowly

"Ohhh..." he groans "You are dirty, (y/n). One orgasm and you're on your knees, doing anything for more... you'll get it too..." his hands find my hair again and he thrusts himself deeper into my throat, tears immediately welling in my eyes and cascading down my cheeks as I gag on him "Mmmh, you'll get over that gag reflex eventually," he grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks me painfully upwards, spinning me around by the shoulders and bending me over the desk "but today is simply *not* that day, I'm afraid..."

He's inside me instantly, ramming forcefully against my cervix as he stretches me out again. I feel myself clench a couple times around him and he slows his pace, making me groan in annoyance as much as pleasure.

"Please, Mr. Reed," I whimper

"Not... yet..." he murmurs, affixing his hands to the front of my hips as he resumes his agonizing strokes.

"Mister Reed I can't-" I moan

"I said, Not. Yet." He gives a slow, hard thrust with each word and it's all I can do not to push back onto him. As the rhythm of his hips builds I feel an internal coil prime itself to snap, and right as Mr. Reed's fingers find my clit, it does.

"Ohh my gohddd, Mister Reeeed!!"

I see white as my body pulses around him, coming entirely undone in hot, flowing waves as I convulse, glazing his length.

He keeps fucking me, forcing soft, raspy moans from my lips.

"Whose are you?" He commands, a hand wrapping around my throat as he pistons into me, his grip firm.

"Yours!" I whine.

"And to whose. Fucking. Creed. Do you devote yourself? Quickly..."

"Yours Mister Reed! I take no others before you! Just you, only you..." the words fall from my mouth as a distressed whimper before I can process their meaning and I gasp as I feel him fill me with thick, hot ropes of semen.

He groans as he comes inside me, slowing pace gradually before pulling out.

He grabs the discarded skirt from the floor and cleans himself off with it, then holds it between my legs as my tender, limp body recovers. He waits a few seconds, tugging his pants and boxers back up his legs, then walks to the purple door with the skirt in hand, tossing it into whatever room waits beyond.

"Only. Me. Hm?" He chortles under his breath. "Only you Mister Reed!" He mocks in an exaggerated American accent, circling the desk and turning me over, scooping his arms under my legs and torso to lay me across it longways. He tugs the sweater he'd dressed me in the rest of the way off my body so I'm laid out bare before him, still attempting to catch my breath. "I take it youre not a practicioner of idolatry then. " He chuckles.

"Only... you...I promise...just you Mr. Reed." I breathe, opening my eyes, my gaze focused on the ceiling.

He hums, smirking down at me. I feel him run a finger down my torso.

"Gorgeous little zealot, and so easily converted... begs a question, did you ever really believe those things you preached to me?"

"Mostly?" I cringe at the admission, exhaling deeply.

"Mostly. From my understanding this is the typical experience of Catholicism, yes? You... grow up, being hammered over the head with flawed logic, you stop believing about halfway through middle school, feeling like a complete fraud at your confirmation into the faith, and some years later, just the way R.E.M. describes it, you lose your religion either to one that makes sense, or to one that roams so far from your parents' ideals that you feel like a rebellious teen in your twenties, having cracked the code. Hm? Sound correct?"

I feel understood, yet ashamed as his words sink in. "Y-yes, Mr. Reed, I'd say that's accurate.." I mumble.

His hands are warm as he pulls me up into a seated position on the desk, pressing a soft kiss into my forehead before letting his chin rest gently on top of my head. "It's so hard to be misunderstood the way you are, (y/n)," he mutters, arms wrapping around my shoulders, holding me tight against his chest "the way we have been..." Mr. Reed rubs gentle circles into my back, soothing me further, and I let my hands rest on his back, keeping him there. He goes on;

"But that's all over now, now that you've found the only true faith, my singular infallible doctrine. You do trust in my control of you, don't you, (y/n)?" He withdraws slightly, scanning my face.

A beat.

"Yes, Mr. Reed. I entrust myself to you fully. I know you'll guide me righteously,-"

"But you hesitated. I allowed you my blessing, my sacrament. I placed my seed within you, allowing our souls to entwine, and you hesitate when I ask you to verbally acknowledge your trust in me as your singular deity?"

"I'm just a little bit fatigued, from the-" I breathe, confused

"Oh, (y/n)... tsk... and you were doing so well..." a pitied expression colors his features as he stares down at me, taking a step back.

"Wait, wait, what do you me-"

"That just won't do, I'm afraid-"

I watch his arm hack an invisible line through the air and my ability to breathe is instantly diminished. My hands rush to my neck, and only when I feel a warm gush come forth does it dawn on me that he's holding a box cutter, with which he has just slit my throat open in one fluid swipe.

"Mister Reed-" I wheeze, barely a whisper "why?"

"Faith must be unwavering. There is no room here for hesitance. For ambivalence. For selfishness."

I choke out sputtering breaths in a desperate attempt to prolong my conciousness, but the edges of my vision start to tint in spite of my efforts. Tears run hot down my face as I silently plead with him, but Mr. Reed resumes his rant unaffected;

"Too innocent to prophecise, and setting you free, well that would never work... but don't worry dear, sweet angel. It's really not you... its me. I require a perfect convert with true, unwavering belief in my principles to aid in execution of these experiments...it is sad though, we really could've been something, mm?" He looks me over affectionately, even now, as fresh blood pours ceaselessly from the wound and down my chest, torso, and thighs.

I cough, tipping forward some and watch blood spatter his white cotton shirt. "Please-" I croak weakly, reaching for him. He steps back further, brows raised.

"If it's meant to be, (y/n), you'll resurrect for me, certain of your faith. And if not, well," he gives me an awkward grimace, "I bid you adieu then, and wish you comfort in the fact that you were of great use to me in your... " he checks his watch "Eight hours here." A fond smile.

I fall forward off the desk and onto the carpet, my head bouncing against the floor with an excruciating thud. I watch Mr. Reed take a seat in one of the pews as he watches me spasm in shock and struggle to breathe through a series of garbled croaks, gasps, and wheezes, stifled by the flow of my own blood coating my larynx.

My mouth opens and closes a few times, hands still weakly striving to stem the steady gush from my lacerated neck, but nothing comes out as my body goes rigid in shock, my eyes lose sight, and I lose conciousness for the last time.

There is no white light. There is no chorus of angels.

Only a profound darkness, and once I find myself wrapped in its undertoe, I've drowned completely.

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

Harry is at a Quidditch game, and he’s having a dreadful time. There should be some universal rule that negates this possibility. It’s Quidditch, he’s Harry – it’s the perfect pairing. He should be watching the Wimbourne Wasps crush the Ballycastle Bats and munching on some delightful treacle Sugar Sweeps while enjoying his first date in months.

Except they only have the licorice-flavoured Sugar Sweeps.

Except his team is losing horrendously.

Except his date – Jeanine, or Jeannie; something with a J – is more interested in flirting with anyone other than him. She’d tried to catch the eye of the unfairly attractive man sitting on Harry’s other side for a good twenty minutes. When she made no progress, her attention shifted to orchestrating a threesome with her friend and Draco. Rude.

(And no matter how far they’ve come from the bitter rivalry of their youth, Harry still hates to lose to Mal– Draco. He’d feel worse about that if the other man didn’t feel the exact same way – and if the prat looked less bloody smug.)

This is the last time he lets the blond convince him to go on a blind double-date. Merlin, what was he thinking when he agreed to this?

The Wasps call a timeout to discuss strategy (not that it’s likely to help at this point) and that’s when the worst of it happens. Some genius decided Quidditch needed a kiss cam for the slower moments of a match. If Harry ever finds out who, he’s going to hex their toes off.

That’s the thought that runs through his mind as he sees himself and Jacqueline on each of the floating screens bobbing around the Quidditch stadium.

His eyes slide helplessly to the side, where Jasmine is already inching away from him. This is so bloody embarrassing. He can feel his cheeks redden in mortification and is sure his deer-in-the-headlights expression will be immortalised in tomorrow’s Daily Prophet.

He sure wishes he had a time turner – he’d go back to this morning and stay in bed the whole day.

He can hear laughter breaking out from the other spectators the longer the camera lingers on him. Why haven’t they moved on to another pair? Or at the very least shifted three feet to the right; Harry’s certain Jolene and her friend or Draco (or hell, all three, why not) would be happy to give the viewers a show.

And then he feels a tap on his left shoulder. 

It’s not that he’d forgotten about the extremely hot man sitting to his left. But the reminder of the human perfection to his side while this debacle unfolds kind of makes him want to stand up and leave. Or blow something up.

He turns to Mr. Sex-on-Legs and smiles weakly. The man returns his smile, and while it’s a little sharp, it’s not mocking. Hurray for small mercies.

“May I?” Unreasonably Handsome Stranger asks.

“Uh,” Harry replies eloquently. May he what? Harry swiftly decides he doesn’t need more details. This man could be asking for his kidney and as long as it makes this whole situation less painful, Harry’s on board. “Sure…?���

Unreasonably Handsome Stranger tilts Harry’s face up and swoops in. Harry can’t stop the confused squeak from leaving him – so much for less shameful – and then he’s being kissed within an inch of his life. Holy shite.

This is awesome.

Harry kind of forgets why this man is kissing him and what’s going on around him, because it doesn’t matter. The most gorgeous person he’s ever seen in real life is pressing his lips against Harry’s with intent, with skill – is that his tongue? All higher brain functions have ceased in order to enjoy this moment to the fullest.

When they finally pull back for air, Harry finds his hands are gripping the man’s collar and holding him close. He figures that’s fine, considering the man has one hand wound through Harry’s hair and the other is still cupping his jaw.

“Wow,” Harry breathes, brain still taking a break from thinking. The other man smirks knowingly at him, and Harry would probably take offence to that if the man’s perfectly formed cheekbones weren’t flushed pink, showing he’s not as unaffected as he might pretend to be.

“Er. I’m Harry.”

“Tom.”

“Nice to meet you, Tom.”

This makes Smokin' Hot Tom chuckle, which in turn makes his eyes crinkle up adorably. Oh bother – Harry might be in trouble.

He’s aware, peripherally, that someone behind him is aggressively clearing their throat. He only bothers to care about it when Tom shoots an unimpressed look at the source of the noise.

When Harry turns to follow Tom’s gaze, he comes face to face with an irate Julienne, her glaring friend, and Draco, who can’t seem to decide whether he’s impressed or pissed off.

He shrugs, grinning dopily. “It just isn’t going to work out, Josephine.”

She gives him a baleful look. “My name is Petra.”

Whoops. Not even close. “Sorry – Petra. Have fun with Draco and …your friend.”

He sends a teasing salute to Draco and starts dragging Tom towards the exit. Speaking of having fun – he’s sure they can find an alcove somewhere around here to continue what Tom started.

—

Harry’s picture is indeed in the Prophet the next day. But he supposes that’s only to be expected when he’s caught publicly snogging the visiting ambassador from the French Ministry of Magic.

[burnednotburied]

Chapter 7: Lost Haven

AO3 Link | Masterlist

Pairing: Abby Anderson x fem!reader

Fic Synopsis: Abby goes looking for Owen and ends up on the wrong end of your knife.

Tags/CWs: angst; slowburn; mutual pining; enemies to friends to lovers; talks of purity culture/ideals and “sin”; internalized homophobia and some comp-het feelings (they’re both so gay but so dumb about it); animosity between WLF and Seraphites; blood/gore; descriptions of being hanged; religious/cult-like ideas; character deaths (canon AND non-canon)

Note: The last chapter was short and (mostly) sweet. This one... not so much.

Enjoy!

----------------------------------------------------------------

This was your fault.

You knew Lev was upset. You knew Yara was having trouble getting through to him. But instead of talking to him – making sure he understood exactly why none of you could go back to the island, handling the situation that was yours to handle – you’d been too busy worrying about your clothes and almost kissing Wolves.

As you raced after Yara through the dimly lit hallways of the aquarium, you silently berated yourself for getting so distracted. For losing sight of what was important. For failing to predict that Lev would do something reckless if you didn’t keep him in your sight. 

If anything happened to him, you would never forgive yourself. 

A strong gust of wind hit your face as you made it into open air, looking out on the makeshift dock where Owen’s boat floated idly. He was already out there, standing near Mel as the two of them looked out at the open water. 

Ominous dark clouds and another punishing current of air told you a storm was coming.

“Are we sure he’s heading to the island? Maybe he’s just blowing off steam,” Abby offered, attempting a comforting tone.

“No,” Yara said. The three of you joined the two others, and Yara pointed out in the same direction Owen and Mel had been looking. “That’s him. He’s definitely going to the island.”

You could just barely make out a small boat in the distance. 

“Shit,” Abby breathed out.

“What’s he doing?” Mel asked.

“He’s going after her.” Yara’s hand grasped onto the metal fence in front of her desperately.

“After who?”

“His mom,” Abby supplied.

“She’s going to kill him, Prophet! You know that,” Yara turned to you, looking devastated. Your fingers curled into tight fists, nails digging into your palms. It was true. You would have to go after him.

“Woah, wait. What? Prophet?” And then it occurred to you that that was something Owen and Mel were not aware of.

But that didn’t matter right now. 

“Your boat.” You turned to meet Owen’s wide eyes. “Does it work?”

There was a brief moment where he seemed to battle with whether or not to push about the Prophet thing, but he chose to let it go. He shook his head. “Not yet.”

“How much time do you need?” Abby asked.

“Uhhh,” he looked away, thinking. “A few hours. At least.”

“Fuck.” Abby turned to you. You were about to ask if there was somewhere else you could get a boat – and you had begun to wonder if you shouldn’t just run off by yourself and hope you came across one quickly by chance – but Abby was already thinking the same thing, already moving, already prepared to jump back into danger for you and your friends. “We’ll head him off. We’ll grab a boat from the marina–”

“Hey! She just had surgery.” Mel threw an arm out in front of Yara, who had begun to follow you, Abby, and Owen.

“I’m fine,” Yara insisted, pushing past the woman.

You paused, reaching blindly behind you to pull Abby back. 

“No, she’s right,” you said. You needed to stop and think about this before you went forward. There was no good way to go about this, but one option was definitely better than the rest. You found Abby’s eyes and realized that you had somehow gone from pulling her by her wrist to holding her hand.

You didn’t let go.

“I could use your help to find a boat, but then I need to do the rest by myself.”

Abby pulled away in shock, and her and Yara’s responses came immediately and simultaneously.

“Fuck that!”

“What? No! You can’t!”

You nodded, doubling down. This was the right thing to do. You were sure of it. “Going to the island would be deadly for anyone here except me.” Again they both tried to protest as you went on. “I know the island better than almost anyone else. On my own, there’s a good chance I could stay undetected. And even if they were to catch me, it would be fine. They don’t know that I deserted. And even if they suspected as much, I’m confident that I can convince them otherwise. Worst case scenario, they won’t kill me immediately like they would the rest of you.”

“You’re not going by yourself,” Abby said, and it was your turn to protest, but she cut you off. “Yara should stay here, but I’m going with you.”

“I’m coming too,” Owen stated matter-of-factly, just as Yara said, “I am going!”

Mel and Abby both jumped to argue with Owen. You left them to figure that out and pulled your friend to the side to talk privately.

“Yara,” you began, “stay here. Please. Help them get ready to leave for Santa Barabara. I promise I’ll bring Lev back.”

“I just–”

“Lev wouldn’t want you to get hurt. Especially not because of him.” 

Yara’s eyes went back out to the water, as if she could make him come back through sheer force of will. You wished the same. You didn’t want to go back to the island, and you really didn’t want Lev to be in danger. 

“I’ll get him. I won’t let anything happen to him.”

Yara was silent for a moment as the first rolls of thunder rumbled loudly.

“I’ll stay,” she said. “But you have to agree to take Abby with you.”

“You already trust her more than me, don’t you?” Your words took on a lightly teasing tone.

“Of course not.” She gave you a small smile as, you assumed, her eyes found Abby somewhere behind you. “But you need someone to watch your back. Lev wouldn’t want you to get hurt either. And neither do I.” She stepped forward and hugged you. It was a bit awkward on your end – with you having to be careful to avoid her healing wound – but it was the first time anyone had embraced you in years. In fact, you were pretty sure the last time had been when Yara hugged you on the morning of your scarring ceremony. 

You cleared your throat. Even if emotions hadn’t already been running high, you would’ve had to swallow down some tears in that moment.

“Yara?” you said, still holding her.

“Yes?”

“When we get back, I’m really going to need you and Lev to stop calling me Prophet.” 

She let out a little laugh at that as you parted. “Deal.”

When you looked back at the other three, you found them standing in the same place you’d left them, watching you and Yara, apparently having already come to an agreement themselves. By the look on Owen’s face, it hadn’t gone the way he wanted it to.

So it would be just the two of you then.

You looked to Abby.

“Ready?”

----------------------------------------------------------------

The process of getting a boat wasn’t nearly as straightforward as Abby thought it would be. And it had taken a lot longer than she would’ve liked.

At the marina, the two of you were greeted by the sound of gunshots. She asked you to stay there, hidden near the dock, while she grabbed a boat. 

If there were WLF soldiers nearby, being spotted with you would be a problem. Your lack of facial scars meant you weren’t recognizable as a Seraphite at a glance, but you were still a stranger. She didn’t know how to explain you being with her in a way that wouldn’t bring up too many questions. All in all, it would be easier and faster for her to go alone.

You surprisingly didn’t argue with her, willing to hang back for a bit if it meant getting to the island – getting to Lev – quicker.

Abby almost immediately ran into Manny and found that the gunshots were coming from one of the trespassers who’d come out of nowhere and been hitting WLF hard the last few days. 

She didn’t get the chance to ask Manny what he meant by that. 

The trespasser shot him in the head.

But she got close enough to see him. Close enough to fight with him hand-to-hand.

It was Tommy Miller, Joel’s brother – a realization that made her worry about what these trespassers were here for and what they meant to do.

But Abby was great at setting things aside for later for the sake of focusing on one problem at a time.

And right now, she needed to get you and get to Lev. 

By that point, you’d already caught up to her – because of course you hadn’t actually stayed very far behind at all – but you still needed a boat. 

Abby found a small motorboat tied to one of the docks that proved to be in working order. She got it going, sat behind the wheel, and headed out toward the island, quickly reaching the boat’s top speed, trying to make up for lost time.

You had been silent since you got on the boat, looking out at the water. She cleared her throat, speaking loudly over the combined roar of the motor, the wind, and the water. “So how do we get to that village in one piece?”

Your eyes remained focused ahead. “There are blind spots along the coast we can boat into. From there, we’ll follow back roads.”

“They’re safe?”

“It’s the safest option we have.”

You wore the same expression you’d had since you found out Lev had run off, eyebrows drawn together, a storm in your eyes just as strong as the one in the sky. You were worried, but it was more than that. 

Abby had to call your name twice before you turned to her, reluctant to meet her eyes. “This isn’t your fault, you know.”

You shook your head once and looked back out towards the island, pointing as you began to direct her to the best entrypoint.

The island was weirdly exactly what Abby expected, given what she knew about the Seraphites, and yet seeing it with her own eyes was still shocking.  

The Washington Liberation Front used existing buildings from the Old World. SoundView Stadium and the Lakehill Seattle Hospital. Schools and office buildings. They didn’t build so much as clean, repair, and repurpose.

The Seraphites had built a whole new world on the island. Wooden structures, villages, homes, farmlands. 

It was honestly impressive.

As promised, you had been leading the way through the woods, using backroads. You had yet to run into any other people, but Lev and Yara’s village was further inland, and it was only a matter of time before it became unavoidable.

Abby wondered if you were prepared to kill your own people. And if you would hold it against her when she did, to keep you safe and to get to Lev.

You had been quiet for a while, deftly navigating through a thick stretch of forest with her following close behind. If you didn’t want to talk, she wasn’t going to force the issue.

It had begun raining a while ago, although the worst of the storm hadn’t hit yet. The outfit Mel gave you hadn’t included a jacket, and you’d left your cloak behind with the dress.

Would you be offended if she offered you her jacket? Abby wasn’t sure, but you didn’t seem to be bothered by the rain or the cold. 

At a point of higher elevation, you came to a stop, looking out onto a huge settlement in the distance along the western coast.

“Woah. Is that the village?” she asked, using one hand to shield her eyes from the rain to get a better look.

“No,” you said. “That’s Haven, our capital. And that–” You stepped closer to Abby, placing a hand on her shoulder as you shifted your weight to the tips of your toes so your eyelines were level. She leaned into the touch, bringing your faces even closer, cheeks nearly brushing. You pointed to a specific building just north of the large town. It was bigger than the rest and even from that distance, Abby could tell that it was nicer. More carefully and intentionally made and maintained.  “–That is Sanctuary. It was the first Prophet’s home and a sacred place of worship. And it’s where I lived after my scarring ceremony.”

You let several moments pass before your hand fell and you dropped back down to your heels, taking a step to the side.

Sometimes it seemed that you touched her without realizing, without meaning to. And then there’d be a moment when you’d become aware of your actions and pull away. 

She wished you wouldn’t. But now wasn’t the time for that conversation.

“The village is further east.” You turned to go, continuing back into the forest. Abby stood there for a second longer, looking out at the place you’d spent much of your life, being literally worshiped and yet entirely controlled, and she wondered how strange it must feel for you to come back now. 

“Don’t linger,” you said, turning back to find that she hadn’t moved. “They have scouts. They might see you.”

She glanced back one more time before following.

“Are you sure the Wolves are attacking tonight?” you asked, breaking several minutes of silence, both of you having been lost in thought.

She cleared her throat. “Yeah, that’s what my friend told me. They’ll use this storm as a cover for the attack. Unless Isaac changes his mind.”

“Will he change his mind?”

Abby’s gaze was locked onto the ground in front of her. “...I doubt it.”

You stopped abruptly, a gasp leaving your throat. Her eyes shot up, hand flying to her gun at her side.

“Fuck,” she breathed. 

Two WLF soldiers were dead, disemboweled in typical Seraphite fashion, one hanging from an old road sign and the other discarded on the ground like trash. They had clearly been dead for several days, but Abby pulled the gun from the holster on her right thigh anyway. Just in case.

“Did you know them?” you asked, turning to her.

“I’ve seen them around.” Abby brushed it off and kept walking, taking the lead.

“I’m sorry,” you said, running to catch up, voice sincere despite the fact that you hadn’t been the one to do it.

It’s not your fault, she wanted to say.

“It is what it is,” she said instead. And then, because she was curious, “Have you ever–?”

“No,” you said quickly and definitively. “You were supposed to be my first.” Abby felt her cheeks warm. You hadn’t meant it that way at all of course, but that’s where her mind went. She let out a weird, strangled, kind-of-coughing noise that only aided in deepening her blush. 

You went on, unaware, “It was supposed to be a big deal. They were calling it my first kill.” You sounded put off by the whole thing, like very nearly killing Abby had been so beneath you. “That’s why they were letting me off the island for the first time. Things… obviously didn’t go as the Elders planned.”

“Well I feel… weirdly honored,” she said, an attempt at lightening the mood.

“Honored that you were chosen to be my first kill? Or honored that I didn’t actually kill you?” you asked, brows slightly raised but playing along.

“Both I guess.” She shrugged as you sped up a bit so you could walk side-by-side instead of one after the other.

“Yeah well.” You bumped her gently with your shoulder. “I’m glad I didn’t kill you.”

Abby scoffed. “You were never actually going to do it.”

“Yes I was!”

She scoffed again. “Sure. If you say so, princess.”

“I absolutely was going to kill you,” you said, feigning offense. “Abby, if Lev and Yara hadn’t shown up exactly when they did, you would be so dead right now.”

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. To anyone else, this might’ve been a weird thing to joke about, but between the two of you it worked.

“You really don’t think I could’ve done it.” Your eyes were wide in realization, and now you looked like maybe you were truly offended.

“All I’m saying is,” Abby said, smiling to herself, “there seemed to be a whole lot of hesitation on your end of things.”

“Well I’m not saying that I wanted to do it,” you insisted, watching her as you walked. “I’m just saying that I could’ve.”

“Uh huh. Whatever you say.” She knew she was goading you, but it was the first time she’d seen you get anywhere close to a smile since you left the aquarium. 

“Shut up,” you mumbled harshly, whipping your head back around to face forward. 

That made Abby really laugh. She’d never heard you say anything like that before.

You were biting your tongue, trying to suppress a smile of your own.

A loud, low groaning alarm sounded out over the island, and your face instantly fell.

“What is that?”

“It’s our warning signal,” you said, pulling Lev’s bow over your shoulder and grabbing an arrow. “Your people are here. The whole island will be on alert now.”

“God damn it, Isaac,” Abby muttered to herself.

“We’ll cut through the logging camp. This way,” you took a left, leaving the path you’d been on. “We no longer have the luxury of taking the long way to stay hidden. We need to hurry.”

Abby nodded, even though you weren’t looking at her. “How many people live here?”

“Around a thousand.”

“How many soldiers?”

“More than half are trained in combat.”

“What are the other half going to do when my people get here?”

“Some will hide. Most will fight,” you said, leading the way into the nearest village.

It was empty. No one around, ready to attack.

“Where is everyone?”

“The children will have been taken to shelters as soon as the signal went off. Everyone else is probably moving towards the coast to face the Wolves.” 

The second small village you passed through was still being evacuated. As expected, when they caught sight of Abby, they attacked. In the chaos, no one seemed to get a close enough look at you to recognize who you were.

Abby fought. And killed.

You fired more than a few arrows.

And then you moved on to the next village, making a near-straight shot to where you knew Lev would be.

Abby paused just within the treeline.

In the trunk of a tree, someone had painstakingly sculpted a life-sized, hyper-realistic statue of you. Just above your head, the words “May Her light guide us” were carved. 

You stopped next to Abby, regarding the figure in your likeness for a moment.

“‘When you’re lost in the darkness, look for the light,’” she said quietly. 

“What’s that?”

“Just… something my dad used to say.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, glancing down to where the trunk met the earth.

“Those are new,” you said, referring to the mass of flowers that were carefully placed around the tree.

It reminded Abby of the flowers people put near the graves and memorials of their dead loved ones. 

“It’s like they’re mourning you,” she said.

“They think I’m dead?” you asked, knowing she couldn’t have an answer. 

Abby pulled her eyes away from the intricate carving to look at the real, living, breathing version of you beside her. “Where are we going?”

Without looking away from the flowers, you said, “See that tall tower?”

“The Space Needle?”

“The what?”

“The – never mind. Yeah. I see it.”

“Head towards it.”

You knelt down, letting the fingers of your left hand graze over some of the flowers. When they landed on a daisy, you picked it up, stood, and carefully pushed it into your pocket.

She waited patiently before following you onward.

You had to get through a few more villages – and the few Scars who had been left behind to defend them – before you got to the right one.

At least Abby thought it must be the right one. Because you had come to a full stop and were staring at one specific house.

“Is that it?” she asked, putting a hand on your shoulder to bring you back down to earth.

“No,” you whispered absentmindedly. “It’s this one.” You walked towards the house across from the one you’d been staring at, bow drawn, arrow nocked.

Abby moved ahead of you and slid the door open. 

----------------------------------------------------------------

A lit fire pit in the center of the large, open room illuminated the space in an orange glow. You stepped inside, letting your weapon fall when you saw the lifeless body in front of the fire.

It was Lev and Yara’s mother.

Blood ran from a wound in her skull, pooling on the floor beneath her.

You let out a shaky breath.

And whipped around when you heard your name uttered from an even shakier voice coming from the corner of the room.

“Lev!” He was sitting, knees up, arms wrapped around them, curled in on himself, eyes locked on his mom. “Oh thank god,” you breathed out, rushing over. You were on your knees in front of him before you saw the damage that had been done. Cuts all across his face and arms. Your heart sank even deeper. “Did she do this to you?”

Lev let out a few hiccupping breaths, still staring past you at the body. “I just tried talking to her. I tried to make her understand, but she… she just kept yelling. She started chasing me. I tried to make her stop. I was just pushing her off of me…” His volume grew, voice becoming more desperate as he tried to explain.

“Hey hey hey,” you whispered, trying to soothe, wanting to fix.

“–Then she hit the table,” he sobbed.

“Listen to me.” Your hand was on his elbow, thumb gently circling. “You were defending yourself. You did nothing wrong.” When he finally met your eyes, you wrapped your arms around him and held him as he cried, grasping onto you so tightly it took your breath away. “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

You stayed there for several minutes, holding him against you, rubbing his back as he kept his face buried where your shoulder met your neck. You held him until his sobbing subsided and his breathing slowed. You remembered how Yara used to hug you when you were kids, never being the first to let go, and you hugged her little brother – your little brother – in just the same way.

You pressed a kiss to the side of his head and squeezed a little tighter.

“I wanna leave,” he said, voice muffled against you.

“Yeah, me too.” When he lifted his head, you stood, offering him a hand up. He took it and kept holding on, even once he was standing too. “Come on,” you said, motioning to the door.

Abby was there – she had been there the whole time – and her eyes looked soft and sad when they met yours.

“Hey, kid,” she said to Lev, offering him one of her handguns. You squeezed his hand one last time before letting it go so he could grab it, glad that Abby had the forethought to make sure he was armed.

He wiped his face with his shirt sleeve before taking the weapon from her. “I’m sorry. I never should’ve–”

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m just glad we found you. Let’s go.”

He nodded as she turned to push the door back open. The three of you stepped back out into the rain.

“What’s happening? Wolves?” Lev asked.

“Yeah,” you said, taking the lead. “All over the island.” Your eyes caught again on the house across the way, making you pause. 

Lev stopped next to you, immediately understanding. “She’s not there.”

“I figured.”

“Do you want to go in?” he asked.

“We don’t have time,” you said, but you couldn’t turn away.

“We’re never coming back here, right?”

“God, I hope not.”

“Then let’s make time,” he said, making the decision for you as he walked over and opened the door. You followed behind him, and Abby followed behind you, not asking any questions.

The inside of your mother’s house was much the same as Lev’s and Yara’s. One large, open room on the first floor. Fire pit in the center. A ladder leading up to a loft.

It looked nearly the same as you remembered it, though you hadn’t stepped foot in there in eight years. There was the stool in front of the mirror where you’d tried not to cry while your mom fixed your hair over and over again until she deemed it ‘as close to perfect as imperfect people can be’ on your last morning here. There was the table where you did your lessons and learned to read the scripture, and where you’d sit and have meals as a family, back before your dad died. The little wooden animals your dad used to carve in his rare, precious spare time. The bed where your mother slept.

Everything was the same. Except for the far wall. 

Where there was once a painting of the first Prophet, your own face now stared back at you. And next to the painting, in neat lettering:

“The world is not in balance,

But I have done my part to right it.

You have led me through the storm.

May the current be calm.

May you guide me home.”

“What’s that?” Abby asked, speaking for the first time since you entered the house.

“The Prophet’s prayer,” you said quietly, turning away from the wall entirely. 

“She prays to it,” Lev said matter-of-factly. “The painting,” he clarified. 

“I could’ve gone without knowing that, Lev,” you said, sounding cross despite your efforts not to.

“Your mom?” Abby asked. “This is her house, right?”

“Yep,” Lev answered for you.

You felt sick to your stomach.

“It’s like the Elders decided you were the new Prophet and then everyone lost their minds,” he went on as you made your way over to the ladder and climbed up to the loft. “Your mom stopped calling you her daughter. Suddenly your face was everywhere, but we weren’t allowed to go see you or talk to you. We weren’t even supposed to talk about you, you know, before. Someone overheard Yara using your real name, and they… The punishment was severe.”

You listened as you stood alone in the loft, looking around at what used to be your bedroom. This, your mother had left completely untouched. It seemed like no one had even been up here in the eight years you’d been gone. “I’m listening,” you reassured Lev as you began searching for something. The one thing you wanted to take with you before you left forever. 

“After that, it was hard to even think of you as the same person we knew. The girl who used to braid little flowers into crowns for us. Who came up with the best games and told the wildest stories and broke the rules but only in ways that didn’t really matter and only when you knew you wouldn’t get caught… The girl who carried me back home, all the way across the island, when I fell and broke my foot, singing the whole way because you knew it would make me feel better.” He paused for a second before continuing, “You were the first person who I told I didn’t like my name – I didn’t like the way it made me feel – so, without asking me a single question, without asking me to explain myself or justify anything, you just… never called me that name again.” Lev’s voice broke just a little, and you wiped away a few of your own tears as you continued looking. You knew this was everything he’d needed to get off his chest, probably since long before you were reunited a few days ago, and you didn’t want to interrupt. “You were our sister and then one day they took you away from us. And no one but me and Yara seemed upset about it. Our mom was weird. Your mom was even weirder. Everyone acted like you were a god. The God. Not even a person. And like everything else, everything before, didn’t matter. Like it wasn’t real. They made us believe it.”

You finally found what you’d been looking for, and you could sense that Lev had run out of things to say, at least for the time being, so you shoved it in your pocket with the daisy, climbed back down the ladder, walked over to him, and hugged him tightly again.

“They’re good at that,” you said quietly. “At making us forget… But it’s okay. We’re together now. Let’s get out of here.” He sniffled and nodded as you pulled away. “I’m surprised you remember all of that. You were so young.”

He said your name, eyebrows drawing together like he shouldn’t have to say this, “You were my favorite person. Of course I remember.”

“Really?” you asked, smiling. “Not Yara?”

“Don’t feel bad for her,” he said, heading to the door. “You were her favorite too.”

Abby brushed past you as she followed Lev out, letting her hand brush against yours as she went. You met her eyes and smiled apologetically, grateful to her for being here. For helping with this.

You took up the back of the line, taking one final look around before shutting that door behind you forever. 

Outside, the rain had picked up and daylight was slipping away. By the sounds of it, the fighting had grown closer on all sides, although it hadn’t yet reached the village you were in.

“This way,” you said, taking the lead again.

“Shouldn’t we head back for our boat?” Abby asked when you didn’t start going back the way you’d come.

“No, I hear fighting back there.” 

“I hear fighting everywhere,” Abby argued.

Lev stopped next to you. “There are lots of boats in Haven.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” you said. “We’re closer to Haven now than to where we came from anyway. We can cut through Old Town. Avoid the main roads.”

Abby looked unsure, but relented to the two who knew the island. “Alright, princess. Lead the way.”

Your group managed to avoid conflict for a while, from both the Wolves and the Seraphites, staying hidden in the trees and avoiding areas where the fighting was the loudest.

You moved in near silence, keeping the talking to a minimum.

Old Town referred to an area of old buildings, left completely unused by the anti-Old World Seraphites. The thing that had surprised you the most about the mainland was that it looked like Old Town, only much much bigger. The Wolves hadn’t carved out their own place in the world in the same way the Seraphites did. 

You wondered if the rest of the world was like that. Just people making the best of what already was instead of building something new.

The three of you moved carefully and quickly through the streets of Old Town, cutting through alleyways and relying mostly on side streets. 

“We’re leaving so many people behind,” Lev said as you passed by a few dead Seraphites on the road.

“We can’t help them,” you said. That’s what you had to tell yourself.

“I know.”

“Stay close to me,” you whispered.

“Okay.”

“We need to get off the street,” Abby said, leading you into one of the nearby buildings as the sound of gunshots grew closer.

You lost count of how many buildings you passed through, each of them equally derelict and damp. It took longer, traveling that way, but it meant you were much less likely to be seen.

“This way,” Lev said, pulling himself up and out of a large window that appeared to lead out to a side road. His feet hit the street before either you or Abby had even made it to the window. She was the first to follow after him. 

From inside, you couldn’t see what was happening, but you heard a struggle. Someone yelled, “I got one!” And then there was a gunshot.

Your heart lurched.

Abby yelled – no, screamed – Lev’s name.

You pulled yourself up as fast as you could.

But you were too late.

Lev was already on the ground.

He was already gone.

----------------------------------------------------------------

“Abby?” The WLF soldier gasped as she knocked him out with his own gun.

The one he’d used to kill Lev.

By the time she had taken the man out, you were out the window and on your knees next to Lev. Silent. Staring. Your hands frozen, shaking, hovering just above his body like you wanted to touch him but didn’t know if you should.

Your whole body shook with a sob.

“Gunshots! Over here!” More Wolves were just down the street. You were seconds away from being within their sights.

Abby rushed to you, grabbing your arm. “Hey, we need to move.” She wished more than anything that this wasn’t happening right now. She wanted to give you time, wanted to sit beside you and cry too, but that wasn’t an option right now.

“No!” You pushed her away. Abby didn’t have a choice. If you didn’t move now, you’d be dead too. She hooked her arms under yours and lifted you, trying to carry you away. “No!” you cried out, grabbing for Lev, fighting against her. “I can’t leave him here!”

“We have to!” she insisted, not letting you go.

The Wolves were closing in. “I see someone!”

There was no point. You wouldn’t be able to get away in time. Abby put you down and pushed you behind her, raising her gun. “Stay back!” she shouted as the soldiers came into view.

“Drop it! Now!” one of them demanded while two others said, “Holy shit!” and “It’s Abby!”

“I said stay back!” She held firm, ready to fire at any one of them at a moment's notice.

“Stand down,” came another voice. One Abby recognized.

The man stepped out of the treeline and into view. 

“Isaac,” she said.

When he came upon Lev’s body on the ground, he regarded it for a moment before shaking his head and slowly stepping over it.

Abby held her gun to the side, not putting it away but showing that she wasn’t aiming at him. She was, like he’d instructed, standing down.

“What the hell are you doing?” he asked.

She slowly bent down, fingers raised away from the trigger, as she dropped her gun on the ground a few feet in front of her. “I need you to hear me out.”

Isaac took a beat before he responded. “What’s that behind you?”

Abby held a hand up and kept her voice calm, like she was trying to reason with a wild animal instead of a man and a handful of his soldiers. She took a couple steps back, bumping into you, making sure you were close without ever looking away from him. “She saved my life, Isaac.”

“Move out of the way. We’ll deal with you back home.”

He wasn’t listening.

“She’s not one of them. Please,” Abby said, desperation in her voice. 

“Abby, move.” He was firm and expected to be obeyed, just as he always did.

But she couldn’t obey this time. She knew what would happen to you if she did. “No. She’s–”

“–The Prophet,” he finished. And then his gaze slid from hers to yours. “Yeah. I recognize you. They’ve got your face plastered all over this island.”

You said nothing, and Abby wanted his attention back on her, away from you. She tried again. “Isaac–”

He cut her off again, this time with a sudden laugh. “I tried to warn you, Abby. Didn’t I?” And then he turned dramatically, to the surrounding Wolves, gesticulating theatrically in her direction. “BEHOLD the power of the Great Scar Prophet!” His eyes landed back on her. “Able to pull my best soldier right out from under me. Make her turn her back on everything she believes in. And everyone she cares about.”

“That’s not– She’s not–” Abby didn’t know how to make him understand. “She’s not part of this.”

“That is correct. She’s not a part of this,” Isaac seethed. “She. Is. This.”

“What–”

“Every time they attack us – every time they slaughter one of our people – it is done in her name. Every new martyr of theirs dies with her face at the forefront of their mind. Every life lost here today is because of her, along with every life that has been lost in the last decade of this war. All of this death and destruction – all of the blood — is on her hands.”

“Isaac, you can’t seriously think–”

And then, for the first time, Isaac pointed his gun directly at Abby, leveling it at her face. “You have three seconds to get away from that Scar,” he said. “One.”

“You’re really gonna shoot me?” Abby reached a hand out behind her, finding you, making sure you were still behind her, still shielded.

“Two.”

“I’m not fucking moving.”

Isaac paused. And Abby thought, for just a second, that he might’ve changed his mind. That he might back down.

And then there was a gunshot. 

She flinched, but it wasn’t her who had been shot.

It was Isaac. Shot by–

“Lev!” you shouted, surging forward.

“No!” “What the fuck?” “Shoot him!” The soldiers all turned their guns on Lev and fired.

You screamed.

Abby grabbed your hand and booked it to the nearest building, taking advantage of the chaos. You were too shocked to fight her this time, so you allowed yourself to be pulled away.

“Shit!” “Stop them!” “Don’t let them get away!”

Abby slammed the door closed behind you and pushed a filing cabinet in front of it, grabbing your hand and dragging you further into the building, through another door. Once that one was secure, she reached for you again. If she had to drag you all the way back to the aquarium, she would.

But this time, you ripped your hand away. That’s when you seemed to notice the blood on your hands. 

Lev’s blood.

“We need to move.” She wanted you to have time, for you to be able to fully react and process this, but it needed to be later. When you were safe.

You didn’t hear her. Or didn’t care. “He’s gone. Oh my god. He’s gone.”

She said your name, forcefully, trying to draw your eyes to her. “Come on.” She reached for you again, but you yanked your whole body in the opposite direction.

“Those were your fucking people!” you lashed out, much angrier than she’d ever seen you, and for good reason.

“Hey! You’re my people!” she said, matching your volume and intensity. Abby didn’t know where that came from, but she knew that it was true. She took a breath, stepped closer, and tried to touch you again, this time putting her hands on your shoulders. You let her, looking up at her with wide eyes. “Listen to me. We’re gonna have to fight to get out of this, okay? And then I need you to show us to those boats.” You nodded, and she moved her hands from your shoulders to either side of your face, holding your gaze. “We won’t let anybody stop us, yeah?”

“Okay,” you said, barely a whisper.

“Okay.” She stepped back, letting her hands fall to her sides. “Follow me.”

----------------------------------------------------------------

Haven was burning.

You were on a boat, floating off to safety, while your whole island went up in flames.

Lev was there. Your mother was there. Everything and everyone you knew was there.

But you were here.

In a rowboat.

And you weren’t even helping to row it.

You hadn’t even thought to offer. 

The phantom heat of the now distant fires that consumed Haven seemed to lick at the back of your skull as you finally pulled your eyes away, turning to face Abby.

She was rowing slowly, now that you weren’t in imminent danger, her strong arms engaged, face focused. She had to be tired. She’d done so much.

You were only alive because of her.

“I can row,” you said, voice weaker than you meant for it to be. 

Abby slowed a bit more, looking you over. “You’re shaking.”

You hadn’t noticed. You clenched your fists tightly, trying to stop the tremors. But it wasn’t just your hands that were shaking. It was your whole body. 

Were you cold? 

For how long?

You steeled yourself. “I can help.” 

She stopped rowing entirely and started to shift. You prepared yourself to switch seats with her, but she wasn’t actually moving. She was only taking off her jacket.

You felt like you should protest, that you should insist you were fine and that she should keep her jacket, but you didn’t have it in you. 

When she went to drape it over your shoulders, you let her. 

The jacket was soaked, just like everything else in Seattle, but it helped.

You put your arms in the sleeves properly and pulled it tighter around yourself, staring at the floor of the boat. 

What you wanted was for your mind to go blank. Thinking about anything was dangerous. You didn’t want to spiral, not right now. You couldn’t create more problems for Abby to deal with. You needed to just get back to the aquarium, get dry, and then–

Yara.

You had to tell Yara what happened. 

How could you tell Yara about this? You promised her you’d bring Lev back safe.

Lev.

Images came rushing back to you. You tried to blink them away, but they were stubborn. They lingered.

You swallowed back tears and let your head fall into your hands, trying desperately to focus on your breathing and nothing else. Nothing else. Nothing. Else.

Abby brought the boat right up to a small dock right next to the aquarium. She got out first and tied it off with deft fingers. Then she offered you a hand and pulled you out, stabilizing you as you found balance on embarrassingly shaky legs.

“Got it?” she asked, a hand pressed to your mid-back.

“Yeah.”

She stepped away. “Let’s get out of the rain.”

Someone had barricaded the aquarium door from the inside.

That was the first indication that something was wrong.

The second came soon after, when you found the dog – Alice – dead. 

You and Abby were both on high alert, moving through the dark hallways with your weapons drawn.

Then there was the blood. So much of it that there was a pool of it gathering on the other side of the door. Whatever happened – whatever went so terribly wrong here in the time that you were gone today – was through that doorway.

You forgot to breathe.

Abby pressed on. 

You really didn’t want to, but you followed.

Into the room with whales on the ceiling and Mel, Owen, and Yara lifeless and bleeding on the floor.

You went numb in a way that had nothing at all to do with the cold. You felt the switch flipping inside of you, the failsafe going into effect. You detached. Walls went up in your mind. 

This was good. It meant that maybe, just maybe, you’d make it through this day. 

You were somewhat aware of Abby, to your left, as she let out a terrible sound. You thought she was saying “oh,” but no. That didn’t make sense. She was saying “no.” Over and over again as she crumpled to her knees near Owen.

Your eyes locked onto something on the floor by your feet. To get it, you had to step through a pool of blood that had certainly come from one of the three bodies.

But it was just blood, you told yourself. And these were just bodies. Nothing to be done. Nothing to worry about.

Numbly, you bent to pick up what you now realized was a map of Seattle. Someone had written on it, covering it in notes and shapes and names.

After studying it for a minute, your eyes went to Abby. She was on her hands and knees, heaving after having been sick.

You’d give her a moment more if you thought it would help, but you knew it wouldn’t.

This. This map. That would help.

“Abby…” You approached her slowly, letting her make an attempt at pulling herself together. When you were close enough, you held out the map.

She took it, and then she stood slowly, examining it.

When she turned to you, you could tell. She knew the same thing you did.

Someone had been tracking Abby – hunting her – for a while.

----------------------------------------------------------------

“The trespassers,” she said.

They killed Manny. 

They killed Owen and Mel.

And, according to the map, they’d gotten to Nora, Jordan, Leah, and Nick too.

All in pursuit of Abby. 

Because of something she had done.

But they fucked up.

They left the map.

And now she knew exactly where to find them.

----------------------------------------------------------------

Note: As always, thank you for reading! I'm not the best at responding to comments, but I want you to know that I love and cherish them more than words can say! So if you're leaving them, thank you <3

I'm really excited about the turn the story takes in the next chapter, and I think it'll be really enjoyable to read for anyone who's rooting for Abby and the Prophet! (which is, I assume, everyone who reads this fic lol)

Taglist: @4-atsu @h0meb0dyi @lmaoo-spiderman @quinnsadilla @rew1nds @sapphicontherun @stickynachomaker

[radical-revolution]

In Memory

After I got the call that Ram Dass had died yesterday, I closed my eyes.

He is still here.

I could feel the vast field of love that was shining from Ram Dass when Trudy and I taught with him just a couple of weeks ago. And I always will.

On the final day of this last retreat, called “Open Your Heart in Paradise,” Ram Dass was frail and didn’t have access to many words. But he was there in the most powerful way. He swam delightedly with the group in the ocean, chanting “Oh Joy, Oh Joy.”

And on the retreat’s last morning, he put his hands on a basket of 350 wrist malas, each tied with a thread of his guru’s blanket, to tenderly bless them. Then, as participants came by slowly to receive their malas, he silently looked into each face, offering to all what is sometimes called “the glance of mercy,” a gaze so full of love that it left many of us speechless and weeping, drunk with blessing.

I have known Ram Dass for 48 years, as master teacher and inspiration and role model, as a dear friend and benefactor who helped me begin to teach, as a companion on the path, as a truth teller and prankster, as a profound healer and whisperer of souls, as a kind of prophet for a generation. Out in public with him across the years, over and over people would come up to him and speak lovingly, tentatively, urgently, offering thanks, “Ram Dass, I just want to let you know you changed my life!” And he did… for so many of us.

Yes, his book “Be Here Now” changed countless lives. Yes, his work with Seva Foundation cured 5 million people of blindness. Yes, he taught almost nonstop for 50 years, spreading wisdom and humor, wild devotion and love and a vast timeless mystical perspective across the world. His obituaries will be filled with his many other accomplishments.

For me he is family and Sangha, even now still spreading his playful, tough, delicious love everywhere, connecting with our hearts. “Yum, yum,” as he would say.

He was so ready to leave the wheelchair and skinny and broken body, to go home.

Home is not somewhere else.

It is here, in life and death, in the eternal dance of consciousness, weaving together form and the formless mystery from which it all comes.

Ram Dass is the vastness reminding us that in the end, there is only love.

~ Jack Kornfield, two years ago🙏

Be Here Now

Please read aloud, pause in-between, and listen to the poetic heart-words of a Great Teacher...a Beloved Guru, and a true inspiration for so many of us throughout this life.

_________________________________________

We're fascinated by the words--but where we meet is in the silence behind them.

The quieter you become, the more you can hear.

It is important to expect nothing, to take every experience, including the negative ones, as merely steps on the path, and to proceed.

The most exquisite paradox… as soon as you give it all up, you can have it all. As long as you want power, you can't have it. The minute you don't want power, you'll have more than you ever dreamed possible.

I would like my life to be a statement of love and compassion - and where it isn't, that's where my work lies.

In most of our human relationships, we spend much of our time reassuring one another that our costumes of identity are on straight.

The heart surrenders everything to the moment. The mind judges and holds back.

Your problem is you are too busy holding on to your unworthiness.

As long as you have certain desires about how it ought to be you can't see how it is.

Treat everyone you meet like God in drag.

The most important aspect of love is not in giving or the receiving: it's in the being. When I need love from others, or need to give love to others, I'm caught in an unstable situation. Being in love, rather than giving or taking love, is the only thing that provides stability. Being in love means seeing the Beloved all around me.

Suffering is part of our training program for becoming wise.

What you meet in another being is the projection of your own level of evolution.

The spiritual journey is individual, highly personal. It can't be organized or regulated. It isn't true that everyone should follow one path. Listen to your own truth.

Let's trade in all our judging for appreciating. Let's lay down our righteousness and just be together.

Only that in you which is me can hear what I'm saying.

Everything changes once we identify with being the witness to the story, instead of the actor in it.

We are all affecting the world every moment, whether we mean to or not. Our actions and states of mind matter, because we are so deeply interconnected with one another.

A feeling of aversion or attachment toward something is your clue that there's work to be done.

The next message you need is always right where you are.

I would say that the thrust of my life has been initially about getting free, and then realizing that my freedom is not independent of everybody else. Then I am arriving at that circle where one works on oneself as a gift to other people so that one doesn't create more suffering. I help people as a work on myself and I work on myself to help people.

I'm not interested in being a "lover." I'm interested in only being love.

The game is not about becoming somebody, it's about becoming nobody.

Learn to watch your drama unfold while at the same time knowing you are more than your drama.

If you think you're free, there's no escape possible.

Every religion is the product of the conceptual mind attempting to describe the mystery.

It's only when caterpillarness is done that one becomes a butterfly. That again is part of this paradox. You cannot rip away caterpillarness. The whole trip occurs in an unfolding process of which we have no control.

We're here to awaken from the illusion of separateness

We're all just walking each other home.

~ Ram Dass now, just as before,

at home with Divinity

[cosmic-ghost-hermit]

Pick a Card: Message from your Spirit Team

I love connecting with everyone's guides! Thank you to the collective and their spirit guides for your support in this reading. I love you! The universe loves you! and your guides love you!!! <3 Take what resonates and leave the rest behind but always be open to new perceptions.

Decks used are: Alchemy Oracles, Archetype Oracle, Necronomicon Tarot

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Drop any reading suggestions, request readings, or reading recommendations in my ask box! Can't wait to see what y'all wanna see!

_________

PILE ONE

Astrology: Virgo, Gemini, Scorpio

Song: Shooting Star by Owl City

Vibes: Black, white, green, blue, thunder, rain, prophetic dreams, illusion, secrets, finders-keepers, forests, 9999, corsets, darkness, frozen fruit, con artist, narcissistic, Hera

Cards: 6 of Swords, Eros, Destroyer, Quicksilver

My friend, you have bitten off more than you can chew while standing upon a really unsteady foundation. It will crumble eventually. It isn't a matter of "if". It will happen. It is a matter of "when". You can't go on like this. You can't play both sides. You are going to lose people who you dearly love if you keep it up. Your intentions are pure I know. You don't want to rock the boat. You don't want to make the wrong decision. The actions you took were driven by a good heart but you are stretching that good heart too thin to be able to continue like this. What you are doing was supposed to be temporary but you are treating it as if it is sustainable and permanent. Luckily, there is an escape from the desolation you could face. You must be honest about how you feel to yourself. You must be true. You can't just follow anymore to make everyone happy. Decide for yourself because there is no staying out of it anymore. If it takes you time to decide that's alright. If you need time to do research on whatever decision this is that is fine. Take your time deciding. But you MUST decide and if you don't decide then it will be decided for you.

This feels like a different decisions for different people reading this. I can see it might be about a situation-ship or familial/friend drama. It could be political as well. Either way you have spent most of your time in this situation sitting on the side lines and not making any moves. You believe if you ignore whatever is happening it will solve itself. It won't. I'm sorry. You are being tested and being indecisive is the only way you can fail. Not deciding will have the most cons and very little pros. I can definitely tell why it has taken you a bit to think about. Either decision you make there will be pros and cons to whatever it is you decide. You think you can escape the cons by not addressing it at all. However, being complacent is a decision, my dude. Not deciding is still a decision to do nothing.

When you do decide, you must stand firm on your decision. You MUST. Don't be wishy washy about it and change your mind once you have chosen. Even if you have regrets you MUST stand firm. Your guides will reward you after with many gifts of love. I also see gifts of knowledge. Later down the line you will see why you had to make the choice. You will be enlightened on what would have happened if you chose the other route. I can hear you sighing in relief when you learn this and not regretting your path. I wish you luck, my dear.

_____________

PILE TWO

Astrology: Sagittarius, Leo, Capricorn

Song: Gold on the Ceiling by The Black Keys

Vibes: Yellow, pink, red, crows, bats, crowbars, dirt, grave yards, 333, courtesan, aging, mushrooms, pine needles, sewing, weaving, looms, large dogs, Persephone, Hades

Cards: The Sun, The Poet, The Lover, Smoke

My dear, why are you so mean to yourself for attempting to be happy? What is the logical purpose of that? Listen, I get it. You have been through so messy messy stuff. It fucked up your head and it corrupted the way you think and talk about yourself. But seriously, can you think of any reason besides "it feels familiar to hurt which means it's safe." Dude. For real, stop being so mean to yourself. It doesn't get work done faster. It doesn't help you when you aren't working and you are trying to rest. It isn't doing you any good to put yourself down for what you enjoy. It just makes life harder than it already is. It doesn't have to be that hard. It SHOULDN'T be that hard. I know what you say to yourself, dude. You mimic those who have criticized you in the past. You are parroting the pain they caused you and repeating the cycles of abuse you faced. The people who hurt you before were looking in mirrors. They weren't truly looking at you. Their opinions of you don't resemble reality. They just wanted to bully someone besides themselves to feel better about themselves.

The insults you are repeating aren't how you truly feel. You are a so much more than a victim. First of all, you are an important person. Second, you are an artist. A very good artist, I might add. You can capture the emotion you are feeling perfectly when you create. When you write, you communicate what you wish to say so clearly that it touches the hearts of even the most emotionless people. That is power. That is magic. I am not going to say you are talented, my dear. Because I know your skill came from years of practice. Years of love drenched artwork and thoughtful choosing of words. You are more than talent, my dear. You are driven. You are intelligent. Any road block you faced you gracefully jumped over or powered through. Do not be mean to yourself. Do not. You deserve more recognition than that. Only you can do what you do. You are inimitable.

___________

PILE THREE

Astrology: Aries, Libra, Aquarius

Song: Charmer by Aimee Mann

Vibes: Rainbows, candles, moths, reading, pearl, gold bars, ripped clothes, 555, 88, garden, ghost trees, vampires, higher self, lions mane, alternative beliefs, collecting, coffee, Athena, Artemis, Apollo

Cards: 4 of Swords, The Self, The Cave, Mystical Sisters

I am so proud of you. You have locked away who you are for a long time. You recently started to do some self discovery after you left a person who wasn't good for you behind. I don't think you understand what a huge step you've made. I don't think you really see how what you have done is a huge fucking deal. You stood up for yourself. I think you really water down this accomplishment because you had an ally help you. My dude, even if they helped you. Do not forget you have free will. They did not force you to start exploring yourself and standing up for yourself. You could have ignored their offer of assistance. You totally could have said "Nope, I don't want to." Did you forget that? Please don't water down how well you have done. Acknowledge yourself, please.

You are realizing how wonderful you are. You are finally seeing how kind you are and how considerate you can be. I know leaving that person was painful and it is difficult to reopen the book of you without them in it. It is for the best for both you and them. Again, I am very proud of. Your guides congratulate you as well. It is okay to be guarded for a while. I encourage you to protect your peace while you are exploring more of yourself. I encourage you to ask for help if you need it. Especially because I can still feel your heartache from the loss of someone important to you. If it helps your feel better maybe put some energy to your spirituality. I know it might be tempting to look at old photos and dwell on the past connection. It is okay to do that a little bit while you heal but don't get too caught up in what could've been. It is time to focus on the present and keep your mind on where you want to be and not where you were. Your guides are backing you the whole way through.

__________

PILE FOUR

Astrology: Taurus, Cancer, Pisces

Song: Sunrise by More Plastic and Halvorsen

Vibes: Red, light blue, yellow, grey, white, cats, divine geometry, snakes, science, spills, reality tv, 1111, hearts, wine, falcon, dragon scales, astrology, grand square/trine, Hermes, Zues, Chronos

Cards: 8 of Cups, Kairos, Gnosis, Conjunction

Alright my dear, the time is going to be right soon. You know what to do and you know when to do it. Don't question it. Even if it makes zero sense logically, just trust that inner knowing. Trust that you know what to do and where to go. Trust. You will be leaving something soon. Perhaps a group, a relationship or a club. Again, you WILL know when and how, when the time comes. The stars are aligning for this escape route of yours. I know it is a bummer to leave because you have had such good times where you are at. You worked really hard on everything you built there. I know you are really anxious about hearing this because it is a bit vague but you knew this was coming, darling. You could see the signs way before any of the drama started. When shit hits the fan you need to be ready to dip out. Don't worry about preparation. Don't worry about details. The universe is going to take care of that for you. You just have to watch and listen to your heart.

Yes, you are in the right. No, you haven't done anything wrong. Spirit is sorry that it might be kind of sudden but I really believe you have already seen the red flags in the place you are leaving. The BIG drama that is about to take place isn't supposed to be part of your journey. It is meant for others to figure out on their own. You are not their teacher. You are meant to be their friend and companion and I think they have been parentifying you in a weird way. Spirit doesn't want you getting in the crossfire of everything that is about to hit. It wants you to listen closely to your intuition and trust yourself to know. This part of your journey is supposed to be mostly chill at the moment. Except for the sudden upheaval. That part is probably gonna be rushed. Everything will be just right for you, I promise. Keep your eyes narrowed and your perception high. Someone is sprinting in your direction and you will need to keep pace with them when they arrive. They will be your getaway driver. I believe in you. The universe will protect you. You will be rescued. Good luck, darling.

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER TWENTY (see full series list here)

1993

On the 22nd of November you sit on the floor of your office late at night, watching the flames of your fireplace crackle and pop. Beside you, sits Harry, eyes focused on the fire as well. Sirius had asked him to wait in front of the fire in your office at one o'clock and for you to be there too. You can't say your heart isn't beating faster than the steady tick of the clock on the wall, worried and giddy at the same time.

"I'm sorry about this whole situation, Harry," you say with a sigh, reaching out to stroke Dubh's fur idly as she clambers into your lap. "I know this isn't what you want. I tried everything to get them to change the rules but nothing worked."

"Thanks," he says blankly, like he's used to being disappointed.

"And that article in the paper — "

"I didn't say anything of that. It's a lie," Harry responds quickly.

You nod. "I'm well aware. Rita Skeeter is...difficult." As soon as the words have left your mouth, you grimace, shaking your head. "Actually, she doesn't deserve that nicety. She's a bitch, Harry. A nasty old hag that has nothing better to do with her life than spread rumours and sensationalise everything in sight."

Harry seems slightly taken aback by your words but nods in fierce agreement nonetheless.

"My best advice to you, Harry, is to run for the hills every time you see her — or just wave me over if I'm near. I am well accustomed to small talk with people like her — the trick is to just get them talking about themselves."

He nods. "I don't plan on going anywhere near her ever again."

"Smart decision," you say, sighing. "And look — I know I'm not supposed to get involved but if you need any help whatsoever, just ask. There's plenty of useful spells I can teach you and tips I can give — anything at all."

Just then, the flames move in a peculiar fashion and Sirius' head appears in the fire. Both you and Harry let out a small gasp, and when you look at Harry, his face has broken into the biggest smile you've seen him wear in weeks.

"Sirius!" Harry exclaims immediately.

He looks different from the last time you seen him. His face had looked gaunt and sunken, but now he looks far healthier and his hair, which was long, matted and greasy, is now clean and neat. You're glad to see that though he's trimmed it a tad, he's kept the beard. He looks younger.

"Hello, Harry," he says, before he turns to you, smiling, "and hello to you too, love."

You bring your hand up and give him a tiny little wave, unable to stop the giddy smile taking over your face at the sight of him.

"How're you doing?" Harry asks.

"Never mind me, how are you?" Sirius asks firmly, returning his attention to his godson.

"I'm — " Harry stops himself suddenly, holding himself back. Just when you're about to check if he's alright, he spills. He tells the two of you everything: about how no one believes that he hasn't entered himself into the tournament, how Rita Skeeter had lied about him in the Daily Prophet, how he can't walk down a corridor without getting sneered at, and about the toll it's all taken on his friendship with Ron.

You feel your heart ache for him. He deserves absolutely none of this and you wish you could do more to help.

"Hagrid's just shown me what's coming in the first task, and it's dragons — I'm a goner," he finishes desperately.

Sirius is looking at Harry with deep concern as he says, "Dragons we can deal with, Harry, but we'll get to that in a minute — I haven't got long here...I've broken into a wizarding house to use the fire, but they could be back at any time. There are things I need to warn you about."

"Just break into Moony's house next time," you say simply, shrugging. "Sounds much easier to me."

Sirius gives you a look that suggests he already thought of that, but obviously decided not to as he was already coming north to see you two. You smile cheekily at him and he shakes his head, refocusing his attention on Harry.

"What do you need to warn me about?" Harry asks.

"Karkaroff," Sirius says. "Harry, he was a Death Eater. You know what Death Eaters are, don't you?"

"He's a Death Eater?" You're shocked. Just this morning you picked his fork off the ground for him at breakfast!

"He was caught, he was in Azkaban with me, but he got released. I'd bet that's why Dumbledore wanted an Auror at Hogwarts this year — to keep an eye on him. Moody caught Karkaroff. Put him into Azkaban in the first place."

There already is an Auror at Hogwarts, you think. Or did Dumbly-dorr just forget about me?

"Karkaroff got released?" Harry says slowly. "Why did they release him?"

"He did a deal with the Ministry of Magic," Sirius replies bitterly. "He said he'd seen the error of his ways, and then named names...he put a load of other people into Azkaban in his place...he's not very popular there, I can tell you. And since he got out, from what I can tell, he's been teaching the Dark Arts to every student who passes through that school of his. So watch out for the Durmstrang champion as well."

How do you not remember any of this? Surely you'd have seen this all mentioned in the papers around that time?

"Okay..." Harry says. "But...are you saying that Karkaroff put my name in the goblet? Because if he did, he's a really good actor. He seemed furious about it. He wanted to stop me from competing."

"We know he's a good actor," says Sirius, "because he convinced the Ministry of Magic to set him free, didn't he? Now, I've been keeping an eye on the Daily Prophet, Harry — "

"You and the rest of the world," he says bitterly.

"— and reading between the lines of that Skeeter woman's article last month, Moody was attacked the night before he started at Hogwarts. Yes, I know she says it was another false alarm," Sirius says hastily, seeing Harry about to speak, "but I don't think so somehow. I think someone tried to stop him from getting to Hogwarts. I think someone knew their job would be a lot more difficult with him around. And no one's going to look into it too closely; Mad-Eye's heard intruders a bit too often. But that doesn't mean he still can't spot the real thing. Moody was the best Auror the Ministry ever had."

"So...what are you saying? Karkaroff's trying to kill me? But — why?"

Sirius hesitates.

"I've been hearing some very strange things," he says apprehensively. "The Death Eaters seem to be a bit more active than usual lately. They showed themselves at the Quidditch World Cup, didn't they? Someone cast the Dark Mark...and then — did you hear about that Ministry witch who's gone missing?"

"Bertha Jorkins?" You say. You recall reading that article about her disappearance not too long ago.

"Exactly...she disappeared to Albania, and that's definitely where Voldemort was rumoured to be last...and she would have known the Triwizard Tournament was coming up, wouldn't she?"

"Yeah, but...it's not very likely she'd have walked straight into Voldemort, is it?" says Harry.

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Sirius says grimly, glancing at you. "Do you remember her at school?"

You nod your head. "She was at Hogwarts when we were, a few years above us," you explain to Harry. "As thick as a board, she was. Very nosey, too. Awful combination."

"Makes her easy to lure into a trap," Sirius finishes.

"So...so Voldemort could have found out about the tournament?" says Harry. "Is that what you mean? You think Karkaroff might be here on his orders?"

"I don’t know," Sirius says with a shake of his head, "I just don’t know...Karkaroff doesn’t strike me as the type who’d go back to Voldemort unless he knew Voldemort was powerful enough to protect him. But whoever put your name in that goblet did it for a reason, and I can’t help thinking the tournament would be a very good way to attack you and make it look like an accident."

"Looks like a really good plan from where I’m standing." Harry grins bleakly. "They'll just have to stand back and let the dragons do their stuff."

"You'll be fine," you reassure firmly, though you're not sure if it's for Harry's sake or your own. "I'll be there, all the rest of the teachers will be there, and there'll be that group of dragon keepers there too."

"Look, about these dragons," Sirius says, speaking quickly now, glancing around him furtively, "There's a way, Harry. Don't be tempted to try a simple Stunning Spell — dragons are too strong and powerfully magical to be knocked out by a single stunner, you need about half a dozen wizards at a time to overcome a dragon — "

"Yeah, I know, I just saw," Harry says.

"But you can do it alone," Sirius tells him, looking him straight in the eye. "There is a way, a simple spell's all you need — "

Knock-knock.

At once, all three of you go dead silent and whip your heads to the closed door.

"Go, Sirius, quickly!" You hiss at him urgently.

You scramble to your feet, grabbing Harry's invisibilty cloak off the desk and launching it at him.

"Quick!"

Harry frantically pulls the cloak over his head and ducks behind your desk as you make you way over to the door, glancing back at the fireplace to see that Sirius' head has disappeared and the flames have returned to normal. You feel a small pang in your heart.

Who could possibly be knocking at your door at one o'clock in the morning? Surely everyone is asleep by now?

You pull the door open and are met with nothing but the quiet, dark corridor.

"Must've been Peeves," you mutter angrily, moving to close the door. Of course that poltergeist would find a way to cut your time with Sirius short.

"Oh, no, mistress, it is Bitsy!"

You look down in search of the voice and sure enough, at the foot of your door, is Bitsy, grinning up widely at you with her ginormous eyes reflecting the flickering light of the candles on the wall. You notice that she's holding a tray of scones in her tiny hands.

"Bitsy?" You say in shock and confusion. "What are you doing here? Is everything alright?"

"Bitsy was cleaning this corridor, mistress, and heard talking coming from mistress's office! And Bitsy thinks 'why is mistress up so late talking?' Perhaps she has a guest and is very hungry! Mistress was not at breakfast this morning, and I isn't seeing mistress in the kitchens either!"

While part of you feels angry and cheated that she's just interrupted your seldom chance to talk to your husband, you can't be mad at Bitsy and her big kind heart.

You chuckle softly. "Oh, Bitsy. You are far too kind to me. You're right, I didn't attend breakfast this morning nor did I go to the kitchens in the afternoon — I had breakfast with a friend of mine in Hogsmeade today. I should have told you."

Bitsy beams at you and holds the tray out for you to take. "Bitsy is glad to know you did not go hungry this morning. For you, mistress!"

You accept the tray with a smile. "Thank you, Bitsy. You are very kind — let me go fetch something to give you as a thank you."

"Oh, no, mistress! I cannot accept anything from you, I is just doing my duty!"

You leave her momentarily, placing the tray of scones down, grabbing a box off your desk and returning to hand it to her. "Film for your camera, Bitsy. So you can take more pictures. "

You don't miss the gleeful smile that spreads over Bitsy's face as she looks at the box in wonder. "Mistress, I must not — "

"I insist, Bitsy. Actually — I order you to accept the film. I know how much you love your camera," you tell her, pushing it into her hands.

"Thank you, mistress," she says gratefully, bowing to you. "I must return to my work now, unless mistress requires Bitsy for anything?"

You shake your head, smiling. "No, but thank you, Bitsy. I think it's time for mistress to get some rest."

Bitsy leaves, clutching the film tightly in her hands and bowing out of your view before Disapparating. You close the door behind you, letting out a sigh as Harry stands up slowly, pulling the cloak off.

"I'm sorry about that, Harry," you say. "I really wish we could have more time with Sirius."

"Yeah, me too. Was that a house elf?"

You nod, chuckling. "Sure was. That's Bitsy. You see, I stay up much later than everyone else — I'm usually up in the tower because of course, the best time to view the stars is at night, so I sleep in the next day and miss breakfast a lot of the time. And when I do, I can go down to the kitchens and Bitsy and all the other house elves will give me something to eat — have done since I was in school myself and did the exact same thing. Bitsy is my saviour, honestly. She's an absolute gem."

"You're able to get into the Hogwarts kitchens?" Harry says curiously.

"Yep. There's a painting of a bowl of fruit down by the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room — just tickle the pear and the door'll open right up for you."

You know that as a teacher you probably shouldn't be telling him this, but you don't really care. You went there countless times as a student so why shouldn't he?

Harry nods thoughtfully before asking, "That spell Sirius mentioned, that could defeat a dragon...have you any idea what it is?"

You bite your lip, drumming your fingers against your hip as you search your brain for anything like that. "I don't, Harry, I'm sorry. Perhaps you could try confundus, and confuse it? I can't say I'm too familiar with dragons...now, you should go to bed, Harry. A good night's sleep for the next few days is what you need before the first task. And in the meantime, I'll have a look and see if I can figure something out for you."

"Thanks, but I doubt I'll find it easy to sleep," Harry remarks, throwing the cloak back over his head.

"Well, if you do find that you can't sleep, come up the Tower," you tell him with a smile, pulling the door open for his invisible figure. "I find stargazing is the best way to relieve stress and solve problems."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

You feel like you're about to get sick. You stare at the Hungarian Horntail, huge and terrifying as she crouches protectively over her eggs, huffing great hot breaths out of her large nostrils. And there, standing across from this fearsome beast as though rooted to the spot, is Harry. The crowd roars around you but you can barely hear them as your stomach knots and twists and flips with sickening worry.

"Accio Firebolt!" Harry yells, raising his wand.

You wait. The crowd waits. Harry waits.

And then you see it. Harry's broomstick, his Firebolt, hurtles towards him and stops in mid-air beside him, waiting for him to mount it. You vaguely register Ludo Bagman roaring something over the crowd in response to this, but you're too focused on praying to whatever great deities you can to protect your godson. You're just so relieved that he managed to figure something out — and something so clever, too! Why hadn't you thought of a Summoning Spell? It's so simple. Sirius will be so proud of Harry when he finds out.

Harry rises into the air, the wind rushing through his hair, surveying the dragon not far below him. A sort of resolve seems to come over him and then he dives, forcing you to bring your hands up to cover your eyes in fear.

"Oh, I can't watch," you breathe. Beside you, Minerva gives you an understanding look as she watches on. You hear the rush of fire, the crowd cheering and screaming, and then —

"Great Scott, he can fly!" Bagman roars. "Are you watching this, Mr Krum?"

You open your eyes just in time to see Harry plummet to the ground once more, just missing the burst of flames that flies from the Horntail's open maw — but not quick enough to completely avoid the whip of her tail and to your horror, one of the long spikes grazes Harry's shoulder, ripping his robes.

"Harry!" You shriek, practically about to chew your finger off with the alarming rate you're biting the tips of your nails as you reluctantly watch on, wishing for it to be over.

He begins to fly this way, then that, not near enough to make the dragon breathe fire at him to stave him off, but still posing a sufficient enough threat to make her keep her eyes focused on him, tracking his every move.

The dragon's head sways with his movements, her eyes unwavering as she followed him, gruesome fangs bared. You can feel your heart palpitating in your chest. Harry rises even higher, the Horntail's head rising with him, her neck now stretched out to its fullest extent.

You jump as the Horntail lets out a deafening roar, her tail thrashing threateningly as she blows another burst of fire at him, which he thankfully dodges.

She opens her mouth and then she finally rears, spreading her great, black, leathery wings at last and Harry seizes the opportunity to dive at an incredible speed. You can barely keep your eyes on him with the rate he's whistling through the air, hurtling towards the nest of eggs.

"Come on, come on, come on..." you chant, hands tapping frantically at the tops of your thighs as you sit on the edge of your seat, watching impatiently.

Harry takes his hands off his broom, seizes the golden egg, and with another huge burst of speed, he's off and soaring out over the stands. He tucks the egg safely under his uninjured arm, and looks out over the stands.

You can't help but jump out your seat, cheering yourself hoarse as you voice your praise and feel relief wash over your body like a tsunami. The noise around you is monumental, drumming in your ears like a jackhammer.

"Look at that!" Bagman yells. "Will you look at that! Our youngest champion is the quickest to get his egg! Well, this is going to shorten the odds on Mr Potter!"

The dragon keepers rush forward to subdue the Horntail and you hurry out of your seat, practically sprinting to the entrance of the enclosure. Minerva is hot on your heels and Moody and Hagrid have already beaten you, waiting with wide smiles for Harry to land.

"That was excellent, Potter!" Minerva cries as the boy hops off his broomstick. She points a shaky hand to his shoulder. "You'll need to see Madam Pomfrey before the judges give out your score...Over there, she's had to mop up Diggory already..."

"Harry, you were brilliant!" You exclaim excitedly, eagerly pulling him in for a hug and beaming at him. Normally, you'd worry about other students thinking you have a favourite — which you do, of course you do — but today you couldn't care less, you're so overwhelmed with relief and swelling with pride for your godson. "Absolutely brilliant, Harry! Just — fantastic, honestly, I can't believe it, I was so worried — I'm so proud — "

"Thanks," Harry says, unable to keep the large smile on his face down, his face red.

"Yeh' did it, Harry!" says Hagrid hoarsely. "Yeh did it! An' agains' the Horntail an' all, an' yeh know Charlie said that was the wors' — "

"Thanks, Hagrid," Harry says loudly, so that Hagrid doesn't blather on about how he had shown Harry the dragons beforehand. You give a light chuckle.

Even Moody looks very pleased, the slightest of smiles tugging at his cracked lips. "Nice and easy does the trick, Potter."

"Right then, Potter, the first aid tent, please..." Minerva says, gesturing to the tent with her hand.

He leaves, giving you all a grin before heading into the tent and you just smile proudly after him, rolling on the balls of your feet.

"Oh, he was just excellent, wasn't he?" Minerva says to you, smiling. "The best out of the all the champions, by far!"

You nod enthusiastically. "Easily! Oh, Merlin, I am just so glad he came out alright, I thought I was going to chew my own hand off with worry..."

"He was migh'y," Hagrid says loudly, a sob racking his body as he reaches into his pocket to pull out a large handkerchief, bigger than your face, and blows into it. "Jus' migh'y."

"Oh, Hagrid," you say softly, reaching up to place a comforting hand on his back, smiling sympathetically.

Across the enclosure, the five judges are sitting at the end in raised seats draped in gold. The first judge, Madame Maxime, raises her wand in the air and what looks like a long silver ribbon shoots out of the end of it — forming the shape of a large figure eight.

"Not bad," you remark, clapping along with the crowd. "Must've been the injury that lost him marks..."

Crouch comes next, shooting a number nine into the air.

"Excellent!" Minerva exclaims.

Next, Dumbledore puts up a nine and the crowd yells louder than ever.

Ludo Bagman — ten.

You turn to Minerva in disbelief, matching looks of shock with each other before you eagerly applaud.

Now, Karkaroff raises his wand. He pauses for a moment, and then a number shoots out of his wand — four.

"What?" You yell indignantly, blinking several times to make sure your eyes aren't tricking you. "A four?"

"How shameful, he gave his own student a ten!" Minerva remarks angrily.

Several members of the crowd seem to agree with you, bellowing angrily and booing at Karkaroff's biased marking.

Suddenly, Sirius' words ring in your head.

He's a Death Eater.

You feel your spine chill as you look across the enclosure at Karkaroff's steely expression, steadfast in his decision to reward Harry four marks.

Scumbag.

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

"A toast!" Dumbledore announces, raising his glass. "To the completion of the first task of the Triwizard Tournament!"

You grin, raising your glass in tandem. "Cheers!" You clink it against Minerva's, then with Professor Sprout's on your other side.

All the staff have gathered in that small room right of the Great Hall for a little staff-only party, the fire blazing in its place and radiating a pleasant warmth around the room. The house elves have prepared a small spread of finger foods for the lot of you — and you've gone straight for the cupcakes, decorated humorously with little edible dragons. They're delicious — you make a mental note to voice your thanks to Bitsy the next time you see her.

Despite the happiness that's settled in you since Harry's successful task, when your eyes land on Karkaroff, sitting on the opposite side of the room to you, talking with Snape, unease gnaws at your gut.

You're sitting in a room with a Death Eater.

You've been in this situation countless times, of course, back when you were an Auror. But then, you knew what was going on. You knew what you were in for. Here, you don't. At parent-teacher meetings, you don't doubt you've been in the company of some Death Eaters, or former Death Eaters, rather. Some of your Slytherins' parents certainly seem to have a fondness for opaque, long-sleeved shirts...

You can't help but remember that night at the Quidditch World Cup, and your brain starts to picture one of those cruel Death Eaters pulling off his mask and revealing Karkaroff's sharp face.

You grip your champagne glass tightly, downing the contents and taking a deep breath. You should go mingle, the time for investigating Karkaroff can come tomorrow.

It's this little staff party that you finally get acquainted with Madame Maxime properly, trying your hand at your conversational-level French. She seems very impressed at this, delighted that you know at least a little bit of her own language — she says something about the 'arrogance of native English speakers', which you don't disagree with.

"Oh, and look at this pretty diamond on your finger!" Madame Maxime exclaims suddenly, catching sight of your engagement ring, sitting pretty above your wedding band on your left ring finger. She takes your hand in her much larger one so she can inspect it closer. "You are married?"

You look at the sparkling ring, glinting in the candlelight, smiling softly. "Yes, I am."

"How sweet," she remarks, dropping your hand gently. "I was married once."

You raise your eyebrows imploringly and she leans closer, waving her large hand theatrically as she says, "But he was a bastard."

She laughs fiendishly, and you just sort of watch, unsure whether you should laugh or not.

"You can laugh!" she assures when she sees your unsure expression. "Good riddance, is what I say. He thought he could keep the company of some girl while I was at working at Beauxbatons — so I said to him, 'fuck you and the whore you rode in on!'"

You nearly choke on your champagne, shocked at what you've heard come out of Madame Maxime's mouth. She grins proudly, showing rows of pearly white teeth. She seems to be finding your shock very amusing as she laughs again.

"His loss," you tell her, chuckling.

"Absolument." She shrugs nonchalantly, as though it was nothing to her but a stone in the bottom of her shoe. "Et toi? Where is your husband?"

You don't answer her for a moment, sucking on your teeth. "Well, I don't know, actually."

"How do you not know?"

"Oh, because he's just escaped from prison," you answer simply. You don't know what makes you tell her that. It would have been so easy to lie, but you don't. Perhaps it's the two too many glasses of champagne you've had, or perhaps it's the way Madame Maxime doesn't seem to care about anything, really, other than Fleur Delacour and the tournament.

Her mouth drops for a second, before she laughs. "Ah, well, c'est la vie. Marriage is never easy."

You chuckle softly, shaking your head. It feels weirdly relieving to you that she couldn't care less about your personal life. You find a new respect for the woman in front of you. "Certainly not."

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

→⁠→ read chapter twenty-one here!

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[treacletartlett]

vulnerability

for the struggling girlies with anxiety♡

there's no one who you can really open up to, who you can talk about the most personal things with, but harry, he seems to be able to read you like an open book. he shows you how to make yourself feel good without guilt, he shows you how to be vulnerable with yourself and other people.

sorry guys this ended up being much longer than anticipated, I enjoyed writing this so much!

includes sexual content!

You and Harry are not actually friends, but sharing a friend group and house forced you to be friendly acquaintances, and when passing each other in the halls you greet each other with a simple greeting.

secretly, there has always been a kind of attraction you held for him, his charm, his good looks, but you never spoke about it with anyone since it didn't seem like anything past friendly attraction. unfortunately, that quickly grew into something you’d rather not speak about.

you didn't experience such feelings often, but when you did, they weren't as intense as you felt with him, which was something you struggled with a lot. you didn't enjoy the things your friends loved, or when someone tried to get it on with you your body didn't react as you wanted it to, even if it's just for wanting to know that you could feel the same as the others.

during breakfast time, you were sitting with your friends as usual. though what were unusual was that you had joined them a bit later than the rest.

you were that type of person who arrives earlier than the rest and is always on time.

your friend, neville, who was as oblivious as they come and nicely sitting next to hermione granger, who was Harry's best friend, looked at you with confusion while asking "where were you at? you're never this late to breakfast, I was almost worried."

the rough start of the morning did nothing to ease this situation.

trying to act casual, you scooped some egg and other foods on your plate, not paying attention to what you were piling your plate with. a faint pinkish tint rising on your cheeks.

“nothing, just slept late.” You mumbled loud enough for them to hear.

“I dont think that’s true,” Hermione spoke softly, that look on her face indicating she knows something suspicious was going. “you slept and woke up at the same time as me.”

hermione really knew how to put someone on the spot. while uneasily trying to make something up, Harry, who was sitting two places to Hermione's right, spoke up while holding the morning edition of The Daily Prophet.

“that doesn't matter, more importantly, Ginny, you're going to the quidditch tryouts, aren't you?” successfully steering the conversation away from you, you felt grateful for the minor save. you looked at him for a second, smiling slightly before focussing on something else.

“Yes, I'm trying out for chaser, then I have an excuse to push people.” Ginny said, but you weren’t really listening, your mind wandering.

"I'm sure you'll do great, alongside Ron of course, anyone else going? are you?" he asked you, suddenly interested. you weren't actually sure if you wanted to try out, never having been on the team yourself, but you loved quidditch, and did want to be, but with Harry as captain this year, you weren't sure how focussed you could be.

"oh well, I'm not sure. I've thought about it, but I don't know." you replied sheepishly. the lack of confidence in your voice has always had a way to embarrass you, even after such a long time. you were never able to grow into your own skin much, even after having seen all your friends grow up and get that self-confidence you lacked.

"I've seen you fly, y/n, you really should try-out! you're an amazing flyer." Ron said, which shocked you slightly, unknowing to his seeing you fly before-which you did with your friends often, late in the night- and the fact that he just praised your skills, has plastered a smile on your face and lifted some of your self-consciousness.

Harry nodded, seemingly agreeing with Ron. "yea, you definitely should, Ron and I were impressed with you! we're surprised you haven't tried out before."

your face reddened even more, and you hoped you weren't the same shade as a tomato, being put on the spot. you were really bad at getting compliments, scared you would come off as rude or arrogant by how you reply to them, so you did what you thought you should and smiled, and told them a small thank you to which they both smiled back at before resuming their conversation with Ginny, and the rest of the Gryffindors.

after breakfast, you and your friends left for classes, but the way Harry complimented you hasn't been able to leave your mind, making you lose focus for the majority of the day.

when classes ended you decided to split off from your friends a walk your own way, needing some space to clear your mind. your footsteps echoed and you grazed the wall, slightly leaning right against it. there was such a peaceful silence that it made you doze off. you weren’t paying attention to anything or anyone around, but it wasn’t needed since there weren’t anyone but you in the corridor.

Or so you thought. a small grunt escaped your mouth, the impact of walking into a wall hit you hard. but, as it turns out it wasn’t a wall. it was a someone. steadying yourself you looked up at the person you just walked into.

Harry Potter turned around and chuckled when he saw you. “You okay?" he asked, while he tried to hold in his laugh

it wasn't a hard hit as it would've been if you walked into an actual wall, but it still shocked you slightly. because of quidditch, he’s grown quite muscular, not too much, but just enough to make his back feel firm to the touch.

“Oh, right, yea sorry about that, wasn’t paying attention.” You mumbled, a faintly blushing.

“I noticed,” he chuckled. "don't worry about it, I didn't pay attention either. where were you off to?" his quick change in subject startled you, but when you collected your thoughts you croaked out your answer. "just walking around, wasn't thinking of a specific place."

He nodded, in thought, as if he carefully constructed his next question in his mind. "why were you actually late this morning? it didn't seem like anything particular, but when I saw Hermione's face, I knew she was suspicious, and most of her suspicions are justified."

this was the last thing you expected him to ask you, after he led the conversation this morning elsewhere. your face heated up in a second, reliving the memories of you this morning. you weren't sure how to reply, knowing you weren't the best of liars, and harry seemed to catch on to this rather quickly. was this the time to be honest? to tell the person you've experienced a different feeling with than the handful others you thought more than once about? it would be weird, and damn random. you and Harry weren't even real friends, this was something you wouldn't even tell your closest friends.

"well, uh, nothing. it was nothing. I was only late once, it happens. anyway I should get going." you tried to hurry off, staying casual, but it didn't work. as you walked past him, he followed you, and it seemed like he was going to stop at any given moment.

"you know, I'm not trying to embarrass you or anything, I'm just curious since your face reddened a bit when neville asked, and we haven't really spoken before, so because you're going to be on the quidditch team I thought we should try and maybe get to know each other, even if it's just a bit? anyway, whatever it is, I know it isn't nothing, and while I'm mostly someone who doesn't push, I'm also very curious, also to know you a bit, so whatever it is, don't worry, I won't find it weird or anything."

after he stopped rambling, silence filled the hall while you tried to articulate a convincing excuse. you weren't sure what he would think, and after his speech, you tried to focus on anything but his remark that you'll be on the team, when you haven't even clarified if you're trying-out. after pondering, and dragging it out for as long as you can, you stumbled a bit over your words before you managed to just throw everything out, for some reason forgetting all the reasons why you didn't want to tell him anything in the first place. he looked at you with such a look that for some reason made you think he wouldn't be caught off guard by what you were about to say.

you flushed bright red, your body having a hobby of showing your embarrassment which you've always cursed your genes for. "well, I'm not sure. so I- I think there is something wrong, or I don't know, with me. This is probably really weird, so yea," he shook his head in disagreement. "I was just- you know, I was, I don't know. I've never experienced those feelings before, even though everyone around me has, and well, you know, I also haven't had intense feelings for anyone until recently and it's really weird, I'm not sure what to do with them, so I did what everyone does and woke up early after I- after I had a-," you stopped talking for a second. "a dream, about, well, someone I think, and I thought 'I just have to try' because I wanted my body to react normally like everyone talks about, but I felt really weird and I hate discussing stuff like this, so it didn't really work out and after I felt really uncomfortable and dirty, or something, that I did that. I don't know why I won't just enjoy it like everybody else, but I guess my body just won't change or turn normal or something."

after you finished your sentence and caught your breath, you realised you rambled on to Harry for a solid second. embarrassment and disbelieve clouded your head, but Harry just listened to you talk and seemed interested in what you had to say. you could almost see the wheels turn in his head, forming a reply to your story. nerves settled low in your stomach and doubt clouded your thoughts, afraid you overshared or made him feel weird, but when he spoke, he spoke with such interest and care you suddenly forgot every worry you had.

"y/n, just because you don't experience things like others doesn't mean you can't give love to yourself. there is nothing wrong with you, or your body. just because it's deemed 'the ordinary' doesn't tell you that you have to experience it the same way as others." he stepped closer, "you don't have to 'overcome' it, because there is nothing strange about those mental barriers you set, you just have to understand what your body is telling you, without feeling disgusted. it's nature." his words felt like a caress against your back, the soft tone of his whisper a hug around you. they reassured you, settled the doubts you've had for so long a fraction, which is a fraction more than anyone has ever.

you weren't sure how to reply, this whole conversation feeling weird to you, but when you looked at him he seemed at ease. it wasn't new though, your friends loved to talk about it, and even though you didn't, you didn't want anyone to know about your 'abnormality'.

"so who's the person anyway, the one you were talking about." he asked. you looked at him, confused, not expecting him to ask that either.

"what?" you asked, absentmindedly. "you know, the person you had feelings for." you tensed. he obviously didn't know it was him, and you weren't about to tell him. "well, I-, I don't know." it was a feeble attempt, but it didn't work, obvious by Harry who started laughing.

"that was a really sad excuse, sorry." he said when he caught his breath. "it's okay, I promise I won't tell anyone." he looked eager to know, to know which person managed to activate your sex drive for the first, and probably last, time in your life. having spilled so much, you were at a loss for words. slight panic overtook you as you stayed silent, trying to come up with something.

Harry kept looking at you patiently. it was visible he really wanted to know, but he tried to hide it while you looked for something to say. the corridor almost came to an end, giving way for the grounds outside. it wasn't cold per se, but it wasn't pure sunshine either.

it was perfect.

you gave up trying to find an excuse to say that would convince him otherwise, and kept silence, hoping he'll magically forget he's asked you anything. it was pathetic, but maybe it would work.

"it isn't going to work." he spoke.

well, it was worth trying.

"you can't ignore me, or your feelings. maybe I can help you. whoever it is, I won't judge, I won't even reply, if you don't want me to." he stopped walking, standing in front of you when you two just passed a large tree. he had this puppy dog eye look, and silently begged to know the answer.

you weren't really sure why he wanted to know so bad, but for some reason it felt good knowing he wanted to know something like that, so personal. nevertheless, it was hard trying to maintain secrecy while he's looking at you like that.

"what if it were someone you knew really well?" you asked softly, slightly hinting at who it could be. you felt anxious as you avoided looking at him, your head bowed to the ground, suddenly interested in the green of the grass.

it was quiet, there seemed to be no one outside except for you two, which was highly unusual, since it's always packing with this weather, but you guessed the universe was at your side, granting you full privacy with Harry.

"then that would be just fine." he answered. his voice was calm and gentle, unlike your hoarse whisper. you wanted him to suddenly know without having to tell him, it would be much easier.

"someone you wouldn't expect, that you knew better than anyone else?" your eyes met his, awkwardly. you hoped he would just get the hint, you'll both ignore this conversation, and act like nothing happened while still being on good terms.

that seemed like the perfect scenario, right?

he stepped closer, not close enough to kiss your shoes, but enough to see the green of his eyes and feel his body heat warm you up like a fire.

"then I wouldn't mind at at," he smiled slightly, melting your heart immediately. "y/n, let me help you."

what did that mean? help you? did he understand, and choose to ignore, or he just didn't, and was pushing you to tell him? you didn't know how to reply, the silence was loud in your head.

"it's okay, I promise. just trust me, it's gonna be okay." he said when you kept silent. it seemed as if he mistook your confusion for dread of what he meant, but this was awkward enough, so you kept silent, praying in your head for this conversation to end, or for the earth to swallow you and never spit you out. they both seemed like good solutions for now.

you realised you probably looked stupid, or rude, just staying silent and ignoring Harry like this, but it was difficult trying to come up with a good reply. but you tried, needing the misery to end.

"can we just forget all this?" mid-whisper, you heard how cliche and pathetic you sounded, feeling betrayed by your inner mind voice, which sounded perfectly fine saying this line in your head.

about to turn away, your head down, Harry seemed to understand how you feel. how, when you two didn't even talk on a daily basis, did he seem to understand you so deeply when even the people closest to you can't? you get it, maybe because you've told him things you haven't told anyone else, or because his eyes are so bright it feels like they are seeing through your mind. or because to him, you're such an open book, you're feelings are just so normal, he understands more than he's ever understood before, which interests him.

"you don't have to walk away, y/n. you don't have to understand everything at once. let me help you this time, and after you can figure it out, okay? just, come with me, and I'll be there, and I won't forget, because I want to show you I understand." he took your hand in his, signalling for you to follow.

though you are grateful he didn't make you have to answer, even though his words settled in your stomach, wrapped around your head and blinded you with something you can't put a name to.

but you did, you did follow him all the way to his bed, in silence, where it was empty and just the two of you.

you felt trepidation about what was going to happen. it clicked in your head, all the talk about loving yourself and helping you. it was scary, just because you weren't sure how you and your body would react to his hands all over your skin, when you so desperately wanted to enjoy it.

the door closed, the walls radiated silence, which bounced off of every solid thing right into your eardrum, deafening you with the loudness of it. your heartbeat felt faster than before, the skin of your hand scorching hot where he held it. his eyes burned to the back of your head, seemingly unmasking everything under the veil constructed to keep your thoughts and emotions at bay.

you tried to hide it all, the subtle excitement, the dread, worry, all the fear, the inexperience. you hoped what he planned wasn't to unmask all of it, because that means being even more vulnerable with him than you've already been.

"y/n," he called softly, your name coming from his mouth like a sweet melody, it awakened something inside of you only the soft voice of him could. it was gentle, but reassuring.

you looked at him, your full attention turned to him and this moment.

"tell me when it's too much." he caressed your cheek softly, instantly creating a hot flush on my skin. "okay?" he pushed.

you nodded, your mind too lost to form legible sentences. you couldn't think, couldn't speak, even if you wanted to. you couldn't move, unless he helped you. you didn't want it to be too much, you hoped it would be just enough.

you knew Harry, you knew he knew what you needed.

"tell me what you're feeling," he leaned his forehead against yours, pulling you even closer.

the soft heat radiating off of him was different than your friends explained, everything was so much different than your friends explained.

"tell me what you want," his lips were so close, almost close enough to feel, to taste. he pulled you even closer, you were inches apart. one hand holding your face, the other feather light on your back, almost as if he's scared to hurt you by holding you too firmly. his lips got closer, and closer, until they made the lightest contact with yours.

they were soft, and tender, and even though it was only a second, a second of his lips on yours, you felt every touch of him, you felt something that made you need him even more, that made you want his lips for even just a second longer.

then, he backed you against the bed, making you lay down and pulling him on top of you, maintaining eye contact. his hands found their way to your shirt, pausing before pulling it up.

"tell me everything." his gentle tone pulled at your heart. reason left you completely, and there was no way you would ever want to stop this moment.

"may I take this off?" he questioned, so serious, but patient, and so gentle. it made you feel so safe and cared for, so comfortable in a way you didn't think possible with anyone else.

you nodded. "yes," breathless, exhilarated, assured.

you didn't think about your insecurities anymore, or your friends, or even why and how this happened. nothing is flying around in your mind anymore except for Harry, and his bright green eyes, looking adoringly at you, while his gentle hands lifted your shirt, slowly pulling it off of you.

then, his fingers went to your pants, unbuttoning, and pulling down the zipper, taking them off of you completely.

you were left in your panties, almost completely naked in contrary to Harry, who was still fully, clothed. it was unnerving, but also exciting. knowing you were actually anticipating him taking off his clothes made you feel good.

"Harry," you called.

"yes, baby?" baby. one word. four letters. the absolute most ordinary and widely used nickname for a significant other, but still, when he called you that, in that tone, it made you want him to repeat it alongside your name for hours on end.

"aren't you going to take it off?" you asked, softly.

"I will, baby. right now." he took your hand, leading it to the hem of his shirt, helping you lift it off him. slowly, his torso was exposed. light abs began peeking from underneath, soft, roughened, pale skin, scars that littered all over his body. he was truly beautiful.

you knew he had endured a lot since he was a little boy, but for some reason you didn't think it would stay with him permanently in physical form. still, for some reason you find his scars and stories beautiful.

he was perfect in an imperfect way. his ribs were sticking out slightly, his nipples were a gorgeous pink, his neck tight and leading to a sharp and hot jawline.

you weren't sure if Harry was anxious about his appearance, but either way, you were grateful that he trusted you with this.

he, his knees on either side of you, sat upright, looking at you as if expecting a comment. a speck of dread mixed with curiosity in his eyes. with every second you stayed silent, his anxiousness worsened, probably thinking you don't find him beautiful, but in truth, you just didn't know how to express your thoughts and emotions.

"harry," you sat upright, resting on your hands. "you're even more beautiful than I imagined you'd be."

a blush spread on his cheeks, looking down. it looked like he wasn't someone who is used to getting compliments, but you hoped he knew how many people saw his beauty.

"t-thank you." he managed to reply, his face pink, looking grateful and sincerely grateful.

your hands found the button of his pants, unbuttoning them while looking at him, smiling. he took your hands in his while helping you get him out of his trousers. when his zipper was undone, you pulled them down a bit before he stood up to take it off completely, leaving you both in only your underwear.

he climbed back on top of you, brushing the hair out of your face, while his hand took yours and travelled down, and down, over your breasts and nipples until they were at your panties.

they were wet already, a huge spot of moisture visible, but for some reason you weren't embarrassed, you only felt more and more turned on.

"y/n," he breathed, looking at your panties with approval, and longing. he led your fingers inside your underwear, holding your fingers against your clit, eliciting a soft moan to escape.

"God, I love hearing those sounds, you sound angelic." he said, while moving your fingers up and down your slit, the first time you actually enjoyed touching yourself.

he let go of your hand. "keep going," he said, when you stopped moving them. he pulled your panties to the side and admired you completely. "baby, you're so beautiful." and in one second he attached his lips to your nipples, sucking and licking and teasing them until they were red peaks, switching from the one to the other.

"oh, Harry." sounds you've never heard yourself make were coming out of you in strings. Harry knew how to work your body so well, it almost felt he was made for you.

"keep touching yourself," he paused teasing your breasts, and left wet trails of kisses up your neck up until he reached your lips, where he hovered above them. "I want to hear you coming by fingering yourself."

his words shocked you slightly, expecting him to do it for you, but the you remembered him telling you he would help you, now getting the full meaning of the message.

"Harry, I can't..." you trailed off, and stopped moving your fingers, even though it felt great.

he lifted you slightly by your hips to make you sit against the headboard, spreading your knees, exposing you to him completely, the ruined wet piece of cloth pushed to the side. you were breathing heavily, anticipating anything.

"I know you can, I'll help, show me baby." he replied, whispering the last part, which only felt fitting.

so you did, you circled your clit while keeping your eyes on harry. he took your hand in his and guided you towards your release. he was on his knees in front of you, close enough you could almost taste him, which you craved in this moment of vulnerability.

you pushed your middle finger in your entrance, going deeper and deeper until your finger is completely buried. at first it felt uncomfortable, but after adjusting, it was something not like any other feeling. your slickness lessened the friction, heightening the pleasure. Harry's hand brushed your hair away from your face, holding it while moving his thumb in a gentle manner.

"I know, you can do this baby, you're doing so good." he kept whispering praises to you while watching you finger yourself, his hand releasing yours to play with your clit.

the pleasure was immense, being extra sensitive because of the time passed not having been turned on while touching. Harry wasn't even inside of you and you already understood what all your friends were gassed about.

you increased your pace, desperately chasing that release. harry watched so intently how you pleasured yourself, his fingers working your clit so well. you felt close to the edge, the tension inside of you building up quickly, coming and going in fast waves.

Harry noticed, and began kissing you intently, and when his hand went down to your nipple and began pinching it slightly, your first ever orgasm crashed into you with the force of a bomb, making your jaw drop as you cried out for Harry.

your legs were trembling, and that feeling deep in your stomach kept intensifying by every motion of Harry's finger on your clit.

you stopped moving your finger, needing a break from the intensity. arching your back slightly as you came down, Harry laid you down completely. "you were so good y/n, so good." spreading you open further, lowering his boxers and tossing them off completely.

"I know, take your time baby, I'll wait. you were so so good." he kept whispering praises to you while rubbing your face in an endearing matter.

for a second you felt disgust by what you just did climb up your throat and cloud your mind, feeling shocked by how you acted, but soon all those thoughts got crushed by the man in front of you.

being hit with the aftershocks from what you just endured, you didn't fully comprehend the situation. it was mind blowing, and you couldn't wait to discover what committing fully was going to feel like.

when he was holding himself up by his hands that were beside your head, it hit you all of a sudden, Harry was completely naked. when you looked down your breath got caught, and you needed a second to comprehend the sight in front of you.

you didn't think it was possible, but he was even more beautiful. he was so hard it almost looked painful. veins travelled the length until it reached his sensitive pink tip that had a leak of precum spilling out. he seemed nervous for your reaction, but he hadn't need to be. he was perfect.

"please, Harry." you moaned, desperate to feel him inside of you, despite knowing it will hurt.

Harry got the hint and lined himself up by your entrance. "Are you sure?" he asked before entering you.

you nodded immediately "jus- just be gentle okay?" you replied, nerves starting to gather in your stomach. his endearing look soothed them a bit though.

"of course baby, don't worry, I know it will hurt but only a bit okay?" he kissed the top of your head, then your lips, his hands, which were holding him up, now running down the length of your body, over your breasts, all the way to your thighs, rubbing up and down them. he was almost completely on top of you, saving his weight while he was on his knees, making sure not to crush you.

he held himself against you, watching you intently for you reaction while he was pushing himself in slowly, making sure to take the time for you to adjust every few inches.

it was no doubt Harry was big, especially for his built. he was long and thick, and despite him being tall and lanky, he managed to get himself a magnificent physique a lot of girls swoon over.

you loved that you got to see him like this.

at the halfway mark, you had to take a couple of seconds to adjust, subconsciously clenching and unclenching around him. pain and pleasure mixed together in a perfect fusion.

"oh, Harry." your back arched slightly, your nipples getting the friction from Harry's chest above you, his hands everywhere on your body, it was great, all of it, even if the pain overrode the pleasure in some instances, at the end it felt greater than anything you've ever felt before.

Harry's moans were something like you've never heard before. he groaned and whispered you praises, his words and sounds settling deep in your core and heart.

when you managed to relax, he began moving. at first slowly, but gradually quickening his pace.

the bed creaked, the headboard banging against the wall, but at this moment you didn't care if someone could hear, in this moment it was only you and Harry.

he moaned less, and definitely quieter than you, but somehow they were still the only thing you heard. the way his face scrunched everytime he bottomed out, or the way his hair fell in his face or the beads of sweat that was trickling down his forehead. everything about him in this moment was like nothing ever before. his hands held your hips down, flexing with every thrust. he bit his lip, seemingly trying to control himself.

"Oh God, y/n-" he kept repeating your name over and over again, and the way it sounded in that voice made your melt every time he said it. his lips found your neck and started kissing and biting and teasing the skin until you were a crying mess more than you already were.

you were screaming, crying, moaning so loud you were sure people could hear you, but you didn't care. no one made you feel like him, you deserved complete freedom during your first time.

the feel of him sliding in and out of you with least amount of friction caused by your slickness was otherworldly. the sounds of his thrusts and your wetness were definitely something you didn't expect to love to hear so much.

"you're so wet baby, you feel that- you hear that? is that what I do to you?" he kept rambling, right next to your ear.

it was hard to hear him talk so softly when the sounds of him pounding into you were so loud, but you loved hearing him talk to you like that, as if he's trying to connect with you while fucking you mercilessly.

"Harry, I- I'm close, I think." it was feeble, at best.

this was different than fingering yourself. a giant wave of pleasure rocked through you so intensely you cried out. it was too much and not enough all at once.

"let go baby, come on. it's okay, I want to hear you falling apart on my dick." his words raised goosebumps all over your skin, making butterflies flutter all around in your stomach.

his pace increased considerably, pulling out completely then thrusting into you with great force. tears sped down your face, looking completely ruined, accurate to what you're feeling.

it hurt, but in such a good way you didn't want it to end. you gripped his back hard enough to leave marks, but that seemed to drive him even more, holding you down hard enough to bruise, he drove into you with such force you were sure to hit your head if he wasn't holding you. your legs were spread widely, heightening the feeling even more, he let go of your hips, grabbing your knees and holding them up, exposing you completely, making him hit a whole different spot that left your jaw hanging.

it all happened so fast, your orgasm hit into you so violently you shook and screamed so loud Harry held his hand on your mouth.

"Baby, you're so good, you're doing so good, keep screaming, I love hearing you like this." he kept praising, holding one of your knees up while his other hand was on your mouth.

"Harry, oh, please," you kept moaning, for everything and nothing at all. it felt extraordinary, you understood the hype around sex completely, and never wanted this to end.

"I'm so close y/n, please let me come. so, so close." he said, even though you didn't ask for permission, he did, and for some reason, that turned you on even more.

"come Harry, go on." you kissed him, and in a second he came undone. you clenched around him, holding him tightly to you while he cried out, riding out his high as his pace became sloppy and his breathing uneven.

he held onto you while driving in and out of you messily. his cum filled you entirely, warming up your insides. it felt like it would never end, this endless pleasure you were both stuck in, Harry, still spilling inside of you, holding you so close waiting to be finished before he could hold you.

eventually he did, and collapsed lightly on top of you, cuddling you while you both caught your breaths and came down.

he pulled out and rested his hands on your sides, turning you so you were laying on his chest, he kissed the top of your head and pulled the covers on top of you, holding you tightly against him.

you stayed like this for a while, just sitting in a comfortable silence, basking in the endearing feeling of him against you. it felt surreal, everything about this felt surreal, and you wanted to cherish the moment for as long as possible.

after a while of comforting silence Harry spoke up, breaking the spell. "how was that?" he asked, rubbing the hair from your face so you could look up at him. "was I any good?" he blushed slightly while asking.

"Harry, I don't think I know how to explain it," you paused, trying to think of something that would be close to what you felt. "you were beyond amazing, and I don't know how to show you how grateful I am to you."

Harry seemed speechless for a couple second before he recovered and gathered his thoughts. "that's really, n-nice, I'm glad, thank you, really.I'm so proud of you. you were great, baby." and he kissed you again, then you both sat in comfortable silence again.

and for the first time you were able to feel like any other, and being vulnerable with Harry was better than anything would have been in a different situation. you loved it.

a/n: hey guys, it's been a while. I've been busy but now since it's summer break I'll *hopefully* be able to update more frequently. this may be a bit rusty, but I hoped you enjoyed it nonetheless!

I also want to say, I definitely know my previous work isn't that great, considering I'm not an actual studied author and English isn't my first language, but I write for fun and all, so I hope you will still like my work despite the many flaws! if anyone has requests/ something to say, don't be scared! I love reading you guys' messages:).

check out my Wattpad...

[whorediaries-09]

dancing with our hands tied;

pairing- sirius black x reader warning(s)- hurt/comfort, injuries, blood, potential part two. (let me know if i should add more) a/n- it's not the best but yeah.

the slut club

i'd kiss you as the lights went out

the death eaters had been berserk ever since sirius had been declared a free man. the daily prophet who had sung cruel, heinous ballads about his criminal record was singing beautiful lullabies about him, praising him, and his 'heroic acts'. he'd burned every single one of the newspapers, being profusely aggressive at the 'two-faced bastards'.

it was even more harsh upon you since you'd been the interrogator, the one who had helped him be free during his trial.

clutching the pain caused by your broken ribs and a broken limb, you tried to clear your head, trying to numb the pain. you tried to clear the numb sleepiness that was caused due to the pain, clearing the fog as you apparated to your house. you fell on the floor, the cold wood biting into your skin. it was a cruel flow of blood and dizziness, but you still managed to send a message to the order, even if you were unsure it would reach the order.

slowly feeing your breaths pass through your nasal cavity, you felt your eyelids close, laying numb upon your own blood as you gave into the darkness succumbed around you.

*****

it was a excruciating grasp upon your arm that woke you up. it was followed by a jab on your abdomen and chest, a result of your own panic. you lay under your sheets, your blood soaked clothes replaced by new, fresh ones. you could feel the bandage upon your numb skin.

you looked around the unfamiliar room, with dark gloomy walls. they weren't a contrast to the pair of gray stormy eyes yours met. his fingers lay intertwined with yours, as he looked down upon you with an utmost worry that hurt your poor heart.

's-sirius? where am i?' his voice was barely a whisper you caught onto when he replied,

'the order's headquarters,'

'w-why?'

'dumbledore got your message. he said it wouldn't be safe to put you in your own house. you're a prime nemesis of the death eaters,'

'so i've to be alone? here?'

the air seemed to be thick with exhaustion and indecision. your question seemed to be an imposition.

'no, i'll be here.' he answered, though at a loss of words himself. 'if you want me to be?'

even though the pain deafened your thinking capabilities, you weren't sure how you got here. you weren't sure how long you'd been passed out. you weren't sure how long the pain would've weighed down upon you, leaving an excruciating amount of questions you left unvoiced.

so under the dimlight, you observed his face. it was gray, but you knew he wouldn't admit he was sick. he knew the death eaters were after you because he was free because of you. he knew it made the death eaters drive into the edge of insanity, to torture you before they could end you. it felt as if he were bruised like violets, the throbbing blue of his nerves underneath his porcelain skin.

he squeezed your fingers, not brave enough to meet your eyes. perhaps it was survivor's guilt that punished him from inside, you squeezed his fingers back, trying to reassure him, that he didn't need to fall into a trap of guilt, he wasn't at fault.

'have you slept?' you asked, even though you knew the answer.

'a few naps here and there,' he answered. 'listen i-i'm sorry, you're in this situation because of me. if you hadn't gone out to defend me and interrogated me then you wouldn't be here-'

you clapped your palm over his mouth. it was as if watching wisteria grow right over your bare feet, as if you hadn't moved in years.

'i fight for justice sirius, not you. can you please sleep?'

'i-i can't leave you alone,' he answered, muffled through your palm.

you patted the space beside you. he looked at you, his eyes reflecting an unanswered question.

'you look warm,'

*****

it was as if a red rose grew out of an icy cold ground. the time didn't seem to stop, as the insurmountable pain was long forgotten. the scent of pancakes hung in the air, the hot tea placed before you as you nibbled on your toast. you were busy staring at sirius' back muscles under his linen shirt, as the light reflected through the sheer fabric.

through the days sirius had taken care of you, you had developed a connection with him, a deep provoking one. it was far from being friends, when in a drunk haze he'd cried to you, opening about himself, his past and his insecurities. he'd pressed his forehead against yours, stroking your cheek, expressing his desire to kiss you, at least once. he told you how he'd been so scared when he'd found you barely breathing in your apartment. you remember stroking his hair, thinking he'd spit out those words out of guilt.

'here's your pancake,' he said, serving it hot on a plate, topped with butter and honey. you took a sip of your tea before thanking him. he sat beside you, cutting into his pancake, which he'd topped with whipped cream and honey.

'that's a weird combo,' you commented. he shrugged his shoulders, biting into his food.

'sirius,'

'hm?'

'thank you.' he stared at you flabbergasted.

'what for?'

'for taking care of me. i-i'd probably be dead by now if it weren't for you-'

he slapped his palm over your mouth. he stared into your eyes, an intense hotness pooling into his stomach as he neared your face. he scanned your eyes, an abyss of unreadable emotions he wanted to decipher, the curve of your nose and your tangled hair tied in a bun. even in a morning haste, he thought you looked beautiful. you brought out so much in him, it made him afraid. of what exactly he didn't know. he felt like something when you made him laugh, when you listened to him, when you were around. you were the only one who didn't look at him with eyes of pity, someone who'd escaped the hands of unjustified law.

'don't ever fucking say that. i did all this because i love you,' he grazed his temple with yours. it was a momentary bliss he supposed. in his head, you'd move away, go back to your house after you'd processed his words.

instead, you stroked your hand over his cheek. he felt your breathing palpitate, your heartbeat matching his when you neared his lips.

'i know,'

his breathing intensified. he gazed at your lips, his fingers stroking your cheek. he tucked stray hairs behind your ear, his lips almost brushing yours.

'we shouldn't,'

'i know,'

'fuck it,'

fireworks. it was as if red white and blue painted the sky, when he submitted into his desire, getting lost in your lips. his stomach erupted into a thousand butterflies as you melted under his touch. because god forbid you were made just for him. you were his drug, and what wouldn't he do to overdose.

[whereslynx]

Hey girl I love ur fics sm! Could you do one where reader is the older sister of Latrell and she’s secretly with Oscar and one day while she’s at his house Cesar finds them in bed together

a/n: THANK U LOVELY!!! ofc i can!

────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Being Latrell’s older sister meant carrying the weight of expectations, especially as a member of the Prophets. You had always been good at staying under the radar, but keeping your relationship with Oscar Diaz—a Santo, and their leader at that—was another level of secrecy entirely.

It wasn’t just that Latrell would flip if he found out. The entire situation was a betrayal of the gang alliances, a risk neither of you could afford to take. But Oscar was different. With him, you weren’t “Latrell’s sister” or a Prophet. You were just.. you. And for that, you’d risk everything.

Oscar’s house had become a sanctuary, a place where the weight of your world lifted, even if just for a while. The afternoon sun filtered through his bedroom blinds, casting soft shadows as you lay sprawled across his bed, your head resting on his chest. His arm was draped around you lazily, fingers tracing idle patterns on your back.

“I still can’t believe I’m doing this,” you murmured, your tone a blend of disbelief and amusement as you traced lazy patterns on Oscar’s chest.

Oscar tilted his head to look down at you, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “What? Breaking the rules? Turning your back on the Prophets?”

You arched an eyebrow at him, the smallest smirk playing on your face. “Sleeping with the enemy, Diaz.”

He let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling under your cheek like a comforting vibration. “Enemy? I don’t remember it feeling like that last night.”

Your grin widened, and you swatted his chest playfully. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“And you’re lucky I don’t scare easy,” he shot back, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your temple.

The warmth of the moment settled between you, as easy as breathing. With Oscar, the constant tension of gang loyalty and dangerous allegiances faded into the background, replaced by something rare: peace.

But peace doesn’t last long in your world.

The sharp slam of the front door echoed through the house, snapping the quiet intimacy like a rubber band. A familiar voice followed, loud and clear. “Oscar, you here?”

You froze, your body tensing as Oscar let out a low sigh, his calm demeanor unshaken.

“Of all the times…” he muttered, sitting up slowly.

Before you could even process your next move, the bedroom door burst open, revealing Cesar standing in the doorway. His eyes immediately landed on you, tangled in the sheets beside his brother.

“What the—” Cesar’s voice faltered as he took in the scene, his expression twisting with a mixture of disbelief and anger.

“Cesar,” you began, clutching the blanket tighter around yourself as you sat up, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“No. Nope. Don’t even try to explain,” he cut you off, jabbing a finger in your direction before turning his glare on Oscar. “What the hell, mano? She’s a Prophet. Latrell’s sister. You know how bad this is, right?”

Oscar didn’t flinch. He leaned back against the headboard, arms crossed, his calm gaze locked on Cesar. “Relax,” he said, his tone so steady it was almost maddening.

“Relax?” Cesar echoed, his voice rising in disbelief. “Do you even hear yourself? Do you have any idea what would happen if Latrell—or the Prophets—found out about this? You’re risking everything. For what?”

“For her,” Oscar said simply, his voice low but firm, a quiet declaration that left no room for argument.

Cesar blinked, momentarily stunned by the weight of Oscar’s words. “You’re serious,” he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with incredulity.

Oscar’s gaze didn’t waver. “Dead serious.”

Cesar dragged a hand down his face, pacing a few steps before stopping to glare at both of you again. “Do you know what kind of war you’re starting? You think Latrell’s just gonna let this slide? Fuck, forget Latrell—what about the rest of the Santos?”

Your voice finally broke through, steady despite the storm brewing in Cesar’s expression. “We’ll deal with it. Together.”

Cesar turned his attention back to you, his brow furrowed in frustration. “You’re insane. Both of you.”

“Maybe,” Oscar said with a shrug. “But I don’t scare easy. And I’m not walking away from her.”

Cesar shook his head, letting out a heavy sigh. “You’re both gonna regret this.”

“Maybe,” you said softly, meeting his gaze. “But that’s for us to deal with.”

For a moment, Cesar just stared at you both, his jaw tight with unspoken words.

Cesar looked between the two of you, his frustration palpable. “You’re crazy, mano,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

“I know what I’m doing,” Oscar said firmly, standing and stepping toward his brother. “This isn’t some fling. It’s serious.”

Cesar stared at him for a long moment, then turned back to you. “You do realize Latrell would lose it, right? And not just at him—at you.”

You nodded, your throat tight. “I know. But I’m not scared of him.”

“Maybe you should be,” Cesar said darkly. “Because if this gets out, it won’t just be a family issue. It’ll be a war.”

Oscar stepped between you and Cesar, his stance protective. “We’ll deal with it if it comes to that. But this stays between us, understand?”

Cesar hesitated, his jaw tightening. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” With one last look at you both, he turned and left, the sound of the door slamming again echoing through the house.

As silence settled over the room, you exhaled slowly, sinking back onto the bed. “That could’ve gone worse.”

Oscar turned back to you, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Could’ve gone better, too.”

Despite everything, you couldn’t help but smile as he sat down beside you, his hand finding yours. “You think he’ll keep quiet?”

“He will,” Oscar said confidently. “He might be pissed, but he won’t sell us out. Not to Latrell, not to anyone.”

You nodded, leaning against him as his arm wrapped around your shoulders. “I guess we’ll see.”

Oscar pressed a kiss to your hair, his voice low and steady. “No matter what happens, we’ll figure it out. You and me, alright?”

“Alright,” you murmured, letting yourself believe it—because with Oscar, it didn’t matter what the world thought. As long as you had each other, you’d find a way.

[inheartofwinter]

For @drarrymicrofic 's prompt "Time loop". G | 542.

Maybe I will write more later. Fingercross that I would be able to create something decent.

They say that tomorrow never comes. Draco is sure they don’t mean it like this.

He stares at the Daily Prophet, silently willing the date on it to change. The date, probably relishing in Draco's agony, remains the same. It is the same the day before, and the day before that, and the day before the day before that, and— There are too many days before that, certainly more than Draco's liking, that Draco feels foolish to hope for something different. He still hopes.

Draco throws the paper at the wall. It always says rubbish, anyway.

“You know that’s not going to help,” says Potter from behind the kitchen’s table. He is buttering a slice of toast. On the table, there are two plates of perfectly cooked English breakfast, a mug of coffee and a cup of tea. Everything is made by Potter.

“What else are you telling me to do?!” Draco snaps back. “Sit down and drink coffee?”

Potter puts down the coffee mug he just drank from a second ago. “No. The world knows you hates coffee. But you can drink tea.”

Draco grumbles but sits down at the table. He sips the tea. He has to stop himself from moaning in pleasure as the liquid warms his entire body up. It is exactly how Draco likes it.

Draco glances up and catches Potter smirking at him. Draco glares at him.

After nearly a month of being stuck with each other, Potter has come to know too much about Draco’s habits and preferences for Draco’s comfort. Draco consoles himself that the contrary is also true. Draco also learns a lot more about Potter in that short time than in the previous ten years they have shared. However, if he is honest, that fact sometimes scares Draco shitless.

“You should go shopping for grocery. I'm getting tired of English breakfast,” Potter says between bites of egg.

“I'm not. You can get your own food if you don’t like it.” Draco throws back just to be contrary.

“Maybe I should.” Potter agrees. “Come to think of it, I don’t even have to cook. I can just get take away. Do you like naan?”

This is what discomforts Draco the most. It is getting harder and harder to anger Potter. Halfway through the second week, Potter doesn’t rise to Draco’s bait anymore.

“Aren’t you a bit too comfortable with this situation?” Draco grumbles. “People would think you love it.”

All pretend relaxation falls off Potter. His posture straightens up. His face hardens. “I'm not. I would sell my soul to get out of this.”

Draco mentally curses himself. There it is, the blank, world-weary eyes Potter occasionally wear. Against Draco’s better judgement, he knows that he would dig his own heart out if it could stop Potter looking that way. Between trying to get out of the time loop and having every meal together, Draco has fallen for Harry Potter.

Once again, Draco curses whatever has put them in this situation.

“Maybe we will figure it out today.” Draco says, hoping his lame comfort would cheer Potter up just a little. “And it will be like before again.”

Potter blinks. Then, he nods, looking less depressed but also kind of odd. “Maybe. Maybe not.”

[oxyvouge]

: ̗̀➛ wax wings ༊·˚

summary: after the news of Sirius cheating on you broke out to the whole wizarding world, you confronted him about it.

━━ ✦ pairing(s): husband! sirius black x wife! reader

━━ ✦ warning: cheating

━━ ✦ word count: 1,382

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'M BACK but several months late 😭🙏. here's your request, @lilacspider. hope y'all enjoy <333

YOU DIDN'T exactly remember how you got in this position; with your eyes screaming anger, sadness, and regret all in one in front of your husband himself, Sirius Black.

You didn't get it, why would he do this? And you will never get it. What was the reason? Were you not enough? Aren't you both happy? Why did everything lead to this? There were so many questions floating in your head yet you preferred if they were left unanswered.

Tho, you quite vividly remembered how you watched your son going back to his playroom after giving you a letter he found somewhere inside the house. How Marlene drank all the remaining butterbeer, putting it down on the table with a loud clang.

How Marlene also started talking shit about Sirius. "Honestly, Black can fuck Merlin's Beard. He and his bloody dick can't control itself." How Dorcas kicked Marlene after hearing what she said. "What? I'm right tho. If he controlled his dick, Y/N wouldn't even be in this situation now."

Everything could ramble all over your fuzzy mind but you would never forget how you looked into a specific page of the Daily Prophet reading Sirius' name. BLACK'S AFFAIR BRINGS SHAME TO FAMILY LEGACY. It was written on the headline.

You couldn't bring yourself to read the whole article. It was heart-wrenching. What would become of your son if he was to know? That the whole wizarding world knew about his father's affair except for him.

But you couldn't bring yourself to tell him about it so here you are, confronting Sirius about it with angry tears from the all-for-nothing years that were wasted because of a single affair.

Letters burnt but a single is saved yet crumpled in between your tightly closed hands.

"Be careful with that one, love. He may have already left the Black household, but what runs through him will never leave. He will do what it takes to survive." That was what Dorcas said. Was what they all said. But did you believe it?

You heard rumors about him yet never once in your life have you doubted Sirius' faithfulness until now.

"Are you happy now? Do you feel proud of yourself?" You managed to crack out. "You got back at the legacy you've always been talking about. And now you have a broken family. Congratulations." Legacy. Such a word to risk something important for. But was it just something important?

Sirius didn't say anything. Maybe he was too ashamed to even say anything. He should be. Sirius opened his mouth to speak yet he didn't say anything. You noted how his jaw clenched and his eyes darting everywhere all at once refusing to look you back in the eye.

"You think you're so slick, don't you? Slithering around behind my back like some kind of serpent. You should've been with the Slytherins like your whole family. Tell me, Sirius, why did you do it?"

A scoff was the only sound that came from his mouth. Sirius set his eyes on you, courage slowly building up and that lump in his throat disappearing. "You were gone. I was alone and lonely." Was the only thing he said.

It didn't need you a minute or two to put things together. It's his dick. It always has been. "Was she worth it then? Trading our vows for your lack of companionship?"

"This isn't the first time, Y/N." Dorcas took a look at you and held your hand in an assuring way. "You've married an Icarus, he has flown too close to the sun." They must've been laughing at you already. Noting how dumb you could be, especially in the face of love.

"No! She was no one! She begged me." Sirius cried. He never cried like this so hard ever since he left the Black household for the better.

You laughed. It was stupid. Men and their ability to make stupid decisions with their dick. "Because you were alone? Do you even know why you're alone, Sirius? Because you refuse to come home and now you're pulling me that bloody excuse of loneliness like it was my fault when it wasn't!"

"But I still love you, Y/N!" He kneeled, wanting to grab your hand and beg to all of the Gods out there, Merlin, but most importantly, to you.

"No. I refuse to believe that. That became a lie ever since you were entangled with that woman." You felt tears building up in the corner of your eyes but you would never let it fall. Not when he could see and may use for his self-pleasure. "My—Cepheus, our son, was always coming to our bedroom asking when you'd be back." You emphasized. "You know what I always tell him? I tell him, "Daddy will come home, honey, once you're a good and big boy already!" and he must've already memorized it."

"I'm a big boy now, aren't I, mother?" Your 6-year-old son asked as he stood in front of a measuring tape for his height.

You've always been in front of your porch, waiting when Sirius would come home. "When was the last time he came home?" You remembered Lily asking that and how you stayed silent thinking carefully, when did he last come home? But you never knew the answer to that.

"Every time I look at you now, I see nothing but betrayal etched into your face. That must've been the reason why you never come home."

Maybe you should've burned the article moments ago so you didn't have to be in this position. Like how you burnt the letters he gave you. "Did your wax wings melt? Because I would never understand where you got the courage to do that and admit it like it was never your fault."

You turn from him and into the table where the newspaper lies. You turn to snatch it from there and show it to Sirius. You let out a chuckle, "It was ironic, honestly. You've always talked about legacy; legacy this, legacy that." You took a moment to compose yourself yet your eyes never left Sirius'. "Are you that blind Sirius? They aren't your legacy Sirius. Your legacy isn't your family who you turned your back on. Not Hogwarts. Not the Marauders. Not the Wizarding World. Not them but us. We are your legacy."

You've married the brightest star in the sky, he collided with another and everything exploded. "You've left scars on my heart that may never heal, all because you couldn't keep it in your pants."

You regained your posture and said, "By the break of dawn, I want every each one your clothes and things gone from this house."

"Mommy, is everything alright?" You heard a soft voice calling out to you. You turned to look at the door and saw how your son was holding onto the doorknob, peaking with his tired eyes that came from his sleep. Sirius stood up from the floor and turned away from Cepheus. "Dad?"

You passed Sirius and walked straight towards your son. "Baby?" You bent down to look at him and saw how he rubbed his eyes with a yawn. "Come on, let's go to bed. Daddy has things to do and he's in a hurry baby."

"He's always gone." Your son muttered, catching Sirius' attention. You both left the room and closed the door behind you.

"Did you and dad fight, mommy?" You only managed to smile.

Dear Y/N,

You're the person I want to spend my entire life with. You're the match in a world full of moths and it's drawing me to you. I chased you ever since first year and I don't plan on just walking towards you anytime soon. I want to run. Let's run till we can't anymore. I would watch the world burn, let the supernova engulf the Universe, and let everything fall apart in front of us as long as I'm with you.

I love you so much, my love. Words can't explain how much I love you to the Saturn and back. But maybe, I'm certain, every time I look at you, I fell a million times over.

Let's build a family. A new legacy of the Blacks. It'll be for us all; and maybe, just maybe we can show them what being a Black is really like.

With all love,

S. O. B.

you can make a request here where you'll be guided by the guidelines and check out the masterlist.

this is the most beautiful thing i've written 🥹🥹

ps. i still hate cheaters.

[a-pretty-nerd]

THE MEDIUM AND THE DETECTIVE

On another episode of: "STFU, I don't care that the Fandom's DEAD! YOU CAN'T STOP ME!"

A Deathe Note L x Reader x Matsuda Angst Fic!

Summary: You're a suspect for predicting the Kira case, but can you predict this dick-

Warnings: SAD. Gender neutral, but, there is a preggers trope. You see dead people in this one. Happy ending!!!

The first encounter with L was traumatic to say the least. Being a suspect in the Kira case, L was thorough. When your best selling thriller novel eerily predicts the Kira murders, you're naturally his first suspect in the case. But as his investigation continues he unfolds an even more unsettling truth.

A series of prophetic dreams drove you to write the suspensious book. And the dreams you are currently having continue to predict the murders before they happen. But because you're under 24hr surveillance, L comes to the conclusion that you are not Kira. But your spars visions of the future have been genuinely helpful and fascinating. So L keeps you around.

A curious friendship grows, and a budding romance between the two blossoms. You and L settle into a secret affair throughout the Kira Investigation as your dreams becomes more vivid and frightening. Your dreams often predict major events, even L's death, but certain pieces are missing. Like Kira has something protecting him from being seen.. As the murders continue, you become haunted by Kira's victims as they seek revenge for their deaths.

Matsuda has often acted as a friend. The golden retriever you can count on. The one that always greets you with a smile and gets you a cup of coffee. L would watch the two of you be friendly and even he could not deny the two of you had chemistry. He thinks someone like Matsuda would be good for someone like you. He'd certainly take care of you. You'd probably be better off- but.... L is selfish and jealous inside.

L wants you all to himself. He delights in having moments alone with you, though they are few and far in-between. Hell, Watari is the only living soul who knows about the two of you. So intimacy is truly rare, but that often makes it that much more passionate when you do get the chance. Depending on his mood and how tired her is, L can range from a dedicated lover to a frenzied lover. Pattern recognition is an important skill he's very experienced with.

Time passes and your situation changes. You become more of a paranormal consultant on the Kira case. Which, often comes in handy for L when he's trying piece things together. Your outside insight is be very helpful to him. But unfortunately for you, the longer the case continues, the worse your experiences get. Your nightmares become full on night terrors that you become stuck in. Matsuda has had to shake you from a few.

L sees the change in you before you do. He notices a change in smell first. You don't smell the same. Not bad. Just different. Then he notices how your appetite has changed. He sees the nausea in your face before you can even voice a complaint. L suggests a stomach bug first, keeping his suspicions to himself. So he has you see a doctor. A doctor who promptly informs you that you are....well...you know...in the family way.

When you return with glazed over and fatigued eyes, L's theory is confirmed. He looks at it very objectivly at first. He prepares for every possibility before he even starts the conversation. Regardless of your options, he makes preparations for each. He waits patiently for you to tell him on your own time, when you're comfortable. He doesn't take you trying to hide it as an insult, more than anything he feels himself becoming more and more nervous that you haven't told him. He comforts himself with the idea that you probably just haven't figured out what to do yet, so you're waiting to talk to him before you make a decision.

You tell him when you're alone. L doesn't move a muscle. He freezes. He expected this but the longer you waited the more he had to grapple with the idea of becoming a parent. Which is something L never expected himself to be dealing with. Especially not smack-dab in the middle of the most dangerous and intense cases of his life. So, he kind of panics. The conversation is deadpan as expected. For the most part he's honest about his feelings towards it. He honestly doesn't think keeping it isn't good idea, but he's well aware that isn't his choice. His voice is sweet when he says, "no matter what happens, I will ensure you are taken care of. No one will hurt you."

It isn't until he sees the first ultrasound that he kind of changes his tune. He stares at the picture, fascinated by it. When you ask about it, he says, "Watching something grow from nothing is indescribable." A very L answer. As much as he wants you to remain by his side. As much as he wants you, he knows it's only a matter of time. He knows that the longer you remain at headquarters, the higher the risk. If Light hasn't already put the pieces together, he knows he soon will. And as much as the evidence has proven his "innocence" he doesn't trust Light with a damn thing.

To rub salt in the wound, the longer you stay by his side, the worse your paranormal experiences become. You've been unable to sleep, you can't handle being alone or in the dark for very long. The ghosts of Kira's victims whisper in your ears and claw at your clothes. The more violent ones scream and shout whenever they get the chance. It's taking a toll on you. Everyone fears for your well-being. Matsuda and L especially. So when L finally sends you away, you understand. You're not happy about it in the least. But L is prepared to use force if he has to. He will not be letting you die. You're already at the end of your rope and if something were to happen to you, he'd never be able to forgive himself.

So you're sent back to your family with a large sum in your bank account. Child support in advance, if you will. The ghosts leave you be, and the nightmares ease up. The ones you do have are of L. And it's the same dream. Everytime it's his death. You did everything you could to prevent it and still your dreams are relentless. You've told L his fate before and he always regarded it with the same interest as every other dream, like it was nothing special. You would try to contact L but he made sure you would have no way to reach him.

The only person who is allowed to contact you besides himself, which he doesn't anyways, is Matsuda or Watari. Watari calls on occasion pretending to be your doctor. He asks questions about your condition, your medical records, your paranormal experiences. You assume he's doing this to keep L up to date on your current status. When you ask why L does not call himself, Watari tells you that he's busy, but he sends his regards.

Matsuda calls every couple of days. He's only allowed to call when he's alone and he's not allowed to share information on the Kira case for obvious reasons. But he's more interested in how you're doing anyways. He asks you about what you've been up to, how you and your family are doing. If you have any plans for a new novel. He's been a fan of your work since before the investigation began. He's a breath of fresh air. You look forward to his calls.

Suddenly the calls stop for a while. There's a deep pit in your stomach one morning as you look outside your bedroom window. There's a faint sound of ringing that you can't shake. So you go on with your day, trying to regain your sense of normalcy. Failing miserably when sometime in the afternoon you feel a great loss. That night as you lay in bed, pretending to sleep in hopes that dreams will creep in anyways, you feel a presence.

A familiar figure stands at the foot of your bed, watching. You know who it is right away. You can practically see him even with your eyes closed. The scent of coffee, vanilla, and paper follows him as quiet footsteps come to the other side of your bed. You're afraid that if you move or open your eyes he'll disappear. So you lay there as the blankets are pulled up and he crawls into bed with you. Laying down behind you and wrapping his cold arms around to spoon you. You lay there in his ghostly embrace for a long while, just trying to memorize the feeling in hopes that it will never leave you. He leans in, cold lips pressed against your ear as he whispers. "I was right." And then he's gone.

Matsuda calls a few days later, crying. When he finally gets the words out to tell you what's happened, he's met with a cold: "I know. Thank you, Matsuda." He finds himself being comforted by you. He knew that you and L were close. He knew you were friends. But he had no idea the relationship you had, nor the evidence that has reached a healthy 6 months. He implores you to attend L's funeral but, you can't do that. Emotionally and physically it's out of the question. Light is Kira. You know that. You've always known deep down, deep in your heart and so did L. After all, he was right.

Misa tries to contact you, you pick up the phone only to hear her voice. You hang up and change your number. Light tries to contact you, claiming its in regards to L and the Kira case. He wants to bring you back. You almost throw up right then and there. Instead, you hung up the call, close the phone, and smash it with a hammer. Matsuda is the only number you remember and the only person you trust. You don't trust him to know that Light is Kira. But you trust him to be good and kind. You trust him to visit you.

You pick him up at the airport when he comes out to visit you. You look so different he doesn't notice you. He passes right by you before you call out his name. You're visibly pregnant at this point, roughly 8 months. Your hair is longer and full. Your skin is glowing, your eyes are vibrant when they peak out from behind your sunglasses. You look nothing like the sickly, haunted spectator he knew you as. When he sees your belly, he just stares. He's speechless.

He's far too stunned for form a real sentence for about an hour as you drive him to his hotel. You laugh at him as he stares.

"It's good to see you too, Matsu." You joke with a smile. He goes red in the face.

"Uh- You look- You look great!" He croaks.

"Thanks."

"You're...um...are you-"

"Glowing? I am. Thank you for noticing." You tease him. It's good to have a friend close by again. He's not allowed to know where you're staying with your family, just to be safe. If Light were to ever decide to torture or kill Matsuda for information, you have to be sure. It's a risk even letting him see you like this. But you never win without taking a risk.

"So then you're...married?" He asks, a bit disappointed. You turn to him, your expression confused.

"What?? No. Do you see a ring on my finger?"

"Well no...I just...you're...uh-" You can see the gears turning in his head. Like he has all the pieces he just doesn't want to put them together. "How far along?"

"8 months? Give or take." You answer honestly. The pieces have been put together regardless. The puzzle is nearly complete, much to Matsuda's horror. It's L's. He knows it. There's no other option. Chief Yagami and Aizawa are out of the question. You've always hated Light from the moment you met. L...you were so close with L.

"Why didn't I see it before..." He mumbles to himself.

"You weren't supposed to. No one was supposed to know. No one is supposed to know." You tell him firmly. "This stays between you and me, Matsuda. I'm telling you this as my friend. In confidence that no one else on that task force will know about this. If no one else knows that L is dead, no one will know about this, understood?" Matsude nods in agreement as he pouts. He tries to apologize. He's overly emotional about the whole thing. Extraordinarily sympathetic to your situation, as he always is.

He's deeply worried about you and the baby. He's worried about you doing everything alone. You try to reassure him you have a family for support and a bank account that looks like a social security number thanks to L's estate. But still, Matsuda feels like he could be doing something to help you. You're his crush friend! He can't let you do all that alone. He knows L left you with everything you might need to be a single parent but...still...

"Marry me!" He blurts out one night.

"WHAT!?" You bark.

"Marry me! We'll be a family, you'll never have to worry about a thing. Let me take care of you!" He begs. You pause for a moment, it's as if you can hear L's voice in your ear. 'Matsuda's acting stupid again.'

"No! I'm not marrying you! Are you insane!? What good would that do me anyways? I'm taken care of as it is, I don't need you." Matsuda pouts but ultimately understands. He was out of pocket just asking you like that. He let his emotions get the better of then again. But he can't help it. He sees you alone like that and he just wants to take care of you. He wants to hold you and tell you everything is going to be okay. To comfort and love you.

He's at the airport when you call him. You've gone into labor. He's there for you before your own family is. The man booked it through the hospital looking for you. He's incredibly nervous seeing you in so much pain, but he's determined to support you. You're not sure why you called him. Why you wanted him there. It's not even his kid but...still...It probably has something to do with the long nights you spent waking up from night terrors. His arms around you, rubbing your back as you sob in terror. He makes you feel safe.

Matsuda is holding your hand when L's daughter is born around 3am on October 31st. Matsuda cuts the cord and he holds her first. He sits beside you in a chair as you rest and recover. He knows the baby isn't his but when he looks down at her, he feels his heart swell with pride and wonder. A part of him feels guilty for being there. L should be sitting where he is, holding his own child and being there to hold your hand. Tears fall from his eyes and onto the bundle beneath him.

As time passes, Matsuda keeps your whereabouts and your little family a secret. He visits, as often as he can. He lies to Light and the others about where he's going. And because it's Matsuda, the loveable idiot, Light doesn't suspect or even entertain the idea that he's lying to him. He watches as the child grows into a remarkable combination of you and L. She has his pirecing eyes that greet him when he walks into the front door of your home.

The little girl adores Matsuda. He's sweet and silly. He brings her toys and treats. She likes to sit on his shoulders and play with his hair. All things considered, he makes a good father.

Things are winding down to a disturbing close in the Kira case. The day before everything goes down, you have another dream. L is standing over his daughter's bed, watching her carefully. He turns to look at you. "I love you, very much. I'm sorry I've never said it before. You've done well with her and everything. But the case will soon be closed." In this dream he approaches you and holds you close in his arms again. "Goodbye."

You wake up to the sound of your daughter screaming a crying for you. You rush to her aid. The next few days pass with a defeaning silence. Matsuda doesn't call, which by now is irregular considering he calls almost once a day now. But by the end of that week, something lifts. Like sun has finally peaked through the clouds. A weight is lifted from your shoulders a you feel lighter than you have in years. You feel like you can breath.

Matsuda shows up unannounced in the dead of night. He looks exhausted, heavy bags under his eyes. His cheerful and bright nature stripped away from him. He shuffles into your home and starts to sob. You hold him close as he describes the horror he's been through. What Light did- What Matsuda did to him. This time, it's your turn to comfort him. He stays the night. Sleeping in your bed with you as you remind him he's safe and warm with you.

In the morning he feels better. Still depressed but, his smile returns when your daughter sees him sitting at the breakfast table.

"Are you having breakfast with us, Mat?" She asks as her little fists rub the sleep from her eyes.

"Is that okay with you?" He asks her. She shrugs and climbs up the chair to sit in front of him.

"I don't care. You could have every meal with us." She says as he eyes focus over the small plate of child-sized pancakes. Matsuda watches her with a loving gaze. If only he could. If only...

"You stay, if you wanted to." You say softly as you place a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You could stay."

[a-french-coconut]

Part 1 (Will Solace)

Will's dad, Apollo, is the god of a lot of things.

Music, archery, poetry, masculine beauty, knowledge, arts, medicine, sun, light, prophecy, logic and the list goes on.

He has mostly inherited the healing part with some musical and light abilities like his supersonic wisthle and light tricks. He's not good with bows and arrows, he is average with any instruments or singing, does not have prophetic dreams and does not have the same artistic sensibility as his siblings.

He deems himself a healer and only a healer (Aren't you cute ? Trying to deny my very existence ?). His role on the battlefield is not to shed blood but to prevent it from happening. His hands are made for knitting skin back together and glow golden when he sings hymns to his father (oh but they could do so much more...) .

"Shut up".

Will is really happy he's alone right now. Even for demigods, talking to no one is strange. Granted, being alone when he is deep in the woods with no weapon and maybe a little lost is not the best situation he's ever been in, but it is the one he prefers when she decides to invade his mind again.

"I don't understand why you keep trying to convince me."

(Well, there is not much to do except bothering you Will. And who knows ? One day your patience will be running thin and that day...)

"Not happening."

(Ugh, can you at least get me out of your mind ?)

He hesitates. As good as it sounds to have her out of him, he is still wary of letting her roam free. Last time he lost control...

(Oh Will, there is nothing of interest here.)

He is still hesitating, his control slips a little and he feels her getting out, materialising in front of him.

Should any dryad melt from their tree at this instant, they would see a tall blond boy looking sternly at a little girl.

"Gods I had forgotten my Lord's touch on my skin ! How much time did you keep me prisoner in your mind ?" asks the girl basking in the sun.

"Ten years, more or less." Will answers curtly, advancing deeper in the woods. It's not wise but he is not going to take the chance of meeting a camper and explaining why he is talking to a five years old girl.

"I remember when you were five ! Such a cute little child, bright blue eyes, golden locks... well you didn't change that much."

"Just go wander in the woods or something. I didn't let you out of my mind just for you to stay with me."

"As you command."

She disappears quickly, enjoying her short liberty.

Once again alone, Will sits behind a tree and close his eyes, enjoying this rare moment of silence. She had been with him ever since he created her when he was five. Every little child has his imaginary friend that vanish as they grow out of childhood. Except Will's friend who just wormed a place in his mind and became tangible. Her name is Raz. He still loves Rapunzel as much as when he was a kid.

But where Rapunzel heals with her hair, Raz wilts with a touch of her hand.

See, Apollo is the god of many good things but he is a pharmakon, both healer and destroyer. As he is the one who heals, he is also the one who strikes sickness and plague.

And maybe that Will isn't just a healer. Maybe he's a little more than that. Maybe he is as his father is, medicine in one hand and poison in the other.

He doesn't exactly know how it works but he thinks that Raz is the physical representation of his plague powers. When she walks the earth, Will doesn't feel that part of him anymore. Maybe he could do the same with his healing powers ? Manifest them in a human form or something else.

Well for that he'll have to remember how he created Raz in the first place. It surely has to do with what happened after she appeared for the first time but Will isn't very fond of remembering what happened that night.

Giving pneumonia to his very mortal uncle, almost killing him in the process, because he let Raz "have fun" is not something he thinks about with a smile on his face.

Especially when she won't explain why she did it. Since then, Kaz mostly stayed in Will's mind without too much complaints.

He always wondered if his uncle did something to him or those he cares about. It's the only explanation he has. That or he is a sociopath who lashed out under the form of a little girl a deadly sickness on his uncle for fun.

He is going to stick to the former hypothesis.

There have been times where Raz begged him to unleash her if not without restraints, at least through him and he refused, scared of what she would do, of what he would do.

When Lee's head was caved in.

When his siblings died one by one in Manhattan.

Could he have save them ?

Better not dwell on what ifs too long.

Point is, Raz is an everlasting reminder of the monster inside him, a wretched creature who could kill anyone with a simple touch.

He is afraid of her, he is afraid of himself .

Will hears branch snapping and the crunching sound of someone walking on leaves. Raz must have gotten bored.

He sighes, goodbye beloved peace, you will be missed, and gets up. The sun is setting and if he doesn't get back quickly, he'll have to run from the harpies again. He does not want to run right now.

Raz still haven't show her face.

"Come on I know you're there, I heard you."

More rustling but still no little girl.

"Please Raz, I have to get back-"

His words die when from the bushes emerge a hellhound as big as Mrs O'Leary but definitely not as cute as her.

Running doesn't so bad after all.

Branches slap him in the face as he runs in what he thinks is the general direction of Camp. He just have to reach the border and Peleus will protect him. He just need to outpace the hellhound until then, not attract any other monsters on the way back and find Raz.

He hears the growling beast getting closer and forces his legs to go even faster. He'll have to thank his father for beating the god of speed at racing and passing him those godly genes.

Raz, I don't where you are but you need to come back right now !

He never tried contacting her by telepathy before, never wanted to, but this a desperate situation that requires a desperate solution. It's not that he particularly want to hear her whispering in his head again but Will has come to learn that he can't ignore her for too long without feeling like there's a hole, a void waiting to be fill again. It's very hard to function when your very being is incomplete.

A branch hits him hard in the face, causing to fall on the ground. Demigods reflexes mixed with years of training save his life, Will shifting just in time for the hellhound to claw the ground he was laying on a second ago.

A well-aimed kick in the ribs allows him a few more seconds to get up but there isn't time to flee. Here he is, the woods getting darker and darker, battling a monster without weapon because he evidently inherited the logic side of his dad.

As Will readies himself to dodge, the hellhound stars to whimper and blood erupts from his eyes and nose until he is covered in the red liquid. The beast gives one last painful cry before exploding in golden dust.

Behind him stand a proud and smiling Raz, eyes glowing green and tendrils of dark smoke swirling around her.

The way the creature suffered... Will shivers.

He really really does not like that part of himself. He is meant to heal not to butcher.

(Raz's smile disappears, sadness glaze her eyes now a normal brown and with a flick of the wrist, the smoke evaporates.)

Without a word, she goes back to Will's mind, nesting herself in a corner and doesn't utter a word.

Will just shrugs and hastily return to his cabin.

(Do you hate me Will ?)

Her voice is small, insecure, not the arrogant and easygoing one he is used to. The question makes him freeze in his bed.

Does he hates himself ?

"No." he murmurs in the silence of Cabin 7.

There's a legend that says that no lie can be pronounced within walls of the one who does not lie.

Will used to believe it until now.

part 2, 3 and 4 posted !

[quranwithsehar]

You were applying for a job, but it didn't work out. You were really hoping it would work out, or you were really hoping to get accepted into the university. Unfortunately, you didn't get accepted at the university. Those are the kinds of tests where you could feel depressed or sad, but you can't live in that sadness. Feeling those emotions at first doesn't mean you don't have Sabr. You can have those feelings and experience those emotions, then pick yourself up and try again.

So, you can have a dip, a low, and a high – that's being human. Allah didn't create us as angels. Sometimes we may face other trials, for example, an engagement that broke off, a marriage that ended miserably, or not wanting parents to get divorced, and they did. These situations involve people, people doing things that hurt us or things we wish they didn't do.

I think the solace, at least for me, comes from the stories in the Quran where people much better than us, like Yunus, had no control over his family. He didn't have any control; Ibrahim, an incredible human being, had no say in his father's choices. We cannot control other people's choices, and sometimes those choices deeply hurt us. People much better than us were hurt deeply. Ibrahim AS being kicked out of his house was not easy; being married to Firaun was not easy. For Musa AS, running away from home was not easy. These people were traumatized by many terrible experiences. Allah taught us through them that we can only control what is within our grasp, and we have to learn to let go of what isn't.

In the end, we say, "To Allah, we belong, and to Him, we are going to return." Any problem I'm having, how long is it going to last? Well, as long as I last. I'm not here for that long. When I think about the grand scheme of things, this problem isn't as big as I think it is. And of course, Allah has given us hope too. After every difficulty, there is great ease. Now, put yourself in their shoes; how much did the companions love the Prophet? When he died, how devastated were they? In that moment, for them to believe the Quran is still there, saying, "With difficulty comes twice the ease." They were devastated, in tears, broken, but their faith allowed them to heal and move forward. Allah created so much ease for the ummah afterwards.

That's just this life; it's going to come with trials and difficulties. Allah has made us mentally prepared that life isn't going to be easy; He said it many times. We all have trials; don't believe someone else has an easy life because they appear to on social media. Everyone has things causing them hurt; the person next to you has things causing them hurt. These influencers may talk about the blessings of Allah, but that doesn't mean they're showered with blessings every morning and have no issues.

Sometimes we run after things that are not real, believing them to be real because someone else has them. We may think others don't have any challenges, but everyone deals with their own pain. Allah tests people differently, but we don't see the other person's trial or know that their trial is the same as ours. We might wonder why Allah is not testing someone else or why we couldn't have it easy like they do. We don't know their reality, so these thoughts should give us some comfort. Whatever trial Allah has picked for me, whatever loss, whatever experience, is something I'm supposed to learn from, learn and grow from. Keep moving forward.

-Ustad Nouman Ali Khan

[adotmbrosia]

season 7-9 spoilers, particularly abt kevin tran

thinking abt kevin tran and how FUCKED everything was for him.

sam winchester is doomed by the narrative because he is the main character and he always got to go through shit but i’ve never seen anyone talk about how kevin tran was also doomed by the narrative due to being a prophet. maybe it’s bc of his actor and his horrible actions — which i do not condone and i feel so horrible for all the victims. but kevin tran as the character is so pitiful and sad yet i see nobody in the spn fandom talk abt it.

jst bc he’s the prophet he is ripped away from his normal life at like fucking 17/18 yrs old ffs his main concern was abt his ap classes 😭😭😭 imagine living almost two decades of normalcy and you’re thrown into this world where you’re being goddamn hunted down by everybody, especially these two scary ass 6 feet middle aged men who knows too much about everything spouting shit about “responsibility.” girl i havent even paid taxes yet!! idk shit abt responsibility!

after being forced into this role of the prophet, kevin literally worked — which is grueling btw transcribing is not easy and we can see it take a toll on him as he continues to work throughout the seasons — himself to the point where the winchesters bought him fucking xanax (i may be wrong here but it was some sort of medication) to calm his anxiety 😭 like ts is NOT okay to give to an undiagnosed teenager. not to mention crowley always looking for him.

the winchester brothers say kevin is family and how much the winchester brothers cared for kevin but they never rlly show it. kevin figured out he was kidnapped by crowley bc fake sam and dean winchester were too nice to him. they were willing to go through some trouble to get him food he wanted despite there being leftovers in the fridge. if i was depending on this poor kid to save the fucking world i’d buy him some barbecue.

i mostly have a gripe with dean’s “pep-talks” he has with kevin too. kevin is rightfully unhappy about these circumstances. he’s allowed to feel fucked and scared and all of these emotions but dean pushes his agenda in kevin’s face. he doesn’t consider the nuances of the situation because dean has never lived a life where he had a choice (which is another conversation) but it’s not okay to make kevin feel like that as well. dean says shit like “oh i expected this wimp to choose the cowards way out” when kevin was literally KIDNAPPED😭 (unbeknownst to dean and sam but i digress it’s understandable he would run away from all of this) after kevin finds out that his mother is alive from crowley, he wants to go out and find her yet dean makes kevin stay once again to serve his agenda of saving the world and shit veiled by claiming kevin was family and crowley has reasons to lie. but after kevin’s death we find out that she was, in fact, alive!!!

kevin could’ve saved his mother from months(?) of torture by a demon yet dean stopped him because of what??

speaking of deans treatment we go over to sam’s treatment of kevin how he jst went AWOL on the poor kid leaving him to hide and live alone for a year despite kevin calling him Numerous times to tell sam that he was alive and Needed help

and i’m not saying that dean and sam doesn’t care abt kevin bc they have said so in many instances and have saved him many times. i jst feel like they weren’t perfectly great to him (honestly i can’t really blame them either) and the narrative has truly fucked kevin over many times.

ESPEICALLY kevin’s death which could’ve been so easily prevented, but it happened because he no longer served a purpose to the narrative. like kevin only got a few episodes where he didn’t serve as a prophet and was allowed to help the winchester brothers in his own way— which he COULD btw. he hacked into the military wifi to help them convince this lady to allow them to investigate the bus.

i also think abt how the show presents kevin. in the beginning it’s the overdone and stereotypical joke of “oh look at the asian kid who wants to go into an ivy and is in a million ap classes” and they never elevate themselves out of that box kevin is put into. not to mention his mother who when introduced the episode name is literally “tiger mommy” which is another asian stereotype that they are pushed into. which is frankly racist and jst not good writing which IK the writers are capable of bc look at sam and dean winchester at certain instances bc sometimes they fuck that up too.

[lippskinn]

Blackinnon Fest 2024 | Day 7

Word Count : 587

Prompt: Cable

Trigger Warning: Mention of death

Sirius had borrowed the Daily Prophet from a man in the Three Broomsticks and flicked through it like he usually did to pass the time during missions. This week's news had been dominated by reports of Death Eater arrests, weather forecasts and gossip; however, between the lines, the newspapers told a different story.

Sirius and Marlene had found a well-located spot in the pub to observe and read. The bustling inn served as a perfect cover-up for their activities for the Order and, most importantly, their feelings for each other.

Marlene rested her head on Sirius' shoulder and doodled absent-mindedly on the edge of the paper while Sirius studied the articles.

"Inmate Cables Message to Mainland [...] Harrison Stebbins (20) of number sixteen Highmore Rd., Upper Flagley [...], " Sirius read to her a particularly interesting article after stumbling across a familiar name.

"He was in school with us," Marlene noticed, "I sat next to him during my O.W.L. exam."

"Stebbins was the first person to be sentenced under the new Terrorism Act passed by Barty Crouch senior [...] for conspiracy and suspicious behaviour."

Sirius laughed involuntarily, "They are starting to lose control over the situation. First, they are sending people straight to Azkaban without a trial, and now they can't even tell why they locked them up in the first place."

"Stebbins is not a Death Eater. We would have known that. But they haven't caught a real one in ages and that potentially sheds a bad light on the ministry." Marlene lit a cigarette while talking sending puffs of smoke into the air. She put her feet on the bench and leaned against Sirius who put an arm around her.

"Azkaban must be a horrible place," she continued, "and if they don't know what you are in for, how do they know when to let you out?"

Sirius shook his head, "I think it's a life sentence. They are setting an example."

Marlene accidentally dropped ashes on the newspaper, which burned a tiny hole in Mrs. O'Keefe's obituary. She quickly put it out and turned around to face Sirius, "That's barbaric! Look at the poor lad!"

She pointed at the picture of Stebbins in the article. It showed a young man in a prison uniform, facing the camera with wide, bloodshot eyes. He looked starved, his head was shaved and he pointed at the wall. However, what exactly he was pointing at was cut off from the picture.

"Stebbins managed to relay messages to Muggles on the mainland in a secret code. [...] The Muggles, alarmed by the messages, had called muggle authorities who arrived at Azkaban Island by boat, " Sirius continued reading the article.

Suddenly, Marlene put a hand on his shoulder and looked at him in shock, "I know the story! Does it say what the message was?" They both started looking for clues in the article, but the message had been left out.

"Do you remember what Moody said a week ago, " she asked excitedly, "about those Muggles they had to obliviate?"

Sirius nodded, "The disaster he was talking about? Three people died."

"Exactly, two Muggles and..."

"Stebbins."

"Not a word of it in the Daily Prophet. Moody said Crouch had ordered the kiss on someone after two Muggles got involved. He said it was beyond him how they even got to that island. It was Stebbins."

"The prison used to be a lighthouse," Sirius remembered, "the original owner used to lure sailors there. Stebbins must have found a way to use that. Do you know what the message was that got him kissed?"

Marlene took a deep breath before she spoke, "Moody said they obliviated the Muggles but they continued to repeat the message over and over again. They killed themselves hours after they left the ministry. Always muttering the same thing. SAVE OUR SOULS."