#any possession of theirs will suffice

[nullicaput]

devil and eve. VI

Pairing: Tom Marvolo Riddle x Reader, Voldemort x Reader

Tags: Fantasy AU, Nobility AU, Christian Themes, Supernatural and Paranormal Themes, Fairytale References, Horror, Sexism, Unnamed Minor Original Characters, Dark, Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Slow Development, No Smut

Summary: When your father suddenly fell ill after attending a banquet, you fell into despair. Desperate to cure him, you signed a contract with a particular wizard.

Word Count: 2497

previous chapter.

"Love potions," the viscount trailed off. "Are they real?"

The viscount lit up a stick of tobacco, and he inhaled the white smoke like it was nothing. He puffed it out like carbon dioxide to a healthy, voiceless individual. From his seat, he gestured the cushioned chair in front of him. 

"Of course, they are real. I have witnessed their effect firsthand."

A cloaked figure emerged from the shadows, but he did not sit on the couch. Through the darkness of his hood, he peered at the yellowed fabric that covered the chair; disgust would be an understatement.

"Sit."

He sneered at the gray-haired noble's command. He is no dog, and he would not listen like one. He is not to be commanded by anyone. 

"Have you heard of the news?" the pale creature asked, his voice dry and almost guttural. 

"What news?" 

"The North Countess' death." 

"I did not," the viscount replied truthfully. "You see, when you get old, your priorities change. Topics like that do not concern me."

"Someone told me that the young earl did it so he could get remarried." 

"The young man could do whatever it is he wants." He cleared his throat and breathed in the tobacco once more. "He could kill every wife he has and no one would bat an eye—even from the church. Women are everywhere. He could just pick one, and she would not have any other option but marry him."

The other one smiled. His mouth stretched uncomfortably until his grin became unnaturally wide. 

"Oh, but he wishes to marry the daughter of the duke."

"What did you say?"

Seeing the sudden switch of the noble's demeanor was more than entertaining. It was so diverting to a point that he could even call the scene pleasurable. 

"The earl killed his wife, so he could marry the only daughter of the duke. And then, he told the church and her family she died during sleep."

The viscount coughed several times, but the hooded figure did not help him. Instead, the latter only watched the former wheeze and rub his chest with his wrinkled hand. The figure's eyes traveled from the viscount's hand to his neck, seeing the two, dot-like scars barely hidden by the high collar he was wearing.

"You better not be lying," the noble threatened, which made the other one laugh out of pure hysterics.

The pure self-satisfaction that the viscount was hearing was more than enough to send him to the edge. If this was anyone, he would laugh with them, but this one—the one he was conversing with—was not anyone. He was old enough to know that this one was far from being unadulteratedly joyful. 

"I may kill, but I am above lying."

The old man heard him say that, yet he knew he was never above lying. He prayed to the Lord that he would be safe—how ironic. 

"Kill him and make her love me," the viscount demanded. 

"Him? The Earl of the North or the Duke [Surname]?" 

"Both of them." 

"You would need to give me a high payment." 

"Are their souls not enough?" 

"Nothing is free." He shook his head. "Either you give me something—someone else's soul aside from theirs—or I would be taking yours and hers." 

"Would five maids suffice?" the noble negotiated. 

"Ten." 

"Ten?" 

"Or would you rather I require you fifteen?" 

"Fifteen?!" the viscount shouted, uncaring to the fact that his servants might have heard him. 

Showing no signs of relenting, the viscount fall back to his seat in defeat. He grunted due to the impact mixed with frustration. 

"For a Christian, you sure are my most loyal customer," he cackled, similar to those of a monster from a mother's or a nanny's legends. "I will owl you a vial for the love potion. Owl me back a strand of the young earl's hair." 

"Doing that one is easy. However, why do I need to do the procedure of the love potion?" 

"Because unlike a hex, love potions are a different category of practice. Unless you want to gamble with the risk of me being the recepient of her affection?"

Oh no. The old man could not afford that from happening, could he? Why would he endanger his little singer in the process of saving her from her miserable unmarried life? He is her hero, and he would never hurt her. 

"What should I do?" 

"You just need to pour the potion into her drink, and make sure she sees no one but you first."

Pleased, the viscount extinguished the stick of tobacco using the armrest of his seat. 

"When I finally get my hands on [Name], I will make sure she never sees the light of day," he rambled as sleepiness has started to weigh on him. "I will ensure she never leaves the bed. She will be carrying my children, and when I pass away, she shall be buried with me."

"How ambitious," the creature remarked, but it was not loud enough to be heard.

"I will invite you to our wedding, wizard."

"I do not believe in your marriage rites." Walking back to shadow, he hummed. "But I do wish that your future marital life prevails. That is, if your God lets it."

You ran through the halls of the moonlit chapel, feet bare and soles cold. Your long dress seeped the floor as you sprinted—you could not lift all the fabric. Your clothes were heavy and restricting, and you could feel the boning of your corset puncturing you—it felt comfortable earlier, so why does it feel like it was now killing you? You gasped for oxygen, panting like a crazed animal. You wheezed when the cold air of the church froze your insides. 

You put a hand on your chest—you realized you were wearing your father's rosary. You smelled the woody scent of the beads. You looked down to see it—it was moldy. Why was the rosary moldy—

You tried to take it off; it became tighter. It strangled you. It clawed your neck—

You fell to the ground. 

You pulled the rosary—it snapped. 

The beads bounced and rolled away from you. They rolled...and rolled...and rolled. Why were the beads still rolling? 

You immediately rose and bolted to the altar. You climbed the stairs, forgeting to sign the cross in utter fear of the unseen that was following you—stalking you. You stared at the wooden benches of the chapel from the high altar. You searched for a figure from every window and every door—every passageway for a figure that size could enter without difficulty. 

None. 

There was none. 

There was none, yet you could feel it. It was gazing at you, scrutinizing your every move, listening to your every inhale and exhale. It was waiting for you to do something. To say something. 

You turned to the large cross with Jesus' sculpture nailed to it. He has always appeared kind despite the blood dripping from his wounds, from his thorned head. Blood pouring...why is there blood trickling from his forehead? Why were his eyes bleeding?

Good God, what was happening?

Were those claws? Nails? 

Why are there two pale arms reaching over to you? 

You closed your eyes. You made the sign of the cross. You clasped your hands together.

"Our father which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name," you prayed, your voice shaky and hoarse. "Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth as it is in heaven." 

Your eyes squeezed shut when you felt cold hands enveloping yours. You bit back a sob, causing your throat to tighten. You heard hushed voices around you, muttering and repeating the prayers you have pleaded not long ago. 

"Give us this day our daily bread," the entity said in your stead. "And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

You perceived a sound of something moving in such an unhurried pace—slithering. It traveled close to you, and you became petrified. Before you could even move, it crawled around your legs, and then your right thigh, left thigh, and then your legs again. 

"You should open your eyes." The entity's voice was sickenly soft, and it only made the hairs of your nape stand up in fear. "It is disrespectful to refuse to view the face of your Lord Voldemort." 

You did not obey his words and instead stepped back. With your head hanging low, you walked backwards—wrong move. The thick rope-like creature still coiled around your lower limbs tightened its loops. You fell. 

You fell, head first. Your head hit the ground. 

Suddenly, you could not feel anything, not even the blood that was pouring from your cracked skull. You heard footsteps, deliberate and measured. You did not know how long it took for the entity to reach you, but when it did, you saw a thing—a man or a monster, you were not certain—peering down at you. Its eyes were like open cuts, red and deep. Its slit-like nose were similar to those of a serpent, and its mouth was wide. Around the thing's neck was a snake—green. 

"Lady [Name]." 

What did the creature call you? 

"Lady [Name]." 

You gasped.

The creature was no more. It was now sir Riddle who was looking down at your lying figure. 

"Are you now awake or are you still unconscious?" he asked, holding you down when you attempted to abruptly sit up. "Your eyes were unblinking for quite some time now. Nightmare." 

"Where am I?" you whispered, afraid and disoriented. "Who are you?" 

Confused, he replied, "Who else?" 

"Just answer the question!"

He was surprised to see your outburst, but he made no other smart comment. 

"I am Tom Marvolo Riddle, your father's healer." When he sees that you have significantly calmed down, he let go of your shoulders and let you rose. "You are in your chambers." 

He was not lying.

But there was something that irked you. 

"Why are you in my chambers?" you voiced out, putting your fear aside. "This is the second time."

You only realized that it was still night and all the lamps inside your room were simply lit so brightly you thought it was morning already. 

"Would you punish me? Are you going to put me to the laundry area then?" he mocked. 

How did he even know that? He has only been for some days after a month.

"Hold your gaze up," you told him when you saw him looking somewhere close to your chest. "You are aware that nobles are barely clothed when they are sleeping, no?"

He laughed quietly, as if he found your insinuation ridiculous. 

"Unlike men, we wizards are not affected by things such as lust." He mused about something, but he did not let you know about it. "Well, that rule certainly applies to me. You need not worry about my presence seeing your bare, ungloved arms."

You ignored his provocations and opened a compartment of your bedside table and searched for the bell. 

"You can go now, Sir." 

Now that you think about it, that maid you were with when Sir Riddle first arrived was nowhere to be seen. You did not remember putting her at the laundry area, now was she ever replaced. After that meeting, she was just gone.

"What would you need a servant for?"

"Water."

He murmured, and you saw his hand holding a goblet of water. When he reached to you and handed you it using his left hand, you noted that the mark you saw was also long gone. No trace of it was there anymore, as though the dark mark had never existed in the first place. 

"Your—" You paused, swallowing thickly. "Should you not be sleeping?" 

"I have told you, did I not? I do not sleep. I do not need it."

You drank all of the water in order to quench the parchedness of your throat, and it did. Your throat bobbed up and down as you welcomed the liquid into your esophagus, your eyes closing in the process. Some even trickled along your neck and fell onto you clothes, but you minded it not. You only paid attention to the coolness that the water brought your entire body. It was a strange sensation, yet a welcomed one. There was a lingering sweetness that rested on your tongue, but it tasted nothing like that of sugar. You swallowed everything, and when you were finished, you sighed in delight. 

You slowly cracked your eyes open, and you saw his head turned awar from yours. His jaw was subtly clenched, and you saw his cheek move—he was biting its inner flesh. He looked bothered—disturbed, even. 

"How come you heard me? Tell me," you commanded.

He found your tone rather domineering, but he supposed it was due to your upbringing. Still, he could not find it in himself to teach you a lesson or two about respecting his kind. Not right now, at least. 

"I have ears. Everywhere." When you made an expression of slight belief, he smiled mischievously. "I was lying. I checked up on you father and was on my way to the chamber you lent me when I heard your rather loud groaning. It makes me curious as to how your servants have not heard that." 

"It makes me curious how come you did." 

He heaved a sigh, tired of your constant suspicions. For someone who claimed to trust him, you sure are questioning him all the time. 

"You seem to be so affected by the countess' death," he commented, wanting to stop the prior topic. 

"How I could not be? I have seen things no one I know did." 

"You could tell me."

You scoffed. 

You wiped your eyes with your hands, battling with the drowsiness you were feeling knowing that you would still not be able to doze off anytime soon. 

"What do you gain from acting kind to me?" 

"I am not acting kind, my lady." 

"Oh, how chivalrous."

"I know how it is not to sleep when you desire to. I want to help."

"I can bear with it."

"I can remove those unpleasant memories if you wish me to. Just open your mind for me and I can pluck it one by one," he offered. "You would be able to sleep well. Far better than any sleep you had before, in fact."

Out of nowhere, the flesh of his face, which you were sure was that of a twenty-five to thirty-year-old man, rippled like waves. The shallow grooves of his face smoothed out slowly. Bit by bit, second by second, it changed. Now, he looked younger. Excessively younger.

He appeared like a prepubescent boy with a body of a young adult. 

As calmly as you could, you covered your body with your comforter and said, "There is no need. Just go."

And he did just go.

next chapter.

[angelic-dew]

yandere gyutaro headcannons !

✧༉‧₊˚୨ 🖇 ୧・request; " I really liked your yan kokushibo headcannons, can I get akaza, doma and gyutaro next plss?? "

✧༉‧₊˚୨ 🪴 ୧・author's note; here's pt. 2!! as promised :) If you want to view akaza's click here, to view kokushibo's click here. next up should be inosuke then doma! i lowkey made gyutaro sound like the joker lmfao

✧༉‧₊˚୨ 🍃 ୧・ pairing; gyutaro x g/n reader! {you/your pronouns!}

✧༉‧₊˚୨ ✖ ୧・trigger warnings; manipulation, isolation, kidnapping, stalking, vague mentions of physical abuse, psychotic behavior, possessive nature, jealousy, abuse of power, love-bombing and grammar errors. If you are sensitive towards any of these themes please dni for they will be mentioned. {proofread.}

⚝. Just a reminder I don't tolerate nor do I encourage the following topics in reality; I like keeping it strictly to fiction.

꒰🪴꒱. Gyutaro is mesmerized by you. You were simply a treasure that needed to be preserved from the harsh reality of this cruel world. He couldn't lose you to the others who were out to get you for their own selfish desires and needs! The others only wanted you to suffice their own egotistical needs of theirs, they didn't care for you. They didn't for what you were. They only needed you for their own purposes, afterwards, they would simply discard you as if you meant as little as a speck of dust. A germ. An imperfection.

꒰🍃꒱. Well, that's what he thought about the others around you - so despicable and disgusting. They always reminded him of his past, when he was weak, feeble, a good-for-nothing, a useless, ugly child. All he wanted was to protect the ones he loved; his precious sister, Ume. He'd risk his life just for her, she was his everything and the only one who didn't frown upon him.

꒰🪴꒱. Unlike his fellow demons (Kokushibo + Akaza), you two never actually encountered eachother. It was more of a love-at-first-sight situation honestly. While at the Entertainment district one faithful night, he saw you from the shadows whilst Daki was busy capturing more victims to add to the food supply. You were walking and minding your own business as his eyes sage-green eyes glowed almost perfectly in the darkness which he watched from, a soft orangey umber lightly glistened to compliment his pupils. Those eyes followed your every move and trait you exhibited right there and then.

꒰🍃꒱. Gyutaro found you rather intriguing. Something radiated off of you, and that something wrapped him around your pinky. Was this some kind of spell of sorts? You were so alluring! But again, you were human. Those same disgusting creatures which he utterly despised. They could be so cruel. So unforgiving with no compassion for those in a position lower than them. He wanted to get away from you; you could've been of the same breed, a repulsive soul.

꒰🪴꒱. Surely, that could potentially be the case, however, why would he be so captivated by you if that were to be true? It didn't add up! He hasn't felt this way towards anyone but Daki; and it's safe to say, she isn't human. Not anymore at least. However, this felt stronger and it had more of a certain grasp on him than previously thought. What was he doing being so caught up with a simpleton?

꒰🍃꒱. He kept watching. The further you walked into the district, he began moving from roof to roof, still keeping himself hidden but still able to sneak glimpses of you. Your hair swayed in the chilling gale as an angelic smile plastered itself along your face, he watched how your face crinkled from your smile. It was so adorable.

꒰🪴꒱. He blushed. The heat was ever so slowly rising to his face as he kept watching you in all your beauty, you were a natural charmer, possibly. Gyutaro had never been so caught up with someone let alone a human like this before! But it could've been petty feelings due to the given moment. It wasn't a puppy crush after all, he would most likely never see you ever again. Yet, that was something he didn't want to happen.

꒰🍃꒱. He was so torn between letting you go or keeping you for himself. He is a bit selfish. As the night was still young, he took this time to his advantage. Meticulously taking his time to watch you, looking about to see if you talked to specific persons, your interests? Maybe even mannerisms and habits you exhibited at the time. Honestly, he did find you a bit strange even if you had him head-over-heels. Yoshiwara was known for sex work and having many prostitutes; who knew what you went there for.

꒰🪴꒱. Hours upon hours went by, it felt like mere minutes to Gyutaro. At that time, you've already done your business at the district and was focused on making your way back home. He couldn't lose you like that! Not after you captured his attention that is. He needed to know more about you to know you inside and out.

꒰🍃꒱. He finally made up his mind. He was going to follow you home; so creepy! But he did what had to be done. He followed you from afar still keeping you in his line of sight and made sure to remember where you lived. He had to retain that information, it's not like he'd see you often at the district.

꒰🪴꒱. Within a matter of 2-3 weeks, he observed your routine. Likes, interests, habits, eating patterns, sleeping patterns and all. Keeping tabs on you nearly always (when he could at least). The nights were spent with him carefully peeking through your window, watching your chest rise up and down as you slept peacefully, unaware of the green eyes resting themselves on your figure.

꒰🍃꒱. I am a firm believer that the demon tends to take things of yours just before you head to bed/not in the room at the time. He's sneaky and cunning with it as well; only small stuff though! Things such as a small fragment of clothing or trinket in your room that still has lingering touches of your scent. Something not so detectable.

꒰🪴꒱. As for rivals, he'd never dare to hurt them well maybe one or two, but what's one human less? Gyutaro is more of a person, well demon, to sulk in his own mind and overthink that'd you'd always prefer that person over him; after all he's an ugly, pathetic demon. That's all he is right? He just hates the thought of you belonging to another besides him.

꒰🍃꒱. It doesn't take him long to inform Daki of his new found strange behavior (sneaking out at nights all the time). And she is astonished, he older brother having a crush over someone? They must be great. If only it was a simple crush and not a full-blown obsession. However, as soon as Daki hears it's a human she's partially skeptical over this whole situation, yet she wants her beloved brother happy. Even when he rants for ages about you like a fangirl.

꒰🪴꒱. Honestly, it doesn't take him long to finally take you as his own; with the help (and permission) of Ume of course. He truly cannot withstand seeing you interact with those others. Who knows what their intentions may be? And after so many years of pining after you,, he needs to feel you. Just feel the soft warmth of your skin against his for once, his only wish.

꒰🍃꒱. At last, he took you to your new home! where he and his sister resides at the district. He felt so ecstatic that you're finally near him, now he doesn't have to make it a chore to find you every night. Isn't that great? You'll be right next to him every second of every day! In contrast to Gyutaro, Daki seems to be harsher towards you. Don't get me wrong she likes you, for her brother's sake, but you're a mere human. You better not try anything with her brother.

꒰🪴꒱. As expected, when you awoke you would freak out. Both of them would obviously have to explain themselves, more importantly, your fanboy had to. He was nervous and jittery, being in your presence sent him sky high! But he wasn't the most - good looking; he knew this well and clear.

꒰🍃꒱. Therefore, he opted to win you over with gifts. Maybe have Daki go and get you a nice outfit to suit your beauty, how about flowers? Many people like that! A home-cooked meal? Well he usually eats his meals raw.. but will try just for you! He just wants to have your love all to himself. Tying you up and night or holding you tightly within his arms. Sniffing at your hair and eagerly cherishing your scent. Wishing for you to be his yet doubt lingered in the back of his mind. It hurts him. Please, don't try to even fight back; it will not end well, especially if Daki is around - she can be ill-tempered.

꒰🪴꒱. You better get used to your new normal. It's not changing for even a moment.

© angelic-dew, please don't translate or reclaim without permission <3

[lilac-den]

I come asking a very similar question, a certain bord left on my doorstep.

How will our ROs react to an MC who likes to keep reminders of them? (shirts, undies, who knows what they do with them...) Ares, accept my yandere ways love~

I see I have been called - I must answer.

Zeus: Honestly? They would be more disturbed that it's not categorically organized. How else would you tell between the shirt they wore last Sunday and the shirt they wore last Saturday? And if you're going to take pictures, surely there should be dates and time to mark when it was taken.

Someone might be asking. "Aren't you disgusted by all of this, Zeus?" and knowing them, they'll say "Disgusted? No, not at all. This could be [Name]'s way of coping with my absence; thus, I shall provide rules on boundaries and help them maintain a certain level of order to make the process and loneliness easier."

Surprisingly, the only rule of boundary Zeus has is that [Name] leaves any work-related and necessary essentials alone. If [Name] wishes for items of them, they only need to ask.

Hermes: Uhm...I think they would be pretty horrified, suffice to asy. Might accidentally blurt out "The fuck?" and would need time to process this little hobby of MC's. If you give them the time and space, they'll approach again and explain how they just don't usually like people swiping their stuff or keeping reminders of them because Hermes had a particularly bad experience with a...stalker.

But they had taken time to think about how it's MC the one who's doing this and...they don't feel as bad about it. In fact, they found it pretty...touching. Of course, they would want to set some boundaries, like returning their clothes (though they'd allow it if MC plans to wear them a bit more often). They don't mind if MC took their pictures, so long as they don't post it in public or share it anywhere else.

Dionysus: Completely flabbergasted, embarrassed and rambled over how sweet MC is, to keep so many mementos and want to know more about them! They do ask for why this hobby came about though, like if MC is doing this because they like Dionysus (platonically...........of course. Totally not insinuating anything more >>) or they need a target of their attention. When it's discovered as MC actually liking them, they'd be really happy and might end up having this little habit too.

Can imagine Dionysus and MC exchanging times with little notes attached like little 'hi's and 'hello :)'s.

Ares: HRMMMMM, I WONDER WHO WOULD BE SO INTERESTED IN THIS PART OF THE ANSWER?

But for real, I think Ares would be too chill about it. They wouldn't mind MC keeping little mementoes or reminders of them. Hell, they'll most likely work out more if MC's the type to want their used shirts.

The only boundary they'll draw would be the weapons: Do not touch them.

Ares isn't that materialistic. But they would be more possessive of MC. Not in a 'I'll lock you up and keep you in there' sort, but more like they'll put something on MC like a mark that says they're Ares's, like putting a scarf or jacket on them personally.

(There is a way for Ares to do this but it's just too spoilery for me 😭)

Dolos: Congratulations, you have unlocked the floodgates. Dolos would just bring you to a room where they stored paintings among paintings of you, not to mention pictures and even a damn journal of what you had done and where you went. Though they never took any of MC's clothings, they do find it hot that MC would want theirs - gave them a bunch of ideas in the future.

(This is only on romance!Dolos - Non!romanced Dolos is more respectful of MC's privacy.........plus, doubt MC's chosen RO would appreciate this behaviour at all XD)

Thank you for the ask! (you little smut gremlin >:D)

[fountainpenguin]

New Origin of the Pixies chapter today!

Chapter 40 - “Inner Workings”

Read on FFN || Read on AO3

H.P. and associates visit the (very disorganized) Fire Temple catacombs and the Breath Temple's healing pools as they prepare to reverse engineer immortality. Sanderson faces another reminder of his mortal existence, Binky grows increasingly possessive of Jorgen, and H.P. and Anti-Bryndin start building a machine.

(First 1000 words under the cut)

Inner Workings

Summer of the Running Yale - Spring of the Crisp Whirlwind

A few days after the Seven Festivals wrapped up in Anti-Fairy World, High Count Anti-Bryndin came to see me. He brought Anti-Florensa with him, partly because she had family in Shadeblink and partly because she was his personal bodyguard and he was allowed to do that. Also, apparently she visits the Fire Temple every Saturday and has been doing this for a hundred thousand years or something, so I wasn't going to be the one to tell her "Nope."

We'd made arrangements with all the right people to ensure the travel validity checked out, but it didn't stop the Keepers from sending Adelinda's son, Jorgen von Strangle, right on his heels. Jorgen even had an escort of his own, but… I'll get back to that thought in a minute.

My visitors met me and Sanderson at the tram station on my border. Anti-Bryndin had tied his signature black scarf around his neck as usual, the beryl button gleaming, though he'd bundled it up in a way that covered his mouth and part of his nose. Between the scarf and his dark blue coat, he looked quite cozy despite the nippy teeth of Fairy World's slithering springtime wind. Actually, with his horns sticking out, he looked like he could pass as one of Santa's rain deer. I think he did that once, one year. He strung lights between the points.

Jorgen had bulked up in recent millennia, which finally granted him the appearance of someone who deserved to hold the massive star-tipped staff he'd been toting around for as long as I'd known him in the news. His pureblood heritage was undeniable in his staggering height. Still, youthful acne peppered his face like stars. His fluorescent orange escort vest didn't do him any favors. Ah, upper school days… That time of life makes twits of us all. I regarded him coolly, my hands folded behind my back. Technically, it's rude to tell a von Strangle they've "come into their adult wings." They slice theirs off while still young to signal utter devotion to the Fairy Elder.

"It's bold of you to come here right as your pheromones are showing potential," I'd have liked to tell him then. But I didn't. And that's because of the next member in our traveling party.

Bancroft "Binky" Abdul (Jr.) was a half-elf that I'd always known secondhand. I attended upper school with his father, and Abdul Sr. used to visit the Nightbloom family when I butlered for them Earthside. Their daughter became his wife only a dozen years after I began working there. It's actually because of that marriage that Cattahan moved out and I handed in my resignation to follow him to softer clouds. Or "greener pastures," as we said on Earth.

(Well. There was his sister's marriage, and Cattahan's parents cut him off after the whole, you know, "No counterpart consent, no forced honey-lock" protest thing, but the media has covered that spicy topic extensively and I digress.)

His sister did introduce us to each of the two Abdul sons after they were born, so the one who turned out to be a gyne had been on my radar for quite some time. I literally held him in my hands before his freckles even showed. So, suffice to say that I'd come to know Abdul Sr. quite well… from a distance, and usually several rooms apart. Cattahan always said he admired both my sassy remarks in private and my restraint in the presence of company, but he knew better than to let Abdul and I linger too long in the same room. Since he lived Earthside, I kept a closer tab on that drake than I did on gynes like Waterberry, Reddinski, and Cracklewings, but I'm far more acquainted with the father than the sons.

Jorgen and Abdul Jr. made for a peculiar pair. They lived two streets apart, yet I swear half of Fairy World knew what was going on between them. And the half that didn't was probably just being polite. From what I'd heard, the two fairies met in their younger years when both signed up for the border escort program for completely different reasons: Jorgen because he bored easily and would throw himself at any opportunity for structured work and tight deadlines, and Abdul because he genuinely liked getting to know Anti-Fairy travelers and visiting their temples alongside them. Jorgen had a sister, too. They get along well now, but in their younger years, he was scrawny and she was a wildcat. He needed a reason to get away.

And, well… Abdul Jr. never had been good with managing money. I'd seen evidence of that myself. Sometimes when I went into Faeheim, I saw him disappear down little streets, selling gemstones and bracelets in pawn shops and borrowing more than he could afford. He'd even tried to scrape a little cash off me in his younger years when I only had a few pixies to my name.

I suppose I can't blame him if he saw the need to compensate for "something." As gynes go, he'd always been a small one (though he did boast a heavy dusting of freckles on his cheeks and arms). I never did confirm why, though I assume being born and raised on Earth and its thin energy field instead of in the cloudlands will do that to a kid. Jorgen was actually the younger of the duo, though if you knew nothing about them beyond their looks, you probably wouldn't guess it. He still dwarfs Abdul completely to this day… which made their arrangement all the more eye-catching to those people - yours truly included - who were in the know.

Jorgen von Strangle is a drone. This is well-documented public knowledge in Fairy World today, so I'm not breaking Canterbury v. Oakwing in stating it, though I will point out he hadn't come out about it at the time. With his father barking orders to the Fairy militia every hour of the day and his mother constantly at the Fairy Elder's side, Jorgen was regularly cooped at home alone and unattended, and it was only after puberty that he realized what he was at all.

[Cnt'd - FFN and AO3 links above]

[melodymidway]

Turbulent Times

In this story, the First Wizarding War ravages the magical Britain, and Jonathan makes a decision to secure his family's well-being. In the end, it proves to be a very sensible one.

Trigger warning: death, corpses, injuries.

Cynthia, Lottie, Louis, Garrett, Olivia, Renée, Joseph, Loretta, Toby, and Luscinia belong to @helenadurazzo

May 1981

Spring blossomed outside of the Midway Estate, basking it in the gentle rays of sun. The pleasant weather, not yet hot but already out of endless rains and occasional frosts, presented a perfect opportunity to engage in outdoor activities, and Jonathan was certain, had the circumstances been more peaceful, Cynthia would have organised a whole entertainment program for Melody's and Lottie's birthdays. Yet, this year, a modest dinner in the company of family and their closest friends had to suffice for the girls.

No sun could disperse the black clouds that hung over Jonathan's head constantly, from every sunrise to every sunset, installing the feeling of unending alarm in his stomach. The Death Eaters had never been merciful, especially when it came to terrorising Muggles, but the strategy of outright slaughtering the families whose members took part in the Order of the Phoenix was a fairly recent one. The Midways had been added to their list of wizards and witches to annihilate, Jonathan had little doubt. Cynthia, when she didn't stay behind to take care of the children, was a formidable menace to the ranks of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and Jonathan himself wasn't claimed to be second only to Alastor Moody in throwing his cutthroats to Azkaban for nothing.

It was only a matter of time, and though a tried Auror like himself had no business feeling apprehension, he dreaded what his family would most likely be forced to face. Admittedly, he and Cynthia both did their absolute best to weave an intricate web of spells to protect their home, yet Jonathan hadn't worked in the Auror Office for so many years to still possess any foolish naivety. The houses of his fellow warriors had surely been secured in a similar manner, but the lives of their whole lineages were lost all the same.

"The Bones were murdered this night," he informed his family hollowly, having returned from another mission for a late dinner, "by You-Know-Who himself, or so they say."

Uncle Edan's shoulders slumped, as though the words added another decade to his already respectable age. "Our kin," he said, voice heavy with grief. Jonathan might have been a young boy when Tamsin Bones, his great-grandmother, had passed, yet he could still recall her welcoming embrace and the warm smile on her withered face. Uncle always pronounced her name with utmost respect and affection. "Tell me there were survivors."

"I only know that Amelia and her little niece yet live. Edgar's family is no more, though. They spared no one," Jonathan gazed at Melody, Lottie and Louis, busy with their merry games in the living room, "not even the children."

"Accursed scum," Aunt Assana spit in a feat of anger so uncharacteristic of her kind and patient personality that he felt his eyebrows rise in mild suprise. She immediately proceeded to lean on her husband's chest, providing silent comfort, and Uncle Edan hugged her in return, placing his chin on her fair head.

Theirs was a genuinely loving marriage, unlike the one of his own parents, and since Jonathan grew up observing all those tender gestures, he guessed, he could only let himself marry someone he cared for, not the first witch of pure blood and decent standing that Mother straightforwardly pushed in his direction. In the end, it was what he had done. Now, Cynthia walked with him hand by hand through the life, and Jonathan cherished her, his beloved wife, in a way he would never do any other.

The Boggart he encountered during one of their numerous mutual missions came unbidden to his mind. Losing her had turned out to be his biggest fear.

"Have you heard about Desmond and Grace Winger?" Cynthia inquired quietly, serving him a salad of fresh vegetables in addition to baked potatoes and meat. "They were also found dead in their house a few days ago. At least their son managed to escape to safety, thank Merlin for this small blessing."

"The bastards will all pay tenfold for their crimes," Jonathan assured her darkly. He had the pleasure to know the Wingers, though not very closely, and considered them good, earnest people. The news of their murder shook him to the core. "None shall go unpunished as long as I draw breath. Yet, the current situation also raises the question of your security. I can't possibly allow anything of the kind to occur here."

Aunt Assana frowned at him. "Do you imply that you mean to send us away?"

"I won't run away as though those sorry excuses of wizards have intimidated me!" Uncle Edan exclaimed, eyes blazing brighter than his red hair. "If need arises, I will fight beside you."

"Precisely." Jonathan chose to ignore the unhappy looks on the faces of his family members. "While the last word is, undoubtedly, yours, Uncle, I strongly recommend you to visit Alyssie. Consider it another ordinary stay, if a bit longer than usual. Your grandchildren will be ecstatic to see you."

That was particularly true about Gwendolyn Windward, their little Gwen, who was very close to her maternal family and expressed a keen interest in Britain. While shy and gentle from her very childhood, Alyssie's daughter pursued the career of a journalist and lived many a week in the Midway Estate, writing articles that delivered the truth of their war to wizards and witches around the world.

Jonathan had no right to impose anything on him - Uncle Edan remained the head of the Midway family, through as of late, he preferred to dwell in his and Aunt Assana's private villa or in America where his daughter created a family of her own, leaving the duties to the youth - but he could attempt to appeal to his common sense.

"Uncle," Jonathan addressed the man who had been his only father figure for the vast majority of his life softly, "you're eighty and not a warrior by profession. Don't ask me to risk your life."

"While you risk yours?" Cynthia intervened dryly. "Am I to understand that myself and the children are included in your grand scheme?"

"Of course. I will write to Aunt Cerise today and ask her to find you accomodation in France."

At first, Jonathan planned to contact his cousin Desirée who lived in Bordeaux, but reasoned that Cynthia would prefer to settle closer to the north where her own French kin resided. Fortunately, the coast of the English Channel was also the land of the Auclairs, his Grandmother Bernadette's family, so he couldn't think of a better area for his wife and their three younglings.

"Have you not forgotten anything?" Cynthia's eyes narrowed indignantly. "Perhaps asking what my thoughts on the whole endeavour are? Or did you intend to enlighten me on the day of our supposed departure?"

"You really should leave for a while," Jonathan argued. "I don't doubt your ability to protect yourself, my dearest, but we can't afford to be ignorant of the danger, not when the best of the Order perish so often."

"Jonathan does have a point, Cynthia." Aunt Assana's voice sounded apologetic. "Think about Melody, Lottie, and Louis. Jackie may be relatively safe at Hogwarts, but what of his younger siblings? They can come to harm, even with all the shields that you put on the estate."

"Besides," Jonathan added almost casually, finishing his meal, "the children should have at least one living parent."

"Don't you dare!" Uncle Edan hissed, and his face twitched in unmistakeable horror. "My brother had already returned from the battlefield half-dead, only to lose the last bits of life in the following hours. You won't even think of sharing his fate, Jonathan Griffith Midway!"

Cynthia's frustration seemed to wane, and the same fear for his life that his uncle had expressed drove her out of her seat and right into Jonathan's arms. He buried his face in her black curls, inhaling the smell of her perfume he so loved. Did she truly believe that he had made the decision easily? The thought of not seeing his Cynthia in an indefinite length of time clawed at his neck, as did the fact that his children, his sweet Lottie, would soon be taken from him.

"They won't reach any of you," Jonathan murmured his vow, placing a short kiss on his wife's temple.

July 1981

Jackie and Renée's confusion and worry was palpable when Jonathan met them on the platform in the end of their third year of Hogwarts, grim-faced and deaf to their endless questions. Only the calming safety of the Midway Estate let him loosen his tongue without scanning their surroundings for possible threats every now and then.

It had been almost two months since the floor of his home felt any footsteps other than his own, and while relieved, for the Death Eaters would have a hard time trying to find his family if they even considered it a venture worthy of their time in the first place, Jonathan missed waking up to Cynthia's warmth by his side, and watching his children make their first attempts to duel, and hearing Uncle Edan's throaty laught and Aunt Assana's gentle reprimands because Jonathan would surely kill his own health with that infuriating work schedule. To have his eldest son and niece back for the summer holidays became a consolation he had never known he needed, especially since his contacts with France and America were reduced to the absolute minimum, lest the dark wizards and witches would trace them.

Constant vigilance, Alastor loved repeating, and Jonathan couldn't agree more. Better be safe than sorry.

Garrett and Olivia, while not in immediate danger, made a decision to leave as well. Admittedly, Jonathan was pleased with the outcome, for his family would feel surer with familiar faces nearby, even if it placed the responsibility for Renée on his own shoulders. Olivia passionately promised to remove his head from them should her daughter be harmed under his care, and Jonathan waved off her laughable attempts to seem intimidating like she was a particularly annoying fly - which she was - but did everything in his power to ensure Renée's safety like he did Jackie's for the time period they spent away from Hogwarts.

His niece, of course, moved to the Midway Estate, though the two of them did journey to the Tremblay house to collect some of her belongings. Feeling particularly vicious and a little bit mischievous - his son's eyes lit up with a nearly blinding gleam when he realised that his strict father was capable of pranking - Jonathan innocently suggested that Renée feed her creatures with the plants Olivia grew in her greenhouses while the latter was away. Now, it became his obligation to survive this war, if only to see the expression on his sister-in-law's face upon her return. Renée agreed to the offer enthusiastically and started clinging to him in a way she had never done before afterwards.

Jonathan had to admit, he didn't deem it necessary to bond with Garrett and Olivia's children, especially since their inclinations proved to be just as disturbing as their parents'. His approach contrasted drastically with that of his wife's sister and her husband: Olivia was infamously fond of Melody, in spite of her feelings not being reciprocated in the slightest, and happened to dress her similarly to Helena and Miles for them to look like triplets while Garrett took Jackie under his wing and even went as far as gifting him a crup puppy without consulting Cynthia or Jonathan himself. Tendency to forget that their godchildren weren't their actual children had been yet another one of their many oddities, but Jonathan long since came to terms with the fact that his lovely wife only went in a set with her questionable relations.

Still, left without her parents and siblings in the midst of a war, Renée needed support. She seeked it in Jackie's company, and in Jonathan's as well, though he wasn't particularly skilled in such matters. In the very least, he tried. Merlin be his witness, Jonathan was against having animals in the house - his acceptance of Jackie's crup had been very reluctant - but he figured that a couple of Renée's pets wouldn't ruin the Midway Estate beyond salvation, all while cheering the girl up. When a sunny July day marked his niece's fourteenth birthday, Jonathan made a small dinner, traditionally including her favourite cake with burning candles on the top, and invited Joseph and Loretta Hearst to be their guests, for their son Toby was only a year younger than Jackie and Renée, and they seemed to be quite close. After years of work in the Auror Office together, Jonathan himself also grew to consider Cynthia's cousin a friend.

It was when the children retired to one of the bedrooms, likely Jackie's, to plot without supervision, and the adults were conversing unhurriedly over a glass of good wine that Jonathan sensed the instability in the protective shield, as though someone was repeatedly hitting it with powerful spells. The defence was a solid one, yet in case of a full-fletched attack, it could only be a means of winning time, not a wall to hide behind eternally, which had never been Jonathan's strategy anyway.

Having heard an attempt to kick down the door, Joseph and Loretta jumped out of their seats. "I will warn the youth," the witch declared.

"Jackie and Renée have a one-sided Portkey to France," Jonathan informed evenly. "Tell them to use it, and send Toby along."

"And join them, perhaps?" Joseph asked. Jonathan knew the emotion in his voice: he was fearful, and not for himself.

Loretta only shook her head and took a swift leave. Jonathan squeezed the wood of his wand tightly and sneaked to the living room, seeing out of the corner of his eye that Joseph's soundless figure stepped closely behind.

When he was teaching his son and niece how to activate a Portkey should the situation like the one they found themselves in happen, Jackie inquired about his own fate. Jonathan, never the one to hide bitter truth, stated plainly: the Death Eaters would have to step over his dead body if they wished to defile the Midway Estate.

A Midway never backs off a fight, that was the saying Jonathan grew up hearing, the one he betrayed not a single time. Honourable is the death in a battle, he recalled his grandfather whispering brokenly over his father's grave. Jonathan lived to be older than Archibald Midway had been at the time of his death, though only by mere years, and if his path would end in a fight against the despicable scum as well, so be it.

After much struggle from the other side of the door, it did fall to the ground, and numerous forms in black robes and masks slipped into the house. He should be flattered, Jonathan guessed. Their pathetic lordling apparently considered him a strong opponent, if the fact that he had sent a whole group of Death Eaters, approximately seven as far as Jonathan could tell, to deal with one Auror was anything to go by. It took five to murder Gideon and Fabian Prewett. They had been cheerful and brave boys, too young to leave this world, in such a brutal manner no less. Theirs were only two of the big number of deaths that caused a heavy lump of bile to permanently reside in Jonathan's throat.

"Are you sure that Midway's home?" A man's voice sounded from under the covers.

Another snorted. "The lights are very much on. What could that possibly mean, how do you think?"

"Then where is our chivalrous Auror hiding?" This time, it was a woman. "Come on, Jonathan Midway, they say that Avada Kedavra makes one's death quick and painless. Poor Cynthia will cry bitterly when she finds out, though."

Jonathan fired a spell first, and judging by a splash of light nearby, Joseph instantly followed suit. The woman who had just spoken poisonous words pounced on him like a kite, as did two figures beside her. Their attacks went smoothly swallowed by his defence, and new charms broke off his wand, aiming to maim or to kill. It wasn't only a matter of his own survival, Jonathan mused. Dark wizards and witches had always been the illness of their society: the more of them were neutralised, the less innocents would die by their hands.

In the other corner of the room, a seemingly lifeless body hit the floor, and Jonathan exhaled with immense relief upon seeing that it wasn't Joseph but his opponent. As his fellow Auror occupied himself with another Death Eater, Jonathan noticed that two figures thoughtfully avoided the improvised battlefield, moving in the direction of living quarters. Of course, they needed to check whether he hid his family somewhere deeper inside the Midway Estate and slaughter them like animals in case he did. Though Jackie, Renée and Toby most certainly left for a safe place already, and Loretta knew how to take care of herself, Jonathan's blood felt unbearably hot in his veins. He would gladly cause Cynthia's displeasure - she protested against the relocation passionately and until the very day they were supposed to part - if it meant that she and their children remained alive.

Jonathan clenched his teeth and let the fury guide his movements, making them abrupt and unpredictable. One spell, and the Death Eater stumbled, a wound on his leg bleeding actively; another, and he let out a choked, pitiful sound as his chest was cut in half, and he fell to his knees like a puppet that no longer was supported by strings. The woman let out a horrified scream.

"If anyone is going to wail tonight," Jonathan pronounced slowly, his words tasting like ash, "it will be you, not my wife."

Her previous assaults, though quite intense, seemed half-hearted in comparison to this one, driven by vengeance and bloodlust. Her remaining companion, now understanding that Jonathan could and would murder them without hesitation, chose a different, defence-oriented strategy, preferring to shield himself and the woman while leaving most of the actual fighting to her. It might have been one of the few sensible thoughts on his part, Jonathan concluded with disdain, for with the man's meager skill, his fellow Death Eater appeared to be the only hindrance between him and death. Even a task as simple as protection was too much of a responsibility for him: both he and the woman all but flew into the wall from another charm of Jonathan's, and the woman's mask fell off her face in process.

She was young, likely in her thirties, and her eyes burned with all-consuming rage. Even though the twist of her lips betrayed pain from the latest hit, she pulled herself together in the span of a second and made another sharp move towards him. Jonathan's wand didn't waver as he aimed at her face, and a loud hiss told him everything he needed to know. The man caught her when the woman swayed, her vision blinded by the red flow of blood. Apparently having found the situation unpromising, he hurried to vanish, but not before receiving a new spell in the shoulder.

Jonathan only scoffed. He expected nothing less from cowardly, treacherous rats.

At last, he allowed himself to look around. The Death Eater Joseph was fighting turned out to be made of sterner stuff than his predecessor: they circled around each other, but no one managed to get the upper hand so far. Jonathan stepped forward, determined to help, yet Jackie's voice, of all things, startled him before he could wave his wand.

"Barclay, bite!"

The mess of brown and white fur tangled up in the dark wizard's legs, claws reaching for skin and doing so successfully: the man let out a short cry, all while conjured ropes immobilised his body. Jonathan cast a quick Expelliarmus, leaving him unarmed, and turned to his son.

"What in the name of Godric Gryffindor are you doing here?" The boy seemed unharmed, but it did nothing to diminish Jonathan's wrath. "How can you be so careless? The Death Eater attack is no laughing matter, and an escape plan wasn't created for you to throw it away in the decisive moment-"

"We fully intended to activate the Portkey, I swear!" Jackie exclaimed, looking shaken. "It's just, we got delayed while instructing Toby, and they found us soon enough... Aunt Loretta ended up injured. We couldn't just leave her with those two, could we?"

Jonathan ran his hand through his hair, feeling the weight of accumulated exhaustion on his temples suddenly clearly. He considered himself a good dueller, but the fact remained undeniable: if he hadn't invited Joseph and Loretta for dinner, he wouldn't have dealt with seven Death Eaters all on his own. Sure, he would have harmed some and dragged a few with himself to the grave, but that would be the end of him.

Joseph rushed up the stairs, having heard about his wife's state, and Jonathan told Jackie to accompany him, depriving his son of the sight of corpses. In one of them, Jonathan recognised Mulciber the Senior, one of You-Know-Who's closest peers. Good, he thought, not without a little bit of satisfaction, this death would sting a painful lot. The next mask hid a new pleasant surprise: they captured none other than Rosier, another confidant of the abomination they called their lord. Not only did he send a whole battalion to get Jonathan's modest self, but also some of the best the Death Eaters had to offer!

As the remaining two were dragged down to the living room, Jonathan looked at Joseph. "How is Loretta?"

"Unconscious, but the injuries don't seem too grave." His fellow Auror was pale. "I've already sent a note to St. Mungo's."

"Go with her, you and Toby. I will deal with those," Jonathan nodded at the prisoners, "and join you."

Joseph smiled weakly, but gratefully. "I also contacted the Order. They should be here shortly."

The male Death Eater glared daggers at him, wincing every time ropes cut into his wounds, but Jonathan ignored him, examining Renée instead. "I thought you more reasonable than Jackie, but you two are cut from the same cloth, it seems!" he scolded, relieved as he spotted no visible damage. "What exactly happened?"

"Uncle Jonathan, please, don't be angry," Renée begged, snuggling up to him. Jonathan hugged her with one arm, and Jackie immediately dived under the other. "We only wanted to help Aunt Loretta. She managed to strike that man, but he kicked her down next. I figured that unleashing my creatures on him might be a good idea-"

"Creatures?" Jonathan echoed, bemused and irritated in equal measure.

"You should have seen it!" Jackie declared, finally sounding like his usual lively self. "Renée's pets took him down, meanwhile Toby and I fired spells on the woman!"

Said woman turned out to be a rather sorry sight indeed. Jonathan sighed. "It was very foolish," the faces of his son and niece fell, "and very brave, admittedly. You remained composed, however dire the circumstances, and fought remarkably well. Still, you're children, and you ought to get more training before taking part in skirmishes such as this." He patted them on the shoulders, receiving smiles in response. "Now, stay in your chambers for a while. I should be able to end this matter."

As Jackie and Renée left, Jonathan finally set his eyes on the Death Eaters. Apparently, he was too quick in his assessment of their capabilities: nowadays, the dark wizards and witches seemed to be reaching the new low if three younglings and an armful of creatures appeared to be more capable duellers! Jonathan couldn't restrain a derisive snort that escaped his mouth. Truthfully, he didn't really attempt to do so.

"Names?"

The wizard pursed his lips. The witch hesitated, but then exhaled quietly. "Astrid Lee. This is my husband, Sheldon."

"What are you doing?" the man hissed, but she only squeezed his hand in what looked like an unpleasantly tight grip.

"I'm making the best of our current situation. If we cooperate with the investigation, will you reduce the punishment?"

Rosier spit on the floor, muttering a curse that contained something suspiciously reminiscent of the word 'traitor'. "It's a possibility," Jonathan answered, not entirely sincerely. If they did commit crimes, not a single sensible soul in Wizengamot would be inclined to grant them the tiniest mercy. Jonathan certainly wouldn't, not after they launched an attack on his home.

"Who was that man?" he inclined his head to the second corpse. Wounded by Jonathan himself, the Death Eater bled heavily and perished by the end of the fight. The Auror remarked bitingly: "One of your companions seemed so upset by his passing."

"Dorian Nott," Astrid Lee informed, voice wavering. The face, though that of a person around his own age, was unfamiliar to Jonathan, but he did recognise the name. "You must be talking about Luscinia. He was her cousin."

"Where are she and Sigmund, anyway?" Sheldon Lee's eyes searched the room for the upteenth time.

Jonathan scoffed, not bothering to spare their feelings. "They abandoned you and fled as soon as they got the chance. Now, I don't believe you owe any loyalty to those who saved their own skin while you were struggling. What is their surname?"

Sheldon Lee furrowed his eyebrows, looking thunderous. Through clenched teeth, his wife gritted out: "Snyde."

Sounds of apparation right outside of the house marked the arrival of the Order members. Jonathan tied three surviving Death Eaters even more tightly, moved two lifeless bodies closer to the exit with a wave of his wand, simultaneously cleaning the fine thick carpet that covered the floor of the living room of blood, and spared a thought for two escapees. The Auror Office still had much work to do - the scar across the whole face that Luscinia Snyde, no doubt, gained was certainly too petty a price to pay for all the woe the bastards inflicted - and Jonathan thought, yet another time, that it was a cause he would fight for until breath forever left his lungs.

[yesbeardedstudentpost]

Abu al Dahdah al Ansari رضياللهعنه

He is Sayyidina Abu al Dahdah رضياللهعنه it is said: Abu al Dahdah―al Ansari رضياللهعنه  (With a fathah on both dals, and two ha’s.)

Ibn ‘Abdul Barrرضياللهعنه says, “I have not come across his name, nor his lineage, besides that he is from the Ansar, an ally of theirs.”

Others say that his name is Thabit.

Ibn Hajar said, “Abu al Dahdah al Ansari: their ally.”

Al Baghawi sufficed by saying, “Abu al Dahdah al Ansari,” without any addition.

‘Aqil reports from Ibn Shihab:

أن يتيما خاصم أبا لبابة في نخلة فقضى بها رسول الله صلى الله عليه و سلم لأبي لبابة فبكى الغلام فقال رسول الله صلى الله عليه و سلم لأبي لبابة أعطه نخلتك فقال لا فقال أعطه إياها و لك بها عذق في الجنة فقال لا فسمع بذلك أبو الدحداح فقال لإبي لبابة أتبيع عذقك ذلك بحديقتي هذه قال نعم فجاء أبو الدحداحة رسول الله فقال يا رسول الله النخلة التي سألت لليتيم إن أعطيته إياها ألي بها عذق في الجنة قال نعم ثم قتل أبو الدحداحة شهيدا يوم أحد فقال رسول الله صلى الله عليه و سلم رب عذق مذلل لأبي الدحداحة في الجنة

An orphan disputed with Abu Lubabah over a date palm. Rasulullahﷺpassed judgment in favor of Abu Lubabah. So the young lad began to cry. 

Rasulullahﷺ told Abu Lubabah, “Give him your date palm.”

He refused.

Rasulullahﷺ said, “Give it to him, and you will have a date palm in Jannat,” yet he still refused. Abu al Dahdah heard of this so he bargained with Abu Lubabah, “Will you sell me this date palm of yours, for this orchard of mine?”

“Yes,” he replied.رضياللهعنه

Subsequently, Abu al Dahdahah رضياللهعنه  came to Rasulullahﷺ and submitted: 

“O Messenger of Allah, regarding the date palm you requested for the orphan; if I gift it to him, will I have in lieu of it a date palm in Jannat?”

Rasulullahﷺ affirmed, “Yes.”

Abu al Dahdahahرضياللهعنه was subsequently killed as a martyr on the Day of Uhud. Rasulullah salla Llahu ‘alayhi wa sallam remarked, “How many clusters of dates are hanging for Abu al Dahdahah in Jannat!"

Ibn Mandah reports from the chain of ‘Abdullah ibn al Harith رضياللهعنه  from Ibn Mas’ud رضياللهعنه:

 لما نزلت مَّنْ ذَا الَّذِيْ يُقْرِضُ اللَّهَ قَرْضًا حَسَنًا فَيُضَاعِفَهُ لَهُ أَضْعَافًا فقال أبو الدحداح يا رسول الله و الله يريد منا القرض قال نعم الحديث و فيه ذكر ما تصدق به

When the verse: "Who is it that would loan Allah a goodly loan so He may multiply it for him many times over was revealed, Abu al Dahdah رضياللهعنه  submitted: 

“O Messenger of Allah, does Allah desire a loan from us?” Rasulullahﷺ replied in the affirmative.  

Till the end of the narration, what he gave in charity is mentioned therein.

 عن أنس رضي الله عنه أن رجلا قال يا رسول الله إن لفلان نخلة و أنا أقيم حائطي بها فأمره أن يعطيني حتى أقيم حائطي بها فقال له النبي صلى الله عليه و سلم أعطها إياه بنخلة في الجنة فأبى فأناه أبو الدحداح فقال بعني نخلتك بحائط ففعل فأتى النبي صلى الله عليه و سلم فقال يا رسول الله إني قد بعت النخلة بحائطي قال فاجعلها له فقد أعطيتكها فقال رسول الله صلى الله عليه و سلم كم من عذق رداح لأبي الدحداح في الجنة قالها مرارا قال فأتى أمرأته فقال يا أم الدحداح اخرجي من الحائط فإني قد بعته بنخلة في الجنة فقالت ربح البيع أو كلمة تشبهها

Anas رضياللهعنه  reports:

A man said, “O Messenger of Allah, a certain man possesses a date palm and I want to start my orchard there. So tell him to give it to me so I may start my orchard.”

Rasulullahﷺ told the man, “Hand it over to him for a date palm in Jannat.” But he refused.

Abu al Dahdahرضياللهعنه  took him aside and suggested, “Sell me your date palm for an orchard.” He agreed.

After that, Abu al Dahdahرضياللهعنه came to Rasulullahﷺ and submitted: 

“O Messenger of Allah, I have certainly purchased the date palm in lieu of my orchard. Give it to him, for I have handed it over to you.”

Rasulullahﷺ  exclaimed, “How many date palms laden with dates are there for Abu al Dahdah رضياللهعنه  in Jannat!” Rasulullahﷺ repeated this many times.

Abu al Dahdah approached his wife saying, “O Umm al Dahdah, exit from the orchard for I have sold it for a date palm in Jannat.”

She remarked, “What a profitable transaction.” Or something similar.

و روى جابر بن سمرة أن النبي صلى الله عليه و سلم ركب فرسا لأبي الدحداح

Jabir ibn Samurah رضياللهعنه reports that the Rasulullahﷺ mounted Abu al Dahdah’s horse.

Assurance of his Jannat is established in the hadith of Sayyidina Anas, Sayyidina Jabir ibn Samurahرضياللهعنه, Sayyidina ‘Umar ibn al Khattab رضياللهعنه, Sayyidina ‘Abdul Rahman ibn Abza رضياللهعنه and the marasil of Sa’id ibn al Musayyab and al Sha’bi. I will only quote the hadith of Sayyidina Jabir رضياللهعنه.

Muslim, Ahmed, Abu Dawood (briefly), al Tirmidhi, and others have reported it from various chains:

  عن سماك بن حرب عن جابر بن سمرة قال صلى رسول الله صلى الله عليه و سلم على ابن الدحداح ثم أتي بفرس عري فعقله رجل فركبه فجعل يتوقص به و نحن نتبعه نسعى خلفه قال فقال رجل من القوم إن النبي صلى الله عليه و سلم قال كم من عذق معلق أو مدلى في الجنة لابن الدحداح أو قال شعبة لإبي الدحداح

From Simak ibn Harb from―Jabir ibn Samurah who relates:

Rasulullahﷺ performed Salat al Janazah upon Ibn al Dahdah. Thereafter, a saddleless horse was brought to him. A man hobbled it with a cord, and Rasulullahﷺ mounted it. The horse began to gallop and we trailed him in haste. One of the people said: “Indeed, Rasulullahﷺ said, ‘How many suspended or dangling date palms are there in Jannat for Ibn al Dahdah―or Shu’bah said: Abu al Dahdah!”

The Encouragement to make a Handsome Loan in the Cause of Allah

 Allahﷻ said,

مَّن ذَا الَّذِى يُقْرِضُ اللَّهَ قَرْضًا حَسَنًا

(Who is he that will lend Allah a handsome loan:) `Umar bin Al-Khattab رضياللهعنه said that this Ayah refers to spending in Allah's cause. It was also said that it pertains to spending on children. What is correct is that it is more general than that. So all those who spend in the cause of Allah with good intentions and a sincere heart, then they fall under the generality of this Ayah. This is why Allah the Exalted said in another Ayah:

مَّن ذَا الَّذِى يُقْرِضُ اللَّهَ قَرْضًا حَسَنًا فَيُضَاعِفَهُ لَهُ

(Who is he that will lend Allah handsome loan: then (Allah) will increase it manifold to his credit (in repaying),) and in another Ayah,

أَضْعَافًا كَثِيرَةً

(many times) (2:245), meaning, being a handsome reward and tremendous provisions: Paradise on the Day of Resurrection. Ibn Abi Hatim recorded that `Abdullah bin Mas`ud said, "When this Ayah,

مَّن ذَا الَّذِى يُقْرِضُ اللَّهَ قَرْضًا حَسَنًا فَيُضَاعِفَهُ لَهُ

(Who is he that will lend Allah handsome loan: then (Allah) will increase it manifold to his credit (in repaying),) was revealed, Abu Ad-Dahdah Al-Ansari said, `O Allah's Messenger! Does Allah ask us for a loan' Rasulullahﷺ  said,

«نَعَمْ، يَاأَبَا الدَّحْدَاح»

(Yes, O Abu Ad-Dahdah.) He said, `Give me your hand, O Allah's Messenger,' and Rasulullahﷺ placed his hand in his hand. Abu Ad-Dahdah said, `Verily, I have given my garden as a loan to my Lord.' He had a garden that contained six hundred date trees; his wife and children were living in that garden too. Abu Ad-Dahdah went to his wife and called her, `Umm Ad-Dahdah!' She said, `Here I am.' He said, `Leave the garden because I have given it as a loan to my Lord, the Exalted and Most Honored.' She said, `That is a successful trade, O Abu Ad-Dahdah!' She then transferred her goods and children. Rasulullahﷺ said,

«كَمْ مِنْ عَذْقٍ رَدَاحٍ فِي الْجَنَّةِ لِأَبِي الدَّحْدَاح»

(How plentiful are the sweet date clusters that Abu Ad-Dahdah has in Paradise!)" In another narration,Rasulullahﷺ said,

«رُبَّ نَخْلَةٍ مُدَلَّاةٍ، عُرُوقُهَا دُرٌّ وَيَاقُوتٌ، لِأَبِي الدَّحْدَاحِ فِي الْجَنَّة»

(How many a date tree that has lowered down its clusters, which are full of pearls and gems in Paradise for Abu Ad-Dahdah!)

[navybrat817]

Now You Know

Pairing: Andy Barber x Female Reader Summary: You love the sound of Andy’s voice, especially when he stakes his claim on you. Word Count: Over 1.8k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, car sex, voice kink, possessive behavior, dirty talking Andy (he’s a warning, okay?) A/N: Proud I was able to find a moment to write and share this fic for the beautiful @whisperlullaby​ and her challenge. Congrats again! Beta read by the wonderful @buckyownsmylife, but any and all mistakes are my own. Thank you, lovely! 

18+ Please!!! Enjoy, lovelies!

Andy Barber was out of your league. At least, you felt like he was. Compassionate, confident and insanely gorgeous, he was a dream come true in the form of a man. You were lucky to have him, even though he always shook his head when you said that. 

“It’s the other way around, honey.”

While you wondered some days why Andy chose you when he could have anyone else in the world, he never once made you doubt his feelings for you. He was attentive, loving and made you feel beautiful. And having that attention on you when he spoke made you feel powerful, like he was speaking just for you. He could have read you the phone book and you would have thanked him for it.

It caught you off guard in the beginning, how easily you hung on his every word. It made you feel clingy when you explained it to your friend, but she said that wasn’t the case. It was a voice kink, specifically his. You just loved the sound of it. Especially when his lips were against the shell of your ear.

“You look beautiful, honey. How am I supposed to keep my hands off you?” he asked, admiring you in the mirror.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way,” you teased, smoothing your dress out with your hands. If he only knew how soaked your panties were…

“We won’t stay long,” he promised. He didn’t want to go to this work party, but he had to make an appearance. Both of you knew he preferred quiet nights at home. Or not so quiet when he had you screaming his name.

“You can ravish me as soon as we come back.”

“Is that a promise?” he whispered.

You proudly managed to swallow your whine. You had some self control. “Promise.”

You couldn’t recall the drive to the party. Your mind was too occupied thinking of the ways Andy would ruin you. Suffice to say, you were addicted to him. But he wanted you just as much. 

Andy swore under his breath when you walked into the party and you didn't understand why. After a moment, you realized a few men were looking your way with hunger in their eyes. The attention didn't mean anything to you because you didn't want them. You weren't theirs to look at. The only one you wanted to look your way had his arm around your waist. And it didn't go unnoticed how his grip suddenly tightened. 

"I'm not leaving you alone for a second."

"Andy, you have to mingle," you reminded him, but you had to smile when his nose crinkled in annoyance. 

"Fifteen minutes. I'm timing it," he teased. 

"Andy!" a woman shrieked, making you cover your mouth before you could laugh. 

"I think Mrs. Thomas wants your attention. I'll get us a drink."

"I said I'm not leaving your side," he warned, his voice not quite in dangerous territory. It was still enough to send a happy chill down your spine. 

"I'll be right over there," you gestured to the bar, giving him a quick peck on the lips before he could protest. 

You pulled out of his grasp to make your way over, smiling at the bartender. Before you could open your mouth to speak, someone slid beside you.

“Can I get you a drink?”

You turned your head, not recognizing the guy beside you. You tried to make it a point to know who Andy worked with. "No, thanks."

"Are you sure?" he asked, his eyes raking over you. "I'd love it if you joined me for a drink."

You took a step to the side when he leaned in close. "I'm actually here with someone."

"Oh? Then why isn't he beside you?"

“He's right here, Charles."

You spun around, your breath caught in your throat at the fury in Andy's eyes. You should have known he was watching you. 

“Andy. So sorry. I didn’t know,” Charles said unapologetically, though he put his hands up in a surrendering gesture. "Your date is… stunning."

“Now you do. And she's not a date. She's mine. So fuck off.”

The low timber of Andy's voice rolled across your skin, making an ache settle right between your legs. You never heard his voice get that deep before outside of the bedroom and the surge of arousal made you whimper before you could stop yourself. His eyes flashed as he looked your way, no doubt having heard the sound you made. Your cheeks warmed as your gaze settled back on him, almost afraid to look away. 

“I think we should leave,” he suggested, his voice still dangerously low.

You couldn’t find your voice as you nodded, letting him lead you away by the hand. What had gotten into him? “Andy,” you finally spoke.

“Knew I should have kept you home,” he muttered to himself as he pulled you to the car. 

“Andy,” you tried again, surprised when he opened the back door of the car. He wordlessly got in before pulling you in beside him. “What are you-”

You were cut off as his lips met yours, opening up to him immediately. You pressed your body close as he deepened the kiss. His beard gently scraped your skin as he held the back of your neck, not giving you a chance to move away until he was satisfied. 

“Are you mine, honey?” he questioned as he broke the kiss, moving his hand to your back to pull you in his lap.

Your dress rode up, your wet panties pressing against the front of his pants. His hard, covered length sent a shiver down your spine. “Yes, I’m yours.”

“Show me. Give me a ride,” he ordered, his hand sliding up your thigh to move your underwear aside. You gasped when his fingers brushed your folds. “But before you do that… Tell me what got you so wet.”

“I…” you tried as he moved his hand to unbuckle his belt. You needed his touch again.

“Was it me staking my claim? Or was it this?” he asked, his tone dropping an octave. It sent another jolt of pleasure to your throbbing core. “It was, wasn't it? You think I don’t know what my voice does to you?”

Of course, he knew. “Yes, Andy. Your voice turns me on,” you admitted. Like everything else about him.

“Mmm. I don't think it just turns you on. You get off on it. I could have told you to spread your legs for me in the middle of that party and you would have dropped to the floor. Let everyone see how wet your dripping wet cunt was before I fucked you senseless.”

Your trembling hands rested on his chest as he took his cock out. It should have been humiliating to be called out like that, but it felt exhilarating. You had no reason to be ashamed. “Yes. Because I’m yours.”

Andy chuckled so quietly you almost missed it. “Oh, honey. I’m yours, too.”

Feeling the thick head press against your tight hole, you tried to take more of him in. A hand gripped your hip before you could slam down, reminding you that you weren’t in control yet. His cock slowly breached you, making you feel the full drag of every inch. “Thought...you wanted a ride.”

“Maybe I just want to take a moment to appreciate how good your pussy feels around me. Fuck, you’re so wet. You're practically drowning my cock. This is all for me, isn’t it? All mine. Tell me.”

You shuddered as his grip loosened, letting you rock your hips. How you didn’t come immediately was an impressive feat. How many others could take that kind of praise, in that tone, from Andy Barber and not be reduced to a babbling mess? “It’s all for you.”

“And this,” he purred, snapping his hips up and making you cry out. “This is all yours. And you love it. You love my cock filling you up until you can’t even think.”

“Fuck! I love it!” you cried, uncaring if anyone outside of the car could hear you. Hell, you wanted them to. Anyone who had Andy Barber’s cock deep inside them should have shouted to the heavens in thanks. 

“Feel good taking my cock like this? I’ll always make you feel good, honey. Always. Because you’re mine.”

The moan you let out was wanton. Being split open, feeling him hit that soft spot inside you, he was driving you to the edge of insanity. But it dawned on you in that moment that it wasn't just a voice kink that you had. You enjoyed that he was possessive of you. That he had to stuff you full of his cock just because another guy hit on you. 

Andy placed wet, open mouthed kisses along your neck. "Who do you belong to, honey?" he groaned, bringing a hand up to grope your breasts through your dress. You arched into his touch, wishing your nipple could brush against his palm instead of your bra.

"You, Andy," you swore breathlessly, riding him faster and harder. 

"That's right. And you promised more. That I could ravish you," he rasped, lightly biting over your racing pulse. "Maybe I'll blindfold you. Fuck your pretty little hole and keep my mouth right against your ear. Make you hear every grunt, every growl. See how many times you come just from my voice."

You arched your back, your whine desperate. You were so close to the edge, your thighs tense as you bounced up and down. You were made for him, made to take him. And you needed that coil inside you to snap. "Please, please. I need it. Need you."

"You have all of me," he swore, a growl seeping into the tender words as he leaned his head back to watch you. "Fuck, you're so good. Clenching down on my cock. Make a mess, honey. Come all over me."

His words triggered your release, your cries filling the small space as you gripped him tight. It was one of your best orgasms and he had given you more than plenty of those. He thrust through it until all you could do was take him. 

"Need to come in you. Need to feel it when I fuck you in our bed."

"Fuck, please!" you begged, tightening your walls around him to get him there. 

Andy's hips snapped up against yours before he stilled with a deep groan. You felt him fill you, making you clench around him again. You felt wrecked, owned and loved in the most passionate way. You were his. 

You melted into him when he pulled you in for a gentle kiss, not moving from his lap. He placed a hand on your chest, your heart racing fast against it. After a moment, you giggled and pressed your forehead against his.

"What?" he asked with a smile. 

"Didn't even make it fifteen minutes," you smiled back. 

"We didn't," he chuckled, giving you another kiss. "But let's see how long it takes before you come again."

It was going to be a long night. A long, glorious night. 

[multifandomfix]

Dean Winchester Smut Alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Dean is usually pretty exhausted after sex. He likes to be able to just go to sleep afterward, but he’s not heartless, he’ll check in on you, make sure you’re alright and once he knows you are, will probably pass out.

B = Body part (favorite body part of their partner’s)

Dean loves your ass, loves grabbing onto it while you’re fucking and feeling it in his calloused hands.

C = Collar (do they mark you as theirs in some way?)

Nah, not really. He’s not that possessive. He’ll tell someone off if they hit on you, and may buy you a necklace that reminds you of him, but to him it’s not some symbol of ownership.

D = Dominant (do they prefer to dominate, or be dominated? are they a top or a bottom?)

Dean is typically pretty dominant, but he’s happy to let you take over when he’s had a rough week.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Dean is well experienced. He knows what he’s doing, but he’s not too proud to be taught a few new tricks.

F = Fuck (do they prefer to fuck or make love?)

Dean prefers to fuck. Making love seems too 'chick flick' for him, though he does admit on a rare occasion it’s nice.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He tries to be more serious in the moment, but if something goofy happens, he’s right there with you to laugh it off and move on.

H = Hot (what turns them on, gets them going)

A little competition can easily get Dean going. Be it a serious bet, or a friendly game of chance, the thrill of not knowing who is going to win can definitely get Dean in the mood.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Dean can be romantic, but it’s not always his first priority. That stuff often falls to the back of his mind, though if you give him a little advance notice, he’ll set up something more romantic with some classic rock playing softly in the background and be more attentive in bed.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

You’ve caught Dean jerking off more than a few times. He doesn’t have much in the way of stress relief, so that’s typically what he does, and if you’re willing to help him out, he’s almost never going to refuse.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Dirty talk. Dean loves dirty talk. Sometimes it can border on cheesy, but it’s something that just comes naturally to him. And when you talk dirty back, oh boy, he cannot get enough.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Usually any old motel room bed will suffice, but he does like to take you into Baby's backseat every once in a while. Though not without plenty of precautions. Can’t have either of you making a mess back there.

M = Mood (what’s the foreplay like? how do you get them in the mood?)

Foreplay is real easy with Dean. Turn up the radio, kiss his neck and touch his thighs. By the time you’re undoing his pants, he’s practically ready to blow.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Dean doesn’t like bringing his weapons into the bedroom. Leave all the demon knives and angel blades for the monster killing. He doesn’t need them crossing over into his sexy time.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He very much prefers to receive. Like, it drives him crazy when you give him head. It’s like he lives for it. He’s not so bad at repaying the favor, but he could use a little more practice time before you’d consider him perfect.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Dean is pretty fast and rough more often than not. You’ve really got to tell him to take it slow if you want it that way, otherwise he’ll just give himself over to his more animal instincts.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He loves a good quickie. Nothing like a little danger and some fast action to get him pumped for a hunt. And you’re welcome to stop him for a quickie almost anytime.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He definitely experiments as long as you’re up for it and he likes a bit of risk as well. If there’s a possibility of getting caught, then it just makes it hotter.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Dean can typically only do one round and doesn’t often last very long, though when you catch him on a better night he’ll last longer and go for a couple of rounds.

T = Tryst (are they into casual sex or one night stands?)

He is, he’ll be the first to admit it. That’s just what he’s used to. Of course he doesn’t favor them exclusively, but if it’s readily offered, he probably won’t refuse.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Dean doesn’t tease too much really. He’s a bit selfish in that regard. He often forgets that sometimes you need a little more stimulation than he does.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Dean will let loose a lot of grunts and moans, even a growl or two when he’s really in the moment. He’s not super loud about it, but loud enough to probably be heard through thin motel walls.

W = Wait (how long do they wait before having sex with their partner for the first time?)

Not long. Honestly he’ll take you to bed with him as soon as possible. He’ll turn up the charm to a ten and flirt his ass off until you get under the sheets with him.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Dean has definitely got some muscles under those flannels. That’s really no surprise. He’s more of a boxers sort of man and he does go for some fun prints sometimes, so you never know what kind of underwear you’ll catch him in.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

High. Not through the roof, but it’s like always the second thing on his mind.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He’s out like a light not long after. Unless you need him to cuddle or need him to do something else, he’ll be fast asleep afterwards.

For anon

Dean Winchester: @multifangirlnerd, @alwaysreading1019, @beth-gallagher22, @danzalladaggers, @thegirlwhoslearning, @justbeingsimple

[srbachchan]

DAY 5062

Jalsa, Mumbai                     Dec 27/28,  2021                 Mon/Tue  12:46 AM

❤️ , Tomorrow .. Dec 28th .. is the birthday of Ef Waseem Sayed .. .. and .. on Dec the 26th .. it was the birthday of Ef Navita .. Bigadda times Ef .. so sorry for missing it .. 😔🙏🏻 .. Love .. 🌹.. and may the new times ahead be in the gracefulness of heart and peace .. ✨🕊️ Love .. 🌹

Idleness of time and work be the destined destruction of body and mind. In the continued schedules of a stop without a stop work schedule, it has become mandatory to give a thought to those times when there was no work at all and how the desire and the fate-less encumbered mind would seek and pray for it. Now in its reverse avatar the opposite is sought - need the work that lies in abeyance to be scheduled in some rapidity - to enable the unsettled mind relief from its thinking and imagination ..

That is the worth of the wheel of fortune .. wheel of constant life .. wheel of change and continuity .. wheel of wheeling over each completed circle of life .. 

Poetic it may sound and feel too, but when ever did we possess any other. With the circumstantial changes in time and living, each opportunity that could have been weighted upon, has now demanded and, nay , firmly dictated, that the opposite be brought into the fray of continued schedules in order that some order prevails. An order that shall bring the ‘suffice’ to play within our host minds and body !

And it is not an undivided thinking to consider the time and duration of work in the coming, that brings discussion reverentially into all the future plans. They that design think of the ahead .. we think of the present. We think so because that is what is now and immediate. They consider the several other factors. Theirs is the thought of protection and completion and it’s validity for the reason of it’s making or doing. 

Will it last till the end. What shall be the perception in time and then, in the time of the times. How would it receive the conditioning of the product in the condition of the state interstate. Are we ahead, or delayed. Are they that patronise, in the similar spirit of the presentation. If so how many and for how long. Short lived or prolonged in time and memory !

The World, it has been, in the time machine of ‘change’ . Nothing unusual. The Universe has not been the same either ; the Universe of each profess yes ; that needs emphasising. The World has remained round and rotating ever since, but the living have not. Neither rounded nor in stopped rotation. Pity. Would have been so exciting if it had remained stable. 

And one can hear the voice of dissent already on this.

Fruitless the discuss on this mundane topic of an issue where, much like the conditions of today, nothing shall be in unison either ! And the celebration of this shall reverberate into the humanity, so constructed to be considered unique. Or so we think and believe. Morally, perhaps or even scientifically. For there is no conclusive dissertation , either for or against it.

The celebrated crave attention when attention was scarce or distanced ; and now seek isolation and the privacy of unseen and unknown of no consequence to any other, but to those that bring the ‘bread butter and cheese’ ; not necessarily in that order !

The dichotomy of human modernity - present in limits then, omnipresent now, or in search of it.

.. as do I, in search of its timing now ..   

Be safe and in the company of protection ..

Amitabh Bachchan     

[carbonateddelusion]

Had anyone asked you this? Top 5 most and least dateable ocs pls

nobody has yet!!!!! thanka you :]

Top 5 most dateable OCs:

Jade is such a loving, patient person that it would be insane to NOT have her top the list. She's confident, reassuring, affectionate, and most importantly, stands her ground. She'll give you some leeway, especially if you're struggling with something, but the moment you cross that line she WILL let you know and hold you accountable. Jade's the biggest proponent of tough love; you WILL learn and you WILL prosper and you WILL love yourself. She also owns a bar, so she's a #girlboss

Mac's all-around a sweet guy. He's a great person to goof off with, and while he isn't the most in touch with emotions, he'll gladly be a shoulder to cry on. He's a ride-or-die kind of dude, and despite how chill he looks, there's an intense loyalty there. He's a little shy though! Mac can be THE most outgoing person... as long as he's with his best friend.

Coda's laid back but perpetually busy. It's either working at the cafe or trying to take care of their kid. Being a a single parent is pretty goddamn rough. As a partner, he's a great cuddlebug, and isn't shy to open up to you. But despite his ability to conceal it, he's prone to stress and may close off a little while he's going through it. They're very patient, like Jade, however. They have all the time in the world for your problems; they just shut down before you can try to address theirs.

Green's love ensures that you'll never have to work another day in your life. Unless you want to, of course! He's aloof, cordial, and cheerful, always up for a long, long conversation or two, and has the power (and bank account) to give you everything you've ever wanted. But he's also chronically ill and therefore often bedridden or on house arrest, and when he isn't, he's busy attending to his Corporate Business or raising his duckling son. You also might feel a little condescended to sometimes. He means well, but he was raised to think of anybody with less than Musk levels of money as an inferior being; this translates into him almost treating you like a rare, amusing thing to enjoy. Despite this, he loves fervently and without restraint. And you bet he has a lot of it to give after being cooped up in his home for so long.

Minato's just your run-of-the-mill young adult trying to scrape by on chump change to support themself and their perpetually absent mom. They can be kind of brash and shy, but they're extremely accepting and friendly once you make it known that you lack bad intent. They're easily excited, cuddly, self-sufficent, and a little forgetful. Being so busy, things just... slip their mind sometimes. As long as you don't mind a forgotten date or two, they have oodles of love to give. As long as you don't mind the smell of sweaty fox.

Top 5 least dateable OCs:

80s Jack is.. the kind of person you're warned about. By everyone. He's obsessive, possessive, sado-masochistic, demanding, mean-spirited, easily angered, insensitive, abusive in pretty much any way you can imagine, and will control your life, on top of his numerous mental and emotional issues. Don't let him in.

Lucas is sweet, bubbly, wealthy, snuggly, empathetic, mindful.... if he's interested in you, and if it's you, it's ONLY you. He's also a stalker! He's CONSTANTLY worried about his partner's safety, but opts to have his security to watch over them instead because of his blindness. To everybody that isn't his partner, he's unsettlingly cold.

Sane Jack will chew you up and spit you out the moment you stop being useful to him. But if he really, truly has a connection to you, you'll have a lifetime friend and watchdog. It's a tossup whether he'll latch on to you or get bored of you. He's impulsive, prideful, and paranoid, but also loyal, humorous, the life of the party, (arguably) well-meaning, and very soft under that thick skin. If you can manage to open him up, there's a scared little boy who brings knocked out teeth and scars to show-and-tell waiting for you, arms open for a hug.

Edgar loves. He loves very, very, very passionately. He's emotionally sensitive and empathetic, attentive, romantic, well-spoken, intelligent, and sweet. He's also extremely depressed, terribly jealous, self-sacrificing to the point of self harm, refuses to let you help him, unstable, and secretive. He will rip himself limb from limb to make you happy and safe. He will pull teeth and sell his soul just to see you smile. He also comes pre-packaged with a host of traumas. Good luck!

M.Edgar will not even entertain the concept of falling in love with someone- if he were to, he'd think he's ill. He's withdrawn, busy, blunt, and vainglorious, but securing his affection will have you want for nothing. Deep down he's touch-starved and full of just as much love as his non-M!-self. You just have to dig a little.

[yesbeardedstudentpost]

Abu al Dahdah al Ansari رضياللهعنه

He is Sayyidina Abu al Dahdah رضياللهعنه it is said: Abu al Dahdah―al Ansari رضياللهعنه  (With a fathah on both dals, and two ha’s.)

https://sohabih.blogspot.com/2023/01/abu-al-dahdah-al-ansari.html

Ibn ‘Abdul Barrرضياللهعنه says, “I have not come across his name, nor his lineage, besides that he is from the Ansar, an ally of theirs.”

Others say that his name is Thabit.

Ibn Hajar said, “Abu al Dahdah al Ansari: their ally.”

Al Baghawi sufficed by saying, “Abu al Dahdah al Ansari,” without any addition.

‘Aqil reports from Ibn Shihab:

أن يتيما خاصم أبا لبابة في نخلة فقضى بها رسول الله صلى الله عليه و سلم لأبي لبابة فبكى الغلام فقال رسول الله صلى الله عليه و سلم لأبي لبابة أعطه نخلتك فقال لا فقال أعطه إياها و لك بها عذق في الجنة فقال لا فسمع بذلك أبو الدحداح فقال لإبي لبابة أتبيع عذقك ذلك بحديقتي هذه قال نعم فجاء أبو الدحداحة رسول الله فقال يا رسول الله النخلة التي سألت لليتيم إن أعطيته إياها ألي بها عذق في الجنة قال نعم ثم قتل أبو الدحداحة شهيدا يوم أحد فقال رسول الله صلى الله عليه و سلم رب عذق مذلل لأبي الدحداحة في الجنة

An orphan disputed with Abu Lubabah over a date palm. Rasulullah��� passed judgment in favor of Abu Lubabah. So the young lad began to cry.

Rasulullahﷺ told Abu Lubabah, “Give him your date palm.”

He refused.

Rasulullahﷺ said, “Give it to him, and you will have a date palm in Jannat,” yet he still refused. Abu al Dahdah heard of this so he bargained with Abu Lubabah, “Will you sell me this date palm of yours, for this orchard of mine?”

“Yes,” he replied.رضياللهعنه

Subsequently, Abu al Dahdahah رضياللهعنه  came to Rasulullahﷺ and submitted:

“O Messenger of Allah, regarding the date palm you requested for the orphan; if I gift it to him, will I have in lieu of it a date palm in Jannat?”

Rasulullahﷺ affirmed, “Yes.”

Abu al Dahdahahرضياللهعنه was subsequently killed as a martyr on the Day of Uhud. Rasulullah salla Llahu ‘alayhi wa sallam remarked, “How many clusters of dates are hanging for Abu al Dahdahah in Jannat!"

Ibn Mandah reports from the chain of ‘Abdullah ibn al Harith رضياللهعنه from Ibn Mas’ud رضياللهعنه :

لما نزلت مَّنْ ذَا الَّذِيْ يُقْرِضُ اللَّهَ قَرْضًا حَسَنًا فَيُضَاعِفَهُ لَهُ أَضْعَافًا فقال أبو الدحداح يا رسول الله و الله يريد منا القرض قال نعم الحديث و فيه ذكر ما تصدق به

When the verse: "Who is it that would loan Allah a goodly loan so He may multiply it for him many times over was revealed, Abu al Dahdah رضياللهعنه submitted:

“O Messenger of Allah, does Allah desire a loan from us?” Rasulullahﷺ replied in the affirmative.  

Till the end of the narration, what he gave in charity is mentioned therein.

عن أنس رضي الله عنه أن رجلا قال يا رسول الله إن لفلان نخلة و أنا أقيم حائطي بها فأمره أن يعطيني حتى أقيم حائطي بها فقال له النبي صلى الله عليه و سلم أعطها إياه بنخلة في الجنة فأبى فأناه أبو الدحداح فقال بعني نخلتك بحائط ففعل فأتى النبي صلى الله عليه و سلم فقال يا رسول الله إني قد بعت النخلة بحائطي قال فاجعلها له فقد أعطيتكها فقال رسول الله صلى الله عليه و سلم كم من عذق رداح لأبي الدحداح في الجنة قالها مرارا قال فأتى أمرأته فقال يا أم الدحداح اخرجي من الحائط فإني قد بعته بنخلة في الجنة فقالت ربح البيع أو كلمة تشبهها

Anas رضياللهعنه reports:

A man said, “O Messenger of Allah, a certain man possesses a date palm and I want to start my orchard there. So tell him to give it to me so I may start my orchard.”

Rasulullahﷺ told the man, “Hand it over to him for a date palm in Jannat.” But he refused.

Abu al Dahdahرضياللهعنه  took him aside and suggested, “Sell me your date palm for an orchard.” He agreed.

After that, Abu al Dahdahرضياللهعنه came to Rasulullahﷺ and submitted:

“O Messenger of Allah, I have certainly purchased the date palm in lieu of my orchard. Give it to him, for I have handed it over to you.”

Rasulullahﷺ exclaimed, “How many date palms laden with dates are there for Abu al Dahdah رضياللهعنه in Jannat!” Rasulullahﷺ repeated this many times.

Abu al Dahdah approached his wife saying, “O Umm al Dahdah, exit from the orchard for I have sold it for a date palm in Jannat.”

She remarked, “What a profitable transaction.” Or something similar.

و روى جابر بن سمرة أن النبي صلى الله عليه و سلم ركب فرسا لأبي الدحداح

Jabir ibn Samurah رضياللهعنه reports that the Rasulullahﷺ mounted Abu al Dahdah’s horse.

Assurance of his Jannat is established in the hadith of Sayyidina Anas, Sayyidina Jabir ibn Samurahرضياللهعنه, Sayyidina ‘Umar ibn al Khattab رضياللهعنه, Sayyidina ‘Abdul Rahman ibn Abza رضياللهعنه and the marasil of Sa’id ibn al Musayyab and al Sha’bi. I will only quote the hadith of Sayyidina Jabir رضياللهعنه.

Muslim, Ahmed, Abu Dawood (briefly), al Tirmidhi, and others have reported it from various chains:

 عن سماك بن حرب عن جابر بن سمرة قال صلى رسول الله صلى الله عليه و سلم على ابن الدحداح ثم أتي بفرس عري فعقله رجل فركبه فجعل يتوقص به و نحن نتبعه نسعى خلفه قال فقال رجل من القوم إن النبي صلى الله عليه و سلم قال كم من عذق معلق أو مدلى في الجنة لابن الدحداح أو قال شعبة لإبي الدحداح

From Simak ibn Harb from―Jabir ibn Samurah who relates:

Rasulullahﷺ performed Salat al Janazah upon Ibn al Dahdah. Thereafter, a saddleless horse was brought to him. A man hobbled it with a cord, and Rasulullahﷺ mounted it. The horse began to gallop and we trailed him in haste. One of the people said: “Indeed, Rasulullahﷺ said, ‘How many suspended or dangling date palms are there in Jannat for Ibn al Dahdah―or Shu’bah said: Abu al Dahdah!”

The Encouragement to make a Handsome Loan in the Cause of Allah

Allahﷻ said,

مَّن ذَا الَّذِى يُقْرِضُ اللَّهَ قَرْضًا حَسَنًا

(Who is he that will lend Allah a handsome loan:) `Umar bin Al-Khattab رضياللهعنه said that this Ayah refers to spending in Allah's cause. It was also said that it pertains to spending on children. What is correct is that it is more general than that. So all those who spend in the cause of Allah with good intentions and a sincere heart, then they fall under the generality of this Ayah. This is why Allah the Exalted said in another Ayah:

مَّن ذَا الَّذِى يُقْرِضُ اللَّهَ قَرْضًا حَسَنًا فَيُضَاعِفَهُ لَهُ

(Who is he that will lend Allah handsome loan: then (Allah) will increase it manifold to his credit (in repaying),) and in another Ayah,

أَضْعَافًا كَثِيرَةً

(many times) (2:245), meaning, being a handsome reward and tremendous provisions: Paradise on the Day of Resurrection. Ibn Abi Hatim recorded that `Abdullah bin Mas`ud said, "When this Ayah,

مَّن ذَا الَّذِى يُقْرِضُ اللَّهَ قَرْضًا حَسَنًا فَيُضَاعِفَهُ لَهُ

(Who is he that will lend Allah handsome loan: then (Allah) will increase it manifold to his credit (in repaying),) was revealed, Abu Ad-Dahdah Al-Ansari said, `O Allah's Messenger! Does Allah ask us for a loan' Rasulullahﷺ  said,

«نَعَمْ، يَاأَبَا الدَّحْدَاح»

(Yes, O Abu Ad-Dahdah.) He said, `Give me your hand, O Allah's Messenger,' and Rasulullahﷺ placed his hand in his hand. Abu Ad-Dahdah said, `Verily, I have given my garden as a loan to my Lord.' He had a garden that contained six hundred date trees; his wife and children were living in that garden too. Abu Ad-Dahdah went to his wife and called her, `Umm Ad-Dahdah!' She said, `Here I am.' He said, `Leave the garden because I have given it as a loan to my Lord, the Exalted and Most Honored.' She said, `That is a successful trade, O Abu Ad-Dahdah!' She then transferred her goods and children. Rasulullahﷺ said,

«كَمْ مِنْ عَذْقٍ رَدَاحٍ فِي الْجَنَّةِ لِأَبِي الدَّحْدَاح»

(How plentiful are the sweet date clusters that Abu Ad-Dahdah has in Paradise!)" In another narration,Rasulullahﷺ said,

«رُبَّ نَخْلَةٍ مُدَلَّاةٍ، عُرُوقُهَا دُرٌّ وَيَاقُوتٌ، لِأَبِي الدَّحْدَاحِ فِي الْجَنَّة»

(How many a date tree that has lowered down its clusters, which are full of pearls and gems in Paradise for Abu Ad-Dahdah!)

[buckysgoldenheart]

Late

Henry Cavill x Reader

Summary: Henry has a reputation that makes you cautious and it’s caused some disagreements. Everyone thinks you hate each other, but maybe you don’t as much as you let on. (fluffy ending, and idk, maybe angst depending on your definition).

Words: 2880

Notes/Warnings: I made this like mid-20s Henry during the Tudors filming, season 1. If I messed up with tenses somewhere, I’d like it of you let me know. I started this story out in the past-tense then changed it to present so I might have missed some stuff when editing, even after reading it 100 times over.

At the sound of the doorbell, you hop up from your sunken spot on the couch. After the day you had, the Chinese food on the other side of that wood slab is the only thing with the ability to help you recover before you must face a fresh 5 a.m. morning with Henry tomorrow.

God, you want that man to fall off the face of the earth. You don’t care if his disappearance meant you would temporarily be out of a job. Being an assistant on the set of The Tudors was something you had strongly considered sacrificing in the past if it meant never having to work with one very particular, blue-eyed, temperamental actor ever again.

You almost quit weeks ago but told yourself to suck it up. You can’t afford to unintentionally cause drama at your workplace, not after your last job; and getting that kind of reputation is not what you are going for. Besides, filming for the first season is almost over, and you will gladly welcome the long break before everyone needs to report back for season two.

The smile you were fully prepared to give the delivery man falls entirely at the sight on the other side of the door.

“What the hell are you doing here,” You huff out.

Henry crosses his thick arms over his even thicker chest and frowns back at you. “I didn’t get my script.”

A headache is already forming just from his proximity and you don’t bother resisting the urge to rub at your temple. “Well, I sent it to your house a week ago.”

“And I didn’t get it, so clearly you didn’t do a very good job.”

With an eye-roll, you say, “Is there some reason you had to come all the way to my apartment and bug me for the script when I will see you first thing in the morning?”

“Everyone else will have had theirs longer, and I wanted to get a good start on learning my lines, so yes, I have a good reason for ‘bugging’ you, Y/N.”

You hate the way he says your name. It passes his lips so softly every time and makes your heart speed faster than your liking. If another man said your name like that, you’d fall for him in an instant, but no, Henry seemed to be the only man possessing that thick, honey-sweet voice.

“Whatever,” You groan and turn on your heel. In your office desk are two extra copies of each actors’ script for emergencies, but a simple text from Henry would’ve sufficed; this is hardly life or death.

‘Hey, never got my script. Can you bring a copy in the morning?’ So damn easy.

You turn your head back when Henry’s heavy footsteps hit your hardwood floors. “Hey, I didn’t say you could come in,” You snap, eyebrows drawn together.

“What kind of person would leave their guest outside?”

The sass in his tone makes you want to pull your hair right out of your scalp. “You’re not my guest,” You say, but your blatant aggravation does nothing to hinder him and his body is a foot away from yours before you know it. Inches he has on you forces you to look up just to meet the smirk on his face.

“Stop acting like you hate me,” He says as he reaches a hand to grab yours.

“Excuse me?!” You quickly swat that hand away. “I am not acting like anything! Any negative feelings you are sensing from me are one hundred percent genuine.”

Henry scoffs and crosses his arms once again. “Oh, please.”

Your jaw drops in disbelief. He is unbelievable. Everything he does, everything he says, everything he is has had the power to make your whole body shake since the day you met him. “God, I can’t stand you!”

Walking away from him for the office, he follows close behind. “You know what, you’re not all that great either!” He yells at your back as you open the drawer of your desk to shuffle through the scripts. “You yap all damn day, talking to everyone else on set and making them laugh! You shoot that pretty smile in any direction and people flock to you like deranged birds!”

“So!” You pull out the script and hand it to Henry. Without giving it a glance, he snatches it from you and tosses it back on the oak wood surface of the desk.

“So? You’re distracting them from their jobs! We could probably get things done twice as fast if you weren’t around!”

“That’s—”

“And you are annoyingly beautiful!” He harshly interrupts. “Annoyingly! The men we work with will not shut up about it and I’m sick of listening to them talk about you the way they do! I end up hearing your name more times in a day than I hear my own, and I get called upon every five seconds! I’m practically forced to think about you!”

You blink at the increase in volume that makes the thin walls of your home quiver.

“I don’t know how many times your face manages to flash in my mind in the course of a week, but it’s starting to get to me!”

Your hands rise in disbelief before they slap back down to your sides. “That’s not my fault! But you’re one to talk! You’re well aware you’re ridiculously, unnaturally hot, and I fucking hate it! The women we work with won’t shut up about you. And you think I’m annoying? Imagine being surrounded by a pack of idiots that go on and on about how amazing you are, when the truth is, you’re so arrogant I can’t stand to be within two feet of you!”

When you try to walk past him, his hand wraps tightly around your upper arm. “Hey!”

“Leave me alone! I hate you!” You snarl at the rage in his eyes and try to shake him off you.

“You don’t hate me.”

You glare up at him. “Oh no?”

He gapes at you, seemingly stunned you have the gall to challenge him. The grip on your arm loosens until you are free. Winding his fingers through his chocolate locks, Henry shakes his head and clenches his jaw. “You are so...”

“So what? So irritating? So infuriating?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“If I’m such a problem, then go.” Ignoring his words, you point a finger in the general direction of the nearest exit.

“You want me to leave?”

“Yes! Of course, I do!”

He quirks an eyebrow and cocks his head. “So you’re going to grab me with your tiny hands and throw me through the front door, is that right?”

“I can’t fucking lift you!” You yell.

“Then I’m staying!”

“I think you’re really not! You can’t just demand to stay here! That’s not how this works!”

“Why can’t you just—God damn it!” He stomps his way back into the living room, script forgotten, and reaches for the doorknob. You follow him and let out an exhausted breath of relief, but Henry whips around to you again before you have time to revel in the feeling. “You know what, no. I’m not going anywhere until we settle this bullshit between us. I’m not going to argue with you anymore. I’m not going to act like I dislike you. I’m not going to keep playing this game, because it’s clearly not getting me anywhere; in fact, it’s doing the opposite.”

“Getting you anywhere?” You mumble.

“This whole thing is fucking bullshit and I’m over it.” He swallows. “Tell me what I did.”

“What?”

“You keep saying you hate me but have never given me a reason, so what did I do?”

Your jaw drops. “Are you kidding? You were just telling me I suck at my job, yet at the same time you don’t think I have a reason to be mad. You glare at me during work, you act like I’m an inconvenience, you—”

“That’s not what I mean.” Henry grabs your hand, and for a reason you couldn’t place, you allow it this time. “At the beginning, when we met, what was it that caused a problem between us? I’ve gone over our first meeting in my head about a thousand times and cannot figure out how I upset you so much that you’re still mad after months.”

You slip your fingers out of his palm, looking to the floor.

“Please just tell me,” He begs. “Please, I--”

“You sleep with the women you work with.” You spit out.

When he stares at you in confusion, you wince and say, “I have this friend…kinda. She was an extra on Hellraiser and claimed that you slept with nearly every woman on set, herself included. When I told her I got this job she said you’d probably try to get in my pants if I wasn’t careful, and I’m not cautious enough about men as it is, so—”

“You were mad at me before we met for something I didn’t even do?” He isn’t angry or looking at you like you’ve lost your mind; more like he can’t believe that was all it was. As if he had a simple solution to the problem that planted its roots deep into the both of you months prior.

“Whether or not you did, it’s not like you’ve been an angel to me anyway,” You say.

“Because I fucking panic when someone I want doesn’t want me! And you’ve made it very clear that you do not want me! You always seem so angry and…and I’m not very smooth, ok!? I say shit I don’t mean!”

“So you do want to get in my pants?”

“No!” He says quickly, then after a beat, sighs. “Yes.”

You give no response, so he continues.

“I swear, despite how idiotic I have acted, I really like you, and I don’t know who your friend is or why she would tell you I slept with a bunch of women on set, but I didn’t.”

You have to look away from him. His eyes hold too much sincerity and all it does is confuse you. You have spent too much time pissed to feel comfortable with the idea that it was potentially all for no reason, so you hug your arms across your middle and take a step back from him.

“Y/N, we need to talk about this.”

You shake your head. “I can’t right now.”

“Y/N—”

“It’s late, Henry. I’ll see you in the morning.”

You won’t meet his stare but can see from your peripherals his head slowly nod. You don’t look up until your front door closes softly behind him.

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

You spend the earliest hours of the next morning sipping coffee before everyone else arrives for work, wondering if the night before actually happened or if it had just been a very realistic messy mix of a dream and a nightmare.

The sun rises and you watch as it ascends each inch until it’s planted high enough in the sky to warm your skin. He’d be here soon, looking for you, wanting answers for any questions you hadn’t given him the chance to ask.

So, what, he likes me now? He wants me? You can’t wrap your head around it. But you suppose it makes as much sense as you saying you hate him when really what you’ve been is nervous. You don’t want to be used again by some man with more power than you. Pulling yourself out of that hole was hard enough and you have no desire to trip and fall right back in.

“Y/N. You’re here early.”

You jump at the first voice to interrupt the peaceful silence. It was the last moment you’ll have to yourself for the next fifteen hours at least.

Turning your head, you smile at your boss. “Morning, Em.”

“Henry’s here early, too,” She says. “He asked me to let him know when you came in, but seeing as you’re already here, you think you could just head to his trailer now?”

No, you want to say. I’m not ready. “Sure.” You half-heartedly smile, dumping the last of your coffee in the nearest trash can.

Each crunchy step along the gravel to Henry’s trailer feels less sturdy than the one before. Though, he isn’t in his trailer when you find him, but standing out in a grassy patch, throwing a ball to Em’s dog, Leo. It makes your heart pump hard to see him so casually soft. It’s the first time you are looking at him when his eyes aren’t already on you.

Leo loyally returns the ball to Henry three more times before you gather the nerve to step up to his side.

“Em said you wanted to see me.”

You notice him hold in a breath when he registers your voice, then tossing the ball once more, he says, “I’d have gone looking for you myself if I knew you were here.”

You nod, but you’ve yet to look at one another.

“The makeup artists are gonna have a blast today trying to make me look decent,” He says.

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t sleep all night. I spent it trying to figure out what to say to you but came up short.”

You scratch behind Leo’s large ears when he nudges your legs with his head. Henry gently grins, though you don’t see it. You shrug. “At least you don’t have as many scenes today.”

Henry chuckles. “That’s true.”

“I couldn’t think of anything to say to you either,” You say.

A moment passes as he blows out a deep sigh.

“Y/N…I don’t want to act like it didn’t happen. I know that’s what is easiest, but I meant what I said. The good parts, not the shit about you sucking at your job. You’re the best at your job.”

Finally meeting his eyes, the corners of your lips curve up just a bit.

“But I don’t expect you to feel the same about me.”

“Henry…”

He shakes his head and throws the ball for Leo after the pups persistent whimpering. “I’m not going to make things hard for you. Filming is almost over anyway and if you want, I’ll try to bother you as little as I can. I’m sorry I’ve been an ass, it’s just…you like everyone around here except me, but I’ve liked you more than anyone else since the moment we met. It’s no excuse--”

“It’s ok.”

He looks at you. “It’s not.”

“It is.” Without thinking, you place a hand on his arm. He stares at the touch you give him as you continue. “I didn’t have a good reason for treating you like I hate you, not really.”

“So, you don’t…hate me?”

“…No.” You look away in shame. “And I have a better explanation for that.”

He blinks, clearly relieved that every horrible thing he figured you felt for him was not, in your heart, the truth. “You don’t owe me one.”

“I slept with my boss once,” You rush out. “And, um…got the same warning as I did with you: sleeps with the other women he works with, will try to do the same with me. He did and I let him because I thought he liked me, but…no. All it did was make me feel like an idiot in the end.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I made a mistake.” You shrug. And suddenly, admitting that out loud, confiding in someone, knocks some of the painful gears in your head loose. You’d never told anyone the truth about your past. “Look, this is going to sound really odd but,” You swallow. “…Don’t stop bothering me.”

“Wait,” He turns his body fully to you. “What?”

Your lips thin, but then you smile, inch up on your toes, and go to kiss his cheek. All you wanted to do was provide a little reassurance, to let him know that you now forgive every misunderstanding between you, but the kiss lands a little too far to the right and covers the end of his mouth.

Immediately, you pull back a few centimeters and feel heat flushing your cheeks, but Henry tilts his head the slightest. He takes a breath, giving you a chance to pull back further, but when you make no move to abandon him, he connects your lips again.

It feels good. He feels good. So good it shocks you how much you don’t want it to end. And when you part your lips and his tongue touches yours, you can’t stop your hands from sliding up his chest before roping around his neck and tugging him closer. Only then does he greedily grab at your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh through the fabric of your t-shirt.  

Leo’s bark separates you minutes later, though you’re reluctant to allow it. You glance at the dog, chuckling at his rapidly wagging tail as he watches the scene before him. But when you look back to Henry, his eyes are already glued to you, their hue a little brighter and a small smile on his face.

“I’ll bother you as much as you like,” He says and tucks a wayward strand of hair behind your ear.

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

*reposted for tag testing reasons. 

[pnwdoodlesreads]

Seattle's largest Hooverville occupied nine acres that are now used to unload container ships west of Qwest Field and the Alaska Viaduct. (Courtesy King County Archives).The failure of Depression-era policies to alleviate unemployment and address the social crisis led to the creation of Hoovervilles, shantytowns that sprang up to house those who had become homeless because of the Great Depression.

The towns were named “Hoovervilles,” because of President Herbert Hoover’s ineffective relief policies. Mass unemployment was rampant among men aged 18–50, and the lack of a social safety net continued to push them down the ladder. By looking at the Vanguard’s news coverage from 1930–1932 and the history of Hooverville written by its self-proclaimed mayor Jesse Jackson, we can see that the creation of Seattle’s Hooverville was due to an ineffective social system and the inability of local politicians to address the Depression’s social crisis.

 Even though these men wanted to care for themselves, the social structure forced them toward charity, a dependent position many unemployed men in Seattle rejected. As a reporter for The Vanguard, the newspaper of Seattle’s unemployed, wrote of one Hooverville resident, “He had a distaste for organized charity-breadlines and flop-houses so he decided to build a shack of his own and be independent.[1]  

This rejection of organized charity was due as much to a desire for independence as to the low quality of the shelter and food on offer. While there was shelter for sleeping, it was often on the ground in damp and unhygienic surroundings, and while charities such as the Salvation Army offered soup kitchens, the food was often barely digestible and contained little to no nutritional value. The creation of a Hooverville in Seattle, then, was due to the lack of social safety net, the desire for self-sufficiency, and the poor quality of Depression-era charity.

 Jesse Jackson, the self-declared mayor of Hooverville, was one of the men who had a strong distaste for organized charity. After finding men that shared this feeling, they decided to do something about it. In recalling the foundation of their Hooverville, Jackson explained,“We immediately took possession of the nine-acre tract of vacant property of the Seattle Port Commission and proceeded to settle down.[2]   Jackson and his friends rounded up whatever they could find and began to create shelters. Seattle city officials were not thrilled about this new development.

In an original attempt to disband these shantytowns and unemployed “jungles”, city officials burned down the entire community, giving the men only seven days’ eviction notice. As The Vanguard argued, this only made the social crisis worse: “If the County Health officer orders the Jungles burned out this year, as he did last year, a large number of men will be thrown upon organized charity, for no very good reason.[3]   Hooverville residents, for their part, were not thwarted by the city’s attempt to disband them. They simply dug deeper embankments for their homes and reestablished the community. Noted The Vanguard, “Meanwhile, new shacks go up everyday, and more and more buildings uptown are empty.[4]    

 In June of 1932 a new administration was elected in Seattle. They decided that the Hooverville would be tolerated until conditions improved. However, they did demand that Hooverville’s men follow a set of rules and elect a commission to enforce these rules in conversation with city officials. Among the city’s new rules was one outlawing women and children from living there, a rule almost always abided by. This agreement between Seattle and its Hooverville improved relations between the two greatly. Businesses that were originally hesitant become friendlier, donating any extra food or building supplies to Hooverville’s residents.

 The Vanguard    drew vivid pictures of the atmosphere of Seattle’s shantytown: “Little groups of men huddled around forlorn fires, ‘boiling-up’ clothes begrimed by their peculiar mode of travel, or cooking food-the worst kind of food… out of smoke-blackened cans these men eat and drink.[5]   While the surroundings were not optimal, Hooverville mayor Jesse Jackson;s more personal portrayal of Hooverville pointed out the resilient nature of residents: “…for the most part they are chin up individuals, travelling through life for the minute steerage.[6]   Either way, Hooverville was growing: very quickly after its original settlement, Jackson noted that Hooverville “…grew to a shanty city of six hundred shacks and one thousand inhabitants.[7]    

 Jackson referred to Hooverville as “…the abode of the forgotten man[8]   His characterization was correct in regards to the men who lived in other jungles or shanty communities around Washington, but not accurate of Seattle’s Hooverville. One Vanguard journalist noted that “Perhaps if some of these Jungles were as conspicuous as Hooverville, the problem of unemployment would be recognized to be really serious by those sheltered dwellers on the hilltops who live in another world.[9]  

The men in the average city jungles were in fact forgotten men. Hooverville, however, was a jungle with power. Wrote sociologist Donald Francis Roy, who lived in the Hooverville as part of his research, “Within the city, and of the city, it functions as a segregated residential area of distinct physical structure, population composition, and social behavior.[10]   Residents were not only to gain community involvement but also a place in the Seattle city board of commissioners. Hooverville was becoming a city of its own.

   A different  Hooverville near 8th Ave S. in 1933 (Courtesy University of Washington Library Digital Collection)

Despite its growing influence in the city, Hooverville was by no means a secure place to live, but a temporary and improvised shantytown. With a backdrop of skyscrapers that boasted of Seattle’s economic might, Hooverville, on the edge of the waterfront, was situated in a location where it stood out completely.

One town member commented on how “The sea appears to be eternally licking its chops in anticipation of swallowing the entire community in one juicy gulp[11]  While Hooverville’s small shacks seemed to suffice for the time being, they were not sturdy homes. Some were lucky enough to contain solid walls built of wood with separate bedrooms inside, while others barely had a wall and ceiling built from flimsy boards. One journalist described Hooverville simply and accurately as “…approximately one thousand shacks, inhabited by about fifteen hundred men, who have discovered how to exist without money.[12]    

 The shantytown consisted of almost all men, aged 18–60, with little to no income. Considering that the majority of Hooverville’s population was older men in their 40s, 50s, and 60s, many historians have been shocked that there weren’t higher death rates. Some observers of the community claimed that the shanty lifestyle provided a stability that actually improved some of the men’s health.

The only variable among these men was race, which was reflected in Hooverville’s elected board of commissioners. As Jackson wrote, “The melting pot of races and nations we had here called for a commission of several races and nations. Two whites, two negroes, and two Filipinos were selected.[13]   As noted before, the Seattle city commissioners did not allow women or children to live in the community. While some floated in and out, they were rarely permanent fixtures.  

 The spirit of these men was their most notable characteristic. Jackson declared that “If President Hoover could walk through the little shanty addition to Seattle bearing his name, he would find that it is not inhabited by a bunch of ne’er do wells, but by one thousand men who are bending every effort to beat back and regain the place in our social system that once was theirs.[14]  

Jackson’s goal was to point out that these men were not lazy, but simple, average, hardworking men who had been failed by the social system. While these men created a community together, Jackson felt that a community sensibility was not the only one in the town: “I would say it is more of an individualistic life, but we do divide up a lot around here, but it is more a settlement of rugged individualist.[15]   One of the traditions of Hooverville was for residents who found a job (a rare event), to ceremoniously give their house, bed, and stove to others still out of work. While the men of the community clearly were used to living their lives independent of others, they still found a way to help those struggling around them.  

 The political structure of Hooverville was based largely around the self-declared mayor Jesse Jackson. While the city did demand that the town create a commission of representatives, Jackson was still looked upon as the voice of Hooverville. Jackson claimed that “mayor” was never a role he sought out, but rather fell into: “I am just a simple person, whose status in life is the same as theirs, trying to do the best I know how to administer in my poor way to their wants.[16]  

The only benefit he received for being the leader of this shantytown was a donated radio from a Seattle company, which he made available to the men by hosting news and entertainment listenings in his shack. While the community seemed to have a substantial political structure, individually Jackson noted that the situation was different. “My honest opinion is that the average working man doesn’t know what he wants in a political way.[17]  

The community’s naïve opinion toward politics might have been the reason why it was so easy for them to look to Jackson to lead of the community. While there were no laws established within Hooverville, there were common rules enforced. Jackson pointed out one example. “You can’t come here and do just what you want. You can’t live alone. You have to respect your neighbor, and your neighbor must respect you.[18]   He noted that troublemakers were not thrown out by the men within Hooverville but by outside authorities.  

 The men in Hooverville did far more to help themselves than any established social and political structures did during the onset of the Depression., but their collective action was often not enough. One Seattle journalist still put it most bleakly by describing the men of Hooverville’s future as “… blacker than the soot on the cans [they eat out of],” while politicians quibbled … “about the exact number of unemployed but do nothing to relieve distress.[19]    

 Lee took this photo June 10, 1937. Close to 1,000 men lived in Seattle's Hooverville. (Courtesy University of Washington Library Digital Collection).

 Many politicians looked away at other, more “important” issues, but it was still noted that there was a crisis of housing taking place. Reported The Vanguard, “According to the report of the Central Housing Committee of the U[nemployed] C[itizens’] L[eague] to the central federation the unemployed are expected to be content with shacks, rookeries hovels in brief, a pig-pen standard of housing.[20]

  Politicians, in some cases, did far more harm then good. For instance, after ordering the burning of Hooverville, Mayor Dole of Seattle proceeded to evict more people out of their homes. He suggested that they obtain temporary, low-quality housing, then move quickly into permanent housing again. Articles in the Vanguard asked, “Just where they were going to find permanent dwellings, when they had no money to pay rent in their previous homes, was not explained.[21]  

This plan was clearly flawed and poorly thought out: “…he was going to see to it that property was protected. Human rights apparently came second.[22]   Mayor Dole claimed he was just upholding the rule of law. However, in a time of economic depression, with hundreds of thousands of American’s struggling to make ends meet, what is the duty of the law? It was established the protect individuals, not persecute them when they are down and out. “All these men ask is a job, and until that job is forthcoming, to be left alone.”[23]

Lessons from Hooverville still have not been learned today. Seattle, in 2009, is currently facing a recession that may be the most serious since the Depression of the 1930s, and a community similar to Hooverville has formed. The current “Nickelsville” is a nod to Seattle Mayor Greg Nickels, just as “Hooverville” was a sarcastic nod to President Hoover’s inaction. Additionally, the mission statement on Nickelsville’s website is eerily reminiscent of the Jackson’s description of Hooverville’s founding: “

Nickelsville will keep operating due to the inescapable fact that there are people on the streets with nowhere better to go. They are taking the initiative to organize so they can provide for themselves a basic level of safety and sanitation when their government steadfastly refuses to do so for them.[24]   Sinan Demirel, executive director of the local Seattle shelter R-O-O-T-S, which has supported Nickelsville, referenced the history of tent cities in an interview, saying,  

“Like the Tent Cities that preceded it, Nickelsville is part of a long and proud tradition of homeless persons organizing themselves to provide each other safety and to educate the broader community about their plight.[25]   The leaders of Nickelsville urge its members, as well as the members of the community, to encourage government action to fight homelessness.

If members of the Seattle community do not take action, they might experience a modern-day Hooverville. Demirel noted that, “If it is successful during its next move [in June 2009] in establishing a permanent site and permanent structures, then Nickelsville will join an even prouder tradition, dating back to Seattle’s Hooverville over three quarters of a century ago.[26]   If Seattle does not learn from the example set by Hooverville in the 1930s—that the failure of the social and political system, not individuals, leads to homelessness—it is doomed to allow history to repeat itself.  

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

Also since i imagine it would go very differently, MC inviting Runa to meet her parents (and whatever anxious angst that idea conjures in Runa) including the meeting?

Written by @shootingstarwithagrudge

Runa’s hair shone brilliantly in the sunlight as I watched her through the window at the front of the Cafe. This was always my favorite way to see her, when she thought no one was looking and could really let all her walls down. Her face was calm and serene even as she picked at her nails, obviously nervous. When I had first brought up the prospect of meeting my parents, Runa had paled at the thought. But after explaining to her that once we were married, they would be her family too, she began to warm up to the idea. I think deep down inside, the thought of having a normal family that didn’t try to manipulate her at any cost, was extremely important to her. I make my way through the cafe door, and Runa quickly turns her attention to me.

“What were you even doing in there? Physically sewing a new outfit to wear?” Even with her eyes narrowed I can tell she’s only slightly annoyed. More from nerves than anything. I’ve come to know Runa’s defense mechanisms pretty well by now. Even though she had come so far from the angry waitress I first met, she still depended on her walls when she was feeling nervous.

“Sorry - I saw this beautiful creature through the Cafe window, and I just had to stop for a moment and admire her” I give her my most disarming smile, which only gets me an eye roll.

“Yeah, OK. Dork.” Her words are a little sharp, but she has the slightest shade of pink to her cheeks as she says them.

“You think I’m a dork? Just wait until you meet my parents” I laugh. My parents were the epitome of average. Their most prized possession being a complete set of encyclopedias from the eighties. And the idea of them finally meeting this wild and fiery woman I was in love with, brought me so much joy.

“Yeah…” Runa replies with a far away tone. She’s been stressing pretty hard over this night, so I remain quiet until she’s finished. “I just hope I don’t say anything dumb. I’m assuming since you’re such a nerd, they’re probably pretty smart for a couple of humans.”

“Runa, they’re going to love you. Just be the amazingly charming woman I fell in love with.” I give her a cheeky grin and she scoffs.

“I’ve been called a lot of things in my life, babe… charming not being one of them.” She quickly falls in step with me as we make our way through the bushes separating our two worlds.

After a few minutes of walking in silence we reach the only bus stop walking distance from the Cafe. Luckily I don’t have to explain too much of how public transit works since Runa was more familiar with the human world than most magicians. And other than the two exceptionally ripe travellers that decided to sit a seat over from us, our ride is supremely uneventful. As we finally approach the stop in front of my parents house, I’m overcome with giddiness. It’s like two complete polar sides of my life were finally merging. Not being able to contain my joy, I audibly squeal as we exit the bus.

“Oh my god. How did I fall in love with such a nerd?” I turn to face Runa prepared to give her back a little lip, but the look on her face was one of pure affection. I feel myself immediately blush as I take her hand in mine. She smiles at me before taking a deep grounding breath.

“Well, it’s now or never.” She let’s out with an exhale as we make our way towards the front door. A part of me was a bit surprised at just how much their house hadn’t changed. I guess since so much in my life had changed, I inexplicably expected theirs to have as well. I can hear the tv as we reach the front step and I laugh. Nat Geo was on. Too perfect. I give Runa one last reassuring smile and swing the door open.

“Mom! Dad!”

Just as expected, Mom was in the kitchen preparing a veritable feast. I could tell she’d been cooking all day by her slightly frazzled appearance, but she still looked amazing. She makes a beeline for us before I can say another word.

“Willem! You’re offspring is here!” She yells towards the direction of the study before bringing me in for a bone breaking hug. “Oh, honey.. We have missed you.”

“Missed you too, Mom.” I left out with a laugh.

“Hey there, Cupcake!”

Dad walks in with a newspaper in one hand and an old mystery novel in the other. One I’ve personally seen him read at least 20 times. When I turn to give him a hug, I catch Runa’s eyes and she looks like she’s about to burst with laughter as she mouths the word “Cupcake?” to me. I narrow my eyes and she chuckles. I look up from Dad’s hug and motion to Runa awkwardly.

“Mom, Dad this… is Runa.” With the smile that reaches my face, it’s pretty transparent how much I love her. Dad and Mom both excitedly make their way over. Shaking her hands, and topped with the ever so awkward hug. My heart swells with the image of them three together. My two worlds colliding.

“Runa, dear. It’s so nice to meet you!” Mom gushes. Runa gives a nervous laugh before Dad claps her on the back in total Dad manner.

“So, Runa! That’s such an interesting name! Runa. Where does it come from?” Runa’s eyes go wide as my Dad waits for an answer. She looks to me before trying her best to answer coherently.

“Uh.. W-well M-mr.. ah-. M-Mr. Wellem.. Uh, sir.”

She pauses and tries to center herself. Taking a long, deep breath, she opens her eyes looking slightly more centred. I look down to find her doing her finger exercises.

“Uh.. So.. Runa was my Great Grandmother’s name, actually. She was the only other one in the family born with pink hair.” My parents eyes go wide at that and Runa immediately realizes her slip up. She pales slightly, swallowing hard as I subconsciously try to figure out how I’m going to explain this. But before I can even respond, both of my parents start laughing.

“Oh, she’s a funny one, Cupcake. You better hold onto her.” Dad waggles his finger at me as he shakes his head.

Runa finally releases the breath she’s been holding, and I let out a nervous laugh.

“Haha - Yeah, Runa here is a regular card.” I playfully clap Runa on the shoulder, pulling her closer.

“Y-yep. Th-that’s me. Ol’ hilarious Runa.”

My parents are still laughing as they lead us towards the dining room. I give Runa a smirk and she rolls her eyes, taking my hand. She stops abruptly though when we reach the armour with all my childhood photographs. My breath catches while I wait to see which photo has caught her eye.

“Oh my gods, babe.. Is this you!?” She holds up a particularly embarrassing picture of me from my 4th grade Science Fair. I groan loudly. “I mean. Of course it’s you! Look at my cute little dork being all nerdy and cute.”

I laugh at her unique choice of affections, and take the picture in my hands. I can’t believe my parents still had this thing framed. My completely out of control hair, white lab coat and over sized goggles made for one of the nerdiest sights to ever exist.

“Uh. Yep. Let’s just put that back where it came from.”

Runa laughs as I quickly put the photo back. I look up to meet her eyes, and her smile has turned so fond that I immediately blush. She leans in for a kiss, which I gladly return. My heart so overwhelmed with joy, I was almost certain it would burst all over my Mom’s hard cooked meal.

“Come on, let’s go before your human food gets too cold to tolerate.”

Runa takes me by the hand and leads me the rest of the way down the hallway and into the dining room. Mom had done such a beautiful job at setting the table that it almost felt as magical as something we would set up at the Cafe. I quickly take a seat across from my parents with Runa seated next to me. I point out all the tasty foods she should try and realize this probably looked a little weird to my parents, but they make no indication as such, so I continue.

“So Runa.. what part of Europe are you from? I’ve been trying to pinpoint your accent, but it’s so unique.” Dad’s question catches us both off guard. Runa’s eyes growing wide as she looks to me. Shit. I had totally forgotten I’d told my parents in my first letter that I was in Europe. This was something neither of us had a prepared answer for.

“Uh, Runa is actually from a town not too far from here, Dad. She just happened to be spending a bit of time in uh.. Belgium.. while I was there.” I spit out the response so quickly, without giving it much thought, hoping it would suffice my Father’s curiosities. He hums in thought before speaking again.

“And how did you like your time in Belgium Runa? How was it there?” I can tell Dad is just trying to be friendly by getting to know her, but I can see the fork shaking in Runa’s hand while she tries to think of an answer.

“Um.. it was nice? Very uh .. Belgium-y? And they had really good… waffles?”

Her answers come out more like a questions as she tries to remember any facts about Belgium. Lucky for us though, Dad doesn’t pry any further and goes back to his roast duck. I can hear Runa release a sharp exhale with a chuckle. Obviously glad to have dogged that bullet. I meet her eyes and mouth the words ’I’m sorry’ which she immediately waves off.

As the dinner goes on, I can’t help but just sit back and watch. When I had first realized my feelings for Runa, I never in my wildest dreams thought she’d be sitting here, in my childhood home, at the dining room table where I used to color, eating a human dinner, with my extraordinarily human parents. The ring Runa gave me sparkling in the dim light. The pink glow bringing me out of my thoughts as it catches my eye. It looked brighter somehow. Warmer. And as I catch Runa’s face, it comes to my attention that the ring was feeding directly off of Runa’s emotions. She was happy. Exceedingly so. She had a family now. And that was all I could ever ask for. I run my finger across the small jewel before trying my best to jump back into the conversation, which had taken an odd turn into laundromats. I laugh, knowing deep down inside that this was everything I could have ever wanted. I was more content than I had ever been, and I had no one but Runa to thank for that.

[charpaige]

my canon chenry fantasy

Here’s how I would’ve made Chenry canon. This is a little bit over 2,300 words to compensate for the slow burn they should’ve got.

For starters, I would’ve started their relationship in Season 3. I know, I know, what about starting it in Season 1? We’ll let Henry enjoy all of his little love trysts in the first two seasons since those were actually pretty important to his character growth. It also allowed Charlotte and Henry to really bond and have some really important conversations. So, we keep those.

But, one of my favorite tropes is when someone close to a superhero gets kidnapped and they realize how important that kidnapped person is to them.

I would’ve had Charlotte get kidnapped by a new villain. A female villain too, since we barely had any of those. She’d be like Rick Twittler in a way. Since she shows up unexpected and adds a level of seriousness that the show hadn’t possessed yet. Let’s call her Miss H.

And of course, Charlotte being kidnapped drives Henry crazy because hey, one of his best friends are missing and it seems like Schwoz and Ray aren’t doing enough to bring her back.

So, Henry decides to take matters into his own hands. And predictably, he fails miserably in his rescue attempt and ends up captured with Charlotte.

While waiting for Ray and Schwoz to rescue them, the two of them have some serious bonding for a few days. They talk about missing Oreo milkshakes, wonder about what happened to Jasper’s bucket collection, and dramatically fantasize about their youth like they’re knocking on death’s door.

When Captain Man finally makes it to where Charlotte and Henry are captured, they’re moved to a room by Miss H’s goons with a two-way mirror so they could see the showdown between Ray and Miss H. There’s a countdown for ten minutes in the room, but they have no idea what it does.

However, it seems like Captain Man does. Because he looks towards the mirror with concern while Miss H. gives her monologue about her villainous ways.

Henry and Charlotte watch the fight and look back and forth between that and the timer while freaking out together, and not knowing what to do. Once the timer hits the half-way mark, they unexpectedly reach for each other’s hand, squeezing a little too tight.

And then, in typical Captain Man fashion and for television like suspense, he manages to stop Miss H. and stop the timer with one second left to spare. Henry and Charlotte respond by immediately hugging each other and jumping for joy with huge smiles on their faces.

Unexpectedly, their faces are inches apart from all the excitement, they’re out of breath in a good way, and their hearts are racing from anxiety and jubilation. But their eyes meet like they’ve never met before and lean into a kiss.

But they don’t get to kiss since Captain Man barges in and makes them jump apart like they were doing something illegal.

From there, Henry and Charlotte have a hard time talking about the almost kissing incident. It’s a little awkward and they can’t even share a bowl of popcorn without fear of their hands touching.

But they eventually talk it out. It was all in the moment they say. It just felt right at the time they say. It doesn’t mean anything and they’re still best friends they convince themselves.

Everything is cool till Charlotte gets a boyfriend. Which, completely throws Henry for a loop because what the heck, who is this guy, and why does he think he’s good enough for Charlotte.

But Henry sees how happy he makes Charlotte, how well he treats her, and how annoyingly cute they look working on LIMP projects together. So, he lets them be and keeps his jealously to himself. But they still remain pretty close and everything is seemingly normal.

Until normalcy starts to go down the drain. Because Henry and Charlotte are closer than ever now that she has a boyfriend, which is weird. But knowing that Henry doesn’t have to deal with his feelings for his best friend makes their interactions a little better. And every time Charlotte shows up to work with her boyfriend with their hands laced together, Henry gets used to the small uneasiness in his stomach and smiles a little bigger because his bestie is happy.

But happiness might as well be a pair of black jeans since it fades over time. Suddenly, Henry gets a little frustrated that he has to watch Charlotte so happy while being a sidekick to a superhero is taking a toll on his mental health, school grades, and his ability to be a teenager.

But Henry keeps it to himself since he doesn’t want to feel like a bother with his problems. Until the Christmas episode that is.

I’d keep it the same as Season 5’s episode with Ray and Henry saving Christmas trees. Except Charlotte is throwing a small Christmas party at her place with some of her class friends and Henry was supposed to be there to take a breather from being Kid Danger.

But he’s Henry with a good heart. So, he has to save Christmas even though he’s kind of sick of saving everything and not being able to hang out with his friends.

Henry arrives late to the Christmas party after everyone’s left except Jasper’s passed out on the couch from drinking too much eggnog with gingerbread crumbs all over his face.

Charlotte gives Henry a cup of hot chocolate and they sit by the fireplace where Charlotte makes him spill the beans on how he’s been doing since they barely get to talk anymore.

He makes her go first since he knows Charlotte gets an ear full of talking men since she works in the Man Cave. She fills him on accelerated testing, joining the newspaper committee, and some crime tracking system she and Schwoz had been working on in the Man Cave.

However, he’s caught off guard when she reveals that she and her boyfriend broke up a while ago. Henry had been so busy and sleep-deprived he didn’t even notice them not eating lunch together, holding hands, and at the library together.

He wants to be nosey and ask a whole bunch of questions, but her answer to them wanting to be just friends sufficed enough.          

So, Henry finally got to rant and rave about how tired he is of being Kid Danger sometimes, how much his grades are suffering, and how much he misses being the Three Musketeers with Jasper and Charlotte. He manages to leave out the fact he has a massive crush on her.

Which is hard since she looks really pretty in her forest green sweater, a Santa hat headband, and her hair straightened for her yearly layered haircut.

Charlotte puts her hand over his and does what she does best, makes him feel better while telling him how to go about his next moves to get his life back. After the serious talk is over, they vibe and catch up and Jasper wakes up to join them like it’s old times.

Jasper says his goodbyes to Henry and Charlotte and dashes home to do a weird Christmas ritual with his mother. This leaves Henry and Charlotte awkwardly standing in the doorway and saying their goodbyes with a hug. They smile a little sheepish after they separate, but Charlotte’s eyes briefly glance upwards and slightly widen.

Henry follows her line of sight and notices the culprit of her gaze, mistletoe above the doorframe that had been forgotten.

Henry coughs awkwardly and quickly says goodnight in an attempt to get out of there as soon as possible. Except Charlotte reaches for him and stops him in his tracks.

She’s looking up at him like the last almost kissing incident and Henry just thickly swallows waiting for her next move.

“You know how much I hate breaking holiday traditions.” And Charlotte leans into him and kisses him on the cheek.

Henry knows he’s embarrassingly flushed and his mouth his probably slightly agape, because who is this version Charlotte and why was mistletoe only around on Christmas?

But he’s Henry, so he’s cool and suave (yeah, right), and he smiles and wishes her a good night.

He somehow floats his way home and doesn’t stop thinking about the kiss till he falls asleep.

But the cheek kiss suddenly freaks him out while he’s eating breakfast, because what the heck does it even mean??? Does she like him? Are they on the path to being more than friends? Or does Charlotte really just love holiday traditions and he’s a victim of circumstance?

All the thinking drives him crazy, so he finally turns to Jasper to ask about what any of it means. From the beginning when they almost kissed to now. And unsurprisingly, Jasper just shrugs and says, “I dunno.”

So, Henry remains really conscious about his crush on Charlotte and unsure if their best friendship is in danger (ha, get it? ‘cuz he’s Henry/Kid Danger, yeah okay it’s not funny) or worthy of something more.

It’s up in the air till they kiss in I Dream of Danger and become official. Instead of Charlotte being freaked out by the dreams because of her inability to see Henry in a romantic way, she’s freaked out because she’s afraid of their relationship changing.

They’ve been Henry and Charlotte. The best friends for the longest amount of time. A friend turned romantic relationships usually turn out well, but she’s worried about theirs going down in flames and losing her best friend for the rest of her life.

But Henry reassures her that everything between them is going to be fine whatever path their relationship takes. And they can talk about it later when she’s not feet away from a hungry lion.

So, he rescues her and they don’t kiss, but instead, she hugs him really tight for basically saving her life.

Later on, Henry walks her home since he’s afraid to let her out of his sight now. And they talk a little bit more about their feelings for each other and admit that their relationship has been on its ups and downs.

When they’re at Charlotte’s doorstep, they get awkward since they both got a lot off of their chests in a short amount of time.

Henry has his hands in his pockets. “So, yeah…” he trails off.

She anxiously laughed. “Yeah, so what now?”

“I don’t know. Should we try the whole boyfriend and girlfriend thing?” He’s looking at the ground when he says it since this is the most nervous he’s ever been in his whole life.

“Well, I like you and you like me, so I guess it makes sense?”

“You guess?” Henry laughs.

Charlotte playfully rolls her eyes at him. “You know what I mean.”

They smile really big at each other and banter a little more till the air gets serious again. The conversation truly feels like it’s at its end now, so Henry goes in for the final blow.

“Can I kiss you?” Henry has to ask because hey, we love consent.

Charlotte nods frantically while saying yes.

And then they kiss. It’s terse but sweet and they’re both in astonishment afterward, since wow, I just kissed my best friend and it was actually kind of great.

They awkwardly part ways after that but then we get separate scenes of how happy they are. We get to see Charlotte run upstairs to her bedroom to scream into her pillow in glee. And we get to see Henry jumping up and down in excitement and punching the air. And yeah, Chenry is canon at that point.

Chenry dates officially in front of the audience from the beginning of Season 4. The first episode from that season is Sick & Wired, so we open with Charlotte taking care of a sick Henry and her remaining by his side. Ray thinks they’re lying to hang out together since they’re dating, so he still convinces Jasper to wear a wire and blah blah blah, you’ve probably seen the episode.

And yeah, so imagine official Chenry for all of Season 4 and 5. They’re not super-duper romantic and always engaging in PDA since it’s a self-proclaimed ‘kid’s show’ and I want kids to know that you don’t have to always be kissing and all over each other to be in love or in a relationship.

So, we’d just occasionally see Henry and Charlotte holding hands while sitting on the couch, Henry’s arm around Charlotte’s shoulder, the two of them sharing food and drink, them smiling super big at each other in the background when other characters are talking.

The occasional kiss could involve forehead kisses, cheek kisses, and even hand kisses because those are so wholesome and underrated. Plus, I’d want there to be a running gag that Jasper never gets to see Henry and Charlotte kiss. Since, The Bucket Trap he really wanted to see them kiss, so what’s better than to not have them kiss. It’d also be for Jace and Riele’s sake too not gonna lie. Since I’m sure that’s awkward and people ship them enough in real life.

But yeah, Jasper only sees Chenry holding hands, long hugs, and other romantic shit. And in the last episode, they offer to kiss in front of him to appease him, but there’s a power outage as soon as they go in for it and Jasper misses the whole thing with a dramatic “Noooooo!”

Canon Chenry also means we get a prom episode where they look awesome in a matching tuxedo and dress. We get a Valentine’s episode that lets them go on a date. We’d get graduation day Chenry in their caps and gowns.

Matching costume Chenry for Halloween. Like, imagine the two of them wearing a peanut butter and jelly costume where they’re each a slice of smeared bread. And Jasper gets to be a milk carton and maybe his significant other could be a chocolate chip cookie. Idk, I’m just rambling at this point.

So, yeah, that’s all I got. 

[spellnbone]

the inevitable catastrophe

Time: Afternoon, 22nd of March Place: East Wing, House of Bones Status: Closed chat, with: @starbrightblack, @inconsolcble, @peterdpettigrew, @empoweredevans

peter pettigrew is dead

They’re clean, tragedies. They’re restful, they’re certain... In other forms of drama, with those traitors, with those wicked villains, this persecuted innocence, those revengers, those gleams of hopes, it all becomes awful to die, like an accident. Perhaps one could’ve saved oneself, perhaps the good young man could’ve arrived on time with the saving call. But in tragedies one is tranquil. [...] Tragedies are restful for you know there is no hope, the dirty hope. - Anouilh

Peter had come to him late at night, after the meeting concerning the events of March 21st. Around one hand he held a handkerchief. It was drenched in blood. 

“The opportunity,” was what he said. “I seized it, like you said.” And Edgar understood.

Peter Pettigrew, standing alive before him, was dead. 

He brought Peter to one of the empty guest rooms in the East Wing and called upon Severus Snape, who was the source of his knowledge about Peter. 

“Make sure someone finds the finger and declares him dead,” he told Snape. “And come up with an excuse we can give the Order. A reason as to why Peter hiding here must be kept a secret. I suppose something like saying that he stumbled upon some secrets and was found out to be in the Order should suffice, but I let you come up with something more concrete. People will be asking questions.” 

In the meantime, he was going to write Peter’s friends.

They didn’t know how soon his death would be announced in the Daily Prophet, and the last thing he wanted was for his friends, Sirius, Lily, Remus, to suffer grief once again.

In the afternoon of the next day, they arrived. He led them into his father’s office -- the new Map Room -- and offered them one of the seats facing the desk. Then, closing and locking the door behind them, he himself went to lean against the desk. Not to tower over them, but because he would need to move soon enough again anyway.

“Before I begin, I need you to promise you will not ask questions. Not me, not anyone else, not even yourself. I will not make you swear, I will not make this a magical obligation; I just want you to trust me that it is in your own best interest to not go looking for answers. When time has come, they will come looking for you, and until then I want you to promise me, out loud, that you will not ask questions about the why, that is, about reasons for all this.”

He held out his hand, closed and with the backside up, for them to place theirs on top of it and promise it -- not swearing, not magically tying themselves to it, just charming the little object inside his hand to carry the promise.

Remus hesitated, but he was the first to reach his hand out, his eyes on Edgar. "I promise."

Sirius shook his head. "Not until I have some idea what it's about. You didn't tell us anything. I'm not swearing anything until I have some idea what I'm agreeing to."

Lily glanced between Sirius and Remus, biting her lip. How could you promise something you didn't understand? "I'm sorry, Remus. I have to go with Sirius on this one. This is war, Edgar. Can you please tell us something first?"

The tiny object -- a Mexican peso -- in Edgar’s hand warmed up when Remus promised. He handed it to him with a nod. While in his possession, whenever he’d break his promise by asking a question that should not be answered, Remus would now hear his own voice repeating his ‘I promise’ in his head, once and quietly. “It’s concerning the well-being of your friend.” He gave each of them a nod. “Look around. Who is missing?” A hand was raised to cut off any panic. “He’s fine. He’s safe. But I cannot tell you more unless you promise -- not swear,” a look towards Sirius, “that you won’t ask any questions. He asked me to and I promised him.” A shrug and a smile. “I’m sorry.”  

Remus trusted Edgar. It was as simple as that. He muffled the panic that rose in his throat as he held onto his peso, and looked at his friends expectantly.

Sirius swallowed hard, but he eventually reached out for the coin. "I promise," he said, "for now, not forever. Eventually there better be some answers."

Lily, once again, watched the other two men first, thinking it through. But this was about Peter - it was important. "I promise," she said quietly, holding out her hand.

“Thank you.” He handed both Sirius and Lily their pesos, then settled back against the desk, ignoring Sirius’ comment as that was now all in Peter's hands, not his own. “Again, as I said, Peter is safe and fine. But in the following days, the Daily Prophet will pronounce him dead. That’s not a mistake, that’s a necessity, something Peter wanted and arranged, and I need you to play along. I brought you here today because I didn’t want you to believe Peter was really dead, not even for just a second. But this means you three here right now, apart from Peter, me and one other person, are the only people who know the truth. A truth that must be kept a secret at all cost.”

Lily's mouth fell open in shock. Faking a death? The first question in her mind came up quickly: why? But she'd promised not to ask questions, so she turned to Sirius and Remus instead. "We will get to ask him when we see him," she said, knowing they would have the same questions as her.

Sirius had so many questions, and it felt outright cruel that they couldn't ask any of them. The coin burned in his hand, and Sirius took a deep breath. This wasn't fair. Without thinking about it, he reached over to take Lily's hand. Screw it, Sirius had to ask. "When do we get to see him?" Why weren't they allowed to know more? Why would Peter go to Edgar before his friends?

Remus couldn't think of anything to say that wasn't what? and why? and how?, so he said nothing. He exchanged another look with his friends and nodded at Sirius' question, seconding it.

“He’s in the East Wing for now, until we know it’s safe to let everyone in the Order know about the reason for his … supposed death.” Edgar didn’t like having to lie to Peter’s friends. But once Peter had settled on a sound excuse to tell everyone else in the Order, they would have to believe it too. At least until Peter deemed it the right time to tell them the truth. “We’ll have to take the servants’ corridors so no one sees you, but I can bring you there now if you want? And of course, you're free to go visit him as often as you wish taking the same path. The doors aren't locked.”  

"Yes," Sirius said automatically. He looked around, knowing he should speak for everyone. "I'd like to go at least."

Lily nodded, setting her feet firm. "Yes, I would like to go now as well."

Remus' brows were furrowed hard enough that he might've been giving himself a headache, at that point. He hesitated again before nodding. "Yeah. Of course. He's really... fine, you said?"

“He is. But I’m sure his state can only improve with his friends by his side.” Edgar got up and went to the back of the room where, barely visible to the ignorant eye, a door was carved into the wall. Only a tiny line in the wallpaper gave it away. He pushed it open and let everyone through before closing the door and walking down the narrow, dusty corridor to the East Wing. They walked for about two minutes, up some stairs at one point, until eventually halting at the 14th door on their way. He knocked. “Peter? It’s your friends. They have promised not to ask any questions about the Why but wish to see you.” 

Peter had been curled up in a chair, absently picking at the bandage on his right hand. He jolted and nearly fell out of the chair at the knock, feeling panicked and taking a shaky breath at hearing the others wanted to see him. At least they’d promised not to ask why? ���C-come in!” He called out then, having left the door unlocked.

Edgar opened the door with a gentle push against the wall -- it had no lock or handle -- and let the others step inside. “Do you want me here or should I wait in the office?” 

Peter stayed curled up in the chair as much as possible, not looking up as they all filed into the room. He stared at his hand where the missing pinky should be, before asking in an almost tiny voice, “Stay?” It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his friends not to ask, he was just... scared. Finally, he lifted his head to look up at his friends, to see their reactions.

Sirius all but shouldered past Edgar, but Peter looked so terrified that Sirius stopped abruptly. What was he scared of? Them? Sirius couldn't ask what Peter had gotten into, but he could offer him the closest thing to a smile he had. "Hey," Sirius said quietly.

Remus pushed into the room second, eyes immediately falling on Peter's wounded handed and his brows furrowing. "Wh-- w--," he stammered, but quickly became too aware of the peso in his pocket. "Are you okay?" Hopefully that was an allowed question.

Lily moved into the room last, following the boys more hesitantly, eyeing Peter curiously. What had he done to need protection? Even James, who had been a known Order member hadn't needed to go this far. She said nothing, just observed quietly as she looked around the room at the men who had become her only family.

Edgar gave Peter a nod and when all had moved into the room, he did so too, closing the door behind him. He had no intention to survey, participate or interfere with what was about to happen in this room -- hoping he could trust both Peter and his friends to keep their promises -- but he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to stay either. If any further questions came up. In the meantime, he went to the window, moved the curtains and opened it wide. Partly to smoke, partly so that the mood in here wouldn’t be even more darkened by a lack of light. 

Peter was grateful for Edgar staying, even if he was sure that it would be okay anyway. He tried to relax and uncurl himself, noting Remus looking at his hand. "Hey... I'm... okay," He responded softly, "I... this was what I had to do, to make sure there was proof they could find to think I'm dead." He held up the bandaged hand, wincing just a little, and continued, "If you guys could, I... I still need a little bit better help with healing it. There are some potions in the shop, if you can get them for me."

Remus wanted so badly to reach out, offer a hug, a hand, anything. He hesitated, lifted a hand, took a half-step forward -- then talked himself out of doing anything because Peter looked so distant. "Okay," he said carefully, glancing back at the others. "We'll do that. But... Pete, is there... anything you can tell us? I don't understand."

Sirius balled up his hands and shoved them into his pockets, not sure what else to do with them. What had Peter gotten into and why couldn't he trust his friends? Sirius knew he couldn't ask, so he nodded along with Remus' words instead. "We're here," he echoed. "We'll take care of what you need."

It was clear to Lily that the other Marauders were having just as much trouble as she was. But they accepted Peter quickly and she couldn’t blame them. Not after James. She, however, thought of how Ainsley, too, had been a friend, and narrowed her eyes. “I know you know how unfair it was to make us promise something like not asking questions,” she said, the first person to push back.

No one went in for a hug. Edgar observed the friends interacting the way he’d always observed people interacting, silently judging each word and gesture from his corner of the room. So there sat Peter, cowering on a chair, visibly scared of judgement, of death, of himself, and there were his friends, hung-up on the Why of everything. What if Edgar hadn’t made them promise beforehand? Would they now merely have asked: ‘What happened’, over and over again? Each time Peter would have had to shake his head and say ‘I can’t tell you’, and then? What would they have done then? What was the point in knowing something if you couldn’t do anything about it? They were here now, alive, why could they not look at the future of what was to come? Make Peter see, or at least hope, that there could be a future for him? Because that was why he had turned to the other side, wasn’t it? The fear of having no future amongst his friends? When he’d told him this, Edgar had frowned, reassured him that this was absurd. But now here they were. And no one even thought about going in for a hug. 

Peter looked stung as none of them came close, and visibly flinched at Lily’s words. He began shrinking back into himself in the chair again, holding his knees to his chest. So they’d already decided he’d made the wrong decision, he thought. His chin wobbled, and he tried not to cry as he spoke, “I’ll tell you everything as I can. It’s just... everything happened so fast and I’m still just... just trying to process almost dying. I’m sorry...”

Remus, as expected, found physically impossible to just stand back and watch while a friend cried -- or, in this case, nearly-cried. "No, hey, that's okay," he murmured, kneeling over by the chair, reaching for Peter's good hand desperately to squeeze in both of his. "I'm sorry, I'm really relieved you're okay. We're just...?" Confused? Worried? All of the above? Someone else could finish that for him.

Lily’s heart broke - not for the first time in the last several weeks - as they all stood back and watched their friend nearly break down. Remus moved first, but she followed. While she had questions and worries about what happened, she still feel love for Peter. “We just don’t understand what is going on,” she filled in for Remus.

As Peter started to cry, Sirius found himself pacing at the edge of the room, unable to stand still. "Frustrated," he said to answer Remus' question. "You could have come to us." He over at Edgar. He didn't mean any offense to the other, but it was pretty clear who here Peter trusted more, and it apparently wasn't his friends. "You could trust us." He could tell them the truth.

Lily looked between Sirius and Peter carefully. “Sirius,” she said, her voice comforting, but with a small warning underneath. James would’ve done this, had he been here.

Sirius looked back to Lily, holding her gaze a minute before turn around in his pacing. "It's just hard not to know what's going on or even why you won't tell us," he said, as explanation and appeasement.

Peter looked back up as Remus and Lily came over, feeling a tiny bit of hope welling in his chest again. He clung to Remus’ hand like it was a lifeline, blinking tears back as he listened to them, and biting his lip at Sirius’ words. “It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he managed in a watery voice, “it’s not that I don’t want to tell you, or didn’t want to go to you. It was all just so fast, and I thought that Edgar would have more resources to help first. I was just scared and trying to get to safety...”

“And he is safe now,” Edgar added when Peter had spoken. “If we’re not telling you about the Why of all this right now, it’s because we want to keep it that way, want to keep this secret, you and him safe, and no other reason.” He looked from Peter to the others. “Do you think you could help? If you knew? Do you think you could change something about the situation if you knew what had brought him to me?” he asked, voice neither softer nor harsher than usually, just inquisitive. “I didn’t bring you here because you’re members of the Order. I brought you here because you’re his friends.” He didn’t light his cigarette, perhaps not wanting to attract attention to his own hand that now nearly matched Peter -- if you didn’t take into account that his wound had healed by now, while Peter’s was still painfully fresh and in need of proper medical care. “What has been done, is done. Petti-, Peter now has to stay in the East Wing until the Daily Prophet announces his death, and then he’ll have to stay in this house until… well, we’ll see. But it’ll be a long time, I fear. And instead of trying to figure out the Why of all this, you might want to start talking about what’s going to happen from here on in.”

Remus sighed at Edgar's speech, agreeing with it but knowing it might not land well with everyone in the room. The thing is, he once had a massive secret to hold, too. Something he couldn't tell anyone, something he couldn't trust anyone in the world with. It was instinctual, for him, to accept that someone else could have it, too. Maybe he was biased and projecting, in wanting to accept Peter blindly despite a secret. "Sirius," he called sternly, looking over his shoulder briefly. "We'll talk about it when we can talk about it." When he looked back at Peter, his voice softened, his hand squeezing his friend's again. "Are you gonna be okay? I mean, you're-- it's really the safest way, to stay here? I'm just worried."

Lily watched Edgar explain before Remus tried wrangling in Sirius. Something that wasn't easy to do without James - one of the only people who was ever slightly successful at it. But her gaze stayed on Edgar, even as her hand touched Peter's shoulder. "You have to understand where we're coming from," she told Edgar, though it was meant for Peter as well. "We just lost James and now we have to pretend to mourn the loss of someone else we love without even knowing the reason. If this were Amelia..." She trailed off, giving Edgar a look.

“If this were Amelia, I’d trust her judgement, get her something to heal her hand and give her a hug,” Edgar replied, almost clipped this time. 

Sirius kept himself focused on the wall, not wanting anyone to see his face as he reacted to that sentiment. Easy to say when it wasn't being tested. "We'll do what we have to," he said and turned to Peter, hoping his expression would convey some of the deeper things he couldn't put into words well. He was relieved Peter was okay, but this was all so much at once without any rational. "We'll keep the secret, whatever it is."

Peter couldn't help the tiny flinch again as Lily and Sirius spoke, and at hearing Edgar's clipped words. Maybe this was all a bad idea, he thought, maybe he should have just... no, they wanted him around at the moment still, didn't they? He squeezed Remus' hand tightly in return, keeping that anchor. "I'm sorry," He repeated, this time tears starting to roll down his cheeks, looking down again, "I'm sorry, I promise I'll tell you as soon as I can." He sniffled and added, "It is, it's safe. And this morning, Edgar suggested..." He looked up at the older man then.

“I never doubted that,” Edgar replied to Sirius, though now wondering if he should’ve. He didn't mean to say much more but suddenly Peter's beady eyes were on him and he felt prompted. The jaws that had clenched at Amelia's mentioned relaxed and he sighed. He wished they would've come up with their own suggestions and plans, but perhaps they really were all trapped. Frustrated by these confining walls. “This morning I-, You may suggest something else, but this morning I suggested to Peter that if everything goes well, one of you could stay here with him over night. If you wish. I’ll bring up some dinner later. I’d prefer it if you came to visit him one at a time, simply because it’ll attract less attention, but if you all want to come back tomorrow, I won’t stop you.” In a way, right now, he’d rather encourage it. “As for what he needs for his wound, he’ll instruct you, you better than me, and he better than I. I have to get back to work now,” as if this wasn’t part of that work, “so if one of you wishes to stay, now’s the time to say something.”

Remus saw the tears and found himself easily scrambling closer to pull Peter into a hug, a hand on the back of his neck. Whatever this was, it was big. Bigger than them, bigger than their connection. He didn't even want to think of what it meant, and honestly, for Remus, it was easy to do just that. He might've questioned anyone else, been wary if this was anyone else, but it's Peter. Peter! Their wonderful best friend, crying, missing a finger-- this Peter. "I can stay," he said as soon as Edgar suggested it, pulling away, glancing at his other friends. If they didn't take the offer, that'd be fine, too, but he would be staying, and visiting as much as he could. "I want to. If you want me as company," he looked back at Peter.

Sirius stepped over as Remus closed in over Peter. "I'm no good as a healer," he admitted regretfully. He squeezed Peter's shoulder and shared a look with Remus. They would talk about what they could later. "I'll do what I can when you need me, but... I don't know if I can be helpful." It killed him to admit, but if Peter needed assistance, Sirius couldn't be good at it.

Something flashed over Lily’s expression at Edgar’s words. Liar, she thought. This wasn’t as easy as he made it seem. She said nothing, though - just looked between her boys. Remus, staying. Sirius, going. Peter, bleeding and crying and secretive. What had he done? She couldn’t stop thinking about it. “I could help heal,” she spoke quietly. “I learned with Emmeline. But then...” She looked up at Sirius. He couldn’t be alone - not like this. They all knew it. “...then, I’ll go with you, Sirius. While Remus stays.” She gave Remus a look, so he would know why she was leaving him. “We love you, Peter. I hope you can trust us more down the line. But for now, we love you.”

Remus accepted both of his friends' unspoken words. He nodded in reassurance to Sirius, and in deep gratitude to Lily.

Peter was quiet, listening to what Edgar said, heart pounding in his chest slightly as he wondered what the others would choose. He blinked through his tears, surprised for a moment to suddenly find Remus pulling him into a hug, but returned it without a second thought, feeling his heart ease just slightly at the gesture. He clung to him, sniffling again and listening as the three talked. Maybe... maybe this meant he could one day tell them the truth after all. Maybe it would be okay. "Please," He whispered out to Remus then, needing him to stay. "And... thank you," he added then in a tiny voice, looking up at Sirius and Lily again with such sorrow filled eyes, just trying to convey how much he needed them, how much he wanted them to know, to trust him.

Sirius swallowed hard and stepped back, still close but leaving room for Lily and Remus who had more of an idea what they were doing. "They'll patch you up, almost good as new," he promised, though it didn't have his usual level of gusto. He didn't think they could get there when Peter was an entire finger short, but Sirius assumed Peter needed to hear it.

“Follow me whenever you’re ready,” Edgar said and led the way back out. Out of the room, out of the East Wing, out of that oppressing atmosphere which, perhaps for the first time in years, actually suited the events occurring inside the house. 

Lily took out her wand and gently pulled Peter's hand towards him. She wasn't a great healer - not like Emmeline or even Benjy - but she learned enough in the past several months to be of used. The skin-healing spell was one of the first things she'd practiced anyway. She did the incantation on his finger, which helped to seal it, and then cleared away the blood. "We can't grow it back, but..." She trailed off before leaning forward to hug him. "We'll be here when you're ready." She hoped he was ready soon. She stood up to follow Edgar from the room with Sirius.

After Lily hugged Peter, Sirius touched both Peter and Remus on the arm again. Sirius was still conflicted about this whole thing, but after only a second of consideration, he also leaned in to hug their injured friend. He didn't say anything more as he stepped up behind Lily to follow Edgar out.

Remus offered both Lily and Sirius quick hand squeezes before they left, parting with a reassuring nod. He watched them leave, then he turned back to Peter and patted his friend's knee, trying to muster the energy to offer the closest thing to a kind smile that he could. "You and me, hm? It's gonna be alright. We're here for you."

Once Edgar had brought Remus and Peter the extra sets of linen, shown them the way to the bathroom and bedrooms, as well as handed them their meager dinner (toast and jam -- they had nothing else in the house) with some hot chocolate, he bid them goodnight. “And remember, if anything should be, I’m here all night,” he told Remus before finally leaving.

The path led him back to the office, the New Map Room, where he hovered for a while over the desk. Eventually he opened the top drawer and took out a folded piece of parchment. It was the plan James had given him the night before his death. A plan he’d come up with to figure out who the spy was.

Edgar had looked at it so many times before but this was the first time his heart seemed to struggle through its beats. “By Morgana, James,” he sighed and sank down on the chair. “Could you have known we’d find this spy, and it would be your friend?”

His eyes scanned the plan once again, the names and the groups, the dates, and now knowing that Peter was the one they would have to find, he could see that yes, they would’ve found him. “What would you have done?” he continued, barely above murmur for there was no James to listen to him, or answer him. “Helped him? Rejected him? Killed him if in your stead, Sirius had died?” Had Peter betrayed them with no wish for redemption, choosing the Other Side exclusively, wouldn’t it be a fair reaction? Even Edgar… “But he’s here now. He gave up his life for you. He chose us. To at least save those that are left of his friends. Your friends.” And at least here, close, Edgar could survey him, could he not? If he’d outed Peter’s secret to everyone, would the boy not just have run away, and found it all the more easy to spill every Order secret he had until then hesitated to tell the Other Side? “It is the smartest choice but-, fuck, but is it good?” 

“Is giving a second chance fair? Is granting redemption not just weakness?” 

This was now the second time he was coming dangerously close to betraying the Order to help a friend instead… And it wasn’t even a close friend. This moral compass of Edgar’s, of which he’d always been so proud, perhaps it was turning awry without him even noticing. Was it fairness or weakness?

He stared at the plan for a while longer, about how it could’ve been if they had found the spy prior to the Rosier party. Would it have made a difference? Or were not all of them, every Order member, every person involved in this war, a point of weakness, and killing one spy would make no difference? No. They were all potential spies, and punishing done deeds would not bring back already told secrets. What they needed to do was more than fixing what had been broken, it was to go forward, and ensure not more could be broken. They were all potential spies, yes, and to remove this very potential had to be their next step, their next plan. 

He folded the parchment and held it over a candle, let it burn and die with the one who had written it, the past it could no longer fix.